#I’m stuck in bed for presumably the rest of the day

[justyourtypicalwriter]

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[purple-babygirl]

don't call me daddy V

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 4,660

Summary : In a world where littles are openly themselves, they volunteer to help and be helped by willing caregivers. In spite of himself, Bucky finds himself stuck with one and to keep the nagging away, he has to learn how to be around her with everything that that entails.

Warnings: crying, age regression, fluff, a little angst

A/N: i would like to give credits for this part and its idea to🦊nonnie because without her ask there might've not been a fifth part to this story. Having said that, i'm thinking this should be the last part of the story because i am out of scenario your girl is empty. but anyway, please enjoy this one and have a tight hug xx💜💜

~

When they arrived back at her house, she was asleep in the passenger's seat.

Bucky didn’t want to wake her up. He knew she barely got any sleep last night because of the mean cough she was suffering from and so he carefully carried her inside without a word.

His heart kept speeding up every time he would remember what she called him after taking her shot as he slipped her feet out of her shoes and socks and tucked her in her bed.

He frankly had no idea what he would do if she was to wake up little and if he was ready to be a good daddy to her. What if he messed up again? He seemed to be a pro at that.

Luckily, when she woke up later that night, she was her big self again and didn’t seem to have any recollection of calling Bucky daddy, or if she did, she didn’t mention it.

Bucky gave her her cough syrup and the rest of the meds, helping her go back to sleep as he presumed his place on the floor by her bed.

In a way he couldn’t explain, even her coughs were more comfort than the silence at his house, and definitely more comfort than his nightmares.

It was 12 days of little sleep, a lot of crying, meds, movies and sleepovers until she was fully cured again, and even though Bucky hated that she was sick, those seemed to have been some of the best days he’s ever gotten to live since he’s come back to himself.

He got to laugh with someone, care for someone, comfort someone and enjoy the company of someone. And not just anyone; it was her.

But something was missing still.

Bucky wanted her to call him daddy. More than anything and from the bottom of his heart, he wanted to deserve that name, that role.

What Bucky had noticed in the days he’d stayed at her place was that she had no family pictures at all.

She had framed pictures of friends, of herself, of Corgi, but none of family members.

It didn’t come as a surprise because she’d mentioned it to him before, and he just knew that if he wanted to be her caregiver, her daddy, Bucky had to prove to her that he was nothing like those who’d hurt her. He had to prove himself worthy of taking care of her; set himself apart from them.

And to do that, he had to know more.

“I see no family pictures anywhere,” Bucky spoke as he helped her plant the new tulips she had in place.

“Yeah, we’re not close.” She shrugged, hand stuttering just the tiniest bit in their movements.

“Can I ask why?”

She sighed, “why?”

“I’m trying to learn from the mistakes of others.”

She laughed, “really?”

“Really.”

Oh, this wasn’t a joke?

“You know you don’t have to do that anymore, right?” She couldn’t understand why he would want to try again when the report was handed and he was let off the hook.

“I want to. I really want to.” Bucky wished his gloved hands weren’t muddy as they were so he could touch her face.

He found himself craving physical contact around her more often than not.

“You finally believe in the power of the program?” She teased, keeping her focus on the flowers she was rooting.

“No, I couldn’t care less about the institution and its programs.”

“Not even Mrs. Morrison?” She joked again.

“I’m serious, doll.”

“Why then?” She dropped the bulbs, deciding to face Bucky.

“I want it because it’s you I’ll be daddy to.”

“They never loved me for who I was.” She answered his previous question and Bucky felt a pang at his chest.

He had made her feel the same way.

He remained silent, not wanting to interrupt her in fear that she might stop.

“I always had to be a certain way, say certain things, act a certain way. Do what we say and then we’ll see if we can love you.”

Bucky might’ve been speechless, but his eyes spoke a million words, begging hers for forgiveness for his ignorant mistakes.

“That’s why it hurt so much when you showed me you didn’t accept the little version of me.”

“I’m so sorry-”

She shook her head, stopping him.

“I’ve been rejected for too long, Bucky, too many times. It took me a good while to finally believe that I was worth loving despite my quirks, ugly parts and possible mistakes. Took too long to teach myself that it didn’t matter if I cried all the time, was too clingy or too talkative; I was still lovable.” She pointed to her chest as she finished her words.

Bucky took his gloves off, pulling her in for a hug, unable to stop himself anymore. He had no words, only anger and remorse raging inside his chest.

“It takes you a while to unlearn stuff you’ve been taught your whole life by the people who were supposed to love you the most.” She whispered into his shirt.

“Doll, I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered back.

“It’s okay.” She looked up at him, “I appreciate you, Bucky, I really do, but I don’t think I’m ready to lose everything I’ve built inside me if you decide in the middle of it that you weren’t fully ready to take on such a responsibility. I forgive you. I promise. But I don’t trust you enough to give up full control of myself and my life to you again. I’m sorry.” She pulled away from the hug, giving Bucky the option to walk away.

“Don’t be. I understand.” He remained in place.

“Are you gonna disappear now?” She wondered with a sad smile.

“No, you’re not getting rid of me so easily.” Bucky returned the smile, putting his gloves back on.

She smiled gratefully, “I don’t wanna lose you either. You’re such a great friend. And I owe you forever for taking care of me those past few days.”

“What if I prove myself to you though?” Bucky asked, dipping a tulip bulb in the soil.

“What?” She tilted her head in confusion.

“What if I show you how serious I am about this and prove myself worthy of you?”

“Bucky, you don’t have to do that. I know you have a life, responsibilities-”

“I want to do it. There’s nothing more important to me right now than this. And you.”

“If you’re doing this just because you can’t accept that you failed the program-”

“I swear on my ma’s soul, I want to do this. Because of you, doll. For you and with you.”

The words died on her tongue as she watched his sincere eyes implore hers.

“Would you give me a chance to prove myself to you? Please?”

“Okay, Bucky.” She swallowed, “one chance.”

“That’s all I need.” Bucky smiled.

She was not sick anymore and he didn’t have a reason to stick around. He also didn’t want to push her on the matter of regressing, so, respectful of her boundaries, he left.

~

After their conversation in the garden, Bucky had to go home.

His heart was heavy when he entered his empty apartment to nothing and no one. Being alone in here wasn’t something he enjoyed anymore.

It has been 2 days of intense research that Bucky has conducted on age regression and partners in little space when she texted him that night.

“Mr. Barnes, can you please come over?”

He wasn’t particularly happy about the fact that he was Mr. Barnes again, but he certainly was happy that she thought to text him when little. This was an improvement and it counted to Bucky.

“Will be right there, doll.” He texted back, running to his motorcycle.

~

Bucky took in a deep breath before knocking at her door, ready to prove himself a suitable daddy.

She opened with teary eyes, making Bucky’s heart sink.

“What’s wrong, doll?” Bucky asked as he stepped inside.

“I can’t open the pickle jar and now my hands hurt,” she cried, showing him the insides of her palms and how red they were from trying so hard to twist the cap on the glass jar.

She was indeed a little worried that Bucky might find this stupid, that he might yell at her or get upset because she was crying over something minimal in his eyes.

But that wasn’t the case at all. The man was just thankful that she was alright.

“Oh, doll,” Bucky sighed in relief, glad that she wasn’t actually hurt.

Until he remembered that this was a big deal to her. Her hands hurt and she was frustrated because the cap wouldn’t budge.

Moments like these definitely required a daddy.

“I thought Mr. Barnes could help,” she sniffled, her hand wiping under her nose, “metal arm.” She touched his gloved hand.

Bucky chuckled, taking the pickle jar out of her hand, “what if I can do it without the metal arm? What would you give me in return?”

“The biggest pickle?” She offered, wiping her tears away from her eyes, her crying stopping at once.

Bucky laughed at her innocence, “no, I want something else, doll.”

She tilted her head expectantly.

What could Mr. Barnes possibly want? Did he want the whole jar? Would he at least leave her one pickle? She was craving pickles-

“I want you to start calling me Bucky again. No more Mr. Barnes. Can you do that for me, doll?”

Oh, that was something she could do.

“Only if you can open the jar with your not metal hand,” she challenged, her little mind amazed by the idea because look at her hand! It had red marks all over when she tried opening that jar.

“You got it,” Bucky said, easily twisting the cap on the jar open, making her mouth open with it.

“Woah,” she whispered as Bucky handed her the jar with a laugh.

“You’re welcome, doll.” He smiled, watching her chew on a crunchy pickle.

“Thank you, Bucky.” She smiled back, offering him a big pickle.

Bucky’s nerves tingled, knowing he was one step closer to her and his desired title.

~

Moving forward, Bucky learned to distinguish between her big self and little self through texts.

Her little self would always talk about him and herself in third person.

Plus, her big self always needed help with bigger things like needing Bucky to fix her sink or look at her car, knowing he might burn down the city if she went back to asking Adam for help with those things.

Her little self, on the other hand, would need help with the lighter things, the sweeter things. She would call asking for help with Corgi, something too high on a shelf or even just wanting Bucky’s company.

Tonight was one of those nights.

It was thundering more than usual and Bucky had wanted to go and be with her, but he didn’t want to invade her privacy.

But then she called and her scared voice saying his name had Bucky moving even before she uttered the words.

He was proud that she now knew that he was just only one call away; that he would come running whenever she needed. She could finally count on him to be there for her and he couldn’t be more contented.

He knew that consistency was important in relationships, especially one where she was little.

“Hey, doll, it’s okay. It’s just a little thunder,” Bucky cooed, rubbing her back as she let him inside.

“I’m not scared anymore now that Bucky is here.” She smiled, her breathing visibly slowing down.

“Well, I’m staying the night so you have nothing to worry about,” he chuckled, following her to the bedroom.

“Bucky covered his motorcycle?” she asked, worried his vehicle would get ruined.

“Leave that for now, we’ll hose it down together tomorrow when it’s sunny.”

“Corgi loves the hose,” she spoke out the first thought that came to her mind and Bucky loved it, laughing heartily at her comment.

The dog’s ears perked at the sound of his name, jumping at Bucky’s feet as soon as he entered the bedroom, waiting for his share of pets.

He bent down to give the dog some love when he heard her sigh.

“Corgi loves Bucky too.” She smiled shyly, internally wishing her name was Corgi.

“Bucky loves Corgi right back,” Bucky whispered, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

She only smiled bigger, running to her bed and getting under the covers.

When Bucky got down to sleep on the floor that night, however, she slipped off her bed and right next to him.

“Doll, the floor is too cold for you. Sleep on your bed, come on.” Bucky sat up, wanting to help her up on the bed again but she wouldn’t move.

“Wanna be next to Bucky,” she said with a pout.

“But-”

“I know Bucky can’t sleep on beds. It’s okay. Doll will sleep here,” she told him, squeezing Wolfie in her arms.

Bucky’s heart fluttered and it made his mind light up with an idea only a true daddy would have.

“Do you wanna build a fort?” He suggested and her face instantly beamed with a smile as she nodded.

Of course she did!

That night as Bucky gathered all of her soft blankets to make her a floor mattress inside a fort full of fluffy pillows, he knew he was smitten.

This girl had him head over heels for her and there was nothing in the world that he wouldn’t do just to see her smile.

“Can Bucky please tell me a story?”

“Sure, doll. Do you have any books I can read to you from?”

“I have books that big me likes but I don’t want those.”

“What would you like then?”

“I want a story that is Bucky’s. Tell me a story you didn’t tell anyone at the institution.”

Oh, she was jealous. The thought made Bucky smile as he pulled the covers up to her neck to make sure she was warm down on the floor.

“Okay, you ready?” Bucky asked, dimming the lights in her room.

She made herself comfortable under the covers, big eyes watching Bucky’s handsome grin as the cozy atmosphere he’s created comforted her through the storm, “ready.”

“Once upon a time, there was a small idiot who picked up fights with boys much bigger than himself. His name was Steve…”

Bucky fell asleep with his hand stroking her hair, watching her soft breaths leave her chest that night without abruptly waking up in the middle of it for the first time in forever.

~

Bucky didn’t know what it was like to be her, but he was going to do his best to put himself in her shoes like she’d previously tried.

She deserved to be fully and entirely understood.

He witnessed a glimpse of her feelings towards the concept of family a couple of times when they would watch movies like The Lion King or Lilo and Stitch.

She didn’t seem to be affected by the death of Mufasa even though he knew her to be a very sensitive little. She was sad for Simba, of course, but not for Mufasa’s demise. Similarly with Lilo and Stitch, she didn’t care much about the concept of the family.

There was an actual barrier separating her from experiencing any positive feelings that came with the idea of family. Because she had none to associate with hers.

With some more research, Bucky managed to find a few animated movies that didn’t seem to revolve around the idea of family love and how family was everything and whatnot.

One of those movies was The Willoughbys. The movie depicted how neglecting some parents can be and that 2 people loving each other and getting married didn’t necessarily mean they would love their children too.

It was a very unique movie and Bucky was actually happy they could make such movies nowadays.

When the song I Choose You started playing in the movie, Bucky felt her small hand squeezing into a fist.

He silently wrapped his hand around hers, offering quiet comfort and support.

“Bucky chooses you, doll. Wholeheartedly.” Bucky reassured, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

He looked down to see tears in her innocent eyes as she showed her feelings for the first time during one of their movie nights.

“Bucky chooses me?” she croaked, lip trembling as she cried.

“I choose Bucky, too.” She pulled him down by one cheek to leave a kiss on the other.

Bucky froze.

It was the first time she’s kissed him since he applied that cream on her burnt hand back at his house. She did it on her own, too.

“And I choose Corgi,” she said, running her fingers through the hair of the puppy sleeping soundly on her lap.

“That’s right, and Corgi chooses you. Family doesn’t have to be the ones you were born with, doll,” Bucky told her as he wiped her tears away, “you can choose the family you want for yourself”.

“Thank you, Bucky.” She hugged him tight, afraid he might not be real and that this moment is all made up.

“You’re welcome, doll.” Bucky kissed the side of her head as they pulled away.

“Can I choose Adam, too?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper as she gauged Bucky’s reaction.

She could actually hear his chest rumble with a low “argh” before he nodded despite himself, making her giggle.

“Don’t worry. I only have one Bucky.” She reassured, slinging her arm around Bucky’s metal one.

One daddy, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t. She was still scared.

~

Bucky knew that she needed her own independent time alone sometimes even when little, and he would allow her just that, texting throughout the day just to make sure she was okay, reminding her to drink water and take care of herself.

But there was one particularly hard weekend when she felt real down about some of her plants dying as the storm took them out of the ground.

When she opened the door she was clearly disheveled, hair all messy and looking like it hadn’t been brushed all week.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky spoke gently as he closed the door behind him.

She quickly ran into his arms, needing the comfort more than anything, “my plants are dead and Corgi peed on my new carpet and my hair doesn’t smell like shampoo anymore and I’m-”

Damn. She was spiraling. She just slipped out of his hug and on the floor. Oh no.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here now and I got you, okay?” Bucky tried his best to reassure her, getting on his knees before her to look into her eyes.

“Okay,” she hiccupped, nodding even though she wasn’t fully convinced.

“What happened to the plants?” Bucky wanted to handle her concerns one at a time.

“My apple trees were pulled out of place because of the storm,” she started sobbing again as she remembered what had happened to her hard word.

“Okay, okay, tell you what, I’ll put them back in place, okay?”

“Really?” She sniffed.

“Really.” Bucky smiled kindly.

“Okay.” She nodded, trying to control her breathing.

“And we’ll throw the new carpet in the washing machine, and keep Corgi in his playpen with pee pads,” Bucky gave her the steps of how the day was going to go, leading her by the hand to where Corgi was.

“Okay.” She nodded again, her tears ceasing.

“And while the carpet is being washed, I’ll help you wash your hair. Does that sound okay?” Bucky asked her permission, wanting to make sure she was completely comfortable.

“Yes.” She was finally smiling again as well.

“Okay, let’s get you in here,” Bucky told the puppy before placing him inside his playpen.

He spread a few sheets on which the dog could pee if needed before collecting the affected mat.

“Let’s take this to the washing machine,” Bucky voiced his movements, wanting to put her at ease as he kept her hand in his and walked with her to the bathroom.

“In you go.” Bucky threw the rug inside the washing machine along with some detergent.

“Now what do we do?” He asked her, wanting to keep her out of her head.

“Wash doll’s hair?” She asked with half a smile.

“That’s right, get in there.” Bucky tilted his head towards the bathtub with a smile.

~

And for some reason, it was different this time. He didn’t feel all weird seeing her naked. Maybe it was because he knew her better this time and was familiar with her in more ways than one that such intimacy didn’t startle him.

He wasn’t sure, but Bucky wasn’t complaining, only grateful as she closed her sweet eyes and trusted him to wash her hair for her.

“Alright, show me how it’s done,” Bucky encouraged, instructing her to whip her hair to the front so he could wrap the towel around it.

She did as told with a giggle, dangling her hair before her and letting Bucky wrap it up the best he could.

“Off to the couch.” Bucky chuckled as he watched her skip in her cashmere bathrobe to her couch.

Later after Bucky has brushed her hair for her, he helped her get dressed and they went outside together to replant the fallen apple saplings the wind had knocked down just like he'd promised.

The smile on her face was new and unmatched as she watched Bucky handle her plants with care.

“Thank you, Bucky.” She hugged him close, hardly wanting to let go as they stood in the middle of her garden.

Bucky was now rooted in her heart just like the plants in her garden were in their soil.

She didn’t think she could be away from him anymore. She didn’t want to be away from him anymore.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” she whispered timidly as they started walking back to the house.

“What do you want on your piz- what did you say?” Bucky stopped in his tracks.

“I’m hungry.” She bit her lip and looked away quickly, hesitant now that his eyes were on her.

“Before that, doll.” Bucky brought her eyes back to his by her chin.

“D-daddy?”

Bucky smiled a smile that reached his eyes as they lit up with gratitude. He couldn’t believe he was finally hearing that word.

“Daddy’s thinking pizza, doll. Sound okay?”

Her face glowed up with her own smile as she witnessed Bucky, with full commitment, refer to himself as daddy.

She nodded, knowing this was going to be the most delicious pizza she was ever going to eat.

~

“What is daddy thinking?” She asked when she noticed his eyes on her, slipping a loose strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

“Just thinking about all the things you make me feel, doll.” He smiled, turning his face to kiss her hand before it left his face.

Her face started heating up as she retracted her hand, tingles spreading all over her, “things like what?”

“You make me feel like there’s still good in this world. Like I’m worth patience and kindness and maybe even… love,” Bucky voiced his feelings, eyes dreamy as they watched her pretend to be focused on organizing her stuffies’ seats on the floor.

“You are, daddy,” she replied sincerely, hurting inside that Bucky might doubt this even a little.

“I can’t believe I was so horrible to you, doll.” Bucky’s sigh came out hot from his chest, holding so much regret.

“That’s in the past, daddy. Doll doesn’t think about it no more.” She smiled, her littler hand covering his own lovingly before giving a soothing squeeze.

“You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” Bucky held her hand up and gave the back of it a noisy kiss.

She laughed, face heating up more at the sweet attention, “no body’s perfect, remember?”

Bucky tried to continue laughing with her but he was still kicking himself for what he did to her during her visit to his house.

“How did you even tolerate me back then, doll? I was the worst.” Bucky covered his face with his hands as he threw his head back, laying on his back on the floor full of shame.

“That’s not true. You just misunderstood me and that happens!” She was quick to defend him, refusing the idea that he would even criticize himself, “daddy is the best.”

“I know, but it still gave me no right to treat you the way I did.” Bucky’s eyes teared up at the memories of his very mean words and actions, “I made you cry a lot.” He struggled to forgive himself for that one.

“Daddy, I forgave you, I swear,” she promised, her hands cradling his full cheeks.

She felt like her heart might stop from sadness if Bucky was to cry right now.

“I’m really sorry. I’m really really sorry, doll.” Bucky’s eyes were sincere, holding so much emotion in them that she felt her own begin to fill up with tears.

“Daddy, you don’t need to apologize no more,” she whispered, doing her best to hold back tears.

“You have made me the luckiest man on earth by accepting me as your caregiver, your daddy, and you’ve taught me so much, doll.” Bucky actually started crying, a lot of held-inside feelings coming out at once.

“Daddy.” Her thumb wiped under his eyes gently as she felt her own tears roll down, “don’t say stuff like that”.

“But I need to. Because you did. You taught me unconditional love and acceptance. You taught me what it means to live again. Doll, your patience with my terribleness has taught me that maybe I’m not a hopeless case after all, and that this shell of a man with a metal arm might be capable of things he thought have been wiped from his memory long ago.”

“Daddy, please stop crying,” she sobbed, pressing her forehead to his chin as her attempts at wiping his tears away have proven to be futile.

“I love you so much, doll. I love you with every old bit of me and if you’ll have me…”

“Daddy?” she raised her head, eyes on Bucky’s face, trying to read his expression.

Could Bucky really be asking what she thought he was asking?

“Doll, I want you to be my baby for more than just a few days. Would you give me that honor? Would you let me be your daddy for real?”

“Daddy, are you sure?” she nervously bit her lip.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything before.” Bucky promised.

She nodded frantically, afraid the offer might disappear if she took too long to respond, “yes.”

“Thank you, doll.” Bucky breathed as he pulled her to him, strong arms engulfing her in a protective hug.

“Daddy will not regret it later?” her eyes watched him, a small hint of doubt still tainting her trust.

“Do you like the moon, doll?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head, not understanding the relation between her question and Bucky’s answer.

“You know how our sky only has one moon?”

She nodded.

“My heart is just like that. It can only have one doll no matter how much time passes.”

“Oh.” She sniffled, trying to hold the tears in.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky gave her hair a long kiss.

“I love you, daddy.” She kissed his chest, her arms tightening their hold around him as best as she could, never wanting to be away from him again.

And she wasn’t going to be. Bucky was an idiot who let her go once; never again was he going to make that mistake.

He was blessed with her now and he was going to spend every day of his life proving he was worthy of this blessing.

~

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[verstawppen]

hold me close (cl16)

BLURB (1.2k words)

verstawppen writes: something short and sweet for yall. enjoy!

summary: you comfort Charles after a bad Quali warnings: none. fem!reader, F1 journalist!reader, fluff, comfort, established relationship, secret relationship.

The day was going by at an excruciatingly slow pace, every time you checked your lock screen it seemed only a minute had passed. You sighed in exasperation as the press conference stretched on well past the scheduled timings. You could see the exhaustion on Yuk and Daniel’s faces even from your position at the back and you knew they were dying to get back to their hotel rooms for a day of rest. But here they were, stuck in the media pen answering pointed questions about their Qualifying. And you were stuck too. You’d already done your duties and compiled all the responses from your interviews with the drivers for your tabloid. You were itching to get back to your hotel room. To get back to Charles. He’d had a bad Qualifying, just as he began his fastest lap of Quali, his gearbox began malfunctioning and Ferrari had to retire the car. He was visibly frustrated when he came back to the Ferrari garage. He just wanted to have a good race for once this season without facing any issues with his car and you felt that he deserved that, being one of the best drivers on the grid. Ever since you’d seen him leaving the garage, running his hands through his damp hair, something he only did when he was being consumed with anxiety, you’d wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and soothe his uneased mind. You were his girlfriend, you should have been there for him. But it wasn’t that easy, you knew the implications it would have on both your careers, more on his than yours, to be seen together. An F1 journalist and Ferrari’s golden boy. The media would have a field day, you would know. A brief buzz from the pocket of your trousers brought you out of your thoughts-

Charles <3 When are you coming back?? I miss you :( You I’m so sorry Cha the conference is running past the schedule. I’m stuck here Charles <3 Want me to come rescue you, cherie? You No it’s alright, love. Try to rest until I come back, you’ve had a long day. When Charles didn’t respond after 15 minutes, you presumed he’d taken your advice and had gone to sleep. You felt guilt churn in your stomach. Charles was always there to take care of you after a long day despite his own exhausting profession. He was an absolute sweetheart, showering you with kisses as soon as you came back to him in his motorhome or his hotel room, sitting you down on his bed before taking off your heels for you, nimble fingers massaging your sore, tender feet.

‘Fuck this’ you thought to yourself. “Hey I think I’m gonna leave early”, you informed your colleague sitting beside you. You were friends and you’d told her about you and Charles. She nodded in understanding, “Go, I’ll cover for you.” You got up from your seat, shooting her a grateful smile as you gathered your things and left the media pen. You called yourself a cab to the hotel where Charles and you were staying. The ride felt longer than when you’d arrived at the paddock in the morning, excited to see Charles race. You rubbed your temple, your concern for Charles growing by the minute.

You practically fell out of the cab when you opened the door in a hurry even before the car had fully stopped. You quickly paid the driver and ran up the steps of the hotel entrance. The cool air of the hotel lobby cooled your skin which had gathered a thin layer of sweat from your rushed movements and increasing stress. You impatiently waited for the elevator and immediately pressed your floor number once you were inside.

The elevator opened with a ding and soon you were standing in front of Charles’s hotel room fishing around with one hand for the keycard he’d given you while your other hand held your suit jacket and your bag. You scanned the card and opened the door. You tried to be as quiet as possible and closed the door behind you with a soft click. You removed your heels, set them down on the shoe rack and deposited your stuff onto a countertop near the room’s entrance. But maybe your movements weren’t as discreet as you thought because as soon as the bed came into view, you saw Charles had woken up, sleepily rubbing his eyes. He let out a silent yawn but as soon as his eyes fell on you, his face lit up. He sat upright, a wide grin on his face which you mirrored. You quickly made your way over to his side of the bed and sat down in front of him, feeling his hands wrap themselves around your frame. He was wearing a black hoodie, his favourite one which you liked to steal sometimes. You buried your in his neck, he smelled of aftershave and his characteristic slightly musky cologne. You held him close, your fingers clutching onto his hoodie.  His chin rested atop your head, his left hand tracing abstract circles on your back. It was everything you both needed. You pulled away and looked up into his sparkling green orbs. “Hi, love” “Hi, cherie” Even though he’d been calling you ‘cherie’ for more than 2 years now, the nickname never failed to awaken the butterflies in your stomach. Your hands reached to cup his face, thumb lightly stroking his cheekbone. “How are you?”, you asked. From this proximity, you could see the dark circles forming under his mesmerising eyes, a detail that the cameras thankfully never seemed to capture. And it was good, you knew Charles would hate for the world to think that he wasn’t able to take the heat. But at the end of the day, he was only human. He smiled before replying to you, his voice slightly raspy from having just woken up,” I’m good now that you’re here, mon amour.” Your hands moved from his face into his curled locks and he relished the feeling of your fingers lightly massaging his scalp, making waves of comfort and relief wash all over his tired body as his head found its resting place on your collarbone, lightly taking in the scent of your sweet floral perfume. He unconsciously smiled against your neck. Carding your fingers through his hair just the way you knew he liked, you spoke to him in a low, comforting sort of voice, “You did so well today, Charles. You almost had the fastest lap of the Quali despite having to work with such a difficult car. You got the best you could out of that car and that’s enough for now. Things will get better, Ferrari is working on the issue, right? You’ll soon have a car worthy of your talent and you’ll be back on the podium in no time, love.” He hummed in acknowledgement of your encouraging words. It meant a lot to him, more than you’d ever know. He pressed a small kiss to your collarbone in appreciation. “Thank you, ma cherie” You smiled, your eyes closing to relish the warmth of his presence in your embrace. “Anytime, Cha”

[starlightkun]

finders keepers ⇢ teaser 1

⇢ teaser word count: 1162 | full fic: 37.8k total (22.7k & 15.1k) ⇢ genre: sci-fi/science fantasy au, soulmate au, alien!jungwoo, human!reader, slow burn, fluff and angst ⇢ warnings: blood/injury mentions (but like, alien blood, if that makes a difference?), a couple needle/injection mentions, if u get secondhand embarrassment this one might hurt in places, a couple crude jokes about alien stuff iykwim (reader’s friends r kind of the worst), this fic is just a rlly sweet soulmate au i swear idk why these tags look horrendous 😭 ⇢ extra info: this will be released in two parts bc of tumblr’s 1000-block limit that was put in place to hurt me personally :)) BUT both parts will be released on the same day ⇢ estimated release: saturday, november 30, 2024, 3:00 p.m. eastern time (sign up for my taglist here)

At your building, Johnny and Jaehyun helped you drag the spaceman up to your apartment on the third floor, and you had them deposit him on your bed. Johnny brought his travel vet kit up from the car, and together, you managed to get the shiny silver jacket off of him. Underneath, he had a fairly plain white top, which was also torn and blood-soaked. Johnny snapped on a pair of gloves before he pushed the hem up to appraise the stranger’s side, where there was a huge gash in his flesh.

“Oh, Christ, okay,” Johnny sighed, inspecting the wound. “I guess I’ll disinfect and suture it up?”

“Just do it,” you mumbled, pressing a towel to the man’s sweat-sheened forehead.

“Jaehyun, mind assisting?”

“You do know the ‘Dr.’ I put in front of my name is just decorative, right? It’s in Poetry—”

“And now you can brag to all your colleagues that you’ve done real medicine like a real doctor,” Johnny snapped back. “Disinfectant, get it.”

With Jaehyun assisting him, Johnny made quick work of patching him up. Pressing the bandages down over the site so the adhesive would stick, Johnny then disposed of his navy-splattered gloves. He grabbed a stethoscope, putting the end up against the spaceman’s chest.

“I think he’s alive?” Johnny announced. “I don’t know. If he is, he doesn’t have a heart because I’m not getting anything.”

He shifted the placement, presumably to listen to his breathing, and an even more bewildered look overtook his features. Sliding the stethoscope over to the right side of the man’s chest, he sat there for a moment, just listening.

“It’s on the other side,” he breathed out. “His heart’s on the right side.”

“But he has a heartbeat?” You clarified.

“Yeah, he does. Faint, but it’s there. He’s breathing, too. A bit shallow, but otherwise normal. I think.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“I don’t think there’s anything else I can do until he wakes up. If he wakes up.”

“Right, thank you Johnny,” you smiled wearily your friend. “I’ll call you when he wakes.”

Jaehyun and Johnny looked at each other skeptically. Jaehyun spoke up, “You’re going to stay here alone with some rando we literally pulled out of a burning hunk of metal?”

“My couch only fits one person. So unless you two are offering to sleep on the floor to protect me or whatever?”

“Call us if anything happens,” Johnny sighed, packing up all of his supplies.

“Of course,” you nodded. “Thanks, guys.”

You heard the sound of your front door clicking shut as you stayed sitting on the edge of your mattress, wiping the spaceman’s face. He really did look human, two eyes that were now shut, lashes resting on his cheeks, a nose practically just like yours, with an elegant slope to the bridge, and a pair of plush, pouty lips.

He let out a soft sigh, his head rolling over towards you. But then he went silent and still again.

You finished cleaning up his face as best you could, then pulled the covers up over him. Readjusting his bangs that had been stuck together by the damp washcloth you’d used, you gave a final determined nod to nobody in particular before standing up. Grabbing a change of pajamas from your dresser, you got everything you’d need from in here for the night, then went to leave.

“Alright…” You stopped at the threshold of your bedroom, looking over the spaceman’s sleeping figure one last time. “Goodnight, I suppose.”

And with that, you turned the lights out, and quietly closed the door behind you. You were sure to leave it slightly ajar, though, just in case. After taking a much-needed shower and getting ready for bed in your bathroom, you headed out to the living room. You set up a few pillows and blankets into a comfy-enough makeshift bed, then tucked yourself in. Despite the exhaustion in your muscles, the excitement of the night hadn’t worn off yet, and you laid awake for another hour just staring at your bedroom door.

Waking up in the morning to sunlight streaming in through your living room windows, you covered your eyes with a groan and rolled over to bury your face in the back cushions. The sound of your phone buzzing incessantly from the coffee table came, however, and with a guttural groan, you flopped back over to pick it up.

“Yeah?” You mumbled, not even checking the caller ID.

“Y/N?” It was Yuta on the other end.

“Who the fuck else would it be? You called me at whenever-the-fuck-in-the-morning.”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Couch,” you corrected him, swinging your feet over as you sat up properly. “I slept on the couch.”

“Gave E.T. your bed? Such a kind hostess.”

The mention of your guest woke you up more. You got to your feet, shuffling towards the bedroom with a yawn. “Yeah, you know me, I’m a fuckin’ peach.”

“So how’s the…” Yuta dropped his voice to whisper into the phone, “Alien?”

The door hadn’t moved since last night, and you cautiously pushed it open to peer inside. You could see the stranger exactly where you had left him, laying on his back under your blankets, chest shallowly rising up and down. Pushing further into the room, you hesitated on whether to try to find a pulse again. You settled for trying once around his wrist, and if it didn’t work, then you’d just have to assume he was fine.

Surprisingly, you found his pulse in one go, and it felt steady.

“Fine, I think,” you answered Yuta quietly, walking back over towards your door. “He’s breathing, he has a heartbeat. He’s just not… ambulatory.”

“Still passed out cold?”

“Yeah.”

“Imagine if he was in one of those comas that you don’t wake up from, and we just had to deal with this comatose alien.”

“Stop, you’re going to manifest that or something!” You hissed.

“Not manifesting, just joking.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Anyway, some of us went back to the beach this morning, because Mark really wanted to see the UFO—”

“Don’t touch anything!”

“We couldn’t. The whole place is locked down. Couldn’t even park on the shoulder, it was swarming with cops. They were still putting out the fire.”

“Do you think any of the ship survived?”

“I have no clue. Doyoung said he’d ask his dad about it.”

Doyoung’s dad was the fire chief, making your participation in the conflagration last night even more dicey.

“Tell him to call me as soon as he finds out anything.”

“I think he was already planning on that, but I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Good. Also, I’m sorry for kicking you in…” You trailed off as you turned around to see two big brown eyes staring at you from your bed. “I’ve got to go, Yuta. I’ll call you back.”

“What’s hap—”

You hung up.

⤷ masterlist

TAGLIST

@bee-the-loser @ppddpjdr @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

[chatterbox-73]

Kinktober 2024.

Day 13 - Tied.

Hanta Sero x fem!Reader

This story is a smut story for Kinktober, I’ll be writing more characters x reader one shots for Kinktober and if you want to see a character please let me know...

You must be 18 years or older to read this...

🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞

Summary: meeting up with your friend-with-benefits, Hanta Sero, he decided to try something new with you however becoming caught in the moment your reveal more then the pleasure his giving you.

Word count: 1.1k

CW: NSFW and adult content, friends to lovers, friends-with-benefits, casual sex, casual relationship, love hotel, riding, bondage.

“Hey, sorry I’m late” Sero smirked as he sat down on the park bench next to you, “it’s alright… I only just got here” you shrugged and stood, you fixed up your face mask and cap before you began walking towards the park’s exit, Sero following behind you.

The sky was dark and the streets were busy, it was prime time for villain activity, that was precisely what took you so long and presumably what also took Sero so long, however right now the both of you had one thing on you mind, that being getting to the love hotel and…

The hotel wasn’t far and was pretty quiet, it wasn’t the nicest place but you did have an unspoken agreement with the owner that you and Sero would pay a little extra for each stay and he wouldn’t say anything to the media. It was all very simple you or Sero handled payment and received the keys before you both retreated to the room.

You jumped on Sero as soon as he locked the door, causing his back to press into the door, you pulled your mask off and began attacking his lips with your own, “god… I need you inside” you moaned as he grabbed your ass for support and forced his tongue into your mouth, you ran your fingers into his hair and wrapped your legs around his waist, “Hanta, I’m so desperate” you whispered against his lips and he chuckled, “yeah… me too baby, me too” he smiled and began walking you both to the bed, it was quick work thanks to his long legs.

Sero climbed up onto the bed and laid you down gently before pulling his shirt and pants off, he looked down at you and watched you do the same, you laid before him in nothing but a pair of underwear, Sero reached down and turned you over onto your stomach, “you want it in this position? I wanna kiss you though” you whined and Sero chuckled, before grabbing your arm and holding them together by the elbows, he then began to slowly wrap tape around your forearms, taping them together, “oh I don’t want you like this, I want you riding me” he groaned as he grabbed your hips and ground his hard member against your clothes cunt, before flipping you back over.

Sero sat back and pulled his underwear off, before he pulled you up on him, he grabbed the front of your panties before yanking on them and causing the thin material to rip from your body, “fuck Hanta, are you insane?” you hissed and watched as he grinned while lifting you up and over his long member, “maybe a little, can you blame me though?” He offered a crooked smile and held his tip steady as you lowered yourself on him, you both hummed as you slowly slid down his length until your body reached its limit.

Sero had always been a struggle to take in one go, his was so long even despite it being curved upwards, he still had an inch he couldn’t fit in you until your cunt fully relaxed and was warmed up for him.

Sero grabbed your hips and looked up at you as he laid back on the bed, “you gonna start working for your precious orgasm, you nodded and began rocking you hips slowly, Sero folded his arms behind his head and smiled smugly as you began to slowly bounce on him, even time you were like this, you’d need to rest your hands on his stomach for support however today you could do that because of his tape.

Sero watched the way your breast stuck out and bounced with each of your movements, he watched your stomach flex and tighten with how close you were to cumming, he watched your little entrance swallow him fully, “what did I ever do to get a sexy little minx like you?” Sero groaned as grabbed your hips, forcing you to quicken your pace, “I like to Hanta… I always have” you moaned and Sero shifted nervously.

You had spoken the forbidden words, you had told him your feelings, this wasn’t the first time this types of feelings were shared, around four months ago Sero had spoken the same thing during an orgasm, you both shared in the discomfort of the situation and agreed to not do anything about it, what you both had currently was smart and safe, the media wouldn’t pick you both apart, there wouldn’t be a rush to marry, villains wouldn’t use the other as leverage, in all it was better to not do anything about it.

You moaned and completely lose all sense of what you were saying, “I want you Hanta… you’re only mine” you threw your head back and rolled your hips, taking him deep in, all the way to the base, before you began grinding on him, “shit… don’t say such sweet things” he groaned and arched his hips up into you, “Hanta, please make me yours” you whined and Sero sat up, he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your lips before whispering your name against your pouty lips, “you’ll always be my most dear… my lovely girl” he hummed and rolled you onto your back as he began grinding his hips into you as he grabbed your legs and held them up by the backs of your knees, “my girl…” he groaned and you cried as you began to squeezed him, “my sweet Hanta, my man” you whiled as you felt your stomach tighten and you began to feel ecstasy wash over you, “I’m- I’m gonna fin-“ you moaned but before you could finish Sero pressed his lips to yours and slipped his tongue into your mouth, he grunted against your lips as his hips shutter and he began to cum along side you, he pulled back and groaned particularly loud, “fuck, take it sweetie” he looked down his nose at you and watched you huff and puff, coming down from your orgasm.

“Did you mean it? Or was it just another cum-drunk ramble?” Sero asked as his knelt behind you and slowly undid the tape, he finished and you turned around to looked at him, you grabbed the side of his face and brushed your thumb against his cheek, “I’m worried what they’ll say about us” you whispered and crawled into his lap, Sero wrapped his arms around you and rubbed your back, before resting a his finger upon your chin and tilting your head up, “I like you and that’s all that matters, they can talk until there lips fall off” he hummed and leant in to kiss you, you ran your fingers into his hair and fell into the intoxicating kiss, “I like you… I want you in again” you moaned as you both shifted and Sero leaned over you, before he shifted in between your legs and lined himself up against your entrance again, Sero groaned slowly sliding back into your tight, plush wall all over again, ready to take you with a newfound intimacy.

Kinktober Masterlist

Day 13 - Reiner Braun/Eren Yeager: A minute more, Please.

Day 15 - Tetsurou Kuroo/Kōtarō Bokuto: Double penetration.

[eveningepiphany]

pirates gold | H.S series, part two

[part one]

[series masterlist]

summary: challengers are arising as life on the ship continues. not only that, but all kinds of tension is building between you and harry. good and bad... and something that feels forbidden to even entertain in your minds eye.

warnings: swearing, tension, fluff, sexual mentions, talks of violence, harry being so so fine, mentions of kidnapping, one bed trope.

a/n: i cannot believe how long this took me to write, I’m praying I can do part three in half the time. thank you for your patience my loves<3

———

There are plenty of moments you are left wondering how in control of your life you actually are.

If you truly have any power at all— because sometimes it feels like everything is spinning relentlessly out of your grasp.

Well, especially under your current circumstances. Since your last 4 days have been spent as someone else’s prisoner.

Which, you couldn’t have predicted would lead you into the bathroom of your own captor and being left to bathe with his own personal collection of things.

Being in there was a shock enough as it is because… of course you’d noticed how well-groomed he appeared. But to see that he actually had things like soap and hair wash…

Another stereotype you presumed, was that pirates were horrendous when it came to maintaining a sense of personal hygiene. But it was another thing you were evidently incorrect about when it came to Harry. And seemingly the rest of his crew as well.

As you washed off in the shower, scrubbing away the collected dirt, dust and sweat off of your body, you felt almost like a new person.

It felt inexplicably good to use soap again, which is a luxury you took for granted much too often back home. But finally getting rid of all the residue on your skin was an amazing feeling. Including washing away the salt from your ocean dip a few days ago. Which was stuck in the crevices and creases of your skin, like it was slowly dehydrating you from the outside in.

So you took probably longer than you should in his shower… but it didn’t seem as time ticked on that he was in his room or at the bathroom door.

Not even when you eventually stepped out from the water, drying yourself off with a rag-like towel. Looking at yourself in the mirror, taking in your frame, and how the skin under your eyes is a tad less sunken in after a long shower.

Maybe it was from stress, or lack of sleep. But either way, you rubbed your fingers underneath them. Attempting to smooth out the remaining darkness there, as if that would work.

Settling on the fact what was left of them was only temporary, you decide to just get into the clothes Harry had given you. Pretending it doesn’t weird you out as you slide his black shirt over your body.

It was far from tight on you, and the fabric probably could’ve swallowed you up as it clung to you. And as you pulled the soft pants up, they were equally as big.

You gazed in the mirror again, looking at how his clothes fit you. Struggling to envision him in such simplistic clothing.

Suddenly, his body filling out the once baggy pants and shirt is taking up the confines of your mind. They certainly would fit him properly. And likely hug the muscle built on his chest... you have to swat the mental image away, before it conjures into something more.

So immediately, you jump to distract yourself. Eyes roaming around the bathroom until they lock onto the cabinet beneath the bathroom bench.

Your hands don't hesitate, coming to the cupboards to open them, pulling the handles so they unlatch.

It’s sadly sparse inside. Almost entirely empty despite a few miscellaneous items. A hair comb, a dagger sheath and a… sewing kit? You frown at the sewing kit, unable to imagine him doing anything as delicate and time consuming as hand sewing.

However, he does wear intricate outfits. He seemingly prizes them, actually. So, it seems fitting that if wear and tear got to them, he'd be keen to fix them. That's the conclusion you're going to go with anyway.

But regardless, in the small wooden confines, there is nothing you can steal for your own benefit. You think of shutting it, but in the silence something urges you to open the small plastic box anyways.

You drop onto your knees, sliding the container to the edge of the shelving, and hooking your fingers into the latches and pulling the lid upwards.

There are several little threading needles— even clothing pins— placed among regular cotton thread in an array of colours. But there’s also multiple wads of fishing line, which immediately makes you wonder why it's in there. Trying to pinpoint what kind of clothing needs fishing line as a stitching.

You’re about to pull it out, but conveniently, there’s a rattle outside of the door. One that indicates someone is coming into his quarters. You hold back a frustrated sigh, suddenly wishing you had of taken a shorter shower.

Your body kicks into quick movement, hurrying to click his sewing box shut and put it back where it was in the first place. Pushing hard on the latches that now suddenly don’t want to cooperate with your haste.

It’s silent outside of the footsteps that trail to the bathroom door, making you wince as the latch on the cupboard echoes a tiny clack as it’s shut.

The feet stop at the door, and your breath is held from where you’re kneeling. Not sure if you’re hoping for Harry or not.

“Y/N?” His voice calls with a rap on the door, “y’decent?”

“I—“ you slowly rise from the floor, cringing at the creak of the boards beneath your feet as you stand.

“Yea… yep.”

The lock jingles and the door swings open, revealing Harry— who looks no different to how he did almost an hour ago. Black blouse, black pants. Nothing had changed.

You feel suddenly vulnerable standing in his clothes in front of him, and you have to force yourself not to wring your hands at the bottom of his long shirt.

“Mm, nice to see you actually showered, ‘stead of tryin’ to break out.” He comments, nonchalantly stepping in through the door. Eyes scanning you in his clothes.

As he steps closer, the only difference you notice is the red bruising around his knuckles, on the hand hung down by his waist.

“Oh, I tried.” You mused, attempting to push confidence in your tone— adverting your gaze away from his bruised hand.

He hums, still staring at your frame, “To no avail, I see.”

“I suppose not.” You remarked, to which he shrugs. His body language is casual, but you’re still unconvinced that everything is normal.

Now you're staring at him, trying to decipher what the fuck is happening right now. Given the fact nothing about this seems planned.

“But I am confused...” You prompt, and to it, he cocks an eyebrow.

He steps forward, “Go on.”

“What exactly have you done in the last hour?” It comes from your mouth as an accusation. One that draws out a rash laugh from him pink mouth.

“Why is it you assume I’ve done something?” He's awfully close to you now, and it highlights the features on his face. Ones you're desperately trying to pay no attention to. But it's much harder to ignore the fall of his hair over green eyes when its up close.

“Because that just seems the most likely.” You stated. Walking to brush past him—shoulder passing his chest with a light touch— the bathroom feeling far too cramped for the two of you. And the air around you had suddenly gone hot with tension on your end.

You make your way out into his quarters, making use of your need for distance, and deciding to inspect the room while you could.

Harry turns on his heel, watching as you now suddenly walk around his bedroom like it was your birth right. Hands trailing over frames on the wall, and picking up random objects he’d strewn on the floor.

He sighs at this, part of him wanting to stop you from snooping around his place, but he’s also undeniably curious at your mannerisms while looking around. The way your eyebrows pull down into a frown as you pick up an array of things. Including odd ones, like a bag of dried out barnacles, and whetstones block he uses to sharpen his blades with.

“I bought ya up here t’shower. Because unlike many, I have a hygiene standard, darlin’.” He says, and you turn from where you were touching the cover of his unmade bed. Fingertips noting the softness of it. He sleeps here… your brain announces as though it’s unfathomable to imagine him at rest in his own bed. Which was tucked into the corner of the all-wood room, three circular windows running beside its edge.

Looking at his hand again, finally getting the courage to bring it up.

“And your knuckles are swelling up. All bruised. They weren’t like that earlier.”

He smirks, completely bypassing your question, “looking at my hands, ay? Didn’t pick you to be that kind of girl.”

You sneer at his stupid tease, irritated at his arrogance.

“Just seemed all rather impromptu, and now you’re back here with bruised up fists that you didn’t have earlier.” You challenge, after walking slowly away from his bed.

“You don’t stop until you get an answer y’like. Is that right, princess?” He scoffs.

But he knows you’re brilliant at reading someone, tragically so. And it’s obvious you’re not as stupid as he wishes. Because he watches as your eyes narrow, clear that you know he’s dodging your questions for a reason.

“And you don’t give answers unless it suits you best, I take, captain?”

To that, he chuckles, and decides to prove you right, walking over to grab your wrist with the unscathed hand.

“M’clothes are a bit big on you…” he comments, partially using it as an excuse to drag his eyes down your body again. Completely changing the subject.

“Tomorrow, we’re pulling into port, we’ll buy some stuff that actually fits you.” Despite being the one to decide this, there's a pang of disappointment in his chest at you getting out of his oversized clothes. He ignores it. The hand that's becoming all too familiar to your wrist is leading you out of his quarters, and your eyes dart to take in the room a final time. Hoping to commit it to memory.

“That’s a bit doting. Are you going to take me with you, or is that a far fetched wish?” You drawl, already figuring you’ll be locked away while they roam about. Buying you clothes while you sit prisoner.

You should probably just be grateful for the fact he is willing to spend gold on you, given the circumstances. But who would you be kidding if you tried to portray that right now. ‘Thanks for buying me clothes while I sat locked up in your jail cell!’ He would audibly cackle if you said that.

He chuckles at your bitter sounding tone, “I’d bet you’d be rather upset if we went into town without you.”

You scowl at him, having to bite your tongue as to not say anything rash, choosing not to respond at all.

He’s taken you outside of his room, and locked his door with the small ring of keys he keeps on him. Beginning a slow walk along the corridors of the ship, seemingly in no hurry at all. He pulls your arm to rest firmly between his elbow and ribcage as you stroll the halls, as though you’re on some kind of leisurely walk.

To your silent annoyance, he rolls his eyes with amusement, knowing you'll hold quite the grudge if he doesn't take you out when the ships docks at Sintir. “I’ll think about it, dove.”

The two of you walk in quiet for a minute. Clacking of shoes against decking echoes through the hallways below deck. You get lost in thought, until his voice quickly coaxes you out it.

“We’re stopping for two nights.” He suddenly clarifies for you, “After we buy you some suitable clothes, maybe you can come into town after dark.”

You’re skeptical of his offer, given that it’s not a guarantee. But you’re desperate to just get off this ship for a bit. Not even in an attempt to escape, you know that wouldn’t work even if you tried. Purely to be on land again, and around people who aren’t felons at sea.

So you soften your frown a bit, going quiet for a few moments. You decide to try the hopeless approach, no matter how weak your faith is in it. But maybe you'll get some pity from the man beside you, “I miss the towns, and being on solid earth, that’s all. It's all I've ever known.”

You were already embarrassed at how the helpless tone sounded on your voice. Maybe because is wasn't genuine, but either way, internally you gagged a little.

He laughs abruptly at your words, almost shocked that you attempted to persuade him with that.

“No need to pull the damsel in distress card.” He’d shook his head, smiling wide with humor at your expense, “My decision is impartial to a poor attempt at manipulation.”

“It’s not manipulation!” You turn to snap at him, dropping the meek mannerisms just as quickly as you put them on.

“Oh but it is, darling.” He bumps your shoulder with his own, turning a corner that reveals another set of stairs, “y’bad as any other pirate. Outside of the shitty lying.”

You shake your head, huffing out air from your nose as he leads you up them. The annoying thing is that he's right. However you still fight to prove your point.

“Can you blame me? I just want to go into a town and do something normal. Have a little stability amongst this shit show!” Your grumble made him chuckle, as it seemed to always do. Like as if he could not take a word you say seriously, even if he tried.

“I suppose I can’t fault you for it.” He hums, pushing a hatch open after unlinking your arms. He went through it first so he could help you up. Hands steadying you once your feet come in contact with the floor. Because suddenly, you’re on the bow of the ship. The afternoon sun out and warm on your skin as the waves are calmly lapping over themselves.

You momentarily forget that you’re pissed off with him. All you can focus on is the fresh air and golden sun.

His eyes take in your deep inhalation, and the way you look so relieved to be outside. Understandable given the fact you spent 2 days locked in a tiny room.

A feeling he can’t name stirs in his chest. And the voice in the back of his head is suddenly encouraging taking you into Sintir while the ships docked there.

“It’s… nice out.” You exhale, your gaze veering to him momentarily as you speak. His green eyes are locked onto yours, and you quickly make to slide your attention back out on the blue water.

Which is easy to look at, since it doesn’t technically end. Just melts into the equally blue horizon where the sky meets the sea.

“It almost always is, up this far north.” He nods, pushing the sudden emotion away. “It won’t stay that way once we leave the port. There’s a storm well in due this week.”

You mentally file away that you’re up north, but a part of you gets anxious with the idea of being out while there’s a storm.

On land, you always enjoyed them. They brought a sense of serenity to you. The thunder and rain sometimes came so loud in Kelna it drowned out everything going on in your life. Temporarily, of course, however it was nice while it lasted. But on water was a different story. You’d heard they’re rocky rides, treacherous even. That ships often enter a storm, and don't come out the other side.

“Don’t look s’worried.” He comments at your suddenly terrified energy, he places a palm on your back to usher you forwards.

“Just that I really don’t want to die out here.” You sigh, not denying the fear since it’s clearly that obvious.

You walk willingly wherever he’s decided to take you, sharing a short wave to the man up by the ships wheel. He had messy head of hair, one that you imagined when it was windy, would blow all over the place.

“Have faith in us, Y/N. We’ve weathered many storms jus’ fine.”

“Oi, H,” the scruffy pirate you just waved at calls down to his captain, as he tracks down the stairs with you. Going from the steering deck to the main deck.

Harry tilts his head over his shoulder, pausing on the stairs where you both stand, indicating he’s listening with a nod. You briefly trail your eyes over his side profile. The curve of his nose, and the cut of his jaw.

But his crewmate barely gets a couple words out before he’s interrupted shortly after, “How did ya go wi—“

“Fine, Liam.” Abruptly, Harry cuts in. Not rudely, but curtly.

The man on the wheel, who now has a name to you— Liam— alternates his gaze between the two of you suddenly. Like he’s dawning upon why he just got interrupted.

“Ah, I see.” He nods, quickly busying himself with what he was doing beforehand.

Harry continues walking you down a set off stairs, back down to main deck.

“I’m going to assume that was about earlier, and has something to do with why you dragged me out of my cell.” You say, attempting indifference.

“You’d assume right.” He nods, but you wait for him to say something more— which he doesn’t.

You sigh in frustration, “I'll also take that's why I'm still up here, and not locked back up."

You're trying to gauge yet again how much of his actions are kindness, and how much of them are out of an attempt to gain something.

"Not why you're out here, 'm tryna give ya a bit of sun." He brings you to a stop at the far left of the main deck, smirking as he talks, "I've got to patch up a old sail, incase we need it. No better place to do it but out here."

He pays no mind to you as he kneels down to a storage unit a few feet away from you in the floor, unlatching it, and hauling out a huge canvas sail it. The sheet crinkles as he carries it out, and dumps it on the wooden deck.

You frown, wondering if he's the only one on the ship who can do any sort of needlework... because it seems like the only reasonable option as to why he's doing it himself. So you ask, "Why exactly are you doing it?"

He laughs, striding back over to pull a much larger sewing kit from the bottom of the storage space, and also sheet of spare canvas.

"You are filled with clichés of us, darling. What is makin' y'ask that?" He chucks the kit and extra fabric down, following to sit shortly after.

You're still standing as you try to conjure up an answer that doesn't sound unbelievably stupid. But he is cross-legged, pulling the damaged side of the sail over his muscular thighs.

"Because..." You pause, still unsure how to phrase it as you stare at him. You're looking at his side profile again, and it's lit by the overhead sun.

He glances your way, essentially looking up at you from where he's positioned on the floor. He finishes your sentence for you, "'Cause I'm a captain? And why would I do something productive for myself and my crew when I could make someone below me do it?"

"Well... basically."

"You're going t’find out very quickly the dynamic between me ‘n my crew." he pulls open the sewing box, filled with larger needles, and thick thread.

"I may be their Captain, but we’re all like brothers. I see them as that, not as my workers. They are my team, and we help out whenever and wherever we can." He states, sounding completely sincere, "And, I'm the only one that can actually hand sew things, so here we are."

"Here we are..." you parrot quietly, almost finding it endearing the way he talks about his crew mates.

Delicately, he’s threading up a needle and starting to take it through the sail and its new panel, lined up over the relatively large tear. His hands are steady, hair fallen over his eyes as he concentrated on starting the stitch. You stare at the dark bruising over his knuckles, and you swear that wasn’t as deep a shade earlier.

Without thought, you slowly sink to the ground, back resting against the side of the boat, not waiting long before you start to ask him more questions.

“Whatever happened to put that large of a hole in your sail?” You’d quizzed.

He knew it wouldn’t take long before you started to pry him with more of your wonders, “A cannonball.”

Your face can’t hide the shock, because of how casually he answered you. Your lips were parted in surprise at his response when he glanced over to you. A smirk over his mouth, popping a dimple on his cheek.

“Jus’ a run in with another ship.” He mused, “They tore a hole in our sail, and we tore a hole into the side of their boat.”

You almost sputter a laugh, of course he has to brag about not having lost that altercation.

“I hope you have a winning streak under your belt.” You shake your head, smiling a little.

“Why? Because I’m carryin’ such precious cargo.” Alluding to you with a charming cadence to his voice.

You’re stretched out in the sun as he watches you, and you almost look happy. If he didn’t know any better. But maybe you are a little. Circumstantially, you’re probably far from it. But in this moment, you look calm in a way he hasn’t seen before.

“Obviously. And all this would be for nothing if I go down with your ship and you don’t get your gold.”

“Tragic really, after putting up with y’through all this. Including jumpin' off m'own ship.” He teases.

“It’s been like, 5 days. I cant have been that annoying outside of the jumping thing.” You can’t tell if you’re offended at his jabs like you should be. You wish you fully were, but the banter is almost pleasing to have with him. It gives you something to laugh at. And also gives you an excuse to be insolent with him.

“Mm, if only y’knew…” he sighs in faux exhaustion, a tiny laugh escaping through his façade.

The way the ship cruised through the waves was inexplicably calming to experience up here. With the sun and the warm around surrounding you.

His hands were weaving the needle through the material, it’s mesmerising to watch. He’s definitely skilled at it, since it has hardly taken him long to get one side sewed on.

“You look quite content over there.” He comments, not looking up from where he was.

The observation stuns you a little, because of how true it was.

“I… it’s hard not to be after being in a tiny wooden room for 2 days straight.” You answer, but it doesn’t feel like the only reason why.

“Y'know,” he begins, “I excepted someone like you to have the worst set of sea sickness, and to be constantly terrified, but you've seemingly proved me wrong.”

“Have you underestimated me?”

“Possibly.” He remarks. And you don’t answer him again.

You're struck with the realisation that you actually don’t hate being above deck. Or really on the ship— outside of the reasons to why you’re on it. You think you might have underestimated yourself.

Like a reel of film, your mind flashes through images of a life like this. Outside of the damn cell at the bottom of the boat.

One where you spend your days free on the water. Both free in regards to your imprisonment here— but also from your life and looming responsibilities at home.

You envision yourself suddenly in the most pirate-like attire, standing up on those huge masts like they do in fictions sold at the bookstore— the odd one that would romanticise the life of piracy instead of completely defacing it.

It hits you like a slap in the face. One that stings and burns on the side of your cheek, lingering for days after it initially impacted.

You have to forcibly squeeze your eyes closed, because there is no room to have feelings like that in your already muddled brain.

Harry speaks up from where you forgot he was sitting, “What exactly is Kelna like?”

“Prison.” You blurt, hand almost coming to slap over your own mouth in surprise.

Your head is in disarray, and that somehow slipped its way out. Because all the sudden, you realise you almost felt more trapped in your own home than you honestly do here.

You tried to escape this ship out of fear that you would be killed— or sent somewhere worse— but when that element is removed from the equation, you’re certain anything is better than Kelna.

“Im kidding—“ you hurriedly spew out, but his head is turned to frown at you, “it’s nice… it’s great. Very lovely people and we have… yea. It’s great.”

Of course, you love your family. Some of them. Your younger brother and older brother, your younger sister. But outside of your siblings, there were few people to love.

“Sound like y’trying to convince yourself more than me.”

You guess you kind of were in a sense. And a part of you wanted to just say how much you never wanted to go back, if that were an option. You only ever told your older brother Poe about how desperate you were to get away from the court. One person. One soul out of this whole world of them knows.

Only Poe knows how terrified you were that Misha— Kelna's infamous prophet— would come to the podium to speak the most misconstrued riddle, that supposedly announced you were to take the crown. Your own stomach churns at the concept.

But revealing that to Harry felt like giving away a vulnerable piece of yourself. He doesn't deserve to be the second person you entrust with something so pressing for you. Which you remind yourself that you swore not to lay an ounce of trust in this man’s hands. That your impartialness to a separate life here is due to your life at home. And that freedom on this ship is unlikely.

“I’m not…” you breathe out in defeat. Trying desperately to steer clear of the subject, because its easy to drag you into a pit of ever-welling anxiety.

However, he can sense your complete shift in energy. This is your first time really talking about home. And it seems like you have more than bitterness to it. He expected a whimsical answer. One that showed your longing for return, or that you even valued part of being in a court. But he got nothing of the sorts.

It slips from his soft mouth before he can stop it, “Are you not safe at home?”

He’s completely disregarded his sewing venture, and has turned to look right at you. His features have softened, and he looks genuinely a little concerned. But you brush it off for deceit. Of course he would want to know something like that. Want to pick away at your seams until all the sudden you're unraveling in the palm of his hands, tearing your whole village down with it.

“Yes!” You jump to clear that up. Secondly feeling like he's almost babying you.

“Probably safer there than I am here.” You bark, but it’s hardly true if you really think about it. Attempts on a royals life are always a threat, and it’s happened to your family members before. Which transcends into a whole other story, equally as painful for you as anything else at home.

His brows pull into a frown. He realises he’s struck something sensitive here. The topic seems to make you recoil completely. Your body language has changed, just like that. Straight from relaxed to on edge.

“I feel like there's a pretty equal risk." He provides, picking back up the threaded needle. Seeing what more he can coax out of you.

"I—" you cut yourself off.

"I am fine." Your tone is conclusive.

"Is that why you always sneak out of your royal residence in the middle of the night?" He pushes, a sarcastic lilt to his deep voice.

"That isn't any of your business!" You groan, "I'm not asking why it is you're a felon at sea, or your tragic past life that's lead you here, am I?"

"But you probably wonder..." he smirks, impartial to your jab.

"I don't, you ass!" You state defiantly.

"I'm just trying to gauge how much you actually like your homeland."

You scoff in disbelief, "Oh, piss off. You just want something to hold over me."

It's clear to him something much deeper is going on than what he initially thought. But its also evident that you are far from interested in talking about it now. So, he files away what information and suspicion he had, and finally allows the subject to change.

"Whatever princess... y'getting mouthy, and I've gathered that usually doesn't end well for either of us." he rolls his eyes in amusement, "You'll have to to tell me what kind of clothes you like, so I know what I'm in for."

"It only doesn't end well because you're so goddamn pushy." You huff.

"This is why you ended up locked in a cell for two days." his tone is airy, considering the topic, "Also, best of y'to recall I'm the one who decides whether or not ya coming off the ship tomorrow."

You hold back your bitter quip at his reminder, but not the deep sigh from your lungs. You feel stressed. Overwhelmed even. Which is the only good thing about your tiny room below deck, its stable. You know what you get down there. Yourself, and no personal questions that leave you reeling.

He finishes his double stitch in silence. Thinking of you, and wondering what exactly your perception of your home life is. In a long answer— not the short and guarded ones he's currently receiving.

You sit, still in the sun, but feeling significantly more riled up than earlier. That's when Harry stands from his work, and your eyes dart to the patch that's now one with the sail. Intricately sewed in place, with a clearly detail-oriented eye.

"An' she's done." He nods proudly, talking to himself as he picks the complete task up from where it was spread on the deck. Carrying it back into where it came from— along with the closed sewing kit. Laying it folded in the floor compartment and latching it closed.

His hands brush themselves off along his black pants. They admittedly fit him perfectly. Nipped in at his sculpted waist, and outlining his likely firm thighs.

His green eyes slanted down to you, as if he could feel your own gaze burning into his tanned skin. He smirks, a dimple popping out on his cheek as he looked at you.

He was trouble.

He looked at you like you were a game to be played. A challenge to be conquered. And somehow you met him right at that very level. You wanted to prove something to him— and the thing is, you don't even know what.

Its not something you can reverse, or take back. It's already long started, the second you pushed back from his demands when you first met.

His legs that you were just studying stride over to where you sit. He towers over you, examining you with a silent and smug smile.

"A corset, perhaps?" He proclaimed without context, and your face twists in confusion.

"Although, I've heard they are very hard to get on and off a woman." It clicks in your brain he's currently talking about you. Imagining you in the likes of a corset.

It's like he was pondering it aloud just for his own sick enjoyment, because he keeps going as your expression quickly bleeds into a scowl.

"And, there is no doubt in my mind you'd drive your own elbow into my stomach before you let me help lace you into a corset. Or out of it." His voice has dropped an octave, and his chocolatey hair has fallen over his forehead again. For such a heinous topic, he has the face of an angel. Maybe a fallen one... but an angel nonetheless.

"You would be correct." You confirm, "And I spend enough time in corsets at home. God forbid I wear one when theres no need for it."

He suddenly juts a hand out for you to take, which you stare at for an awfully long time, analysing the dark marks over his knuckles. Eventually settling to let him help you stand. It pulls you up effortlessly despite its visibly injury, and you feel the rough parts of his large hand as it cups yours.

"Espcially if im going to be laying around in a cell, whats the point in that?"

He still has grip on your hand, "Oh, dove, y'not going back down there for a little bit."

Your gaze narrows immediately. And you ask the first question and only question that makes sense in your mind.

"Who else is down there?"

"Someone who deserves to be left in the room with the cuff holders on the wall. Attached to them."

Your stomach sinks a little, recalling him saying thats sectioned off for people who have done truly bad things. Seems like it would explain his battered up knuckles perfectly.

But with the closest thing you’ve gotten to an answer all day, you’re quick to mentally move onto what the effects you the most.

"Where am i gonna..."

He says with a completely unfazed expression, "With me."

“With you?”

“That’s what I said, no?” He raises his brows, “unless you’d rather be down there with him. Who we’d then certainly have to kill once he knows you’re here.”

“Christ.” A wave of shock rocks through you at his vulgar wording, “can you put me nowhere else?”

“No.” He states, starting to walk with your hand gripped in his, “it’s just for the night. Don’t worry s’much.”

“Don’t worry? You just told me you would have to kill a man if I chose to stay away from you.”

You’re glaring at him as he holds open a door for you— one that leads to another kitchen room— despite you’re bitter look, he’s unbothered entirely.

“Let’s get you something to eat. Allow ya to process the fact you’re stuck with me for a night.”

———

Your night was significantly different to all the others you’d had on the ship this past week.

The evening had come on relatively quick. You’d sat above deck after he fed you some fruit, and watched the sun set as his crew gathered to share a pint.

You observed their dynamics, and the way a few men got themselves silly on one too many beers. Stumbling all over the deck.

Harry stayed closer to sober though—a bit tipsy, but nothing drastic— and as evening bleed into night, many of the boys had turned in for bed around midnight.

His blonde crew mate had shouted out for you to come down and have a pint, but you laughed it off. His drunken plea seeming far out of line considering the circumstances.

Not long after most of them had left, Harry came up to where you sat. You were perched atop a step on the stairs, and you know he’d been watching you. Making sure— as you stayed a fair distance away— that you didn’t disappear.

His hand had gestured out to you again as he had apparently come to collect you. You stood without it’s help, and he snorted a bitter laugh.

“You're infuriating, you know? Unbelievably so. And I feel it all the way in my stomach.” The lilt in his voice is intoxicating. He sounds like he disdains you, yet is addicted to the feeling all at the same time.

He’s standing the step below yours, and once you had fully straightened out, you were slightly above him. It almost gave you an added boost of confidence, “Right in here?”

Your hand reached out to breach the minimal distance, brushing your pointer and middle finger against where the skin of his stomach is.

His hand grabbed around your wrist, staring at you— he pressed your palm flat against his chest— you could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the sheer black blouse he was still in.

His bruised knuckles are pressed over yours. The dark spots a mosaic of blacks and blues— you wonder how bad it would hurt if you pressed down on them. Just out of spite, of course.

“Right there.” He affirmed.

“Too bad you have to room with me tonight.” You sigh in mock sympathy.

He looks like he’s about to say something else, when he bites his tongue and does his usual thing— tugging you along wherever he plans to go.

His leftover mates say goodnight as he walks past— all of them regarding you as well, surprisingly.

You’re lead to his quarters as you’d suspected, and you’re now faced with the situation of how this is going to all pan out.

Once inside the dark room, he lights a wall candle with a match— that he pulled from god knows where— casting the space in a golden glow.

He is quick to then shed the black material that’s covering his chest over himself without hesitation. Your gaze skates along the muscled skin of his back. Littered in black ink and scars that immediately piqued your curiosity. Ones that you undeniably want to trace over, and enquire how exactly they got there. Which feels like an odd thought to be entertaining considering how much you push to hate him.

His hands unlatch his belt, still adorning all its weapons. And he walks to the foot of his bed, laying it atop the cover.

“Would I be correct to assume I’m taking the floor?” You put forward, and his head turns over his shoulder.

“That one’s up t’you. Unless you’re that desperate to get away from me.” He drawls, the alcohol making him a tad drowsy now that the buzz has worn off.

A part of you begs to be stubborn. To say no. But the other half of you in rioting to lay down on a mattress for the first time in almost a week. Because you couldn’t physically sleep another night on the hard wooden floor.

You breathe outward, walking over in silence as you climb beneath his sheets without warrant.

He tries to ignores it, but a small smile breaks out over his lips before he can stop it. So he turns swiftly around, unzipping his black pants and shedding them off his long legs.

“What exactly are you doing?” You shrilly ask, palms ready to shield your eyes if he decides to strip the only remaining fabric below his laurel-adorning hips.

“You’re not sleeping naked next to me.” Certainty riddles your tone, and there is no way you’ll budge on it.

But to your statement he laughs, “M’not naked.”

“Not far off it either.” You murmur, observing as he walks over to the candle he not long lit and blows it out.

The room falls into darkness, all you can hear are the plodding of his feet on the wood floor.

Once he’s next to the bed, you hear his voice, “You’re on my side, by the way. S’budge up.”

You scoot over without words, and feel the mattress sink as his weight comes onto it.

“Better than the floor, no?” He asks quietly, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Undecided.” You whisper. “Comfier I suppose.”

His breath is quiet and consistent as you both fall quiet. You’re certain he falls asleep before you, because you’re awake for a while. Staring at the ceiling wondering how you got here yet again.

But eventually, the tiredness you’ve been feeling for the last couple days catches up on you, and it lulls you into a deep sleep. Unbroken from any uncomfortable surfaces or loud noises. Just peace.

Peace until you stir for the first time in the morning.

When soft light is shining through the circular windows, and you realise how truly warm you are. All the edges of your consciousness are blurred and hazy with your sleep induced state. You nestle into what you thought was the mattress, but register somewhere in your head that your body is pressed against someone.

And after that, it’s confirmed when they move. A slight roll, and a warm heavy arm that drapes over your waist, tugging you closer.

Your eyes dart open, and are met with the sideways view of a swallow on a collarbone. It stops you dead in your tracks. Because slowly you realise your plastered to someone's side. Harry's side. Legs thrown over his hips, head nestled into his neck.

You're frozen for a moment. Because he smells so nice. But alarm bells are sounding in your head. Too close to the enemy, they riot.

The rigidness of your body stirs him again, rolling him further into you. Legs intertwined, and the bridge of your nose bumping against the curve of his throat. Now he's truly swallowing up all your senses. His scent is genuinely intoxicating. Salty, just as you'd imagine a pirate would smell— of the ocean and all that lies beneath it. But it has a woodsy tone to it, deep and masculine. One you wonder how he just naturally carries.

His tattoos are gorgeous up close, chest chiseled and dusted with soft dark hairs. You use the finger that’s between your body and his to brush gently over the butterfly on his stomach. Tracing the details, despite how wrong it feels. In your moments of timid admiration, you don’t realise his eyes have opened. Green and glazed over with sleep, it takes him a solid minute to register what he's watching you do.

An intake of breathe, and his gravelly voice pressed out the only thing he can even think of saying, “g’morning.”

Physically, you flinch. Startled at his sudden consciousness. Finger withdrawing from its tender movements, your heart pounding.

“I— hello.” You whisper, unsure how long he’s been awake.

He stretches, which in turn scoots his body down the bed, leaving you face to face with him. A pink tongue juts out over his lips— wetting them.

“I should’ve established a no-cuddle policy.” You state, eyes wandering the plains of his face.

To this, his morning voice rumbles a laugh, “are you trying to blame me for this? ‘Cause you’re on m’side, touching up my chest, dove.”

You turn your head over your shoulder, glancing to the gap from where you originally feel asleep and where you are now. Red flushed over your face, It does look incriminating on your end.

A guilty sigh falls from your lips before you purse them together. Not having an explanation for how you ended up like this.

“S’okay.” His voice was so deep, and it sunk into your ears. Almost drawing a shiver out of you. It was attractive.

You can’t tell if that observation is coming only from the fact you have just spent a night curled into his chest. But it’s all you can think about.

“Didn’t mean to.” You say, the closest you were coming to an apology.

“Mmm, I bet.” He murmurs, his hand leaving from where it was on your waist and going to comb through his hair.

Perfectly tousled from sleep, he brushed through it with his fingers. You take the opportunity now that his hand has left your waist, to sit up, averting your eyes from the way his touch glides through his soft hair.

You look out the window, and immediately you’re shocked. You see land. Not even that far away.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“There’s land…”

“Ah,” he also props himself up with his elbows, “so there is.”

“Best we get ready.” He shrugs his bare shoulders, and you quickly jolt your head this way.

We?

He’s far from shy as he threw the covers off himself, with the daylight streaming through the windows, his whole body was on display.

You wondered if he realised the kind of body he had on him. Because undeniably, seeing him in just boxers makes your throat bob.

“Do you say we because you intend on taking me off the ship?” You ask, a silent plea behind your words.

“Tonight.” He states, glances back to see the palpable excitement spread over your face.

You rush out of bed, a sudden burst of energy at his confirmation. He is shocked as suddenly your arms collide with his bare waist.

“Thank you. Thank you.” You really are grateful, and you’re so desperate to get off this boat for a bit.

His lips part in surprise, “that’s… y’welcome?”

You hold him longer than you should, a part of you a little ashamed at your lack of self discipline. Because you should be able to contain yourself. You eventually pull yourself from him, smiling in a way he hasn’t seen before.

“We’re probably gonna dock in… 20 minutes? We’ll be gone for most of the day. I’ll come back and get you at evening.”

It sounded like a long time to wait. But you are sure you could do it. So you nod, enthusiastically.

You go and sit yourself on the edge of his bed, wondering where you’re going to end up— what the town will be like, where you’ll go— all while watching Harry go through his closet for an outfit.

It reminded you almost of how a royal would dress, particularly about what came out and what would go with what.

He stands with his back to you, still just in boxers. He has a nice ass.

You mentally scold yourself, yet unable to look away from him as he pulls a maroon pair of pants over his hips. They’re left unzipped as he gets a off-white linen shirt to tuck into them. However the shirt was left almost entirely unbuttoned. And his cross necklace sits between his pecs that are on full display.

He belts his weaponry around his waist, taking it off the wall from where they were hung. Odd of him to leave them so in the open, when you could’ve stabbed him in the night while he slept.

“Are you leaving me in here?” You ask, watching as he collects a few last minute things from around his room.

“S’long as you don’t trash the place.”

You think about teasing him, but decide not to risk it. You piss him off, then you’ll likely get put somewhere without anything to snoop around. And also miss out on getting off the ship tonight.

So you just nod. And at that, he’s satisfied.

“Well, m’off then. Don’t do anything stupid, Princess.” He raises his brows, face serious until it breaks into a small smile.

“I won’t.” You lie, because how are you meant to guarantee that.

He walks out, and obviously locks you in. You wait an hour, until you’ve been docked for a while before you start to dig around his room.

Not forgetting to take some time looking out the window to figure out where the hell you are in the world. Nothing was geographically giving it away, but once you saw a small fishing cart on the pier, you read Sintir fishery.

Sintir is so far away from your homeland, you let out an audible gasp when you read it. There’s no fucking way, you’d thought.

But as you walk away from the window, you register that it has technically been a week since you’d been taken.

You ponder it as you start to go through his things. You feel like some kind of home invader. Rummaging through a trunk under his bed, raiding draws, and flicking through his racks of clothes. Digging into pockets as though you were waiting to happen upon something of value.

It turned out to be the smartest places you looked, because in a thick raincoat, you fucking found it.

A key. One he has to have forgotten about, since there’s no way in the world he’s left you in here without being certain there’s no way to get out.

You ran to the door of his room, and held your breath as the sharp metal got pushed into the lock by your eager hands.

You turned it, jostling it a bit. And it clicked.

Quietly, you reach for the handle, gently pulling it down and breathing out as the door unlatches.

There’s no time to wait as you slink outside. Clicking it shut, and slowly trying to recall your way back down to the chambers.

Every noise has you on edge, and you’re terrified to get caught. Waiting to turn a corner and one of his crew mates to be there, catching you in the act. But it’s not enough to stop you. You may have made a few wrong turns, but you end up in a hallway that jogs your memory.

You make your way down the stairs to the cells, unable to keep your footsteps entirely quiet. It’s without warning you realise the space down there is in fact still occupied by someone… just like you’d initially feared.

You’re met with a guttural groan, and suddenly your anxiety nearly triples. It’s masculine— and when you reach the bottom of the stairs, still out of view from the cell door— you can confirm it when the voice echoes out from the dim room.

“Let me out, you… you fuckin’ bastards.” Whoever it is sounds exhausted, like they’ve been teetering on the edges of life or death for hours.

When you don’t reply he lets out a wet and chesty cough as he continues, “I don’t care about tha’ whore no more! The princess means nothing to me.”

Your heart is racing at the mention of yourself, and the man sounds like he’s dying. It’s certain in your mind now this man’s face was probably what caused the bruising on Harrys fist.

A heavy bang comes from his cell, sounding like metal cuffs being slammed against a wall.

His speech turns to slur as you slowly back yourself back up the stairs. Curiosity always kills the cat, you think. And you wished you’d stayed in Harry’s room.

“Or jus’ kill me already!” He begs, tone shaking with exhausted rage, “already beat me to a pulp after I called that royal a good f’nothing slut. S’cmon!”

That was your cue to leave, and as you break off into a near run down the halls, you’re shaking the whole time.

Yet somehow, despite what anyone would’ve expected, you made it back to Captains quarters without a single run in. Not a soul knows you found a key.

You slide down the relocked door once you’re inside, and pant with not only the physical exertion, but the anxiety you just put yourself under.

It takes a fair while before you can move again, but your hands skate along the floorboards beneath you, tracing the wood grains to calm down.

Rising, you go back to his closet to put the small key back exactly where you found it. Not taking chances in trying to harbour it for yourself.

The room is deafeningly quiet, it forces your mind to hear the likely dying man’s words on repeat. And wonder if Harry really punched the man because he called you a slut…

The only person that knows is him.

He only knows that the second that sack of shit opened his mouth and said the only thing you’d be good for is ‘a quick fuck and some gold’ he absolutely lost it.

He only knows the feeling of pure, red-hot anger that took over him until he slammed the side of his fist into the slimy man’s face. More than once. He’s not sure how many times, until it was bloody, and until his knuckles already had a bruise festering below the skin— darkening by the minute.

And god, can he not stop thinking about how it made him feel. It was all consuming. It solidified that you were not going back down into the cells. He would rather have you in his own bed than within a 5 metre radius of that scum.

So as he walks through the town, splitting off from his crew to go by you clothes, he realises that you’re making more of an impression on him than he thought.

And while he piles up half a wardrobe for you, not even worrying about how much it’ll all add up to, he clocks just how… infatuated he’s possibly become with you.

Just how he’s suddenly ended up in this position. Where he hates you, yet wants to protect you— and even sometimes dote on you.

God— It’s dangerous.

That feeling that lingers when he thinks about you. Both a good and a bad one.

You were dangerous for him… and he’s still trying to decide how much, and in what way. But the biggest thing, is he’s worried for when he finds out.

Whether it’s going to be when you stab him in the back— either metaphorically or physically— or when you trace your delicate touch over his bare chest, so gently his mental resolve cracks along with the walls guarding his heart.

His conclusion as he checks out with a plethora of clothes for you, you’re either going to kill him, or he’s going to end up killing for you.

Oh, and that he’s certain he wants to kiss you. But that’s a whole other thing he has to mentally unpack.

———

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@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin

thank you everyone for your undying support, you are all the best!! i love you

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i really hope you guys enjoyed this part since i have rewrote it and reread it that many times i seriously have no idea if it’s any good HAHA

[ghcstao3]

for @snootlestheangel — body swap

-

For a trained sniper, demolitions expert, and SAS soldier, it takes an embarrassingly long time for Soap to notice that something is wrong.

He climbs out of an empty bed (as per usual), drags his feet to the common room for some shitty coffee (again, as per usual), sits down, bleary-eyed, rethinks his decisions until he finally fully wakes up (as per usual!).

It’s not until Gaz wanders in and does a double-take upon seeing him that Soap begins to suspect… something.

The pinch in the other sergeant’s brow has Soap shifting nervously in his seat.

“You feelin’ alright, mate?” Gaz asks. He keeps his voice steady enough to hide whatever else he’s thinking.

But even still, Soap relaxes. He just grunts and returns to staring at his coffee, accepting Gaz’s question as a way of pointing out just how awful Soap is looking this morning in particular.

“…Right,” Gaz says slowly. Soap peers back up at him. “And what about the…?” He gestures vaguely to his own face.

Soap frowns. “What d’ye—“

Soap snaps his mouth shut. That’s not his voice.

Keeping his lips firmly sealed as he stands and swipes his styrofoam cup off the table, Soap (Soap?) leaves the room in a hurry. He doesn’t stop even when Gaz calls after him, not pausing until he’s safely locked behind the door of his room.

Ghost—at least, Soap presumes, hopes, prays it’s Ghost in Soap’s body—is already waiting for him.

“Took you long enough,” Ghost remarks. It’s too odd, hearing his intonation from the wrong accent, the wrong voice, the wrong body.

“Well, so-rry.” Soap folds his—Ghost’s—arms across his chest. “You happen to know something, then?”

Ghost scowls. Soap takes that as a very clear no.

Soap sighs. “Then let’s figure it out together, aye?”

Ghost offers a reluctant nod. Soap supposes that’s good enough.

*

They mull over just about every possibility they can think of, between avoiding the unnecessary responsibilities, public spaces, and sneaking back to Ghost’s room to get a spare mask. They pore over recent missions, things that may have been said, done. But no pieces connect enough to create a reasonable enough picture.

The day ends, frustratingly, without answers. And with nothing else to try or think up, they resign to gradually falling asleep in Soap’s room, tangled together as was still normal enough.

Except for the fact that Soap is hardly used to being the little spoon. But alas.

A thought springs into Soap’s mind( before sleep is able to grab ahold of him.

“Ghost?”

A quite hum into the fabric of Soap’s shirt.

“I just… I wanted t’say something, before we find out whether this whole thing is permanent or not.”

“What’s’it?” Ghost mumbles.

Soap squeezes his eyes shut. Takes a deep breathe, reassured by the weight of an arm around him, even if it is technically his own.

“The thing we have—had? Have, between us,” Soap starts. “The sleeping together, whatever else. I never… I never wanted that to only be casual.”

There’s a long pause. Distantly, Soap’s ears ring, and when Ghost swallows it seems far too loud in the dark and quiet.

Then, in a mere whisper Ghost admits, “I never did either.”

That confession weighs heavy. But it’s a good presence, otherwise underlined by their current issue.

Soap nods to himself. “Awrite. Well, when we get this fixed—when, not if, because fuck if I’m gonna be stuck with your mug the rest of my life—what d’ye say we try something… real.”

Ghost’s breath is almost silent, the hitch in his throat nearly undetectable. He pulls Soap closer.

“I’d like that,” he says. “When.”

“When,” Soap agrees.

They fall asleep.

*

Soap wakes the next morning with his arms wrapped around a solid presence, bed warm and full. He breathes in Ghost’s scent, runs his fingers through blond curls.

“When,” Soap murmurs to himself. His own voice.

What a fuckin’ day.

[lolchicsa]

Dirty, filthy fun

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, nsfw, p in v sex, unprotected sex, wall sex, ‘princess’ pet name, mask stays on, thigh fucking, fingering, slight orgasm denial

Part 2 of 2: smut! Part 1 here

No use of y/n

Loosely follows the events of the ‘Alone’ mission. Reader’s vacation was ruined by Shadow Company going on a genocidal rampage :( But fear not dear reader! Mr Ghost is here to make it better ;P

A/N: First time using Tumblr to post stories and using mobile to write this. First time writing smut so I’m taking inspiration from other authors.

A few weeks had passed by since I first met Ghost. Trust me when I say this, a lot has happened in those few weeks. In that time, I received a crash course to bring me up to speed. It include anything and everything I needed to know about the current situation I was in.

Ghost had met up with Soap that night, and we made it to a safe house outside of town. That’s how I met Rodolfo. He was kind enough to give me the comfortable bed for the first couple days. Soap had gone on a tangent seconds after introducing himself. The Shadow’s had betrayed them, took some of their men hostage and placed them in a heavily fortified prison.

The hatred these men have for Graves is understandable. One night, they left on a mission and I was asked to stay behind. So I was left alone at the safe house to wander. I didn’t mind feeling useless in that situation, I would’ve been a burden if I did go. The mission was successful, but now the house is overcrowded.

I stuck with Ghost the majority of the time. When he was around, that is. He didn’t seem bothered by my presence which encouraged me to stick around. We would make small talk with each other when no one else was around. Ghost doesn’t like to talk about his past… or anything significant to him. I had asked about the mask once… he ignored me when I asked so I didn’t push further.

Gaz and Price are part of the same task force as Ghost and Soap. At least that’s what I heard. Price was definitely a father figure to the rest of them. It was quite fun hanging out with all of them and hear them banter with each other.

Together, along with the Mexican Special forces, they successfully raided their previous base and took control again. Soap had to fight of a tank that Graves was driving. He does not shut up about that, whilst Ghost didn’t talk about the mission at all.

A party was held that night to celebrate the team’s success. Drinking and loud laughter was involved. Ghost had wandered off almost immediately to a more secluded part of the base. I followed of course, couldn’t leave the big man alone after such a day. He seemed surprised when I walked into his space that night. We decided to go on a walk outside and marvel at the beautiful sky over Las Alma’s.

Price had filled me in on their plan the next day and how they will get me back on American soil unharmed. They were heading to Chicago… presumably to kill someone. I hadn’t asked what the mission was about, to worried about leaving Ghost. We became close friends in the limited time we knew one another. It was weird, but I loved being in his presence.

“I’m going to miss you” Ghost and I took up a room in the base, far away from anyone else. I had dragged him here to talk and he was kind enough to oblige. Today was the last day before we moved out. I would miss Ghost the most, I hated the idea of never seeing him again.

“You’ll manage without me” came his gravely voice. It was deep, music to my ears and, with the accent, it made my knees weak. It was fair to say I gathered quite the attraction to Ghost in the limited time we’ve know each other. I would think of him at night, my hand between my legs and recall the night we met.

My fantasies were varied when it comes to Ghost. Dreaming of him fucking me against a wall was my favourite. I guess it had something to do with how we met, I could never forget the way he held me back then. Sometimes, I imagined riding him until we are both a moaning mess of sweat and pleasure. If I ever were to hear him moan, I swear I would go insane.

“I don’t think I can go back to living my life like before. Now that I’ve met you, I don’t want to leave your side. I… I like you… a lot.” My eyes dropped to stare at the floor, scared to see his reaction to my confession. Nervousness flooded my veins, I started picking at my nails to remain sane. I could feel my cheeks heat up with embarrassment, I could feel his stare.

My thoughts drifted back to the night we met. How he had me pinned to a wall faster then my mind could process his presence. I wanted it to happen again, just under different circumstances. What would he look like without his gear on? What would he feel like?

My back was pressed to the wall behind me, my breath hitched in anticipation. He was there, giving me exactly what I wanted. Our close proximity was euphoric, the feel of his breath on my face was all I could focus on. I closed my eyes, memorizing the feel of his body pressed against mine.

“Is this really what you want? For me to fuck you against this wall? Have you moaning out my name over and over again? I can do that for you princess. Tell me” he said, using his hand to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. Eyes flared with lust stared into mine, I felt trapped in the best way possible. He was like a beast, ready to rip me apart and fill me with pleasure.

“Yes… yes I want you to make me scream”

My voice was uneven, trembling with anticipation. Ghost, the beast of a man I have learned to adore, took in a long breath. Staring at me with hooded eyes, his hands landed on my waist first. The heat they brought with them was so delicious, I was getting addicted to it. I took hold of his hands and guided them beneath my shirt.

In seconds, he had my shirt off and his hands were slowly tracing the exposed skin of my waist. His touch was gentle, like he was memorizing the softness of my body. For someone who believes he can’t be soft, Ghost definitely fits the soft lover type… at least for now. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his adventurist hands, leading a way downwards. This softness of his is amazing, but my patience was running thin. I wanted his cock, balls deep in me now, fucking me against the wall like in my fantasy. I want to scream his name for the base to hear.

So I took matter’s in my own hands, shoving my pants down along with my drenched panties, bra following soon after. Ghost had backed away from me, heavy gaze drifting over my body. “Beautiful” escaped his lips before his eyes snapped back to mine. He held my gaze as he started to strip as well. “A little eager are we princess?” he teased, shirt discarded to the floor. A quiet chuckle followed his words, flowing through his mask. I wonder if he will let me see his face?

His warmth filled my personal space once more, his hard muscles pressed against my soft breasts. Our breaths mingled together, adding to the euphoria. My mind couldn’t believe this handsome man agreed to this. I could feel his arousal pressing against my stomach. Tall fucker, he is. Firm and muscular as well. Fuck… he’s perfect.

“Tell me what you want princess”

“I want you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow”

That’s all I had to say to make him go feral. He gripped my waist, forcing me into the wall. His head dipped to rest on my shoulder as he spread my legs apart with his knee. His still clothed knee, which was soaking up my arousal. I couldn’t help but grind against it, feeding my growing need. A sigh escaped my lips at the pleasure caused by such a simple action.

One of Ghost’s hands slipped from my waist, going for my sensitive clit. The small pressure he applied had me moaning loudly. My hips bucked against his hand, craving the friction. I could feel the drenched fabric under me. The feeling was exquisite and I never wanted it to end. My head tilted back against the wall as I closed my eyes, only focusing on the back and forth movement of my pussy against Ghost’s thigh while he played with my sensitive nub.

“Bloody hell, you’re so wet for me” he whispered in my ear, making a whimpering moan escape my lips. His grip on my waist stilled my attempts to breed with his leg. I let a whimper escape, un-pleased by the sudden loss of friction. Before I could utter a word, his fingers were at my entrance, pushing in and giving me another wave of pleasure.

“Fuck… Ghost…” I didn’t know what I was trying to say, just wanted him to keep going. A chuckle came from him while his fingers reached deeper. Wet sounds emitted from my hole, his fingers moving in and out at a slow pace. I became a moaning mess in seconds. He was skilled with his hands, that was for sure. A pressure started building in my stomach, thoughts going numb. His fingers picked up speed and hit a spot I didn’t know existed.

“Fuck yes! Yes! Ghost!” I couldn’t help but moan out his name from the pleasure he was giving me. His fingers drove in and out at an ungodly speed, fucking me closer to my orgasm. “So close! Fuck!” My legs turned to jelly, my arms flinging themselves around Ghost so I could hold on for dear life. I was close to heaven, so close… then he stopped.

It was like he knew I was about to go over the edge, touch nirvana and be filled with pleasure. I couldn’t believe it, what the fuck? My mind was still fussy when I realized what Ghost was up too. He had me firmly pressed against the wall, my legs still parted by force. But he also had his cock in his hand, using my juices to lube himself nicely.

I barely had time to admire his length before it disappeared from view. His dick was at my entrance in seconds, stretching me perfectly. A loud cry of his name left my throat while he slowly pushed in. He felt so good, filling my insides just right. It felt so right being held like this and fucked against a wall.

“Fuck, you’re tight princess” Ghost whispered, slightly out of breath. He started moving immediately after, slowly pushing in and out. We both groaned in unison, enjoying the shared pleasure each other gives. The feeling of Ghost between my legs had me clinging to him for dear life. My nails dug into his back, almost drawing blood.

A loud moan escaped Ghost, making a shiver run down my spine. The sound bounced off the walls as I memorized his beauty. His pace quickened as tears started forming in my eyes. The wall made it impossible to arch my back the way I wanted it too, but Ghost was already hitting that sweet spot without my help. My previously denied orgasm came back full force, pressure building once again.

“Fuck! Ghost… I’m gonna c…”

“Simon”

His voice cut through my sentence. I couldn’t quite make out what it meant. The rhythmic sway of his thrust started to fall apart. He was close too, I could feel it.

“My name is Simon, princess” He said between breaths, a moan following soon after. We were moments away from reaching our tipping points and I couldn’t be happier that he entrusted me with his real name. Simon, what a beautiful name.

“Simon!” A loud cry of euphoria soon follow the name of the man before me. It hit like a freight train, my body thoroughly enjoying the release he gave me. Simon soon followed me over the edge, coating my insides with thick ropes of his seed. In that moment, everything was perfect. I forgot about the last couple weeks, I forgot about the stress.

My body was numb, I would be on the ground if it weren’t for Ghost. We stood still, both trying to catch our breath’s before doing anything else. There was an unspoken truth shared between us, it was the best sex either of us had in a long time.

I would happily give my life away if it meant I could stay with Ghost and do this again.

[autisticlancemcclain]

parts 1 2

———

For most of Luis’s life, he’s known walking through the faded purple front door of the house he’s grown up in means he will be assaulted by noise. For so many years, he would even hear the sounds of yelling and banging and general chaos before he even made it up the steps. Several siblings tended to to that, he supposes. His key in the lock meant prepare for a whirlwind of motion and sound, for rapid Spanish and crashing sounds of clumsy people walking into each other and the calamity of home.

He tenses, even now, walking through that front door, reflexively preparing for an onslaught of noise that doesn’t come. Even though he struggled to get the key through the lock with one hand, the other holding a tired Lance, he prepared without realising what he was doing, only to become violently aware of the silence as he kicks the door shut behind him.

He freezes, right there in front of the door, keys and diaper bag clutched in one hand, Lancito gently cradled in the other, head resting on Luis’ shoulder and thumb stuck in his mouth.

It has been months, since his parents…since his parents. A new year has passed. A quiet, silent Christmas, locked in their own rooms. He has walked in with a child in his arms, after stopping at the campus daycare for the first time this semester, no different than what he’s been doing for the entirety of last semester. There is no reason for him to have walked into his home and forgotten, however briefly, how empty and quiet their home has become. (It feels, vaguely, like one of the first crisp days of autumn, stepping out of your house in the early morning and smelling the almost-frosty air, and blinking away the sudden memory of October when you were eight. Like the sudden snap out of your past, the trippy feeling of walking up in the present without realizing how far your nostalgia had driven you out of it. Startling and aching, really, the direct comparison).

Lance makes a whiny noise in the back of his throat, startling Luis into action. He starts to bounce the toddler, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he slips off his shoes and sets the diaper bag by the door.

“I know, I know, baby. Let’s go sit down for a bit.”

Lance is very…clingy.

All of them are, in some way. Rachel has just turned fifteen years old, but Luis wakes up to find her curled up at the foot of his bed more than twice a week, driven out of her room by something she refuses to voice. Marco spends every lunch period situated in the school office, hogging the phone to methodically call the rest of them to make sure they’re alive. Veronica cleans, obsessively, sorting through everyone’s things and scrubbing everything she can get her hands on like she can leave her imprint on them for when she’s not there.

“Yes, yes, I hear you.” Lance whines louder when Luis sets him down on the couch, babbling something nonsensical but stern enough on Luis’s direction that he cracks a smile. “Yeesh, do we need that tone? I’m just putting a movie on.”

He nonetheless tries to hurry things up, lest Lance get too antsy and start to cry. Once Finding Nemo starts playing — and Jesus fuck everyone in the household hates that movie so fucking bad, at this point, but it is the only fucking movie that Lance will watch and that keeps him calm — he scoops the toddler back up, collapsing back on the couch and tucking him under his arm. Lance snuggles into him easily, little elbows digging into Luis’ skin as he settles himself, and let’s put a huge, long sigh once he stills.

Luis snorts. “Stressful day at work, pal?”

“Shhhh,” Lance hushes, flailing a hand at Luis’ face area, presumably aiming for his mouth. “Nene. Sh.”

Worryingly, even at fourteen months old, Lance hasn’t really begun to talk. They’ve yet to hear him form any actual words, let alone a real sentence, in either of the languages used around him. But he has several vocalizations for things he wants — nana for food, nene for Nemo, and regular old toddler ‘no’. Lots of ‘n’ sounds. They’re saving up to take him to a specialist, but for now they just try to encourage any sounds he makes that are word-like.

“Okay,” Luis mumbles, kissing Lance’s palm. He hums, distractedly patting Luis’ cheek, eyes trained on the blue of the TV as if it’s the first time he’s seen the movie instead of the three billionth. “I’ll be quiet for Nemo.”

He lets his eyes unfocus on the screen in front of him, mind wandering, slow and lethargic. He can hear the ticking of the clock from the kitchen, almost echoing in how loud it is. It makes him tired, slow; the only time he used to hear it as a kid was on late summer nights, up late, falling asleep on the kitchen table as his mother hummed in the kitchen, making fried plantains with the fruit she’d gotten in the morning market. Lance’s weight is heavy on his side, tired and burnt out as he is, and the ebb and flow of the movie is numbingly familiar, and clock ticks steady. Tick, tick, tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

———

“Luis.” He whines, low and rumbly as something pokes his shoulder. “Luis, dorkbrain, get up.”

He groans, louder this time, cracking open one bleary eye. His eyes burn, contacts dried out, but he can make out the blurry outline of his sister, mouth twisted in a half-smile, grease smeared across her nose.

“Get up, doofus. You left the baby unsupervised.”

The words take a moment to register, but he shoots up in panic when they do. He looks frantically around the room, sighing in relief when he finds Lance sitting quietly in the corner, playing with his toy planes. He’s making tiny little crash noises every time he crashes then into each other, walking one of Rachel’s old Polly Pockets across the scene and giggling to himself.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face as the panic starts to seep from his heart. “You fuckin’ scared me, Ronnie.”

She smirks. “And I’ll be doing it again.”

Luis decides not to tell her about the face grease. He was going to, but now she can suffer for being a dickhead. Maybe she’ll even break out.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

He glances over at Lance again, just to double-check, but he’s still playing happily by himself, so he gets to his feet.

“C’mon,” he says, inclining his head towards the kitchen. “Kids’ll be home soon. Let’s make dinner.”

“Dibs on not doing cooking!” Veronica’s hand flies to her nose, cackling at Luis’ indignance.”

“Hey! Dinner is a shared endeavour! You can’t just dibs on not doing it!”

“Can too, loser! C’mere, Lancey-baby.” She scoops him up, planes and Pollys and all, and lugs him too the kitchen.

“Using the baby to avoid arguments is illegal.”

“Eat my farts, lunch boy.”

“That’s a stupid insult,” Luis mutters to himself, glaring at his sister one last time before turning to the fridge. She ignores him gleefully, picking up a plane and gently crashing it against the one Lance is holding. Instead of any amusement, he looks at her in such comical offense, gobsmacked that his sister would have the audacity to smack around his planes, that the young mechanic’s apprentice bursts out laughing. She hunches over, wheezing, as Lance scolds her in baby-talk.

Rolling his eyes fondly, he turns back to the fridge, finally opening the door and glancing inside.

If his life was a cartoon, there would be tumbleweeds rolling through the white, cooled shelves. That’s how fuckin’ bare it is.

“Well that’s…not good,” Veronica says when Luis fails to say anything.

Luis swallows roughly. “We forgot to budget for fucking groceries this month.”

Veronica hangs her head. “Fuck.” Even little Lance goes quiet, look between them in concern, bottom lip stuck out and trembling. Veronica reaches out a hand and brushes through his hair to comfort him, which kind of works. He abandons his toys to curl into her, thumb back in his mouth.

Luis opens and closes the fridge three separate times, hoping food will magically appear. When that doesn’t work, he wonders if he can make soup out of ketchup, or something. Add onion skin for flavours.

“We’re not cut out for this, Ron.”

She laughs sharply. “Yeah, no shit.”

She opens her mouth again, and from the look in her face Luis knows she’s about to say something dumb, so he beats her to the punch.

“I’m quitting school,” he blurts.

She blinks in shock. A second later her eyes narrow, and her face goes steely. “Like fucking hell you are.”

Luis sighs. He turns, slightly, reaching over and grabbing Lance from her arms. He bounces him gently, leaning in and blowing raspberries onto his cheek so he doesn’t have to look at Vero.

“My tuition eats up half of our funds,” he says quietly. “And the library job barely puts a dent in it. I can’t…if I don’t have as many hours in school, I can get a job that’ll get me money fast, and I can —”

Before he can finish, and before Veronica can argue, the sound of the lock turning in the front door interrupts them both. There’s no giggling, no banter, no even squabbling as Rachel and Marco walk through the door.

There hasn’t been.

Luis would trade anything to have it back.

“Hi,” Marco says slowly, reading the tension in the room. “Everything…okay?”

Luis smiles tightly. “Fine, buddy. We were just talking.”

Marco’s expression flattens. “I’m not stupid, Luis.”

“I know.” A beat. “It’s just nothing for you to stress about.”

Marco says nothing for a moment, staring at Luis flatly, before he tosses his backpack agains the wall and squares his shoulders.

“We are four and six years younger then you,” he starts. Rachel nods resolutely beside him. “We’ve been — obviously we’re not doing super stellar. I know the fridge is empty. And that you cried over the mortgage last night. And we heard you arguing from outside.”

Luis and Veronica look at each other guiltily.

Rachel stares at them, eyes flat and annoyed, fingers pinching the bridge of her noise. She hasn’t spoken in months, but Luis has learnt to read her unspoken — that’s a bitch, please if he’s ever heard one.

“Stop apologizing for stupid shit,” Marco says for her. “We’re not trying to make you feel guilty. We’re trying to say that we can help.”

“Not your job,” Veronica says immediately. “Your job is graduate highschool and develop your brain.”

“Not a single person here is done developing!” Marco explodes. “All of us are still fucking growing! We lost our fucking parents, all of us, and instead of letting us be a part of the solution you’re blocking us out and treating us like babies!”

“Wanting you to be safe is not babying you,” Luis says shortly.

“Oh, did you read that in one of your parenting books?”

Yes, actually. He did. But he’s annoyed that Marco knows about those, so he pretends he didn’t hear like the mature grownup he is.

“Piss off,” he says, like an adult.

“Yeah,” Veronica agrees. “We’re the adults, and we say cool it with the crazy talk.”

Marco glares harshly at them. Rachel joins him. Lance makes a short, cut-off whine, turning to shove his face in Luis’ neck. His hands come up to pat his back reflexively.

“I quit violin lessons,” Marco says eventually.

Luis’ jaw drops. Veronica joins his indignation.

“What?!” she shouts.

Luis feels like something is wrapped around his throat, choking him. His heartbeat pounds in his ears. The desperate hope he’s been clinging too, the goals to get Marco and Rachel and Vero everywhere they want to go in life, come crashing to the ground around him.

“Julliard,” he says weakly. He can’t force his voice to say anything further.

Marco juts put his chin. “They were two hundred dollars per session. I talked to my tutor. She said…” he trails off slightly, voice getting gravelly, but gathers himself again when Rachel grabs his arm and squeezes. “She wrote a reference letter for me,” he continues softly. “Even though I’m only a junior. And she’s apparently been talking to the admission staff since I first started taking lessons with her. As long as I keep practicing every day, she says I have nothing to worry about. But I’ll have time for a part time job, now. On weekends at least.” He locks eyes with Luis. “Don’t fucking quit school, stupid.“

Luis holds his gaze for several minutes. He wants to contest it all. He wants Marco to take his lessons every day and come back exhilarated, like he always used to. He wants Veronica to focus on building projects in the garage in her free time, instead of picking up hours to blow through her apprenticeship as quickly as possible. He wants to hear Rachel’s voice again. He wants Lance to stop flinching every time things get even playfully tense.

But there are things he can get, and things he cannot.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay.”

Plans will have to change. He graduates in a few months, so long as his final courses go well. The original plan was med school, but that’s obviously no longer an option. Not with everything.

But if Marco can adapt, so can he.

“We’ll work things out,” he says, trying to channel his father’s voice. It must work, somehow, because Veronica smiles in that bitter way of hers, that she does when she remembers.

“Of course we can.”

[kellykidd]

Personal Matter: Chapter 4

*Gif belongs to its rightful owner, it is not mine*

Pairing: Matthew Casey x reader

Summary: What was the blood from?

Words: 1096

Warnings: blood, pregnancy, Author chooses to not use additional warnings out of fear of spoilers, once again I remind you to read with caution as this chapter does not have public warnings due to fear for spoilers. If you would like warnings, please DM and I will be happy to help you out

Read on Ao3 here

Notes: This is the final chapter (it may be revisited at a later date)! Thank you for reading and join the Taglist to be notified when any works are posted!

Join my taglist here

Tags: @mrspeacem1nusone @kiddbegins @pensfan5871

—-

“Matt,” you awoke from your sleep, “where am I?”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re at Med.”

“How’s the baby?” You started trying to get up, but soreness kept your feet from leaving the bed, “how’s our baby, Matt?”

“I don’t know, the doctor will be in soon.”

“What happened?”

“How much do you remember?”

“I remember… the traffic… and bleeding, a lot.”

“We were on the way to your doctor’s appointment when we got stuck in traffic and you started bleeding. I called Med and gave them a heads up I was bringing you in.”

“Why was I bleeding?”

Doctor Asher interrupted your conversation.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Asher,” she announced, “I’m one of the OBGYNs here.”

“How’s my baby? Why was I bleeding?” You replied, tears in your eyes.

“I’m afraid you seem to have had a miscarriage this morning. I’m very sorry.”

Matt bit his lip to keep from crying as he could see you already had tears down your cheeks. A warm hug soon followed from Matt, a comforting act as you both endured one of the worst days of your lives.

You stopped crying for a brief moment, more out of shock than anything else, “we had sex last night, could that have…”

“No, no. It was nothing either of you did,” she reassured, “have you had a visit with an OB before?”

“We were heading there when the miscarriage started,” Matt explained, “but we presume the baby was about four or five weeks along.”

“We’ll give your doctor a call and give them an update. Is there anyone we can call to stay with you both?”

Kelly and Stella appeared on your floor at Med. You could hear them asking for you.

“Hey,” she announced, sitting beside you on your bed.

“I’ll be back,” Dr Archer said.

“Thank you,” you wiped a few tears from your face before more followed.

“Thanks for coming,” Matt hugged Kelly.

“Stella-“ you said, tears coming back to your eyes.

“I know, I know, it’s okay.”

Kelly pulled Matt into the hall, but they were still within earshot.

“How you holding up?” He asked.

“Broken apart,” Matt replied, “but I’ve got to keep it together for her.”

“What can I do?”

“I should get back in there. She shouldn’t be alone.”

Matt started to push back into the room, Kelt holding him back.

“She’s with Stella, she’s good. Do what you need to do. Cry, get angry, go for a walk, I don’t care. Just do what you need to do to be there for her.”

“You sure?”

“Go to your truck, do whatever it is you need to do, come back in an hour. I have to get to OFI, but Stella will stay with her, get her whatever she needs. Go, clear your head.”

“I have my phone, call me if anything changes.”

“We will.”

You heard Matt’s footsteps get further and further away as Kelly re-entered your room.

“Where’s Casey?” Stella asked.

“He needed some time to clear his head. He’ll be back in about an hour,” Kelly replied, “I have to run over to OFI, are you guys okay for an hour?”

“We’re good, thanks Kel,” a slight smile peaking through her lips.

Kelly left and you were left alone with Stella.

“How you feeling? For real this time?” Stella asked, sitting in the chair her husband had just left.

“Sad, but we’ll make it through. I should call Boden though,” you started moving around in your bed.

“I can call Boden. Get some rest, I believe the doctor said she’d be back soon.”

Doctor Asher knocked on your door.

“Is this a good time?” She asked.

“Yes, yes. Please come in.”

You reached for Stella’s hand, fearing the worst.

“We’re ready to discharge you tomorrow morning, with a plan to follow up with the OB you were originally going to see, if that’s who you would still like to see.”

“Is it tomorrow a little too soon?” You asked.

“There’s no reason to keep you here. Rest, fluids and be gentle to yourself, you’ve been through a lot,” she explained, “any questions I can answer for you?”

“Not right now,” you smiled, “thank you.”

Doctor Asher slipped out of the room and you reached for your phone.

“Calling Casey?” Stella asked.

You nodded as Matt picked up.

“Hey baby, what’s wrong? Everything okay?” Matt rushed.

“Doctor Asher just came in, she’s sending me home tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah, are you on your way back?”

You heard a knock at the door.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he chuckled as he walked in your room.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Stella smiled.

“How you feeling?” He asked, snuggling up beside you on the bed.

“Physically, okay. Mentally? That’s a little different. One day at a time,” you smiled.

“I love you,” he kissed your forehead, “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

“I love you too Matt. How are you doing with all of this?”

“I’m sad everything that happened today, but it’s okay. We’ll get through it.”

“Where’d you go for that like hour stretch?”

“I’ve got a buddy who does construction that gives around here. I went to pound nails for 40 minutes,” he smiled, “made me feel a little less broken apart.”

You embraced him in a hug, “Matt we’re gonna get through this right?”

“We’re gonna get through it baby, don’t you worry.”

——

Helping you to his car, the grief was really starting to hit Matt.

“Ready to go home?” He asked, biting his lip to keep himself together.

“Yeah, have to go home at some point,” you smiled.

You could tell something was off.

“Hey, hey, come here,” you brought him into a hug and tears started to run down his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he wiped the tear from his face.

"Hey, listen to me. There's nothing to be sorry about. You're allowed to be upset. This really sucks, I know."

"I was looking forward to starting a life with you," he admitted, situating you in the passenger seat and running around to the driver's seat.

"Matt," you reasoned, "who says we can't?"

Matt looked shocked at what you said, "but there's no baby anymore."

"Matt, I love you. And as awful and painful as losing our baby has been today, I'm not about to let it ruin anything that happens between us."

"I love you so much."

"Let's go home, Matt Casey," you smiled.

"Your place or mine?"

"Our place.”

He leaned in to kiss your forehead and started the car.

[bloodblanks]

30 frames per second [ben drowned x reader] — chapter i.

You have overbearingly strict parents who forced you into studying a degree that you don’t even like, and now you’re stuck having to write a thesis paper for it. But whatever, you can handle it. That is, until your computer starts running into some problems.

co-written with @blxrrii and @heartsfromvenus! ♡

author’s note: this fanfiction will not contain much, if any, dark or explicit content, but nonetheless,

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

chaos theory noun noun: chaos theory

the branch of mathematics that deals with complex systems whose behaviour is highly sensitive to slight changes in conditions, so that small alterations can give rise to strikingly great consequences.

‘It’s all because of that damn phone!’ 

That’s what your parents would have said when looking for the root cause of the problem. 

This time though, they’d almost be right. Almost. 

Except it wasn’t your phone that had started all of this; it was the PC. Which for some reason, your parents seemed to worry about less than your phone. Why did your phone always have to be the scapegoat? You were sure they wouldn’t have got you one if it wasn’t a necessity nowadays. 

Anyway. 

A prominent concept in chaos theory was the butterfly effect. The idea that a single flap of a butterfly’s wings could later cause a typhoon. That was what would soon become of your life. Not that you would’ve known originally, and not that you would’ve been aware of until it was over and done with. 

And it all started because of that damn PC.  

—

You yawned, stretching out to the edges of your bedframe with your fingers splayed. Rolling over to your side, you carefully inspected your alarm clock, a slight grimace on your face as you stared at the time. 

You had spent the entire morning doing nothing. That was your final conclusion, though you were confused about how it happened. Not that it mattered much because it was technically still early. Or at least early enough. 

The day had only begun not too long ago, your first class of the day yet to start. There was still some time to kill, although you figured you should at least get out of bed instead of lying there scrolling through your phone. 

With a groan, you reluctantly got up, making your way to the kitchen of your too-large, too-extravagant home. Your house stood at a grand height of three stories tall, not including the basement and the attic. The rest of the house was filled with an abundance of rooms, far more than your small family of three would ever need. You supposed it made sense, though, seeing as your parents didn’t have much else to do with the money. With no siblings to pay for, your parents only had to cover their living expenses, yours, and your studies, which they had more than enough for. 

You absentmindedly gazed around for something to eat, eyes scanning over your kitchen in hopes that you could locate what you wanted before your parents noticed. It wasn’t as if they’d berate you for eating, but as odd as it was, something about eating in front of them made you deeply uncomfortable and shy. 

Quickly glancing over your shoulder to make sure nobody was there, you opened your secret snack drawer, quickly picking something out before covering it up again with the small hand towels that were carefully balanced on top of it. 

Satisfied with your stashing, you started to make your way upstairs, which was a surprisingly long route due to the size of your home. You had just reached the top of the staircase when you ran into your dad, who took it upon himself to start a conversation. 

“Y/N, shouldn’t you be getting to class?” His voice was hoarse, presumably because he had just woken up. You stared at him blankly, wondering if it was a genuine question or just a bad attempt at conversation. Where else did he possibly think you were going?

“Yeah, I’m just getting ready.” You took care to mask the irritation beneath your voice, knowing that your dad would be upset if you didn’t, which wouldn’t end well for you. You weren’t particularly in the mood for a lecture today. Not that you ever really were. 

You didn’t hate your parents or anything, it wasn’t like that. You loved them to some degree, in a familial way… but it was hard thinking of them as anything more than that. You’ve heard of people who describe themselves as having a friendship with their parents, but that was never more than just a mere myth to you, having never seen or experienced it yourself. 

Besides the occasional bout of teen angst and puberty mood swings, you mostly got along with your parents. The problem was more so that you weren’t close to them. You didn’t understand them; they didn’t understand you. 

But the one thing that really wedged the distance between you and your parents was the fact that they were strict. Overbearingly strict. 

Often, outsiders thought of your family dynamic as ‘sweet,’ hell, even ‘perfect.’ Of course, they had no clue what it was like to actually be in it. You didn’t think they’d say that if they lived it like you were forced to. 

Sadly, no matter how much you wished for it, you couldn’t swap places with them. 

How badly you wished that you could, though. Because despite being a fully grown adult, legally able to vote and drink at the fine age of twenty-one, in their eyes, you were and always would be a child. 

And so, your existence came with a clear set of rules. 

Those rules had been around for as long as you could remember, though they were rudimentary at first, minor things such as no snacks before bedtime. However, as you aged, their rules became increasingly noticeable and more frustrating to follow. 

You had to alert your parents each time you left the house, school being the only exception. You had to tell them where you were going, how long you would be out for, and who you were with. Oh, their parents’ phone numbers had to be included in your report, as well. Curfew was 7PM sharp, right at dinnertime. Sleepovers were out of the question unless they took place at your home. 

Dating was strictly forbidden, and all activities related to that went along with it. No kissing, no making out, and god forbid you even bring up the topic of sex, not that you would ever dare to, not that you would ever have a reason to. You weren’t sure what they were thinking because you were sure that your parents also expected you to get married and have kids someday, so you were utterly confused as to how they expected you to do that. 

Underage drinking was out of the question, even though you were sure that most teenagers did it, anyway. But despite the law now permitting you to do so, your parents had made it clear that you were not allowed to drink still. Smoking and doing drugs? You’d probably be disowned, that is if you weren’t dead. 

It was ludicrous, really. And what was even worse was that on top of all of that, you were not allowed to play video games. 

It was something along the lines of ‘video games cause violence,’ ‘video games will distract you from your studies,’ ‘video games are a waste of time,’ and ‘video games are bad for you (just because).’ 

You remember having approached the subject once, and your parents responded with a such intense, passionate hatred for video games that you never thought to bring it up again. 

Sure, you supposed you could have secretly played free phone or PC games when away from the hawk eyes of your parents. Still, after hearing so much negativity towards gaming, you had become disinterested. After all, you couldn’t have even known what you were missing out on. 

Your parents’ behaviour resulted in you being extraordinarily sheltered and mostly unsocialized. Kids your age… didn’t really want to hang out with you. You weren’t bullied, but even in your private school with classmates like yourself, you were still sometimes called names such as a ‘goody two shoes’ or a ‘teacher’s pet.’ It wasn’t like you wanted to be that way, but that didn’t change anything. 

Nonetheless, you were separated from most of your peers, often listening to them talk about a party coming up on the weekend, or a group sleepover at someone’s place, knowing that you would never be invited, and even if you were, it wasn’t like your parents would allow you to attend. 

Of course, a portion of children had lives similar to yours, and from that portion, your parents carefully handpicked your friends. 

Rachel and Selina. Those were the friends that your parents had chosen for you. From an early age, they had been in contact with their parents and, from there on, set up play dates, dinners, hangouts, and even sleepovers—at your place, that is. Even with the selected friends, you still weren’t allowed to sleep at their homes. 

The two girls weren’t necessarily the greatest of friends. It wasn’t that they were mean or rude; they were just so incredibly bland. 

There was nothing of joy that any of them talked about. You never experienced the typical teenage girl discussion of boys and high school crushes, instead being forced to converse about school, grades, plans for the future and so on. This by itself wasn’t so much of a problem, but the fact that they only conversed about the same three topics made them absolutely unbearable to listen to after a while. You wondered how they could possibly not get bored of going on and on about it. 

“You better hurry up, then!” your father exclaimed, yawning as he passed by you, making his way down the stairs and likely into the kitchen for his breakfast. 

—

Class came and went relatively fast. You only had a singular class today, but your mom still insisted on driving you to and from school. 

When you got home, you flopped down at your desktop, grabbed your planner and flipped through it to find the current day’s tasks. 

Mere seconds after you flipped to the correct page, your expression soured, a frown making its way to your face as you read the first item on the list. 

Work on thesis. 

You had already suffered through three years of university, and now in your last year, the final step for your bachelor’s in pediatrics was to write and complete your thesis paper. You weren’t even particularly fond of the subject, but it was the best choice out of all the ones your parents had listed as acceptable. 

You had written many difficult papers throughout your life, but this one had to be the most intimidating one of them all so far. You had started writing it not too long ago, although you had been putting it off simply because it was rather dreadful to work on. Still, it was only a matter of time before your parents found out about your procrastination, so you figured that you should force yourself to make at least some progress. 

A long sigh escaped your lips as you closed the small planner in your hand, mentally preparing yourself for the gruelling task ahead. 

—

The longer you sat in front of your computer screen, the more you felt like your brain was melting into goo. It was as if something in your brain had overheated and fried itself, and now you were no longer processing information, left to blankly stare at the words before you that now meant little more than unintelligible symbols. 

You weren’t even close to being done with your thesis, you had written just about 1,700 words prior to this, and you now totalled at 2,352. Considering how you had browsed the internet, done chores, and completed other assignments throughout this to avoid your essay, you felt like you had done a surprising amount of work. Not that it was anywhere near enough. 

Nonetheless, you were now sitting at the desk, mind slowly rotting away, regretting your decision to procrastinate so much. Perhaps it would’ve been easier if you had done this sooner when your mind was less tired from doing work. 

But you couldn’t do anything about it now. 

When you thought about it, you weren’t entirely sure as to why you put off your assignment for so long. While it was probably the most torturous thing that schools could’ve devised, there surely had to be more to it. 

Were you just stressed? Perhaps it was the sheer amount of pressure your parents put on you with their near unattainable expectations. Maybe it was because you didn’t even enjoy the subject you were studying, not looking forward to graduating and finding a job because you didn’t even want a career in pediatrics. You wondered if you should’ve fought your parents back then to study something you actually liked, but you quickly shrugged off the thought. It was pointless to defy your parents, not that you would know, because you never even bothered to try. Regardless, it wasn’t like you knew what you even liked because your parents didn’t care for you trying out things that they deemed useless to your education and future job. 

Or perhaps you were just highly sick of being a caged bird with its wings clipped for extra safety measures. 

You tried to take your mind off of those thoughts. It wasn’t like anything would change. Your life had been like this for as long as you had known; there was no reason for things to be different. There was no one to rescue you from your dilemma. 

You slumped down in your chair, seemingly having a staring contest with the glaring white screen before your eyes. The blinking cursor served to further taunt you, mocking you for not having typed out anything new onto the blank canvas. 

The most sensical solution, at this point, would be to shut off your PC, get some rest and pray that the next day will be better. However, you were feeling stubborn. You had set your goal for a minimum of 2,500 words by the end of today, and you were going to continue staring at your screen until you eventually thought of something. 

You wouldn’t get anywhere, but you didn’t want to admit to that. 

And so, you moved your mouse around slightly to prevent the screen from turning off. You sat back up from your slouched position on your spinning chair, pressing the space button and trying to force whatever flow into… flowing. 

“This is such bullshit.” you sighed, remembering that you didn’t have to lower your voice at the current moment—your parents were not okay with you cursing—seeing as your parents were thankfully asleep in their bedroom across the hallway. 

You wished you could’ve moved out of your parents’ house when you started university. Still, no matter how much pleading and crying you did in front of your parents, they refused to let you be out on your own, instead making you take primarily online courses, and driving you to and from the mandatory remote ones. 

You were infuriated, but you gritted your teeth and obeyed because you had no choice; you wouldn’t defy your parents. It didn’t matter what they did, whether they were right or wrong, you simply had to keep your mouth shut, nod along and do what they said. 

You felt the weight of your eyelids become heavier, and in the spur of exhaustion and utter despair, you were going to allow yourself to fall asleep at your desk. 

However, your eyes quickly snapped open as you caught a glimpse of a pop-up on the screen, one you were sure you weren’t the cause of. 

“What the hell?” you mumbled to yourself, moving your mouse to close the tab. It was empty, only a black screen with no text. You wouldn’t have thought anything of it if it closed as you would’ve expected. Instead, no matter how many times you clicked on the ‘x’ on the screen, it gave you no reaction. 

Did you accidentally earn your computer a Trojan virus or something? You didn’t think you had accessed anything suspicious. You didn’t browse any porn sites—your parents had a firewall, anyway—nor did you click on any weird links. Could it be from the movie you downloaded earlier today? 

Shit, you thought. Your parents would never let you hear the end of it if they learned about it. 

After a minute or two of furious clicking, the pop-up finally closed, and you sighed audibly, basking in your temporary relief. To your dismay, however, your problems had just begun. 

Without you even touching the keyboard, random numbers, letters, and other symbols started typing themselves onto your thesis paper, causing your eyes to widen impossibly large and for curses to fall out of your lips at a rapid pace, panic quickly rising in your chest. 

You didn’t have much time to further think and assess the situation because the wall of text enlarged with each second that passed. In a feeble attempt to save your paper from further destruction, you held your finger on the delete button, yet your efforts were fruitless as the block of text only spanned out upon more pages. 

Hushed curses left your lips at a rapid pace, your worries exacerbated. You hadn’t done anything wrong, really. People download movies all the damn time. Why in the world was this happening to you, out of all people?

As if the situation wasn’t already bad enough, with your thesis paper being at risk, the pop-up from earlier returned, this time accompanied by many more similar ones, each of them covering a section of your screen until the whole screen was nothing but little tabs that overlapped each other. You instinctively reached for your mouse to try to shut them down once more, but your horror only increased as you realized your cursor wouldn’t budge. It was frozen in place, so any chance you had of deleting the abundance of pop-ups was now virtually nonexistent. 

Amidst the sheer fear and anxiety that filled your mind, you suddenly thought of turning off your PC entirely. What stopped you, however, was the fact that you hadn’t saved today’s work, and seven hundred or so words would be erased. 

“Fuck my life.” you hissed through clenched teeth, mentally berating yourself for being so miserably stupid that you failed to save your work sooner. If only you had, you could just turn your PC off, and your problem would be solved. 

Before you could go further down the rabbit hole of self-hatred over your failure to press the goddamn save button, you realized something. 

Your cursor could move again. A sliver of hope came to you. Maybe you’d finally be able to close the tabs, and while that would take forever, you could still salvage your thesis. 

But as soon as you moved your mouse to close a pop-up, your browser opened by itself, full screening and covering all the pop-ups behind it. Once again, letters started typing by themselves into your search bar without you touching the keyboard. 

You watched in complete hopelessness and confusion as the words’ cleverbot.com’ were spelled out before it seemingly hit enter and took you to the webpage. 

It was now your cursor’s turn to move by itself, slowly floating over to the blue button that read ‘understood, and agreed,’ clicking on it. You continued watching, your eyes trained on the screen as the cursor moved again, now hitting the ‘think for me’ button. 

A message typed itself out in blue. 

You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?

next chapter soon...

[cripple-woe]

Seriously wtf is wrong with my back. It’s genuinely frightening now.

One if my friends pointed out that with the symptoms I’m a high risk for spinal dsyfunction, I’m in extreme pain and have sudden numbness in one arm and they aren't rushing me into an xray?

Painkillers don’t touch it and I got a 10mg increase of my antidepressant that apparently also can help with pain? Which is annoying.

The only thing that helps is basically being in bed all day. No pillow on my head, but two beneath my knees.

Like, seriously, it's been 3 months, it's super fucked they haven't done xrays, if I’ve got a slipped disc or something it could permantly damage my nerves if left untreated.

Also I’m a victim of medical abuse.

who is stuck living with my family who are medical abusers.

presumably for the rest of my life.

what do I do? I’m in so much pain. Something is so, so wrong. If anyone knows what I can do please tell me even if it’s just a pain management idea. Reblog it if you think your followers might have good ideas (hi fellow disabled bloggers.)

I made the mistake of giving into my parents today. I did farm work. I can’t move. I’m in so much pain what the fuck.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

Hi anon! Since I can’t add a read more to the ask itself I’m just copying your text below, and I’ll respond to it at the bottom!

Anonymous asked:

Hi. Your WIP inspired me.

2.

The second time, it was on accident. He wakes up to a pounding under his skull, body not feeling much better, and a foggy memory of last night's events.

Shockingly, that isn't new. Not even a surprise.

The bed he's in (he's actually in a bed, that's one point) is soft at least, (unlike his bed at home, another point) which serves as a blatant reminder that he's not where hes supposed to be.

He opens one, now two eyes, and looks over at the body next to him.

Blonde hair that looks white in the sun covers her face. Whoever she is. He doesn't care.

Despite the protests of his spine, he sits up, and looks around. It's clean, cleaner than he's used to. The girl couldn't be that bad, as he takes notice of the pictures on the walls. Older people, presumably family. There's a desk in the corner, notebooks stacked neatly, a calendar showing the current month. She really had her stuff together. That's new. Poser, he thinks, offhandedly.

Murdoc doesn't think about why he already believes that anyone who would sleep with him must have something wrong with them, at the age of 24.

He gets out of bed slowly. He would deny actually caring about disturbing the girl's sleep. It's more that he doesn't want to see her face, see the disappointment of a man she brought into her room. He didn't want to see her eyes become dark. He didn't want to see his reflection in them.

His clothes were easy enough to find. They stuck out, the one mess in the room. Would his smell stay after he was gone? Would she wake up, scrunch her nose, and clean up after him before brushing her own teeth?

Nowadays, he doesn't wear pants. It's punk, he says, but that's a shit excuse. The reality is that when you're starving or aching from withdrawals, "new pants" doesn't really take priority on the shopping list. But now, the thought of the chafing denim on the walk home makes Murdoc's brows crease.

It's a new low.

He begins to slip on the first pair of knickers he finds. Laying on her vanity, he presumes they were tossed off from last night. They're ugly. Purple, with a pink lace around the waist and each leg hole.

He sees.

He can't stop himself from looking at his reflection.

The way they lay on his hips, how his thighs spill over the pink edge on each side. The bulge is a disgusting reminder that this is wrong. Yet pathetically, soft, it's contained in the small fabric. This is wrong. But as he turns around, A look over his shoulder and-

Fuuuuck. Shit. Shitshitshitshit. Fuck.

He slips on his jeans. His jacket. Boots. He's a whore, his thinks, when he remembers he left his house without a shirt.

He walks home with a red face.

The knickers stay on, for the rest of that day.

Thank you for sending me your take, I’m really flattered that this inspired you at all and holy cow, I’m very impressed with how quickly you whipped that up! I swear, there’s a cog missing in my brain that makes speedy writing feel like an impossibility, haha. You just banged it right out!

You and I are very much on the same page here! This probably won’t surprise you given our conversations on this blog, but you nailed the prediction (whether you meant to or not!) One of the five scenes I outlined was indeed Murdoc stealing knickers from a girl he’d shagged; given it’s canon that he steals purses and whatever else he fancies including clothing, I think this is just such a natural assumption to make. In the WIP, he’s begun wearing knickers on stage, making a spectacle of it, doing it for jeers and heckles and the punkish attitude that, in Murdoc’s case, bridges into antisocial behaviour. He doesn’t have to have the conversation with himself if he’s instead having the conflict with everyone else. The part where he feels something quieter than that, though, the part where he’s not yet given himself permission to wear them elsewhere-- that’s the next thing to contend with. By the time he’s snatching the knickers in a scene like this, there’s no audience to call him names nor an element of in-band fighting over their image, there’s no spite he can justify it with, and so there’s no reason to do it but the private desire to. And I think in your version you captured the very same feeling, making something he’d framed to himself as a statement into a secret. I love the concept of making the things you do alone so much scarier than the things you do under a spotlight. That feels very Murdoc to me.

[minileena]

A little story about a zookeeper learning what empathy for nonhumans is - part 1

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“And this is the last stop on your route,” my trainer said as he took me into the final room in the ‘small creatures’ exhibit.

I did a quick scan of the room as I entered, noting the dark gray walls with glass tanks built into them. It was probably about twelve feet wide and thirty feet deep, and that was just the room that the guests could walk in—I counted seven exhibits total, and six were built deep into the walls, three on each side. There was one lone tank on an elevated table in the center of the room. I made mental notes of all of these little tidbits of information. It would all be important, seeing as I would be spending every day cycling through each room on my route now that I worked here.

Being a zookeeper was certainly a more interesting summer job than a cashier at McDonald’s, and I was actually pretty excited, so maybe my enthusiasm was just getting out of hand.

“This is small mammals, right?” I inquired as I inspected each tank.

“Yeah,” Jasper said, following along lazily as I took inventory. “Sorry you’re stuck with the little guys for your first assignment. They don’t let you work with any of the more interesting animals till you’ve been here a while.”

“I’m less disappointed than you think,” I hummed as I searched through the third tank for the sugar gliders. “I kinda like all these lil critters. The scorpion in the ‘creepy crawlies’ room a while back was freaking adorable.”

Jasper cocked an eyebrow at that. “Don’t think I’ve ever met someone who considers scorpions ‘cute’, but I guess this job attracts the few people who do. Either way, though, this is definitely the room where you’re gonna lose that little spark of enthusiasm I see in ya.”

I furrowed my brows and looked back at him. “Huh? Why do you say that?”

He moved forwards and tapped his finger against the glass tank in the center of the room. I immediately winced.

“Isn’t that, like, a huge no-no? Tapping on the glass?”

“Not for this one,” Jasper said with a sigh. “It annoys her, yeah, but she’s fine. Honestly, the little shit deserves it.”

“Fuck you,” a voice called from within the tank.

My eyes widened and my brows furrowed deeper as Jasper flicked the glass again. I left the sugar gliders for now to check out the central exhibit for this room. The tank was odd—it wasn’t just a cube, it had a hole in the middle, like a square donut. You could get into the hole via a gate on the side, presumably in case you wanted to see the inhabitant from the center of the donut and look around at the whole environment.

Speaking of the environment, it was a lot more sparse than the other exhibits. The ground was red stone, with the occasional rock formation peppering the terrain throughout the tank, creating hills and valleys. Aside from that, the tank was the most sparse out of any I had seen in the zoo. There were a few plastic plants here and there, but not much else. A bowl of water made to look like it was chiseled out from a rock sat on one side of the tank, set up next to an indent in the ground filled with cotton. I could only assume the latter was a bed for the 5” tall nude woman curled up within it, arms crossed over her chest and back turned to Jasper as he looked down on her.

“This is the sole inhabitant of our parvinnet exhibit,” Jasper sighed. “Although some people tend to just call ‘em ‘tinies,’ as if using an adjective as a noun makes any sense when they already HAVE a name.”

He glanced down at the parvinnet’s tank and rested an arm atop it. “This is gonna be your most important job here, rookie. All the other exhibits just require basic upkeep, tidying up and feeding the inhabitants and whatnot. For this little thing though? On top of staying on top of maintenance, you gotta keep a VERY close eye on the state of the tank. She’s smart, and she’s nearly escaped before. Check every day for ropes leading through the ceiling, holes dug in corners and covered with foliage… it’s a bit of a pain, but over time we’ve worked on preventing her from doing much. If you’re wondering why the tank looks so empty, this is why. Gotta make sure she doesn’t have any tools to escape with.”

“Oh, and before you ask, yes, I do bite,” the parvinnet said cheerily. “And I fully intend to draw blood if you ever bring your hand anywhere near—“

She was cut off as Jasper slid open the glass lid and reached down, pinching the parvinnet’s ankle between his forefinger and thumb before lifting her in front of his face. Her eyes shot wide open, and from my viewpoint I could see the pitch-black colour that covered each eyeball in its entirety. I tensed at that, all my instincts telling me that what Jasper was doing was wrong, but I didn’t do anything more than stare. We’re… not supposed to handle the creatures like this.

“Forget your place again?” Jasper asked idly as the parvinnet averted her gaze, tense as she hung from his grip.

“…I’m sorry,” she whispered pitifully.

“Uh huh,” Jasper muttered as he roughly set her back down in her bed. She immediately curled back up in a ball. I couldn’t see any tears from my viewpoint, but something told me she was crying.

“She knows you’re new here,” Jasper said, looking back in my direction with a tired smile. “You don’t have to let her talk to you like this. She’s gonna try to, but you’re totally free to get her to stop. Think of it like obedience training for dogs—you gotta make sure you’re the dominant one.”

“M’not a fucking dog,” I heard the parvinnet whisper with a quiver in her voice. She flinched as Jasper flicked the glass again. She stayed silent after that.

“Anyways,” Jasper continued, “my little routine is to get in the middle of the tank through the gate, then poke around every corner to feel for holes she tried to dig in the glass. Move the little plastic plants around, check underneath the water bowl, look under the fluff of her little bed-nest thing… she hasn’t made any moves in a while, but since you’re new she’s probably gonna be a lot more proactive in finding escape routes. After checking around, food goes here and water in the bowl. Empty it out and clean it before refilling it, because sometimes she bathes in there.”

I just nodded, trying to stifle how disturbed I felt about this whole situation. Jasper moved along to the other six exhibits, telling me proper procedure for handling the inhabitants. My vigor was shaken, however, and my mental notes got a little fuzzy as my mind lingered on the woman in the tank behind me.

(A/N: this story is actually written up to part 8 in my lil google doc that you can find in my first post, I can’t be fucked to link it but it’s there somewhere)

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[commaclear]

Fundy woke abruptly, his breathing harsh and ragged. He sat up, silent scream on the tip of his tongue.

He brings one warm hand to his face, feeling wet tears mixed with his sweat.

After checking himself, checking that he isn’t hurt, checking that he’s real, he brings up his other hand to cover his eyes. 

And then he cries. 

He breathes heavily as sobs wrack his body, tears spilling down his face more intensely than before.

His dream was being quickly forgotten, lost to the confines of his resting mind, but he remembers brief flashes. He remembers how it made him feel.

He doesn’t quite recall what happened, but he remembers seeing his dad in the hospital for something. And he remembers all the horrible wires attached to him, keeping him alive.

He remembers being stuck somewhere, tied up and unable to speak. 

He rubs his eyes, wiping away his tears and throwing off his covers. 

Fundy throws his legs over the bed, not really wanting to get up as they felt like jelly. He disregards the thought that he might just fall down when he stands and gets off his bed.

Unsure of the time, he looks out the window, seeing that it is still dark out. 

He isn’t sure if he should be up now, so he paces a bit, hoping to forget his dream. His nightmare. 

Ultimately, unable to forget the terrifying flashes of his dream, he walks out of his bedroom. 

It’s dark in the house, but he prefers it over mid-day anyway.

“Fundy?” 

Fundy startles, looking for the origin of the voice.

“Mom?”

Sally turns on the light, revealing that she was sitting on the couch with a cup of what was presumably water.

“What are you… what are you doing up, Fundy?” She asks, seeming a little out of it. 

Fundy shrugs, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Sally makes an expression that he can’t quite decipher, though it seems unbearably sad and… something. Something else. 

“Do you need water or… do you want to stay with me for a bit?” She asks, wringing her hands together. 

Fundy bites his lip and shakes his head with no hesitation, “I think I just needed a breather. Y’know, just wanted to walk around a bit.”

“Oh.” His mom says, oh so eloquently. 

Fundy hunches awkwardly, atrocious posture serving to make him look smaller. It makes Sally somewhat nostalgic, though she isn’t sure for what.

“I’m just going to go wash my face and then go to bed.” he turns to walk to the bathroom.

“Wait-” Sally says, seeming to rethink calling him back as she does it.

“Hm?” Fundy hums in confusion, looking back at his mother. 

She thinks for a moment, “Just… remember that I- Just remember to get some sleep, okay?” Fundy nods at her, giving her a small, unhappy smile. Sally takes a sip of her water while Fundy walks away. 

In the bathroom, Fundy quickly rinses his face with cool water, patting it down with a clean towel. 

In the mirror, his eyes are heavy and half open with exhaustion, dark circles plaguing just underneath. 

Sometimes, Fundy’s nightmares would get so bad that the dark circles would be physically painful, turning into actual bruises. Back then, he sometimes couldn't sleep properly for weeks, but he’s better at forcing rest nowadays. 

At least he likes to think so. 

With a sigh, he flicks off the bathroom light and trudges back to his bedroom. 

He throws himself back onto his bed, but he knows damn fucking well, damn well, that he will not be getting any more sleep.

-d

Idk who you are, but you have captured my full attention

Fundy's nightmares aren't nightmares, he's actually been seeing glimpses of the future all along? I am eating that shit up

[chthonicavalon]

Practice

((Forgive me, it's my first Haruka story since FFXIVWriteMonth, which I really couldn't do much of because of work. On another note, I'm thinking of writing some stories in an AU as if Haruka was the WoL. Because why not, let's have some fun with the moody lady.))

Moons had passed, and snow had fallen several times onto the canopy of the Twelveswood.  Gridania’s Starlight celebrations were in full-swing, with lights and gifts, costumes and even a reindeer trotting through the town.  Children ran up to it to pet the creature, evidently safe with its caretaker not far behind.  Townspeople went about their business, in something more of a rush than usual presumably with all the preparations they had left to do.

Haruka walked through town, bearing witness to the festivities.  She hadn’t taken a walk through town since early autumn, and her heart hung heavy with how much she missed it but realized only after her return from Doma.  With matters proceeding slowly, leaving both of the Ladies Uesugi unable to progress without waiting on others, the hyur returned to Eorzea to rest.  A night in their suite at the Pearl had helped, along with the chance to visit and catch up with others.  But her home in the Lavender Beds awaited.  

To her surprise, she found the trees in the front yard decorated and illuminated with hundreds of crystals of various colors.  Akane and Noriko had taken care of the place, first under Kumiko’s direction, then out of their own duties after her daughter had taken her leave of absence.  Sure, Haruka’d been back a couple times in the intervening days, but she was pleased that the two had kept the house from getting too dusty in their absence.

Now, bundled up in a coat sent from Radz-at-Han and carrying her sword, the half-Doman ventured through Gridania proper.  A few townsfolk recognized her, saying hello – it would be odd to receive grins instead of glares from Isette now – and even asked what she was off to in such a leisurely way.  Of course, Haruka replied with noncommittal answers, and those she spoke to accepted them; this was merely her way, after all.  After passing out a couple Starlight gifts to friends and old comrades and checking in at the Adder’s Nest, she made her way toward the outskirts of town.

So close to Gridania, the wilds had been well-tamed, but the northern edge, just beyond the gates, had just enough unmarred forest that it might be considered wilderness to some.  And it was there that Haruka traveled to a small, round hut.  Outside, a keeper woman brought an ax down upon some wood, cleaving it in half and sending a chunk flying.  Wood chips were stuck to her leather pants and thick vest.  Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she bent to grab one of the half-rounds and set it on an old stump.  Lithly muscular arms shimmered with moisture in the faint sunlight shining through the canopy, showing she’d been at this for a while.  The fair skin of her cheeks bore a rosy hint from her exertion.  The ax rose again and came down.

The resulting chunk fell at Haruka’s foot.  “You are preparing for the next snows, I presume,” the half-Doman said.

The keeper woman jumped, then let out a huff.  “Gods, woman, could ya not scare me like tha’!” she said.  “Nex’ time I’ll send the ax at your head.”  The anger was half-hearted though, and she grinned.

Haruka let herself smile as she picked up the chunk of wood and offered it back.  “I shall endeavor to not be so silent next time, Tyo,” she said with a chuckle rising in her throat.  

Tyo took the quarter log and tossed it on a pile.  “Anyroad, the last snows were pretty bad, and I’m gettin’ colder at night.  Better to stock up while I can still move my fingers.”  She wiggled them at her sudden guest, grinning with a mischief.  “But you’d know more about keeping fingers warm and mobile, wouldn’t you, Haruka.”

Glancing to the side, she cleared her throat.  “Perhaps, so.  I know of many ways to keep warm in the dead of night.”  There was no way she could tell the truth and not make it sound like innuendo without going into far deeper detail, so instead, Haruka leaned into it.  

Her eyes met Tyo’s, and it wasn’t long before the keeper was snickering to herself.  “Oh, Haruka, never change,” Tyo said, her ears wiggling.  “Come in, an’ I’ll star’ you a cup a’ tea.”  She set down the ax against the wall of the house and waved for her guest to follow.

Inside, the stone and wood house was warmer and inviting.  A fair-sized fireplace warmed a large chamber, complete with a bookshelf, a bed, a kitchen of decent size, a small table with a couple rough chairs, and cabinetry for all the assorted knicknacks the home’s owner collected.  There was but a single door besides the one they entered through, leading to a side chamber that acted as a bathroom.  Bows and spears hung from pegs on the bare portions of the walls.

Tyo immediately went to the stove and put on some water.  “Things in Doma go alrigh’, then?” she asked.

“They could be worse,” Haruka replied.  “Of course, there is much to do still, but there is little to be done by myself or Reenah for now.  We have but to wait until we get word back.”  Slowly, she pulled out a bamboo box from her satchel and set it on the table.  “Speaking of tea…”

Tyo turned and grinned, rushing over.  “Oh, you made it?  The blend I wanted?” the keeper popped the lid open and inhaled.  The sigh that accompanied her grin was all that Haruka needed to know all was well.  “Menphina’s kind this day.”

“By itself, the blend should taste pretty fair,” Haruka explained.  “However, I tried to craft it so that the bitterness of the herb you take should augment the taste and make the more subtle flavors emerge, even at your desired strength.” Pressing the lid back on, Tyo hopped a little, doing a little dance.  Her dark brown tail swayed back and forth behind her.  “Thank you!” she said, then leaned in to press her lips to Haruka’s head.  “If you weren’t bonded, I’d snatch you up myself!  Were I the bondin’ type, of course.”

“You’d find me a poor wife, I fear.”  Haruka said, chuckling more, now.  Still, she shrugged and looked away.  “I do not know how Reenah puts up with me.”

“It’s because you’re cute, foolish lady.”  Tyo said, returning to the counter and setting the box down.  “And because ye’ give a damn about her.  Shows by how your lookin’ into her family culture rather than just coastin’ through your wedded life.  I may not have met the Talbor, but my mom knew enough of them for me to know they’ve go’ a lot in common with the other clans.”

Haruka didn’t protest.  Sometimes one just needs to hear they aren’t terrible, especially after a hard couple moons of preparation, investigation, loss, and loneliness.  The leve in Doma had a silver lining, despite the admittedly mild injuries sustained.  In the lead-up, she had the chance to spend time with Reenah and Liana.  

But it was also the first time those she’d fought beside so many times, her friends and comrades, had seen her home.  Her trepidation at such a reveal still gnawed at her heart, but it was a relief to have so many rally to her aid when she needed it and to show them a part of her life.  A portion of her heart had firmly planted itself in Xiatien’s soil, and now it was sprouting, roots spreading and leaves growing for them to see.

Sensing Haruka’s shift, Tyo sighed.  “Feelin’ moody, eh?  Come on, le’s get to practicin’.  Can’t give this gift being all morose, right?  The mood needs to be just right.”  She set the tea aside and stood in the middle of the room, clearly expecting Haruka to do the same.

Of course, Haruka was never one to disappoint, and she stood.  Tyo was right, of course: she couldn’t do this in one of her black moods.  “Alright, let us get to practice.”