#he hasn’t felt the touch of a woman in years go easy on him!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecryptidenthusiast · 6 months ago

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Title: i just want to give you all i can (1/2)

Rating: M (Will Increase to E)

Pairing: ChargeStep

Summary: A Ranger is turning 40, and you decide to make an appearance at his party.

AO3 link if you want to read there instead!

The banquet hall is packed to the brim, people crammed from one wall to the other. You aren’t sure there’s ever been another time where you’ve felt so out of place.

You weren’t stupid, you knew to expect a crowd -this is as much a publicity stunt as it is any kind of celebration. ‘Congratulations on turning 40, Charge. Here’s to hoping we can squeeze one more year out of you before going for the next new model!’ Rubbing elbows and double-edged smiles, everybody playing the same song and dance as if they aren’t all just cogs to the same machine.

Easy to break.

Even easier to replace.

Ortega is eating it up though, because why wouldn’t he? All eyes have been on him the entire evening, just how he likes it.

Catching glimpses of him from the alcove you’d tucked yourself into wasn’t hard. He’d flit from one group to the next, a peacock showing off its plumage. Camera-perfect smile and winks meant to make somebody swoon. He had the audacity to invite you, and then run around like an idiot all night.

No, not even an invite, not really. It was more a comment thrown out like he was just fulfilling a social expectation. That tone of you won’t come anyways, but I’d come across like an asshole if I didn’t mention it.

Not an invitation, it felt more like a goddamn challenge.

He’s found a new group to migrate to, a group of men and women all dressed to the nines. The women are gorgeous, and at least half his age. Doesn’t stop him from grinning, doesn’t stop them from touching his arms in an overly-friendly gesture. Does he even know them? Probably not. He’s managed to lose his tie somewhere between the last time you’d seen him and now, so he’s opted for unbuttoning his shirt well beyond the point of “proper formal attire”.

One of the women, the shortest one with the red dress that’s slit up to her thigh, tugs Ortega down to say something in his ear. Close, so close and he just goes along with a smile you want to slap him. Something twists in your chest.

You could leave.

You should leave. Slip back outside and vanish into the night like a ghost, instead of haunting the halls of this place. Get away from the bodies, the minds pressing down on your shields from all directions. Fingers scratching, looking to find any cracks in your defenses. All the time that’s passed may have made you stronger, but the world hasn’t gotten any quieter, and it’s still so damn exhausting. You can feel that tell-tale pulse starting behind your left eye, a migraine brewing like an afternoon storm.

Just go.

It’s not like it’s your fault Ortega’s been too busy basking in the limelight. You made an appearance, even when you knew he hadn’t expected it. You filled your end of that social expectation.

A caterer shuffles a little too close, a tray of champagne flutes precariously balanced on one hand, and you press yourself further against the wall. Pull your shields up just a bit tighter, fight against that throbbing ache so the man just glosses over your existence entirely.

It’s like a bruise you can’t help but pressing just to feel it hurt, deciding to stay. Feet still rooted to the obnoxious marble floor and watch the humming buzz of life move around you. Always looking in - it doesn’t matter what you’ve molded yourself into. It doesn’t matter that you were invited by Charge himself; you can dress the part, but no amount of hair product or designer clothes can hide the fact you don’t belong. Grubby hands leaving smudges on a window into something you’ll never have a place in.

Eden would fit in here. Pretty face and a smile sharper than any blade. The kind of woman a person can’t help but bend and listen to. Even Enigma could - they would grab the world by the throat and demand to be noticed. To be seen.

Not you, though.

Not Erin Becker.

A woman in a dress that brushes the floor glances your way, eyes lingering a little too long. Wondering who you are, should you be here? Maybe she should get security?

The ‘nudge’ you meant for is closer to a telepathic shove: forget about the stranger, a featureless face fading into the crowds. It’s more important to find the way to the hall’s bathrooms.

You may be too stubborn to leave just yet, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you can’t just keep standing here. Sweat has your dress shirt sticking to your back, and you’d peel your jacket off if it didn’t feel like the extra layer is the only thing keeping you held together.

‘...never have the right champagne…’

How did you manage to do this? Two lifetimes ago, blending into events like this was why you were useful. The tool taken out of its box from time to time.

‘...a few more drinks, and may he’ll sign-off on…’

Was it easier back then, or did you just have more to lose? Be the good dog, don’t cause any problems. Sit, stay, roll over-

‘...waste of resources…’

-play dead.

But the good thing about being the ghost of a room? Nobody cares enough to keep you out of restricted spaces. You sure as hell aren’t going to let Ortega think he’s won by running with your tail between your legs, but there’s no reason why you can’t adapt.

~~~

He’s not disappointed.

A person has to get their hopes up to be disappointed by something, and too many years have taught him to keep any wishful thinking in check. Too much optimism and life will find a way to crush a person under its heel.

So, no, Ricardo Ortega is absolutely not disappointed. Besides, it’s his birthday. There’s an open bar, courtesy of the Rangers’ budget. The catered food is decent, and the music isn’t half bad for once. What more could a guy ask for?

Sure, half the people here are barely more than strangers, and there’s some people here he’d rather not see at all (good to see Blaze still hasn’t gotten that stick out of his ass, even after so many years). And sure, the one person he’d actually been looking for is a no-show, but there’s nothing new there.

The small cluster of people around him erupt into laughter over…something. Investors and potential donors he’s supposed to be playing nice with, but he’s already checked out of whatever conversation they’ve been having without him.

“What do you think, Ricardo?” Seems like they aren’t content to just let him coast after all - the smarmy looking guy with the flushed face and sweat-damped hair is looking directly at him. Ricardo, like they know one another. Ricardo, like they’re friends. Like this isn’t just a glorified business exchange, chasing whatever connections will benefit him best.

The man is smiling, but all Ortega can think about is animals baring their teeth as a threat.

“I think it’s time for a fresh drink,” His own smile is a well-practiced one, with just the right amount of mocking. The sort of smile that says ‘no, I wasn’t listening, and you’re not as impressive as you’re trying to be’. He rattles the ice in his glass for good measure. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for any more niceties, just turns around and carves a path across the room, leaving the man to scoff at his back as he goes.

It’s less congested at the bar, a small mercy of the evening. The bartender barely pays him any mind beyond asking what he wants, which is another refreshing change of pace. He figures he wouldn’t get the entire bottle if he asked, so he settles for another old fashioned.

He doesn’t acknowledge the familiar looming presence that shows up at his side, just keeps his eyes on the illuminated wall of liquor bottles.

“If you’re going to lecture me about pacing myself, you can relax.” Ortega sighs, more annoyed than anything, “This is my third one.”

“You’re sulking.” He can’t see Chen’s face as the man watches the crowd, just the broad expanse of his back.

“Am I?” The bartender returns, leaving the drink before quickly moving to another patron. Liquid courage in hand, he finally turns to face the other man head on. Makeup got their hands on him, it would seem. Scars softened to be digestible to the masses, wearing a suit Chen hates. Another piece to be polished and shined for the public tonight.

“That’s what it looks like, yes.”

“I’m fine.” Mask back on, he gives him his most charming of smiles to drive the point home.

Too bad Chen knows him well enough to see right through it. “Are you?”

“I’m great.” He says as he turns, pressing his back against the edge of the bar to people-watch with Chen. It’s a sea of faces, to the point they’re almost blurring together. Some dancing, others drinking. Conversations the music is drowning out, and laughter it isn’t loud enough for.

“The party’s a hit,” He nods towards the crowd, “Why wouldn’t I be feeling great?”

“Do I really need to say it?” Leave it to Chen not to give a guy slack on his own birthday. He can feel his stare at the side of his head, but he pointedly keeps his eyes forward.

“I just don’t know when these stopped being fun,” It’s an easy deflection to the point he’s aiming for, and it’s not even a complete lie. “I know these things were always for work, but at least we enjoyed ourselves a little. But now?” He shrugs, managing a rueful smile.

Chen watches him, just a little beyond the point of being comfortable, before shaking his head. “You’re not 25 anymore, Ricardo.”

The comment is delivered with all the softness of a baseball bat to the skull. Ortega scoffs into his glass, taking a long drink like it can sooth the slight sting.

“Thank you so much for that reminder-“

“You’re not 25,” He cuts him off, “So maybe you forgot you’ve always hated these…events.”

Events. A performance under the guise of a party. Still, that doesn’t add up - sure, they weren’t a blast, but hated? He certainly doesn’t remember that. He turns to argue the point, but the other man pushes on before he can get a word in, “Maybe you convinced yourself you didn’t, or told yourself you liked the attention, but you were always happier afterwards.”

…afterwards. Descending on Hoots like a maelstrom, or finding whatever karaoke bar was still open. A smaller group, but people he actually wanted to spend time around - no cameras, at least not any more than being a public figure entails. Nobody to put a show on for, just him, having a night out with friends.

That feels like a lifetime ago now. He doesn’t have to count back to know exactly what year they stopped being fun.

“Maybe you’re right.” He sighs, eyes downcast to his glass. He very much feels every one of his 40 years all of a sudden.

“That happens from time to time.” He doesn’t smile, but there’s a fond glance thrown his way. “And for what it’s worth…Iam sorry about Becker.”

Of course he isn’t going to let that drop.

“I wasn’t expecting them to show.” Ortega says, mindlessly taking another swig just to grimace at the mostly-watered down taste. “They didn’t remember last year.” Why would this year be any different? Despite everything that-

No, it doesn’t sting. Not a bit.

“Right.” Chen’s got the look on his face that usually means there’s an impending lecture coming, but he must notice something Ortega isn’t hiding well enough, because he holds his thoughts to himself. “Just don’t go overboard, okay?”

“Relax, I’ll be sure to keep the PR scandals to a minimum.” He claps him on the shoulder, which does nothing but earn him a put-out groan (although it’s a little too amused to really be considered annoyed). Chen gives his arm a soft squeeze before stepping away, quickly vanishing amidst the people. Probably off looking for a place to get away from the crowds.

Vanishing, leaving Ortega alone to stew.

He’ll have to open presents soon. Not all of them, just enough to get some decent tabloid shots. Another spectacle; jump, smile, dance for the cameras. Make a good impression and be a good little Ranger for the paparazzi. The same loop stuck on repeat every single year. Most, if not all, of the gifts will be from brands of some sorts, looking for representation without the hassle of contracts. The ability to say, ‘Hey, look! Charge is wearing our product, don’t you want it, too?’

Maybe the cynicism just comes along with age, getting too old to enjoy the veneer of publicity. Or maybe he’d been spending too much time around Erin. Free stuff is free stuff, who is he to complain about where it came from? Maybe he’ll get a new watch.

He gives the gift table a once over, looking to see which ones will be the fastest to open, when he stops. One bag catches his eye purely because of how out of place it looks: nestled between gaudy silver and Ranger-blue, it’s there like a misshapen void. A simple black gift bag, folded and creased to the point that bits of the white paper beneath are peeking through.

Either it’s a prank, or a very strange attempt at rigging a trap at his party, and both options sound more appealing than making another round through the crowds. More hands to shake, more conversations he’ll have to pretend to give a shit about.

He’d take an explosive over any of that right now.

He should probably let somebody know about it, but a mix of boredom and morbid curiosity has him walking over and plucking it up himself. It’s too early in the night for this, somebody’s probably going to complain, but to hell with them.

There’s no tag on it, nothing to signify who might’ve left it here. No calling card, either, so it’s less likely to be a surprise from whatever villain of the week managed to sneak past security. It really is just an old gift bag, creased to the point it’s faded in spots. There’s almost a certain level of respect to whoever left something so intentionally shitty

He doesn’t bother looking first, just shoves his hand in with no hesitation. No tissue paper, just a card that he ignores in favor of grabbing the paper-covered lump at the bottom.

Whoever wrapped this thing seemed to think using an entire newspaper was hilarious, and by the time he reaches the end, he’s got a pile of shredding at his feet.

And then it registers what he’s holding, and his mind stutters to a halt. Fingertips carefully trace the familiar ceramic, it’s black and blue paint glossy in the lights of this banquet hall.

Cradling the mug possessively to his chest, he looks up to scan the sea of faces milling around him.

The buzz from his phone is too perfectly timed to be anything but intentional. Still manages to make him jump though, and while the message isn’t a shock, the number is.

Erin’s number. Their actual number, not one of the dozens of burners they have.

From: E.B [21:43]:

The roof.

His eyes snap up to the banquet hall’s skylight, squinting against the gleam of the lights. Is there a figure up there, dark against night sky? Or just his own wishful thinking?

Another buzz.

From: E.B [21:44]:

If your geriatric bones can handle the stairs.

~~~~~

Getting access to the roof was an easy feat - a benefit of being somebody people don’t pay a second thought to: you’ve always excelled at getting into places you weren’t supposed to be.

The air is as muggy as ever, humid to the point it feels like sticky hands dragging against your skin.

Still, it’s practically a breath of fresh air compared to being stuck downstairs.

Up this high, you perch on the ledge and just…watch. A passive spectator, viewing life from above; bodies and cars, all coming and going from one place to another. Life rolling onwards. It’s easier to exist like this - at a distance. This high, you can let your shields unwind. There are too many minds, and they’re all so far away they bleed into one, indecipherable sound. A quiet buzz at the back of your skull that settles on your frayed nerves like a balm.

Of course, the peace only lasts for so long. You may have texted him, but the loud clang of the maintenance door being thrown open still manages to make you jump.

A new mind, but a familiar sort of static.

“Go ahead and let the whole city know we’re up here while you’re at it?” You snap over your shoulder to cover up your reaction.

You’d expected a stupid comment. Something that would make you roll your eyes, but when you look back at him you see he’s just standing in place, still lingering at the doorway. Twisting around on the ledge, there’s a little rush of your back to nothing but open air. It would be so, so easy to just lean back and…

No, Shake the thought off like a cobweb.

Ortega hasn’t lost that weird look on his face, body poised like he’s about to lunge, and you’re hit with a momentary flair of panic. That animalistic part of your hindbrain you never lost, attack or run. Get away from the threat.

Swallow it. Stomp the fear back where it sprouted from, smirk to hide the unease as you push yourself up and step towards him. Another one, and-

Huh.

He relaxes almost immediately, a marionette with all its strings cut. There’s a flash of relief before his own mask is back in place.

“You actually came.” He’s teasing, but you know him too well to miss the slight awe in his voice. Happy to the point it makes your insides twist uncomfortably.

“You invited me,” Caustic, claws out to deter any softness, “Don’t tell me dementia has set in already.”

“Ouch.” He presses his hand to his chest in an over dramatic gesture, feigning some grievous injury before smiling again. “I know I did, but…”

But this is a surprise.

But he made the invitation out of kindness.

But he never expected you to follow through.

“Don’t be weird about this,” You groan, but it’s already too late for that.

“Me?” He doesn’t waste any time, catching you in an embrace as soon as you’re within his reach. Arms looped around your waist, dragging you close. “I’d never.”

“Liar, you’re always-” The rest of your insult is cut off with his lips pressing against yours. The kiss is slow, languid, tasting like mint and rum. Your arms move on their own accord to loop around his neck - no frantic energy now, not like your past ones, just savoring the peace of being away, being here. Space to exist without prying eyes, carved out for just the two of you.

You pull away at that thought, ready to kick yourself for how sappy that sounds, but Ortega doesn’t let you get very far.

“And you dressed up.” He says appreciatively, looking you over, “You look good.”

That’s enough to make you scoff. “Right.” As if you’re buying that. You feel stupid, and you’re sure the humidity has your hair fighting the product you used. Not good looking, just a frizzy-haired mess.

“I’m serious!” He seems to believe he is, so you let it drop. Not an argument you’ll win, not a hill worth dying on. Instead of answering, you busy yourself by playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. It’s a surprise the stylists haven’t chased him down for a trim, considering they’re always going for that ‘respectably ruffled, effortlessly messy’ approach. Not that you’d complain, gives you more to twist your fingers into.

“I figured my regular clothes wouldn’t get me through the doors of a place like this.” You could’ve forced your way in, make the security not see you, but you’d stand out even more than you already do.

“All these years and I never knew you owned anything besides jackets and jeans.”

“I don’t.” You deadpan, giving his hair a sharp tug, “There’s a naked mannequin in a window of an boutique uptown.”

“I can see the headlines already: ‘Enigma Terrorizes Local Clothes Stores’.” It’s meant to be a joke, but that doesn’t stop the unease that curls up your spine, making you stiffen. He must notice the shift, because he’s quick to let you go, and you put a little space between you both.

“So,” He drawls, obviously scrambling to save the mood before it can sour further, “Why a Sidestep mug?”

Not the direction you were expecting him to go. “What?”

“Seems a little egotistical, you know?” An over the top shrug and a shit-eating smile, “Getting me one of your pieces of merch on my birthday and all.”

“Yeah, well. You’re the idiot that kept the old, broken one.” It’s harmless teasing, you know that, but defensiveness still prickles across your skin like barbs. You’d felt stupid buying the thing to begin with, and standing here, that feeling comes creeping back in. What are you supposed to get somebody who’s used to getting whatever they want? But your old mug seemed to matter to him, for whatever reason. Enough to keep. To try and glue back together. It mattered to him.

Which made it matter to you.

“Erin,”

“Whatever.” You really don’t want to continue this conversation, shoving your hands in your pockets, shoulders rising to your ears. “I know it was a stupid gift, but at least this one isn’t covered in glue.”

“Maldita sea, no puedo hacerlo bien.” His smile is a rueful one. “Can’t keep my foot out of my mouth tonight, I guess.”

“It’s fine. No different than any other night.” At least that makes him look a little less sullen.

“I do love it.” He says, as sincere as you’ve ever heard him. And sure, he may just be humoring you, but damn him, that little knot of anxiety that had been twisting up in your chest loosens, just a little.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” He’s speaking with the solemnness of somebody swearing an oath, not talking about an ugly coffee mug. “Best gift out of all of them.”

And just like that, the bubble of tension that had been slowly brewing pops, leaving exasperated amusement in its wake.

You snort, “Liar. You didn’t even open the others.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He steps close, clearly restraining himself from dragging you into another embrace, “Nothing else could beat it.”

“Idiot.” What else are you supposed to say? To the man acting like you gave him a priceless art piece, and not a novelty mug you found at a thrift shop.

All he’s mentioned yet is the mug, though, leaving you wondering…

“Did you see the card?”

“It slipped my mind,” Curiosity overrides the desire to stay close as he makes a B-line for the gift bag he left by the door. “Somebody interrupted with cryptic texts.”

“It got you up here.”

You didn’t bother writing anything on the envelope, you knew he was nosy enough to open it no matter what. There’s a flash of blue as he pulls it free, and you watch him peel the envelope open, taking in the horrendous card he’s holding.

“No dicks on this one, either. You could’ve opened it in front of a crowd.” The terrible, raunchy ones were more Themmy’s thing. They always got an evil sort of delight making the unfortunate recipient flush out of embarrassment.

What it lacks in genitalia, it makes up for with terrible caricatures of what you think is supposed to be the Rangers. It looks more like a picture blown up too large and printed out, the features of everybody bleeding together to the point they’re unrecognizable blobs of color. And on the front in big, blocky white and blue letters, it reads:

Have A

Super-Charged Day!

“Did you know there are still bodegas down at the pier selling knock-off merch?” It had been years since you last saw one. A hazy memory of warm evenings, wandering the quieter streets with Themmy. Of laughing until your ribs ached. “You almost ended up with a ‘Ranger Cherge’ keychain.”

It’s not the greatest card, but you’d expected at least a huff of a laugh. A comment about the card not catching his likeness, anything. But instead, Ortega is just staring at the card, terrifyingly still for once in his life.

“Ortega…?” Shit, it’s definitely not the funniest thing in the world, but you don’t think it’s silent treatment levels of bad. With his head down, you can’t get a decent read on his face, so you take a few tentative steps towards him. Leave enough room to- what? Run?

“Ricardo?”

In a flash of movement far too quick for his dumb old man body, he’s crossing the space in a few steps and crushing you to him in a tight hug. Probably should have seen this coming, but he was fast enough your brain doesn’t even get a chance to process that you should be panicking at the touch.

“Thank you.” He says, voice thick with emotion, and now panic sets in. Angry or annoyed you can handle, not teary Ortega!

“Ugh!” You squirm, trying to get your arms between your bodies to shove him off, “You’re being weird again!”

“Shut up and let me have this, you ass.” He laughs, a wet, broken sound. Neither of you want to acknowledge the tears.

You sigh, giving him an awkward couple pats on the back. “You’ve had too much to drink.” He can usually hold his alcohol, but you know he can be an emotional drunk when he gets started.

“Heh. Maybe.” You get one final squeeze, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he’s not here to hold you. But he backs off, quickly turning to tuck the card back in the bag. You pointedly find an interesting stain on the concrete beneath your feet to stare while he puts himself back together, and when he turns back around, his easy-going grin is back in place. No trace of tears, masks back in place. Sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened.

Down below, the music shifts its tone. Fast, rhythmic beats are replaced with something slower - not quite party music, but probably a chance to give a break to the ears of everyone attending. Up with the pair of you, it’s little more than an echo, bouncing up the stairwell. An ethereal sort of sound, something that could easily be stolen away by the wind.

Ortega glances from you, to the maintenance door, and back again. There’s a glint in his eye, but before you get the chance to ask what he’s thinking, he holds a hand out to you.

“Dance with me?” It’s not your Ortega asking, but an echo. Ricardo, ten years younger. Ricardo, ten years lighter. On another night, on a different rooftop.

…A popup concert at the park.

You made an offhand comment, asked what that was. You’d never seen one, which everybody in the break room seemed to find weird. Weirder still that you’d never been to one, not even in passing

Of course Ortega didn’t pass up the chance to invite you. And like an idiot, you went.

But the crowds had been packed tight, people from shoulder to shoulder, front to back. Your neck prickled at the thought of getting too close. Not worth the effort. Not worth the impending migraine.

But Ortega pulled some strings - he’d always been so good at that. Got you both rooftop access on a building just across the street. No crowds, no minds pressing on your shields.

Just music and his static brain.

…you never let him call it a date.

You knew he wanted to.

“Erin?” Past bleeds away like blood from an open wound. Your Ortega once more - with wrinkles and new scars. Grey hairs he can’t always hide. Secrets and lies that haunt both your shadows like spirits.

He still has his hand out. Palm-up, waiting for you.

Always willing to wait. And it feels inevitable, slipping your hand into his. Life roughened, the both of you. Scarred and calloused, the bite of metal against your skin. But he tugs you close, and that time doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

And it’s not a dance, not really. Not one your trainers would have approved of, at least. It’s just a lazy sway to your own rhythms - his arms around waist, yours around his neck for a second time this evening. And for a second time, you let yourself just exist.

You didn’t think you’d ever have this again, not after everything. You threw all your cards out on the table, dragged your skeletons from the closet and into the light. Waited for some sort of retaliation - hurt for hurt, truth for truth. After all was said and done, you didn’t expect him to hold you, not with kindness at least. Not looking at you like you’re the most important person in his entire world.

His heart is strong under your ear, if a little fast. You wonder, can he feel yours, too? Pounding, a bird's wings beating against your ribs. You weren’t expecting care, so you’re not sure what to do with it. He should hate you, for everything you’ve done. Everything you’re still going to do.

He should hate you, but he doesn’t, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do, feeling this soft.

“This doesn’t really seem like dancing.” You point out, just to cut through your own brewing thoughts. Stomp those emotions down, kick them back into whatever corner of your mind they’d crawled out of. Deal with them later.

“Really? What kind of dancing were you expecting?” He asks, words curling off his lips in a way that means nothing but trouble. You move to get away, not trusting him or his smirk, but before you can, your world is thrown off balance as he drops you into a dip.

“Ortega!” Definitely one of the less-dignified sounds you’ve ever made, squawking out his name like a bird. Your fingers are claws in his shoulders, clinging for purchase even though part of you knows he wouldn’t drop you.

“Was this what you wanted?” The bastard has the audacity to laugh at you. His hand, the one not braced against your back, is a brand on your hip, trailing along your thigh - skimming down until he hooks his fingers behind the bend of your knee. He brings your thigh up to his hip, forcing you to put your entire weight -and trust- into him to keep you from hitting concrete.

It’s- close. Way too close.

“Hey there.” Switching gears, the charming Ortega is back with a megawatt smile that brings out the wrinkles around his eyes. Annoying bastard doesn’t even seem half as bothered as you.

“Let me up, idiot.” You blame your breathlessness on the surprise, and absolutely nothing else. You swat him upside the back of his head, which has him laughing again, but it has the desired effect of him pulling you back to your feet. He lets you pull away, giving you room to breathe, at least.

But he’s still just looking, to the point his eyes feel like a physical weight on you. “What?” You’re more snappish than you meant to be, but the staring is making your skin itch.

“Come back to my place with me.” Not a question, just a soft spoken request. A plea if you squinted just right at it.

“Ortega…” The excuses are already on the tip of your tongue, but he’s quick to jump in before you can voice them.

“Just, tonight? Nothing has to happen.” He barrels on, like if he’s fast enough, he can stop the inevitable refusal. “Make it a birthday wish?

“You’re being greedy.” You cross your arms and scowl.

“You know me.” Another shot at his charming persona, but this one feels a little more brittle. Always afraid to say good-bye, like it’ll be the last time he ever sees you.

And after all, you do know him. Well enough that if you’re adamant, he’ll drop it. He has in the past. Maybe he’d sulk a little, but never any hard feelings, happy to take whatever you willingly give.

You haven’t been over again, not since the day you went and dumped your entire non-human existence onto him in a creative new form of self-destruction. You hadn’t dared going back - not with that paranoid little voice always scratching at the back of your brain, the one with the images of traps and betrayals around every corner.

You’ve stayed away, and he…hasn’t pushed. Maybe it’s that fact that has you even entertaining the idea creeping into your mind. Knocking at the window, asking for attention. It’s a stupid idea, reckless. How many ways can you throw yourself onto the tracks, hoping the train misses you? How many leaps can you make before you don’t get back up again?

One more plunge.

“Or…you could come to my place, instead?” You almost choke on the words. Stupid, so stupid. Public places, or his apartment, never yours. Never let him close enough to be a threat. But you left that warning in the dust a few too many confessions ago.

“You’re inviting me to your apartment?” He’s shocked, the wide-eyed look only half comedic, “You’re not terminally ill, right? No hours left to live or anything?”

You scowl, embarrassment and annoyance rivaling for the front row now, “If you’re going to be an ass-”

“No! No, I want to go.” He says, practically giddy, you may as well have told him he’d won the jackpot. He’s already grabbing your hand, pulling you in tow, like if he waits too long you’ll snatch the offer back. “Let’s get out of here.”

His excitement has you grinning, and you don’t bother trying to hide it. He stops to grab your gift -not as stupid as you thought it was- before heading for the door. “Are you playing hooky to your own party?”

“Hey, I made the rounds.” He’s leading you down the roof-access stairwell with the determination of a man on a mission, “Besides, it’s my birthday. I can take off if I want. This way.” You’re on the ground floor, but instead of heading towards the main exit, he tugs you down one of the empty hallways.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Garage. Back way in.” The grin he tosses over his shoulder is outright conspiratorial, and you decide to keep the ‘back entrance’ joke you were about to make to yourself. “I rode my bike here.”

“I’m surprised.” Now it’s your turn to tug him around a corner, dodging a catering crew member you sensed coming the other way, bustling with a tray of food. You both wait a breath, and another. Then you squeeze his fingers, silently conveying that the coast is clear, and you’re off again.

“Surprised?”

“That they let you ride here.” You say, innocent and nonchalant. “I thought they’d have rules about senior citizens riding motorcycles, you know?”

This time, you’re dragged to the side for a kiss. Messy and uncoordinated, because neither of you can contain your laughter. He mumbles something, maybe calling you a name, but you’re too happy to care. All you focus on is escaping with him like a pair of overgrown children, sneaking off into the night.

Maybe the party wasn’t half-bad, after all.

#ChargeStep #fhr #Ortega #sidestep #x: erin/ortega #my writing #idk #I really just wanted an excuse to write some soft stuff between these two #when you both feel Old and Cranky together

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immoralimmortals · 6 months ago

Text

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 16: Laplace's Angel

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: Hurt people hurt people.

Author's Note: The song for this chapter is Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!) by Will Wood.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Have you ever died in a nightmare?

Woke up surprised you hadn’t earned your fate?

Have you ever��felt like Atlas, threw your back out on the axis

And collapsed and threw the planet away?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Kakuzu flips through another page. It isn’t the same book as before, not his catalog of horrible villains and great heroes alike (there is, of course, no difference once your body hits the ground), but rather an innocuous one pulled from the small library in this home they’ve invaded. A long time here with no daily escape as before necessitates a way to pass the time, and a good read or two or ten will do. How long has it been since it was occupied? How long since these texts have been touched? The traveler wonders this, idle hands behind her back, as she watches Kakuzu read.

…

Neither say a thing, though for different reasons. The performer walked in, had something to say, and is now distracted with the mere sight of him. Ditsy, as always, huh? Kakuzu curses with the shape of his lips alone behind his mask, no voice for her to hear and take it the wrong way. His stare is locked onto the yellowed pages, and they are brittle in his fingers. He is not going to talk to her, at least not if he has to start it.

In the corner of his reddish eye, the hunter sees her pick a book off the shelf, back facing him and one foot sticking up in the air behind her. It’s as if she was acting as someone getting a book instead of simply...someone getting a book. Her selection is made with a sing-song humming tune he doesn’t recognize and she plops down next to him on the long couch, not quite touching but still too close. Frankly, even if she had sat as far as possible, it’d still be too close. Kakuzu moves his eyes alone to watch as she places the book upon her lap, opens the cover to the back instead of the front (just as she did the first time) and pretends to do the same as he.

…

Kakuzu has the revelation that he can’t just ignore her, can he? Fuck. Though he doesn’t mean to squint, the expression is made anyways as a result of scrutinizing the woman so hard for this strange behavior.

“What,” he mumbles in the back of his throat. His voice is unpracticed and staggered, as if he hasn’t used it in conversation for a long while. “Are you doing.”

“Sorry,” she begins, because of course she begins with that. “I just figured...you know, how kids just learn how to read by beginning to try? Maybe it could work for me.” Perhaps the nervous element of her wide smile is invisible to him. He answers simply:

“You aren’t a child.”

And though the corners of her mouth stay up as she looks over her shoulder to him, they no longer reach their cheeks.

“No…” she admits, clinging to hope, “...But…”

A horridly awkward silence, and her instincts for keeping damn dreams and ideas to herself receive painful reinforcement. She waits just a second, for the sake of perhaps not appearing too hurt, before setting the book down on the end table so soon after being picked from the case for the first time in years. Kakuzu doesn’t get a glimpse of her face as she walks out the same way she came, but she can see her shoulders slump down, tighten closer to her sides. A double edge sword of relief hits its blow to the man’s chest. She isn’t here. He doesn’t have to worry about her being around in this moment anymore, about the tension he feels after everything.

But now...she isn’t here. He’s pushed her away.

Dammit. In his mind, he curses her for not making this easy, but deep down he knows he’s the one that should be reprimanded. His own book closes and he massages the bridge of his nose. What a damn headache…

What was Pain thinking, sending him back?

And what a painful existence old books have, interest in them merely a flight of whimsy, ending as soon as they have no purpose.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ooh, could you take a look at me?

(It’s the norm for animals, it’s the norm for chemicals)

Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad?

(It’s the norm for particles, eye for eye for tooth)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“What’s it like?!”

“Tobi—”

“Huh, Takara-chan??? What’s it like to be from space!”

“Tobi!”

Though the distraction for her prior social faux pas is much appreciated, the traveler folds her arms as patience wanes. She’s not literally from the stars...right? She didn’t fall from the sky. Not as far as she’s been aware.

“I’m not from space, I- I don’t mean to lie to you, so listen!,” she requests, “There’s just people who have gone there!”

“What did they tell you about it?” The insatiable mask cocks his head. He’s like a toddler, always asking “why” not for the answer but to see how far he can go.

“Tobi, I-...I don’t know them!”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t!”

“That’s like saying everyone personally knows a Kage, Tobi.” Kisame smirks; he looks simultaneously weary and relaxed, perching his inner elbow on a bent knee as he sits on the front porch steps alongside the two, who are leaning against the railing. “Give her a break.”

She blinks. “A..Kage?” she repeats, slowly. Someone in the background rolls his eyes but is ignored.

“Ah...that’s right. You must have different government structures than us. A Kage is...literally speaking, the ‘shadow’ of a nation. Depending on which one, they may be closer to a king than a democratic leader. Some nations choose based on merit, some based on silver spoons in a newborn’s mouth.”

The woman hums, rolling the word of her tongue again. It’s familiar…:

“The Kage is an idiot, isn’t he?! All that power means nothing with no respect. What’s a land without a leader?”

Oh yeah...back from that first day with Hidan. You know. The one where she killed a man. Goddammit Jesus Christ, she had nearly forgotten about it, but she just can’t get away, can she? She exhales, long and loud and tired, reason seemingly inexplicable to anyone but her.

“What, you getting bored?”

“Mm?” The woman looks up to the voice over her shoulder. “Oh, hi Hidan.” She opts not to explain herself, creating a fair gap of time where the reaper walks from the door, down the stairs without giving the swordsman on them a glance, and turns to face her while he stands on the ground. “What’s up?”

“I asked ya a question.” He rolls his neck upon his shoulders as if he’s stiff with idleness himself. “Are ya getting bored?”

Blink blink. Is it an insult to say she is? The woman looks to her fellow performer, the other jester in the group who wears orange and black to clash with her blue and white. Seems like he has the same idea in mind, not talking to her but mirroring the movement she makes to look again at Hidan.

“I…” she stutters. But Hidan simply raises an index finger:

“Remember how I used to make your day by bringing you snacks and shit so you didn’t just eat Kakuzu’s shitty garbage?”

“……” She narrows her eyes. It wasn’t Kakuzu’s food, it was food he gave her money to buy. She’s also pretty sure loaves of bread don’t count as a snack. That’s more of a staple food. “...Yes?” she has no choice but to say.

“Then boy is it YOUR fuckin’ lucky day!” A thumb is used to thrust into his own chest with this uproarious promise. The shape of his mouth and the intensity in his eyes is somewhere between excited and manic. “This guy is gonna take ya out to dinner! That should make up for lost time, yeah?”

Kisame can’t believe his ears. What is it with the zombies and being uncharacteristically generous when Takara is around? She seems receptive, too, her face lighting up.

“Oh hell yeah! I’d love to!” And then those bright eyes turn to the shark. “I’d love to take everyone out to eat!” That is not what Hidan offered, but he can’t interrupt fast enough. “We can get seafood!”

“Seafood?!” A sound to feign puking comes off of a tongue he sticks out in disgust. “I was thinking steak. We aren’t fish.”

Kisame grunts under his breath. That’s right. Hidan is looking right at him, clearly with something to prove.

“Oh. Sorry...” The mousy girl shrinks into her lean onto the banister. “I just promised Kisame we’d...have seafood the next time I went to town...” Oh how heartbreakingly quick the woman deflates; she lowers her head and purses her lip, getting so hushed she’s almost not heard at all. “We were talking about how we loved it…”

Kisame gives Hidan a look. Hidan simply...looks.

He looks.

...Like he’s being asked to eat dogshit.

“I don’t mind waiting on that type of cuisine till a better time,” the swordsman offers, to save the day, voice smooth and eyes locked on magenta ones. “I’ll still tag along. Steak is fine.”

“Aw, Kisame…!” Hidan squints at the way she coos at the blue guy, how she hugs his arm in appreciation...admiration? Adoration?! The reaper’s lip thins until it starts to hurt.

…I see what game yer playin’, asshole, Hidan says only with his sharp stare.

You’re insane if you think she’s going to be alone with you for so long, Kisame returns.

It’s so nice that they’re actually getting along… the performer dreams with her eyes closed to their bickering.

And here Tobi thinks: this is going to be such a fun shitshow, isn’t it?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And now we're singing

Ooh, whatever you think of me

(It’s the norm for chemicals, it’s the norm for particles)

If you were in my shoes, you’d walk the same damn miles I do

(Yes, it’s only natural)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Their wrists swing back and forth as they reach the depths of the forest trail, a smile on her face as she arrives with two of her closest friends (and one guy who is just there to see it all go down). Hidan’s head, oh so slowly, peaks past the girth of Kisame’s cloak to frown at his disciple’s hand holding the shark’s. There’s no way that’d be fine by Jashin.

“…” Purple eyes slide up, deadpan and hooded at the woman, waiting as if she’ll realize her folly herself, but she does not. He needs to ask the obvious:

“Takara...why the hell are you holding his hand?”

And though she blushes and rubs the back of her head with the free palm, she laughs and her grasp does not stop. Even worse, Kisame does not make her stop. “To not get lost,” she explains, and before she can excuse it herself, Hidan interrupts with his admonishment:

“What?! What are you, fucking five?”

It always stings more sharply when someone else says what you’re thinking. So ashamed, she lets go.

...But Kisame catches her mistake, putting his grasp back into place.

“I rather prefer I not get lost.” He beams down at her; yes, she has a comrade in him. This is okay, be as silly as you like. Kisame earns her smile yet again. Hidan grumbles.

Over the next couple steps, he makes his way over to the woman’s free side and wordlessly threads her other set of fingers in his own. The two men glare sparks over the top of her head. As he’s distracted, Hidan’s other hand is held.

He nearly swings Tobi off the face of the planet.

“TOBI! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“Wao-oh-wao-oh!” he bounces with each attempted fling, sticking like flypaper to his arm. Awkwardly, the traveler giggles.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

We’re only tuning to the tone of the bell curve now

Ask not for whom it tolls

But with my head up in the clouds, I can see so much ground

And from up here you look like ants in a row

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hidan catches a couple of people looking at his back, tugging each other’s sleeves and whispering nonsense about being Akatsuki. His lip curls down, his annoyance practicing in his throat before throwing over his shoulder.

“If you guys have a problem, you can stop being cowards about it! Eh?” The villagers are allowed to leave without consequence as Hidan gets distracted, the woman tugging on his own cloak sleeve. She’s frowning at him, like she’s worried. He doesn’t get it. “...What?” Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t come up with a soft enough explanation for him in fast enough time. “What!”

He’s just sort of...a lot. There’s not really a quick and easy way to say that to someone kindly, she realizes. “...Never mind.” Her mission was accomplished all the same, and there’s no more conflict. At least, not any she’s aware of yet.

“Takara-chan!” A gloved hand grips a surprised lady’s shoulder, pointing over to a shop with a green awning. “We should go here! I found something you’ll LOVE!”

“I—” An unwillingness to leave a distinctly sensitive Hidan alone cannot beat out Tobi’s forceful guiding, and she is taken by the arm and swept away, leaving the two red-clouded men alone together on the street, ordinary life surrounding those who are anything but. Fish eyes glance over, above teeth that grin less in joy and more like a predator bares fangs.

“It’s you they’re looking at, you know,” Kisame coolly accuses.

“What?” Hidan responds in disbelief, tilting his head to the side to make his sideglance harsher. “Watch yourself. You’re the damn walkin’ talkin’ shark, you freak.”

Words like this mean nothing to the swordsman. “Not like this they were, last I was here. It’s definitely you.”

More frowns and concerned mumbles fill Hidan’s backdrop as citizens stop what they’re doing to note his presence; he looks so different in daylight. He can’t help but turn his head around trying to take it all in. Kisame offers no forgiveness as he becomes the focus of the reaper’s gaze once more. Sharks, after all, do love toying with prey.

“From what I was told, you only have come here at night, only to brood next to her menacingly.”

Hidan’s fist is clenched so hard it begins to shake—

“Hidan-senpai!”

The crowd gasps and children’s eyes are covered as the named man punches Tobi square in the stomach the instant his shoulder is tapped. The injured part of his body is quickly held, head bobbing side to side to convey wooziness where a face cannot.

“How many times do I have to tell you! Don’t FUCKING touch me!”

“Oh, zombie?” Kisame asks.

“WHAT!”

Undeniable now, everyone’s staring right at the silver demon. Hidan has never, once, in his adult life cared what other people thought…

In the distance, he glimpses her. The figure in white so serene, so content, in slow motion loses her delight as she turns to see what he has been doing.

...He has never cared what other people thought until now.

The social outcast pushes out of the crowd straight to her, needing to forget anything has ever happened. “Heyyy,” he slides in, ignoring the stares that continue to press onto him as he joins her in the shadow of the street shop. Each word is structured, and therefore they arrive stilted. “What’s...happening? What. Are ya. … … Heyyyy.”

…

She frowns at him with worry, answering his sorta question with a mindful gaze. “I was looking at these little guys.” His too-tense stare follows her point. All in a row there are several miniature animals upon this table, none longer than your pinky, made of clay and the finest love as they stare up with marble eyes. At least, that’s what the shopkeeper tells her.

A brow raises. “What? These things?” Hidan glances down at them again from the bridge of his nose, evaluating each like he’s missing something. “...Toys?”

“Figurines!” an all-too eager craftsman chimes in from behind the counter. The tone alone is enough to make Hidan lose all interest.

“Takara,” he asks, holding his forehead, “Can we forget the window shopping and get some fucking food?”

“Who said anything about window shopping?”

An indigo fin of hair ducks under the green awning to join them, a bloodthirsty grin on the swordsman's face. Hidan hardly manages a mumble before Kisame swoops in once again:

“Oh, fuck you—”

“Takara-hime," he interrupts, "Why don’t you pick your favorite? I’m sure you’ll give it a lovely home.”

Behind her back, a man that looks closer to a wizard than a real human being nods over and over in great, nearly frantic approval, though the traveler herself hums long and in the negative. “Oh, Kisame...I don’t really need anything like this…”

“Why yes, yes you do—!”

“Can you shut UP, old man!” Hidan spits.

“How rude,” Kisame notes, much like how one would when a dog not your own misbehaves. With pupils so small, it’s impossible to tell quick if he’s looking at her or today’s rival. “I don’t think it hurts to pick just one.”

The stars in her eyes grow bigger, and the reaper realizes this is a threat. Just as her mouth opens, Hidan beats her to it, brushing by and pressing every bill into his pocket onto the table in one smooth, instant motion, gifting the shopkeep with the best day of his goddamn life.

“All of them.”

Everyone has a moment of silence before clarity kicks in. The prize talks first:

“...Hidan, I don’t—”

“All. Of them,” he repeats. Purple locks directly onto small dots on a gilled face. Between them, folded hands pressed to the front of her mouth, the woman now can feel the electricity between them using her as the conduit. A few more seconds pass. She glances to the side. ...Wait.

“...Where did that shopkeeper go?”

Poignantly, the space where the seller was is empty, as is where Hidan’s entire month-long allowance was. All of the figurines remain, his new wealth. The traveler gets the strong feeling they just bought cursed artifacts and that she can hear cackling laughter in the wind.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It doesn’t take a killer to murder

It only takes a reason to kill

We’ve all got evidence of innocence, it’s "everything’s coincidence"

The difference twixt fate and free will

Is whether you’re singing

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

��Soooo?” Tobi opens, resting his cheek against his palm as the others seat themselves alongside his table. His plate is already empty, nothing but crumbs. Did they really take that long, she wonders…? He continues: “Did Takara-chan get the kitty statue?”

A thud sounds beside her chair, a sack cloth with the weight of a whole baby hitting the floor. “Yup. You could say that.” She doesn’t sound very happy about it, Hidan notes, mentally blaming anyone but himself for this. And this was all good fun, but Kisame has none more in him for this nonsense anymore, so instead of arguing, he brings up the menu to his face and reads.

Hidan watches intently as she leans over to look at the fish’s list instead of her own.

“What are you getting?” she whispers, to which Kisame shrugs.

“Haven’t decided yet.” A finger points at something Hidan can’t see, to which the woman hums. “I bet you’d like this. Yakisoba.”

“Oh! That sounds nice.”

“Why.” Hidan puts his fingertips over his eyelids and pulls them down, as if it’ll make him see things clearly again. She is not a goddamn helpless kid. “Are you letting him pick for you.”

“I just...haven’t really been to a place like this?” A nervous smile covers up the truth about her literacy— at least she hopes. This isn’t really the ideal time to inform Hidan about it.

“Then just find something that damn sounds good and go for it!”

“Oh. Well...—”

Right on cue, the waiter is there, looking down at her. Oh, the social pressures of a restaurant; she’s never done well with them, ordered many a meal she did not really want. With one word on her brain, she chooses it. “The...yakisoba. Please?”

When it arrives, Hidan scarfs his own food down as fast as he can and walks outside.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So if you wash your hands of where you’ve been until you flood the second floor

Neatly fold your skeletons but still can’t shut the closet door

The only ones in need of love are those who don’t receive enough

So evil ones should get a little more

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“What’s your fucking problem!”

“My problem? You’re the one poising about like you can’t have eyes off of you for more than two seconds.”

“You’re the one that keeps butting in!”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yeah, really! You invited yourself to OUR fuckin’ dinner.”

The accusations are thrown back and forth over her as they are nearly done walking back home. For a while, her gaze follows like it’s a tennis match, but eventually the bouncing gets too sore on her eyeballs and she chooses to look at Tobi. This situation is exactly what she was worried about.

...Minus the large bag of figurine animals she did not ask for.

The clowns share a gaze for a moment, her emotions on full display while his are gloriously hidden. The male one sighs to himself. Oh, perhaps he can do her one favor. He thinks she could play along to well enough to let one slip in reality slide. A hand grips her shoulder while the other brings a finger to where his lips should be. The woman catches on, following his suit of stopping and remaining silent, so the others meander on ahead with their arguing.

“Close your eyes and I’ll take us through a shortcut.”

Okay.

Sure.

Why not.

She’s too tired to argue this.

Some minutes later, the two cloaked men have walked all the way back to the front porch without noticing they are no longer being followed, nor that the bag of her gifts is resting upon a chair.

“See, the difference between you and me— it’s that I was there BEFORE anyone was ordered to do shit. Stop pretending like you care. You fucking don’t!”

“And you let her live in filth?”

“I was fucking busy and she never complained and it was NOT that bad!”

“Your perception of reality is in the gutter.”

"Don't treat her like a baby, she's a grown woman and can make her own damn choices! Even saw her kill a guy with her own two hands!" And a world class triple bladed scythe, but Kisame wouldn't believe regardless.

"Now you're just being ridiculous. Are these the kind of lies you tell yourself?"

"Better than thinkin' she's some kind of space princess. The hell you call her that for, anyways? Princess!"

Oh, they’re still going at it. The performer laments this fact as she wanders out the door to the spot where this all started, her leaning against the railing outside of her home. A shortcut only silences the voices temporarily. She begins to see the only solution is oh so painfully in her hands:

“Can you guys stop?”

Acknowledge her, they do. Pause their statements, yes. But stop? Hell no.

“Takara, isn’t this just fucking WEIRD?” ...Oh god.

“Weird? I say that’s how you behave. There’s a reason you weren’t allowed alone with her.” Oh god. She has just made this all even worse.

“The hell do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said, cretin. The only reason you were sent on a mission was so she could be safe. Don’t you remember how we were proven right?”

She wants to crawl out of her own skin.

“OI! That was NOT me!”

“But did you stop it?”

“I—”

“Kisame!” the woman shouts from her raised position to the fighting men, much like a damsel does from her tower. She already explained this to him, that it was an accident. Why is he—?

The sound of her distress only pushes him onward. He has honor to protect. He tastes blood in the water. It twists his expression into something terrible, something Hidan is quickly starting to match with absolute abandon.

Talking is over. Milliseconds split whether Kisame draws his sword first or Hidan his scythe. The woman screams, and they don’t listen, so she has no choice but to throw herself forward until they do.

Both men tangibly feel the weight of their smiling lips drop as soon as she comes between them once again.

Shing-clink, THUMP.

Two stories over their heads fly a sword of scales and a scythe of blood, in a near instant hitting the earth. Both cling into the dirt like their ends were cut off and the flat edges glued where they landed, just absolutely, firmly in place, even as thick as Samehada is. Both animals have their jaws dropped and eyes wide, but not for the hunt. The sight that splits them is their bounty, a woman uninjured yet still twitching and flinching.

Looping around her over and over— around her waist, her raised arms, her heaving chest— are black, metallic threads. Kakuzu has never said her name like this, not since he gave it to her.

“TAKARA!”

It’s a mere split second she’s kept on the battlefield, immediately whipped backwards to stand beside him at the front door. She’s horrified as she looks upon him in this new, battle ready state, still on the brink of losing everything thanks to adrenaline and misunderstandings between her friends, and the bounty hunter decides it is the best time to teach her of her place.

“What are you thinking?” His volume is so much lower, and yet she’s even more intimidated. This is a goddamn nightmare. Her saviors nearly killed one another, and now here she is captured by something she can only describe as eldritch coming forth from another who she has come to trust. The threads wiggle around him; they're so dark and tinged with a glimmer that it's almost look like you took a pencil and scribbled onto the air itself. They writhe from his sleeves like worms. Gemstones bore into her.

And boy do they see every inch of her foolishness.

“You. Were mere inches from death.” His eyes will hurt later from glaring so hard, going without blinking so long. “Do you know a damn thing, girl? Do you know how so, very close you are to dying every moment you are alive in our presence? Do you KNOW?”

The threads don’t let go, but as he looms over her so much his shadow consumes all of her body, it’s one of the last things on her mind. The stitched doll is relentless. He had warned her. And he had given her proof to be afraid. It needs to be drilled into her empty skull. His voice raises:

“Can you not even THINK?!”

“KAKUZU!”

Though Kisame’s mouth had opened, it’s not his voice that speaks. Beside him, the swordsman sees Hidan seethe. His body is leaning forward, both fists clenched to his sides. Slowly, the same way a prisoner may drag their chains, green irises fall onto the silver haired man. There’s an expression about him, the way the muscles in his face twitch with effort to hold their position; it is more than just outrage…a bit of the same thing as the night of the meeting where it started to go wrong. And then into his ear, a little sound is made, as soft and small as a squeak from a mouse. The chains drag back, eyes finally seeing her again instead of just through her.

Helpless in his grasp, like a fly twirled into spiderweb, the performer can do nothing with her body but cry. She tries not to— because he is right— but no amount of biting your bottom lip and sniffing up the tears can keep the emotion away. In fact, it only makes it uglier. Hidan says his name again, more distant to Kakuzu’s spiraling mind, and the woman feels the bindings retract, piano wire slithering away like snakes. Kakuzu steps away, gawking at what he caused, the way she holds herself exactly in place as he had demanded of her. But others are here now, judging, and so panic sets in.

He can’t even manage an apology this time as he must walk away before it gets worse.

A third time Hidan says his partner’s name, and he runs right by her to chase him, to demand answers wherever the stitched man is going to hide. Kisame is the only one left now, a frown on his face. She looks so small on the stoop, frozen with sudden terrors and harsh words. Gently, he walks the gap, approaching her in such a way he may not frighten her any further than she already is. He manages to kneel in front of her, he on a lower step on the porch than she, and a ringed hand reaches out to touch—

“Kisame.”

The hand flinches back. The one who uses his cloak like a sling is in the doorway, staring him down. As the woman throws her freed palms over her face to hide fear and shame, Kisame can only wait to be given permission. He waits, so painfully he holds his breath and waits. He waits as Itachi walks to where they are. As he takes one hand off her face to hold. As she looks to him so very, very shakily for something to stabilize her after all this.

Permission will not be given this evening, and the Uchiha alone escorts the stranger to where she may calm down in peace. That bites more than any blade could cut Hoshigaki Kisame to the bone.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You, could you take a look at me?

(You could break an angel’s fall, and ignore the Devil’s call)

Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad?

(Still forsaken shoulders fall silent now)

Now we're singing

Ooh, whatever you think of me

(It’s no more than cultural, you and me inseparable.)

If the shoe fits would you walk that mile? You could put it on the other foot, it’s the same size

(It’s a small hell after all.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

An owl of the night is a poor singer of lullabies, its voice too low and its rhythm too disjointed, the woman convinces herself. No, certainly not the fact this isn't her own bed, not that she is in Itachi’s chosen room, the man himself seated in the corner. She glances from the window to the guardian whom moonlight swathes so generously, like if he could be drowned in the stars, perhaps the night may be able to drink him in. His eyes are closed. The stranger in a strange bed has her suspicions. Worried she had accidentally started a fight, an aching heart doesn't help her wondering if she's causing more problems.

“Itachi?” Hardly a whisper, hardly heard by her own self, and yet one lid cracks open. His eye is as dark as dark can be. Hands folded over the blanket and head propped up on pillows, the woman looks to him with worry. “We can switch if you’re having trouble sleeping.”

…

He considers not her offer but the words themselves. He will not be sleeping tonight. He hardly ever does. In the end, he opts to close his eye again instead of speak. Perhaps she will not press, and she may simply drift into her dreams.

The Uchiha should know better than that.

“Itachi?”

Eyelid flutters again to see her sitting on the edge of the mattress to face him. She’s the type that if someone else is upset, so is she. Please speak your troubles, dear, her aura calls to him. My burdens are not freed until I may carry yours.

What a predicament, since that is his job.

“...You should try to sleep, Miss Takara.” No matter how softly he speaks, she can only shake her head to that.

“I don’t want to be alone…” she restates, just as before when this predicament was arranged. “...But I don’t want to keep you from sleep, too. I’m okay,” she promises, seriousness weighing her head into a downward tilt. “I’m okay if I can’t sleep. I just don’t want to be alone.”

To have emptiness in a room would allow her imagination a stage for what it’d look like if someone really did get hurt today. The vacancy primes her mind for a shadow puppet show of corpses and blood spray upon the blank walls, the turbulence of the day’s events a tornado tearing it all apart.

What a dilemma the crow is tangled in. To reveal the truth of his insomnia is to put more upon a load he means to lighten…and yet here she is, unceasing all the same. Seconds pass. Time is allowed to bring forth the solution she wants to hear:

“...We can stay up together.”

And with the warmth that weary smile beams upon him, Itachi suddenly wouldn’t want anything more. But he has his mission, his sworn duty to her. He must refuse.

“...Another night, Miss Takara.”

The smile offered lightens but does not entirely fade, just as the moon does not disappear when merely a crescent in the sky. The man closes his eye again.

...And he hears her shuffle forward and sit down on the floor, right next to his chair, where she will remain until her body demands she finally fall sleep, whether she'd like to or not.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You, could you take a look at me?

(Man no more than animal is made of moral chemicals)

Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad?

(Any form mechanical, thank you God)

Ooh, whatever you think of me

(From the hordes of cannibals, to psych wards of hospitals)

If you were in my shoes, you’d see I wear the same size as you

(It’s a small world after all)

Oh oh right

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#akatsuki x reader #kakuzu x reader #hidan x reader #kisame x reader #itachi x reader #tobi is once again here but not enough to justify the x reader tag #songfic #aswtn fic

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simsroyallegacy · 2 years ago

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Crown Prince Nicholas and Princess Minerva’s Exclusive Interview

Last week Crown Prince Nicholas sat down with his new fiancée Princess Minerva to give SIMPLE an exclusive engagement interview. We’re excited to give a sneak peek into the couple’s relationship as they celebrate their engagement announcement.

Interviewer (I): Thank you for taking the time to sit with us this evening Your Highnesses! I have to say, our readers and I have been waiting so long to say this: congratulations!

Nicholas (N) & Minerva (M): *laughing* Thank you!

I: Let’s get started with something easy: Can we see the ring?

M: Of course. I’m so in love with his choice.

I: It looks quite familiar...

N: Yes, it should. It was my mother’s ring, my father proposed to her with it around thirty years ago.

M: His Majesty said he’s been holding onto it for Nicky all these years since her passing.

N: Father went all out on this ring; it was one of the exclusive pieces created by Theophania & Co., around fifty carats. It was my mother’s favorite piece of jewelry.

I: You must be so honored to have received Princess Calla’s ring, Minerva!

M: Incredibly honored, yes. I know how precious she was to everybody in the family, even the country.

N: You are just as precious to me Minnie and I couldn’t think of a better way to show it to you.

I: Oh my, how sweet! Prince Nicky, do you think your mother and Princess Minnie would have gotten along well?

N: Yes, definitely. They would have gotten on like a house on fire! I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had taken over the whole country together.

M: *laughing* Oh please, Nicky, don’t jest. It would’ve been nothing less than world domination!

N: Truly though, I know my mother would be happy that I’m happy. Minnie makes me feel all the good things in life: happy, safe, and loved. There’s no better woman I could have asked to marry me.

I: The love you have for each other is truly admirable, it has touched millions of Lunarians across the country. But it hasn’t always been easy for you two has it?

M: Nothing worthwhile in life and love ever is, no.

I: You two had a falling out when Isadora Aguilar announced she was pregnant with your child, Prince Nicky. Most Lunarians at the time assumed you two had been in a romantic relationship but you had never confirmed it. I have to ask; was everyone right?

N: Yes, at the time when the pregnancy was announced, Minnie and I had been ready to make it official to the public.

I: Why did things end the way they did? Divorce and children out of wedlock are hardly uncommon in your family.

N: *sighing* It all came to a point where certain ultimatums were made and I-I needed to choose my child, my Magdalena, and it absolutely broke my heart.

M: Nicky…

N: And I still can’t stand to know that I destroyed her heart as well. I can’t say I regret it entirely, I’ve gotten my daughter out of it but…if there was ever something I regret in my life it would be having to let go of my relationship with Minnie.

M: It was necessary, I believe. The time apart…it only made us stronger when we came back to each other.

I: It was a happy shock when the two of you were photographed together again. What brought the two of you back together?

M: Personally I was exhausting myself, staying away from him. He’d pop up everywhere, in the media, in conversation, even in politics on some occasions. At some point I felt like every sign was pointing to him and I just…gave in.

N: We needed to have a long talk, I remember we were sat outside at Whiteglenn with Maggie, and it felt like a great weight was lifted where we could be real with each other again. No cameras, no public speculation, no nosy family members, just us. We both agreed it felt right and everything fell into place from there.

I: And how exactly did the proposal fall into place? When and where did he pop the question?

M: Just two weeks ago at our home in Ancastor.

N: We had finally completed our renovations to our home and moved out from the city. I thought it was the perfect time to start the next chapter of our lives.

M: I won’t lie, I was quite impatient for him to propose.

N: *laughing* I could tell you were getting frustrated; it was too cute watching you figure out how to push me along in a roundabout way.

M: Don’t go giving people the wrong idea Nicky, I wasn’t pushing you at all.

I: Awww you’re blushing, Princess!

M: *clearing throat* Back on topic though, when he proposed the entire back garden was in full bloom and had become the backdrop to a very romantic dinner for two. I had originally thought it to be one of our regular date nights — the both of us try to set aside time to have dinner, just the two of us, every other day — when suddenly, he’s whisking me around for a dance with our favorite song playing out of nowhere.

N: It was pretty darn romantic if I do say so myself.

M: *grinning* I most certainly was swept off my feet, my love.

I: It sounds like it was gearing up to be a magical evening!

M: Absolutely! After our dance he finally proposed after a walk through the gardens.

I: And did he kneel on one knee?

N: *laughing* Yes, of course! I was so nervous though, it was more like collapsing onto the ground.

M: Don’t worry, darling, I didn’t even notice I was so excited.

I: And how is the Princess Magdalena taking the news?

N: She’s absolutely thrilled. Minnie has been one of the most positive influences in her life and she simply adores her.

M: We share a special bond, Maggie and I, and we’re both excited to officially become mother and daughter.

I: Officially mother and daughter? Not “step” mother and daughter?

M: Yes, of course I plan to fully adopt her after the wedding. It’s the next logical step since I’m already her godmother.

N: Maggie has talked non-stop about it since we sat her down and explained it to her. She’s already referring to Minnie as “Mommy” and following her around. She’s adorable, like a little duckling.

M: *laughing* Maggie’s not the only one excited about the wedding; Nicky’s sister Ana and best friend Elliot are more excited than anyone.

N: Oh dear Watcher, Elliot’s teamed up with her and they’ve already planned half the wedding. *laughing* I swear there’s no stopping them!

I: I think I can speak for everyone when I say the whole country matches their enthusiasm Your Highnesses! Thank you so much for sitting down with SIMPLE and sharing your joy with our readers. You’ve been the most gracious hosts.

M & N: You’re most welcome and thank you for a lovely interview.

#ts4 royal legacy #ts4 monarchy #ts4 royal family #ts4 legacy #sims 4 monarchy #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 royal legacy #sims 4 royal family #sims4 royal family #sims4 legacy #sims4 royal legacy #sims4 monarchy #Act II #the liar and the lioness

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motownfiction · 9 months ago

Text

paperback

For a little while, when Lucy was eleven and twelve, she envisioned herself as a novelist. She’d write tons of stories of girls growing up, making friends, maybe falling in love, moving around the world, enjoying their lives, hating their lives, generally just breathing. She devoured all the books she could. Lots of Judy Blume, S.E. Hinton, even a Maureen Daly book thrown in every now and then, to shake it up. She stayed up at night reading, she read under her desk at school when the lesson was too boring and easy to pay attention to, and she wrote stories wherever she could. She even wrote them on napkins at restaurants and food courts if she was desperate (and she often was – often still is). Mom used to sing “Paperback Writer” to her when she’d scribble furiously about some young woman at a café in Paris. Lucy had never been to Paris, and she’d never been a college student. Somehow, she still felt qualified. Story of her life.

That drive to be a novelist dissipated after a little while. Lucy still thought about stories all the time, made up characters when she felt lonely. She must have dreamt up a thousand imaginary friends in waiting and examination rooms when she was pregnant with Elenore. Sure, Will was there, holding her hand all the way through, but there’s nothing lonelier than the glares grown women give you when you sit underneath a “What to Know about Pregnancy” infographic, clearly there for yourself, for your baby. Lucy must have made up a thousand friends to get her through it, all versions of Sadie, Sam, Daniel. If there’s anything better than one of each, it’s 300 of each.

As the years go by, she’s fond of telling people she hasn’t ruled out the possibility of being a novelist. She’s still in touch with Chris Egan, whose dissertation committee she sat on over ten years ago. He’s published three novels, and he always says that if she has any material, he’d love to take a look. Lucy always says she thinks she’ll take him up on it. She never does. But maybe she might.

She and the family head back home to Detroit shortly after Emma’s high school graduation. They end up at Lucy’s favorite used bookstore, and as always, they wander right to the shelves on criticism. Fiction, poetry, cinema, drama. All of it. It’s tradition.

But this is the first time Lucy’s found a used copy of her own book at the store. Her first book. The one based on her dissertation. She picks it up and marvels at it. Doesn’t matter how many copies of it she has at her home. Nothing like discovering your book on Victorian women’s writing and psychoanalysis in the wild. Nothing like that at all.

Will nudges her.

“Is that what you had in mind when you said you’d be a paperback writer?” he asks.

Lucy doesn’t answer. Will knows what she means. And maybe she’ll call Chris Egan. He lives in the Ann Arbor area again. Maybe he’d be willing to read some of the scattered thoughts and characters she jotted onto the sickbag on the flight from LaGuardia to Metro.

But maybe she won’t call him.

Maybe she’ll just buy her own book and tell a funny story to her graduate students when classes resume in the fall.

Maybe she’ll do that.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day 17!)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: lucy callaghan #ch: will o'connor #year: 1978 #year: 1979 #year: 2013

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electricbluebutterflies · 1 year ago

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Garcy + a kiss as encouragement.

Usual post-canon-divergence, PG-ish, also on ao3.

Most of the aftermath, Lucy expected. The part where they’re very briefly in the public eye… not so much.

To be fair, none of the team is the ideal person to tell a few while lies on camera for a news program desperate for ratings, and she suspects this is only happening because someone from one of the she-isn’t-even-sure-how-many government agencies they’ve dealt with recently made a phone call they shouldn’t have made, and… how this is her problem, she isn’t sure, but this is shaping up to be a worse day than the week of interrogations combined.

Honestly, the lighting in that office building was less harsh and the feds put them in a nicer hotel. Is that something she’s allowed to disclose, at least?

Lucy suspects she got the short straw here because she’s a mundane-pretty thirtysomething white woman who did not threaten anyone during said interrogation process, because all of those things make her non-threatening if not quite charismatic. She’s never been in this position, but she watched her mother do it so many times over the years and some idiot somewhere must think that rubbed off, and-

“I got something for you.”

By technicalities, she isn’t alone, but only because Flynn hasn’t let her out of his sight since the feds… “gave up” is probably not the description that got put on official paperwork in triplicate, but it’s basically what happened. The clinging is mutual, and how obvious it is that they’re having the most trouble readjusting to civilian life, and-

A slip of paper in his hand and a Cheshire-cat smile is never a good combination. She’s curious anyways.

“What did you do?”

“Happened to find the questions they’re about to ask you on camera.”

“Found, or…”

“If production assistants want to leave clipboards so accessible, that’s their decision.”

Lucy isn’t sure how much she believes this, and even less sure if she cares. “How bad?”

“Bad, but not as invasive as…”

“Are we walking?”

“They want an outsider’s view on working with a genius. This isn’t about us at all, really.”

Somehow, she thinks, this is a best-case scenario. Not quite how the interview had been pitched a couple days ago when she’d felt like she couldn’t say no, but… yes, she decides, she can say whatever feels right in the moment to boost Connor’s eternal phoenix of a career. If that’s all there is…

“So I have to go out there, having spent more time getting my makeup done than I will getting interviewed, and…”

“It won’t be that bad.”

Lucy gives her partner the best deer-in-the-headlights look she can manage under said makeup and good grief she really hopes those fake eyelashes come off easy. “It will be that bad.”

He leans down and gives her a heartbeat kiss, barely touching, not enough to do damage to her immaculate lipstick. “Look at it this way, you can’t say the wrong thing.”

She’s not sure she believes him, but right now…

“Stay where I can see you?”

“Always.”

#ebf writes fic #garcy #queue

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carolinablues-story · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 35 x Seen it all, Done it all.

Jermaine

5 months later

“Come on, we gone be late.” I stepped into the room, buttoning the top of my blazer. Zayn smirked, walking over to adjust my collar.

“I’m ready, old man.” She stepped back, admiring me. I admired her in her long simple, black dress with the back out. She looked amazing. Tonight was big for both of us. We’ve decided to finally pop out tonight as whatever people want to think. And I decided to throw the biggest house warming party in the city. Paid access of course.

It wasn’t easy, but about two months ago I finally found the perfect home. It was right outside the city of Charlotte and a close drive to the arena. It had six bedrooms, two dining rooms, two offices, a gym, and a spacious kitchen. Everything a wife would hope for. Gladly Zayn was able to help with the final decisions such as furniture.

With me buying a house in another city, Zayn was now an hour away. Because of that I offered that she temporarily move in while they figure it out but she declined. She didn’t say it but my previous relationship scared her and left her wondering if Camryn still had a chance with me.

Ever since we had a talk, we’ve been closer than ever. I didn’t want to run her away so I gave her access to everything including my card. She didn’t want it but her name was on it for emergency purposes. Zayn deserved love. I wanted her to have that.

The love I had for Camryn had officially transpired into something I couldn’t explain. But Zayn…I can explain her. I can explain why I need her around. Why she became a shadow in such a short time. My heartaches thinking about how quickly everything changed but I was slowly letting go. It had been years with Cam, a year with Zayn felt like a lightweight. When we got together we were in our own world. Nobody exists and we still haven’t touched each other. Zayn lifted me.

“What’s wrong?” Zayn crept into my thoughts. I shook my head and grabbed the keys.

“You look beautiful.” I kissed her forehead and pulled her by the hand out the door.

Tonight was gonna be the night.

Kay

“She’s beautiful.” Tonight I finally met the second woman Jermaine has cared enough to allow me to meet. She was slender, slightly taller than Camryn and had a beautiful aura. It was like she screamed beauty.

I didn’t want to tell Jermaine, but I still kept in contact with Camryn. We’ve gotten close and I’ve grown to love her. She’s down to earth and I learned quickly why my son loves her. I say love because I can tell he still loves Camryn. I can also tell he hasn’t touched the woman he’s introducing me to, otherwise they would be more fluid with each other.

“Thank you,” the woman replied. I smiled at her and reached out my hand. She grabbed it delightfully, shaking my hand firmly. “I’m Azayn, but I got by Zayn.” She said to me.

…Wow and she’s confident. This woman is alright in my book. I hate to be that mom that plays sides but I cannot stand here and front for no one including my son.

“Kay.” I smiled and then looked at Jermaine. He had a concerned look on his face and I could tell he was confused considering how I was with Camryn. I wanted to be upset. I love my son and would enjoy more time with him. But how can I be mad when I see the reason he’s away so much.

Let’s be frank Camryn wore sweats and looked like she just played a game of 21 when I met her. Zayn is dressed up with absolutely no makeup on and looks stunning.

“How are you, Jermaine?” I asked him, choosing not to use my usual pet names for him. This caused another concerned look.

“I’m good ma,” he pulled me into a hug. “Have you seen the house yet?” We were all standing outside for the most part, waiting for Jermaine to arrive. We didn’t expect him to show up with Zayn. And they looked amazing together stepping out of Jermaine’s car.

“No, I want a tour.” I smiled at him.

“Come on.” He grabbed my hand. “Zayn decorated so anything you don’t like you tell her.” Zayn laughed, swatting at Jermaine. Yep they’re in love too. Just like Cam and Jermaine, it’s Deja vu.

Zayn

The night was going great. Everyone was enjoying themselves. Ms. Kay enjoyed every room that I decorated and we had a great conversation. Jermaine dipped off shortly after the tour to show some of his boys from the team his favorite spots in the house so far.

Leave it to Jermaine to get a basketball court put into the gym.

About an hour had passed and I had seen everyone that Jermaine took on a tour but I didn’t see him. Something wasn’t right to me and I could no longer enjoy the company I was keeping. I excused myself and went to look for Jermaine.

I went the same pathway I saw him take asking a couple of guys along the way if they saw him. They all said the same thing: we thought he was with you. Shaking my head I continue down the hall. Turning right I begin to jog up the winded stairs. Once I reached the top I caught my breath before continuing on.

“What are you doing here?” I heard Jermaine's voice. I couldn’t help but smile at how deep and sultry his voice was. I was getting ready to answer as I crept towards the door with his voice behind it but I didn’t get the chance before I heard a familiar voice.

“You think I wouldn’t be here for something big like this? I know how much you wanted your house…” I heard Camryn say to him. My heart beat loudly inside my chest as I stood out of eyesight but stayed in hearing range. The door was half opened and I could see Jermaine was towering Camryn but he kept space between them.

“You can't be here.” Jermaine replied back.

“Huh?” Her head cocked to the side in pure confusion. For some reason seeing how harsh he was turned me on. Even if it was just an act it felt good to know she probably can trust Jermaine based on this conversation so far. “You talking about Zayn huh? So y’all really together?” Yes I thought to myself. As of tonight actually.

“Yeah,” my heart dropped to my stomach. I hadn’t heard him say it out loud to anyone, not even me. “We are and you gotta go cus I need her Cam.” What?

“You need her? You’re Jermaine Cole. You don’t need anybody! You're turning to a simp!” Camryn yelled at Jermaine. Jermaine shook his head pacing back and forth.

“I do need someone and it’s Zayn right now. I love you but I’ve had to move on and you should too. We’re not going to work like you said. I’m falling for Azayn and I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to.” By this time both Cam and I were crying. Tf am I crying for?

“You fuck her yet?” She dryly chuckled. My chest winced at the question. Was he going to answer?

“What we have is our business.”

“Wow, Jermaine.” Camryn scoffed. “Your mom invited me. She said she could barely get you to answer and I see it’s the same old again. You're running to a woman when you should be running to ya mom.”

“This is not a conversation we need to be having right now. Zayn could be looking for me. I got to go..”

“Look, I don’t see how you can move on so easily!” Camryn yelled. I jumped back at the change in tone. Behind closed doors I could finally see for myself why Jermaine was still on the ground with his career. Camryn wanted him to be as small as her. She couldn’t grow with Jermaine. And that kept him stuck.

“Camryn I do—“

“Jermaine!” I heard myself finally say. I missed my man and I needed him to console me. Especially after knowing I have nothing to worry about with Camryn. For now at least. I can trust Jermaine, it's her that I don’t trust. I made it seem like I had just come up the stairs. “I’ve been looking for you–” I pushed open the door to reveal myself to both of them. “Oh–” I gasped. Camryn smirked, hoping I would think it was more than what I heard. Conniving bitch. And to think I liked her in the past. This had nothing to do with my relationship with Jermaine, the way I heard her talking to him made me sick to my stomach. Did she always talk down to him? It left me wondering what Jermaine really thought of himself. He didn’t seem like the type to have low self esteem but now I couldn’t tell. Why would he allow her to talk to him like that?

“Wassup?” He walked over to me, examining my face. I smiled at him to let him know I was alright despite my heart racing.

“You okay? You were gone for a while and I got lonely.” I laughed at how silly I sounded. Surprisingly he laughed as well, rubbing my arm gently as if we were the only ones in the room. Camryn cleared her throat when she noticed Jermaine hadn’t dropped his hand from my arm. We both turned to look at her.

“I ran into Cam so I pulled her up here to see what was up, right?” He asked Camryn. Camryn rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

“Whatever.” She spat. “Good luck with him.” She dryly chuckled before leaving the room. Jermaine quickly turned to me, grabbing my arm again.

“You’re not mad are you?” He quickly asked me. I grabbed his hand into mine, pulling him into a hug, laughing at his nervousness. His body relaxed into mine when he realized I wasn’t tense.

“Honestly, I heard most of the conversation and I couldn’t take it anymore so I stepped in, so I hope you’re not mad. Again, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jermaine sighed, dropping our hands. My arms landed at my side and he walked further into the office. “Zayn, I think I love you.” He said to me, and it felt like my heart stopped for a second.

“I know I love you.” I responded. A tear slid down Jermaine’s cheek and he didn’t move away to wipe it.

“How can I love two women at once?” He asked me, more tears falling down his face now. I sighed and walked over to him. I pushed back his desk and sat in his broad lap. It reminded me of my childhood days going to take pictures with Santa. Jermaine looped his arms around my waist and I rested my hands on his hold. “I’m scared I’ma hurt you.”

“Jermaine, I just got divorced. Ain’t no hurting me. Just tell me when you don’t wanna love me no more and I promise I’ma be alright.”

“Alright.” Jermaine sniffled, finally wiping his face in one swipe like he was playing during a game or something. Shaking my head I started to get up but he pulled me back. I sighed, resting into his body.

“Promise me something else too while we are at it,” I finally spoke when I noticed he didn’t want to continue the conversation. He just wanted to hold me.

“Anything.” He groggily replied.

“You won’t cheat on me?”

“Never in this life.” Jermaine promised. I smiled, crying with tears of relief. Being affirmed made me feel so good on the inside. Los never let me get this vulnerable with him. I could understand why it's so hard for Camryn to let go. “Come on lets get back before they think we fucking.” Jermaine stood up with me still in his arms. I gasped, for real, at the gesture. He hadn’t done this before and I couldn’t lie being so high up with him turned me on. It's giving daddy.

Camryn

If I could pick a day, a time, a night to die, it would be tonight. Not only did I lose Jermaine, but I lost him to the very girl I didn’t ever want to see him with even if we weren’t together. Let’s not pretend, Los married Zayn for a reason regardless of his history of cheating. She gave wife material. Any man that wanted her knew she looked like the type that wasn’t going for nothing. I, on the other hand, gave ‘ride or die’. I was down for anything. Maybe I needed to change that. I literally pushed the man into her arms.

She was beautiful and walked and moved with grace. Her face was so pretty and seemed smooth. Granted I was bad, but I was jealous. I know the type of woman Jermaine wanted. I was out of his league so him giving me the time of his day was a privilege. I blew it all over wanting to be able to afford him.

Yes, I started seeing a therapist per Tanelle’s request. She said she grew to love me over the weeks, but she wasn’t licensed to properly deal with my emotions. Her ways were unhealthy and she didn't want to be that friend known for allowing crazy things to happen. Seeing a therapist helped me to get to the root of a lot of things. The main reason I was after having my own is because I hadn’t in the past. The other reason was because it was depressing being with a man you couldn’t buy the things he was buying you except with his own money. I was tired of that. I wanted to cash out on him and have him know it came from something I worked for. When I got here I was lost again.

I didn’t tell him but the first few nights without him were hard. I cried every night and by night three, suicide ideation had evolved in my head. I didn’t act on it but it definitely lingers for nights like this.

That’s why I put on this hard front when I got here and put so much space between us. I didn’t know it at the time, but my therapist, Dr. Linskey said that it was healthy what I did. I was going through something called separation anxiety but it had actually made me sick. I was now taking antidepressants and things were going up for me, including work. Though I wasn’t where I wanted to be, Tanelle helped to show me routes she would take if she were in my position as well as help me score some big clients. So far I had 50,000 I had saved up on my own. Feeling too attached to Jermaine, I recently got another condo closer to where Tanelle lives. Come to find out Tanelle lives in an upscale neighborhood. The lots are preplotted so most of the time you’re having all the say in the design of your new home. I wasn't quite ready for a commitment like that mentally, but I did deserve my own chosen space. This condo was spacious and had a great view of the city. It was quite romantic, and though I hadn’t even thought to start dating again, on some lonely nights the thought of being laid up crosses my mind.

She also suggested I unfollow him but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Jermaine simply held a spot in my life no man can fill right now and that's how it's going to be. Finding out he's with Zayn hurts but I can give that some time. I do wish them the best, but I can tell by the way he was hesitant with me that he misses me and that he was choosing his words carefully. He doesn’t want to hurt me. He just wants to be happy and my baby deserves that. So if Zayn is giving him happiness I can sit back until we cross paths again. Call me delusional but that conversation was far from a door being closed. In fact, we had a lot of feelings to discuss but we’re both too stubborn to act on it.

Finding my way over to Ms. Kay I walked over and took the empty seat beside her. She looked at me concerned, observing the sullen look on my face.

“What's the matter?” She asked after a while. The party was starting to end, you could tell by the way people were slowly moving towards the door. That means we would be leaving too. This is supposed to be our house, I thought as tears began to well up in my eyes. “Camryn?”

“We talked. “ I cried. Ms. Kay immediately stood up and pulled me into a hug. I cried into her chest as she rubbed my back and repeatedly told me over and over again that everything would be alright.

“It didn’t go how you expected?” Ms. Kay asked me. I quickly shook my head and she sighed at my words. She still had hopes for us too. It was hard but after a while I finally reached out to Ms. Kay about two months after our breakup. Ever since then we talked almost every day, and if not at least once a week. We loved each other and found ways to bond outside of Jermaine. Kay always hoped for a time when she would have a daughter in law to bond with, since she didn’t have any daughters of her own.

“Ma,” Jermaine called before I could speak. He was a little confused to see her hugging me but he didn’t speak on it. I wiped my eyes and stood up, avoiding his eyes. They were burning a hole through my head, but he had Zayn’s hand in his. “You wanna stay the night? I know you didn’t drive here and I don’t know how you would feel if I didn’t invite you, but you’re welcome to stay with us tonight.” Zayn shifted nervously beside him upon hearing him say ��us”. What did he mean ‘us’? Were they already planning to live together?? Now he was just doing too damn much. I got something for that ass.

“No, son. I’m gonna catch Camryn on the way out since we were just talking. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, ma.” Jermaine smiled at her. “You are grown, and besides I know yall love each other I wouldn’t want y'all not to.” I looked at Zayn again to see if she cared. Her face was a permanent poker face. She mastered hiding her emotions in the public eye. I needed to be like her.

“Well good night, and it was nice meeting you again dear.” I watched as Ms.. Kay walked over to Zayn and hugged her before hugging Jermaine. I loved that Ms. Kay loved her son enough to be able to handle him moving on but still communicating with his ex. It said a lot about her character and I knew that I would hold a different spot than Zayn. Hell, I came before she could even be thought about. This is probably nothing to us.

We’ll be back right in no time. We gotta be.

Jermaine

Tonight was amazing. But I had one more goal I had to accomplish before I could toast to my new house. I sat up when I heard the water to the shower cut off. Zayn decided to take the late shower because her lactose ass couldn’t stop with the cheese crackers. She wanted to be sure everything was out of her system before she showered and got comfortable.

“Whatchu doin?” I asked her when I noticed she was slipping her now dry body into some sleep shorts, ready to pair it with whatever shirt of mine she felt like wearing tonight.

“Putting clothes on, wassup?”

“You didn’t hear me?” I asked her, knowing I hadn’t said anything. She smiled sweetly at me, finishing pulling up her shorts. Her breasts were still exposed. It's crazy we’re so comfortable around each other and still haven't had sex. Tonight that was about to change.

“No, what did you say?”

“I said….” I stood up, my rock hard member following me. Zayn's eyes widened. “I wanna make love to you…right now.” Zayn's eyes fluttered and I could tell I left her speechless. Yeah this was finna be a good ole time, I thought to myself as I walked over to her. She backed into the wall and I laughed. “Damn girl, just say no.”

“No–” I backed off, ready to put my clothes back on. “NO Jermaine. It's not that.” She pulled my arm back to stop me. “I’m just….scared.”

“My bad, I forgot you damn near a virgin again.”

“That's not funny Jermaine.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’m just tryna lighten the mood, bae come here.” I pulled her to me. This time she was more relaxed. I rubbed her exposed back, pushing her chest into mine. Skin to skin felt amazing with her. Her breaths were rising as she anticipated my next move. I walked her over to my bed and laid her down. She looked up at me, that scared look still on her face. “Tell me when to stop, at any moment and I’ll stop.” I requested. She nodded, lying her head back and looking at the ceiling. Smirking, I got down on my knees and became eye level with her kitty. It was so pretty, and slightly moistened, you could see it. Though she may say she's scared, she has been waiting on this forever. She was desperate to know what I felt like. It had been years since she felt real sexual pleasure. She knew I wasn’t going to disappoint.

I took a deep breath, pushing back my own nervous thoughts as I dived face first into her sex. She instantly jumped back and let out a whimper. I took my free hand and caressed her legs to relax her as I licked on her like I hadn’t had anything to eat. Zayn was sweet. I listened happily as Zayn moaned and cooed at my actions. She was in heaven and this was just the beginning. Without any thought, I slipped two fingers into her. I almost forgot who I was fucking.

“Oww.” Zayn pushed my fingers out. I laughed and sat up.

“Damn girl.” I gasped. Zayn was soaking wet. “You wet as hell ... .what you scared of when you're dripping like a faucet?” Rolling her eyes she sighed and prepared herself for whatever is next.

“Condom or no condom?” I asked her seriously. I knew we were both good but I didn’t want to assume she was comfortable going all the way for our first time. I was prepared for either option and didn’t mind whatever she chose.

“No condom is fine. I was with you when you went to get tested. I trust you.” I nodded and got on the bed, hovering over her. I guess missionary was only right for the mood I wanted to set.

“Go slow.” She warned, I nodded again pushing slowly at her entrance. She grabbed both of my elbows bracing herself. Once I was inside good enough for my liking I began slowly stroking her. She felt amazing. Wet, soft, hot. Everything a nigga been needing in the moment. I wasn’t pussy crazy but some good consistent pussy drove a nigga crazy.

I watched her face as I continued to stroke her. She was enjoying my every move. Moaning and gasping.

“I think I’m finna cum…” She moaned after a few more strokes. I leaned down, kissing her collarbone.

“Cum on your dick. It's official. You mine Zayn.” And with that she whimpered and her body began to shake under me. I watched as she squeezed her eyes shut and continued to ride her wave. Once she came down, she looked back up at me with teary eyes.

“Thank you for that.” She cried. I kissed her tears before quickening my pace. Before you know it I was reaching my peak. I pulled out and finished in my hand. I panted, getting off the bed to go wash my hands. When I was done I went back with a warm rag to wipe her off with. She smiled at me when I was finished as I shot the rag into the hamper across the room.

“Where is that during the game?” She laughed at me. I shook my head, laying beside her.

“Cut it out, you know I am on my game most of the time…I don’t know what's been going on lately.”

“I hear you.” Zayn rolled over onto her stomach. If she kept that up we would be having another round in just a second.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her. Zayn looked at me, fluttering her eyes. I took that as a good thing.

“Great, a huge relief has been lifted. I feel like I’m floating.” She replied, smiling at me before leaning her head up and placing a kiss on my lips.

“I’m glad I could do that for you.” I spoke to her honestly. Zayn felt amazing. I couldn't lie. I wouldn’t mind doing it a little longer but I was fine. That’s how good it was. Plus all that moaning boosted a nigga ego. That would do it for any man.

Open POV

Jermaine Cole And Azayn go public.

The following spread were pictures of the couple last night at Jermaine’s housewarming. They looked like they were shocked to see the turn out. Every picture you could see the death grip he had on Zayn’s hand. Camryn’s jaw tightened as she scrolled through the article reading about the night's turnouts. Luckily she wasn’t reported having been there. If she had, it would have been embarrassing.

Just as Camyrn was getting ready to finish packing so that she could catch her afternoon flight back to Cali, her phone began to ring in her hand. She was shocked to be reading Jermaine’s name across the screen. She cleared her throat and answered the call.

“Hello?” She spoke into the phone.

“You still in town?” Jermaine's voice came through the phone.

“I am. I leave around one in the afternoon.” Camryn told Jermaine.

“Can we meet for lunch or whatever you want to do before you go?”Jermaine asked Camryn. Camryn’s heart began to pound. After just reading that article she was shocked to hear he wanted to go to lunch. She couldn’t get her hopes up though, she had to remember there were plenty of things left unsaid between them.

“Cam?”

“I’m here. Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll send you the location. I’m about to head out in about 15 minutes, it's an hour drive so that gives you time to get ready…or you need more time?” Jermaine inquired, remembering how long it took to get Camryn ready sometimes.

“An hour is more than enough time, and I can finish packing.”

“Okay, see you in a lil bit.” Before Camryn could confirm he had hung up the phone. She shook her head then got up to get dressed. Once she was satisfied with not looking like she was trying too hard, she finished packing.She didn’t pack much since there was only a two day trip but she still brought a couple of choices with her usual needed outfits like night clothes.

Shortly after she found herself scrolling, reading random posts on her phone until her phone vibrated in her hand. It was the location from Jermaine. She got up and slid on her Gucci slides.

Within thirty minutes, Camryn was pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant. She got out of the car, nervous for whatever was about to take place. Upon entering the restaurant she quickly spotted Jermaine. She waved at the hostess, then pointed at Jermaine. Camryn began walking towards him.

“Hey,” she spoke once in ear range. Jermaine finished his conversation on the phone before standing up and pulling out Cam’s chair. “Thank you.” She said once she was seated comfortably.

“No problem.” She noticed that he ordered them some water and quickly took a sip of hers after inserting the straw into the clear glass that was sweating with condensation. “So, I wanted to clear some things up and finish our conversation from last night.” Jermaine got straight to business once the waitress had walked away with their order. Cam nodded, waiting for him to continue. “I love you Cam, Ima always love you…no doubt. But moving on has nothing to do with you. I was lonely, you left a spot I needed to fill.”

“So she's a rebound until you miss me too much?” Camryn chuckled.

“No, I love Zayn.” Jermaine watched as Cam’s smile suddenly disappeared. “I want you to know that I realized that last night, and I told her. She loves me just as much, Cam. We’re in love. I’m so sorry.” Tears began to creep down Camryn’s face. She couldn’t stop them if she tried. “Dont cry…” Jermaine nearly whispered.

“It's… it's just hard to hear. That's all. I promise Ima be okay.” She told him, retrieving some tissue from her purse. He watched as she wiped away the tears. For the first time he really looked at her. He sighed. She was beautiful to him in her own way. To the world too, but Jermaine looked at her like a goddess. He could tell he was her happiness, she hadn’t been keeping up with herself like she used to. Especially her hair.

“I’m so sorry.” Jermaine apologized again.

“It's okay. I just miss you as a friend too Jermaine. You were more than my boyfriend in the end. When I lost you, I lost my best friend too. It's hard knowing someone else I know and seen personally is getting that. It would be easier if I didn’t know her or never seen her..”

“Stop beating yourself up.” Jermaine said with a tight lip.

“I’m in therapy, she says the same thing.” Camryn laughed, her emotions subsiding a little.

“Really?” Jermaine smiled at her. She nodded in response. “That’s great, at least you are dealing with your emotions.”

“You aren’t dealing with yours?” She asked. Jermaine had become like Zayn in no time with masking things. She used to be able to tell when he was going through something. She couldn’t tell right now.

“Nah, not like I should. Zayn and I talk every few months as a check in but that’s the only time I lay everything out.”

“I know this may sound crazy since I was just crying over you a few minutes ago…but talk with her more often. Talk with her Today. Talk to her about this. About us.” Camryn couldn’t help but smile at the “us” word rolling off her lips. Jermaine caught it but decided not to speak on it.

“Ima try it but if it don’t work I’m never taking advice from you again.” Jermaine told her. By this time they were done eating. Neither one wanted desert so Jermaine waved the waitress down so that he could pay.

“It was good seeing you. Honestly.” Cam said knowing their time may be coming to an end after all. She sighed not knowing when the next time she would speak to Jermaine and for what reason.

“You too. Take care Cam. And don’t worry bout me. Ima be straight.” He assured her. She nodded back. She could feel her eyes welling up again so she stood up ready to leave.

“Good bye Jermaine.” She barely spoke above a whisper.

“Goodbye Camryn.”

#j. cole #j cole fanfiction #j cole fanfic #j.cole #fanfiction #jcole #j cole #jayda wayda #jayda cheaves #amour jayda

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isles-of-man · 7 months ago

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“I think that’s the drink talking” he teased, remaining ever humbled but taking her compliment with a smile and nod. “They don’t tend to stay around very long but Peter is lucky to have you” Cyril mused, remembering when his friend had first told him of his wonderful wife and invited him for dinner. That was over two years ago; becoming quick friends with both of them. “Honestly, I don’t know how he could choose to be away from you.” I couldn’t. his mind said in the moment and gave her a comforting smile. “But we have each other and we can have fun without him around, of course,” he said with a playful wink; innocent in his teasing.

A few moments passed; not looking at her both in a slight embarrassment of his accidental touch and as well to his arousal. Cyril willed it calmly; aware that despite his attraction to her she was married. He blamed it on the lonely nights, weeks on end since he last spent any time in bed with a woman and the drink. It came on easy at times for him to slip; aroused in a state with a few drinks in his body. It was a few minutes until they arrived at hers. He walked up behind her, following up the small steps to her front door and waited for her to let him in with a slight fumble at the front door as he walked into her and grunted softly at her brushing against him.

There was no way she had not felt it; his hand had caught her waist and held her up before she fell forward but let go as soon as she was on steady feet. He pulled back; hoping to apologize and take a cold shower but something inside urged that feeling inside to kiss her as soon as he saw her coloured cheeks; from drink or embarrassment but he held her cheek in his hand and urged her close as he caught her lips. A moment before he pulled her forward he saw the same look in her eyes that he had; want, desire and passion. He pulled back, resting his forehead on hers and looked into her eyes.

“Let me make you feel good. He doesn’t have to know...” Cyril asked, staring at her lip before taking her hand and holding it against his chest above his beating heart; beating fast for her. “I’m not as drunk as I look... it’s just .. I’ve always wanted you” he confessed, looking into those brown orbs. “I know he doesn’t make you happy. He hasn’t said anything but your eyes. They say a lot, don’t they?" Cyril paused. "He won’t give you want you really want. I can”

“Oh I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Brooke expressed her sadness. The woman knew how hard her husband worked in the office, but left for fieldwork more often than she’d like. A soft chuckle expelled from her lips at his own praise. The edges of her lips forming a grin, “Indeed you do,” as she took another sip of her drink. She was just thankful to be in Cyril’s company as he was more than welcome to stay at their house. With a beaming smile, “not a problem. It’s nice not to feel lonely,” she casually commented as the waiter handed them the menu’s. Eyes quickly glancing knowing exactly what she wanted, she ordered before her stomach had the chance to rumble.

As she finished her first drink, her eyes sparkled under the lights, low laughter escaped her. “Well, personally I don’t consider you boring. With or without drink I think you’re wonderful. Quite the catch for any woman” she added hoping to cheer him up. She knew he had been alone for quite a while now, never understanding fully why. She honestly believes he could have anyone he wanted. Throughout their meal she was pleasantly surprised to his offers. The brunette would happily take his offer. She was planning on decorating the spare room. As conversation flowed so did the alcohol. It had been a hard week for both. She graciously thanked him for paying and she was more than satisfied with paying for the taxi fare.

Brooke sighed blissfully as Cyril wrapped his around her shoulders as they stepped out into the cold night air. Her cheeks were flush from drinking so she welcomed the coolness upon her skin. A soft giggle erupted from her throat at his question. “Perhaps just a spla-“ she answered as they entered cab. Her breath hitched at the feeling of his hand upon her thigh, it caused her body to stiffen, and a wave of uneasiness washed over her as she was not expecting her body to have such a response to his touch. “S’okay,” she murmured.

It had been a while since she felt a man’s touch. Her husband had been rather distant with her for the past months and they have slept in separate beds. Suddenly, everything was heightened as she was on alert as she glanced in his direction, eyes focusing on his bulge her eyes widened at quickly diverted her eyes clearing her throat. She couldn't have caused that reaction, could she? Her cheeks colored but she was flattered, he was handsome and if it wasn't for her husband. Who knows. But he's not here, internal whispers.

#isles-of-man #ship: cyrilxbrooke #This homewrecking hussy

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vivalarevolution · 2 years ago

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𝓕𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓣𝓲𝓮𝓼

Aemond Targaryen x Bastard-Targaryen Oc

Summary: Aemond had never felt the emotion that she meade him feel, and he had never felt such bitterness when she left him. But when he was able to see her again years later, he couldn't let her run away again. Never again.

A/N: I hope you all gonna like it. It is quite a long fic. Also it contains smut, so please be aware of that part and don't read it if you're minor.

English is not my native language, so I am sorry for any mistakes.

Part 2

A child's life should never be easy. But how much Daenaera wanted it to be otherwise.

Being not only an half-orphan but a bastard was exhausting enough. The streets of King's Landing were not safe for girls like her, they were not safe for any girl.

Daenaera hasn't lived her whole life that way, no.

She used to have a house, small but it was still hers. She lived with her mother and three siblings and her stepfather, who, learning about her true origin, nearly killed her, throwing her onto the doorstep so that at the age of eight she could cope as an adult.

Disguised as a boy, she tried to survive, always somehow managed, until she fell under the feet of King Viserys's daughter.

Rhaenyra was going on one of her secret journeys then, just like years ago with her uncle. But she wasn't expecting a child to run into her while running away from a bunch of boys.

Due to the force of impact, the brown cap fell from the child's head, revealing waves of snow-white locks that fell freely on her shoulders.

The princess did not believe what she saw, but looking at the icy blue irises of the girl who was looking at her intensely with hidden flames so deep inside her, she was convinced of their distant relationship.

Daenaera had never been so terrified in her life. She wasn't sure why she'd agreed to go with the woman to the castle. Maybe it was because of the softness of her voice, maybe becuse it was better everywhere than on the street.

Sitting in a fair-haired bedroom, she stared at the landscape outside the window before her eyes moved to the opening door, in which the king himself stood with her eldest daughter.

At first Viserys thought he had seen Aemma. He still remembered their first encounters as children, and her reflection sat on Rhaenyra's bed, only dirtier and scared.

His pale face twisted into a gentle smile, and his eyes were filled with the first little tears. The girl was watching him as intensely, only to look at the nearby princess who came up to her, standing next to her and placing one of her hands on her shoulder.

- Aemma - the ailing king whispered.

-This is the girl I told you about -the purple-eyed woman said, avoiding the subject of her dead mother- I'm sure she has our blood in her. She is one of us.

Daenaera wanted to question many things, tell them the truth, but she kept silent, just watching.

-What do you want me to do with that information Rhaenyra? We are not sure, and bringing an unknown child from the street will not do any good - said her father, although his eyes told a completely different story.

-Even her name. Why would she have a Valyrian name? - she asked, trying to convince her father.

-Why do you want to take her, daughter? - asked the king.

-I do not want to leave her alone on the street - she confessed after a long moment - I will take care of her like my own daughter. We owe her that.

White-haired girl wanted to say that it's not true. They didn't owe her anything, they didn't know her, but the woman's soothing touch made her body finally feel relaxed, calm. So in the next moment she was pressed against Rhaenyra, her forehead resting on her stomach.

-I don't want to go back there - she confessed quietly, closing her eyes in fear of rejection.

-You won't - the woman assured in a soft voice, stroking her hair and glancing at Viserys, who only sighed, his heart being his greatest asset as well as his greatest curse.

Two years have passed since the girl was taken into the care of Princess Rhaenyra Targareyn. She grew up with her two sons Lucerys and Jacaerys, who surprisingly quickly accepted her as their sister, not leaving her even for a step.

Her new family loved and defended her, proving their true intentions at every turn. Blue-eyed girl often questioned their actions, but her mother always shooed that thoughts away, which made Daenaera unknowingly come closer and closer to the point that she did not leave her foster mother side, feeling the safest in her embrace.

Violet-eyed woman felt the same emotions, becoming very close to the child, protecting her from the eyes of Queen Alicent and her three children. She couldn't do that with her sons, they were princes, and her father wanted the boys raised together, but Daenaera's nature made her quiet, almost distrustful, and Rhaenyra used it to her advantage.

The fair-haired child did not mind this, she preferred the older company and blamed her stepfather for it, because she couldn't longer perceived the joy in her childhood activities, often wandering around the garden or reading thick , old books.

This is why she was named the White Flower in honor of her snow-white hair and delicate like flower-petals personality.

Aemond sometimes had wonder if her title fully applieded to her. As a second son, he was often overlooked, lonely. So he observed her. And the sight of the princess, watched over by Harwin Strong himself, aroused his interest, growing more and more, so much so that the boy desperately waited for the moment when Daenaera was alone to be able to speak with her ,even if it was meant to be a single word.

Her blue and ice-cold eyes did not match the warm tone of her voice and red lips, which he found even more beautiful up close. The king's son found a common language with her, amazed at how good a listener the girl next to him was, ready to hear him without hesitation. But he quickly found that he preferred to listen to her rather than speak. Aemond's ear may have faded from the amount of words that came into him, but his mind was never fed up.

Their friendship was a secret, something forbidden. Their mothers could not find a common language with each other while putting their children on opposite sides of the wall they had built over the years.

And that was one reason their relationship collapsed. Aemond could've claimed the greatest dragon, he could've been injured and lose an eye, but the moment Alicent tried to attack Daenaery's siblings, injuring their mother during the process, everything in between them was lost. The Blacks and the Greens formed their sides, and the little girl joined her mother without hesitation, silently announcing that she would live and fight by her side, ignoring the young Targaryen's wounded heart, which had not fully healed even after the middle of a decade.

At that time, Daemon Tragaryen and his two daughters Baela and Rhaena joined her family. The man, to the surprise of many, treated Daenaera the same as her mother. He was just as loving and caring but much more dangerous.

The blue-eyed girl has matured over the years, turning into a beautiful woman with the same delicate features and blue irises. In addition, the egg she had received from the king himself had recently hatched upon their arrival at Dragonstone, making it a legitimate and worthy Targaryen.

Meraxes and she were inseparable, from the day the reptile was born, she spent time on the girl's shoulder, never leaving her, even for a moment, as Daenaera used to do with Rhaenyra.

Their siblings liked to mock her and called her the mother of dragons because of her approach to the animal, but the white-haired girl did not mind in any way. Deep dwon she was proud of the title and the fact that, even as a bastard, the dragon's blood still ran strongly in her veins.

The wind in her hair, the warm sun, the sound of the sea, and the flapping of wings were a sweet tune that young Targaryen genuinely loved.

She called it her personal definition of freedom.

Soaring above the bright clouds, she dove down as quickly as she appeared above them. The sea landscape stretched out beneath her body.

Blue eyes followed everything around her until Dragonstone appeared in the distance, towards which the young woman was heading. Passing through small islets, she flew past the stone structure before ordering Meraxes to land. The reptile's wings swirled in the air, scattering the blades of grass to the sides, her dragon may have been small, but it had a lot of strength in it.

As she descended from the dragon, she was greeted with the sight of Jacaerys standing near them.

-What are you doing here? - asked the girl, after a moment grabbing one of the gloves in her teeth to take it off her hand.

-We're going to King's Landing soon - he confessed, and she frowned in consternation.

Daenaera turned her head towards her companion.

-Jikagon riña (Go girl) - she said, patting her neck before she spread her wings above the ground.

The fair-haired girl did not miss a small murmur of irritation, which made her want to laugh. Valyrian has never been an easy language, especially for those who have not met it since birth, but the girl's hard work with her father made her use the old language extremely fluent, much to the discomfort of her younger brother.

-Mother told us to get ready - he continued, waiting for her to reach him.

-Sounds serious - his sister said, before a slight, malicious smile appeared on her face -But it does not stop you from irritating ,my dear brother.

-What do you mean?- He asked her, staring at her sparkling irises.

-Kessi sagon jēda skori kesā ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie lēkia (They will be time when you will speak high Valyrian brother) - notified Daenaera, staring straight ahead.

-Kosten ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie, mandia (I can speak High Valyrian, sister) - the brunet replied confidently.

-Kostan- the white-haired girl corrected him, and he looked at her stealthily, causing her to laugh.

-You know, you are supposed to be my wife, and the wife should support her husband, not stand against him - the boy noticed, watching as the facial expressions of her changed.

-It's just wishful thinking Jace. Nothing more -Rhaenyra's daughter announced before she quickened her pace, running away from further conversation.

The fair-haired girl's journey to King's Landing passed in silence. Standing away from her family members, she stared at the waves hitting the ship. Her peace of mind was disturbed when her parents decided to have a chat with her, as if sensing that something was bothering her young mind, but she reassured her that everything was fine, avoiding telling the truth.

When they finally arrived, no one knew about their presence in the castle. The courtyard was only filled with guards until one of the lords appeared at the door, surprised by their arrival.

Daemon and Rhaenyra visited King Viserys while the rest of the siblings were led into their chambers.

Daenaera did not stay long in it. Her curiosity forced her to leave the room. As she strolled through the corridors, she looked at the place she once called home. She tried to remember the way to the gardens, which had once been her favorite place.

As she walked forward, she watched her surroundings, noticing how many things had changed.

At one point, in the corner of her eye, she noticed something bright, contrasting with the dark corridors of Red Keep. Turning her eyes in that direction, she saw the man. He had long hair, he was tall, slim, but something mysterious and dark was beaming from him.

The girl frowned. She wondered who the stranger was, but when her eyes saw a leather band around the man's eye, she paused, speechless.

-Aemond?- she whispered, but he heard her anyway, her silky voice too hard to forget.

Boy in front of her turned fully towards her and she had to hold back a gasp that wanted to escape from her throat. Targaryen looked nothing like himself from years ago, he didn't even looked like a boy, but a man. His posture, clothes, face. He was radiating maturity.

Her uncle's eyes rested on her.

Her body was wrapped in a black dress that emphasized the figure of the white-haired girl, pushing her bust forward, on which rested a necklace with aquamarine in the middle, accentuating the color of her eyes. The snow-white hair was pulled back in a bun from which curly strands spilled out. She looked like a living masterpiece, something that should be forbidden, inaccessible to the ordinary eye.

Aemond narrowed their distance. The difference in height was significant as she tilted her head up and he tilted her head down so they could meet each other's eyes.

Neither of them spoke for a long time, only standing, facing each other. Daenaera's heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears, wondering if the boy could hear it as well.

-Niece -he replied after a long moment, shivers passed down her spine.

-It’s good to see you - Daemon's daughter confessed softly, suddenly losing all the remnants of her confidence.

-You too - he confessed, unexpectedly tucking a strand of her white hair behind her ear to find an excuse to move even closer so that his lips almost touched her ear - You look beautiful -he whispered, kissing her earlobe before he left without a word, disappearing out of Daenaera's view.

Suddenly, her original destination was long forgotten.

Blue-eyed girl stood by her mother's side, listening to political matters. She would have been bored if it weren't for the man who spoke about Driftmark's legitimate affiliation with her younger brother. Blood was boiling inside her as she heard sieges and slander about her family. Even the sudden arrival of the king, who was barely on his feet, did not help.

Everything in her was torn in different directions, the mind and heart could not reconcile with each other, so she stood stiffly, staring stubbornly at the swords adorning the iron throne.

-Her children are bastards! - suddenly there was a loud scream from Vaemond Velaryon -One that doesn't even belong to her, looks more like a Targaryen than her own sons! - he drawled through his teeth, and the girl closed her eyes, feeling anxiety penetrate under her skin - And she ... is a whore.

As the words left the man's mouth, everyone in the room held their breath, the atmosphere heavy, almost unbearable.

-For these words ... I'll take your tongue - Viserys announced menacingly, taking out his dagger.

But before he had time to execute his threat, Daemon's blade sliced the Lord's face in half. Daenaera stared at the severed piece of head until her mother grabbed her, shielding her body from seeing lying corpse.

-He can keep his tongue - her father said, but she no longer listened.

Holding on to Rhaenyra's arm, she waited for the end that came faster than she expected. Leaving the room under the care of her mother and siblings, she became absent, even more than usual.

The dead lord's words rumbled in her ears, reminding her of the painful truth. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she studied or how expensive dresses she wore, she was still someone else's bastard, raised by a family that wasn't really hers.

-I need to refresh- she whispered after a while to the fair-haired woman.

-Daenaera- began the princess, when she noticed a shadow of tears in her eyes - Do not listen to people who wish you to fall, do you understand? Nothing that was said towards us mattered.

-I know - she said with a slight smile. - I just want to freshen up -she repeated. -Calm down -she added before disappearing from Rhaenyra's sight.

The white-haired girl was pushing forward, without any specific target. She had missed her room a long time ago, eventually ending up in the royal gardens she had once so sincerely adored. Standing under Weirwood, she stared at the scarlet leaves aimlessly until she felt a presence behind her back.

One of the hands crept up on her hip, while the other gently grabbed her chin, twisting it to the side so that the girl's eyes could see behind her. Aemond was staring at her face, his eye closely watching the emotions bubbling inside her.

After a while the princess daughter felt the boy's thumb wiping away the tears running down her cheek, the ones she did not even notice, to bring their faces closer in the next moment, so that the noses of both touched each other.

-I do not like when you cry- he said with a surprisingly warm tone of voice -I would have killed him if my uncle had not been faster -he said suddenly, and she widened her eyes in surprise.

-You really changed- the girl whispered.

-As you did - he said, and she turned her head back, staring at the tree in front of them - I would like to show you something- he confessed after a long moment- Or actually someone.

Daenaera merely nodded her consent, allowing Aemond to lead her to the secret passage, right outside the city's outskirts. They both walked for a long time, until they were only surrounded by a meadow and a beach where the great reptile, Vhagar, was resting.

The girl widened her eyes, stopping in place. The dragon in front of her aroused interest in her as well as the fear that her own animal sensed. The sound of Meraxes echoed in her ears and a white dragon appeared in the sky.

-I believe he is yours - murmured the king's son.

-Yes- she replied, looking at her companion, who landed near them- She is very protective of me - girl added after she saw how creature was landing.

-When we were children, I promised you that I would fly with you on the back of a dragon whenever you wanted - he said nostalgically -But I see you don't need to stick to that promise any longer.

-I never said I didn't want to ride with you just because my dragon egg finally hatched - she remarked quickly -You are a Vhagar rider, it is an honor to fly with someone like you.

Targaryen led her towards the sleeping beast, which had time to open it's great eyes when they faced her. Reptile greeted her with a low grunt. Her hand involuntarily ran through the hot scales of a creature that was nothing like the monster that wreaked havoc so many years ago.

Aemond helped the blue-eyed climb up on the back, sitting behind her himself. Soon after, the dragon rose heavily and soared upward. Meraxes followed them, faithfully guarding her rider.

Daenaera, despite the fact that she flew so many times, felt as if it was her first time. As the old dragon's legs touched the ground, she could've feel her heart beating against her ribs, and pounded in her ears becuse of the amount of emotion.

-Where are we?- asked Rhaenera's daughter.

-On some island, I believe -the boy said, helping her down.

-It seems deserted - said the white-haired girl, walking with Aemond, while their dragons were resting next to each other.

-It's good- he replied - Nobody will disturb us.

-With what exactly Aemond? - she asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye - I can't believe we've gone, the gods know where to talk.

-You should believe it - he said, returning to his arrogant and cool disposition -We haven't seen each other for a long time.

-Exactly. We are different people - continued the blue-eyed stubbornly - The last thing I expect from you is a conversation.

-You're right - he said after a moment, stoping -I'm a different man, I've changed. I used to be afraid to hold your hand, but now I realized that if you want something in this world, you just have to reach for it - he announced before he grabbed her waist, pulling her into a sensual kiss, the heat of which almost burned her lips.

Her own hands rested in his long hair, trying to keep up with the purple-eyed, who was attacking her mouth in the sweetest way, causing her to just want more. Standing on her tiptoes, she tried to cling to the body of the young man, whose own hands began to shamelessly wander across the fair-haired figure, stopping at the bindings of her dress.

After a while, heavy material began to slide down her shoulders, no longer protecting her naked body underneath. Aemond pulled it down without hesitation, too greedy to stop. His niece shivered at the cold air that enveloped her body, then sat down on her clothes.

Without a word, she broke the kiss, helping the boy in front of her remove the clothes that were in their way. Her hands were working quickly, impatiently wanting to see the white-haired man fully, but he stopped her by grabbing her cheek. She looked into his eye, waiting for the words that didn't came. Her uncle just smirked before attacking her naked neck.

A flush covered her cheeks as Aemond covered her skin with wet kisses. Daenaera had to bite her lip to keep the moans from escaping from her mouth. She felt a little nervous, she was not used to the kind of feeling that was flooding her veins now. The white-haired girl could not stop a sigh from escaping her mouth as the boy's cold fingers traveled over her skin. -You're so soft - he whispered lovingly.

-Aemond - blue-eyed moaned softly

The young woman had to close her eyes. His touch and the feeling of his irises against her skin made her dizzy, she hadn't expected it to be so intense for the first time.

-So beautiful...and only mine to be ruined- he said in a deep voice that sent shivers down her spine.

She lay down on the prince's silent command, closing her eyes in anticipation, and as soon as he began sucking and fingering her womanhood, all her worries left her mind.

-More. Please -she whispered between moans as he, taking his time, tortured her in a sweet manner.

Daenaera could've no longer control her mouth, her instincts taking over her body, making her want Targaryen with all her might.

She felt a strange feeling that she couldn't really put into words. Unknowingly she tightened around his fingers, and as her moans grew louder urging him even more, he began to add another finger, causing her to be almost on the verge of orgasm.

Her stomach was clenched, a strange feeling began to build up in her lower parts, blood began to rush to her ears. The white-haired girl's head fell back to the ground, her muscles tightened around his fingers.

-Cum for me - he muttered hoarsely.

When she did exactly that, her body stiffened, only to be picked up by the purple-eyed man who sat her on his lap moments later. The girl rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and breathing deeply before Aemond started to move her again, this time directing her to his manhood. Daenaera felt her middle being ripped apart and she sobbed as she pressed against the young man's neck beneath her. The silver-haired boy stroked her back, trying to chase away the pain, and the same time trying to keep himself from pressing his hips into her's. After a long moment, the blue-eyed beauty began to slowly move her loins, letting Targaryen know that he could also move. He grabbed her thighs, lifting her body up and down, and she fully let him do it, feeling the same familiar feeling warms her lower abdomen. They became one, and they both took full advantage of this feeling, too lost in each other to worry about the consequences. -Aemond - she gasped, tugging hard on his hair, making the prince growled loudly. -Let go - he said straight into her ear -Be a good little flower, and make a mess for me- he added, biting her neck.

Daenaera came almost screaming in ecstasy, causing Aemond to end up with her, unable to stop himself as her velvet walls pressed against him so deliciously and tightly.

Their eyes met in silent conversation until the young woman's soft lips rested on the prince's rough ones. -I missed you so much - she whispered before she pressed their foreheads together, drawing as much of the moment as she could.

The youngest son of the king breathed at her words, feeling the gap in his dark heart being filled with feelings for his beloved woman, which had been hidden for years, now ready to burst into flames.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #house targaryen #fanfiction #dance of the dragons #asoiaf #game of thrones #house of the dragon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen #aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader

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moody4world · 2 years ago

Text

Conflicted

A/N(?): i am !!NOT!! a writer, everything i write and post is simply for fun and not to be taken seriously

A/N: i got this idea since i first listened to Melt by Kehlani which was months ago, i didnt know how to write or who to request it to so i held onto it but now it’s finally a written fic!!!

This is for my queer girlies <3

reader x urban, previous reader x kehlani

This is my first angst ever so please go easy on me💀

Your relationship with Urban is pretty new. The two of you started talking not too long after you had dealt with what you still called ‘your worst heartbreak ever’. Urban was aware that you just got out of a two year long relationship and he was very patient with your emotions.

He never rushed you and made sure that you were always comfortable with the pace you two were moving at.

He was really into you from the very beginning and to avoid anything going wrong, he decided to simply sit back and let you lead the ship. About two months into the talking stage things started getting more and more serious between the two of you. You would stay over at his place and he would stay over at yours, you guys would go on little dates here and there and you even met his friends and family. Urban had met your sisters and cousins but had yet to meet your parents because they lived in a different state.

The topic of your previous relationship had always been a sensitive one, Urban knew this which is why he avoided the subject just as much as you. The only thing he knew was that your ex partner was a woman and that it was the longest relationship you’ve had.

“Baby i’m joining Jack at the studio today do you wanna come with?” It wasn’t a rare occurrence that Urban would ask you to join them at the studio but it was rare that you would say yes.

You just felt like his time at the studio with Jack and his friends was his ‘me time’ and didn’t want to take that from him. However, you had nothing planned today and decided to hang out with them at the studio. You and Urb arrived at the studio at the same time as Jack who happened to be accompanied by dj drama.

What you didn’t expect is to run into your ex when you all walked through the door of the building. You could feel your heartbeat speed up and your thoughts were running faster than your brain could process, trying to think of how to handle the situation.

“I heard you have an album on the way” Jack said to Kehlani, to which she replied “I do i do i’m so excited for it i can’t wait for everyone to listen to it cause we actually just added some finishing touches and its good to go.” You didn’t know if you should feel relieved that she acted like the two of you were strangers or if you should be upset. You began to overthink more and more until Jacks voice interrupted your chaotic train of thought “That’s whats up, we’re actually working on my new album too right now so i definitely feel your excitement, got some pretty legendary features coming too “ “I cant wait to hear what you put out, i have a really special one on the album, i mean all these songs are special to me but there’s one i wrote for my last girl so i hope she listens to it.” well

“Damn you got some romantic shit on yours meanwhile i got a song named side piece” They all laughed at Jacks remark but you were still stuck on what Keh had said. She wrote a song for you…. not that she hasn’t done that before i mean..you did date for two wonderful years. But this time it was different. This time you hadn’t been peeking over her shoulder while she wrote the lovely words about your smile and how you touch her.

Was it going to be a happy song? a sad song? Urban noticed that you seemed distracted during the whole studio session. You would miss every joke because of how consumed you were by your thoughts.

On the way to drop you off you asked Urban if he would like to stay over. He felt relieved that even though you clearly weren’t in the best headspace you still wanted him close. He felt like it was an improvement from how you would usually shut him out when something was bothering you at the beginning of your relationship.

The two of you smoked and watched some of your favorite shows and cuddled all through the night. In the morning you felt much better but yesterday’s situation was still in the back of your mind.

As the days passed you slowly forgot all about it. Urban had been the sweetest boyfriend you could ever ask for. He was supportive of your model career and even helped you take your new digitals for a new agency you recently got signed to. A few weeks have gone by and the closer it got to Kehlani’s album release date, the more you kept seeing it everywhere. Instagram, Twitter, you name it.

It was 4 in the morning but you were laid in bed wide awake not being able to fall asleep. You were anxious to listen to Kehs new album but Urbans arm was around your waist while he was spooning you. His soft snores and occasional sleepy mumbling filled your ears as you gently caressed the hair on his arm.

By 6am you managed to fall back asleep until 8:30. Urb had to get up and get ready to go to work with Jack and you decided to get up as well. “Okay baby i’m gonna head out so i’m not too late, you know how mister tumnus gets” he says to you with a goofy smile on his face causing you to laugh as well. Urban stood at the foot of the bed just admiring you, sitting against the head of the bed covered up in the white blankets. He couldn’t believe he had such a beautiful soul to call his, your beauty was something he’d never get over. No matter how crazy your hair looked every morning. Pillow marks on your chubby cheeks and all.

“Stop staring at me you creep, you’re gonna end up late” you say to him half jokingly. His stare would always make your cheeks feel warm and made it hard for you to hold back a flustered smile. “Can i get a kiss before i go?” you pretended to think about your answer before giving into him, you could never say no to a kiss from him. I mean come on…do you see those lips?!

“Hmmmm, you don’t gotta ask twice” you had crawled to the end of the bed and stood on your knees so the two of you were now face to face.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist bringing you into what was meant to be a simple peck but slowly became more. His kisses were soft and felt like a warm hug.

Urban pulled back against his will. Because he knew that if he didn’t stop himself, he would either end up late or not leave your house at all. “You’ll come pick me up for lunch?” “Yeah hopefully the interview wont take too long, be ready when i get here okay?” “Okay baby, don’t forget your keys” you say to him when he’s halfway out the bedroom door and he sticks out a thumbs up through the door so you know he heard your reminder.

You got up and took a shower and decided to do some cleaning around the house. After you officially had nothing left to do you put on a random tv show. As soon as you opened your instagram you remembered that Kehs album had dropped. You had been so distracted by Urbans love and affection that it had left your mind almost completely.

You nervously went onto spotify searching up the album. Her music was always a good feeling to you, you always associated it with happiness so this new feeling of nervousness didn’t feel good in the slightest. You scrolled through the first songs and went straight to the one she had mentioned to Jack but indirectly at you too a few weeks ago. The title of the song was ‘melt’, you put the tv on mute and played the song.

I can't tell where your hair ends and mine begins

If I ain't have all these tattoos, I would think that it's your skin

If I move too quick past you, I would think it's my reflection

Being this close isn't close enough

You could tell every time we touch, every time we, oh

The first verse was already hard to deal with, you could feel your heartbeat speed up the tiniest bit and your eyes were starting to feel teary. And then came the pre chorus.

Wish I could build me a cute apartment

One-bedroom right where your heart is

Inch of space feels broken-hearted

Across the bed feels way too far and

I wonder when they see just one, do they see us two?

Ooh, oh

The lyrics had felt like a punch to the gut. No matter how much you tried you couldn’t hold back your tears. The longer you listened to the lyrics the harder you began to cry. You loved Kehlani with all your heart. The two years you two were together was the best years of your life, she was the best partner you had ever had in more ways than one. The breakup had been a mutual decision simply because you both wanted different things out of life. It hurt more than you could ever describe to someone.

Hearing her beautiful voice with such sentimental lyrics towards you threw your emotions for a loop. You thought that you had been over the situation and had all your focus on Urban and your new relationship but now you felt like you were wrong. Were you still in love with Keh? Do you really love Urban as much as you say you do? Had you been using him this whole time just to get over Keh?

You were so deep into your thoughts that you hadn’t heard Urban come in. Urb was alarmed when he was met with you crying your eyes out to Kehlani’s new album. He walked over to you lowkey wanting to laugh thinking it was just you being emotional. His smile dropped once you looked up at him. He knew that face…this wasn’t just you being emotional to a sad song.

He had so many questions, but you were so hysterical that he couldn’t even get one out. All he could do was hold you as you sobbed into his shoulder.

You definitely had some explaining to do….

part2

A/N: PLEASE LEAVE A FEEDBACK, if yall would like a part 2 lmk<3

#Spotify #moody4world #moody fics #urban wyatt x reader

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slytherbun · 3 years ago

Text

care and comfort - i. care

pairing: jasper x reader

summary: after things go wrong at the cullen's house during bella's birthday—you step in to defend jasper when he's feeling down.

word count: 2.6k

requested by @princesssterek

tags: @specialagentsoftie @in-my-body-bag @evansandblack @runic-belova @whatafreakingloser

note: i was reading through my requests and thought it would be fun to make these two go together so this is part i to a duet. here is part ii called comfort.

another note: just to remind everyone, i made an oc named hayes to be alice's mate in this. :) also, this is translated by @vanteguccir.

you weren’t sure of the exact moment that it happened. or even how it happened so quickly. the way things escalated and spiraled out of control with an incident like this one was unfortunate. and you wouldn’t have been able to stop it—though you wanted to.

everything just got out of hand.

jasper hasn’t had a bad day like this one since the issues he had when he was changed by that awful maria woman. if she wasn’t dead already you would have ripped her head off from the neck without any remorse present.

you were his lifeline for the long and treacherous healing journey.

he’s been doing well with the animal diet and not drinking any human blood. you constantly held onto jasper’s arms or hands whenever you were in public.

it was just something engraved into your mind and his as well. you only held his arm though as an extra precaution when there was a room full of humans.

a big amount of living and beating hearts in one small area was hard for him to be around but you were always there to help him. never once did you fault him either because the disgusting vampire that turned him had given him such a hard time even till this day.

everything was perfect and going well today—until it wasn’t.

earlier that day, you went with alice to pick out a gift for bella. she was picking up something for her and hayes as well to give to bella. you were doing the same but with jasper and knew the swan girl wasn’t the type to like girly things nor was she picky. knowing this, it was kind of easy to find presents for her.

after a finishing touch of shopping at a few stores, you bought a multi-restaurant gift card so bella could pick from a variety of places to eat. and since you couldn’t wrap the small gift card in with the flannel shirts, you bought a birthday card as well that was signed by you and jasper.

you had jasper sign his name when he insisted on watching you carefully wrap everything up. his infatuation with you still existed after all of these years and you were rarely seen without him attached to your hip.

years after jasper turned, he was still fighting his hunger and just about lost control when he noticed you standing alone on the sidewalk. you were about eighteen and a half now—struggling to find a job.

after you reached the age limit for foster care they just about threw you out of the house. when you had no home to go to and no references it was hard to find a reliable job. so as any struggling semi-homeless teenager, you were bouncing around shifts with the lack of selectional jobs around.

what you really wanted to do was just go out and buy a coat, then lay in a comfortable bed for once in your sad life. the effect from the cold weather was starting to show with the way you were constantly shivering.

“ma’am are you okay?” jasper asked and brushed a strand of hair from his face to get more of a clear view. he knew you weren’t okay though and felt stupid for asking.

your hair was in knots but you kept them laying around the vicinity your neck. a pathetic attempt to help keep warm.

you turned and glanced over at the person who matched the sudden voice. with a shrug of your shoulders and a frown he walked closer towards you. you backed up from feeling afraid and not knowing what to do in this situation since you didn’t know the stranger.

his eyes widened at the realization and he held up his hands, “i’m sorry. i mean no harm but i just want to give you my jacket. is that alright?” after pulling the jacket off from his body, he held it up and in the direction of where you were standing.

“won’t you be cold though?” you asked and coughed from speaking. your voice was hoarse since you weren’t used to talking to anybody besides co-workers here and there. even then, they weren’t very talkative either. only there to do the job, get money and then quickly leave.

jasper frowned and shook his head.

he was always cold.

“no i’m fine. here you go darlin’” he replied and walked to you slowly. the vampire treated the attempt to approach you as if you were a rabbit about to escape the area at any second.

warily, you grabbed it from him and pulled it up and around your arms. “thank you…” you trailed off as if to hint for his name.

“jasper,” when he announced his name you realized how southern the name was and that his accent was attractive.

“it’s nice to meet you, jasper. i’m y/n. you from around here?” you questioned nonchalantly, moving your arms around to gesture at the open area.

“texas?” he chuckled and nodded, “yeah i’m from here. maybe an hour away then where we’re currently at though.” you took in his answer slowly to process and while you were doing that, he looked around for a cafe or restaurant.

when he spotted a promising one he pointed in that direction. “hey, y/n do you want to get something to eat?” you surveyed the place and noticed how expensive it looked. you tried to think of an excuse, already knowing you couldn’t possibly afford it.

he noticed the wheels turning in your head with the pause you gave him though and shook his head, “no. no, i asked. food is on me darlin’”

it seemed a little suspicious and you raised a brow, questioning. “are you sure?”

he nodded with a grin on his lips. “of course, shall we? i’m pretty hungry.” he held out his arm and you chuckled before taking his hand and lacing his fingers through yours. “we shall, handsome.”

part of the reason you believe he kept his hair to his chin till this day was because his love language was touch. jasper wouldn’t admit it but—he liked when your hands were in his hair.

most days jasper found himself enjoying just laying in bed all day with you. while you had your kindle on your lap, somehow he’d maneuver his head over your lap right below where your kindle sat. and your hand would stay in his hair while you flipped the pages on the screen with your other.

in the evening later that day, the presents were sitting on the table a few feet away when bella arrived and you were standing next to your mate with your fingers playing in his blonde curls.

she walked down the stairs with edward and alice, while you and the other cullens walked over.

“sorry about all of this. we tried to rein alice in.” carlisle said and while esme pulled bella in for a hug, she retorted. “as if that were even possible. happy birthday, bella.”

you stood next to jasper when bella told her thanks and alice flashed a camera in front of the swan girl. hayes used that moment to walk over towards alice and stand next to her to try. knowing it was probably not going to happen, he tried to calm her down anyway.

“i...found it in your bag. mind?” alice asked when she noticed bella feeling awkward. while asking her that, she tilted to meet hayes’ kiss that he gave on the cheek.

you turned to jasper with a look and he smirked while letting you go.

trying to save the awkwardness, you pulled bella in for a hug. “i want a picture with her too.” a sincere laugh fell past bella’s lips and she put an arm around the middle of your back.

“thanks y/n/n.” you nodded as if it were no big deal and the camera flashed once more before you pulled away to the side.

emmett couldn’t help himself of course and tried to compliment edward with a fail. “dating an older woman, hot.” jasper chuckled and emmett questioned, “what?” when he noticed edward sigh.

alice interrupted the conversation and nudged the blonde, “you first, rosalie.” she did as told and held out her present to bella with a confession. “it’s a necklace. alice picked it out.”

you frowned at how uninterested she was and jasper pulled you into his chest when he felt you getting upset.

you leaned into his back, watching how bella didn’t take it to heart, which you were thankful for and she said thanks to emmett’s mate with the same monotone used.

“show me the love.” alice smiled and held up the camera towards edward and bella before snapping another picture.

she then walked over to grab another present. “this one’s from emmett.” it must have been empty though because emmett spoke proudly, “already installed it in your truck. finally a decent sound system for that piece of—”

bella was quick to defend her truck which had you grinning. “hey, don’t...don’t hate the truck.” alice laughed and held up another present. “open esme and carlisle’s.”

while she was unwrapping it, carlisle commented. “just a little something to brighten your day.” esme put an arm around carlisle and added onto his statement with a chuckle, “yes, you’ve been looking kind of pale lately.”

bella made a grim face and winced while holding up her finger. “ow, paper cut.” your eyes widened immediately at the sight of blood and tried using your strength to hold jasper back. but it was too late.

edward pushed bella and she landed on one of the dressers. she landed on a bunch of glass that fell on the ground. while that was happening—jasper pulled from your grasp to charge in the direction of the blood. the smell of metallic was everywhere and you screamed.

“jasper!” it was like he didn’t hear you but luckily edward pushed him away. you cringed when jasper landed on the piano but he didn’t seem to care. one second he was behind you again, but then the next, he was already running again.

you could cry watching him try to get to bella. she was just starting to become a good friend too and you knew after all this was done that you’d have to pick up and start your life over again with the other cullen’s.

ultimately after looking back and forth at the two, you walked over to jasper who was being restrained by emmett and hayes as best as they could. you put your hands around his face, pulling him down to look into your eyes.

but it was like he wasn’t there.

once you stroked you mate’s hair back it seemed to register within his mind and he tried looking at you despite the need to satisfy his blood lust. “jas, jas. shh, it’s okay. it’s just a little—”

you paused when the smell was getting worse and tilted your head in the air and paused when you sensed the smell getting worse. and before you could prevent yourself some saying it, you accidentally broadcasted your thoughts to everyone in the room. “—blood.”

carlisle put a hand on your shoulder to steady you and said to the three of you, “get jasper out of here.” that was all you needed to nod to emmett and hayes that you would follow and they left.

you looked towards alice to see if she needed assistance and she seemed to struggle as well. it was confirmed when she said, “i’m sorry, i can’t.” with that, you grabbed her arm and used your speed to get to jasper with her following you as well.

when you reached the others, the two cullen’s had jasper sitting on a kitchen chair and you sighed at the state of him. his head was tilted down and he fisted his hair in frustration.

you felt rosalie, esme, and edward’s presence as well but none of that mattered when you walked up to jasper and crouched down.

with both of your hands splayed on his knees to steady yourself and you rasped, “are you okay, handsome?” jasper shook his head and you stood up to sit in his lap. after adjusting yourself, you put an arm around his shoulders with the other on his cheek.

tilting his head to look at you, his shoulders dropped in exhaustion. “i’m sorry i ruined the party, darlin’” jasper mumbled and after placing both of his hands on your hips, he pulled you closer to him.

“and i’m sorry that bella is even more hurt then she already was.” edward mumbled angrily. you whipped your head quickly in his direction while still sitting on jasper.

running a hand through his hair to keep jasper calm, you spoke with a glare on your face. “what does that mean?”

“bella is with carlisle right now and getting some stitches on her arm because of this mess.” edward gestured with his hand raised towards you and jasper. esme placed a hand on edward’s arm to push it down again with a disappointed face only a mother could use.

“well excuse me edward. you seem to have forgotten you’re the one that pushed bella into the dresser. you could have just stood in front of her and shielded her.” you retorted and jasper placed his hand on your thigh to try and calm you.

your anger was heightening his and the nervousness for the outcome of the situation was spiking again.

“i wouldn’t have to have done anything if you just kept him under control.”

“kept him under control?” you muttered in disbelief before continuing. “jasper has been through so much! so freaking much—between serving for the country and getting manipulated by a devious vampire.”

“do you think he wanted to have an outburst like that? you know and i know, hell, even rose knows that jasper has improved a lot since we moved here. sit down from your high horse before i get up and make you.”

esme pulled edward away before he could respond to your honest take on the situation. she knew that he’d regret it later if he were able to. and everybody followed them knowing that you needed a moment alone with jasper.

they felt bad as the situation was because jasper had been doing better. before he could say anything after they walked away—you pressed a finger to his lips.

you were the type to just let things go. definitely not confronting in any type of situation if you didn’t need to. defending his honor told him so much about you as a person and jasper knew he loved you even more than he already did if it were possible.

“i know it’s hard sometimes but don’t push me away, okay? i’ll always be there for you when things get messy. whatever it is. i don’t care because it’s you and me okay? always.” after you said that in the most serious tone you’ve ever used before, you pulled your finger away from him.

jasper leaned in and brushed his lips against yours in a sweet kiss before leaning back into the chair again.

“i know darlin’. i’m so lucky to have you in my life despite all of my mistakes. i wouldn’t have it any other way then with you in my arms. i’m going to love you forever.” he grinned and you leaned into his chest finally happy and content.

in that very moment you knew you would love him for forever.

1K notes · View notes

duskholland · 4 years ago

Text

No Control || Frat!Tom Smut

summary ↠ tom can’t stop thinking about harrison’s girl, and it’s starting to become a problem. — in love with your best friend’s girl au. warnings ↠ this is fifty shades of morally-ambiguous grey, but I wouldn’t say it’s /too/ out there..?¿ there’s no actual infidelity but because of the au, there are themes of cheating, so avoid this if it’s a touchy subject for you. cw: a lot of alcohol, a ton of jealousy/possessiveness, heavy swearing, ongoing frat/party/bet culture, tom being a bad friend, harrison being a bad boyfriend, y/n being a bad girlfriend, and nsfw content. this contains smut! 18+ minors dni. word count↠ 17.6k. a/n ↠ please don’t do this irl, this is just fantasy !!!! y/n, tom and harrison are all flawed people, so please don’t go into this expecting them to all be perfect !!!! this was almost twenty thousand times more debased and fucked up, but I reeled it in last minute :’) that being said, this was still so much fun to write lmao. I listened to your girlfriend by blossoms + jessie’s girl pretty much on repeat as I wrote this! title is from 1d’s classic banger, which apparently influenced this more than I’d thought. thanks to all the anons who sent in ideas for this the other week!! a lot of them made it into this fic, so if you sent in a concept—thank you so much <3 I messed around with the pov so it flips halfway through! it should be obvious but I’m flagging it so you don’t think I went mad. hasn’t happened yet my lovelies but frat!tom does test me ! :’)) enjoy !!! <3

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended warnings ↠ masturbating (male), oral + fingering (fem receiving), protected mxf sex. possessiveness in the dirty talk. again, there is no infidelity but there is a lot of bad behaviour + boundary pushing <3

✧ *:･ﾟNo Control･ﾟ:*✧

Tom has seen a lot of pretty girls in his life, but tonight, he thinks that he’s seen an angel.

The frat is loud. The crowd is so thick he can barely breeze, and the fog machine has left a deep grey smog smothering the living room. Flashing strobe lights and the deep drums of bass cut through the air, but despite the way Tom’s head hurts, everything irritating fades as he looks across the room and sees a girl. You. You’re standing in the open doorway, leaning against one of the beams, a solo cup in one hand with the other resting on your waist.

He instantly knows that he wants you.

You’re in a red dress, with the flattering material clinging to your waist and shoulders. It draws Tom’s attention, but that’s quick to shift to your face as he watches you laugh at a joke made by one of your friends. He recognises a few of the people that you’re with from one of his lectures, but he’s almost certain he’s never seen you before. He’d definitely remember.

“Bro? What’s up?” Harrison is behind him, Tom’s best mate. They’ve been friends since high school, and when Tom had decided to up sticks and move across the ocean to a college in America, Harrison had followed. He’s good like that. “You’re just staring at the wall. Look like a proper tosser.”

Tom scowls as he drags his eyes away from you, directing all of his most scathing anger at Harrison. The blond is smirking. Perched on top of his head is a black SnapBack, printed with the frat’s logo. It matches the one that Tom’s wearing, just Tom has it pulled on backwards. He’s the only member of the frat that wears it like that, and it’s become an unofficial declaration of his status.

For the last year, Tom has held the revered position of president of the frat. It’s a lot harder than he’d thought it’d be, but it comes with perks. Several perks.

“I’m looking,” Tom replies, crossing his arms.

“At what?”

Discreetly, Tom brings his cup to his lips and uses his index finger to sneakily point across the room. He leads Harrison to you.

“That girl,” he says slowly. “Do you know who she is? Who invited her?”

Tom prides himself on knowing most people on campus—or, at least, anyone he needs to know. Anyone involved in Greek life or the party scene at his college has a face burned to his memory, and he prides himself on recognising matching names too. A lot of power comes with being able to immediately recognise someone. It makes him likeable, and he feels good knowing that someone feels appreciated by him.

“Dunno,” Haz mutters. He squints his eyes as he looks at you too. “She’s with Tyra. Maybe they’re friends?”

Tom scoffs. “Well, I’d guess that, yeah.”

“Are you going to do anything, or continue to stare like a creep?”

After taking a final swig of his drink, Tom pushes the empty plastic cup into Harrison’s hands. His mate thumps him on the back.

“I’ll be back,” he mutters. Then Tom pauses and throws out an easy smile. “Or not. Depends.”

Harrison rolls his eyes. “Go on.”

“See ya, mate.”

As Tom walks across the crowded room, he tries to hold himself a little straighter. He’s dressed simply tonight, in an all-black combination of t-shirt and jeans, but the gold chain he has around his neck adds a little depth. Around his wrist is his watch, and it glints as Tom reaches up to briefly whip off his hat and tousle his hair. His eyes are fixed firmly on you, and he finds himself grinning when you see him.

You’re even more radiant up close. Your eyes are a beautiful shade, and they fill with curiosity as you look Tom up and down. An expression of intrigue passes over your features as you mutter something to a friend and push away from the doorframe, being pulled to Tom as if by an unseen gravitational force.

“Hi, darling,” Tom leads with, keeping his voice cool. When you step closer, he meets you, easily and lightly pressing his hands to your waist as he kisses your cheek. “I’m Tom.”

You give him a wry smile. “I know who you are,” you reply. Your eyes are fluttering all over his face, and your hips feel soft beneath his hands. “Y/N.”

Tom likes how your voice sounds.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he responds easily. He crosses his arms, angling them in a way that makes his muscles bulge. “I’ve not seen you around here before.”

There’s a shyness to your gaze that makes Tom smile wider, and he watches as you fiddle with your hair and tentatively meet his gaze.

“Do you know everyone that comes to your parties, Tom?”

“Yeah.” Tom slips his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Or, at least, I try to. I know I’d definitely remember someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” You’re speaking louder now, emboldened by how fully Tom’s giving you his attention. All around you, there are people looking, people whispering. Everywhere Tom goes, he garners attention.

Tom offers you an easy smile, tilting his head to the side as he nods. Sometimes he likes to play it cool and keep his cards close to his chest, but he doesn’t think you’d like that. He doesn’t think the chase is necessary. You’re looking at him with round, inquisitive eyes, and your gaze keeps circling back to his mouth.

“You’re stunning, love,” he says. “Do you want to dance with me?”

You reach out and take his hand, and Tom feels a jolt of warmth trail up his spine. It confuses him. He’s pursued a lot of girls in his life, and he’s felt attraction plenty of times before, but he’s never had his heart ache quite like that from just one touch. As you run your thumb over the back of his hand, you look up at him from beneath your lashes.

“A dance? With the president of the frat?” you tease. As Tom chuckles, you smile cheekily. “I dunno. What can you give me in return, if I give you what you want?”

“Oh, a businesswoman,” he teases. “I see how it is.”

You smirk. “Business major,” you supply.

Tom arches his brows. “I’m a business major.”

“I know. We’re in the same class.”

For a few minutes, you slip into conversation about your course. Tom learns that you share the same 9am every Monday morning—a class that he only managed to make it to the first week of term. You don’t linger on the topic of academics for too long, though. It doesn’t take much before Tom’s got you in the back corner of the room where it’s quieter, listening to you reel off your first impressions of the frat. You keep your hands on his shoulders, slowly but purposefully rolling your fingers over his shirt, keeping him on his feet as he catches a whiff of your peach perfume every time you move closer.

He almost gets his dance, but then there’s a tap on his shoulder, and it’s one of his brothers, whispering about an incident on the patio involving a table and the pool. Tom grimaces and reluctantly casts his eyes back to you.

“I need to go and sort this out,” he mutters, frustrated. You shrug, biting your lip as you rock back on your heels. “Will I see you later?”

“I don’t know. Will you?”

Tom smiles. “I will,” he promises. Wanting to give a lasting impression, he easily swoops his hand up to cup your cheek. When he receives a nod of approval, he leans in and deposits a lingering kiss to your forehead, inhaling a deep breath of your shampoo and feeling the tip of his nose tingle in response. You cling to his arms a little tighter, and when Tom goes to pull away, he isn’t able to until you’ve kissed his cheek.

“Have fun,” you say, stepping back.

“Thanks, darling.” Tom gives you a final look, his insides debating whether or not he really needs to go deal with the issue. When there’s a loud shout from out on the patio, he sighs. “Take care.”

Even when he’s out on the terrace, you stay on Tom’s mind. As he oversees two of the guys pulling the table out of the pool, he replays his interaction, mind swirling over your face, your figure, your voice. He finds himself scratching at his chin, not entirely present. After a while, he ends up back in the house, huddled with a group of the guys, and it isn’t until someone pushes Harrison forward that Tom truly comes back into the room.

“How long has it been, man?” Jacob, one of the guys, and one of Tom’s American friends, is grinning at Harrison. The man is standing in the middle of the group, bashful cheeks a light pink.

“Eh… a couple weeks,” Harrison supplies.

“Bullshit,” Tom adds, chuckling when Harrison flips him off. “Haz hasn’t got laid in months.”

“Fuck off,” Harrison mutters. “Not all of us are as...promiscuous as you, Tom.”

Tom shrugs. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

Harrison pauses, stroking his chin. “Dunno,” he finally decides.

Tom rolls his eyes. “We’ll wingman you,” he decides. He looks around at a few of the other guys and doesn’t stop until they’re all nodding and making similar sounds of agreement. “Anyone you like the look of tonight?”

Haz hesitates but eventually shakes his head. “Nah. Haven’t seen who’s around.”

“Alright.” Tom presses his palms together, an idea forming. “Next girl that walks into the room, we’ll set you up with.”

Harrison hesitates. “But what if she’s taken?”

Jacob steps forward, smirking. “The next single girl who walks into this room,” he clarifies. He holds out a hand and raises a brow. “Bet?”

Harrison looks down at Jacob’s hand. A bet, like the one he’s referring to, may as well be as binding as a contract. There’s no going back. He looks to Tom, a little nervous, but the fear vanishes when Tom nods.

“Alright.” Harrison does the frat handshake, and the guys around them all holler. Tom makes his own loud sound of support, grinning widely. “We’ll do it.”

They have to wait for a while. The first few girls that walk in are all accompanied by partners. Tom’s starting to get tetchy and he knows Harrison is too, but as soon as that thought crosses his mind, the universe decides to throw a curveball right into his face.

You walk in.

“Oh, shit,” Jacob says. He elbows Harrison. “There you go.”

Harrison immediately looks at Tom. “Uh… Isn’t she…?”

Tom sucks in a hard breath, the sound sticking behind his teeth. “Yep.” He looks at Harrison, who’s looking particularly deflated.

For a moment, Tom thinks about Haz and everything that he’s done to support him. Harrison flew across oceans to stay with Tom, moved into the frat with him, operates as his right-hand man. He’s his golf buddy, his gym partner, his best mate. For Haz to go back on such a public bet would be the same as resigning himself to social humiliation, and Tom would be a terrible friend for making him do that. Tom can give him this.

Right?

“I don’t need to—”

“Nah.” Tom decides to step up. “It’s a bet. It’s fine.”

Harrison grimaces. “Are you sure?”

Tom feels like a petulant child. Now he’s agreed to it, he feels his stomach rebelling. You find yourself at the centre of his attention again as he looks back over, instantly regretting it as the action connects your eyes with his. His breathing catches as your lips pull into an eager smile.

But Tom pushes through it. He looks away and stares at the floor as he nods, strengthening his attitude as he reaches out to smack Harrison on the back.

“Yep. Go for it.”

“Thanks, bro.”

He can barely watch as his guys approach you, and Tom decides to stay back in the corner of the room. It’s clear that you’re confused at first, but through quick discreet glances, Tom watches as you start to talk with Harrison. When Tom gets approached by another girl, you start to speak with Haz more freely, and he assumes that you’ve forgotten all about your conversation from earlier. When Jacob and the others split off, leaving you and Harrison alone in the back corner, Tom has to leave the room.

For a while, Tom drinks. He does a couple of shots out on the patio and chats with a few girls, and eventually, he’s pulled back inside the house. He ends up in the large living room, where the main party is happening, and it seems that you and Harrison have taken it to the next level in his absence.

Tom’s lips curve into a scowl as he looks across the room and sees you, wrapped up in Harrison. The blond’s hands roam all over you, moving from your cheeks, shifting back into your hair before curving down your figure. Tom can barely keep watching as Harrison’s palms curl around your waist and go down to squeeze your ass, and he swears he can almost hear the breathless moan you deposit into the air in response.

He looks away when Harrison starts to nibble at your neck and you toss your head back in pleasure, but Tom can’t stop himself from stealing quick glances every few seconds. In the pit of his stomach lies a terrible beast, acidic and possessive, clawing at his heart. There’s a tenseness to his jaw that he can’t quite shake, even when Tom tosses the remnants of the shit beer down his throat. There are easily a hundred people in the room with him, but he doesn’t care about a single one of them. The only one he cares about is you.

After a few moments of his eyes dissecting the contours of your face, Tom feels someone wrap their arms around his waist. He stiffens, turning his head and looking around until he finds himself staring at the face of a girl from his accounting course. She’s pretty, wearing silver eyeshadow, and Tom thinks that her name is Sasha.

“Hey, Tommy,” she greets. Her perfume smells overpowering and it makes Tom grimace. “Wanna dance with me?”

Tom looks back across the room, his stomach turning as he sees Harrison has pulled you down onto a sofa with him. As you straddle his lips and continue to kiss him, his blood runs hot.

“Fuck yeah, darling,” he mutters. Tom reaches out and wraps an arm around the girl, pulling her closer and letting his eyes fall shut as her lips find their way to his neck. “Let’s dance.”

He doesn’t need you. He barely fucking knows you. Tom has met a thousand girls, and it feels as though he’s kissed as many. The only things he knows about you are inconsequential—who cares if you smell like peaches and wear a glossy lip balm? Who gives a fuck that your voice sounds like a pretty wind-chime. Not Tom, that’s for sure. Tom’s got another girl kissing him and tugging on his hair. He doesn’t need you.

So why can’t he stop thinking about you?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The pillow that Tom has wedged over his head makes his ears ache and does nothing to obscure the sounds drifting into his room, so after a few moments of failed silence, he throws it aside. A loud huff passes by his lips.

It’s been a month since the party, and every Sunday morning since, without fail, he’s been woken by the sounds of your moans. Harrison’s room is right next door, and though he’d always complained to Tom that the walls are thin, Tom had never been the one on the receiving end like this. It’s always been Tom having lazy post-party sex with a random girl, or Tom taking a girl into the shower room and locking out his brothers all morning. Now it’s Harrison, making noise with you, and suddenly it’s not just the fact that he’s not had sex in four weeks that’s getting on his nerves.

Your moans are loud as they catch in the back of your throat, and they make Tom hard. He grumbles as he reaches down, hands dipping beneath the covers as he pushes a palm beneath his boxers. A softened groan passes past his lips as he pulls out his cock, pausing only to bring his hand back to his lips and spit on it before he starts to jerk off.

Tom had gotten over the guilt of getting off to you without your knowledge two weeks ago. For all he knows, you know that he can hear you, and you’re being so loud for him. He’s learnt that you’re cheeky like that, and the thought makes Tom tug his cock a little harder. Harrison’s bed is squeaky, and he can only imagine that you’re riding him. Tom bites back a moan as he imagines how pretty you must look on top.

He’s spent more time with you now, since that party, and it hasn’t helped his predicament at all. Every time he runs into you, you seem to grow hotter, and his attraction for you only burns brighter when he sees Haz grab your hand or kiss your lips. What had started as a bet for one night together has escalated, and now you’re both dating. Tom doesn’t think that he’s a bad person, nor would he ever say he’s a bad friend, but you’ve become his forbidden fruit.

Maybe it’s the fact that he can’t have you that makes Tom so incensed. He’s never been denied like this—been blocked so unscrupulously and irritatingly. Whilst you aren’t official with Harrison, Tom knows that his mate likes you. Hell, he can hear how much he likes you, right now, as Haz’s bed continues to squeak and your moans rise in volume.

Tom thinks he could get you to moan louder.

It takes an embarrassing two-minute window before Tom’s biting back a yell of your name, cumming in sync with a set of particularly loud whines that you emit next-door. He falls back onto the mattress, his clean hand going up to card through his curls as he tries to catch his breath. For a few moments, he lays there, scowling up at the ceiling as he tries to bathe in the afterglow of release, but it goes crashing down again when he hears your light giggles followed by Harrison’s deep guffaws.

Tom practically storms out of bed, wiping at his hand with some tissues before he stamps into a pair of grey joggers and leaves his room, slamming the door loudly in his wake. He hopes the sound scares Harrison so much he falls off his fucking bed.

The bad mood continues, even after Tom’s leapt through the shower and scrubbed at his ears. He ends up in the frat’s kitchen, the wide space still partially littered with solo cups and discarded bags of crisps from the party the night before. There are a few junior members of the frat hobbling around with black bin bags, looking pale and peaky. When they see Tom, they try and pretend they’re not hungover, and their act of skittish admiration is enough to make him feel a little better.

He’s just starting to assemble a protein shake when the air in the kitchen changes. Tom finds his eyes drifting towards the door, just in time to watch you walk in. The sun seems to follow you as you stroll into the kitchen, one hand at your side as the other plays with the tips of your hair, a relaxed smile on your face. As you look around the room and take stock of the several fratboys sitting on random pieces of furniture, your smile draws shyer, and Tom watches you glance down at your feet as you hurry towards the counters to where he is. You catch his eye, a blinding smile unfurling across your lips as you raise a hand in greeting.

As you sweep close, Tom blinks himself out of his stupor. He swallows down the lump in his throat as he steps forward to kiss your cheek, his hands falling onto your shoulders. When you step away, he takes in your outfit. Your legs are mostly bare, but you’re in a pair of shorts with an oversized grey t-shirt slouched on top of you. Tom’s eager eyes dip down, caressing your chest until they find the pointed tips of your nipples, straining against the fabric.

He clears his throat as he feels his cock prick to life.

“Morning, darling,” he manages, immediately turning around and facing the counter. He uses the smoothie as a pretence, but really he doesn’t want you to see the building bulge between his legs.

You seem to be oblivious, and Tom sucks in a breath as you step close. You place your chin on his shoulder and peer over it, comfortably leaning into him, and he swears he can feel your tits brushing up against his bare spine.

“Morning, Tom,” you greet, voice raspy and pure. “How’s your hangover?”

Tom chuckles, focusing very intently on ignoring the way your minty breath fans out across his cheek. You’ve got your arms wrapped loosely around him, hugging him easily and comfortably. He’d never complain that you’re at ease around him, but it doesn’t help his boner.

“Fine,” he responds, playing it cool. “I’m a pro at this, darling. Can’t remember the last time I had a hangover.”

You snort, and despite the loud volume, Tom thinks it’s a beautiful sound.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” you murmur, voice vibrating straight into his ear. “I feel like I’m going to die. Head’s killing me.”

Tom coos. He spends a moment violently mixing some green protein powder into the rest of his smoothie, then reaches up and rummages through a cupboard. When he procures a packet of painkillers, you release a deep sound of relief and finally step back.

“There you go, love,” he mutters. He makes sure to brush your hand with his as he passes it to you, smirking slightly when you jump. A lot of the time, Tom thinks his attraction to you is one-sided, but then something like this happens and casts doubt on that assessment. Neither of you has mentioned the night that you met, and sometimes he wonders if he should bring it up.

Tired and slightly delirious, Tom decides to test the waters. Just for fun, because he can, and because he likes the thought of making you flustered. He knows that his reputation precedes him and that you probably buy into the idea that he’s a flirt as much as everyone else does. If you respond badly, he’ll just blame it on his naturally charming disposition, and if Haz takes issue with it, well… Tom will just bring up the many red marks on his ledger.

“Thanks, Tom,” you say. He watches you rummage through a cupboard and pull out a glass, and his eyes follow your legs as you lean over the sink to get water and the hem of the shirt rides up.

“You know you’re fucking stunning, yeah?” Tom says before he can second-guess his plan.

You freeze, the waterline in your glass threatening to spill as you try to process his words. When you look back, there’s an expression of curious bewilderment on your face.

“What?”

Tom, his boner finally soft again, turns around to face you properly. He brings his arms over his chest, smirking wider as he watches you look at the curves of his biceps. He’s shirtless, and he knows the hours he’s spent in the yard doing weights with Haz shows in the firm definition of his abs and pecs. You seem to enjoy looking at him.

“You look hot.” Tom watches your face very carefully, not wanting to cross too many lines. “I bet Harrison told you that though, this morning.”

Something shifts on your face, and you bite your lip. “Well…”

“Well?”

“Harrison doesn’t say much in the mornings. Or, well, ever.” You pause, a deep line carving between your troubled brows. “He isn’t very vocal.”

Tom hums, stepping a little closer. “Harrison is good at a lot of things, but he has certain shortcomings.”

You lick your lower lip, and Tom’s gaze lingers on the glistening trail of your saliva.

“Like what?”

Tom makes a non-committal noise and pauses to take a sip of his smoothie.

“Well, you know. He’s very intense. He doesn’t always see what’s right in front of him.”

You raise an amused eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be friends?”

“We are. He’s my best mate. But that doesn’t mean I can’t criticise him for acting carelessly.” Tom drops his voice, letting you see the way he checks you out. “I just think that he doesn’t appreciate how lucky he is sometimes.”

You turn away, breaking eye contact as you take your pills. As you hum a soft tune, you pick up the kettle and fill it up, only looking back to Tom when it’s been plugged in and starting to boil.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” you reply, voice curious. You step closer until you’re standing in front of Tom, your eyes again going to his bare chest. “What does Harrison have that you don’t think he appreciates enough?” The suggestive look in your eyes matches the seductive inflexion in your voice, and Tom feels a shiver pass down his spine.

He plays it off coolly, shrugging slightly. “I’m just saying, darling, that if I had the honour of waking up beside someone as beautiful as you, I wouldn’t let you out of my sights all morning.” Tom reaches out slowly, gently letting his fingers bridge the gap between you as he toys with the hem of your shirt. You move closer, subtly encouraging him to continue, so Tom lets his hands shift up to hold your waist, feeling your curious eyes on him the whole time. “What was he thinking, eh? Letting such a lovely lady leave his bed. Crazy.”

You chuckle, a bashful smile on your face as you gnaw your lower lip. “Well, he wanted tea.”

Tom hums. “And I think that that’s bullshit.” He pauses suddenly, eyebrows raising as he finally looks away from your face and finds his gaze sticking on an emblem branded to your big t-shirt. A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest. Of fucking course. “You know what this is, love?” he asks, tugging at your shirt. When you shake your head, he grins. “Boyfriend material.”

Your reaction is immediate: soft frown, arched brows, confused stare.

“Harrison is not my boyfriend,” you say.

Tom clicks his tongue. “Never said he was.” He rolls his hands up your sides, gently caressing your warm figure. Though he wants to run his palms higher to your chest, he stops himself. “This is my shirt, babe. Laundry gets them mixed up all the time, but it’s mine.”

Your lips part and you look between Tom and your shirt with horror in your eyes. “Oh, fuck,” you murmur. Immediately, your hands fly down to the hem. “Do you want me to take it off?”

He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “As much as I’m sure I’d like that, there are too many other people in here.” He feels jealous again just thinking about it.

You nod, pausing the movement after a second as your eyes narrow. “Wait, how do you even know? It’s just a plain t-shirt?”

“What, you think I’m making this up?” Tom’s smirking again, and it widens as you fluster. “‘S alright, love.” He reaches up and points at the emblem which marks an event from rush week last year. “Logo,” he states. “And… I think you’ll find if we take a look at the label on the back, it’s got my name on it.”

You let him manhandle you, melting back into his hold as Tom stands forward and turns you around. He brushes your hair out of the way and reaches up, gracing his fingers over your spine as he delicately pulls out the back label. You won’t be able to see it, but it fills him with smugness to see his initials stained stark against the label: TSH.

“Well… I’m sorry, anyway.” Your voice is hoarse, light and feathery as if you’re holding your breath. Tom lets his hand rest on your shoulder after he’s tucked the label back. He’d move away, but you’re leaning into him completely, your hands grasping at the palm that he has curled around your stomach. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Tom leans down, and in a bold move, very gently kisses the base of your neck. Your skin is soft and warm beneath his lips, and the breathless gasp you release is just as sweet.

“It’s okay,” he rumbles. He pauses, eyes fluttering shut as he inhales your peachy scent. “Feel free to use it any time you’d like.”

Not wanting to push too hard, Tom leaves a final, wetter kiss to the bottom of your neck before moving back, unwrapping his arm from around your waist and repositioning his hands back on the counter. He leans against the wooden cabinets, wondering if you’d been able to feel his hard-on that’d peskily bounced back when he’d heard your whimper.

If you feel anything, you don’t say anything. In fact, you’re quiet as you step to the side and pour out the boiled water into two mugs. “Thanks,” you say, speaking through the steam. You glance back to Tom, and he swears your eyes are darker. “It’s soft.”

Tom sips his smoothie, eyeing you over the brim as you poke at a tea bag with a metal teaspoon.

“Fabric softener,” he says, nodding slightly. His brain is running slow, still caught up on how nice it’d felt to kiss your neck. “It suits you.”

You throw him another shy smile. “How does Haz take his tea again? No sugar, yeah?”

Tom bites his lip. “Wrong,” he lies. “Haz likes three sugars. Don’t be afraid to put in a little more, though.”

You eye him sceptically. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“He is my best friend, love,” Tom says. He hides his mischievous grin behind his smoothie, and he watches you roll your eyes. “Listen, if he’s got a problem with it, he can take it up with me or he can come and make his own cup of sodding tea. Lazy bastard.”

You snort, and Tom feels his stomach turn as he watches you spoon three teaspoons into Haz’s mug.

“Well, I’ll let you know what he says,” you mutter. Finally, you pick up the mugs in your hands and walk forward, pausing in front of Tom. Your eyes skim his figure again, briefly zeroing in on his chest before caressing the fine lines of his lips. “Thanks for keeping me company. This was fun.”

Tom nods and steps forward to kiss your cheek. He hopes you can feel how desperately he wants to press his lips to yours.

“Any time, darling,” he assures. “If you ever need anything, you know where I am, yeah?” He lets his teeth brush your earlobe as he pulls back slowly, smiling to himself when he sees you shiver.

“Yeah,” you murmur. You swallow deeply, and your eyes hold his gaze for one moment longer before you tear them away. “Have a nice morning, Tom.”

Tom watches you walk across the kitchen, almost stumbling when you get distracted trying to look over your shoulder back at him. He smirks, raising a few fingers in a lazy wave.

“See ya!” he calls back.

His blood doesn’t stop pumping until you’re all the way out of sight, and even after that, he knows the only way he’ll be able to properly shake you is by attending to his hard-on. Again.

You’re like a shadow that won’t stop chasing him.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The party is in full swing, and Tom feels like a king.

There are several benefits to parading the title of president of the frat. Tom gets the largest room in the house, along with an ensuite. He’s able to prioritise himself on the gym schedule and the cleaning rota. Every party, he’s looked up to, treated like royalty, his every wish and command carried out by his brothers. If he doesn’t like a song, it’s changed. All it takes is one arched brow in the direction of a partygoer, and they’re ejected from the house. The beer is his favourite make, and everyone loves him.

Tom has the whole world in his hands, which is why it’s incredibly infuriating that his kingdom tonight isn’t ordered how he’d like it.

It’s two months into the semester, and the buzz that’d characterised earlier parties has faded. Finals are coming up soon, so maybe that’s why Tom feels unsettled. Or, maybe it’s the fact that the music isn’t hitting quite as well as usual. It could be that he hasn’t tied his shoes as tightly as he normally does, or maybe that the vibe within the house is just...off.

But Tom knows exactly what the problem is if he brings himself to think about it. He’s tried drowning his ugly feelings in cheap beer, but there’s no denying it: his mood had taken a significant plummet when he’d glanced across the room and seen Harrison with his hands all over you, your lips locked together. The shard of jealousy that had lodged itself in the warm precipice of his heart is unshakeable, and there’s a horrible bitter taste on his tongue.

Tom is so fucking jealous that he’s about two seconds away from pointing at the couple and getting someone to kick you out.

“Bro. Bro. The fuck is wrong with you, man?”

It’s probably a good thing that Tom’s been interrupted, as he’s fairly sure there’s enough poison in his gaze to burn off a large patch of Harrison’s hair. He shakes a grimace over his lips as he looks to the side, eyes falling to his friend, Jacob. Jacob’s in a loose Hawaiian shirt, the red and white pattern glowing under the luminescence of the UV lights.

“What?” Tom says, playing it cool. He takes another drink, shuddering slightly as he lets the alcohol ease him.

“You look like you want to beat someone up.” Jacob squints, trying to look in the direction that Tom knows he’d been staring in. “I only see Haz. Are you guys, like… Good?”

Tom releases a short bark. “‘Course, man,” he says, voice lifting lighter. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Jacob scoffs. It’s loud in the crowded living room, but Tom can feel the undertones. “Uh, we all know about the bet. We all also know that you’d had your eyes on Y/N before Haz pulled her.” He pauses, wiggling his brows until Tom punches his arm and scowls. “I’m just sayin’... Seems like you have some unresolved shit going on.”

Tom doesn’t deem him with a response, not knowing where to start with that. It’s Saturday night. The last thing he wants to do is talk about this. He already drives himself mad every other day of the week as he ponders this particular puzzle.

“We need to get the energy up,” Tom mutters. He spins around, beckoning over a few of his friends with his hands. Someone gives him a shot, and he downs it before looking back at Jacob. “We’ll do a game or something. Get people. We’ll do it on the patio.”

Ten minutes later, there’s an assembly of partygoers on the terrace at the back of the house. It’s a mix of sorority girls, jocks, and fratbros, but Tom doesn’t pay them much attention as he claims his spot on a rickety canvas camping chair and sits back. He lets Jacob take the lead, doing another two shots when he sees you and Haz join the circle.

You’re in a black dress tonight, the material skimming just above your knees. As you walk out onto the patio, the midnight breeze swishes the hem up a little, and Tom watches as you giggle and drop Haz’s hand to smooth it down. Harrison presses an easy kiss to your cheek, and the smile on your face builds. It freezes when you spot Tom, your eyes darkening as your teeth dig into the pink flesh of your lower lip. Tom raises a brow, watching you stand a little straighter as your gaze runs over his form, lingering on the golden chain he’d pulled on earlier.

The spell breaks when Harrison sits on a chair and tugs you down with him, an expression of irritation briefly souring your angelic face before you smooth it back. Tom doesn’t look away until Jacob starts to speak.

“Spin the bottle,” Jacob announces, looking around at each person. There are a few groans, but they’re drowned out by the cheers. Tom just rolls his eyes, sitting back and briefly surveying the circle. He’s pretty sure he’s pulled at least five of the girls already, and the rest of them seem fine, too. Obviously, there’s only one person he’d want the spin to land on, but he’s already accepted that the universe isn’t on his side when it comes to you.

A few rounds pass. Tom isn’t really paying attention until the neck of the bottle lands on him and he has to kiss a girl from his psychology class. It’s a quick kiss, and her lip gloss makes his mouth tingle, but Tom only realises how hammered he is when he has to sit up from his chair and lean over to spin the bottle.

Tom looks around the circle as his fingers ponder the glass, grasping the attention of the group like he’s holding court. He looks at you and finds you looking at him, your lower lip held between your teeth as Harrison rubs your arm. Haz has you in his lap, your legs thrown across his thighs as you sit on him sideways. Harrison’s blond curls rest up against the side of your face, and Tom has to look away as he grimaces.

The bottle spins. It clatters quickly over the paving stone, hurtling with an angry force that Tom hadn’t entirely intended to use. He holds his breath, his eyes widening as it stops. Pointing at you.

“Looks like that’s Y/N,” Jacob announces.

Tom sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at Harrison. His mate’s eyes have lost their charm, a deep frown settled on his face. Tom thinks he looks exactly like the tough-faced models from Vogue with that mardy scowl on his face. He raises a brow, as if to say, up to you, and watches as you turn in Harrison’s lap and whisper something into his ear.

A moment passes, and Tom’s surprised when Haz nods and pushes you up from his lap. He meets Tom’s eyes, giving him another smaller nod, and Tom sits back, pleasantly resigned to the fact that Harrison isn’t going to ruin the game.

“Hi,” you greet as you approach him, smiling.

Tom reaches out, offering you his hands as you finish treading over the collection of limbs and shoes that crowd the patio. Your fingers are so soft in his.

“Hi, darling,” he responds. Tom feels hot, everywhere, and he hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “You look stunning,” he adds, voice quieter.

“Thanks.”

You hesitate, eyeing him up and down as if trying to assess the best way to kiss him. The girl he’d just kissed had bent over to press her lips to his, and as Tom remembers this, he drops one of your hands and reaches up and wipes his mouth again, trying to eradicate all traces of her lips. When he’s achieved this, he tentatively reaches up and presses the palm to your waist. Respectfully, of course. There are a lot of people watching.

You seem to be less reluctant to indulge, and Tom feels his eyes widen as you step forward and sink into his lap, your knees bending as you press your shins into the canvas of the camping chair on either side of Tom’s thighs. Suddenly your face is hanging in front of his, warm breath coming out over his face, and Tom has just enough time to wonder why your breath smells of pineapples before you’re leaning in.

He kisses you, and for a few seconds, he’s frozen. Everything that he’s learnt at the frat and over the course of his college life goes flying out the window, and he’s left feeling like a kid again. The background noise filters out, and all he can focus on is the weight of your body pressing into his legs and the feeling of your lips, soft and silky, moving over his. When you reach up to weave a hand into his hair, he comes back around, the roar of the party filling his ears as an adrenaline rush floods his chest.

Tom knows this will probably be his only chance to kiss you, so he leaves nothing behind. He brings both hands to your waist, urging you closer as he recovers his charm and kisses you properly. His tongue works into your open mouth, pressing against you and exploring the sweet space of your lips as you moan into him. He feels your fingers drift down, one of your hands staying bedded in his curls as the other plays with his chain. Never before has Tom felt so consumed by a kiss, and if the circumstances were different, he wouldn’t hesitate to reach around and grab handfuls of your skin, wouldn’t hold back his kisses, or his moans, or his coos of praising endearment. He’d give you everything.

When you pull back, your nose brushes up against his, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world.

“How was that?” you ask, voice quiet. There’s a shyness to your disposition, a nervousness as you meet his eyes.

Tom reaches up, holding your cheek and brushing his thumb across your chin. He tidies up your smudged lipstick as he squeezes your waist.

“Perfect,” he replies, voice low. He can feel Harrison staring at him, but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re… You’re incredible, darling.”

You sit a little taller, looking proud of yourself. “Well, now I understand what all the hype is about,” you mutter. “You’re a good kisser. A really good kisser.” You pause as a shiver works its way down your spine, and Tom glances at your bare arms.

“Here,” he mutters. When you stand from his lap, he’s glad his jeans have some wiggle room so his raging boner is less obvious. Tom’s quick to shrug off his jacket, and he passes it up to you without a second thought. “Don’t freeze,” he says, wagging a finger at you.

“Tom, I couldn’t—”

“Yeah, you can.”

You bite your lip. “Won’t you be cold?”

Tom just flexes his biceps, smirking again as he sees you checking out his muscles. “Got these bad boys to keep me warm,” he teases, pointing at his guns. He softens, just for a moment. “It’s fine. Said you could always use my stuff, didn’t I?”

You look flustered, opening and then immediately closing your mouth before turning around and making your way back over to Harrison. Tom sits back in his chair, trying halfheartedly to suppress the smirk that continues to hold his lips as he admires how nice his jacket looks draped loosely across your shoulders. You always wear his clothes so well.

Tom looks at Jacob, who shakes his head in response. Then he looks at Harrison, and he can’t stop himself from laughing. Harrison’s a shade of salmon pink, and it only softens out a little bit when you settle back into his lap and kiss his cheek. Tom watches Harrison flip him off then pull you closer and kiss you harshly, and messily. You don’t seem as into it as you’d been with Tom, he realises. You’re holding back, grimacing slightly as Harrison pulls back a triumphant moment later.

The game concludes a while later, but Tom stays out on the patio, feeling dizzier by the second. The camping chair is comfortable, and the chill in the air helps him feel soberer. Whilst Tom doesn’t regret the multiple cups of beer and several shots, he does consider that he might’ve gone a little too far in his efforts to forget about you.

You’re gone, now. Out of sight, back in the party. Tom’s making light conversation with a few of the guys still left in the circle, but they clear out when a shadowy presence falls across the patio. It doesn’t take long for Tom to realise it’s Harrison, and he tries his best to sit up straight and look less smug as Harrison drags a chair over and places it opposite Tom.

Harrison stares at him, hard. He’s in a matching snapback and a loose white t-shirt, his ring glinting as he crosses his fingers and examines Tom’s face.

“So…” Tom starts, disliking how charged the air is. “Y’alright, Haz?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tom,” Harrison says instead. When Tom pulls a face, he sharpens his gaze. “What’s wrong with you?”

Tom chuckles. He’s feeling drunk and annoying. “Well, that’s a bit of an unspecific question, Harrison. There are many things that you might say are wrong with me—”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Harrison breaks off, sighing loudly as he flops back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. He looks smaller, nervous. “Do you have a thing for my girl?”

Instinctively, Tom shakes his head. “Y/N?” he says dumbly. When Harrison nods, Tom hums. “Is she your girl?”

Harrison flounders for a moment. “I mean… Technically no, but we’ve been hooking up for two months.” He pauses, grimacing. “Look, mate. I know I fucked it when we met her. I knew you wanted her, and I still took on the bet. But I really fucking like her now, and… And…”

“And?”

“If you decide that you want her, you’ll get her. You always do.” Harrison grumbles as he crosses his arms. “Can I not have one thing? Just one.”

“You do know that Y/N is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, yeah?” Tom says, only slurring slightly.

“Oh, yeah. Of course, of course.” Harrison’s bobbing his head almost comically. “But still… Do you know what I mean?”

Tom closes his eyes for a few moments, the patio spinning. He speaks through gritted teeth. “Haz, I love you, man. You know what I’m like. I’m a flirt.” He cracks open an eye and gives Harrison a dopey smile, and the next words he speaks are the truth. “I wouldn’t seriously try to steal your girl, alright? I wouldn’t sleep with her if you guys have a thing. We were just playing the game.”

Harrison releases a deep breath. “Thanks, man, I—”

“Wait.” Tom feels bolder. “You do need to tell her, though.”

“Tell her what?”

Tom narrows his eyes. “You know what,” he says, speaking to a very sheepish-looking Harrison. “She’d want to know that your relationship is built from a bet. If you… If you seriously think that you’re g’nna have a fucking relationship with her, she needs honesty.” Just the thought of you and Harrison going official makes him feel sick.

“No way.” Harrison’s curls go flying as he shakes his head. “Fuck that. Are you mad? She’d break it off.”

Tom grimaces and looks away from Harrison. “I’m just saying,” he mutters. “You shouldn’t lie to the people you care about.”

It’s rich coming from him, but Tom knows that nothing he’s said has been a lie. He won’t sleep with you if you’re still with Haz. Maybe he’d try to break you both up, but he wouldn’t purposefully sleep with someone in a relationship. Logistically, he doesn’t think he’d be able to, even if he wanted to, because despite the tantalising banter he’s able to carry out with you, you’re a good person. You’d never cheat on Harrison.

“Yeah.” Harrison looks guilty now. “I guess.” His eyes shift away from Tom, falling to someone else. Tom startles when he feels two hands come down to rest on his shoulders, and glances down, only relaxing when he recognises the silver rings curled around your fingers.

As if a deity, you’ve appeared, just when Tom was thinking about you. He wonders if it’ll always work like this.

“Hi,” you greet, looking first to Harrison, then Tom. “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re standing behind his chair, perfume light and peachy. When Tom cranes his head back, your perfect face blurs.

“Nothin’,” he murmurs, a sleepy grin on his lips.

You chuckle. “How drunk are you right now?” you ask.

Tom makes a non-committal sound. “I don’t want to stand up and find out,” he admits. “So I’m just going to stay here until I get sober.”

“What if it rains?”

“Well, I guess I’ll get wet.” He reaches back and grabs lightly at his jacket, still covering your upper half. “Some thief ran off with my jacket.”

You snort, then pat his shoulders before walking around to the front of his chair. You offer him your hands, and Tom takes them easily.

“Babe?” Harrison pipes up. “What are you doing?”

With ease, you help Tom up from the chair. He fakes it a little, exaggerating just how woozy he is so that you have to wrap your arms around his waist. He hides his mischievous smirk in the crook of your neck, suppressing his guilt. He wasn’t lying to Harrison—he will stay in his lane. But old habits die hard, and you’re very warm, and he’s very drunk, especially with the blood rushing to his head.

“Putting him to bed,” you respond. “He’s tired.”

Suddenly, Tom finds himself yawning. He leans into you, pouting softly at Harrison as he tries to look as exhausted as possible. He’s always been a convincing actor, and his friend buys it completely.

“Alright,” Harrison says. “Do you need help?”

You shake your head. “Nah,” you respond. “I’ll be fine.” You squeeze Tom’s waist. “He’s just a big teddy bear.”

Tom doesn’t think he likes that (if anything, he’s a lion), but it seems to ease Harrison. The man presses forward, kissing your cheek before giving Tom a firm pat on his shoulder.

“Right, then,” he says. “I’ll be inside.” Harrison glances at Tom, reluctance filling his blue eyes before fading slowly. “Sweet dreams, bro.”

“Thanks, Hazzy.”

“Don’t ever fucking call me that again.”

Tom’s still chuckling as you lead him back inside, and he knows that you’re trying not to giggle too.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom already knows that you’re cute, but as you help him up the staircase and get him ready for bed, your adorableness really comes through.

“Drink this,” you announce, walking back into his bedroom with a glass of water in your hands. Tom admires the way that you walk, glad he’s already in bed and hiding beneath the covers. Your hair is a little wild, and he knows that’s probably his fault—Tom’s cheeky, and he’s especially persistent when he’s hammered, and he might’ve been a bit mischievous in the bathroom when you’d tried to convince him to brush his teeth, refusing until you’d had to physically push the brush into his mouth. You’d rolled your eyes, and he’d been distracted by watching you in the mirror.

“What is it?” he asks annoyingly. Now Tom is almost naked, clad only in his boxers, and he does a deliberately long stretch of his arms above his head, smirking as the duvet falls down to expose his toned torso.

You roll your eyes again as you sit on the edge of his bed, pushing the glass into his hands. “Water,” you supply. You stare at him, raising a brow. “Probably won’t help with the hangover, but I feel like I need to try.”

Tom takes a few sips, looking at you over the rim of the glass. You look tired, up close. Still glowing, and beautiful, and gorgeous, but tired. Your lipstick is faded, and he can see the shadows of your dark circles peeking through your makeup.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You glance at him, chuckling shortly before looking down at your hands. You play around with a few of your rings, sighing.

“Just tired,” you respond. You manage a forced smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

He frowns. “It does.” Tom obediently downs the entire glass, wanting to coax a smile to your face. “Why’d you come out if you’re tired?”

“Haz wanted me to.” You bring your eyes back to Tom. “I wanted to come and support you, too.”

Tom blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Aww.”

You scrunch up the end of your nose as you stand from his bed, smoothing down your dress with your hands. “Well, I do care about you, Tom. I know there’s a lot of pressure on you to make the parties good.”

Warmth bursts through Tom’s chest. “That’s so cute,” he mutters. He looks up at you, the light being cast from the ceiling light cascading over your shoulders like a halo. “You’re cute.”

“And you’re plastered,” you respond, smiling. You walk closer, running a hand over the top of the duvet until you reach Tom. When you’re standing up by his head, you tentatively reach down to push his shoulders. “Lie down,” you coax. “Bedtime.”

Tom sinks into his mattress with ease, smiling when you gently pick up his head and plump the pillows. You reach down and pull the duvet up to his chin, tucking it in around his chest firmly, your tongue held between your teeth as you go. You’re very attentive, and the sight of you looking after him so well doesn’t help his predicament at all.

“Thanks, darling,” Tom murmurs. He sighs contentedly. “So comfy,” he whines. “Why don’t you stay with me if you’re tired?” He cracks open an eye just in time to see the expression of shock on your face fade to one of amusement.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you respond. “Can you imagine how confused you’d be waking up in the morning?”

“Would be a good kind of confusion, though.” Tom rounds out his eyes, trying to look as soft and unassuming as possible. “I’m a great bed partner, babe. I won’t kick you. I’ll give you space. Or, if you want, I’ll cuddle you. I’m great at cuddling people.”

You just laugh, your face vibrant and light. “You’re so funny,” you say. “I wonder if you’ll remember this tomorrow.”

Tom scowls, grumpily snuggling further into bed. “I invite a pretty girl into my bed and she rejects me,” he grumbles. “Your loss, baby.”

“You sound more and more like a fratboy every time we speak.” You stand back, crossing your arms over your chest as you look him up and down. “Right. I left painkillers on the side, and there’s more water too. Sweet dreams, Tom.”

You turn to leave, but Tom makes a noise of objection. You pause, raising a brow in question.

“Goodnight kiss,” Tom begs. “Please?”

You laugh again but step back towards him. You bend over, necklace dangling in Tom’s face as your hands smooth up to rest in his hair. He’s overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and the close proximity, and for a moment, he thinks you’re going to imitate the breathtaking kiss from earlier. But then you move up. You kiss his forehead, gently, stroking a few strands of his hair as your lips linger against his skin for a moment longer than necessary. When you pull back, Tom has a dumb expression on his face, and he’s glad that you follow up the kiss by turning off his lamp.

“Night, Tom,” you say, walking across the room. There’s a single shard of light, peeking into his room through the open door, and it illuminates your silhouette as you pause there.

“Night, Y/N,” he responds, voice slightly thick.

You gently close the door behind you and leave Tom alone, with nothing but his thoughts and his fantasies to entertain him. He grumbles as he turns over, a very prominent and selfish thought pushing to the front of his mind:

Tom loves Harrison, but he’s fed up. He can’t carry on like this, yearning incessantly. He doesn’t want to stay in his lane, he wants you to be his girl. Desperately.

Tom has to do something. He has to make you his.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You think that whoever scheduled Intro to International Business for 9am on a Monday hates all college students.

It’s dreary as you make the hungover trek to campus. The ache in the front of your skull rattles with each sombre step, and you never get used to the chill of November’s dark mornings despite having plenty of experience with them now. You’re bundled up in a hoodie, a jacket, and a scarf, yet the flecks of grey raindrops still manage to soak you. By the time you reach the lecture theatre, you’re grouchy and regretting ever leaving your bed.

At the time, going to the frat party the night before had seemed like a great idea—Harrison hadn’t stopped blowing up your phone about it all weekend, and you’d felt compelled to keep him company. There were other factors that made you eager to go, too.

It’s all a blur now. Spin the bottle, disrupting Harrison’s tense conversation with Tom, taking the latter upstairs. You think about the sight of Tom bundled up in bed, duvet pulled to his pouting lips, and your entire body bursts into flame, rippling with an unrestrained desire that makes you feel guilty for just existing. You’d been so affected by the events of the night before that you’d had to go home, too overwhelmed to stay with Harrison in the room beside Tom’s.

Most of the seats around you are empty. You’re early despite rolling out of bed after sleeping through your first alarm. As you settle into the back of the theatre, you begrudgingly pull out a pad of paper and a pen, wishing you’d thought to bring sunglasses. This is the class that you supposedly share with Tom and Harrison—also business majors—yet they’ve never made an appearance beyond a half-assed attempt in the first week. Sometimes you wonder how they’re both able to pass a class they never show face in.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Who the fuck scheduled this so early? They’re taking the piss.”

You startle as a grouchy voice enters your space, and your eyes snap up just in time to see a dark figure drop down into the open seat beside you. The deep navy blue hoodie is pulled above his head, and he immediately crosses his arms, but you know without a doubt who it is.

“Tom?” you ask, voice full of shock. You sit forward, reaching out to place a hand on his arm as you peer at him. When you meet his pale face and see the thick sunglasses covering his eyes, your eyebrows raise. “Since when do you come to class?”

Tom clicks his tongue, lips curving into a smirk. It’s a little disconcerting that you can’t see his eyes, but you can tell they’re dark and seductive. They always are.

“What d’you mean?” he teases. “I’m always here.”

“As if.”

He shrugs and breaks off for a moment to yawn. “Thought I should start being a good student, ‘n all,” he mutters. “Finals next month, and everything.”

“And how’s your hangover?”

Tom pulls a face. All of a sudden, he leans over, rummaging through his bag with loud actions until he procures a bottle of water and a bag of mixed nuts. When he sits back up, he pushes down his hood and jerks off his sunglasses, exposing the damage. You wince as you take in the deep bags beneath his eyes and the way his brown irises are marred with red. He still manages to smile, though, and after ripping open his snack, crunches a couple in quick succession.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I don’t get hungover, but if I do, it clears pretty fast. I’m built differently.”

You snort. “Yeah right,” you mutter. You find yourself looking at his lips, and briefly, you’re transported to how incredible they felt last night when you’d straddled him and kissed him. Quick to shake that off, you find yourself blinking as you stare at him. “You were trashed last night. I had to take you to bed. Do you remember?”

Tom gives a hapless shrug, not quite looking into your eyes. You wonder, not for the first time, what thoughts are running through his mind. He confuses you immensely.

The night you’d met, you’d been convinced you’d end up sleeping with him. He’d swaggered over to you, dripping charm, looking incredibly hot in an all-black ensemble, chain, and cap, then he’d kissed your forehead and promised to see you later. Just, you hadn’t seen him later—instead, his friends had not-so-subtly set you up with Harrison as Tom had stood across the room, watching. A part of you had felt side-lined by him, but Harrison is attractive, so you’d jumped on him the moment you could.

Harrison is nice. He’s kind. Dependable. He’s the kind of boy that you could easily take home to your mother and hear nothing but kind words about. He isn’t always the most attentive, but he’s funny, and he cares for you, so it’s fine.

Tom is… Tom is an entirely different ballpark. There are no words to describe Tom Holland. You’d thought you knew enough about him before meeting him at the party, but the man you’ve come to know since doesn’t match up to the reputation that surrounds him. Tom is cheeky—it’s obvious in his flirtatious jokes, and his lingering touches, and his habit of kissing your cheek every single time he sees you. He’s funny too, but his sense of humour isn’t mean or callous like most of the lads in his house. Beneath the hardy exterior lies someone who genuinely cares, and looks out for the people he loves.

He makes you feel alive, each one of your cells burning and sizzling every time he’s around. Tom makes you feel the pounding rhythm of your heartbeat everywhere—in your ears, in your chest, between your legs. He gives you everything, whilst giving you nothing at all. It’s entirely perplexing.

You need to stop comparing them. It’s not a competition. You’re seeing Harrison, and Tom has no genuine interest in you. You’re friends, and he’s flirty, but that’s it. You’re friends, and you shared the best kiss of your life last night, but that doesn’t mean a thing. It doesn’t matter that Tom fires you up the right way, because it’s one-sided, and you’re with Haz.

Tom ignores your question about the night before and instead tips his bag of nuts towards you.

“Care for a nut?”

You snort as you pick out a cashew, crunching it softly as he watches. Tom’s deep brown eyes linger on your lower lip as you slowly lick the salt from it.

“Delicious,” you say, earning a loud cackle from your companion.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters, grinning wickedly.

“No, you just have your mind in the gutter. Not everything has to be an innuendo, Tom.”

“Wrong. Everything can be and is an innuendo if you try hard enough. You should know this by now, darling. You’ve spent enough time with me.”

“Maybe, but not all of us share your immature sense of humour, Tom.”

He gasps, eyebrows sliding up his forehead in mock shock. “Are you calling me a child?”

“Childish,” you clarify, smirking as he shoots daggers at you. “You’re such a boy.”

Tom sits back, blinking a few times in quick succession before clearing his throat. His eyes seem to darken as he leans in closer, bringing a hand up to rest on your shoulder. His fingers are warm as he pushes the hair from your face and gently tucks it behind your ear, leaning across the seat until he’s able to whisper gently.

“I am not a boy,” he coos, voice soft. “I’ve just never broken out the proper charm on you, darling.”

Your throat runs dry as his hot breath fans out across the side of your face, minty fresh.

“And what is this proper charm?”

Tom opens his mouth to speak, but it fades a moment later. He pulls back, appearing to lose his cool last minute as his cheeks flush.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mutters instead. He shifts around in his seat, looking back at you for a split-second before glancing away. Tom’s reluctant to meet your eyes, and you watch, confused, as he chugs about half his bottle of water before pulling off his hoodie. He’s still flushed—face warmer and more alive than it’s been all morning.

Your brows furrow as you look at Tom’s shirt. “Hey, is that the one I borrowed the other week?” you ask, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom chuckles, regaining his charm as he throws his hoodie on top of his bag and turns to face you, a hand lodging in his hair. It’s longer than it’d been at the start of the semester, a few strands dangling over his forehead.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Smells of you.” Something crosses over Tom’s face, and he flashes you the tips of his pearly teeth as he smirks. “Smells of us, darling.”

Your reaction is immediate and uncontrollable. A hot flush, moving through your entire body, forming in your centre and rolling across your figure from the inside out. You hope that you can play it off by pulling your notebook into your lap. The back of your mouth is dry, but you manage a weak, quipping response of, “you should wash that,” before you spiral too far.

It’s in the small things. His comments. His lingering touches. His smirks. Tom drives you crazy.

The lecture starts, but you don’t pay it much attention. Instead, you stay huddled up in the back with Tom, killing time as he shows you a collection of photos from the night before. After flicking through the snapshots from a very blurry night, Tom moves on to a different folder in his phone, nimble fingers swiping across the screen and showing off some of his favourite memes. You end up almost crying from laughter, clutching to his arm as you bend over in your seat and try to pass by undetected by the notoriously strict professor. Tom’s hand soothes over your back, and you briefly wonder if you should dissolve into laughter more often just so he can bring you back down.

When the class finishes, Tom throws his arm across your shoulders and walks you across campus. It’s only when you’re halfway towards the car park that you realise where he’s taking you.

“Wait— I can walk back home.”

“Nah. It’s fine.”

“It’s out of the way, though.”

Tom squeezes your side. “‘S alright. You’re my best mate’s girl. ‘Least I can do.” He pauses, apparently oblivious to the sour expression you pull in response to those words. “Plus, you looked after me last night, so… I kinda owe you.”

Deciding to just accept it, you hum in agreement. “Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem, love.”

He’s very warm and his cologne smells like a forest breeze. You enjoy strolling across campus with him, especially when he kisses your temple as you separate at his car. It’s a battered old thing, and you’ve been in it a few times before. You’re fairly sure that Haz owns it too, but the way Tom settles into the driver’s seat and keys the ignition makes him look like the proper owner. Tom commands any space he inhabits with poise and elegance.

“You’re out near Sarah, aren’t you?” Tom asks as he jerkily reverses from his parking space.

“Yeah.”

“Nice area,” he comments, which makes you laugh. Tom glances at you, raising a brow. “What?”

“Small talk?”

“Mmm. Well, is there anything else you’d like to talk about, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. Fuck, you can’t handle the way that sounds dripping from his lips.

“Nope.” You stretch your hands out in front of you, yawning. “Too hungover to think.”

“Fair enough.” Tom drums his fingers over the wheel, and you find yourself watching the lines of his slender digits. He has very pretty hands. “Good party though, eh?”

“Oh yeah. Crazy. Did you have fun?”

Tom releases a noise of reluctant agreement. “It was alright. Not the most successful night for me.” He risks a brief glance at you, chuckling. “Isn’t really the best look to get escorted to bed.” You aren’t sure if you should feel guilty for that, but Tom’s quick to add, “not that I don’t appreciate it. I do. I just shouldn’t have been so eager.”

“Why were you?” you ask. “It seemed like you were trying really hard to get drunk. Did something happen?”

Tom cackles, the sound so loud and quivering so precisely that it makes you jump. “God, if you only knew…”

“Eh?”

“Nothing. It was nothing.”

You’re intrigued now. “What?” you press, reaching across the console to pat his thigh. You’re over halfway back to yours now, and like a bloodhound, you want to know answers. “Was it a girl? I’ve not seen you with anyone since… Well, ever.” You furrow your brows. “Did someone reject you?”

Tom’s face clouds over immediately, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat as you watch his jaw set into a hard line.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps, his easy demeanour gone.

“Woah,” you mutter. “Sorry.”

Tom cards a frustrated hand through his hair, his eyes glinting dark. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I was not rejected.” The way his voice quivers makes it sound like a lie.

You pull a face as you cross your arms over your chest, your hangover exacerbating your rapidly falling mood.

“Aren’t we friends?” you ask.

He sucks in a fast breath. “Yep,” he replies, speaking through tight lips.

Something has changed. It’s as if you’ve crossed an invisible boundary that you hadn’t seen, tripped a trick wire only visible to him. The air between you is thick, and Tom doesn’t say another word until he’s turned down your street and pulled into a space outside your house.

“Well… Thanks, I guess,” you mutter. You reach into the footwell and pull up your bag, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn back to face him. For a few moments you bounce between jumping out of the car or staying, but you hate leaving things tense like this. Not with him. “Are we… good?”

Tom turns off the engine. For a moment he stares at his hands on the steering wheel, but then he brings his gaze up to you. His eyes are sad and raw, and it makes your heart hurt.

“We’re fine, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. “Sorry. It’s the, uh… The hangover. Makin’ me act like a twat. I’m sorry.”

You release a sigh of relief. “It’s okay, Tom.” A light chuckle slips by your lips. “I was worried I pissed you off for a moment there.”

Tom’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You? Never, darling.” He drums his hands over his thighs, and you remember the circumstances.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll get out of your hair,” you say. You hasten to undo your seatbelt and reach towards the car door, only to pause when Tom reaches out suddenly to touch your arm. “Yeah?”

“I, uh…” Tom’s close, leaning over the console. Your eyes drift over the freckles of his face, and you get distracted by how warm his brown orbs are, like glinting pools of honey. “I really am sorry,” he adds. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “It’s fine.” You glance down to where he’s softly caressing your arm, his eyes fixed firmly on your skin. His hand feels nice. Soothing. He soothes you. He always does. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tom nods. “Yeah. I’m great.”

You don’t quite believe him, but you’re willing to accept that the hangover has knocked him.

“Well, thank you,” you say. You turn back to face him. “For the lift. And the nuts.”

Tom finally smiles again, and the sight makes your heart soar. “No worries, babe,” he says. He winks. “Any time.”

You lean over the console and kiss his cheek, your mouth hitting a spot of skin closer to his lips than the side of his face. If Tom notices how flustered it makes you, he doesn’t say a thing. You’re still shaking as you pull your bag over your back and hobble from the car, shouting back a tight, “bye!”

Tom raises his hand through the open window and winks again as he pulls away from the curb, leaving your body throbbing persistently and your heart more confused than it’s ever been.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks pass. You don’t see Harrison much, but Tom continues to come to class. Life goes on, nothing unchanged, and finals come and go with ease. Before you know it, it’s the final mixer of the semester.

Harrison’s going to miss it. He tells you as much when you turn up at the frat two hours before kickoff to find him stuffing shirts into a bag. He looks guilty as you walk into his room, question written all over your face.

“You remember Rory, yeah? From UPenn? He invited me to their party. Apparently, they’ve got Travis Scott. It’s gonna be lit, so… I’m going.”

“Overnight?” you ask, looking at his heavy bag. Harrison nods, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. Sorry… I probably should’ve told you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah.” You glance down at your hands and swallow the irritation that festers in your chest. Harrison has never been great at communication. Throughout the duration of your arrangement—whether you’re just dating, or just hooking up—he’s kept his cards close to his chest. He confuses you.

When you’d first spent the night with him, Harrison had acted like he’d wanted something more with you. You’d been on a few dates, he’d brought your flowers, the works. But with time, it’s as if he’s tired of you. The spark has slipped away, and if he wasn’t on his way across state, you’d sit him down and have a discussion about the direction of your entanglement. But he is, and you have no time, so you display your irritation by crossing your arms.

“I’m sorry,” he adds. He finishes zipping up his bag and throws it over his shoulders before stepping towards you. With warm hands, he cups your cheeks and brings you in for a deep, passionate kiss. “You can always come if you want.”

You grimace as you shake your head. “I told Tom I’d help him here,” you say. “It’s fine. Just… Have fun, alright?”

A shadow of jealousy briefly flitters across Harrison’s face, but it’s quick to smooth away when he clears his throat. “‘Course,” he says. He takes your hand and leads you from his room. “What are you guys doing?”

“Hm?”

“Tom. What are you doing with him?”

“Oh. Just hanging up banners, and stuff. He wanted me to help him with the drinks too.”

“Nice.”

The air between you is stale, and you’re glad when Harrison pulls you down the corridor and pauses outside Tom’s room. There’s loud music coming from the room, so Harrison has to rap loudly several times, an act that makes you cringe.

“Come in!” yells Tom. Harrison does just that, pulling you in after him with a firm grip. “Oh, hey guys?”

You instantly wrench your hand from Harrison’s, not wanting him to feel your palm grow hot as your eyes fall onto Tom. You’ve caught him mid-workout, perched on the edge of his bed, shirtless and doing curls with a hand weight. There’s a healthy red flush to his face, and his bicep bulges as he flexes with the weight. All across his chest are lines of thick muscle, and you find yourself staring.

“Hey, dude,” Harrison says. “I’m just on my way out.” He turns to look at you, an easy smile on his face. “Y/N told me you guys have plans tonight, so… I guess, I’m just wondering. Can you keep an eye on her? Look after my girl, y’know?” He pauses to chew on his lip, guilt at leaving reflected in his eyes. “Make sure she’s okay, ‘n all that.”

Tom stands from the bed, tossing the weight onto the mattress with ease before approaching you, smirking. “‘Course, Haz.” He wraps a very hot, slightly sweaty arm around you and pulls you into his side. “I’ll take care of her.” Tom glances at you, shrugging softly. “Take care of you,” he adds.

You don’t know what kind of dangers you might face tonight that warrant a personal guard, but you don’t think you mind it if your attendant is Tom. He’s hot and sweaty and he smells of man, but you burn for him.

“Thanks,” you respond, slightly breathless.

Harrison looks between you both, then shrugs. “Great.” He steps forward and briefly touches his lips to you. Tom freezes, holding you tighter in his arms the moment Harrison kisses you, and that action makes you feel perplexed. “Have a good time, guys.”

“You too, Haz,” Tom responds. You echo similar sentiments.

When the door closes behind Harrison, Tom doesn’t move. He simply holds you tighter, then drops his mouth down and presses a light kiss to the base of your neck. Your choked whimper travels into the air, and you flush as he steps away.

“We will have fun tonight, won’t we, Y/N?” he teases. His eyes are dark as they briefly skitter across your figure. After a moment, Tom walks across the room and picks up a towel and a fresh set of clothes. Tom pauses in front of you, tilting his head as he looks at you. He has to know how frazzled he makes you feel. He’s got to.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice high. “A lot of fun.”

“Mmm. Hope so.” Tom steps forward and cups your cheek in his hot palm, kissing your forehead before stepping back. “I’m going to shower. Make yourself comfortable, yeah? What’s mine is yours.”

A full-body shiver travels down your spine, but luckily it isn’t until he’s turned on his heel and strode over to the door.

“Have fun,” you call out. Tom turns back to wink, then disappears in a flash.

As the door closes behind him, you wonder if you really lost your spark for Harrison, or if the feelings you had for him just paled in comparison to the ones you harbour for his best friend.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The party picks up quickly. You split off from Tom a few hours in, being pulled away by one of your friends and staying with them for a while. You start to miss him, though, so you excuse yourself from a game of beer pong out on the patio and walk back into the large frat house, cringing slightly as you hear the loud music. You haven’t been drinking much tonight. Something tells you that you’ll need your sober brain.

It takes you a while to find Tom, the house busy and wild. He’s not in the kitchen, nor the hallway. Your adventures take you to the large living room, where they have the music and the drinks set up. As you wander inside, your eyes take a moment to acclimate to the dim lighting. When they settle, you see him, and the breath leaves your lungs.

Tom is standing in the middle of the dancefloor, talking with a girl. She’s draped in his arms, the tips of her fingers running through his hair as she chats to him. Tom is looking at her intently, paying rapt attention to what she’s saying, but the smile on his face doesn’t quite stretch to his eyes. When he spots you, his brows briefly raise, only for them to lower again as he smirks. He winks at you, then reaches for the girl, bringing her in closer and dropping his mouth so he can start to kiss her neck.

Jealousy consumes you. It burns through every other rational thought that you have. The sight of the girl wrapping herself around him as Tom kisses up her neck makes your fingers curl into fists at your sides, and you start to walk across the room before you can comprehend it. Tom sees you, continuing to make flirtatious eye contact with you as he deposits light, wet kisses to the girl’s shoulder. It feels targeted and provocative, and whatever game that he’s playing seems to work.

“Tom!” you call out when you’re just a few centimetres away. He leisurely pulls away from the girl, dark eyes twinkling mischievously as he looks up at you.

“Yes, Y/N?”

You grimace. Now you’re over here, on the receiving end of stares from Tom and his companion, you wonder why you’d responded so immediately and directly.

“You need to come with me. We have, uh… Things to do.”

Tom raises an eyebrow, stepping away from the girl as he crosses his biceps over his chest. He’s wearing his golden chain, the one that always drives you mad, and he looks so fucking handsome under the UV lights.

“And what would those things be, Y/N?” he asks. The girl at his side is looking between you both.

“You know,” you hiss.

The girl frowns, then huffs out a sigh and pushes at Tom’s arm. “Can we go upstairs?” she asks him. Tom glances at her, chewing his lower lip as he finds himself on the receiving end of her fluttering lashes.

“No, Jess,” he says, evening out the rejection with a soft smile. “I’m sorry. Have a good evening.” Before she can respond, Tom reaches out and takes your hand, pulling you with ease towards one of the corners of the room. You squeal as he tugs you, easily falling into his side and enjoying the press of his warm arm to yours. He drops his voice, pausing only when you’re on the edge of the dancefloor to spin you and press his hands to your waist. “Are you alright, darling?” he asks, smirking. “Looks to me like someone was a little jealous.”

Your body heats up, and you find yourself nibbling at your lower lip as you try to make sense of the situation. “Nope,” you lie. With ease, you reach up and rest your hands on Tom’s broad shoulders. “I was just… Thinking about the night we met. You said we could dance then, but we never did.” You tilt your head to the side, throwing out a convincing smile. “Do you want to change that?”

Tom growls, tugging you closer as he wraps his arms around you. The tips of his teeth brush up against the shell of your ear and you whimper as his hot breath fans out over the side of your face. “Fuck yeah, babe,” he murmurs.

You settle into it easily. Tom ends up pulling you so your back rests flush against his front, his arms skating around to hold your waist as you grind back against him. It’s close and hot, and it doesn’t take long for him to put his lips back where they belong—on your neck, kissing deeply. Everything that he does feels calculated and purposeful, but it’s only when he brings his kisses near your ear and whispers a low, “you’re so fucking hot, baby,” that you come back to earth.

“We… Shouldn’t,” you whimper. Tom kisses your lobe in response. “Harrison.”

“What about him?” he mutters. His voice is raspy and seductive, and the way he strokes his hands over your sides makes your eyes roll back. “He doesn’t care about you like I do, Y/N. You know he doesn’t.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the way Tom sucks deep bruises to the sensitive spot on your neck. Harrison had never been able to find it, had never even tried.

“He cares about me,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Yeah. But not enough.” Tom spins you in his arms, reaching up to cup your cheek in a hand. He peers at you, eyes wide and insistent. “He lies to you. Did he ever tell you about the night that you met?”

You quirk a brow. “No.”

A shadow of hesitation passes over Tom’s face, but he swallows it down. “He only came up to you as part of a… a fucking bet. That’s the only reason I didn’t come back to you that night.” He strokes his fingers over your cheekbone, soothing you when you frown. “You’re the prettiest fucking woman I’ve ever met in my life, and it’s been killing me to see you both together.”

You press your forehead to his, feeling his breath come out in hot pants over your face. “Do you like me, Tom?”

He chuckles. “You have no idea how much, babe.” Tom shifts his hands back to your hair and he cradles your face. “I’d be so good to you. I swear.” He’s speaking earnestly, his voice breaking softly as he looks at you. “I love Haz. He’s my best mate. But we all know that you’re not a good fit. He left you here tonight. He doesn’t satisfy you.” Tom drops his voice, tilting his head to the side as his voice drops lower. He brings his lips closer, kissing the side of your mouth as you shiver. “I could satisfy you properly.”

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. For a moment you stare at Tom, eyes swirling down to his lips, then, as if entranced, you reach down and pull your phone from your bra. Using one hand on the screen, you reach up to cup Tom’s face with the other, smiling softly when he instinctively tilts his lips and kisses the palm of your hand. You write out a short message, the guilt in your heart fading when you briefly check Harrison’s Instagram story and see him surrounded by a sea of girls at the party he hadn’t invited you to.

After sending the message, you tilt the screen towards Tom’s face, watching his skin glow white as he slowly reads the few words.

You: Haz, I’m sorry to do this over text, but it’s over. I think we both know that we’re better as friends.

Tom’s brows raise. “Did you..?”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip and slowly tuck your phone back against your chest. “It’s over.”

Tom kisses you immediately, both of his hands anchoring your cheeks. You could almost cry with how good it feels to have his mouth touching yours again. He parts his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth, and you moan as you wrap your arms around his neck. As he holds you tightly, his hands slip down to hold your waist, and though your teeth and noses collide and clash, you don’t care. It’s beautifully imperfect, and it’s so hot that it makes your whole body throb. Tom’s curls give you the perfect leverage to jerk him closer, and as you make out mercilessly on the edge of the dance floor, you feel a piece of you slot into place.

“Come upstairs with me,” he groans, voice thick as he speaks against your lips. Your mouth is wet with spit, but you don’t bother to wipe it clean when you pull back. Tom’s eyes glint with hunger, and he grabs at your hand when you nod.

The journey upstairs is fast and easy, full of your giggles as he runs his thumb over the back of your hand. The moment you’re in his room, Tom pushes you back against the door and flicks the lock, attaching his lips to your neck with ease.

“Tom,” you whine, running your hands all over his back as he sucks harshly against your skin.

His hands skim lower and you curve your spine away from the door so he can grab handfuls of your ass, your moan mixing with his grunt when he pulls away from your neck to kiss your lips again. It’s as if he’s ravenous—unable to pick between your lips and your neck, your hips and your ass. Tom changes his position every few seconds, and the irregularity fills you with excitement.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groans. Tom pulls back breathlessly, looking straight into your eyes. “Can I… Are you okay with this?” he clarifies, holding your gaze firmly until you nod.

“I’m more than okay with this,” you say.

“Good, good... Pretty baby.” Tom runs his index finger down your face, his knees bending as he slowly sinks down in front of you. He scatters two light kisses to each of your breasts before travelling down your navel, only stopping when he’s fully on his knees, gazing up at you from beneath his lashes. “Darling?”

“Hmm?” You’re light-headed but aroused, your dress feeling tight as you shuffle against the door.

“Can I taste your pussy, baby?”

Your breath catches in the back of your throat, and the first time you try to speak, only a moan comes out. Tom smirks, fingers easily pushing up the hem of your dress. As his fingertips stroke up your thighs to rest on your waistband, he pauses, tilting his head to the side in question. “Yeah,” you manage, voice a whisper. “I want that so badly.”

“Mmm, should’ve just said, darling.” Tom’s head dips, disappearing between your legs. You whimper as he rubs the front of two fingers down the front of your panties, the material wet and warm. “God…” He unhooks them easily and tugs them down your legs, pausing to allow you to kick them off. When he repositions, he holds your thighs further apart and presses a kiss to your soft flesh. “You’re fucking soaked, lovie.” His hot breath fans across your centre. “Pretty cunt’s just waiting for me, isn’t it?”

His cockiness turns you on, and you’ve barely gotten out a garbled moan before he’s delving in. Tom’s skilful tongue runs up your slit, light at first, gradually leading you into it. You cry out as he finds your clit, sucking softly around the bud before lapping his tip across it gently. You have to reach out and grab ahold of the nearby bookshelf as arcs of pleasure spread out from your centre, small whimpers and moans being pulled from your mouth as Tom continues his assault.

“Tastes like paradise,” he whines, speaking against your cunt. “So sweet, baby. I understand why Haz likes being with you so much.” Tom pauses, drawing a few more strokes across your clit as you whimper. “Mine now,” he murmurs, deep voice vibrating across your centre. “My pussy.”

“Tom,” you moan, legs shaking. He responds by bringing his right hand up, slowly curving two of his digits into your heat. As he starts to thrust his fingers, the sounds of your wet arousal fill the air, making you moan louder. “Feels so good,” you encourage, realising he works harder when you speak to him. The top of his curls brushes against your legs as his tongue continues to glide over your clit, merciless and pleasurable.

“You sound so pretty, love,” Tom says, pulling away slightly. The vibrations from the noise make you moan louder, and you glance down to see him staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust and his chin covered in your juices. He looks back between your legs, readjusting his fingers and curving them at different angles before he strikes gold. When you call out his name, his other hand goes up to your hips, holding you back against the door as he smirks. “I want you to cum for me, darling,” he coos. “Let me make you feel good. I want to hear those pretty little moans. Be loud for me.”

You don’t take much convincing, as once Tom’s got his mouth back on your clit, you’re arching your back as you fall over the edge. He laps your bud with his hot, firm tongue, his fingers continuing to stroke at your walls until you spasm into climax, reaching out to grab his hair as you moan and writhe against the door. He holds you up, even when you feel like falling, and it has to be the most intensely pleasurable orgasm that you’ve ever experienced in your life.

“Fuck,” you pant, only able to calm down when Tom pulls back. He sits on his shins, smacking his lips as he looks up at you, smirking. You’ve still got a hand on his head, so you fiddle with his hair as you recover. “That was so good.” A breathless smile finds your face. “So good. Thank you.”

“No problem, darling.” Tom clambers to his feet, and your eyes find themselves drawn to the bulge in his jeans. “Knew I could make you cum,” he says, speaking almost to himself. “Looked like an angel. Taste like one too.”

You swallow a moan and step forward, hands twisting behind your back to release your zipper. Tom’s eyes widen as you push down your dress, stepping out of it with ease.

“We’re not done yet, are we?” you ask, biting your lip as you look over to the bed. Tom shakes his head and offers you a hand after you’ve pulled your phone from your bra and placed it down on his desk.

“No way,” he agrees. Tom pushes you down onto the mattress but stays standing at the edge, nimble hands quickly releasing his belt and pulling off his jeans, then his shirt. You admire his Calvin Klein boxers, black with a white band skimming across the top, and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Fuck,” he adds. His eyes skim your figure, appreciation held in his gaze. “I can’t believe I’ve got you here.” He gets on the bed, pushing you down and climbing on top of you as he kisses his way up to your mouth. When he’s hovering above your face, he cups your cheeks. “Most beautiful girl in the whole world, love. Girl of my dreams.”

You kiss him, your hands finally able to learn the curves of his muscular back. Tom grinds down into you, his covered crotch meeting your bare pussy, and the friction to your clit makes you moan into the kiss. As you admire his form, you settle into his lips, your heart beating faster and more persistently against your ribcage.

“Tom,” you say, speaking against his mouth. He pulls back, lips red and puffy. “You’re so handsome. Have I ever told you that?”

Tom bites his lip, continuing to roll his hips down against yours. When you start to grind up to meet him, an expression of enjoyment darkens his face. “Thanks, love.”

You lick your lips as you wrap your arms around him, holding him closer as he continues to grind into you. “Every time I’d see you out doing weights or walking around shirtless, it’d turn me on,” you admit. You snake a hand between your bodies, managing to press your palm up and against the outline of his cock. Tom groans loudly, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and whining as he ruts against the pressure. “I want to feel you,” you whimper. “Properly. I want to feel how good it is to have you inside me... I can feel you. I know you’re big.” You bite your lip. “I’ve thought about it for weeks.”

Tom forces his face away from your neck and meets your eyes, his pupils completely dilated. “You are going to be the death of me, lovie,” he says seriously, drawing a chuckle from your lips. Tom leans up and kisses you, softer, but only for a moment. He reaches across his bed and rummages through his bedside table, procuring a condom a second later.

“Let me do it,” you offer. Tom nods, and you swap positions with ease. Tom settles on the mattress, raising his hips and watching as you tug his boxers down his legs. You feel yourself salivate slightly as you take sight of his cock, erect and flushed, pressing up against his lower stomach. Holding the open condom in one hand, you run your thumb over his tip with the other, gathering beads of his silver precum on your fingertip. You meet Tom’s eyes and sit back on his thighs as you push your finger into your mouth, exaggerating your moan as you lick it clean.

Tom tosses his head back, his hair fluffing up against the pillows. His cock twitches against his stomach. “Fuck, baby… You’re driving me crazy.” When you reach back and roll the condom over his length, he can barely keep still, rutting up and filling your hand the moment you’re done. “You know… every time you stayed the night with Haz, I could hear you guys,” he says, looking at you through hooded eyes. You give him a few pumps, biting your lip as you admire his member and try to imagine how good it’ll feel filling you to the brim. “Used to get off listening to your moans. Imagining it was me fucking you. Thinking… Thinking about how good it’d be to- fuck- to open you up on my cock.”

His words make you feel hot, and you speed up the rhythm of your hand as you watch his face flush with heat. “I know,” you admit. “I could hear you sometimes.” You lean up and press a kiss to his chest, feeling his hot skin between your lips. “You make the hottest noises, Tom.”

“For you,” he groans, jaw tensing. “It’s all for you.” He continues to rut into your hand, and you smirk as you feel him throb. As Tom grows more erratic, you feel your slick between your legs thicken and your core begin to throb.

“Can I ride you?” you ask.

Tom immediately bounces his head, eyes lighting up like you’ve spoken the only thing he’s ever wanted to hear. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—”

You bend over to kiss him, sliding up his body with ease. Tom reaches up your back, eager hands falling to a stop at your bra. He manages to unclasp it after a few attempts, grinning victoriously against your lips as it falls slack. Once you’ve thrown it aside, you sit back, watching as Tom’s hand goes down to guide his cock through your slit. One of his hands rests on your hip, palm hot and heavy, and he gives you a short squeeze as he presses his tip against your entrance.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, moaning loudly as his girth stretches your cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as you adjust, breath hitching when Tom adds his thumb to your clit, the pleasure easing the stretch. When you’re completely seated, you find yourself shifting, Tom groaning when you clench and slowly start to ride him.

“Oh my god,” he moans. “Feels like heaven, darling. Actual heaven.” His jaw is tense as he tosses his head back, prying open an eye to watch as you bounce over him, moving faster as you find your rhythm. “So wet, sweetheart. So tight… So much better than I’d ever imagined.” He’s looking at you with pleasure screwed across his face, and the sight of him so desperate makes you feel powerful.

“Tom,” you whimper. “I can feel you so deep.” You’re starting to unravel, feeling him everywhere. With the thumb still rolling over your clit, his hand weighing down your hip, and the tip of his cock brushing deeper each time you come together, you can feel yourself on the verge already. “Can you… I can’t…”

“Y’wanna flip?”

“Yeah. Please.”

It happens easily, without Tom falling from you. A moment later, you’re resting over the warm mattress, wrapping your legs around Tom’s back and pulling him closer as he rails you into the bed. He’s faster than you’d been, and the new angle opens you up deeper, allowing his tip to press more pronouncedly against your g-spot. His chain dangles against your neck, the cool metal scorching against your flushed skin.

“Oh god,” Tom groans. The sounds of your bodies meeting as he roughly thrusts into you, again and again, fill the air. “You’re so perfect. Feels so good.” His eyes are dark as they meet with yours, swirling with unrestrained lust. “So wet, lovie. D’you like it when I fuck you? Yeah? Pussy’s squeezing me so tight. My pussy, isn’t it? You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, liking how it sounds.

Tom grunts and drills into you faster. With each rotation of his hips against yours, his thick head reaches further, dragging across your g-spot with ease and causing sparks to race up your spine. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you clutch at his torso for purchase as you scramble to stay grounded. When you add a hand to your clit, you feel your cunt clench, squeezing his length and making him groan again.

‘I’m not gonna last, love. Shit. Feels too fucking good,” he whimpers.

You bring his lips back to yours, meeting them clumsily as you moan. Your skin is hot and sweaty, being smothered by the heat of his body bearing down on you. You wind your free hand into his hair. “It’s okay,” you get out, voice catching. “I’m so close, Tom. Fuck. Make me cum. Please.”

You ride the edge for a few moments more before Tom cries out, calling your name in a voice so exerted and broken that it pushes you over the edge too. As his cock pulses against your walls and his groans fall like music to your ears, you let everything go, basking in the pleasure that crashes over your figure in thick, consuming waves. Tom’s hands are slick as they grasp at your sides, but he’s holding you tightly in place and you like it.

When the air finally clears, Tom pulls out, collapsing onto the mattress beside you with a loud groan. You flip onto your side, quivering as your core pangs with pleasurable aftershocks, your tired eyes drifting up to meet his. He reaches out, sweaty palm drifting to your face as he cups your cheek and smiles at you.

“Well,” he starts, voice low. He pulls you closer, and you carefully curl yourself into his arms. Tom nuzzles his lips against your forehead and leaves three light kisses to your skin. “That was a heavenly experience.”

You snort, burying your face in his chest and feeling the cool metal of his chain press to your skin. “Heavenly?”

“Mhmm. Because you’re an angel. My angel.”

You smile into his front. “What a charmer,” you say.

Tom combs some fingers over your hair and softly coaxes you away from his chest. Both of you share a pillow, his deep brown eyes feel of inquisition as he looks at you.

“Darling,” he mumbles, speaking slowly, almost nervous. “I like you a lot. And… And I know the circumstances are messy and complicated, but… I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I want this to be an every time thing. I want you to be my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah. My girlfriend.” Tom’s handsome eyes flutter over your face. “What do you say?”

You trace your index finger around the sculpted lines of his face, smiling softly as his lips pull into a grin. You think about how your life has changed since the first night you met him, and how your heart has slowly learnt to gravitate towards him. Tom’s right—it is messy, and maybe your union is complicated and a little wrong too, but it feels good. Him kissing your forehead and pulling you closer feels good. He feels good.

“Yeah,” you agree, speaking slowly. “I would really like that.”

Tom’s face splits into a smile, and he pushes in to kiss you. “Good,” he murmurs. “‘Cos I’m gonna woo you every single day of your life. I’ll bring you tea every morning, tuck you in at night. Make you moan louder than you’ve ever moaned in your life—”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already won me over, Tom, you can calm down—”

“Nope.” Tom’s grinning widely as he continues to peck your lips, unable to keep his hands off you. “I’ll keep charming you until I’ve won your heart, babe. This is just how it’s got to be.”

You kiss him, not knowing how to tell him that he’s already had your heart, firmly in the palm of his hand, since the very first night you met.

“Well,” you respond, voice quiet in the air. “I quite like the sound of that.”

Tom nuzzles his nose against you, lips brushing yours. “Yeah?”

You hum affirmatively and reach up to bury your hands back into his hair. “Yeah.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

:D let me know what you think please !!! I would love to know if you have a favourite scene...?! I am torn between y/n putting tom to bed + the lecture theatre...lmk (if you want !!)

mlist + taglist are through the link in my bio <3

thank you for reading!! <3<3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #frat!tom #frat!tom holland #frat!tomfic #smut #alternate summary for this is: tom has a raging b*ner for 16k straight

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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?�� Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

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