#except it looks like a petrol one

[gaytobymeres]

when she asks if youre into harnesses

umm yeah you could say that

[peachesofteal]

Deckhand Simon Riley / female reader 18+ mdni, dubcon. Simon is very no good terrible and kind of mean. Predator/prey. Excessive alcohol consumption, manipulation. Spitting, size, praise, a little bit of breeding/daddy - kink.

Simon arrives to town on the last summer wind. 

It’s cold for the shoulder of the season. Not the coldest he’s ever felt, but cold enough his scars become rigid, inflexible swaths of skin littered across his body pinching at every hinge. 

He can already feel the burn. The stretch and strain of his upper back, his arms, his legs. Can already feel the weight of the pots, sharp metal slamming and crashing, teeming with things that look more like creatures than they do delicacies.

Hook. String. Pull. Block.

The people stare at him, wide, wind whipped eyes peeking out underneath knit wool hems, gagged and confused, whispers passed back and forth like children with a lolly. 

Did you see him? 

Look at the size of ‘im- 

Is that Ernest’s new deckhand? 

Fucking monster of a man, I tell you. 

He keeps his head down. Eyes fixed to the floor, old instinct still churning in his blood, shoulders stiff and squared. Captains are all the same, whether on land or at sea. Says “yes sir” as Ernest sizes him up, asks about his previous two seasons, and then sends him away with a perfunctory nod and a departure date. 

The Old Man leaves in two weeks. See you then.

King crab fishing is the closest he’s felt to having a foot in the grave since he was actually in one. Opponents in a firefight are known, predictable. Monsters of their own kind, but ones he knows intimately. Minds of a killer, the lot of them, a certain subset of consciousness nearly shared. 

The ocean shares its mind with no one. Its secrets are its own, buried in the briny deep, never to be revealed. 

And the Bering-  

The Bering is its own horror. Savage and cruel to those who would tempt it, willing to swallow anything offered and pull it down into fathomless black water. Cold enough to kill a man in seconds. Violent enough to toss them all to sea. 

He’s seen it happen. More than once. The environment is uncontrollable, unpredictable, lethal, and the work is arduous. 

The company is tolerable at best. The season is short, yet taxing. Deckhands live dozens of years, in a few short months. They stare off into nothing, watching the horizon, long gone look in their eye. 

Still, he sees familiar flickers in them, same firelight he’s seen in the many men he’s killed, or worked alongside of. 

At the base of it, these types of men, his kind, are all the same. 

Rabid and dangerous in packs. 

The cove is nearly derelict. The town spills up into white and black spruce, houses nestled in the grove of tree trunks twice Simon’s size, all doors facing the warped and tilted wooden slats of a long-loved dock. 

There isn’t much here, a small grocery, a liquor store, a petrol station and of course- 

A pub. 

Aptly named The Wharf, the bar is as old hat as they come, seedy and sticky, sunken into the soft earth. It’s everything he’s come to expect in a fishing town this far up north, where the season is variable, and the money is too. Dark wood from floor to ceiling, over polished oak horseshoe, neglected stools and booths. Everything creaks, and The Wharf is no exception. The pub, the dock, the trees. Wind whistles and bark groans, a rasp you can only find here, in these places where time is too slow, and the world forgets. 

There are rooms above the bar, usually rented to his ilk, deckhands biding their time, greenhorns rattling with excitement. They all filter in weeks before the season opens, and when he checks into his, he’s not surprised when the woman at the desk tells him he’s got the last one. 

There are only ten, after all.

The Wharf’s side door swings open in a gust of blistering wind, yet not a single person turns their head. 

None except him, though he doesn’t need to look to know it’s you. 

He can smell you. Can feel you, clear across the floor. Sea salt and lavender, it whirls in your wake wherever you go, and when he lingers on the sidewalk outside of your little workshop, he swears he’s standing in a cloud of it. 

“If y’need jackets, bibs mended from last season, there’s a place on the corner, next to The Wharf. She’ll get ‘em done before season.” 

You’re the bloody seamstress. The tailor. Nimble fingers twisting and tying, threading and looping inside a faded light blue storefront, working into the small hours of the night. Your workspace is small, and overflowing with bright orange polyurethane covered clothes, long lengths of neoprene, socks, shirts, wristers. A mass of work, it seems, one that keeps your light on after all others have gone dark. 

Except The Wharf’s. 

It’s the second time he’s seen you here. 

He doesn’t count the times he’s seen you without you realizing it. Doesn’t count the times he’s finished a cigarette on the street at the perfect angle, a solid perch to peer right in through your window. He doesn’t count the times he’s watched you from The Wharf’s one dark window, when you step outside to take a long breath of air, stretching your back and shaking your arms out, rolling your head in a circle- 

and baring your throat for the slaughter.

The first was days ago, close to zero hundred, when you swung in to settle on a barstool with your back to the door. You look like you’re made from spools of silk, even underneath all of your winter layers, big coat, knit wool hat. There’s a coruscated dapple in your eye, one that manages to shimmer even in the darkest shadows of the bar, voice saccharine as he’s ever heard, dipping into a melody as you go back and forth with the bartender. 

He hears it now when he closes his eyes at night, awash in a sea of bourbon, cigarette stench sunken into his skin. A gentle rhythm, a syrupy voice, saying his name. 

Screaming it. 

You catch his gaze across the bar. Catch him watching you, peeling you, picking you apart, but you say nothing. Blink a few times, glance down at your beer, pretend to busy yourself with something else. It’s not a flinch, but close enough to it. 

He knows what you see. What you should see. 

A monster. Licking his lips at a girl. A fire breather bearing down on top of a princess. 

If he crossed this room right now and yanked you off that barstool, who would interrupt? Intervene? They’re all men of the same vein, born from different battlefields. The rules of engagement become status quo, regardless of whether you’re baptized by the Bering, or by fire.

Rabid, dangerous in packs.  

Eleven days left, and he’s finally found something worthwhile to occupy his time, besides lurking in the dingy corners of The Wharf like an old, decrepit sailor. 

You. 

You live above the shop, an old fire escape leads to a wooden door with a big window, one covered by a curtain hung from the inside. 

The Wharf’s rooms have a fire escape too. A metal catwalk. 

Metal. Who’s the idiot who decided metal anything would be good in a place like this? Iron nearly turned red, rusted to all hell. One shift, and it all falls down. 

He takes his watch there, at night. A gargoyle at his post, waiting for the flicker of your kitchen and bedroom lights, shapes and shadows dancing behind the thin drapes, a ballerina on stage for the masses. 

For him. 

He brings you his gear. Looms over you at the desk where your sewing machine is grinding out an industrial stitch thicker than what he’s seen on parachutes. 

“H-hi.” Hi. Aren’t you cute? A little lamb, alone in the woods.

He nods. Stays silent. Enjoys watching his catch twist herself up on his hook. 

You glance at the noxious orange pieces draped over his arm, and half timidly reach.

“Need those patched? Er, like… have any tears or rips?” Not really. He keeps his gear in good condition. Throws out his underclothes after every season- can never get the stench of fish out of em, but his outer gear is well cared for. 

It almost pained him to rip them apart last night. 

“Simon.” He gives it expectantly, jogging your manners to the forefront. You have the good grace to look embarrassed with how fast you spit out your own name.

“Bibs have a few holes. Big ones. Jacket’s got a rip under the armpit.” You reach, tiny little fingers stretching across the barren space between him and you, and he lashes down the urge to snatch your wrist out of midair and bring it to his teeth. 

Do you taste like lavender? Sea salt? Is your cunt briny like the Bering, slicked sweet and brackish? 

“Okay, well, I should have them done before-“ 

“You better.” You startle, eyes wide and confused, before they find your feet, cowed little girl before an awful man. “Jus’ need em, is all.” He softens the approach, not willing to cut you down just yet (that comes later), and you respond well, perfectly, pushing your glasses up onto the bridge of your nose with a genuine smile. 

Live bait on the line. Set, cast, hook.

“Got it.” 

His control is becoming a house of cards. 

You’re in The Wharf earlier tonight, asking Jimmy for a double, whiskey over ice and nearly to the brim of a rocks glass. Just one, you say. Neck is sore as hell.

He maintains a distance. More inclined to watch you devolve, fascinated by the way you unravel with each sip. Lightweight. Figures.

You pull your glasses off and rub your temples, hopping off the bar stool with a quick word over your shoulder, a request for another drink. “Just goin’ to the bathroom.” You explain, walking away with a hardly detectable sway in your step- 

directly into the side of the wall the bar juts out from. 

Someone, a woman who never so much as looks up the entire time she’s here, furrows her brow at where you’re rubbing your forehead and tsks. 

“Your glasses!” You turn, embarrassed, downright mortified, and sheepishly slide your fingers across the bar until you find them. 

“Oh, right. Thanks Laurie.” Laurie, says nothing. Not until you’ve turned away and almost disappeared into the bathroom. Then, she mutters to herself, into her fresh pint. 

“Damn girl is blind as bat without those things.” 

He buys Laurie another round before he leaves for the night. An eventual thanks. 

"Can I bum one?"

His neck nearly snaps. Where did you come from? You're timid in the mouth of the alley, lichen washed red brick flanking you on either side, your hands folded together at your navel.

"Little girls allowed to smoke 'round here?" Now your neck snaps.

"I- I'm not a little girl, thank you." It's like you're trying to turn your nose up at him, but he's a giant above, and it's hopeless.

"Sure you're not." He plucks the cigarette from his lips, and then holds it out to you. Your breath hitches, top teeth digging deep, an instigation, invitation. His hand whips forward, too fast for you to realize, gripping your chin, pressing his thumb into the flesh of your bottom lip. "Want a drag or not?"

"S-sure." He's got your cheeks squeezed together, just so, enough that the fat of them crowds your mouth and makes the s sound more like a whistle.

He doesn't let go as he feeds it to you, stopping just before the filter touches your teeth. "Go ‘head then." You draw, deep, eyes closing as that first hit of nicotine rushes your blood, undoubtedly making you light headed, and his cock thickens with dreams of his fat head pushing between your lips instead of this cigarette, dreams of you split open on him with a soaked pussy, neck bared for his teeth.

Hook. String. Pull.

He squeezes himself overtop his jeans, heavy weight pulsing between his legs, a dangerous affliction growing larger and larger with each second. He could rock against his palm, right here in front of you, and it would feel worlds better than the last measly meal he had, months and months ago. Nothing will compare to you, he already knows.

You see it all. Frozen like a deer in headlights, your lips part, transfixed, confused. Will you run? Will you shout? Will you tell?

"I uh, I better... get going. Have a lot of work t-to finish." Good girl. He nods, letting go of his aching cock, slipping the cigarette back in his mouth, searching for even a hint of lavender and sea salt lingering in the filter.

"Goodnight."

Four days left, and his gear is finished.

You leave a message for him, letting him know he can pick up whenever is convenient. During shop hours. Cash or card accepted. What a dutiful business owner.

You’re in the back when he arrives. It’s long past close, but no one locks their doors here. Anyone could walk right in.

“Be right out!” You yell, slightly muffled. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t opt to give himself away, just waits at the front desk, where a mug of fresh coffee sits, still hot, still steaming.

Desperation for claim, for possession, claws up his throat to his tongue, thrashing in a fit until saliva pools in his cheeks. He sucks through his teeth, rolling the pockets behind his molars forward, pulling as much as he can, his soul even, up and out, landing it in a glob on the surface of your evening caffeine fix.

It sits there, tiny bubbles and all, an island in endless ocean, unable to break apart or disappear. Blatant. Obvious.

So, he sticks his finger in it and gives a quick swirl. For good measure.

There’s rustling in the back, and then you pop through the doors, glasses sliding to your nose. “Hi! So sor-“

You grind to a halt, spine curling forward, as if you’re trying to protect your precious organs from his fingers, avoiding his grip around your ribs, his urge to rip you open and devour you whole.

He smirks. “Got a message my gear is done? Nick o’ time.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s done. I’ve got it, one sec.” You fidget, gun shy and shuddering, flitting away on the turn of a heel, eager to escape where he hulks in front of your desk, no doubt.

When you come back, you’re a bit more put together. Polished. Glasses in their rightful place, you place his bib and jacket on the counter unceremoniously, lips pressed together. He hands you a wad of cash, and you count it carefully, keeping your eyes pinned on the bills as he inspects the stitching, taking stock in your sharp attention to detail. “Like new, great work. Thank you.”

You go doe eyed, demure, flattered, and then confused, trying to reconcile this man, this version with the one from last night. “T-thank you.”

It all comes to a head, two days out.

There’s a party of sorts, a gathering. Entire boat of deckhands crammed into The Wharf, plus others, town residents and even some from the next over.

Too many, for Simon’s tastes.

Too many, except for one.

You’re crammed between the wall and someone’s shoulder, occasionally saying hello, accepting thanks for work well done. You keep your idle hands busy, accepting drink after drink, a shot of tequila, another of rum.

You’re even dressed up, cute as a button. Sweet as cream, honey on the hive.

Your hiccups ring out from across the room directly to his ears, chest shaking with each one. The bar is at max volume, shouting, cheering, chattering, but he can hear you crystal clear. Can hear the high pitch echo of each one, can hear your throat bobbing, the long exhale singing from your nose after trying to hold your breath. “I need some air,” you say to your neighbor, “be right back.”

He downs the last of his bourbon, subtle fire in his throat, and then makes for the back door.

Your arms are crossed, leaning against the brick with your head tipped back, eyes closed. Wearing a knit sweater, a skirt, and wool leggings, for fucks sake. “Dangerous place to be, a little girl all alone.” Your eyes snap wide, startled.

“Simon,” you don’t stutter his name, liquor easing your nerves, sweetening you up to a slaughter like the little lamb you are. Your ability to assess risk is long gone, and when you peek over at him, head rolling, the usual skittish haunt of your gaze is nowhere to be found.

“Out for a smoke?”

“No, just some fresh air.”

“Poor lamb. Drink too much?” You shrug, steadying your balance against the wall. Trying to appear more with it than he knows you are.

He stalks closer, closer than you should be comfortable with, but you only sigh, wilted as the grass withered by the impending winter.

He tests. Probes. Brushes a hand against yours, watches how you tip a little to the side, his side, eyes glassy between hard blinks. “You’re so sweet, little lamb.”

“Oh,” you make an o with your lips when you say it, like you’re suprised. “T-thank you.”

“Do you taste sweet, you think?” You jolt, but he handles your hip like he’s afraid you’ll fall, though you have a better grasp on your balance than you think you do. “Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.” It’s a race now, one you’re desperate to catch up in, but falling behind faster and faster.

Hook. String. Pull.

“Open your mouth.” You do, on instinct, and he hums with approval. “Good girl.” He sticks his thumb inside, depressing your tongue, shoving back and to the side, hard enough he stretches the corner of your lip, and then tugs.

Hooked.

You’re too drunk to process it, not really. Enflamed with a rollercoaster of shock, shame and disgust. But beneath it all, something else rises, breaks at the surface for air. Desire.

He doesn’t waste the moment, hands splayed at your ribcage, shoving you back against the wall, your shoulders slamming into it. He’s on you, rabid, wolf at the throat of a lamb, tongue forcing its way between your teeth without permission. You jerk, tense, muscles shifting like you might put your arms up, but instead they fall limply to your sides, and you moan.

String.

The length of his torso, chest and stomach press against you, hold you in place, allowing him free rein to wrap his fingers into the fine fabric of your wool stockings and rip. The shocked little gasp falls from you as expected, but you’re too far gone to fight. Prize on the line, he tugs them aside and strokes over your folds, already wet for him, dipping into your cunt, tight and fluttering around his invasion.

“Si- Simon- stop.” You push at him shoulders, trying and failing, squirming and whining. He shoves deeper, one nearly too much, two an impossible fit.

“Why would I stop when you’re so wet f’me little girl?” He presses the swell of his cock against you, your walls clenching at the contact, and he chuckles darkly. “Gonna say you don’t want this, sweet lamb? Gonna lie when this little pussy is dripping all over my hand?” You’re scandalized. Ripped from your comfort and thrown ashore, a fish out of water, gasping on land. He breathes into your neck, biting and sucking his way back up to your mouth where he distracts you for a brief moment, long enough to tip your balance to the side, a stutter step disrupting your focus, and delivers an opportune strike to snatch your glasses off your face so fast you flinch backwards in the confusion. He manages to cup your head just in time and cushion its bounce against the brick.

Pull.

“My glasses.” Your voice trembles, and he’s surprised to feel a twinge of guilt. Don’t worry little one. He’ll pull you apart, but he’ll put you back together. Eventually. “Simon… my- my glasses, do you see my glasses?”

“No, sorry. It’s too dark, sweet thing.” You tear up, horrified, and they spill down your cheeks, fat and wet, leaving tracks all the way to your neck.

He licks them with glee.

“I need to-“ he pays you no mind, returning to his work, his meal, shoving your knee to the side and lifting you up the wall, until the smear of you cunt weeps all over his jeans. “I need-“

“Know what you need, little girl.” He shreds your leggings wider, tearing a hole big enough to expose your thighs, your lower belly. Later, when he has you pinned to his bed, he’ll eat you until you can’t speak or see, but for now, bludgeoning the entirety of his cock into this too tight space will have to do.

You hiccup again. It’s too sweet, rots his soul. He wonders if you’ll be here, when he gets back. If you’ll run, or if you’ll wait. Maybe he’ll give you something to remember him by, knock you up, nice and fat by summer, heavy with a piece of him. Maybe.

He slides his zipper now, pulling the weight of his cock free, sliding the head through your slit as you look down. You can’t see, how big, how thick, how impossible it looks, head trying to push into you, your body unyielding, spasming as he batters his way inside. You claw at his shoulders, spitting out a half moan, a half sob, and he taps his forehead to yours. “It’s too m-much, too- hurts-“

“Don’t fight it. You’ve got plenty of room, be good.” He soothes with a lie, probably. You’re so tight he can feel you in his bones, restricting, bearing down. He pushes, heat and slick closing in around him, making him dizzy, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Fuck- that’s it. Feel that?” He drags your hand to the root of his cock, splaying your fingers around the base. “Feel yourself splittin’ open on me?” You moan some nonsense, some sort of garbage mixed with a yes, and a no. “Perfect little pussy, stretchin’ for me, yeah?” Only for me.

He fucks you so hard you’re shoving higher and higher up the wall, cunt choking him with each thrust, your fingers twisted in his sweatshirt, clinging on for dear life, a sailor in a storm. Lost in the fuzzy, blurry world without your glasses, he gives you a port in the dark, a lighthouse calling you home. He spreads you wide, rolling over your clit, pinching, thumbing, finding the rhythm that makes your buzz, hips starting to jerk, swallow him up.

Unbelievably, you tighten up even more, eyes slamming shut, and he holds you steady at your hips, driving deep, mouth on your ear. “Gonna be good and cum? Gonna show daddy how good you can be and cum all over his cock?” You gasp, and he drags you to it, pushes you over, rolls your shoulders back against the brick when you curl forward, pussy so tight it tries to force him out. You scream with it, but he covers your mouth, palm to your tongue, elbow at your collarbone. He’s relentless now, shoving himself until there isn’t a space inside you not filled with him, as fast as possible, body like a ragdoll. When he’s on the edge, teetering so close, he pinches your cheeks. “Open up, little lamb.” Your brow furrows, but partially blind, you’re more trusting, and you do as you’re asked. His hips piston, a rough saw, chasing, sprinting towards the end, heat climbing down his spine and across every muscle until he’s shoved so deep inside you he thinks he’s in your belly, and rears back, sucking a glob of spit to his lips and launching it into your mouth, just as he floods your pussy with cum. He jerks inside you, slow strokes, and you hang limply against him, fucked out, still drunk, docile as a lamb.

You hiss when he pulls free and lurch forward against his chest, not able to stand on your own. “C’mon, let’s get you a bath.” He murmurs into your hair, and you protest weakly.

“My glasses.”

“I’ll find ‘em.” He vows, patting their safe spot in his front pocket. “Don’t worry.”

[goodgirlofglory]

Ambrosial / One-shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 7,1k

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit content, mutual pining, scent kink, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, barely-there-handjob (like, not really at all), coming on clothes, a little bit of sweat kink? Sort of filth kink (not scat or anything like that but like, Bucky likes it messy), Bucky worshiping reader.

Summary: With his heightened senses, Bucky knows no peace when it comes to his olfactory system. Sweat, rotting food and sewage – the smells of the world surrounds him day in and day out. His only reprieve is the carefully curated space of his private quarters – and you, the sweet, new member of the team. With your unique, mouth-watering scent, it’s all he can do to not lose control around you. What happens when you unexpectedly cross that line between the two of you, and Bucky gets an opportunity to do more than just smell?

Note: My first Bucky fic eyooooo. He's a simp. It's weird, I feel like I'm so stuck in 2016 mcu. All I can picture is newly liberated-from-Hydra Bucky at the compound post civil war. But I reeeally liked this concept, and scent kinks really get me going. Anyone agree?

Your media consumption is your own responsibility, but I advise you not to interact if the contents of the warnings upset you.

Minors not welcome.

My work is not to be distributed outside my blog.

Replies, reblogs, likes and messages are amazing<3

Coffee, petrol, rusty iron, wet dog, shit, blood and old toothpaste. For as long as Bucky could remember, he could smell really well.

All his senses were heightened. The serum that made him a super soldier saw to that. But of all the senses, smell affected Bucky the most. Whether it made him think of a memory, alerted him to danger, gave him pleasure or was a bother. Most often it was the last one. Garbage, old sweat, farts and rotting food was a constant discomfort to him, assaulting his poor olfactory system wherever he went.

And no one, save for Steve, seemed to get why Bucky preferred to keep his rooms in the compound so clean. He feared Sam would never stop laughing that time he found the scented candle in Bucky's bathroom.

"You're killing me here, Buck! Lavender and rose petals," Sam had choked out between fits of laughter, wiping tears while clapping Bucky's shoulder.

"First of all, don't call me that, and second, fuck off," was all Bucky could say to his own defence. Steve had given him a look of understanding sympathy, while you had only chuckled at Sam's amusement. Bucky let Sam have his laugh and kept the candle.

You were the newest addition to the compound, and though you and Bucky hit it off in a polite and respectful tone, Bucky didn't really know you outside your skills and specialties in the field (which he had mostly learned from reading your file - not actually talking to you). The two of you didn't seem to have much in common besides a shared love for food. Your rooms were just near the kitchen, like Bucky's, so whenever something good was cooking, you both would come sniffing.

So, Bucky didn’t really know much about you, except that you had the sweetest scent he’d ever smelled. Rich, slightly spicy, a mix of dried herbs and honey mixed with warm skin. It made him think of lazy mornings in soft sheets, quiet, content walks in lush forests, and sex. It was so appealing to him, he’d started to guiltily look forward to every time he got to smell it. He couldn’t ever let you know that, though. Couldn’t let you know how deeply he subtly pulled your scent into his nostrils at times, and how much it sizzled within him. How it sometimes made his cock grow half hard and sensitive in his pants. You smelled so good. 

He was horrified by his own reaction, how he couldn’t control it. Bucky could control everything, held himself so tightly leashed he sometimes didn’t remember how it felt to react naturally to something. The semis you gave him were a direct threat to that control. 

Bucky could faintly remember being quite the ladies man back in the day. No more, though. He barely knew how to talk to people these days, let alone women. Let alone gorgeous, cute, good-smelling women like you.

He had most of the scents of the compound down by now. Natasha's caramel lattes in the morning, Steve's burnt toast and black roast. Wanda's paprika dishes and Clint's cheesy pizzas. At noon every day the hallway would smell with the fresh sweat of the joint training sessions. Sam would enjoy popcorn on Thursday’s movie night and a strong, musky cologne on Friday's club nights. There would always be the smell of liquor in the air when Tony was around, and more often than not, the smell of smoke as Steve went to cool off on his bike soon after.

Only Vision had no smell at all except a very faint hue of fresh, clinical rubber. Eerie, Bucky often thought to himself. Sometimes it was the only reminder that Vision wasn't human.

There were rarely any new smells for Bucky to note. Rarely something he didn't know what was, until one particular evening. The compound was quiet. A larger group were off on a mission, and the rest had scattered away, some leaving the grounds for a few days leave. Bucky had left his room to scavenge for snacks when he turned the corner into the kitchen and bumped straight into you. 

“Oh gosh! Hi Barnes! You scared me,” you said with a surprised smile after giving a little yelp, nearly dropping the bag of chips and steaming cup of tea in your hands. 

Bucky felt his body flush, partly embarrassed that he hadn’t sensed your presence before nearly tackling you off your feet, and partly because you were standing very close. Closer than he’d ever been.. Then your scent hit him, and a new wave of warmth spread in his body. It was…heavier than usual. Richer, with an overwhelming tangy note - the warm skin and lazy mornings in soft sheets he’d mentioned earlier - and it coursed through him like a comb through wet hair, leaving him momentarily stunned by sensation. He swallowed the sudden excess of saliva in his mouth and fought to not close his eyes. You were right there, for Christ's sake. 

Don’t be a creep! 

Bucky pointed to the items in your hands and said “snacks”. 

Stupid!

You looked down to where he pointed, momentarily puzzled before smiling and raising your cup in a small toast as you seemingly understood what he meant. 

“Way ahead of ya,” you said, then you sobered and when you met his eyes your cheeks had gained a strange hint of color. “You haven’t been out tonight? I thought I was all alone here,” you said, and Bucky was almost too distracted by your scent to realize you were nervous. 

“Ah, no. Not for me,” he said, and then added “going out on town and stuff,' cause his communication skills were truly atrocious. 

“Oh. Yeah, me neither,” you said, smiling softly at him, looking up through your lashes in a way that had him squirming in his skin. Bucky let his gaze track down to notice for the first time that you were only wearing a huge, oversized t-shirt and fuzzy blue socks. He could see your bare knees. So cute. 

Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard…

And then, as Bucky tried to will his cock not to swell in his sweatpants, he realized what he was smelling. It was arousal - your arousal. Or rather, that which came after your arousal. The smell of you post arousal. Bucky swallowed thickly again. You’d been masturbating. Or maybe you had a visitor. No, those weren’t allowed in the compound. 

You’d been self-pleasuring then, while you thought everyone was away. Which explained the rosy cheeks and nervous tone of voice - and the slip of control that had blood rushing to Bucky’s cock right before you. He resolutely fought the mental images away with a proverbial stick, shook himself quickly from his stupor and stepped past you, running for the fucking hills before you’d notice the tent forming in his pants and be forever creeped out by him. You didn’t deserve that, fucking hell. 

“Well, enjoy the rest of your evening,” he called over his shoulders and didn’t look back as he entered the kitchen. A long moment later you stammered out a “y-you too” before Bucky’s advanced hearing caught your feet slipping on the floor as you made your way back to your rooms. 

Later that night, hot with shame, Bucky laid in his bed, hard and aching as he remembered your smell, the way it had lingered in the hallway, and the way your cheeks looked with that adorable blush. But he didn’t touch himself - refused to be that way, knew he wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes again if he did. 

§

That scent haunted him from that day forward. Each time he passed your room he would automatically look for it, each time he passed you he would scrutinize the nuances of your scent, trying to figure out if you’d been aroused recently or not. Not able to help himself, he would try and decipher if you were wet right then and there, if your scent changed during the brief time you were in a room with him. This was usually during mission briefings or the missions themselves, so it wasn’t often he ever caught your scent marinated and warm and potent like he had that day in the hallway. 

But then the day came where Steve, your usual sparring partner, was on a mission, and out of nowhere you asked Bucky if he could step in. 

“It’s just, with the serum and all, you might be the closest to Steve in terms of the level of challenge we’ve been working up to,” you said, looking down, hands behind your back as you stood before Bucky where he sat on the bench, having just finished a bench press set. 

He’d been resolutely not looking at you from the moment you unexpectedly stepped into the gym. Because he was concentrating on his routine, and because he was giving you space to concentrate on yours. But also because it was hard enough to keep his eyes reigned in when you weren’t sweaty and flushed, your compression shirt clinging to your toned torso, your tights hugging your thighs and oh god, plump, rounded ass perfectly. 

Bucky felt at home in the gym. It was a safe space for working out his surplus energy and jittering nerves, and fresh perspiration was a hundred times better than the stank of old socks and musty boxers he got elsewhere. He always felt a bit grimy, a bit uneasy in his own skin, with the way his bulky body and gait moved him through the delicate spaces of the compound. In the gym, he could just be loud and forceful in his grimy skin and everyone else was too. 

But now, with you so polite and sweet and shy before him, Bucky felt at a loss. He couldn’t damn well say no to you when you gave such a good reason for asking him. He didn’t want to be an asshole. You were supposed to be teammates. Colleagues.  

“What she means to say is that no one else is good enough for her,” Scott Lang chimed in from the bench next to Bucky when Bucky remained quiet a second too long. 

A familiar, rosy blush stole across your cheeks as you batted a hand towards Lang. 

“Maybe if you spent half as much time working your biceps as you do your mouth, I would’ve asked you,” you retorted, and Bucky didn’t bother to quell his snort of laughter. It wasn’t often he got to see your sassy side, though Steve had told him about it. 

You looked back and smiled a little at Bucky as Lang exaggerated a shocked gasp and got up from his bench. 

“You know, you shouldn’t be so nice all the time, Y/N. I would like to see you being a little mean,” he said as he grabbed his towel and headed for the gym exit, smiling all the while. 

“Try me, Bug-man.”

“I just might, ordinary human woman,” Scott threw back as he pushed through the doors. 

You looked back as Bucky, who was still recovering slightly from the smile you’d given him. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, Barnes?” you asked hopefully. 

“Yeah, sure,” he heard himself say, and almost immediately his heart kicked into gear. 

This is a stupid idea, he thought to himself as he joined you on the sparring mat. Your scent, alive with your fresh, warm sweat, wafted in a trail directly behind you where Bucky followed, trying not to take too noticeable pulls of air. You stretched for a bit and Bucky did the same so he wouldn’t end up staring. 

“So,” he started as he raised himself from a forward hamstring stretch, “what have you and Steve been working o- oof!”

His words were cut off as you launched yourself on him, landing a kick to his midriff that had the breath momentarily stealing from his lungs. Then his mind slipped into combat mode, and he lunged for you. 

It seemed like hours passed as you sparred. You’d come a long way in your training, and Bucky found himself receiving quick punches and efficient kicks unexpectedly several times. You’d already been sweaty when you started, and it didn’t take long for your mixed perspirations to clog Bucky’s nose, adding a layer of distraction to the mix. 

You wrapped your thighs around his head in a move eerily reminiscent of Natasha, and Bucky nearly blacked out as he came face to face to the source of that intoxicating scent. He might be gross, but he didn’t care. It smelled so fucking good. 

And then, as he grabbed you by the hips and flung you to the mat, catching your head from breaking against the floor and lowering himself to his knees between your legs to dampen the impact, you let out a surprised little squeal that had him flushing for entirely new reasons. 

You stopped short, panting furiously and looking up at Bucky with wide eyes, face red, hair clinging to the sweat on your forehead. You were utterly gorgeous, and Bucky was powerless. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. You were a dream like this, alive and blinding, so beautiful and so close. It gave him a sort of reverent pleasure just to be allowed to look at a woman like this. A lucky reward he was completely undeserving of. 

You stayed like that. You on your back, arms limp on the mat over your head, legs loosely draped over Bucky’s thighs as he sat on his knees between them, metal arm bracing on the mat by the side of your head, the other, softer one, cradled between the back of your head and the mat under it. 

And then the unmistakable, elusive scent of lazy mornings in bed, sex and spice hit his nose. Your arousal, mixing with your sweat to a lethal potion. Bucky couldn’t for the life of him stop the instinctual indraw of breath, feeling himself instantly getting a little dizzy of it. The appreciative sigh escaped him a moment later. 

Your mouth parted slightly like you understood what he was doing, your eyes momentarily going wide before your eyelids drooped, pupils expanding. 

Then, in a move Bucky would never anticipate, your head lifted off his hand, and you slotted your mouth to his, warm lips meeting his in a hard kiss. 

Wait, what?

Even as Bucky’s thoughts scrambled to keep up with what you’d done, his body responded in kind, lips returning your kiss after only a beat of stunned shock. 

Muscles rippling with lightning bolt of unleashed need, his body surged forward, pressing your head back into the mat, dragging his flesh hand up to cradle your jaw as he deepened the kiss. 

You’d kissed him. He’d kissed you back. You were kissing. No, making out now, he thought fervently as your mouth opened to not so shyly pry your tongue against his, swiping slick and hot in a way that had his breath catching in his lungs.

Lust rippled through him, making even his bulky frame shudder.

With the cutest, neediest whimper that made Bucky’s blood rush in his ears, you grabbed his wrist with both your hands and brought his hand, the one made of flesh, down to cup you between your legs.

The surprised grunt that escaped him was entirely unplanned, and the one that followed was downright unhinged, escaping his control. Before his mind had completely caught up to what had happened, his hand had started to move back and forth on it’s own, rubbing you over and over, and fuck – you were wet, so wet it had soaked through the fabric of your leggings, making his hand damp.

Bucky’s breath burst out of him, and you suddenly wrenched away from the kiss, your head falling back with a dull thud on the mat. Your hands let go of Bucky’s hand and you covered your face with them.

“Oh God, sorry! I’m sorry, that was so thoughtless of me, what if you don’t want to, and I…and, maybe we should stop, I mean you don’t have to if –“ you rambled, shrill voice muffled by your own hands, and Bucky had to refrain from screaming in protest to this stopping. He brought the hand he’d awkwardly stilled between your legs up and pried one of your hands off your face.

You had the most adorable, crimson flush high on your cheekbones, and your face was all scrunched up from embarrassment. The sight of you being so small and vulnerable beneath him had a surge of protectiveness welling so fast in Bucky’s chest it physically pained him for a moment. He suddenly felt entirely sure he wanted to do, would do, anything to stop you from fretting, from worrying about anything ever again.

You were still mumbling faintly about not wanting him to feel pressured and how inaprorpriate it was of you to come on to him like this. Bucky would have none of that. Emboldened by his newfound emotion and almost panicked by the notion of this ending before he could touch you and kiss you just a little bit more, he lowered his face to capture your lips again, if only to shut you up. You whimpered into his mouth, eagerly reciprocating in contrast to your attempt at rationality. 

Fuck rationality. Bucky was starving, had been starving for months.

When he broke away, he leaned his forehead to yours, trying to catch his breath, to get order to his thoughts, but they were a jumbled mess of possessive, filthy wants that had his self control ripping at the seams. And your scent, God, your fucking scent was tinged with fucking ambrosia, like an aphrodisiac designed specifically to make Bucky’s vision go all loopy and his damn civility to shrivel to dust. 

“I want…I…fuck, you have no idea how much I want,” he blurted inelegantly, and then words escaped him all together, for there were no words to describe the profound ache that settled deep in his loins, the sheer carnal need to feel your skin on his, to touch you, to be the provider of every moan and keen of pleasure he could - to keep you wet and shivering and wordless from pleasure. 

His mind short circuited as he landed on the mental image of hearing you come with his cock deep inside your weeping cunt, and he pounced on you without really meaning to.

His mouth sought out the soft skin of your elegant neck, and he licked it before giving it an open-mouthed kiss, covering it in saliva. He felt your body twitch and writhe as he latched his teeth and tongue onto it, moving messily down to the collar of your compression shirt. He wanted to pry it off you, to tear it to shreds with his teeth, to lather the skin of your breasts with the attention of his tongue and lips, to nip and bite and suck on your nipples till they grew hard and red and puffy for him. But that would have to be later, for he had one goal he was working towards, that spot between your legs where he had already felt how much you already needed him. He would not let you go another minute unsatiated. 

Unceremoniously and frenzied, he kissed over your clothed torso as he crawled down your body. Your hands were in his hair, tugging and gripping as he went, the most decadent, breathy moans spilling from you panting mouth as he (rougher than he intended) manhandled your legs over his shoulders and then your hips off the floor, wrenching your leggings and underwear down so hard your whole body jolted, and fuck, he was telling himself to be more gentle, to not scare you away when you had given him this fucking gift of letting him get this far.

But he needed it; was desperate for it. Desperate to bury his face between your legs, breath in your warm, sweet scent where it was most potent, to taste you and feel your pulsate on his tongue. He needed you to come in his mouth, all over his face, so he would smell you there for days, lingering like the most illicit secret. Fuck, all his blood was rushing south so fast he felt almost faint.

You let him do what he wanted, laid down again naked from the waist down, so small and fragile and beautiful and Bucky wanted to eat you alive.

And then he was on his stomach between your legs, pussy inches away and it was glistening with how wet you were, your patch of dark curls wet too. Your whole body was shivering slightly, and your hands flitted about the mat for something to do, something to hold on to, a nervous gesture, or an excited one. Fucking hell, Bucky hoped you were half as excited for this as he was, and promised he would do anything to have you as addicted to his mouth as he already was to your scent. 

It was baffling how magnanimous the moment was to him, to have the absolute honor of being allowed this close to your sweet pussy, to have you trembling and flushed on your back, allowing him, socially stunted, unelegant and most of the time awkward as hell, between your glorious thighs, allowing him to touch you, to try and bring you the most pleasurable experience you could have. 

It had been a long time since Bucky was a religious man, but -

“Christ,” he muttered as he saw your pussy clenching under his gaze, more of your slick seeping out under his watchful gaze. 

In a moment of unexpected (and impressing) clarity, Bucky looked up to find your gaze on his face. 

“Is this okay? C-can I?” he asked, or rather rasped, for his voice was all husky, more growl than anything else. His cock was so hard in his pants, throbbing, and he had to push his hips down into the mat to alleviate some of the ache as he watched your face avidly, fearing for his life that you would do anything but consent enthusiastically. Suddenly he wasn’t sure how he would survive if you said no and he would have to tear himself away from you. 

To Bucky’s relief, a needy whimper escaped you and you bit your lips nodding before gasping. 

“Yes, please, please Barnes, I -”

Bucky didn’t let you finish your sentence. The minute he heard you say yes and oh lord - plead for him to do it - he surged forward and sucked your pussy into his mouth. He heard the air catch in your throat as he licked his tongue flat against you from weeping hole to your clit, the nub swollen and hard already. He flicked it with the tip of his tongue and your body jolted, a small sound escaping you. 

He did it again, flicking your clit teasingly, the little nub growing harder and bigger under his attention. He was ravenous, wanted to work you until your whole body felt like one big overstimulated nerve, contracting and throbbing with every touch. He wanted you soaked in pleasure, so hazy with it you could do nothing but come back to him for more. 

You let your sounds spill freely as he went, pretty, needy whimpers and unashamed moans.

God, yes, Bucky thought, hoping you always were so reactive, vowing to drag more sweet sounds out of you, his blood sizzling with how downright nourishing they were to him. 

You were writhing so hard on the mat you nearly squirmed away from his mouth, and Bucky hooked his metal arm around your thigh as he draped it over his shoulder, securing you firmly in place as he lavished your whole dripping pussy with his spit, letting it mingle with your own slick and coat his chin and lips in it, probably dripping down onto the mat. Bucky didn’t care, he couldn’t get enough. You tasted even better than you smelled, and his vision went blurry with how ecstatic he felt buried in the hot, soft flesh between your legs. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth, bullying it with his tongue as he peeked up at your sweaty face. He drank in the almost reverent look on it, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, drool at one corner. 

Your hands still flitted about looking for purchase, for something to grab. He grabbed you gently by the wrist and led your hands to his hair, still working your clit with his tongue in rhythmic swipes, up and down, up and down. You instantly grabbed fistfuls of his dark locks in tight clasps and your eyes, blown and glassy, met his as he lowered his head to lap at your hole again. You whined, lifting your hips slightly to grind against his mouth and Bucky hadn’t thought this could get any better but the feel of you smearing your juices on his face, riding your clit mindlessly on his tongue, using him to chase your own pleasure - Bucky nearly came in his gym shorts and he couldn’t even be bothered by it. 

He fit his hands on your hips, just resting them there as you grinded on him, your brows drawn together in concentration. Bucky groaned into your flesh as more of your sweet slick dripped out of you onto his tongue, and you jolted against him, whimpering so adorably as your hips sped up to frantic bucking. 

Bucky started flicking his tongue to help you out, to drive the movement higher, faster, and you gasped hoarsely. 

“Yes, fuck, just like that, oh my god Bucky!,” you exclaimed, practically screaming into the empty gym. And hearing his name like that, so intimately and fervently, desperately as you praised him. Bucky downright snarled into your pussy, and that seemed to drive you that last bit off the edge. 

You threw your head back on a choked whine, whole body seizing tight, trembling like a leaf in his arms. Bucky kept his flicking licks on your clit, feeling it jump and throb as the waves of your orgasm rode your body. 

He kept licking until your voice returned to you in jolting little squeaks, and tried to keep going even as you pulled his face away from you by the roots of his hair. 

Bucky wanted to protest. Wanted to shake your hands off him and push his face into your cunt again. He wasn’t ready for it to end. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough of your addicting, heavenly taste. He kissed and licked over your thighs, smearing your slick and his spit all over them, nibbling on the soft skin and making you all messy, a preening sort of satisfaction settling warm in his chest at the sight. He wanted to see you come again, hear you come again, feel the way your muscles seized as you reached that pinnacle of pleasure. He wanted to make you come again. So he did just that. 

With renewed, almost feral fervor, Bucky shot to his knees and hunched over your lower body. Easily prying your hands off his head, he pinned them to your sides on the mat as he pushed his tongue against your hole, lapping up the gush your orgasm had created. A rational, though very small voice in the back of his mind told him he probably sounded and acted like an animal, but he didn’t care. He pushed his tongue as far inside you he could and felt your walls throb and clench around the muscle, driving his fervor higher. 

He kept your hands pinned to your sides a while longer, though it didn’t take long for your squeaks of overstimulation to turn back to sweet, needy whimpers of “fuck, yes, more, please, yes, God”.

Bucky wanted to feel more of you from the inside, and when he felt more secure in the fact that you would allow him more time between your legs, he let go of your wrist and brought his flesh hand down to your hole. His fingers trembled slightly as he swiped through your messy folds, coating them thoroughly before resting them just on your opening. 

Your hand returned to his hair, carding through and then tightening. 

“Pleeease,” you whined above him, and Bucky’s breath went short and puffy at how completely and ardently you submitted to him, gave yourself over and begged him. He wanted to hear you beg more, but he was too impatient to get inside you, if only with his fingers. 

His cock jumped at the thought of getting inside you, too, but he ignored it. He wanted you to come, right now. 

He pushed two fingers into you and groaned at the tight, wet heat that enveloped him. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and if he used to do this sort of thing back in the day, he couldn’t remember it feeling like this. 

Your back arched off the mat on a garbled gasp. Bucky took the opportunity to wrap his other arm under your back and practically drag you into his lap as he sat back on his haunches, getting his mouth back on your clit. 

He flicked it fast, alternating with messy suckling, and curled his finger inside you to hook against the roof of your stretched cunt. He had no idea where all his moves came from. He hadn’t so much as seen a naked woman since coming to the compound and didn’t remember much other than fragments of his sexual escapades before the war. It must have been muscle memory, some hard attained skills locked deep in his mind. It seemed to be working well with you, and that was all that mattered to Bucky. 

You were keening and whining under him, half in Bucky’s lap with your shoulders still on the mat. Your hands grabbed and scratched on his knees and thighs below you, and Bucky fucking loved it.

He was aware he was acting like a brute. No finesse, no manners, just a primal and instinctual need to get you off, to feel and hear and taste you fall apart from his touch and tongue. And have that heavenly scent of your arousal fresh in his mind for the rest of the day. 

You came again quickly with Bucky’s fingers added to the mix, screaming his name as your legs went rod stiff, body spasming that same, incredible way it had done the first time. Bucky felt high on your juice, licking up the fresh gush with reverent licks.

He had the absurd urge to keep going when he felt your hand tap his thigh twice. Tapping out. 

Bucky looked up your body, or rather down it where your bum was held up by his arm in his lap. You were panting, your eyes half-lidded and shining. You smiled at him, and his heart clenched weirdly in his chest. He was coming back to himself slightly, and suddenly wondered if he should prepare himself for embarrassment and horrified rejection after the unhinged way he’d just acted. But your hands, so gentle and elegant, reached for his face. 

He bent forward to insinuate his jaw into the cradle of them, and slowly lowered your lower body back to the mat as you gently pulled his face to yours, kissing him on the mouth almost chastely after what he’d just done. He could feel himself tremble a little as he hovered over you, kissing you again and then again, deepening the kiss a little to slow swipes of your tongues. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his tongue, if you liked your own taste as much as he did. 

Your head plumped back down on the mat and a trill of laughter flitted effortlessly from your mouth. 

“Oh my fucking God, Barnes,” you said, eyes closed and a broad smile on your face. Bucky could feel himself blushing a little, though he liked it better when you’d called him Bucky. 

Taking a purely selfish chance, Bucky quickly backed down your body to lay on his chest between your legs again, resting his head on one of your spread thighs. Your hand absentmindedly came to lay on his head, stroking his hair lightly. He stared at your pussy, swollen and pink and messy  with the mix of his spit and your slick. He could stare at it for hours. He took another selfish chance and slowly leaned in to swipe his tongue over your slit.

You moaned, though a bit critically. 

“If you don’t let me catch my breath, you’re gonna kill me,” you said, but you were still smiling. 

“I don’t want that,” Bucky admitted honestly, and you laughed again. 

“I’m glad.”

Bucky went back to staring at your messy pussy, taking in that perfect scent that had all his other thoughts muffling to a peaceful hum. He leaned forward, watching you to see if you would stop him, and took another slow, almost soothing swipe over your pussy. You jolted slightly, then hummed contently, eyes closing. He did it again, for he was an animal with no self-control, and this time, your thighs came up to bracket his face, stopping him half-way. 

“Barnes,” you warned, and Bucky had to admit defeat. He crawled back up to hover over your body, hoping you would drag him back in for kisses, or just touches, or just some form of physical contact. His skin was prickling all over from the pleasantness of just feeling warm skin to his. 

Luckily, you did, pulling him back down to kiss him again, and he let his body lower to lay splayed on top of you, making sure not to put too much of his bulk on you, but plastering himself to you all the same. 

You gave a startled little noise and broke from the kiss, looking down with wide eyes. 

Oh shit, Bucky was still sporting a raging hard-on, which he had unceremoniously pushed into your stomach as he laid down on top of you. About to jump away, Bucky again readied himself to reign himself back in when your hand snaked down, grabbing him over his gym shorts, keeping him put exactly where he was. 

Your hand around him, even with the fabric between, drew a raspy gasp from him. 

“Can I”? You asked, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Bucky swallowed thickly, looking down at your dainty hand barely reaching around the bulge in his gym shorts, and his cock gave a noticeable jerk as his mind flooded with images of all the things he wanted you to do to his cock. He could feel his balls tingling, drawing up, his sack tightening in warning. He was already on the edge. 

“I won’t last long,” he admitted, barely daring to meet your gaze again. 

You smiled, biting your lip slightly. 

“That doesn’t matter, as long as you want to,” you said. Bringing your other hand to draw his face down, he shivered as your hot breath tickled his ear. He was so overworked on sensation, he was surprised his arms hadn’t given out yet for how weak and sensitive he felt all over. 

“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered huskily in his ear, and Bucky bit his lip to try and stifle the embarrassing sound crawling its way up his throat at those words. He wasn’t successful, and he sounded almost like a wounded puppy before giving up and pressing his flushed face into the crook of your neck, nodding rapidly. He hadn’t even given a thought to you reciprocating anything. He’d been more than happy to just use the memory of this as masturbation fodder for a long, long time to come. 

“Yeah?” you asked in a honey sweet voice, God, you were just so fucking sweet, and Bucky melted against you. “Roll over on your back,” you told him, and like a tamed beast eager to please, Bucky immediately obeyed, rolling off you to lay on his back on the mat. You followed, moving swiftly to get on your hands and knees between his spread legs, one hand moving teasingly up his thigh to wrap around his bulge again. 

Not able to help himself, Bucky rose to a sitting position to claim your mouth as you held him by the cock. He wanted you closer, everywhere. You kissed him while lazily touching him over the fabric of his shorts, sliding the tip of your finger up his length to the tip and Bucky jolted, grunting uncontrollably into your mouth. His breathing was picking up, his nerve endings spiking and sizzling. 

While thrusting your tongue into his mouth, Bucky’s hands cradling your face like the most precious jewel, you reached inside his shorts and took his cock out, wrapping your hand around it and letting it just sit, rock hard and leaking generously, between you. 

You broke the kiss, gave Bucky the most devilish smirk he’d ever seen, and licked your lips before lowering yourself to take him into your mouth. The anticipation burned like a lightning bolt straight down his body to his cock. 

Bucky exploded before you even got your lips to his tip. Cum spurted out of him, spraying his t-shirt, some going as high as his chin, and some getting on your shocked face. Bucky groaned as the orgasm wrecked through him, riding through him in wave after wave, the most intense one he could ever remember having - and you hadn’t so much as jerked him without his clothes on. 

Mortified and still trembling slightly with aftershocks, Bucky gathered the courage to look at you, and found you staring at his cum-covered chest. Your hand was still wrapped around his twitching cock, your knuckles shining with his spunk, and despite how Bucky had no clue where to go from here, the sight had hot satisfaction spreading in his chest. It was like he was marking you with his cum the way you had marked him with your slick (though that had mostly been Bucky marking himself by literally rubbing his face in it). 

He watched with rapid attention as you brought your wet hand up to your face and licked a stripe of cum off your knuckle, sucking your own thumb into your mouth. You met his gaze, and Bucky swore under his breath as his dick throbbed with renewed interest at the sight. 

Your mouth ticked up at the corner before you leaned in and kissed Bucky softly on the mouth. He shivered with excitement as you pried his lips open with yours to swipe his own taste into his mouth. Fuck, he’d never done that before. It was filthy and possessive and dominating and Bucky had never thought he’d be so fucking turned on by it. 

You broke the kiss with a content hum that had Bucky’s blood rushing in his ears. 

“That was really fucking hot,” you murmured, going back in for another kiss. Bucky felt his nervousness dissipating, replaced by a sort of ecstatic elation. A laugh bubbled up and out of him, and he kissed you back. Pulling you closer with his hands on your face, neither of you cared about the mess on his shirt as you laid down on top of him, kissing again and again, slowly, exploringly. 

There was a calm inside Bucky, a sort of sated comfort he could scarcely remember feeling, and he knew it was all because of you, the sweet, wonderful woman in his arms. He could lay like this forever, simply kissing you, holding you close, smelling your scent and feeling your warmth against him, your grounding weight on his chest. His cock had other thoughts though, already starting to fill, lodged between the two of you. 

You raised your head and cocked a brow down at Bucky, and he could do nothing more than shrug and blush. And then, as he started thinking about dragging you up to sit on his face, a booming voice came from the door to the gym. 

“Please, for the love of all things good and holy, vacate the gym room now! You’re keeping it hostage at this point!,” Sam shouted, and Bucky glanced over your shoulder to see him standing outside, facing the other way as he held the door open to shout through. 

Oh. Right, you were still in the very public gym of the compound. 

You squealed as you scrambled off Bucky to retrieve the leggings and underwear he’d ripped off you and thrown to the side. Bucky got on his feet and in between you and the view of the door, trying to shield you from view while you frantically redressed - he could at least try to be a gentleman after having devoured you like a hungry animal and then cum all over himself and you. 

You turned to face him once you were fully dressed, and your eyes bulged as you glanced down. With frantic, fumbling hands, you reached forward and tucked his cock, hard and proud and still jutting out over his shorts, back inside. Bucky grunted at the touch, seeing the lovely crimson blush on your face, stretching to the tips of your ears and down your neck. He grunted again, appreciatively, when he noticed the splotches of his cum still drying on your chin and cheek from when he’d busted in your face. 

Bringing his thumb up, he gently wiped his mess off your skin, wiping his hand on the back of his shorts. 

“Sorry about Sam and…” Bucky trailed, gesturing awkwardly to the mat and around the room. His communication skills hadn’t improved by the earth-shattering orgasm, then…

“It’s fine. It was I who jumped your bones, after all,” you said sheepishly, but you were smiling. God, so sweet. 

Bucky was about to lean in to kiss you once again when Sam’s voice cut in. 

“Don’t you dare start up again, I don’t have all day! And bring that mat with you. Matter of fact, burn it!” he shouted. 

Giggling like teenagers, you scrambled to get your belongings and exit the room. Bucky gave Sam an apologetic look as he passed him, and though Sam was clearly pissed off, Bucky saw the way his mouth was ticking up at the edges, approval shining in his eyes. 

You grabbed Bucky’s hand once you’d left the gym, and Bucky happily let himself be dragged along down the hall. He was already working on his plan to lure you into his room, and subsequently rub your scent on everything he owned. For though the intensity of smells were mostly a nuisance for Bucky, having a strong sense of smell wasn’t so bad when it came to you.

[the-kr8tor]

May I have Bitter Orange in a ⭐ bottle please? The start of R and Hobie being handcuffed together before they turned, with R succumbing to the effects of the virus much faster than Hobie due to his spiderpowers, so for a bit he just watches his love become a husk of who they were before he too is a zombie?

*laughs evily* Yessss I've been waiting for a request exactly like this hwjsjwijsjaj hope you like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.2k (whoops)

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), description of illness, TW blood, CW injury, TW death, zombie AU, Zombie apocalypse AU. Angst, Hurt/comfort

A prequel to this one shot

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The air is nice and cool on your face as you walk hand in hand with Hobie in the barren street. There's rows upon rows of abandoned houses, all in different stages of decay from both scavengers trying to survive and time itself proving to be the worst enemy. But it's on your side for now for it has given you infinite time to be with him.

Hobie's hand is suddenly on your scarf, fingers gingerly sliding the fuzzy material up to your chin. He smiles at you, the sun blindingly light behind him. Despite the apocalypse, he still looks just as handsome. He has new shallow scars on his chin where a stubble is slowly growing, hair a bit of a mess but beautiful nonetheless. You've once told him after a lucky find of one whole pound of chocolate pudding that he's apocalypse chic, that he makes the end of the world look good. To which he laughed and shoved a spoonful of chocolate pudding in your mouth. Compared to him you probably look like a mess, you wouldn't know, you've ignored mirrors ever since you ran out of shampoo a few days ago.

“What are you thinkin' ‘bout, gorgeous?” He tugs you closer to him, the crowbar hanging from his backpack clinks against the machete next to it.

“That I really need shampoo, and that you look unfairly handsome in this light.”

Chuckling, he intertwined his fingers around your own. It could mean death for the both of you if the undead suddenly lunges and he doesn't have enough time to take his hand away from you. But he thinks it's alright for him to do, to indulge himself to your touch since the entire place is empty save for a few dead cars and scattered luggages left by people.

“You should see yourself in my eyes, lovie, the greasy hair is doin' a lot for me.”

“Oh yeah? You like it when you pat my head and you get petrol on your hand?”

“We need petrol, d’you think if I bunch up your hair and squeeze it I can collect the oil?”

You nudge him playfully, “you're an ass.”

“Yeah, well, you're stuck with this arse.”

Your mind goes back to your friends and family you've left behind. “Do you think they're okay?”

“'m sure they are, Yuri's got them, and they have Ned, he'll whip them into shape. ‘sides, we're almost at James’, if I was them I'd stay there.” He adjusts his hold on his pack and guitar. “We'll find them.”

You smile, nuzzling his bicep for his own reassurance, knowing that he also worries for them. “You're right. They're probably doing better than us.”

“Yeah,” he pecks the crown of your head. “They're living like kings, I bet.”

You two stop in front of a large house, complete with white marble steps and tall roman columns. “James' dad never had taste, huh?”

Hobie snorts, “his son took all of it. C’mon, then.” He leads you on the porch, trying the door, wishing that it was locked because if it is it means that someone's inside, that they're surviving and waiting for the two of you. To his despair, the door opens without a problem.

Hobie looks back at you having the same expression. “It's okay,” you try to be optimistic, “maybe they left a message for us.”

He nods, “yeah, maybe.” Crossing the abandoned space, he takes his guitar from his back to strum a tune. When he doesn't hear stumbling or any rattling from anywhere inside the house, he continues forward, but his guard is still up. “We might as well get some supplies while we're ‘ere.”

“Yeah, there might be some left in here.” You give him a small smile. “How about we split up? This place is too big, it'll take us forever to comb over this place.”

Hobie considers it for a moment. The place seems pristine except for the furniture and cabinets that are picked clean, so he deems it safe. “Okay, just…” you walk to his side, rubbing his arms, smiling sweetly at him even though he probably doesn't smell the best. “...keep your knife close.”

“I will keep my knife close,” you repeat his words, “and I'll stay alert.” Poking at his chest, you peck the frown off his lips. “And you keep safe.”

He's still apprehensive, but he knows you can hold your own. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you fully, smooching until you're giggling. “We’ll meet back ‘ere in fifteen.”

“Aye, aye, Cap'n!” You mock salute. “Any special requests?”

“Chocolates.”

“I said a request, not wishful thinking.” You tease, he has an urge to kiss you again.

“Towels, the nice fluffy ones.” You slide your hands away from him, to which he already longs for.

“Got it! I bet James has a ton of them.” You wink, knife in hand, walking away from him.

Hobie watches your retreating back, tamping down his anxieties. He searches upstairs, grinning at James' familiar room. His posters and messy floors remain untouched, the bed still looking like it was tossed around by a tornado. He almost cries at the picture frame on the bedside table containing his band's smiling faces plus you who's embracing him.

Turning the frame around, he takes the picture and pockets it to show to you. After rummaging James' room, he takes a few shirts and pants for him and you. He even finds a pair of silk pajamas that he knows you'll love. A piercing scream echoes around the house, he immediately bolts downstairs, heavy footsteps thudding across marble floors.

You're on your back, fighting for your life while the undead on top of you tried to get a chunk out of you. It all stops when Hobie's guitar connects to the corpse's skull in a sickening crunch of metal and bone.

You scramble away, neck and arm in pain. Hobie's wide eyes meet yours just as when the back door bursts open, revealing a whole horde of the undead. Panicking, he yanks you up, holding your hand, running outside to more of the shambling dead.

“Fuck!”

“Hobie!”

“Just hold on!” His hand is tight around yours, you try to run at his pace, panic in your veins, adrenaline in his.

It feels like you've been running forever, Hobie sees an opening hidden in an alley. He can climb on his own without a ladder but you can't. So he leads you towards the empty alley while the rotten, decayed corpses of once human beings run after you at full speed.

Hobie jumps to take down an emergency ladder, without missing a beat, he grabs your waist and throws you on the ladder. You climb, but the pain in your arm gets worse so you're slower but you still try for him.

The undead finally gets to the alley, you don't dare to look down. Once you're on the rooftop, you peek below to see him struggling to get up the ladder, he's halfway with a handful of zombies dangling on his leg.

You scream his name but it's too late, one of the undead has bitten a chunk of his leg as he tries to kick the former human off the ladder where he's desperately trying to climb to. You wish he didn't run out of web fluid, you wish the world didn't end, you wish the throbbing pain on your arm is just muscle spasm, but the warm crimson seeping out of teeth marks says differently.

With a sickly crunch, the zombie falls down the ladder and into the rotten horde. Hobie climbs up quickly back to you, hands immediately grasping on to you.

“Did it get you?!” You yell, still in denial, frantically checking in hopes that his boot saved him. Your heart falls into your stomach at the sight of broken skin, blood staining your fingers where you hold the hem of his trousers away to get a better look. You're frozen on the spot, tears clinging to your lashes. “Hobie,” you gasp, taking off your scarf to make a makeshift tourniquet around and above the bite. “Fuck—!”

“You okay?!” He does the same to you, heaving, ripping off your sleeves like a madman trying to find the secrets hidden in your skin. He prays that he finds none. His eyes widen, terrified, broken hearted, shaking his head, refusing the fact that you're infected. “No,” he shakes his head again, closing the torn up cloth around the slowly rotting wound. “It's just a scratch, love, y-you’re not—”

“Hobie…” you smile bitterly, eyes mirroring his own. He rips the hem of his shirt, using the cloth to wrap it around your arm, just above the wound in an attempt to stop the spread. He ignores the stinging pain on his leg. “Hobie, stop, it's—”

“We can still stop it!” He yells desperately, tying the cloth tightly. “It's just a scratch.”

“Hobie, please.” You hold his trembling hands, “it has been ten minutes.” He refuses, you squeeze his hand weakly, the virus already taking hold. Slowly killing you. “And—” with trembling hands, you show him the gaping bite on your neck, oozing dark decaying blood. He choked on a sob. “B-but there's a chance for you, your abilities might've made you immune—”

“No, if you're goin’, ‘m goin’” He stands up, not giving up on you. “There's a chemist’s ‘ere, maybe if w-we…” he puts on a brave face amidst the impending doom and rotten flesh that stings his nose. “Maybe there's somethin’ there.” Hand reaching down, you smile up at him, orange and pink hues from the sky dancing around your face. “C-can you get up?” His voice breaks, chest heaving. “I can carry you. Don't make me carry you, love.”

You slide your hand onto his own. “Hobie,” your voice is soft above the mindless groaning below. His eyes beg you to move. So you do. “Okay,” with a single word, you bring him hope.

With divided effort, you both make it towards the roof of the pharmacy. He was uncharacteristically silent the whole way, but his hand never left yours. His eyes never met with your wounds that's slowly festering. You feel it inside you, the fever, the virus that's eating at you, spreading throughout your body, gnawing at every bit of your warmth like a seed taking root. Hobie feels it too, he's terrified that you're experiencing it too. It's his worst fears came to life only because he wasn't fast enough.

Opening the creaky door, he hopes that it's devoid of the undead. Like he's not on the brink of eating flesh, he does his usual prep. He strums his guitar softly to attract any walking corpses waiting behind doors, when none comes out, he cracks the door wider. With his torch, he lights up the way. But he doesn't feel your presence behind him.

Looking over his shoulder was a mistake, he finds you hunched over the doorway, groaning quietly, nails clawing at the throbbing wound around your neck. That's the moment he knew that you'd go out before him. For the first time, he curses his gifts.

Slowly, he crosses the distance towards you, shaking hands grasping your shoulders. You're warm, incredibly warm. “Love?” He could cry, but he doesn't want you to see his sorrow.

You sniff, tears streaming down your face from the pain and the tragedy of it all. You've accepted that you were infected, but not him, you'd take the virus from him too if you could. “I'm s-sorry, so fucking sorry. I should've—”

“Oi, none of that, yeah? You're gonna be fine.” He says it to convince himself. “You'll be back on your feet tomorrow and by then we'll see Yuri and the others.” Nodding, he takes you by your arm, careful of making your wounds worse. There's blood sticking to his clothes, seeping through his clammy skin. He hates the fact that it was yours. Bringing you behind the counter, you almost keep over. “I've got you, I've got you.” He says it against your temple like a prayer.

“H-Hobie.” You sob, salty tears marring your pretty face. “I can't— it hurts.” The gnawing feeling gets worse, as if a chainsaw is ripping you apart from the inside. “It's so hot, I–I can't breathe.”

“O-okay, I'll set you down ‘ere, get you comfortable. There's some fever meds over there. It'll help.” His hazel eyes pleads for anyone, anything that'll help you. He helps you sit down, and you immediately lie down on the cold tiles. “Do you want a blanket?”

“N-no,” you're hot and cold at the same time. “I don't know.” You look up at him, he sees the light in your eyes fading. “I don't feel so good, Hobs.”

Hobie could only look away from you, inhaling, exhaling but it doesn't feel like he's breathing right. He kneels down, setting his guitar next to you, palm placed on your forehead. “This is nothing, love.” He tries to smile, but fails. “Remember when you had the flu?” You nod weakly, “you were a fuckin' beast, you beat it on your own in just a few days.”

Even though you feel your heartbeat going faster and then slowing down in a weird rhythm like a heartbeat monitor going haywire, you smile for him. “I was, wasn't I?”

He rubs your bicep, under his touch, he feels your muscle twitch. “Yeah, you still are.”

You chuckle softly, tears sliding down your cheeks and into the cold tiles. “Okay, get me the meds.”

“That's my girl,” laying his forehead atop yours, he hopes that he'll take your pain away with the simple gesture, but it's futile. “I'll be back, I promise.”

“Don’t make me wait.”

Smiling, he squeezes your arm. “Never.” Standing up, he rummages through the entire place for the pills you need. Crouching down to check under the broken shelves, climbing up on the walls to get a bird's eye view, and all the while ignoring his own pain. It's slim pickings, but he manages to find a single bottle of tylenol that has rolled under a shelf, it's not enough, but it'll do.

With a victorious sigh, he quickly makes it to the counter, rounding the corner, he sees you wheezing, catching your breath and with blood leaking out from your eyes and ears. “No, no, no!” He takes you in his arms, making you sit up. “I've got the meds, love. Oi, open your eyes for me.” You crack one eye open tiredly. “That's it, good job.” He almost cries when you smile at him through the thick fog of illness.

“G-good job,” you murmur, he doesn't know if you're delirious or you're congratulating him for finding the medicine.

“Bottoms up.” He brings two pills to your mouth, to which you gladly take. Giving you his canteen, you drink most of it, downing the tepid water. “That's good, see, you're already gettin' better.”

You shake your head weakly, barely opening your eyes. “Thanks to you, Hobie.”

“Yeah, thanks to me.” He tries to joke but it comes out choked when blood still leaks out of your tear ducts. Sitting next to you, he now feels his temperature rise so he takes the same amount of pills as you.

You lay your head on his shoulder, hand shakily reaching towards his own. “I'm sorry.”

He almost breaks down at your apology. “Nothin' to apologize for, love.” Meeting your hand halfway, he intertwined his fingers with yours, you're cold now, frozen under his hold. “D’you want that blanket now?”

“Please,” you wheeze out.

Hobie obliges, taking a thick blanket from his pack and then draping it around you as if it'll protect you from the infection. “There, nice and cozy, eh?”

“Thank you,” he feels your crimson fall down on his collar. “For everything.”

“None of that, Y/N, please. None of that.”

“I still want to talk to you.” Your voice is soft and small. “I still want to stay with you.”

Hobie brings your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle softly. “And we will be, after this—” a sob escapes from him. “After this, we'll be together, yeah? Just like how we talked about.”

“Forever and ever?”

His tears flow freely, “yeah, forever and ever.” After a beat of silence, he fears the worst. “Love?”

You cough, he sighs in relief. “Still here, Hobs, not leaving yet.”

“Not yet,” embracing you, he lays his chin atop your head, you're made comfortable in his hold. Home, you feel like you're back home in his houseboat, watching a shitty romcom while he rambles on about his patrol. You want to be back there again. He wants to be back there again. “Can I say somethin'?”

You hum into his chest, squeezing his hand tighter but your sickness, he barely felt it.

“I don't want to…” he could barely say it. “I don't want to kill you. ‘m sorry, I know we talked about it—”

You lean up, he's met with milky eyes, he knows you can barely see him now. “Then don't, I don't want you to—” you pause, clinging to humanity. “— to feel that before you go.”

Nodding, he kisses your forehead, crying, weeping into your skin. “I couldn't save you, ‘m so fuckin' sorry, love, ‘m so sorry.” He shakes, you gather enough strength to embrace him and bury yourself in his chest, letting his scent waft around you for comfort.

“Don't apologize, nothin' to apologize for.”

He sniffs, peppering your face with heavy weakened kisses. “Oi, don't use my own words against me.”

You smile against the rough leather of his jacket. “Can I say something?”

“Go,” he can practically see the countdown. “We have all the time in the world, love.” There's something warm leaking out of his eyes and ears. He's catching up to you.

You'd laugh but you can feel your life slipping through your fingers. “When we turn, I don't want us to be separated.”

“What do you propose?” He tries to inhale but he could only let out a sickening cough.

“Tie our hands together…really tight.” Your words fade away, but you still hold on.

“I've got rope here, I can do it now.”

“But I'll turn first, Hobie, I-I might—”

“It'll be my honour to be your first meal.”

“I'd laugh if we weren't dying right now.” Eyes too tired to open, you feel the rough rope around your wrist, and the unmistakable sound of a knot getting tied. You smile for the last time when you feel his fingers wrap around your own. “I love you.”

“How's that? Too tight?” He whispers close, he feels you slipping away, “Y/N? Love?” he breaks down when your hand falls limp around his own. “Not yet, please, not yet.” He holds you, rocking you back and forth like a babe needing to be held. Your heart doesn't beat in sync with his anymore. “C’mon, not yet, we still have to find the rest of the band, right?” His eyes cloud over, cold taking root inside his entire body. “Say somethin’, fuck!” He yells with all his might, “I love you, fuck, please wake up.”

Closing his eyes, he wraps you in what's left of his warmth. “Don't go, please.” Hobie pleads and cries until he can no longer breathe the same air as you. His last thoughts were of you.

[karajluce]

Tag nine people you want to get to know better!

Oh well! Thanks to @theladyofshalott1989for the tag!

Last Song? Mamas Gun by Glass Animals. For a reason: I used it for my own answer to my thestral question (find it here ................pls click, I beg you💀)

Favorite Color? ouuffffff.... wine red, sunny yellow (its sometimes yellow, sometimes more orange - I like both), bright indigo, petrol,...

Currently watching? Lets Plays of Indie horror games, Adventures, Sims & Inzoi and ofc the old Harry Potter movies - always

Last Movie? "Hände weg von Mississipi" (Childmovie, i am not so much in Movies tbh...except Harry Potter! - Always

Sweet/ Spicy/ Savoury? Um…I like food that doesn't look and taste so complicated…so…yes and no?

Relationship Status A few nice people, poly & platonic and one person (also poly) who is my most close

Current Obsession Hogwarts (Legacy), Horses, DnD (Humblewood), Kingdom Come Deliverance (Tw: blood and absolutely heteronormative..), InZoi

Last thing you googled? sunny yellow examples🐱

Tag 9 people you want to know better I choose you:

@noelles-legacy / @cesqdarque / @siropdeconcombre @the-chaotic-scilla-aster / @kiwiplaetzchen / @artebris @jeongyunhoed / @heyitszev / @mrs-sharp

[photmath]

Goin' Home | Dominik Szoboszlai

Pairing: Dominik Szoboszlai x OC

Summary: Left with no other options, a reluctant Nori drives home with Dominik and Dominik accepts being her date to a wedding.

Word Count: 11k (I got carried away)

Warnings: FLUFF, SLOW BURN, shy Domi, angst, kinda miscommunication trope, lots of dialogue, kissing, mentions of feeling less desired, brief vomit spell, cursing, brief alcohol mention, typos

Note: Nori is only mentioned as having longish hair and that's all, no other PHYSICAL characteristics of her. She/her pronouns.

Nori has a dilemma. With her car deciding to break down on the street and her having to call Trent to come rescue her at a petrol station, she still has no clue how she is getting home. Winter break was just around the corner and they were all set to be back home within a week. Taking the train wasn’t a bad idea, except the most straight shot seemed to be the night train but no one trusts the night train. And don’t even get Nori started with the suggestion of flying. 

Now, Wanda, Nori’s best mate, is trying to convince her to let Dominik drive her home. 

“Just ask Dominik,” Wanda hisses. Nori grabs Wanda’s arm to stop her from opening their reserved study room. Dominik and Camila are already inside going over their last units for their biology exam. 

Nori purses her lips, shaking her head, “No, I think I’ll just wait until the train leaves.” 

Nori and Dominik were not exactly the closest of friends despite being a part of the same friend group. When they were first introduced to each other on Halloween, they hit it off. But then hours later, Dominik slammed a plate full of whip cream into Nori’s face and things haven’t been the same since. 

Wanda rolls her eyes, “You know that’s not a good idea, Nori.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Trent trots up to the two girls, a grin on his face as he opens his arms wide to hug them both, “How’s it going?”

“I’m trying to get Nori to see if Domi can take her home on Friday but she’s not budging,” Wanda sighs. Trent turns towards Nori, his nose bumping into her ear, not realizing how close he is to her. 

He chuckles, letting go of them, “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Nori grumbles, adjusting the part of her jacket sleeve that Trent crumbled.

“You still haven’t forgiven him?”

“I have, it’s just…” she quiets, not daring to admit her problem with Dominik to Trent, one of Dominik’s best friends. 

Trent shrugs, “His family moved to your hometown this year, and he’s driving back so it wouldn’t be out of his way.” 

Wanda eyes narrow as she faces Nori, “Are you still upset? He’s apologized so much since then, and I mean, he’s shown that he’s a good guy.”

“We aren’t close guys,” Nori mutters, finding a different excuse. “And that’s an almost five hour drive.”

“Tryin’ to save you money,” Trent says, gripping Nori’s shoulder assuringly. “If you don’t want to ride with him, then okay, but I can ask him and I’m sure he’ll say yes. Or you can ask him. Either way, he’ll probably say yes.”

“Okay fine,” Nori relents, shrugging off Trent’s arm and opening the door to the study room herself. Dominik’s standing near the white board, clasping the dry-erase marker he has in his hand closed, eyes darting up at the three of them. His eyes linger on Nori’s, a barely-there smile teetering onto his lips.

“Oi,” Trent nods to Dominik, “can you take Nori home on Friday? She lives in your neighborhood.”

Dominik raises his eyebrows in surprise, “What? She does? You do?” Nori’s cheeks grow with heat as she takes a seat next to Camila, giving her a side hug.

“Yeah,” she says casually, looking up at him. “My car is in the shop, but I can just ride the night train—but they wanted me to ask.”

Trent and Wanda roll their eyes while Dominik taps the marker against his hand in a nervous fidget. He lets out a small cough, “Oh…uh, yeah I can give you a ride.”

“Great!” Wanda chimes with exaggeration, Nori ignores it as she pulls out her laptop. Dominik glances at Trent and he gives him a cheeky grin, making Dominik’s cheeks burn red but it’s not like Nori sees it. She hasn’t looked up at him since telling him about her car. And she most likely wasn’t going to look at him again for the rest of the session.

-

Trent waits until the girls leave—well more like gives them a head start to meet them at the ground level of the library because there is no way he was letting them walk in the dark to the car park—to talk to Dominik.

“You should tell her,” Trent says to Dominik.

Dominik blows a raspberry, “She won’t even look at me.”

“Would you after that Halloween party?”

Dominik shoves his laptop into his bag harshly, not even caring if it slips out of its protective sleeve. He tried to get Nori’s attention all session, tried to ask her questions about her studying and help her out, but she wasn’t having it. She never did. It was getting useless to keep trying when she clearly wasn’t interested. 

He sighs, “I already apologized, I didn’t know it was her in that costume. I would have never done that if I knew it was her.” He tugs at his hair, swiping through the dried gel. “Ambushing me by asking if I could take her home, seriously?”

“I did it that way you two could talk. It’s starting to become obvious that you two don’t like each other,” Trent retorts. “I rather not have to listen to another study session with you pathetically attempting to talk to her.”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“Just give her time.”

Dominik shakes his head as he opens the room’s door, holding it open for Trent. “No, she doesn’t like me and I want to stop embarrassing myself. Maybe she had a little crush on me, but it’s gone now. Or maybe she never did.” He rubs the sleepiness out of his eyes with the heel of his hand. He told Trent that Nori was cute, and Trent was reluctant at the beginning, but now he seemed to be serious about playing matchmaker.

“I mean, you hit her kinda hard,” Trent recounts. 

Dominik lets out a loud groan, “Stop bringing it up, I’m already mortified as is. Can we drop it? Because I’m done with whatever this is.”

“No, no, c’mon, Dom,” Trent says, latching onto his shoulder. “One more try.”

“It’s been a month!” Dominik shrieks. “And now this car ride is just going to be awkward—”

“No it won’t.”

Dominik shrugs Trent off of him while entering the lift. Dominik drives his fingers through his hair again, trying to shrug off the humiliation and unease coursing through his body. The night wasn’t done of course, they were going to have a movie night at the girl’s apartment and if it wasn’t for Trent, he knew he wouldn’t have been invited.

Dominik still couldn’t forget the tightness of his chest when he heard Nori crying in his bathroom. Or how hard it was to swallow because his throat had felt as if it was swelling. Trent hadn’t even glanced at him after he struck the paper plate filled with whip cream onto Nori’s face, he was immediately shoving him in order to get to her. The chorus of ooo’s that rang through the room made Dominik chuckle. And that’s all he had thought about it, that he smashed the plate perfectly onto their face. It wasn’t until he went up to his bedroom did he see that they were all crowded in his restroom trying to clean a bloody nose, and that it was Nori sobbing on his sink. Trent didn’t even let Dominik into his own restroom, shutting the door on him, but Dominik could hear the sobs through the door. 

Dominik had met her earlier that day, absolutely awestruck with the way she carried herself throughout the day of the pumpkin patch she organized for the local little kids. He had only known what Trent told him about her, and said that she would come to his “ugly costume” party that night, but he hadn’t seen her that night. At least he thought he didn’t. He didn’t realize she went all out and dressed up as an old, bald man from some reality TV show.

There was a competition that night, in which anyone could pie the ugliest costume. Dominik had gone first—and last—having already picked out Nori’s costume when she walked into the apartment as the one he would pie. He had commented about it being so ugly but also one of the best, and then when Nori least expected it, he pied her. 

Trent pulls Dominik out of his trance, “Are you still coming to movie night?” They exit the lift, spotting the girls waiting for them at the exit with coffees in their hands. 

Dominik glances down, “Yeah.”

Trent bumps into his shoulder, “She’ll forgive you, bro.”

He nods absentmindedly, watching Trent meet up with the girls while he lags behind. 

She shouldn’t, is all Dominik can think of in response. If it was something that still bothered her almost a month and a half later, maybe it was for the best to give her the distance she sought out for. Everyone knew it was Nori underneath the costume, except him, and to do something like that to someone like her, it was criminal. She was sunny, full of energy, and kind. Only cried during sports matches and sad movies. 

Jude’s tall frame jogs towards Dominik, a sloppy grin plastered on his dimpled cheeks, “Hey.”

“Did you finish your assignment?” Dominik asks. In Jude’s hand is his crumpled up writing assignment. 

“Yeah, just in time,” Jude swings his bag around to place the papers inside. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” Jude gives him a hard look and Dominik groans, “I’m taking Nori home on Friday.”

Jude gasps, his dark brown eyes widening, “What—really? And she’s okay with that?”

“I’m not sure. Feel like I was her only option.”

Jude chuckles and shakes his head, “One thing about her is that she’ll find a way, so maybe you were the second to last.”

Dominik rolls his eyes, “That’s exactly what I was.”

The two of them don’t catch up to the rest of the group as they walk. Jude lets out another laugh, “It’s funny because you’re usually so cocky and confident, but when I see you with her, it’s like you’re someone else. A kicked puppy that just got thrown out in the rain.”

Dominik glances at him, scoffing, “That’s not true. I just know I make her uncomfortable and I rather her not keep on feeling that way.”

“You don’t make her uncomfort—”

“Yes I do,” Dominik interrupts. “And you and Trent keep saying I don’t, but it’s the truth. You don’t have to make me feel better. I messed up, and I don’t know what would necessarily make her ‘trust’ me again because that was fucked up.”

Jude sighs, slinging his arm across Dominik’s shoulders, “If you made her uncomfortable, you wouldn’t still be here. We would have kicked you out of the group, swear on it. She knows you didn’t know, she’s just still a little hurt. She hadn’t known you for long and that kinda made an impression on her.”

Great, he wanted to mumble to himself. He eyed Nori from the back, her walking freely and at ease with Camila and Wanda. She didn’t care who heard her loud laugh in response to something Wanda said. He knew if he were to join her, she’d become much more reserved and not say a word. 

He shakes his head, exhausted from feeling like shit. He nearly trips over a rock as Jude jogs up to them. Jude’s words helped but didn’t do much to ease the ache in his shoulders.

-

Movie night goes without any hiccups, the girls cuddling up on one sofa while Trent and Jude are in the other. Dominik resorts to sitting on the floor, sandwiched between Trent and Jude’s knees but his mind is far from the movie. Nori can’t help but to glance at Dominik every couple of scenes, his eyes always staring blankly ahead at the coffee table and never the telly. 

Nori doesn’t know how much more she can stomach the idea of him just staring off into space. He doesn’t seem well and her first instinct is to ask him if he is okay. 

After the movie finishes, the two of them get left in the kitchen alone. Dominik washes the dishes while Nori dries them with a towel. Camila and Wanda went to Camila’s bedroom because she needed help with an outfit; Trent and Jude went outside to take the rubbish out. 

Nori can make out Dominik’s tensed shoulders, he hasn’t looked at her the entire night. Not that she was taking count, but, still it was never this tense. 

She sets down the dry plate, gathering another wet dish, blurting, “Are you okay with driving me home?”

His dubious eyes bore into hers immediately, making her look down at her hands. She sees the nod of his head in her peripheral vision. “Yeah, I am okay. Are you okay with it?”

She forces out a smile as she peeks up at him, his gaze already on her mouth. “Mm-hmm, I’m okay with it. I will probably have to pee in the third hour though.”

He lets out a small snort, heart quickening with each response, “We can stop.”

Silence falls between them as he rinses the last bowl of popcorn. She catches herself staring at his hands one too many times, mindlessly watching them as soap suds form around them. He lets out a small chuckle as he catches her, but she plays it off as just waiting for him to finish rinsing the bowl.

“So, why did your family move all the way over there?” she questions.

He shrugs, “Work. My dad works out in the docks, not really sure what he does though, fishing maybe?”

Nori laughs, “Who really knows anyway?”

Dominik cheeses and this time Nori blushes. She can’t remember the last time she’s ever felt this nervous talking to someone. She can’t tell if it’s just from him or the way his eyes seem to soften every time he looks at her. But that’s crazy right?

Dominik hands her the last dish and gives her a gentle smile when her hand accidentally lands on top of his wet hand.

“Sorry,” he nervously chuckles. The dimple hidden in his beard catches Nori’s attention, taking her another selfish second to peer at it as it deepens the more she looks at him. 

Dominik is suddenly grateful that he skipped shaving this morning or else Nori would’ve seen the ruby-red blush spilling onto his cheeks. But Nori’s suddenly blinking rapidly, grabbing the dish from him, drying it off, and then placing it into its spot in the cabinet. Whatever spell she seemed to be in was gone the second Trent and Jude returned from outside, and it had taken Dominik aback at just how quick she flipped.

By the time Dominik turned back to look back at where she was standing by the sink, the space was empty and the sound of her door softly closing seemed to resonate like cymbals crashing in his head. 

She was always so fast when the opportunity to avoid him arose. How stupid of him to think a small conversation in the kitchen would change anything; she was just being nice.  

-

Her palms are grimy with sweat as she waits for Dominik to make his way to the girls’ apartment. Her coat unzipped despite the freezing weather because of how anxious she became once he texted he was on the way. They hadn’t spoken much after movie night, only exchanging waves in class and in the study room. 

And her mother deciding to text her midway doesn’t help ease the shakiness of her hands:

Accidentally wrote down that you’d bring a date for your aunt’s wedding. I tried to change it but the reservations were strict so please try to find someone so they don’t ask about the empty seat beside you. K, I’ll see you when you get here, love you. 

Nori wants to scream, no she actually does scream without realizing Dominik had walked up behind her. 

“You okay?” His voice is fairly calm. 

Turning around to see him, his eyebrows are jutted up in concern. What she doesn’t expect to see is his ungelled hair and trimmed beard. He had been growing a bit of a scruff the past few days but usually he shaved it off completely, never trimmed. And his hair, it was always gelled, always. She didn’t even know his hair was curly when it wasn’t done.

“Uh—yeah, I’m good. My mom texted me.”

He raises his eyebrows again, his mouth opening but then flattening into a smile, “Hah…I understand.” The chilled air makes him tug onto his brown coat tighter as he grabs Nori’s suitcase and holds out his hand for Nori’s backpack. “I got it, you can get it in.”

“Thank you,” she purses her lips into a tight line while giving him her bag. She hops into his very expensive black Range Rover that makes her feel a little out of place.

Dominik loads up her suitcase without much strain and then rounds to the driver seat. After adjusting the controls of the car, he starts the drive, glancing towards Nori every couple of seconds.

“If you want to change the air, go ahead, just click that,” he points to a button. Nori doesn’t even pay attention, distracted with the ring on his finger. Seriously, who was he right now? Has he always worn a ring? Rings?!

“Um, okay.”

He lets out a snort, “You don’t have to be so tense. I’m a safe driver.”

“Sorry, I don't think you’re a bad driver if you get that impression,” she murmurs, furrowing her eyebrows slightly but then gaining her voice, “I’ve never been in a car with you driving anyway. I have no idea.”

He nods his head, “I will be extra careful.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” she ends the awkward exchange with just that, slightly scooting away from him. 

Her mother’s text still rang through her head, knowing she had no one to bring along. Most of her close friends at home were going to be either out of town or with family and she didn’t want to rope them into her own family affairs.

She lets out a low scoff as her phone vibrates in her hand. Dominik chooses to ignore it instead of commenting. Meanwhile, another text from her mom:

Bring a boy this time? I’d love to see you with one of those boys from your school. 

She couldn’t hold in the dramatic eye roll and locking of her phone as she rested her head against the headrest. They hadn’t even been driving for two minutes and she was already stressed.

“Did you forget something?”

“No.”

“Something is wrong?”

“No.”

Dominik glances at her and then shakes his head briefly, opting out of asking her another question that would go unanswered. Shuffling through his cup holder, he grabs a wooden toothpick and sticks it in between his teeth, hastily turning up the music. 

This was useless, he reminded himself.

About an hour into the drive, Dominik can’t take the silence anymore. It was tense and way too awkward for two ‘friends.’ Every song seemed to be wrong that he kept skipping them, and it was starting to annoy Nori. She wasn't going to say anything but at that moment she wished she had her headphones.

Dominik cuts the music, “Can we talk?”

Nori looks at him, her face full of apprehension, “Yeah.”

“I know you said you forgive me for what happened on Halloween, and I really am sorry, but I don’t think you have actually…forgiven me.” He takes his chance to look at her and almost winces at her shocked expression. He licks his lips, “I’m sorry about that night. I didn’t—I didn’t think it was you—”

“Dominik,” she interrupts. “I know. I do forgive you.”

He rests his hand on the bottom of the wheel as he sinks further into his seat, “But you ignore me like…like you hate me or don’t ever want to see me again.”

Nori bites onto her tongue before she spits out anything rash. She lets out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry I acted that way around you. I have been hesitant to forgive you because that was kinda humiliating. Camila had to dig whip cream out of nose with a cotton swab and I bled all over Trent’s costume.”

He throws his head back with a muffled groan, “I’m sorry.”

A spurted laugh erupts out of Nori as she slaps her hand over her jaw. Dominik’s shocked face only makes her turn away, trying to stifle her laugh. 

“Nori?”

“I’m sorry,” she quiets and then bursts into another fit of laughter. “It’s okay to laugh, it was disgusting but it hurt so much. My nose was in so much pain that we went to the doctor’s just to make sure it wasn’t broken.”

Dominik frowns again, not knowing that they took her to the doctor’s office. Even though this was probably the first time Dominik has made her laugh, he still felt guilty. But what really causes his heart to lurch is the brush of Nori’s hand on his arm while she attempts to stop her giggling. He has to grip the steering wheel tighter.

“Okay, okay,” she stops and turns towards him. Her hand is still touching the fabric of his sweater, making him swallow.

“Okay?”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you with your hair not done. Who are you trying to impress?” Nori nudges and Dominik stares at her in bewilderment. He can’t believe who was in the car with him right now. She wasn’t at all the Nori he had been around with, but she was the kind around Camila and Wanda. He only recognized it because he had seen her like this when he would be standing behind them in line waiting for class but they hadn’t noticed him yet. 

He suppresses a smile, proud to finally get on what seems to be her good side. A nervous feeling erupts through his stomach as he turns back to the road, “Um, no one. I’ve had it like this before, but you didn’t notice it.”

“I would have noticed.”

“Would you though?” he looks at her with a sly smirk, one that makes her cheeks grow warm immediately. He chuckles, “Didn’t think so.”

A wistful smile forms on his face after she removes her hand from him, her warmth leaving the spot feeling cold.

“So, we are good?” he questions.

Nori nods, “Yes, Domi, we’re good. You know, you should style your hair like that more often, I like it.”

He has to look out of his mirror to play off the smile that creeps onto his face, but Nori notices it. 

-

During the third hour, Dominik pulls over to a petrol station so that Nori could relieve herself while he fills his tank. But judging by the dingy white exterior of the building, he advises her to wait for him. 

“It’s fine, I can go by myself.”

“Just wait,” he calls out, shutting the door. Nori huffs while opening her door and hopping out, stretching out her limbs and walking towards where Dominik was. His dark brows furrow at her, his tongue peeking out between his lips, “You’re gonna freeze.”

“So I should go pee now then.”

“Or get back in the car.”

She groans, “I’m going to go pee.”

“Nori,” he warns, his voice laced with finality. His gaze is hard, jaw clenched, and maybe that look would’ve worked on someone else but Nori is too stubborn. The second Dominik turns his back to her, she’s off trotting into the store. Him too oblivious to notice.

Nori beelines to the restrooms while Dominik frantically hurries up, cursing at himself because the pump decided to take forever. Ultimately, he leaves it running and jogs inside. He figures she is still using the restroom because he couldn’t have been that long but then he hears a yelp. At some point while Nori was grabbing a coffee, a man with a bearded braid appeared behind her and grabbed ahold of her elbow. When she went to pull her arm back, his grip only tightened.

She doesn’t even have time to say something because he’s pried off of her and then shoved into the coffee machine seconds later.

“Holy—” she gasps at Dominik’s demeanor. She can only make out a glimpse of his hooded dark eyes because he steps in front of her. His hand scrambles for hers and clasps tightly with her fingers, not even slotting his hand correctly into hers. He wasn’t going to let her slip out of his grasp this time. 

But Nori can’t see the lunge the man made towards Dominik, only Dominik’s free arm suddenly swinging across his body. Then one of the workers yells at the two of them and they quickly scatter outside.

“Did you just punch him?” She yells as they go flying through the doors.

“I said wait for me!”

“He was like 50 years-old!”

“Does that matter?” he shrieks, his grip on Nori’s wrist is tight even though he can feel her tugging away. Nori can tell by his pinched eyebrows that he’s ticked off, and despite Nori trying to play it off, she flinched when he raised his voice. Dominik sighs, loosening his grip and rubbing her wrist with his thumb. “Did you use the restroom?”

She nods, “Yeah, and your lip, it’s bleeding.”

Dominik touches his bottom lip with his hand, feeling the warmth spread onto his fingertips. He curses and ushers the two of them back into his car. He quickly undoes the petrol pump and gets inside. Nori is uncrumpling a wad of napkins from her jacket, making him chuckle.

“Really?”

“Here,” her eyes widen as the blood seems to be oozing out. There was even some blood coating the bottom row of his teeth. She doesn’t give him the napkins, instead leans over the console and presses the napkins to his lips. 

Dominik’s cheeks flush at her being close, but also at the look she’s giving him. She’s worried but focused on the task. The corner of her bottom lip is tucked into her mouth as she concentrates on dabbing the cut. 

“He hit you?”

“Scratched me,” he draws out. His voice is hoarse and throaty, Nori looks up at him. His eyelids flutter as she makes eye contact; it isn’t very noticeable, but Nori wasn’t going to miss something like that. Especially not when his brown eyes seemed to be gleaming with the reflection of the light on his dashboard. 

His Adam’s apple bobs, “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she assures. “I’m sorry for not listening to you. I should’ve waited.”

“It is okay.” He attempts to give her a smile but half of it is covered from the napkin. She draws the napkin away and for the most part the bleeding has stopped.

Nori notices his bright pink knuckles and bends down to give them a better look. They didn’t look too swollen but the skin was cracking with tiny red dots. 

“I’m fine,” he says, noticing the way her eyes squint.

“I have lotion.”

“What?”

She shuffles around in her purse, “It’s moisturizer, won’t take the pain away but perhaps some of the crackiness.”

He lets her trace her fingers over his knuckles, his lips tugging into a smile at her gentle touch. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she looks up at him. She hadn’t realized how close she was to him, their faces only inches apart. She drops her gaze to his lips—to his cut—and he shamelessly looks down at hers. He wants to lean in and kiss her, imagining himself slotting his hand on her neck. She isn’t sure what she is focusing on: his lips or his cut. 

Either way, he was handsome this close up that she chokes on her own spit as the realization dawns on her. The sound of a car honking behind them also sends her flying back into her seat.

-

By the time they arrive at her house, they go through Dominik’s entire playlist. It’s entirely in Hungarian but she doesn’t mind. They chat some more along the way about their plans for the break; Dominik most likely helping out his dad on the docks and Nori getting through this wedding.

Noticing her mom’s car parked in front of her house, she silently prays that her mom doesn’t come trodding out of the house to meet them. She has always done it before so Nori shouldn’t have expected anything different when her mom comes out waving with an identical smile as Nori’s.

“Sorry,” Nori whispers to Dominik as he hauls her luggage from the boot of his car. Before Nori can respond, she is pulled into a bone-crushing hug from her mother. 

“Nori-baby, I’ve missed ya’,” she cheeses. “OH! You brought a boy! Is this the boy?”

Dominik’s facial expression lights up with a smile as he introduces himself. Nori doesn’t even have time to clarify her relation to him before her mother gives him a hug. Dominik gives Nori a confused but cheery grin as he bends down to rest his head on her shoulder briefly.

“Call me Nat. Oh come on, it must be cold,” she beckons. “Come come, so I can show you the right shade of blue for the wedding. I already bought your dress but I’m sure he’ll need a matching tie.”

Her mother grabs Nori’s hand and Nori peeks back at Dominik while getting dragged inside. He laughs, a gust of wind blowing through his curls as his head falls back. Her luggage is tucked in his hand, backpack swung across his shoulders, jogging up to catch up to them. He wasn’t in a rush to get home anyway, after all, he realized his home was just two streets over.

Her house is taller than it is wide, much different than his, but it’s a traditional home with her neighbors at arm’s length apart. Brown furniture with holiday decorations cluttering the living spaces but it feels cozy. There’s a skinny staircase tucked into the corner that he assumed led to Nori’s bedroom. 

Nori pries her hand away from her mom as she says, “How about you go get the dress while I help Dom with my stuff?”

Her mother nods and Nori finds Dominik in the living room looking around. His eyes linger on a photo of her younger self, his head snapping in her direction when he hears her shoe scape against the floor. 

“Hey,” he smiles.

“Sorry about this. If you need to leave, go ahead.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay. She’s kinda like you,” he says and she smiles. “And I’m not in a rush or anything.”

Although Nori wishes he was. She nods, “Hmm, okay, well let’s just take this to my room.” She pats the suitcase and then stretches her arm out for her backpack. He hands it towards her and follows her upstairs, careful to not let the suitcase hit the picture frames that are plastered on the wall.

“Cute house,” he chuckles.

“Shut up.”

“It is cute. A lot of pictures of you.”

“Please stop looking.”

“You were cute,” he says but she knows he isn't finished. “I wonder what happened.”

She turns towards immediately, making him clutch onto the rail as he peers up at her, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m going to push you down the stairs if you say something again.”

“You wouldn’t,” he taunts. 

“Dominik.”

“Nori.” That stupid smirk sandwiched between his dimples only grows as each second of silence ticks by. She rolls her eyes, turning around and going to her bedroom. 

Dominik speaks again, “I know you said something about the wedding, but your mom—”

“She thinks you’re my date.”

“Your date?” He raises his eyebrows, leaning against her bookshelf. His tall frame next to the column of romance and erotica books make her cheeks warm. No boy had ever stepped into her room and she could only pray that he wouldn’t get curious and start looking at the book titles.

She sighs, “During the car ride, she told me to bring a date for the wedding and I got upset because she told me at the last minute, especially when everyone already has plans to be with their family. And then she texted again to bring a boy this time. I usually rope in Trent during these situations but I know he’s busy.”

Dominik nods, crossing his arms, “So she thinks it’s me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay,” he shrugs. “When is the wedding?”

“Wait, you can’t be serious. I was just going to tell her the day of that I couldn’t find a date—”

“I can do it,” he repeats as if it were no big deal. “I have a gray suit at home, probably do need a blue tie though.”

“Dominik—”

“When is the wedding?” Nori’s jaw juts open when he walks towards her with a smirk. He stops when he’s only two steps away.

“Um, in three days.”

“Okay. I’ll be here then.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

He shrugs again, “It’s just a wedding, they are fun.”

-

They are fun.

That’s what Dominik said about the wedding but Nori wants to vomit. Her hair hadn’t come out the way she envisioned, and her makeup seemed to be wanting to torment her every step. It didn’t want to blend correctly, didn’t want to shine, didn’t want to give her a spark. It was all a mess. Her dress zipper now getting stuck was going to be her final straw. Really. It was. 

She lets out a shaky breath as the rapping of a knock comes from her bedroom door. She doesn’t have the energy to reply ‘one second,’ just wanting to bask in the silence.

But it doesn’t last long because Dominik’s heavy books come trodding in. Looking up at the mirror, Nori watches his confused eyes search the entirety of her bedroom, concern growing through his facial expression, before he finally lands on her figure through the gap of the restroom door. His relief is short-lived because he notices the way she’s hunched over the sink, knuckles taut as she grips the other edges of it.

“Don’t,” she warns as a wave of nausea hits her. His blue tie slides off one shoulder as he rushes to her side.

“We have to leave in ten minutes.”

“I need a minute.”

The entirety of her dress is unzipped from the back, making him gulp. The top of what seemed to be lacy underwear caught his attention that he—

“Dominik.”

“Sorry,” he looks up at her, his cheeks flushing red. “Sorry. Uh—do you need help?”

“I’m about to throw up.”

“What?”

“Go away,” she groans. “This is going to be gross.”

“You’re sick?”

“Will you just listen to me?” she pleads and Dominik stops at the desperation of her voice.

He looks at her through the mirror, her eyes beady and only then did he realize how exasperated she looked. “What?”

“Get me a glass of water, please. Downstairs.”

He nods, tossing his tie onto her bed as he rushes out. He has no idea where the cups are stored and opens nearly all of the cabinets until he finds them. Grabbing some ice, and then pouring water into it before heading back upstairs.

The sink is running by the time he returns to her bedroom. He sets the glass down next to her and gawks at her hair pulled up with a clip.

“Did you…?” he asks, voice full of concern.

She nods, grabbing the glass and gulping it down immediately. “Thank you.” Fanning herself with her hand, she explains, “I’m stressed out. I don’t ever throw up because I’m stressed unless it’s really bad and this morning has just not been a good morning.”

“How can I help?”

Nori’s vision clears, finally being able to take in his look. His hair is gelled and combed, beard trimmed, and—is that a slit in his eyebrow? She furrows her eyebrows and turns away, feeling bile rise in her throat. 

“God, that is disgusting.”

“What?” He steps towards her but she holds out her hand. Her hand slips underneath his suit jacket and lands on his stomach. 

“That line in your eyebrow.”

“It’s not that bad,” he mumbles. She couldn’t be serious, he had worked on the eyebrow slit for half an hour.

“Dom.”

He erupts into a laugh, “Did that—did that make you gag?”

She looks up at him again and on cue, gags. 

He laughs loudly, “I know I should be offended but I’m not.”

“Stop looking at me.”

“Well don’t look at me then if you’re going to keep gagging.”

“Why would you do that to your pretty face?”

He blushes, stuttering, “You think I’m pretty?”

“Everyone does.”

“Yeah, but…not pretty. Hot, maybe.”

“God, don’t get full of yourself.”

He lets out a giddy laugh, “You called me pretty. C’mere.” Dominik slips the hand on his abdomen to his waist and wraps his arms across her shoulders.

“I’m going to puke!”

“No, you aren’t,” he chuckles, his laugh vibrating in her ear.

Nori pulls her head away from Dominik’s chest so that her makeup doesn’t transfer onto him. She gets a glance of her still unzipped dress from the mirror and groans.

Once she pulls away, she turns around, “Can you help?”

Dominik’s easiness and cockiness immediately diminishes. He isn’t sure where he can pinch her dress that isn’t below her bum, but he was going to have to. He gulps as his fingers brush her zipper, trying to ignore the white thin material of her underwear. 

Nori isn’t in a better state, having held her breath since she turned around. The feeling of his fingers brushing the back of her thigh riddled her body with goosebumps and an unfamiliar feeling pooled in her stomach. 

And god did he take his time zipping up the dress. He goes painfully slow as he inches the zipper higher and higher. By the time he’s finished, Nori fans herself again and Dominik, without thinking, blows air onto the nape of her neck to cool her down. He watches as the goosebumps ghost her skin and smiles. His eyes meet hers and the way she looks in the dress makes him choke. 

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she spins around, trying to forget the feeling of his cool breath on her neck. It makes her feel tingly inside and after the hectic morning and vomit, she doesn’t need that feeling. “I’m going to brush my teeth and then we can leave. You, uh, you look good too, despite that.” She points up to his eyebrow with a teasing smile, he snorts. 

It was intrusive to cut his eyebrow again. He hadn’t done it in a couple of years but after seeing a couple of old photos back at home he decided to give it another shot this morning. After Nori’s reaction, he was never going to do it again.

“I’ll wait in your room,” he whispers. Nori quickly meets him after she’s done and takes the tie that he fiddles around with. He grumbles, “I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

“You aren’t,” she responds and a lazy smile falls onto his face as she stands in front of him. Her hair is down and styled in a way she had rarely done it. He had seen it once before at a banquet, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her that entire night.

Nori tugs him closer with his tie, making him tumble towards her, “Woah.” His comment goes ignored as she slots the tie into the knot she created, pushing it up towards his neck, he places his hand over hers to take over.

“I’m not sure how tight you want it.”

“Thank you,” he smiles. He looks down at her and a giddy but nervous laugh escapes out of him. He watches the way her eyebrow twitches with amusement. “Okay, are you ready?”

The two of them race out the house in order to make it to the venue on time. He opens his car door for her while she gives him instructions. The more she thought about it, she wasn’t sure what to introduce Dominik as. They still hadn’t discussed what the plan was except him already being labeled as her ‘date’ by her mother.

But she doesn’t have much time to ponder because they arrive with two minutes to spare before the doors of the church close. Dominik takes her hand and jogs while Nori tries her hardest not to break her ankles in the heels she wore. Dominik’s roaring laugh ring through her ears as he leads her down the corridor. 

They sit down in the back but Dominik won’t stop laughing despite slapping his hand over his mouth. Nori hit him on his arm to shush him, but it only made him lean closer to her as he stretched his arm around behind her. Nori’s hand settles more on his thigh than hers but she’s too nervous to move it, not like Dominik minds her touch anyway.  

After the exchange of the vows, they get up to take the walk to the reception and Dominik instinctively holds out his arm for Nori to wrap hers inside. Nori’s mother finds them midwalk, “Oh, look at the two of you, how cute! Come come, I need to introduce you to some family.”

Nori wants to protest that they should wait until they are inside but she is sent flying by her mother’s grip. Dominik’s tumbling right beside her, chuckling in her ear. 

As predicted, Nori’s mother introduces Dominik as Nori’s ‘boyfriend,’ and Nori would’ve corrected her but Dominik is so smitten to meet Nori’s family, taking their hands and greeting them with a bright smile. Nori wants to throw up. He is playing the role so well, slipping his fingers into hers and pulling her close after meeting her family.

After they finish, Dominik leans down towards her ear, “Your family is nice.”

“And they all think we’re dating,” she sasses.

“What is wrong with that?” He pulls out her seat for her and scoots his seat closer to her. 

“Nothing,” she says. “Except when they ask about you again, I’ll have to tell them we broke up.”

He clutches his chest, “You are breaking up with me at a wedding?”

Nori breaks out into a laugh as Dominik feigns hurt. “You’re right, I probably shouldn’t say those words at a wedding.”

He chuckles, next time he would her boyfriend and it wouldn’t be just for a day. He slings his arm over her chair and smirks to himself. 

Two hours and a meal and a couple of drinks later, Nori and Dominik were on the dancefloor dancing as if her dress wasn’t centimeters away from having a mishap. Dominik tried to get her to slow down but she was having too much fun with her cousins and some of her aunts dancing. She wasn’t drunk or tipsy, but she had some alcohol in her that Dominik had thought otherwise. She was just excited to dance, that’s all.

“I have to pee,” she yells into his ear as he slides his hand against her waist. He nods and leads her towards the restroom, both of their shoes clacking against the floor. “Are you having a good time?”

The purple glowing lights against his diamond earring has her staring at him for longer than usual. A line of sweat lingers near his temple, his proximity almost overwhelms Nori but also gives her a sense of comfort.

“Yeah I am, they have pálinka.”

“What’s that?”

“Hungarian alcohol.”

“Oh,” she opens the door and holds it open for him. It was a single-use restroom. “You can drink more if you want, I don’t mind driving us back.”

He nods, “I should be sober by then.” It goes without saying when Nori pulls her hair up and turns around in front of him for him to unzip her dress. He does so and exits the restroom, waiting until he hears a small voice that she was done. He had only been out there for a couple of minutes but the air seemed to shift once he came back in. 

Nori’s dress is still unzipped and her back exposed as she leans over the sink. But her gaze. Her gaze is hard as she looks at him through the mirror, making him gulp as he locked the door. He treks slowly and stops barely a foot away from her. 

“You look so good in that black,” she comments. He brushes off the blush he feels because he can do flirting. He can flirt, right?

“I like the way you dance,” he replies.

“What do you like about it?”

“You dance so,” he glances down at her shoulder, “carefree. Not caring what other people think. It’s beautiful, the way you look so happy. I mean, your dress was almost falling but you fixed it and kept going.”

She laughs and he swears he feels his knees buckle. Her eyes gleam within the mirror and it makes him so unsteady that he masks it by zipping her dress. His nimble fingers delicately pinch the material and drag the zipper to the top. Nori leans back, bare shoulders pressing into his chest. His hands rest on her hips as he hesitantly looks up at the mirror. 

“I’ve never—” she stops abruptly, Dominik gives her waist a squeeze for encouragement. He rests his chin against her shoulder, Nori not even fazed with his prickly beard or trying to reel away. “I’ve never…been kissed before.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear but it certainly wasn’t that. The confusion is etched on his face he pulls back and looks down at her, “What? But—” It wasn’t even her age, it was that she was so beautiful. That all he would overhear were guys trying to ask her out. Asking Trent, and even him once, if they could ask her out or knew if she was single. Dominik knew that Trent never shot down a guy’s pursuit either, letting them know to go ahead, heck, he would say the same thing.

She shakes her head, “It’s never bothered me because who would I even kiss? But today my cousins were all telling me how hot you were and that of course I’d bag someone who's ‘so hot’ because I’m ‘so pretty.’ And I kinda found it all so foolish because you and I aren’t dating, and they know I’ve never kissed someone so they think I’ve done it all now…I’m starting to feel a little guilty for lying.”

Dominik steps towards her again, his hands firm on her hips, standing up straight. He feels like he needs to exude some kind of confidence so that it transfers to her. 

Nori speaks before he can, “I know I’m pretty—that sounds really dumb, but I know that I’m—that I’m okay, but still.” Dominik watches the way her shoulders droop and he impatiently waits for her to finish talking. He didn’t like listening to her beat herself up about something. She continues, “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never been on a date. Never even held hands! And I know it’s foolish, but my cousins would be the first to know and I’m almost certain they know I’m lying.”

“Okay, wait,” Dominik interrupts the second Nori pauses. “Just wait. You are beautiful, super—like—I can’t even think in English—beautiful. Any guy would be lucky just to even get a glance in their direction from you. Any guy. You know Trent and I, guys come up to us all the time to ask about you and we tell them to just go talk to you.” Dominik’s words were coming out so fast as he tried to stop Nori from feeling bad. “And your cousins, I’m sorry for making you lie to them. I can apologize to them, make it clear that we haven’t done anything.” 

Nori rests her head against Dominik collar bone again, her mind forming more thoughts than she can keep up with. Somehow, Dominik’s words disappointed her. It didn’t make her feel wanted. She had heard about guys coming up to Trent, some made it her way but they were never ‘great’ guys. And despite Dominik’s efforts, it only made her feel worse. 

‘Any guy,’ but not necessarily him.

Oh. Oh, she’s going to vomit. That’s what it was. It was Dominik who was making her feel so nervous, so dizzy, the reason her stomach fumbled, and the reason she seemed to want to clench her thighs when he touched her. 

Nori pushes his hands off of her, forcing herself to get off of him. She ignores Dominik’s confused face in the mirror, looking down at the faucet instead. She couldn’t think of Dominik that way, not when he made it clear that he didn’t see her that way.

“Nori?” His voice is soft, so low that she thinks she imagines it. “Are you okay?”

“Can you leave?”

Dominik feels heat creep behind his neck, “What?”

“Can you leave?”

He fumbles over her fragile voice, his heart skipping a beat. He wants to comfort her, wants to ask her what’s wrong—

“Dominik, please, can you leave?”

“Yeah,” he sputters out. “Yeah, I uh, I can.”

He stumbles out of the restroom, bumping into someone on his way out. It’s an old family friend of Nori’s, a guy around their age. 

“Dominik, right?” he asks, and Dominik’s mind is so clouded from Nori’s sudden change of emotion that he can barely muster a nod. “I’m Danny. Nori’s old friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dominik mumbles, clasping Danny’s outstretched hand.

Danny pulls Dominik’s hand, forcing Dominik right into Danny’s ear, “So, was it a good fuck?” Danny whispers.

Dominik pushes him off, “What?”

“C’mon, we all saw you go in there with Nori.”

“What the fuck—”

“We had bet y’all wouldn’t last until the night,” Danny nods to a group of guys and Dominik’s stomach churns. Danny holds out his hand for Dominik to clasp, and Dominik can barely think as he weakly takes Danny’s hand. “The way she had your hands on you, you just won me a twenty.”

Danny walks away and Dominik restrains himself from following him and the group. The boys clap Danny once he returns, raising their glasses at Dominik. 

He thinks about storming up towards them, grabbing them by the collar and telling them to leave Nori alone, and he turns in their direction, head hot as he sees them laugh, but the restroom door opens and Nori comes out, looking surprised to see Dominik still there. She gives him a curt smile and walks off.

That small exchange clears Dominik’s rage. 

He follows her down the corridor but the second she walks onto the dancefloor, he loses sight of her. Too many bodies to make out where she went, he heads to the bar.

Seriously, what the fuck was going on? 

-

“Drive safe,” Nori’s mother says to Dominik. Nori hasn’t mumbled a word since she entered his car. Her heels are in her hands as she peers out the window.

And he really has no idea what he’s doing. One second they were good, the next, Nori is turning away from him after avoiding him the rest of the night.

Nori, on the other hand, just wanted to rip this dress off. It felt too suffocating, poking her in all the wrong places, and too tight, like the lies she buried herself into. Her cousins believed her, but she would soon have to tell them the truth. She couldn’t stomach lying to them for more than a day. Besides her cousins, her aunts and uncles would come up to her during the dance and tell her how they were so happy Nori met someone and that he was making her happy. It was sickening.

As Dominik pulls up her driveway, he debates on following her inside, “Do you need help taking off your dress?”

Nori glances at him, her exhausted eyes make his throat hitch. She nods, grumbling, “What do you think?”

She hops out of his car and he huffs as he turns it off, following closely behind her, “You know, I don’t really know what to think right now. I’m so confused that I—I’m just really fucking lost right now, Nori.”

Nori doesn’t look at him as she keys her front door. She opens it wide enough for Dominik to follow behind her. His hair is ruffled and his blue tie and suit jacket long gone. Hairs peak out through his unbuttoned shirt, and Nori would’ve ogled if she wasn’t so damn exhausted and over with it for the night.

She walks upstairs silently, his heavy footsteps a step away from hers.

“I met Danny.”

Nori freezes, slowly turning towards Dominik, “What?”

“After I left the restroom, I bumped into him. He thinks we had sex.”

“And what did you say?” She crosses her arms. The two of them stand in the upstairs corridor, Dominik leaning against the staircase post.

“I didn’t get to say anything because he walked away so fast.”

Nori swallows, knowing that Danny would spread a rumor to anyone who heard and she certainly didn’t want her mom hearing that she—allegedly—hooked up with Dominik in the bathroom at her aunt’s wedding.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said in the restroom,” Dominik rubs his hand on his face. “I don’t know if that made you upset, and if it did I’m sorry.”

Nori nods, realizing her silence was only confusing Dominik more and that wasn’t necessarily fair after all he had done for her in the past couple of days, “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”

“Was it something I said?” He walks towards her, sticking his hands through his hair.

She nods again, looking at his chest instead of his eyes. She coughs, “I don’t want just any guy.”

“Oh,” he pauses. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

She turns towards her bedroom and pulls her hair up with her hands, Dominik follows behind her. He peels down the zipper again for the final time of the night, a somber feeling in the air.

“You, um, you look really pretty in the blue,” he comments. “My favorite color on you by far.”

Nori feels her throat tighten, the urge to turn around and just spit it out at him forms but she doesn’t. He’s saying all the right stuff, but what, means it all as a friend?

“Dominik,” she blurts, surprising herself as she turns around. She couldn’t keep a secret for long anyway. His eyebrows raise, falling slightly when she doesn’t respond. He stands there, waiting for her to say something but she doesn’t.

Dominik would rather dig himself into a hole and never come up than to be in this awkward, uncomfortable bedroom. He takes a step back, fists shoving into his pockets, “Have a good night, Nori.”

Nori decides within that moment that she isn’t going to let the awkwardness linger for another day, but she also feels her heart shatter.

“Is that what it is?” Nori asks, catching Dominik off guard at how loud but shaky her voice is. “Everyone thinks I’m pretty but no one sees me as—” She stops suddenly.

Dominik’s eyebrows pinch together, “As what?”

“Desired.” Dominik’s eyes grow wide but Nori continues, “No one wants me. No one wants to have sex with me unless what, it’s a bet? Yeah I heard that conversation, Dominik, why did you leave that part out?”

He isn’t even sure what to respond to first, but he’s gasping for some kind of dignity, “I—”

“I mean you certainly didn’t deny it, and so what, were you ever going to tell me?”

“Wait, I didn’t bet on you,” he corrects.

“I know you didn’t, but you didn’t correct Danny. After I had just told you I had never been kissed, do you seriously think I’ve had sex before?”

Dominik freezes, “He caught me off guard, Nori. I was already so confused after leaving the restroom. You—after I said what I said, you got upset, and it made me confused. Then I run into him and it’s like I can’t even understand what he’s saying. I swear all I could think about was punching him and I couldn’t think of words.”

“Punching?”

“Are you kidding? After what he did, Nori? Making a bet with his friends?” Dominik nearly flaps his arms. “I was going to do it. Was about to walk towards them too, but then you opened the door.”

Nori stares at him quietly, trying to connect the dots while Dominik sighs, almost too exhausted to plead his case too. It was nearing four in the morning, and Dominik would love to spend more time with Nori, but not like this. Not when they’re both seconds of being frustrated with each other.

And Nori would feel embarrassed after just telling him that she’s a virgin, that she feels less-desired, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know why, but she doesn’t feel that way in front of him.

“Thank you,” she sighs. “For not going punching him and causing a scene, but also for your words.”

He winces, “Not like they seemed to help much.”

“Yeah, but, it was thoughtful.”

Dominik doesn’t feel right leaving her after the conversations they shared, it doesn’t seem like everything that needed to be said had been said.

He scratches his neck, almost groaning at the words that find his brain because he knows he can’t convey them in a better way, “I…you know how you said no one wants you?”

Nori flops on her bed and buries her head with her hands, “God, that sounds so pathetic”

“What?” Dominik comes up to her and drops to his knees slowly. He doesn’t care about how much her wooden floors seem to make his knees ache, just that she would listen to his words.

“It was so dumb—”

“No it wasn’t,” Dominik says, his voice firm. “It wasn’t. Look, we haven’t necessarily been on the best of terms, and when we do, it feels like we sometimes go back to square one, but I like you, Nori. Not in the friend way, in the ‘I want you to be mine one day’ way.”

Nori’s throat bobbles as she peeks at him through her hands. He lets out a nervous chuckle, gently prying her hands from her face and clasping their hands together.

“I’ve liked you since the day we met, which hasn’t been great since you’ve ignored me the past month after I almost broke your nose—” Nori laughs and Dominik’s chest squeezes at his confession but also her joy. “I’ve been trying to make it up since then. I just didn’t want to make you feel pressured, it’s why I hadn’t made a move. First, I didn’t want you to feel like you owe me something after I gave you a ride. You don’t, nothing at all. And then after telling me you haven’t been kissed before, I backed off because I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Nori feels the tears well up in her eyes, blinking them away before they can spill. Dominik’s gentle eyes bounce between hers, his thumbs stroking her the mountains of her knuckles.

“Thank you,” she musters. If he was going to be honest, she needed to too. “I got upset in the restroom because I realized I liked you. It was right after you said that any guy would be lucky to be looked at by me, and I got upset because it wasn’t you.”

Dominik chuckles, “I’m the luckiest guy right now, looking right at you.”

Nori laughs, wiping the tear that fell, and then wrapping her arms over Dominik’s shoulders, burying her head into his neck. He hugs her back, his hands slipping through her unzipped dress and landing on bare skin.

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” he presses his lips to her temple gingerly, leaving a chaste kiss on her skin before squeezing her tighter. He kisses her exposed shoulder a few times.

Nori pulls away from the hug and Dominik raises one, questioning eyebrow at her. It’s the eyebrow with the slit and for whatever reason, Nori finds that as the cutest thing she’s ever seen in that moment. She chuckles, kissing his slitted eyebrow. His eyes narrow as smiles, cheeks bubbled up in Nori’s hands.

And she does it, she presses her lips against his and it’s fast. Very quick and nervous. Dominik’s laugh vibrates underneath her hands as he bats his eyes bashfully, “Nori…maybe a little longer wouldn’t hurt.”

She nods, initiating the next kiss as his hands relax at her waist. He wasn’t going to make the next move, only wait for her. Her lips are still hesitant when they meet his, and his lips part in a smile. She giggles, finding more confidence to press her lips harder against his and Dominik has to stand up in order to not fall back, but god he’s been waiting for months for this moment.

She pulls away, “How was that?”

“Better,” he cheeses, pecking her nose. He sits down beside her on her bed, “So, our first date, I was thinking about a night by the docks? At the restaurant that’s there?” Nori listens to his next words but she’s so infatuated with the way he speaks, the way he’s so emphatically enthused and passionate. “Oh! And we can hold hands as we walk down them.”

She chuckles, slipping her hands into his and pecks his cheek, “Okay. I’m excited for it, but can you please help me out of this dress now?”

-

Nori had no idea what she was doing or if she was walking in the right direction. Their first date wasn’t until a couple of days laters but Nori had to see Dominik. And the docks, they were so windy, the wind battering her hair as she walked alongside the pier. She had seen so many, so many different boats and god she really hoped these last few piers she’d find Dominik or else she’d feel really stupid.

She clutches onto her coat tighter, going up on her tippy toes to look at the men working on the boats and docks. They all had hats and blue jumpsuits, some with wet suits. And ugh, what if Dominik and his dad were in the water and wouldn’t be back until later? She should really just call Dominik instead of trying to surprise him.

There was only one dock in her hometown, but it was so long. She realized that quickly once she started the walk.

A whistle comes from behind her, she tries to ignore it but then another comes, short but loud whistles. She turns around, seeing a blue jumpsuited-figure standing meters away, so far that she can’t make out who they are very well. They give her an overly-enthused wave, hand flapping across their head.

But Nori can make out the wavy curls and Dominik’s bright smile. She chuckles, heading his way while he meets her midway.

“Hi,” he cheeses, pulling her into a hug, his arms are tight as they wrap around her waist.

“Hey,” she shies.

“Surprised to see you here,” he chuckles. “My dad said he thought he saw a girl walking the piers, I just said she was probably going to take pictures somewhere and I look up and it’s you.”

Nori takes in his outfit, black boots, a zipper kind of jumpsuit that he would slip into. The zipper is unzipped to his abdomen, displaying the black shirt he wears underneath. He looked so much different than what she was used to. No one had the pleasure of seeing him like this back in Liverpool, just her.

“Nori?” he questions, eyes glinting as he dips his head towards her.

“Sorry, this outfit.”

He shuts his eyes, “It’s a part of the job—”

“No, it’s cute!”

Dominik lets his hands linger on her waist, chuckling, “You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s cute,” a hand of hers slips between them and pinches his dimpled cheek. Pressing herself up to her tippy toes, she kisses him briefly on his cheek, a goofy grin on her face that Dominik’s knees buckle for a second. She pulls back, digging into her purse, “I brought you something.”

Dominik’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Me?”

She nods, “Yes.” She pulls out the tiny bottle of pálinka and hands it to him. “I know you didn’t get to drink it at the wedding, and I’m not saying to drink it now, but I saved one for you.”

He laughs, “Aww, Nori, this is sweet, but I told you you don’t owe me anything.”

She shakes her head, holding her hands up, “I’m not taking it back, and I know you said that but it’s just a little something. I don’t owe you anything, I know.”

Dominik grins, stuffing the bottle in his pocket. He would’ve spotted Nori in a room of crowded people, and that’s exactly what it felt when he saw her walking alongside the pier. Her here just for him. He really wanted to pull her for a proper kiss.

He peeks back at the docks his father was at, confirming that it was out of his view. As soon as he turns back to face Nori, he pulls her in for a hug and picks her up, spinning her. She lets out a yelp, clinging onto shoulders.

“Thank you for coming,” he exclaims, “I’m really happy to see you.”

Once he places her back on the ground, his hand slides behind her ear and pulls her in for a kiss. It’s sweet, chaste, and has Nori fumbling to catch up to his movements because his lips were engulfing hers.

She wouldn’t mind doing this again, not at all.

-----

Note: If you made it this far I love you so much and you are so cool and deserve the best itw, especially after putting up with Domi's sloppy performance. Brave soldier. (:

[ljz002-world]

Verdun and Somme, Part 5

“Oi Y/N”, Finn asked as he walked into the Garrison, eyes already stuck on the girl who looked up from where she stood, wiping down the counter, a small smile taking over her lips as she looked at the youngest Shelby brother. She didn’t forget her mission to kill Thomas Shelby and to ruin his family, John and Arthur had served in the war as well, they knew about the trophies and didn’t do anything against it so they had to die as well. But Finn? Finn was such a sweet innocent boy, he acted all tough but was a big softie deep down.

“Yes?”, the girl asked, tilting her head up to looked at the Shelby who gave her a grin, “There’s a new pub that opened up around here. Care to join me?” Y/N gave him a small smile, “You know I have work-“ “Already talked with Arthur, he said it’s alright if I steal you tonight.” At this the girl let a soft laugh out, “Planning all that without even knowing if I want to come?” At this the boy opened and closed his mouth, “Do you want to come?” “I’m just messing with you Finn!”, Y/N said, tapping the boy’s peaked cap with one hand as she gave him a grin, “I’d love to join you.” “Sweet, I’ll pick you up at let’s say eight?” “Sure thing”, Y/N smiled as the young Shelby boy left the Garrison with a stupidly wide grin on his face.

“What’re you getting so dressed up for?”, Arthur asked as he noticed how his younger brother was trying his best to look as good as possible. “I’m going on a date.” Finn said with a sly grin, “With that lovely barmaid of yours.” “Oh?”, John asked as he grinned at Esme who shook her head. “Why dress up this much if you’ll probably end up undressed?”, John asked his younger brother who looked at him, “She’s not like that. Plus I promised her no alter motives.” “Oh? What a gentleman”, Arthur spoke, taking a sip of his liquor, “But you do want the night to end with your cock buried in her, eh?” Finn looked at his oldest brother, “I’m open to anything.”

=

Y/N wasn’t sure if she wanted to go through with her plan, it was risky, it would most probably end in her own death. Was she really willing to accept that end? Or could she live her life without killing Thomas Shelby? He seemed genuine when talking to her and telling her that the things in France should’ve never happened to her. But he still did not recognize her, he didn’t acknowledge what he did to her. Could she live with that? Maybe build a life with Finn Shelby, he seemed like a genuine sweet boy.

But could she really live like that? Move past what was done to her? Move past what Thomas Shelby had let his men do to her?

Y/N’s heart was beating inside her chest as she moved through the hallway of the Shelby home in Small Heath, it was the middle of the night and she had made sure Finn was fast asleep. Except for Finn and her only Thomas should be present in the home. John and Esme were in their own home, Arthur should be in the rooms above the Garrison and Pol was with Ada on a weekend trip. Y/N creeped over the wooden floor, making her way upstairs where she stood in front of the dark door which would lead her to Thomas. She held her breath as she put her ear up to the door, trying to listen if he was walking around or not before kneeling down to peep through the key-hole seeing into the dimly lit room, only a petrol lamp engulfing the small room with light and showing the gangster laying on his bed, seemingly asleep. With a gentle hold and force the girl clicked the door open silently, opening the door just enough for her to squeeze through before closing it again and locking the door as quietly as possible. Y/N looked at Thomas, he slept so peacefully, so calmly, so innocently.

The girl found it almost ironic.

With a small gulp she tore her eyes away from the man, keeping him in he corner of her eye to make sure she could tell if he woke up as she started silently rummaging around for something to kill him with.   A gun would be too loud and she knew she was too weak to choke or strangle him to death. So she had to look for something sharp to slit his throat with, but that would be so messy. Maybe she could find something to fill the room with that’d kill him. A gas. Y/N knew a lot about gas.

Served in the war, after all. Gas was used and it was never a pretty sight. Her uncle was one of the main causes for the usage and invention of toxic gas. And he taught her a lot.

That was also one of the reasons Y/N could immediately identify the opium-pipe laying besides the man. The girl let out a small sigh as she found nothing to kill him with. Now was the perfect time, now would’ve been the perfect time to kill him. It was still dark outside, it would’ve been perfect.

Kill Thomas, run back home and pack all things and leave before anyone would find out.

But she couldn’t find anything, nothing except for the gun, and the gun would be too loud.

“Fuck it”, the girl whispered as she grabbed ahold of the gun, pointing it at the sleeping man as she walked closer to him, putting her finger on the trigger before pulling it. Expecting a bang and the familiar feeling of hot blood on her face. But nothing, so she opened her eyes. She had pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. That fucker emptied his gun before going to sleep. And she didn’t know where the bullets were, she hadn’t seen them anywhere in the room. He must keep them under his pillow or somewhere on him. And those she certainly couldn’t get.

“You live another day. Lucky bastard”, the girl whispered, putting the gun back to where she found it before slipping out of his room and back into Finn’s.

=

“Morning Finn, Y/N”, Thomas greeted, still somewhat tiredly, pausing at his last words before turning around to look at the girl seated by the table, “Y/N?” “Good morning Mr. Shelby”, the girl greeted politely as she took a sip from the tea she had made for Finn and herself. “You stayed the night?”, the oldest man present asked as he made himself some coffee before sitting down across from the two teenagers. “Yeah, you don’t mind do ya’?”, Finn spoke up still groggily himself as he looked at his older brother who just shook his head, “It’s fine. Just let us know next time. Wouldn’t wanna walk in on something.”

“Mr. Shelby nothing happened”, Y/N said as she glanced at Finn who nodded to his brother, “Yeah Tommy, she’s right. We didn’t do anything.” Thomas just raised an eyebrow, “And I’m supposed to believe that?” “Yes”, both teens spoke in union as Finn cleared his throat, “We were in some pub that had opened up and then when I was walking her back it started pouring and you know Y/N’s home is on the other end of Small Heath. Didn’t want her catching a cold.” “What a gentleman Finn”, Thomas said as his eyes stayed trailed on the girl, maybe then he did not have such a wild dream.

“Your aunt raised him well”, Y/N spoke as she got up, she was already dressed, “I have to get going. Who knows in what state the Garrison is.”

Tagged ppl: @hollyluvseveryone4ever13

[undercoverpan]

Spit in my face, my love, it won't faze me

Spider felt a lot of things at the moment. Cold, hot, empty, full. But mostly he felt lonely.

His vision was going blurry, darkening at the edges. He couldn't make out his own hand in front of his face, but he recognized his own blood coating it. If he had to guess, he had wounds on his stomach, arms, legs and back. His whole body was just one big bruise at this point, aching and throbbing like never before. In a sense, he got the blue stripes he'd always wanted. Nevermind the fact that they weren't stripes, just blue spots that were close enough together for him to mistake them as such. 

The thing that definitely hurt the most was the cut around his throat, bleeding sluggishly and coating his body in blood. He had a feeling that it was the source of his trouble with breathing, come to think of it.

Now that he was laying on a cold ship deck and 100% dying, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. It was like all the emotions and trauma he'd been compartmentalising these past few months decided to pull a quick one on him and now he had so many fears and regrets. He regrets going to the shack, being born, trying to be Na'vi, not doing something while they hunted that tulkun, not doing more when the Na'vi were being threatened. And he was afraid, were the others safe? Did Quaritch let Kiri go? Have they fled the ship just yet? Are they safe?

A selfish, horrible, human part of him wishes they stayed. And because he is dying; he decides to indulge himself with those selfish fantasies of his. He imagines Lo'ak being there, telling him about the trouble he'd gotten up to without him, Kiri talking about the plants and the animals. Tuk showing him a cool shell she found, maybe Neteyam venting about his frustrations or something. Anything but the sound of fading screams and crackling flames.

The smell of blood and petrol hung in the air like a thick fog; clouding his senses with the copper scent. The ocean breeze felt like hell against his open wounds. It was freezing out here, and incredibly dark. Really, he should be happy the others got away. Overjoyed, thankful even. But he selfishly wishes to not be alone right now.

"Spider?" 

The voice echoes in his ears. Oh. Oh, it sounds familiar, oddly so. He felt a strange sort of calm rush over him; something like acceptance. It felt like a warm blanket on his beaten and broken body; one he desperately needed. No one has made him feel safe like this, ever, except for maybe….

"J--Jake?"

He hates how weak and uncertain his voice sounds, carried like some kind of fragile chord over the winds. He feels a set of hands, warm and realer than what he could've imagined by himself, pawing at his injuries. He sees blue skin and yellow eyes, and he has to laugh at the absurdity of it. 

"Jake, you came back…" he says in astonishment, not seeing the hurt look flashing over the man's face. "Are the others okay? Where are they?" He asked, spluttering out a cough and tasting metal in his throat.

"They're okay, Spider, son, they're okay." He says in English, and Spider doesn't think that's weird at all. He nods to the best of his ability, giving him a wide grin. "Did--did we get them? The demons? Did I do good?"

"Yes, son, we got all of them. Everyone is safe. You did so good, you were amazing, I promise." 

He sighs in relief. At least he had that little bit of solace during his last moments. At least he had that. And you know, he had Jake. Jake was here, and now he wasn't alone. He hadn't realised he was scared of being alone until he was. Dying alone, he'd never considered it, but that was his reality until a couple minutes ago. Jake saved him from having to face that, even if he couldn't save him from his wife. In his heart of hearts, he knows he never intended to.

"Jake, I'm tired–, it–, it hurts. I'm just so tired…" he whispers, strength draining from his body like a river flowing to the ocean. He feels a kiss pressed to his temple as Jake pulls him to his chest; the feeling of his vest against his skin all too alien. The man bit back a sob, instead breathing heavily and unevenly.

"It's okay, son, it's okay. You can go to sleep, you've earned it. Me and the others, we'll all be here when you wake up, okay?" He promises and Spider desperately agrees. "You did so well, we're all so proud of you and we love you, you know that, right? Everything that happened before, that doesn't matter. I love you, Spider." He says with the desperation of a prayer.

"Really…? Even Neytiri?" He asks weakly. The other nods, running a hand through his dreads. "Yes, even her." The boy has to smile at that. "It's so cold." He says, and Jake adjusts his grip so they're better pressed together. "Better?" He asks, and Spider offers a weak nod.

"Oel ngati kameie, Jake.." he whispers. It is the last thing he says before he goes, hopefully being accepted by Eywa. "Oel Ngati kameie, son." His voice sounds broken, but certain. It is the last thing he hears before the world goes dark and his body goes limp.

Quaritch looked at his son's dead body and felt cold. He wonders if this is the same chill Spider felt just now. Like a gaping hole in his chest that the wind passes through, carrying its saltwater breeze like poison. Sully and his brood are gone; left him behind without a second thought. The children had this look of shock when Spider crumpled to the floor the first time, victim to their own mother. They might have screamed. They might have cried. Quaritch doesn't remember nor care.

In his final moments, Spider wanted Jake, the man who left him for dead twice now. And Quaritch could've corrected him easily, but it seemed so needlessly cruel. Spider was dying, his son was dying, why deny him the fantasy in his head? The dreams of family and acceptance that he was never afforded, not by the people he desperately needed it from. So yes, he let his son think it was Jake who held him while he died, and that his crazy wife really did care, even though she's responsible for this. It was disrespectful to the highest degree, but Quaritch thinks that his son is allowed to spit in his face, just this once.

It was enough for Spider, who looked peaceful in his arms, eerily still and pale. He wonders if he should leave him here, let the Sullys find him and give him the burial he wanted. He wonders if the fish would get his body first, or the fire. He wonders if they'd return at all, opting to let the ship burn itself down. It certainly sounds like Sully. He sighs.

Mind made up, he approached his ikran. The journey to the Omaticaya would be long, so it's best that he starts moving. At the very least, he'd make sure his son would be put to rest where he called home. He wouldn't take that from him, not in death, at least.

___

Decided you guys should feel sad, hope you liked it!!!

[racfoam]

A Muggle AU Harrymort fic where Voldemort is a killer (he is in his late 40s/early 50s when the fic happens. I had to push his year of birth forward by 4 decades but if you want me to write Old Man Muggle Voldemort fucking Harry I AM NOT AFRAID BRING IT ON) who killed Harry's parents and 20 years later 21-year-old Harry visits him in jail and he ends up becoming obsessed with her.

Some background info for the scenes below:

1st Scene - First meeting, short sentences.

2nd scene: This is set in the jail when Harry visits Voldemort and gifts him Shakespeare’s Plays Hardcover Book for his birthday. This capybara is absolutely using this fic as an excuse to extend my knowledge on English and classic literature.

3rd scene: At this point, Voldemort has kidnapped Harry and is driving her to the Riddle Manor from London to Yorkshire and there is Forced Marriage, they are married already in this scene.

4th scene: They stop at a petrol station and Harry has a plan to get free. Bcs tumblr is being a little bastard and not letting me paste it, I'll make a post exactly for it. FUCK YOU, TUMBLR.

1st Scene (First Meeting)

He did not look like a killer. Except… Except the eyes. Those were a killer’s eyes.

2nd Scene (Jail Visit)

“What’s your favourite?” asked Voldemort, pulling Harry out of her thoughts. “What?” asked Harry, blinking. “Shakespeare,” he replied calmly. “What’s your favourite play of his?” Harry shrugged. “They were all boring to me, really.” Voldemort chuckled. His long, slender fingers touched the cover of the book, in the exact same spot where Harry's fingers had been holding it a few minutes ago. A slow, fond caress. His cold gaze never strayed from hers.

[Voldemort is wishing his fingers were caressing Harry’s skin rather than the leather cover of the book.]

“I think you’d like A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” said Voldemort, continuing to brush the cover of the thick book. It was making Harry uneasy. His gaze was burning into her. “Because it isn't a tragedy, unlike so many of his works. Some are so dark and morbid, aren't they? And you don’t like tragedies, Harry.”

“There is a scene, where Lysander, who has forgotten Hernia because of a flower juice poured over his eyes, sees her once again, and falls in love with her all over again.” said Voldemort, looking at Harry.

Harry wondered how a man so old could be so beautiful.

3rd Scene (Roadtrip)

It was a dark Bentley Arnage Uncle Vernon would be jealous of. Harry couldn’t truly appreciate it with her right hand handcuffed to the door handle. Harry also couldn’t appreciate the casettes it was playing, either, because she wanted to chuck herself out of the window because it was playing Sweet Caroline. What was worse... Voldemort was singing over it. And the bloody bastard was a bloody good singer. “Sweet Caroline,” sang Voldemort, his silken voice somehow better than Neil Diamond’s, and Harry truly hated thinking it. “Good times never seemed so good...” Voldemort was jolly, smiling broadly, like a man from the 50s celebrating marrying the prettiest girl in town. It was unnerving, chilling the blood in her veins. “Oh, come on, Harry,” said Voldemort, glancing Harry's way with a slightly offended expression when he saw she was glaring at him instead of joining him in singing. “You know this one.” Clenching her jaw, Harry was starting to truly, consciously consider committing first degree murder.

4th Scene (Petrol Station)

Voldemort parked the Bentley beside the petrol pump. He shut off the car engine, pulled out the car key and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Stay here, my dear.” he said, leaning over to place a quick, but nevertheless warm kiss on Harry’s left cheek. By the time Harry registered what happened, Voldemort was opening the doors, closing them shut. The heat of his lips lingered on her cheek, molten hot like venom. Harry leaned her head over the seat, her heart racing. She watched Voldemort move to the petrol container on the left side of the car. It was better not to do anything. He’ll have to go in and pay for the petrol. That’s when Harry will start digging for the key of the handcuffs. Harry watched Voldemort, and he must have noticed it, because he turned his gaze toward her, giving her an ardent, covetous look, the sharpness of his eyes softening, his lips pulling into a charming smile. Harry’s heart performed a sommersault. Flinching, she turned back around, facing forward. Her face felt hot, and there was a burning heat low in her belly. She heard the hum of the petrol as the petrol pump turned on, pouring petrol into the petrol tank of the car. For a while, Harry focused on that, trying to forget the soft lines of Voldemort’s face. Voldemort opened the doors, making Harry jump. “Are you hungry?” he asked her. “No,” replied Harry dully, staring at the shop because she didn’t want to look at Voldemort in that moment. It was the truth. Harry wasn’t having much of an appetite at all. “Do you need to use the bathroom?” “Um,” said Harry awkwardly, because she was feeling her bladder was getting full. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Voldemort hummed. “After I pay.” he said, then closed the doors gently. To think such gentle movements and gallant behaviour could shift to monstrous within a blink. Harry watched Voldemort walk into the petrol station store. When the doors closed behind him, Harry started reaching her free left hand toward the storage compartment, but then she saw Voldemort pull out a credit card and swipe it across the card-reader. Fuck. The next second, Harry retracted her hand back to her lap, and the second after that, Voldemort exited the petrol station carrying a plastic bag. Harry’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Voldemort got back in the car.

“I brought you pads,” he said, much to Harry’s horror, placing the bag in the backseat. He turned on the car and drove to the right, in one of the many empty parking spots, near the bathroom sign. Then, he leaned down and unbuckled Harry’s seatbelt. Harry watched where the key — Fucking hell! Voldemort pulled out the small key of the cuffs from his back pocket, placed it into the lock, and unlocked the cuff. Harry got her right hand away from the open cuff as quickly as she could.

Voldemort got out of the car and opened the doors for Harry, offering her his hand. Harry only put her hand in his because she knew he’d be displeased if she didn’t. His hand was big and surprisingly warm. His long fingers wrapped around her palm, holding her hand tightly, and he helped Harry out of the car, then closed the doors. It was rather warm outside in the summer weather, but nothing serious. They walked, hand-in-hand, to the bathroom section. There wasn't anyone in the women's section. Uncaring, Voldemort stepped in, letting go of Harry’s hand at last and letting her go into the cubicle. Just to be safe — or have an illusion of safety and privacy — Harry locked the doors. She heard Voldemort laugh amusedly, a low sound. Harry quickly did her business, glaring all the while at the doors, flushing red at the awareness Voldemort was on the other side of the doors, listening... Harry couldn’t believe how bad her luck was. The only options she had were to make a run for it now (impossible, she’d need to turn invisible) or steal the keys which were in Voldemort’s back pocket. Harry wanted to smash her head against the wall. Rather death than whatever awaited her with that psychopathic, remorseless murderer. She had to think, and do it fast. Hang on... Pads. “Harry,” said Voldemort coldly, voice darker; it sent chills down her spine, goosebumps along her flesh. “If you’re stalling —” “Um,” said Harry in the most genuine, awkward tone possible.

“I got my period.” A moment of silence. Harry could feel Voldemort’s eyes through the door, and she wondered if he could hear the lie in her voice. “I see.” said Voldemort. Harry smiled at her genius plan. Now Voldemort will have to go back to the car for the pads and Harry can run for it. “Open the doors. I brought one with me.” What kind of creep are you?! Harry thought to scream, but choked it down by a growl. It must have come out as pained (it was pained, but for an entirely different reason, such as this bastard being too thorough!) because she heard Voldemort’s footsteps on the tile. “I won’t enter.” he said, while Harry’s heart raced along with her mind. “I’ll pass it to you.” The plan to run was ruined. Harry doubted she’d get a chance to steal the keys anytime soon before they reached a motel before nightfall, before he... Harry’s breaths quickened, coming out in wheezing, rattling breaths. God. God. God. Why her? She never should have gone there. She never should have stepped foot in that prison. She never should have picked up the phone on the other side of the glass. She never should have bought him that fucking book for his fucking birthday as some fucking kindness. He deserved to rot in there, he deserved to die in there, he was a monster in human form. But Voldemort broke out because of her! Because he wanted her! Because... what had she even done that... What made him... A sniffle broke through Harry’s tumbling thoughts of despair; it belonged to Harry. It was Harry. Harry was sniffling. On the verge of crying. “Harry.” It was his voice. Silken and soft. “I won’t do anything until tonight, as I promised you. Now open the door.” Miserable, Harry got up from the toilet, uncaring for her lack of underwear. Right as she reached for the lock, an epiphany swept over her. Voldemort wanted Harry. It was so simple that Harry felt like laughing. Voldemort wanted Harry. Harry's breaths calmed as sudden realisation swept over her. Any sign of tears vanished. Harry would get those keys even if she had to suck Voldemort off in this bathroom cubicle. Determination burned inside of Harry. Then, she opened the doors, and when Voldemort's hand entered through the gap, holding the pad, Harry grasped his wrist instead, and pulled.

Continuation of 4th scene cus tumblr is a little bitch - This is where Explicit Content is.

[helpfandom]

Not sure if you still write for camp camp, but could you do platonic yandere pikeman?

YES I DO! I write for every fandom listed on my fandom writings, and I would love to talk about Pikeman so badly!!

Fun fact! He is the only person in Camp Camp I would feel comfortable writing romance about, which says a lot because I don't like romance.

Pikeman is a desperate man, we all know this, except for him.

Now, how would he become a yandere? Well, there are very few conditions, but you likely met being dragged into one of Max's schemes, leaving him with a lasting memory of your face, and personality.

So naturally, when he attempts his futile siege on Camp Campbell, he has no issues asking Petrol to take you too, finding a mild smug look on his face as he traverses the lake over to the Wood Scouts.

"So, as we have now shown you, Camp Campbell isn't safe! Just come over here to the Wood Scouts, and we shall protect you!"

To met with this, mess, of a teen, is a shocking endeavor, especially with his... attempts at stalking and even attempting to be friends with a Camp Campbell Camper, is shocking to more than himself.

He initially thinks it's just him reflecting repressed feelings onto you, but, then he slowly realizes it's a warped reflection of himself he sees in you, and then he realizes what it is he feels, a close attachment to someone he wants to help, to save.

He no longer waits for raids against Camp Campbell or bets that involve human trading, he just begins to show up, and drag you to the Wood Scouts, at this point, the death grip he has your arm tells you that he isn't playing around this time.

Especially as he starts muttering about saving you...

[lovebillyhargrove]

Billy's camaro Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

***

Steve is fucked.

That's it, this is the end. He's going to die now.

The smell of gasoline is getting stronger, and the heat is beyond unbearable. Steve understands what's going to happen next, how he will die.

Because the car is fire. Just like Billy Hargrove was.

And Steve .. stops fighting it. Stops tugging at the seatbelt, stops trying to unbuckle it. Stops squirming in the seat and trying to open the door.

Remembers how it went at the Byers'. When Billy was mounting him and beating him unconscious. Hit after hit after hit. When Steve gave up fighting because he could not possibly fight that all-consuming wave of rage.

He knows now that if maybe he had said "sorry" at that time, it's possible things would've gone differently. "Sorry I lied about your sister." That's all Steve had to say that night.

And then maybe Billy would've stopped.

Steve puts his hands on the steering wheel again, and although it burns like a motherfucker, he doesn't take them away.

He knows what he has to say. It comes out as a sob.

"I'M SORRY! .. I fucked up!! Listen, I was on drugs. Not that I took them voluntarily, I'd been injected with them against my will. I didn't know what I was doing. I would never. It was a mistake. It was all just a huge fucking mistake. And I'm sorry I did this to you! .. And .. I'm sorry about your owner .. he didn't deserve any of that."

He blurts it all out in one breath and feels tears coming to his eyes. He remembers the moment he had crashed into the camaro so vividly. The bang, the metallic, scraping sound, the triumph - he's played this scene in his mind over and over again. Steve thought he was doing something heroic then.

What a fucking joke.

The true hero? .. There's a tombstone on the real hero's grave. No-one, except their little team, knows what this boy had done, what he had been through.

But Steve knows. He knows now, after months of thinking, and reminiscing, and replaying everything in his mind again and again, months of sleepless nights, of could've should've would've..

They say you can't see big things when you're close to them. You see big things from a distance. From afar.

Steve has had enough distance to see everything.

He's had enough time to think.

It was all wrong.

It was all wrong, he was fucking wrong, and, honestly, all of them were horribly unforgivably wrong.

Even if they had killed Billy, how would it have helped them to fight the mindflayer? Hargrove was just a pawn.

Steve remembers how Billy got out of the burning car, how he didn't even look at Steve, who had just rammed his precious camaro, he didn't look at anyone. He just continued on his death march, through pain, through torture, through loss.

Steve's probably crying now, he can't really tell anymore. His head is floating.

"I'm so sorry.. I know I was so wrong. Let me make up for it, please. Let me make at least something right."

Steve is almost fainting from all the heat and the suffocating gasoline smell.

"I am a friend. I know I wasn't, but now I am. Let me make up for my mistake."

The car is fire.

"I'm not saying that just to save my ass right now. Why would I come here if I didn't want to find you? I'm so fucking sorry.."

Steve can't think straight any more. His mouth is dry, and he's losing his trail of thought. He's slipping, for real, he's falling, he is so full of regret, he's going to burn, he is ...

***

When Steve opens his eyes, he's still sitting on the driver's seat of the camaro. The sun is shining above them, and it's not .. it isn't hot anymore. The petrol smell is gone too. Steve checks the seatbelt, it's unbuckled and hanging on the side. He touches the wheel, it isn't hot. Steve opens the door, and it does open.

He's free to go.

The first urge is to get out of the car as soon as possible, right this second, and run. It had almost killed him. It had almost fucking burnt him alive.

Steve hurriedly puts one leg out but stops mid-movement. There's no need to be afraid. It's letting him go. He is free to go because it lets him.

So fuck it.

Instead, Steve opens the glove compartment one more time and takes out the Marlboro Reds. Fishes out a cigarette, looks for a lighter. Yeah, it's there, under the map of Hawkins.

Lights up. Inhales. Exhales.

"Listen. I meant every word I said. Let me take you away from here. I can't fix you myself, but I'll find a good place where it can be done."

His mouth is still dry, and the cigarette is awfully bitter, burning his tongue.

He'd kill for a drink of water. Gets out of the car, goes to the beamer, finds a bottle of "Aqua fresh." Drinks half of it and returns back to the camaro, still holding the cigarette.

"I'm gonna go now, but I'll come back tomorrow with a tow truck. We'll take you to a repair shop. I promise everything will turn out fine. Okay?"

Steve's completely nuts, he's talking to the wreck of a car. Still, he feels as if he's saying the sanest shit ever.

He takes out another Marlboro, lights it and fucking misses Billy. The guy he'd never had a decent conversation with.

"Just .. don't go anywhere, please. Wait for me."

***

Steve does some research. Calls his dad in his office and asks what repair shop is the best one.

"Steven, did you crash the beamer?"

"No, dad. No, I swear, it's for a friend."

Turns out, there is a place here. Old Joe's garage. If it doesn't work out here, dad gives him a couple of addresses in Indianapolis.

Next, Steve calls Family Video.

"Keith, I'm sick. Like, really sick. Passed out in the bathroom in the morning, that's why I didn't come in today. .. Yeah, I need tomorrow off too. .. Yeah, I know. .. I know I'm on thin ice. I'll work double shifts as soon as I'm feeling better. Thanks. .. Okay."

Next is the tow service.

Steve's got a plan.

Next day the camaro is waiting for him right where he left it, at the old junkyard.

***

"Sweet mother of Jesus! You want us to work with this??" Old Joe is not impressed.

"Look, I understand. But this car is very important to me, so I'm willing to pay .. a lot. Just name the price."

The old man is looking very doubtful.

"If you are really, absolutely sure there's nothing that can be done, I'll just find another place. I need this car up and running."

The mechanic is still looking at the camaro.

"Let me talk to my son.. The kid is better than me. Maybe we can figure something out. The spare parts though.. We'll have to order them from Indianapolis, so it'll definitely take a lot of time. And like you said, money."

"There's no rush. And money is not a problem. Just uh.. be gentle with her."

"Don't need to tell me that. She's a beauty. You know a good car when you see it, son."

***

It takes three months.

When Steve gets the call that he can finally come pick up the camaro, he's delirious with excitement. He's visited the garage often, wanted to see how certain things were done.

That day he might be imagining stuff, but he gets a feeling that the car is glad to see him too. All fixed and shiny with new paint, it's dazzling.

Steve thanks Old Joe and his son, pays the rest of the money and gets behind the wheel.

The car is .. really something. Sensitive to the touch, wild and very, very fast.

Steve needs to get used to it. Needs to learn all its nuances, its moods.

He does though. Leaves his beamer in the garage at home and starts driving the camaro instead. Has to explain to Max why he is suddenly the new owner of her dead brother's car. She calls him practically every day to take her places. Steve tries to always say yes, he knows that Max loves being in that car. She misses Billy too.

Steve drives it, parks it in his driveway. Takes good care of it. Listens to the engine's rumble as if it's talking to him.

He even kinda ..

Loves it.

Probably, not like Billy did. But Steve can't know. He can't know how Billy loved.

He fucking wishes he did. Did know that.

***

One November evening Steve's in the kitchen downstairs. He hears some sounds outside. Grabs the bat and carefully opens the door. Takes a peek. No-one. The camaro is standing in the driveway, covered in dew.

He comes out of the house and looks around. Everything is quiet.

Steve has an eerie feeling someone's been here. Or still is here, lurking in the shadows.

He comes closer to the camaro.

Steve's breath catches in his throat.

Is written on the dewy windshield.

Holy fuck.

Holy fucking hell.

Billy Hargrove is alive.

"Billy ..?"

***

To be continued

[baseballbitch116]

However Long It Takes - Chapter Five

Klaus Mikaelson x oc slow burn series

Charlotte couldn't help it. Something about Klaus was so intoxicating, so magnetic... She couldn't stay away from him. And it seems like the feeling is mutual. How does she keep ending up in these situations with him? Especially when her "friends" hate him so much. Is Charlotte in way over her head?

Word Count: 1994

Warnings: Mild violence and talk of death

Masterlist | However Long It Takes Masterlist

Chapter Five - The Vampire Hunter

The next day was nothing short of chaos. Elena and Caroline were captured by the new invincible vampire hunter Alaric at the high school, so you met with the Salvatore's and the others at Elena’s house. You were talking with Stefan and Jeremy in the kitchen when a soccer ball went flying into the kitchen after busting open the front door. “What the–” A piece of a fence flies in next and you grab Jeremy’s arm, pulling him to crouch behind the kitchen counter. Damon is suddenly taunting whoever is throwing the objects into the house as you remain in cover with the younger Gilbert. Eventually, the throwing stopped, but then you smelled gasoline and heard a familiar voice. Klaus?

Against Stefan’s objections, you vamped from the kitchen to the front door and were met with an angry Klaus. His eyes go wide, clearly not having realized that you were here. “Charlotte,” he says with a serious voice, holding a newspaper and a petrol can.

“Charlotte get back,” Stefan calls out, and Klaus’s angry eyes leave yours to glare at him for a short moment. Instead of listening, you step outside and are almost chest to chest with the angry hybrid in front of you.

You stare into his eyes, essentially challenging his rage. He narrows his eyes at you for a long moment before throwing the newspaper down onto the ground and putting the petroleum can down. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, and he just proved it. “Elena’s not here. Alaric took her and Caroline and he’s holding them hostage at the school.” You inform Klaus matter-of-factly. He closes his eyes tightly in exasperation and sighs. Stefan steps outside behind you and you can feel his body heat radiating onto you from his close proximity to your back. You don’t miss the intense glare Klaus shoots his way, but don’t dare start anything right now.

The men start coming up with a plan to get the girls back and you went off to the side of the house to try calling Elena in an attempt to get Alaric to answer. In hindsight, this wasn’t the best idea – because while your guard was down, someone was able to snap your neck.

~~~

You woke up in a classroom, tied to a desk chair. When you tried to move, your body burned and you quickly realized that the rope was covered in vervain. An evil chuckle made you look up and you locked eyes with Alaric. He looked so malicious, not like himself at all. To your left were Elena and Caroline, each in their own chairs. Caroline was in the same position as you, except with pencils in each of her hands and a rope in her mouth as well. You felt bad for her as you watched her wincing in pain. Alaric walked over to you and you lunged up, fighting the pain to try to snap his neck. In your weakened state, Alaric easily subdued you and slammed a pencil into your shoulder blade. You screamed in pain.

Alaric and Elena argued back and forth as he tried to get her to stake one of us, but she refused. Eventually, you spotted an opening when Caroline tried to get free. You took the chance while he was distracted and lunged up from the desk, throwing it at Alaric and using your elbows to break the rope. You took the pencil out of your bicep and threw it into Alaric’s neck, then took off running. You vamped away until you reached the furthest hallway and stopped to lean against a wall momentarily, catching your breath and trying to think. You knew you needed to figure out a way to rescue Caroline and Elena, but you weren’t sure how.

A hand grasped your mouth out of nowhere and you were pressed into a larger, hard body. You resisted and tried to scream to no avail, before the person grabbing you said: “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s me. It’s okay, you’re safe.” Klaus whispers in your ear, slowly removing his hand from your mouth. He places his hand on your shoulder and leans in to your ear: “We’ll save them. You go straight home. You stay inside. Do you understand?” You are too frazzled to respond, a combination of the fear, adrenaline and his hands on your body. He grabs your arms and turns you around to face him. “Do you understand me?” he demands, staring into your eyes with his intense blue ones, his hands on either of your arms. He looks genuinely worried and uneasy, but you felt safe now that he was with you. You nodded after a moment to process what he actually said, relief washing over you.

“Thank you,” you murmur gratefully. He stares at you for another long moment, many different expressions washing over his expressions before he vamps away toward the direction you just ran from. You waste no time and vamp in the other direction out of the school and straight home as fast as you could, just like he told you to.

You waited anxiously in your house for hours. Practically bit all of your fingernails off worrying about Klaus, and the others. Alaric was as strong as Mikael, if not stronger. Esther had given him immortality, so long as Elena was alive, he was. And he had an infinite white oak stake. It didn’t get much worse than that. Not only would you be heartbroken if he did manage to kill Klaus, but that also meant that everyone from Klaus’s bloodline would die too. Yourself included.

You texted everyone but no one had answered. You stared out the window for any sign, but nothing came. Alaric would be trapped in the school until sundown, but what about after the sun set? Would he come for you? The others?

Klaus: Are you okay?

You nearly dropped your phone in haste to open the text from him. It had been two hours since you got home, you were worried sick.

Yes, are you? Where are you?

You were not concerned with appearances or how you came off right now. You needed to know that he was safe. That everyone was.

I’m coming over. Stay inside.

Your heart rate picked up, anxious about Klaus being over at your house for the first time. As stupid as it felt, you began cleaning up. Using your vamp speed to try to hurry, tossing things into the closet or picking up random objects. Klaus arrived a few minutes later, knocking on the door sharply. You took a deep breath and walked over to the front door, where you could see him through the glass. Something that you hadn’t even considered yet was whether or not you should let him inside. You’d compelled your mother to put you on the lease last time she was here, so you did have the ability to invite him in if you wanted to… Was that a good idea? It could very well come back to bite you…

You opened the door and glanced around before meeting his gaze. “Are you okay?” you ask quietly, scanning him for any signs of injury. He cocks his head to the side and stares at you for a long moment before responding.

“I’m fine. Esther certainly gave him loads of power.” he huffs angrily. The sun is low in the sky now and you know that as soon as the sun is down, Alaric will be leaving the school. He’d be free all night until the sun rose again. What should you do? There’s no way you’ll be able to sleep knowing he’s out there, his sole mission to kill all of the originals. You didn’t want to see them die. The others had already somehow managed to kill Finn, not that you cared – but all of the vampires from his line died with him. Which was the only reason you were apprehensive about even Kol dying. But the other three… You’d grown to like them. “Are you going to invite me in, sweetheart?” he changes the conversation and his signature smirk returns. He’s not calm right now, and it puts you on edge a little. Did he have an ulterior motive?

“Yes, Klaus, come in…” his brows raise in surprise but he outstretches a leg and places his foot over the threshold. You take a step to the side against the wall and allow him to walk inside, then pull the door closed behind him. Suddenly, you are standing very close to him, with your back nearly pressed against the wall. He seems much larger than you suddenly, even though he was only a few inches taller. His intense blue eyes burned through your soul and he actually took a small step toward you, making you back up into the wall. You are stunned and you know that he can hear your heart pounding in your chest. His smirk remains and he brings his right hand up and brushes some hair out of your face. He grins as he tucks the hair behind your ear. His fingertips brush the skin of your cheek and you close your eyes in bliss, his brief touch warming your skin and erupting a fire inside of you. It was impossible to be subtle or conceal your emotions around this man. You force your eyes open and meet his gaze. “I can hear your heart hammering in your chest,” he taunts you, placing his right hand on the wall beside your head, pinning you. His body is radiating heat onto yours, but he’s not touching you.

“Klaus…” is all you can bring yourself to say. Words have escaped you, and all you wanted in this moment was for him to close the gap between your bodies. All logic and self-preservation went out the door the moment he touched your face. You were so incredibly attracted to this dangerous man.

He moistens his full lips after you say his name, leaning his face in closer so that there are only inches between you.

“Hmm, I like the way my name sounds on your lips,” he murmurs. The tension between you is so heavy, it makes it hard to breathe. He leaned even closer, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, and you lifted your head up to invite him to kiss you… And then his phone went off, startling you and completely killing the vibe. You quickly stand up straight and Klaus takes a step back, his face falling into a scowl as he pulls the phone out of his pocket. You literally have to catch your breath and put space between the two of you, feeling like you could not breathe so close to him.

He answers the phone, saying: “What, Stefan?” he growls into the phone. His sudden mood change caught you off guard, but you wonder if it is because he was enjoying what had been transpiring between the two of you just as much as you had been. “Fine,” he huffs before hanging up and returning his gaze to you. “Got to go, love,” his voice softened when he spoke to you, making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“But what about Ric?” you ask, reaching out to grab his bicep as he approached the door. He turned back to face you, glancing at your hand on his arm before smiling softly.

“I’ll be fine. You stay inside, away from the windows. Don’t go outside until after sunrise.” Klaus instructs you. He looks at you for a long moment then quickly leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. Your breath hitches and he pulls back only enough to look into your eyes for another moment, then takes off out the door with his vamp speed. You stand there for a long moment, catching your breath from the intensity of what just happened before hastily closing the door.

---

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Let me know if you would like to be tagged when the next chapter is posted!

[jellybean-supreme]

Secrets to be kept (Byron X Reader)

Description

Mermaid Reader X Surfer Byron

Y/ń is Cleo's twin sister, but her type is different from her sisters, she likes surfers and her sister likes well Lewis. Y/ń and Byron have been friends for a while. Then all of a sudden Y/ń stops surfing and Byron gets worried about her. Will he find out what's wrong ?

Lewis 16

Cleo 15

Emma 15

Byron 16

Rikki 15

Chapter 1

Y/n Pov:

Byron and I were on our way to the beach for some surfing. Byron and I reached the beach around 5am. We set our boards on the sand and I checked my phone for messages from Cleo. She had asked me if I would like to spend some time with Emma, Rikki and her, and as I did not have any other plans for the day, I agreed to go along. Cleo instructed me to meet them at a bridge near Emma's swim spot.

"You all right?" Byron asked me.

"Yeah, I'm fine, let's go," I replied.

I asked him if he would like a drink at the JuiceNet Cafe, as Byron and I had been surfing for a while.

"Byron, what time is it? I have to meet Cleo and the girls at 12."

"It's 11 o'clock, what are you guys going to do?" Asked Byron.

"I'm not really sure, Cleo just asked me to join her," I replied.

"Oh, I hope it isn't anything tedious."

"Its been great surfing with you Byron, looking forward to seeing you this evening."

"I am sorry but I am going to have to cancel this evening as I want to practice my swimming."

"Sure, no worries, I will see you tomorrow," I replied.

I went to the bridge to meet up with Emma, Cleo and Rikki. On the way I saw Cleo and Rikki on Zane's dinge. It was one of his many new ones.

"Want to go for a ride?" Rikki asked.

"Have you got a licence?" Emma asked seriously

"Are you my mum?" Rikki asked with a chuckle

Cleo and I chuckled along with her.

"Let's go" I said excitedly.

We headed out into the deeper water near the island of Mako. I loved that island. It was so beautiful.

"Uhhh guys, we may have a problem," Rikki said.

"What's wrong Rikki?" I, asked.

"We've run out of petrol," Rikki said.

"WHAT," Emma and Cleo shouted.

"Cool!" I said

"IT'S NOT COOL, Y/N, WE COULD BE STRANDED HERE FOREVER," shouted Cleo.

"Jeez, you don't need to get so upset," I said.

"We could go there," Rikki said pointing at Mako Island.

"Mako, you mean?" Emma asked.

"No way, there are sharks," Cleo said, scared.

In spite of everything, we headed for Mako Island. Emma remembered her phone and tried to make a call to test the signal, but when she realised she wasn't getting any, she decided to go deeper into the island to try and get some. We decided to go with her to make sure she stayed safe.

I jumped across, with Emma and Rikki following. "Everybody, watch where you step," I said. We were all waiting for Cleo. She was about to jump when she fell into a hole and we followed her because she told us she had hurt her ankle.

After we went down the hole with Cleo, we looked for a way out. Then we saw something that looked like a pool. Emma investigated the pool to see if it led to an exit. After a few tense minutes of my sister worrying about Emma, she rejoined us and informed us that we could swim through the pool looking thing to the outside. She estimated that it would take us only 20 seconds to reach the sea. We all got into the pool except Cleo, who can't swim. Rikki and Emma offered to help her and she agreed. When she finally got into the water, I'm not sure what happened, but the moon was right above us and there were glowing particles.

We all got out of the water unharmed, the water police then escorted us out of the water and we all returned to our respective homes.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The next day, Byron and I went back to the beach, but this time to a beach with bigger waves. As I was getting ready to go into the water, I noticed that my wetsuit was getting stuck to my bikini.

"Hey Byron," I ask, reddened like tomatoes. "Before you go into the water, can you help me with my wetsuit, it's stuck?"

Byron replied, "Sure," as his cheeks began to turn pink.

I blushed even more at the sensation of his gentle touch as he placed his hands on my back.

"There you go," Byron said with a smile and a hint of blush on his face, "shall we go surfing?"

"Thank you," I said, trying to hide my blushing.

"Yep, let's surf."

About 10 seconds into the water, I turned into something. I don't know what. But I looked exactly like a mermaid. I told Byron I had to go, luckily he didn't see me change. I hoped he wouldn't be upset that i had to leave, thankfully he understood. I got out of the water somewhere where no one could see me and I had a go at drying myself off, but it didn't work. I was in such a state of frustration, I didn't have a clue what the hell was wrong with me. It was at that moment that I felt a sharp sting on my tail. I looked up and saw that I had somehow managed to start drying my tail off.

Then, my legs appeared and I was dry everywhere. But how did that happen?' I asked myself in my head.

Besties [A/N This is a group chat. Y= the first letter of your name C= Cleo E= Emma R =Rikki ]

Y: GUYS HELP!

Y: WE HAVE TO TALK, LIKE NOW

Y: PLEASE!

E: ARE YOU OKAY?

E: There is something that I have to tell you as well.

Y: NO, NOT AT ALL!

R: ALL RIGHT, GUYS.

R: LET'S MEET AT CLEOS.

Y: ALL RIGHT, SEE YOU IN A COUPLE OF MINS.

C: See ya.

Byron❤️

Y: Hey Byron, I'm sorry I left you on the beach, I wasn't feeling too good.

B: That's all right, are you feeling better? I was worried about you.

Y: Don't worry, I'm fine now, I'm sorry I didn't mean to worry you, Byron.

B: It's OK, I'm glad you're all right.

Y: Talk to you later, bye byron☺️

B: Bye :)

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

When I arrived, Cleo, Rikki and Emma were already there.

Cleo: "it was orange and it was covered in scales"

Emma: The moment I hit the water-

Rikki: I was water for a second.

Y/N: I was a fish.

Cleo: What's happening to us?

Emma: That's what I'd like to know.

Rikki: Is there anybody else here?

Cleo: No, my dad is working and my sister and Mum went shopping.

Y/n: OK, what happened to us? About 10 seconds after we come into contact with the water, we grow these...

Rikki: Tails, and then they go away when we're dry. And it's the same with you? Isn't it?

Y/n: The tails are exactly like...

Rikki: Like mermaids.

Emma: I've already told you. You're not funny. Mermaids don't exist. It's just............too weird.

Right then there was a knock on the door.

Cleo: Oh no, it's Lewis. I forgot he's helping me with Biology today.

Lewis: Cleo? Oh - have I got the time wrong?

Cleo: No, we said 9.00. But, sorry Lewis, something's come up.

Lewis: Like what?

Cleo: "Just something important, but not so important that you need to know, sorry Lewis, have to cancel, maybe another time". Cleo was quiet for a second, then it looked like she had an idea. "Lewis, you are a smart guy. Do you have any knowledge about mermaids?"

Lewis: No, not really

Cleo: "OK, sorry, goodbye."

"What?" Cleo asked.

Emma: "Do you know anything about mermaids?" Are you crazy?

Y/n: Cleo, this is really serious, if anyone finds this, we're going to be so screwed

Cleo: You're right, I'm sorry.

After talking we all went our separate ways. Cleo went to study with Lewis at the Juicenet Cafe, Emma went home to call her swimming coach that she was quitting, Rikki went who knows where and I, well I'm going to call Byron that I'm not surfing anymore.

Byron ❤️

Y: Byron, hi!

B: Hey Y/n, ready to surf tonight?

Y: Byron, do you think we could meet up instead? I've got something to tell you, but I don't want to say it on the phone.

B: Yeah, of course, let's meet in the garden that we found.

Y: All right, meet me in about 2 minutes.

B: See you there.

[][] Time skip[][]

This is what you are wearing.

You can choose between these [ you don't have to wear these, you can choose whatever you like, these are just a few ideas ].

This the garden

"Byron, hey, thanks for coming," I say with a sad expression on my face.

"Yeah, no problem, everything ok? " Byon says with a concerned look on his face.

"I just wanted to let you know. I won't be surfing anymore. Something personal happened. I say on the verge of tears.

Chapter 2

"Byron, hey, thanks for coming," I say with a sad expression on my face.

"Yeah, no problem, everything ok? " Byon says with a concerned look on his face.

"I just wanted to let you know. I won't be surfing anymore. Something personal happened. I say on the verge of tears.

"What..." Byron says, confused and saddened in his voice.

"I can't go surfing anymore," I said as the tears started to roll down my cheeks.

Byron didn't say anything, he just came over and hugged me, crying too. I hugged back.

"I said in a low voice, "Please tell me that you're not angry with me.

"I'm not angry," Byron whispered softly in my ear.

"Byron whispers with sadness in his voice, "Tell me we can still hang out, it doesn't have to be on the beach.

"Of course Byron, you're my best friend," I say with a forced smile, I've never liked using the word friend to describe my feelings for Byron.

"Are you free tomorrow night?". There is something I want to ask you,' Byron says as he wipes the tears from my face.

"Y-yeah, sure," I say. The blush spreads across my face like a wild fire.

" Well, I've got to go, y/n," Byron says shyly, his face starting to blush.

"Bye Byron, see you tomorrow," I kiss him on the cheek and quickly leave a red-faced Byron behind.

*A few days later

I have been ignoring Byron for the last two days or so. I wanted to hear what he had to say to me, but I told him I couldn't come because I felt sick. But I wasn't. I felt weird after kissing him. I told him that we were still going to hang out and talk. But after what I had done, I couldn't. During the time I was ignoring Byron, I had a lot of thoughts about my feelings for Byron. Did I love him? Did he love me? Would we even be able to make it last as a couple? Why should I have feelings towards Byron? Well, he had the most beautiful eyes, the kind that can make you forget to think, and that smiling face, the way he talks to me when I'm sad, the way he hugs me when I'm cold, oh god, I love, I love Byron. I cannot confess. It'd be a blow to our friendship. I'm never going to do that. Because there is no way in hell that he would want to be with me at all. He'd be better off going out with Cleo or Emma anyway. My thoughts were cut short by Cleo, who was calling me.

" Hey Y/N, come down here!" Cleo calls out.

" Coming!"

I walk down the steps and see Byron sitting on the couch, looking up at me.

"Y/n, hey," Byron says as he gets up.

"Hi," I say quietly.

"Can we talk, please?" Byron asks as Cleo takes that as her Q to leave.

"Erm...sure.

"Can we go to our spot?" Byron asks.

"Sure," I answer in a soft, quiet voice.

Your going to a beach with big waves, it hard to find, but its secrest surf spots for only a few locals. It has a small beach that goes along way until it reaches some rocks.

Let's go walk along the beach,' I say and Byron just nods.

"Y/n, have you been ignoring me?" Byron asks quietly.

"N-no, I haven't." I say.

"Can I talk to you about what I wanted to say to you the last time I saw you?"

"Of course you can Byron." I give him a smile that is slightly forced. I thought he was going to tell me he had a girlfriend or something the last time he said he wanted to talk to me.

" I wanted to tell you that I like you, I like you a lot, y/n, more than friends, even best friends. I understand if..." I cut him off with a kiss on the lips.

I can't believe I did that.

He kissed me back.

We pulled our lips away from one another. "I whispered in his ear, "I like you too, Byron.

Chapter 3 Finale

Byron and I have been going out for a few weeks now. Today I am going to show him why I have stopped surfing with him. I'm really nervous to tell him. Would he be upset that I didn't tell him sooner?

❤️Byron ❤️

Y: Hey Byron, can you meet me at our beach spot?

B: Hey, bae, yeah, sure. Is everything all right?

Y: Yeah, I just have something I need to tell you.

B: Ok, see you in 5 :)

Y: Bye :)

The Beach your going to is 5hqt same one as the previous chapter.

Wear whatever you'd like

He's wearing board shorts with a t and no shoes.

"Hey, bae," Byron says to you. He gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"Hi," you say softly.

"I wanted to talk to you.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just need to tell you why I've actually stopped surfing with you".

"Okay? Are you sure you want to? I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me."

"Yes, I'm sure."

"So do you remember the time I went out with Emma, Cleo and Rikki?" He nods, "Well, Rikki rescued Cleo from one of Zane's pranks and then Rikki picked up Emma and me. So we were out near Mako when we ran out of petrol and we paddled over to Mako to see if Emma could get a signal, she couldn't so we tried to get higher up. But that was when Cleo fell down into a hole. Rikki, Emma and I went in after her. It was too steep to climb back up and she had hurt her ankle." Byron looked worried and nodded his head as if he was telling me to keep going. "So then we tried to find a way out and we saw a pool like thing, we called it the Moon Pool. Anyway, Emma went through to see if we could swim through it. We could. Then Cleo got really scared that she was going to drown. So it took a while to get her to go in, but when she finally did, the moon was over us and all of a sudden there were these beautiful particles, they were really beautiful. Then we simply swam out of the moonpool to the open water. We all went home after the water police found us. But the next day, when we touched the water, we were transformed into mermaids. That's why I had to leave so early when we went surfing".

"That's quite .............something."

"Yeah..."

"You're not mad that i didn't tell you earlier?

"Of course not, I'm just surprised. Can I see? You know, you can turn into a mermaid?"

"Sure, would you like to swim with me? "

"Yea," Byron says, smiling gently at you, "let's go.

You walk into the water after the ten seconds wait you fall flat on your face.

Your tail is a beautiful pearl colour with black/very dark purple lines.

"Wow.....you look incredible ❣️" Byron says. His face is flushed.

"T-Thanks"

"Wanna go swimming?" Byron asks as he holds his board in his hand.

"Sure," you say with a smile on your face as the blush spreads all over your face.

You put your arms on byrons board while he's sitting on it looking at him.

"I love you," Byron whispers in my ear.

"I love you too," I whisper back to him.

' The End

[mickstart]

wait they managed not to broadcast any force india cars for a weekend?? when and why did this happen??

Oh this is a severely fucked up occurrence that I will try to stay brief about but. Basically in 2012 formula one raced in Bahrain as a pretty much implicit sportswashing measure (I'm wary of throwing the term around but f1 had cancelled the race in 2011 due to 'political unrest' aka mass protests from a civilian population that were being violently put down, and in 2012 were explicitly asked to return in what was seen by most as the Bahrain government trying to show they had returned to normal and there were definitely no more human rights abuses happening.) This was widely condemned by both international charities and local activists but Bernie insisted it was all good and they would race no matter what. To put into perspective how fucked the situation was, a protester was killed the weekend of the race.

(side note if you look into this deeper and actually investigate the politics going on behind a Motorsport pov a lot of drivers showed their asses here in their response and it's interesting especially in the case of Sebastian and Lewis how they reacted here VS how they would probably have reacted today.)

So that's. The background. Now here's the insane part. Obviously there were local protests against this, a lot of them. But only one incident really seemed to rattle f1 and that was a hire car of Force India mechanics had a petrol bomb thrown at it. Nobody was hurt but subsequently Force India decided not to participate in the later practice session so the staff could all return to their hotels before it got dark outside.

F1 was. Pissed. How dare you ruin our messaging. There is nothing wrong here, we're all having a great time here, there is no unrest whatsoever the government and their money are doing a great job. Also, this was back when news breaking on twitter was a fairly new concept so the process of these rumours coming out via twitter were very very messy and drew more attention to the sport.

So in what was probably an effort to avoid this online speculation and people demanding answers, during the first practice session, f1 decided the world was populated entirely by toddlers with no object permanence, and if they just didn't SHOW force india, nobody would remember to ask them about the force india petrol bomb rumours. So you had one session where every single team was getting screen time EXCEPT force india - like, I remember it being commented on as odd at the time - and a weekend where the camera kept cutting away from force india cars jarringly as much as it could.

[greglow03]

OC🧡🔧

Here, have a Lola🧡

I haven't showed you guys her yet (on this blog at least).

She had/has her own blog

Rambling below ^_^ \/\/\/

Shortly: She's an energetic, young ~29-32~ (age is uncalculatable due to lore.) engineer, inventor, scientist. She also works as an E4 member of the Dark variety. She resides in the Mushroom Kingdom, and Mushian Region, but originates from the FNAF Universe. Facts: * Birthday is the 24th of April (Taurus♉) * Is left-handed * Is British, with a light accent. *Is mixed-race (though looks white). * Can tan easily. * Is a feminist. * Is married to her husband, Hose (another OC). * Is a straight ally<3 * Has got no children, due to being infertile. * Is a slow runner. In general is bad at sports (except tennis and golf). * Has the ability to hover in the air for a brief period of time. * Had 2 brothers and 2 sisters. (all have passed away from age.) * Lore wise is 100 or so in age, but due to Universe hopping and Time traveling is a lot younger. * Gregory is related to Lola, genetically (sister's daughter's son). * Created a Machine that allows travel between Universes. * Caused Universes to merge on accident (science does that for ya). * Was in a girl group, before they disbanded.

Personality: * Is Energetic, Intelligent, Responsible, Creative, Brave, Loving, Industrious, Scientific, Analytical, Passionate, Friendly, Honest, Calm. * Is Reckless, Overprotective, Workaholic, Extremely Disorganised (you will break your neck in her lab), Competitive, Insomniac, Revengeful.

Likes: * Favourite colour is orange🧡 * Heavily interested in Science and Engineering. * Tools (wrenches, screw guns, ect.) * Doing research. * Singing * Spicy and bitter food. * Technology. * Baking. * Gasoline/Petrol scent * Cars/Trucks/Motorbikes * Collecting old car parts * Blueprints * Sketching * Dogs, Foxes, Tigers, Flamingos * Spending time with friends and husband.

Dislikes/Hates: * Shopping. * Cleaning. * Rude/Annoying people. * Soap operas. * Showing weakness. * Sexism. * Beans. * Hot weather. * Traffic jams. * Guilt trippers. * Chameleons (one crushed her microscopic invention), Skunks (one sprayed her really badly). * Show-offs * Waiting ques.

Thank you for reading! <3

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Rachel Daly x Reader

A Change in the Weather

Posted 17/04/23 Edited 09/07/23

You’re such a back seat driver; you like control and someone else driving you around does not give you control. It’s not your temperature, your music or your speed - it all depends on someone else and how much you trust them to keep you safe. Usually you always feel safe when Rach is driving and finding someone like that is a first for you. Except.. today was different.

Speeding down the motorway, the rain lashed on the windscreen - you were tense, your knuckles white from gripping the door handle, your feet cramping because your toes curled so tightly inside your shoes like it would make any difference if you crashed. She said she’s in control but you don’t feel like she is. You don’t feel safe with her and you wish she’d pull over into a petrol station and admit that this weather is just too much to continue with the journey. But Rachel Daly doesn’t quit, you’ve heard those words from her lips one too many times to know she will never pull over. Your breathing becomes rapid and shallow as your mind races faster than the car into situations you do not wish to imagine.

As rain turned to hail, every hit to the windscreen felt bone shattering as you tried breathing exercises to make the tears welling in your eyes reverse. You didn’t want to be a distraction but as a clash of lightening lit up the sky you couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your face. Trying to silently let them fall so she wouldn’t notice took so much energy, you were stiff trying to force every muscle in your body to stop the anxiety attack from irrupting. Knowing that it already was happening and started over an hour ago when you left Bristol for the 3 hour drive home. The spa resort a distant memory, you felt more tense than when you walked into the place. You didn’t understand why Rachel was so adamant you had to leave regardless of the incoming weather warning and couldn’t have just stayed til the morning.

England had won the Arnold Clark Cup for the second year in a row, the team had celebrated then you went to a spa resort for a break together. Trying your hardest to remember how good the masseuse’s elbows in your back felt or how the hot tub bubbles surrounding your body felt like a giant cuddle, you were suddenly shook back into reality by the thunderous noises coming from the deep black sky. You couldn’t hide your anxiety anymore as tears continued to stream down your face, you took an audible gasp of breath making your girlfriend snap her neck to look at you, shocked at the sight that greeted her. “Babe?!” she exclaimed loudly and confused at the state of you. You couldn’t hold it back any longer as the tears just poured out of your eyes, letting the noises escape your mouth sounded like you were in physical pain. “I’m scared! You’re scaring me!” you managed through breathlessness “babe-” she moved one of her hands to your thigh causing you to react by swiping it away and screaming “keep your hands on the wheel!” as you felt the car be battered by the wind making it swerve into the hard shoulder. “I’m in control, don’t panic” she said with fake positivity which made you feel sick “well I am panicking aren’t I! I’ve been panicking since we left!” “It’s safer to continue than stop” “we shouldn’t have left in the first place!” Both your voices now raised to be heard over the clattering of hail on the tin roof. “Just slow down for fuck sake! Why are you going 80 on a night like this?!” “I- I didn’t realise I was” her voice now lowered dramatically as her foot released slightly off the accelerator. You were longing to be at home wrapped in your mother’s arms or literally anywhere apart from where you currently were. “How could you not notice?!” “I -I just wanted to get home” she stammered, the realisation of how reckless she had been slowly sinking in. “We’ll never get home if you continue this way!” you pleaded with her then felt the car slow considerably as her foot finally reached the break to bring her speed down to 50. A speed you could sit comfortably with and would have been fine if the whole journey was like that. You’re a confident driver and although you would be scared driving in this, your music would be loud and you’d drive sensibly, especially if the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with was in the car too. You’ve driven in a lot of bad weather but you are always sensible. Turning to look at her as her eyes had become visibly watery “you’re scared too aren’t you?” you asked quietly, no words left her lips but her head nodded slightly. “Let’s find a hotel babe” your hand reached her thigh, “no, we’re nearly there I just want to be home”. With 45 minutes left of the journey you spent the rest of it in silence, the crackle of the radio quietly playing in the background. Your hand stayed on her thigh for reassurance as you watched her concentration face come to light. Although the weather hadn’t let up, the slower pace of the car made you immediately calmer.

Arriving at the house Rachel was straight out and in the front door. You wanted to just sit in the car for a while, alone. You both had a lot of emotions and you needed to process them in the safety of knowing you were on the driveway of the place you call home. You needed to release all the anger you felt towards her for putting both your lives at risk. Resting your head on the window the tears rolled down your cheek like they did on the glass pane. You didn’t want to move, you just felt numb with negativity, a feeling you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

You must have fallen asleep crying, rubbing your eyes of dried up tears as you awoke to the sound of knocking. Looking around to realise you were still in the car, the night before a distant memory with the bright sunny sky breaking through the windscreen. Turning to your left to see your woman in her pjs looking remorseful. She clicked her car key to unlock the door, scooping you into her arms to carry you inside and laying you on the sofa with her. Neither of you said anything, syncing up with her breaths as your laid on her chest with her arms clutching you tightly, you could tell the atmosphere was still a bit morbid. “I’ve made pancakes” she said quietly as she shuffled off to the kitchen. Memories of the day you said yes to being her girlfriend flooded back along with all of the reasons why you love her. Eating the pancakes quietly she started to apologise for her misjudgment last night.

“(Y/n) I’m truly sorry for how my actions made you feel last night, I didn’t consider your feelings at all and I honestly can’t apologise enough. I didn’t want to admit I was scared and just wanted to get home. I always, always want to protect you and keep you safe and last night I didn’t. I can never forgive myself for putting you in danger.”

“Rachy, I’ve always felt safe with you but last night I felt like you broke my trust. I’ve never felt like I was so close to being in a serious accident in my life. The thoughts in my head of my mum finding out I’ve been in a crash, your teams finding out you wouldn’t be at camp, my best friends not being able to share gossip with me anymore, my grandparents not seeing me get married, my sister not having her maid of honour at her wedding. That’s how scared I was.” Tears were once again falling down your cheeks. “Now everytime you’re in the car without me all I am going to think about is last night, constantly worried you’re not going to get to your destination or the hospital calling me. I’ve never felt more unsafe in my life and that feeling is going to take me an awful long time to forget.”

Rachel’s eyes looked incredibly sad as tears began to run and her lip started trembling. You could tell she was sorry but words weren’t enough this time. She’s got a lot of making up to do.