#i keep both links in my bio for ease | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trancylovecraft · 8 months ago

Text

(AOEX) The Blood Of An Unwilling Covenant

PART 7 OF 8: Lucifer

(Yandere Platonic Demon Kings (Ba'al) x Reader)

SERIES SUMMARY:

BARISTA'S NOTE: sECOND TO LAST PART LETS GO!!!!! GENDER: Femme FANDOM: Blue Exorcist

☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★

LAST PART ,AO3 LINK, SERIES MASTERLIST, NEXT PART

"Camera.. Check! Phone.. Check! Spare change of clothes.. Erm.."

Curtains half drawn over murky windows let light flood into the room, The early morning sun being not deterred by the soot dusting the window panes. It shone on the mess in the room, Shine rolling off ceramics and other illuminating surfaces.

Jars filled with demon bio-produce were piled up to the walls, Heavy-bound books of all sorts being just as tall. Clothes thrown everywhere, A mix of both hers and Lewins. All of it made for a gnarly sight and smell to come under.

But it was nothing compared to the current mess, If that was even possible. The old musty couch was strewn with more clothes than normal. TV still blaring some American cartoon as [F/N] paced back and forth between place to place.

She was somehow able to get around the place with relative ease. Opening up box after box stacked up top everywhere, Apartment still barely moved into.

"Heya.. You good there?" Lewin drawled as he watched [F/N] run back and forth to rummage through all the boxes in the room. Lewin himself was currently lazing upon the old burgundy couch, The one that had cushions torn and had been picked up on the side of the road by none other by the man himself.

[F/N] was almost foaming at the mouth, Even more so once she snapped her head over to him.

"Have you seen any of my clothes around here? I can't find the box with all my stuff in it- Ugh.." [F/N] winced once she drew her arm back out, A thick blue glow wrapped around it and hugging it tight with a slimy touch. A demon, And by the shape it took? No doubt a baby kraken.

Lewin, Ironically, Cracked a smile once he saw it.

"Oops, My bad!" He chuckled, Instantly raising a lazy hand to somehow shoo the demon away. "Linnaeus!"

And just as the demon had came, It had vanished at the summary of it's fatal verse. It seemed to writhe, Spasming and shaking before finally the grip around her loosened entirely. It fell, Hitting the floor as it's blue light started to flicker.

[F/N] looked at it's crumpled body, Disgust running through her features.

"Yeah, Keep your demons in their pens.. Damn it, Lew'.. This isn't the first time.." She scoffed, Pinching her brows with her now-free hand.

"Seriously.. You doin' good? I can see wrinkle lines appearing on your head." Lewin said, Gesturing to his own forehead hidden behind his mop of hair. She groaned, [F/N]'s eyes narrowing in on him.

"It's just.. I can't find my clothes and I need a separate pair in case these ones get ruined! Like I've already got my camera, A few notebooks.. Summoning papers, You know- But I still need my spare change and I can't find it for the life of me!" [F/N] exasperated, Sweat dusting her face.

"Don't you think you got enough?" Lewin said, Pointing over to the backpack sitting atop one of the heaps which so happened to be stuffed full of various items. All of which she listed, Including several other artefacts that seemed weird to where she'd be going.

"Not nearly! Since I wasn't able to go on the camping trip thing, I need to make sure I get everything right this time. It's gonna be a real big day for me!" [F/N] said as she turned back towards the boxes, Feverishly shifting through the contents once more.

Lewin grinned.

"Hah, You and me both.."

The True Cross Festival, The big day. Games, Dances, Fireworks, Food, Festivities. The event that every student in the school had been waiting for ever since they had been accepted into the institution.

Whispers of plans floated through the hallways, Excited chitters leading up to the day. God, [F/N] had been hearing it every second of the day just the week before. And now the big day was finally here.

For many it was a opportunity to ask out their crush due to the entry requirements, To others it was a time to relax and make memories. But to [F/N], It was a prime opportunity to investigate.

"Finally!" She grinned, Opening up another box to find all of her clothes packed neatly inside. Sweaters, Jeans and other types of accessories started to be yanked out of the box and into her arms.

Lewin watched as she piled another few pairs of clothing into her arms, Both for cold and hot weather and even another pair of underwear before hurriedly rushing over her bag and trying to stuff it all inside.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position on the old couch, Yawning lazily as he stretched.

"As I've said- You could really use to loose a few things in there, Ain't this suppose to be something you enjoy?" Lewin yawned once he finally stopped stretching, Staring at her from under his hair as she continued to try push the clothing into the overflowing bag.

"No- It's a way I can get more information about what's going down in there. Like the traitor and the blue night, The things we spoke about-" [F/N] said, Slightly wheezing as she tried to shove and shove everything down in there to no avail. Sweat gathering quicker on her face.

She tried once more, [F/N] pushing down the items on top.

All before she felt the arm of Lewin lightly tug at her wrist, Making her retract it quickly from her bag.

"Hey- What are you-"

"Oh yeah, Definetly overflowing.."

"Lewin- What are you doing?! Hey! Stop touching my stuff!"

"Keeping a few daggers in here? How'd you expect to get past security with all that?"

"Lewin stop it! It took ages to get everything in there! Stop it!"

"Okay, Maybe you can keep the summoning papers.."

"Thank you- HEY! That's my camera, Put it back! Put it back!"

"Aaaand, Ta-da!"

And just like that, The bag that [F/N] had so desperately tried to fill to the brim had depressed almost half it's weight before. Space now very much available inside, Only items spared being her general exorcism stuff and a few new things that Lewin had taken the liberty to throw in.

[F/N]'s jaw was as agape as her eyes, Staring into the new emptiness of her bag that Lewin had dared to meddle in.

"Lew'! Why the hell did you do that?! It took me ages to get everything in there, I need it all if I want to go snoop around in the school! You know, To help me get you evidence?!" [F/N] hissed as she placed her hands on her hips, Angrily staring up at Lewin who still had a lazy smile on his face.

He nodded, Scratching the back of his head.

"Yeah, Yeah. And you've been working really hard to do that! I mean you've already helped lead me to one of the traitors, And trust me, I appreciate that a bunch.. But I think you need to calm down." Lewin said.

[F/N] frowned as she looked at him, Aghast in her eyes yet somehow still mellowing out. Just a few months ago he had specifically told her to do some digging, Now he was telling her to stop it?

[F/N] scoffed.

"But.. But wasn't this something you wanted me to do? You know, Investigate? You can't tell me to stop once I've got invested in it too!" [F/N] exclaimed, Stepping closer to him.

Ever since she had the meeting in Mephisto's office, [F/N] had became just as enthralled as Lewin was in the investigation. Ever since she had gotten that horrid feeling about him, [F/N] knew that she needed to dig in more.

Snooping around teachers rooms, Sifting through file cabinets not meant for her. She had already gotten information and passed it over to Lewin, So after all this work how could he just tell her not to go further?

Lewin sighed.

"But I also said that you should get some friends, And hey! You have with all those exwires! I'm just thinking that you spend this time bonding like you kids usually do." Lewin explained as he in turn stepped closer, The two of them now staring eye to eye.

"They're not my friends.. They're just my classmates.." [F/N] said, And even she knew it was a lie.

"Whatever you say, Ya' munchkin. Just go out and have fun, Forget about the investigation for a few hours and I promise I'll let you throw rocks at the traitor I'm about to catch later." Lewin promised, Playfully reaching out a hand with his pinkie stuck up.

[F/N] huffed, Almost about to comment on his childish behaviour before she brushed it off and wrapped a pinkie of her own around his.

"Whatever.. You better keep your promise though, I've been dying to throw rocks at someone for ages now." She pouted, Pinky finger still firmly wrapped around Lewin's own.

He grinned.

"Of course. You just go have fun, Buy me a souvenir and I'll come back and pick you up at ten, Afterwards we'll hit a burger joint and then I'll let you throw rocks at him. Sound good?" Lewin asked.

[F/N] smiled.

"Yeah.." She said, Trying not to show her grin as she shied her view away from him.

And just like that, The hand that Lewin had joined with [F/N]'s pulled her closer. And before [F/N] knew it his thick arms wrapped around her, Bringing her into a hug.

[F/N] was surprised, Muscles tensing up as she felt his head rest atop hers which was currently pushed into the side of his chest. Lewin had not often hugged her before, Never showed much affection other than playful little punches.

But here he was, Bringing her in without restraint. [F/N] barely even cared about his horrible stench, Not when a hand rested on the back of her head, Another on her back. And just maybe, She started to relax.

Only a little.

"Now go scamper outta here, You're gonna miss your bus!" Lewin laughed as he pulled away from her, The silence he had undertaken before now broken. [F/N] was still standing in slight shock, Eyes wide as she looked up at him.

She blinked, Snapping back into reality.

"R-Right!" [F/N] exclaimed, Finally catching eye of the clock on the far wall. [F/N] tried to gather her thoughts once she gathered her stuff, Grabbing her bag strap and tossing it over her shoulder.

"See you soon, Lew'!" [F/N] called out, Finally reaching the door and turning the knob as she stepped out. She waved goodbye to him and he waved back with a lazy smile, Watching as she sprinted out the door.

A yellow raincoat hanging untouched on the hanger by the door.

☆♡☆

"Hey, Guys! Over here!"

The sun was held bright in the sky, A beautiful sight with no clouds to be seen, Just pure cerulean blue.

The uproar of chatter was already in the air, Sounds of people frolicking around the newly made stalls was the only thing in earshot. Rich smells of meat sizzling and the saccharine scent of sugar was also the only thing you could smell, The festival already starting to gain traction.

"Is that [F/N]? I thought she said she wasn't coming?" Konekomaru said, Turning his head as he watched her run over to them, Smiling slightly at being proven wrong.

"Huh? Oh- I guess she changed her mind!"

The air was fresh, [F/N] could tell as it flew behind her as she pranced over to the group standing just outside the entrance to the festivities. Their figures instantly recognisable as she stuttered to a halt in front of them.

"[F/N]! Thought you said you weren't coming?" Shima exclaimed incredulously as he watched her keel over to catch a breath, Eyes wide as he looked her up and down in her sweater and jeans combo.

"Change of plans.. Turns out I can make it after all.." [F/N] wheezed as she wiped the sweat off of her brow, Lungs burning as she raised herself back up to meet the eyes of her group.

Shima, Bon and Konekomaru. The trio of her classmates stood there in their own outfits, Ready for the festival. [F/N] tried to give them the best smile she could, Trying not to make it look like she hadn't dressed like a slob compared to them.

Bon huffed, Folding his arms.

"Seriously? I thought you said that you were gonna study instead since, You know, You failed your last demonic pharmaceuticals test?" He said as he raised a brow, Looking her up and down with that all too familiar judgemental stare.

[F/N] scoffed.

"And miss all the fun? Yeah no, I came to my senses!" [F/N] laughed as she lightly punched Bon on the side of the arm, Who suppressed a smirk as he lightly shoved her back. [F/N] cackled as she stuck out her tongue at him.

Bon rolled his eyes.

"You still need to study!"

"You still need to shut the fuck up!"

"Calm down you two, You're gonna cause a scene!" Konekomaru said, Moving so he was a human-barrier between the two.

Shima shook his head, Dramatically tutting as he looked at the two.

"Yeah, Exactly! You're really killing the mood you know, How am I suppose to get with hot girls if you two are bickering the entire time in the background? I still need to find a girl to get with so I can go to the dance festival later!" Shima whined as he gestured to the crowds packed behind him, All already enjoying the activities of the festival.

"Erm, I'm a girl?" [F/N] said, Gesturing to herself.

"I said hot girls, [F/N]." Shima replied with an innocent smile.

"HEY!"

[F/N] threw an insult back at Shima, To which Shima gave a passive-aggressive response. They barely even noticed when they got dragged off into the festival, Bon groaning as he lugged both [F/N] and Shima along with him, Konekomaru trying his best to calm the two down.

Only snapped out of it once the blaring noise caught up with her, A light shove by Bon and the smell of enticing meats. Blinking once she realised she was surrounded by a crowd and hundreds of stalls that seemed to muddle on the horizon.

She gulped, Sweat running down her brow with a slight smile.

This was gonna be a long day.

☆♡☆

"Aw man.. Never thought I'd say this, But it's good to get away from all the noise.. Huh?"

The sky was dark, Coloured the deepest of ebony blues and starless with all the light below. Unlike the morning there was a noticeable chill in the air, Either due to the passing time or the new altitude which the two had reached.

That saccharine scent was still lingering in the air, Beautiful tastes of all the food she had eaten still on her tongue. It was all so overwhelming to her, Even now as she stared down at the lights of the stalls did she still feel a rush.

One thing to the next, Perpetual motion. [F/N] had moved from stall to stall, Done party game after party game, Went through every classes activity set up from the festival and had laughed and screamed all the same.

They had met with Rin at his food stall and laughed along with him, They had went through the horror house and had gotten a good laugh when she watched Shima get scared by Shiemi. Izumo too they had passed not even a few minutes ago, Still lingering close by.

They had also lost Bon and Konekomaru somewhere else in the crowd, Konekomaru most likely going to talk with his date and Bon could be just about anywhere. So now it was just Shima and her, After everything that happened..

Dizzying, [F/N] felt. She sipped on the straw of the chocolate shake and let the taste try to calm her, Still cold in her hands and dripping down moisture from the sides. It helped, If only a little bit.

"You could say that again.. I mean, How many girls did you try to ask out?" [F/N] said to Shima as she lightly strolled beside him, High above the stalls in the higher part of the city. Looking lightly over the stone balcony to all the chaos below.

"Ugh! I can't even count and I usually always make sure to remember all the pretty faces I talk to!" Shima exasperated as he dragged his feet alongside her, Seemingly just as worn out from the celebrations as she was.

[F/N] rolled her eyes, Continuing to slurp on her milkshake.

"Just how much stuff I bought on it's own..! You know, My master insisted on emptying my bag before I got here and I'm actually kinda glad he did, Otherwise I wouldn't be able to carry all this.." [F/N] sighed as she readjusted the heaving backpack weighing her down, All stuffed to the brim with all the merchandise she knew her and Lewin would like.

He had slipped his card into her backpack, Something she had found out when rummaging through it. He had trusted her enough to spend his money wisely, Or more accurately trusted her to spend as much of his six-figure salary as she possibly could.

[F/N] smiled, Quietly thanking Lewin under her breath.

"..You and Lightning close?"

"Where'd that come from?" [F/N] asked as she turned to Shima, Who seemed to look back at her with a much more curious expression under the nights sky. Shima just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Dunno, I guess I'm just curious is all. Since you were already his apprentice before joining cram school or whatever, You two related or something?" Shima asked as they made their way towards the balcony, The one overlooking the sea of lights below and where the wind flowed openly.

[F/N] huffed as she continued to drink her milkshake, Leaning over on the stone railings to look out below.

"Not biologically, No. But you know that trope you see in movies? The dickhead older brother who always messes with your stuff and annoys you to high hell? Yeah, That's him." [F/N] said, Rolling her eyes with a slight smirk.

Shima smiled rather forlornly as he leaned over on the balcony like she did, Light reflecting in his eyes.

"Yeah, I get that." He laughed slightly.

"Ah, Okay. Cause of all your brothers, Right?" [F/N] asked as she drew her eyes off the crowds for only a moment, Just to see Shima stare right back off into it. He didn't smile, Just nodded slowly.

He didn't speak either, The smile drawn on [F/N]'s face starting to lessen at the sound of silence. Instead she just brought her eyes back over to the sea of lights, Looking at the crowds below enjoying the festivities.

[F/N] sipped on her milkshake, Tasting the chocolate on her tongue. She should have known that his brothers would've been something difficult to talk about, Ever since the trip to Kyoto she had known something was off.

Especially since the death of the eldest, [F/N] should've taken that as the first sign. She continued sipping on her milkshake, A sort of scratchiness starting to build up in her throat. Shima never really talked about his brothers, Not here nor there.

[F/N] continued to sip on her milkshake, The lights starting to become much more.. Bright. Her nose scrunched up as she turned her head up to meet Shima, Who now seemed to be looking back down at her.

He smiled, Almost awkwardly.

"..Shima, I don't feel so good." [F/N] told him as she finally removed the straw from her mouth, Looking at her milkshake with a sort of queasiness in her eyes. A lightness in her head, A new stutter when she tried to stand.

What was happening? Her fingers started to shake, The muscles much more relaxed than they were suppose to be as the milkshake fell to the floor and splattered across the rocks. She stumbled, [F/N] starting to see two of each in her vision.

Shima hummed, Watching her gait with an unconcerned gaze.

"That must be the Rophynol finally kicking in then." He replied casually as he watched her start to double over.

[F/N] raised her head weakly as she near doubled over, Stumbling back as she stared at him with wide eyes. What little gathered conscious she had left recalled that drug, As clear as day she knew what it was.

Rophynol, Otherwise known as the date-rape drug.

Causes symptoms of confusion, Dizziness, Drowsiness, Lack of coordination, Loss of motor control and slurred speech. Often used by scummy people to knock out an unwilling victim, Usually for the purpose of..

Oh,

Oh fuck.

"Get- Get.. Get away.. Away!" [F/N] tried to yell but it came out as a wheeze, Stumbling back, Almost tripping over on her own feet. It felt like the world was spinning around her, Shaking around like it was encased in a snow globe.

There was no one around to help her, Everyone was so enthralled by the entertainment below that no one dared to come up here. Everyone except her and Shima, No one else around to hear her pleads for help.

Her eyes were wild as she looked at him, Like a cornered animal ready to bite.

His was casual, Looking at her with some synthetic sympathy.

"Don't worry, It's not what you're thinking. I'm not that much of a creep! I slipped it into your shake when you weren't looking earlier, Sorry 'bout this but my boss said that I was to return with you unharmed so.. Had to get creative with how I got you and all!" Shima laughed as he scratched the back of his head, Smiling innocently as if nothing was wrong.

[F/N] wheezed.

What? What was he saying? Who was.. Who was he talking..?

Illuminati.

[F/N] couldn't.. Couldn't get.. Get away. Get away. She needed to get away, Run.. Run away. Lewin, She needed to get Lewin.. Something was.. Something..

Shima got up from his leaning position on the balcony, Slightly stretching with a small yawn as he did.

"Alright, [F/N]. I'm gonna need you to come with me now, Okay? I ain't going to hurt you, My boss would kill me if I did!" He joked as he strolled towards her almost convulsing body, Her eyes untamed and barbaric.

His hands reached out, And in that moment [F/N] cried out.

"Ah-!" Shima yelped out once he felt a slice of what felt like a knife cross his cheek, A searing pain starting to settle into his skin. Blood spurted out from the paper-cut like wound, Muscles tensing.

In [F/N]'s shaky hands was a summoning paper, In her stupor somehow able to pull them out and cut her thumb.

Sylphs floated around her, Glowing an angry luminescent blue and the air around them much fresher than before, Angry faces starting to dart towards him like arrows.

"Aha-! You really are impressive, Should've expected as much from an Arc Knight's apprentice!" Shima complimented in a swift moment, Pulling out his k'rik from within a pocket of his suit and extending it to it's full length.

The gold gleamed in the air, The hoops on the end rattling as he slammed it down towards the oncoming sylphs.

But it stopped.

Before the end of his staff could hit the floor, The fresh air emitted by the sylphs had vanished from the sight. Shima paused in his movements, Eyes raising up to realise that they had disappeared entirely.

He blinked, Sight lowering down.

[F/N] laid fallen upon the rocky pavement, Mouth ajar and dripping in her own saliva. Eyes rolled up to their whites as she convulsed on the floor. The sylphs gone with her, Disappeared once she had finally fallen unconscious.

Shima let out the biggest sigh of his life.

Luckily he didn't need to deal with [F/N], Who had already shown skill incredible and insanely difficult to deal with talents in taming. It would've been impossible to capture her without any sedative, And he needed this to go smoothly.

He still had to find Izumo, Of course!

☆♡☆

"Honey..?!"

"Daddy!!"

The cries of the mans family called out from behind him, Echoing up and out of the dingy stairwell they stood in.

It was cold, Frigid even. If it wasn't for the welcoming warmth outside it could've been mistaken for the winter, Mostly due to the freezer-like chill and the damp dripping conditions around them.

The bloody and beaten man was knelt towards the floor, Keeled and prostrated before The Paladin, An Arc Knight and an entire legion of exorcists, All surrounding him like a pack of dogs ready to snap and bite down onto his flesh.

"We're only getting started now.. As you can see, Your task has ended in failure." Lewin mused as he stood before the shaking man, A grin on his face as he almost looked fascinated by the dribble of blood spurting out from his wounds.

"Could you quickly tell us what's on at the big event?" His family, Terrified and shaking, They called out to him in horror. Lewin paid them no mind as he moved forward, Bending his knees and crouching down towards him.

The man still had his own ichor dripping down his face, Iron tasted teeth turning into a snarl.

"Monster!" He barked, Blood splattering onto the floor in front of him.

"Uh oh! Should you be using such an attitude?" Lewin laughed with a child-like smile as he lowered closer to the man, A gleam in his eyes as he spoke. "I'm gonna have to ask your wife and son!"

The mans bloodshot eyes widened at that, Flicking back from Lewin to his family in the matter of seconds. Blood poured out of his mouth faster than his expression turned sour, Horrified as he watched his family be restrained by a group of exorcists.

He shook his head, Eyes agape as they connected with his wife's.

"Don't.. They don't know anything!" The traitor sputtered as he turned back to face Lewin, Who smiled all the same at him. His wife and son, His pride and joy. They wouldn't.. They wouldn't dare…

Would they?

Lewin chuckled as his eyes seemed to part from under his hair, His elongated pupils and a gleam sharper than a sword in his eyes. The man only watched in horror, Listening to him as he spoke.

"Why bother acting like a good guy now?" Lewin asked as he examined him from his bloody head to severed toes. That sadistic smile downturned, Much more malicious now. "Both of us are monsters in this regard. Cut it out."

Lewin turned his head to meet the eyes of the mans family.

"Then.. Shall we start?" Lewin asked and suddenly the group of exorcists started to pull and manhandle the mans kin, Hands on their shoulders starting to tug them back. Their eyes widening, Struggling to no avail within the hands of the exorcists.

The man gasped.

"Daddy!" His son called out, Terrified face already bursting with tears.

"W-What are you doing..?!" The traitor called out. His expression petrified as he watched his family start to be dragged away into the sea of exorcists surrounding them, His wife wailing as she tried to call out for her son, Her husband all the while yelling for them to take their hands off her.

The man cried.

"W-We're kidnapping two girls hiding within the Japanese division, Both within the hour!" He called out as Lewin raised to his feet, The man watching him with both ire and fear in his eyes. "They're important for our organisation and our goals!"

Lewin frowned, Looking down at the man as he had finally given him the information he had wanted to know. He hummed, Resting his hands on his hips.

"Their names are?" He asked as he looked down at him.

The traitor gulped, Tasting his own blood.

"Izumo Kamiki..!" He rasped. Lewin stepped closer, Almost urging him to go on as the entire exorcist legion listened on.

"..And [F/N] Light!"

Lewin's heart stopped.

☆♡☆

A blinding white muffled by blurred vision, That was all [F/N] could see.

It felt like she was on a ship sailing on a billowing sea, Waves rocking the boat back and forth along the waves as seafoam sloshed at the sides. Rainy too, Pattering against the wild wind of the sails and the rickety wood of the body.

[F/N] wasn't in control of the wheel, Not able to steer her way through the rushing waves or the inky black of the clouds above. She wasn't able to see either, The rain too thick and the wind too fast to even see a proper route out.

Lewin.. Where was her brother?

Her eyelids raised, Though heavy and numb she managed to wretch them open. That blinding white became so much more prominent, So much more scorching to her eyes as she groaned at the sudden light.

"Ah.. You're awake."

A voice like stricken thunder shook her awake, Her eyes becoming lightweight as they shot open to come face to face with a blindingly bright room. Her body felt numb, Unbelievably so. As she rolled her shoulders she barely felt the cushions against them, Nor the clothes it pushed against.

[F/N] groaned, Her heart beginning to pound in her chest especially once she saw a humanoid blur come into focus. It seemed to sit across from her on what appeared to be.. A rather antique looking couch?

"L-Lew.. Lewin..?" [F/N] mumbled out. Her mind in shambles and her vision unfocused. What happened to her? Did she pass out on the couch? Did Lewin carry her home? [F/N] sniffled slightly, Head spinning as she tried to focus her vision.

"You must be confused.. I understand. Your body must be aching, I understand that too. I apologise for the way we had extracted you.. However it was deemed to be the most painless out of our options.." What?

That didn't sound like Lewin. That didn't sound like the jovial tune that sung every time he spoke. It sounded much more delicate, Much more bleak. [F/N] didn't recognise that voice, It certainly wasn't Lewin.

Opening her eyes a bit further, She tried to see through the blinding light.

"W-Who are..-"

Her eyes finally focused on a man sitting adjacent from her, Upon a rather expensive looking couch from the renaissance era. [F/N]'s breath hitched in her throat, Eyes widening, Not caring about the light now-

It was a man.

[F/N] felt her heart stop entirely at the sight of him, Her mouth growing dry. He sat right in front of her on the opposite couch, One leg over the other with posture that could make an old lord envious.

His hair was a beautiful blonde, One that shone white under the candle-light of the candelabra above. His eyes a glorious viridian like the tailfeathers of a rosella, Pupils cut down into slits stared at her with a soft gleam-

He was a demon.

[F/N] wanted to run.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you.. [F/N]. This meeting is long overdue.."

She felt a wave of unease wash over her, Something was incredibly- Incredibly wrong. It wasn't the way he sat or the way he looked- No- It wasn't even the evident rot festering on his skin.

But it was just the air he gave off, So subtly overwhelming. A pit in her stomach forming as she looked at him closer and closer. He presented himself as dignified, As angelic even- But something about that just made [F/N] want to turn her head and puke-

He wasn't right. He was off-

[F/N] felt bile rise in the back of her throat.

"My name is Lucifer, Commander of The Illuminati and The King of Light." Lucifer spoke, His emerald eyes gleaming under the luminescence.

[F/N]'s heart stopped.

Her hands grasped the edges of the couch she sat on with a grip that could crush stone. The.. The King of Light? Lucifer? It couldn't be. But every cell, Every molecule, Every atom was screaming at her to run-

Something that could only be achieved by such accursed royalty.

"You are currently sitting within my estate, Again, I apologise for your rather abrupt summoning here." Lucifer spoke up once more as he slowly rested one of his legs over another, A hand gesturing towards the table. "Please, Feel free to indulge. These were specifically procured to your taste, You do enjoy sugar, Correct?"

[F/N] didn't want to eat, She wanted to puke. Her throat was dry yet she could do little but reach a trembling hand over to the collection of treats upon the table top. Trays of tarts, Plates stacked with parfait all on this antique little table.

Her fingers fumbling before grasping a macaroon, Her eyes never leaving the demon sitting across from her.

[F/N] couldn't even think.

Lucifer's face never changed. Never ticked, Never twitched. Watching calmly as she began to nibble on the outer shell of the macaroon, The one that happened to be the same flavour she had grown to favour. A gentle hum erupted from his throat.

[F/N] flinched.

"Is it to your liking?" Lucifer asks her, His expression unmoving as [F/N] froze up on the spot. [F/N] felt her mind race at such a simple question, Swallowing back what little of the macaroon she had ingested.

Don't be scared- Don't- Just don't try to look him in the eye- His eyes- Just don't-

"..Y-Yes- Uhm-" [F/N] blurted out. It came out hoarse as her hand darted up to pat her throat, Her jugular tensing.

"Homare." Lucifer called out, His voice a little louder than the melodious tone he held before. [F/N]'s eyes darted to her right as she heard firm, But swift footsteps make their way over to the table.

CLANK!

[F/N] gulped. Two tea cups were placed onto the table. Liquid pouring. A petite woman standing by [F/N]'s side with an ornate porcelain teapot in hand, Contrasted by the adorned look on her Illuminati uniform.

When did get she here?

Homare didn't look at [F/N] at all, Her eyes kept on the from behind her glasses. Lips thinned in a tight line. As she finished pouring the liquid, [F/N] quickly took the teacup. Anything to avoid his eyeline.

"You must be wondering why you're here." Lucifer spoke up once more, Homare's presence going ignored as she began to pour the simmering hot tea into the second cup. [F/N] bit her lip.

"L-Listen- I don't have any information to give you." [F/N] quickly said, Her words blurring together. "I don't- I don't get that kind of access. I've never been to- I've never even been to Italy..! I-"

"You are not here for information, We are aware you aren't privy to that kind of information." Lucifer cut in calmly as Homare finished pouring the tea into his cup, Gently picking it up as she drew back away from them, Somewhere back into the room.

[F/N] gulped.

"T-Then why-"

"You've caused quite a stir in Gehenna, Though I'm sure you are aware of that by now." Lucifer spoke, Taking a sip of his tea. "Even amongst my siblings, The other kings, You've made quite an impression on them."

Lucifer lowered the teacup from his lips, His eyelids fluttering as he set it down amongst the array of desserts on the table. Irises flicking back

"I have been hearing about you for quite a long time.. Ever since Astaroth had returned speaking of a little human girl who had caused his vessel's heart to start beating.." Lucifer trailed off, For once, His eyes narrowed. "I had excused it as the delusion brought on by his rapidly decaying body.. But then it was Iblis and Egyn.. Who both haven't stopped mentioning you, Even to this day.."

[F/N]'s grip on the tea cup tightened as he continued on, Memories of the day she had met the pair of kings flashing in her mind. They had remembered her, They didn't let go- Her penchant-

This was what Azazel had warned her about.

"I've been wanting to meet you, You see." Lucifer spoke, A glint appearing in the shimmer of his eyes. "Your.. Penchant, As you call it, I want you to explain it to me. Tell me how you inflict it on other demons, As it has become rather troubling.. Tell me, How do you make them believe they feel human love?"

[F/N] wanted to scoff, She really did.

Human love? As if such a creature could comprehend it.

Human love was gentle, Human love was passionate, Yet there was no string of words to ever describe it. You could call it kind, You could call it exciting. Bonding, Connecting, Warming.

But none of these were ever things such a monster could understand.

"I.. I-I don't know- I can't control it." [F/N] tried to explain, Ashamed of the terror rushing through her veins as she tried to make sense of her words. "I-It's not like I'm doing it on purpose- It just happens when I meet them, That- That somehow they just become more.. Friendly..?"

The word friendly tasted like venom on her tongue.

"I-I don't know how to explain it- I don't know how it happens. Just.." [F/N] took in a shaky breath, Raising her head up to him, Humiliated by what she was about to do. "P-Please, Let me go. I just want to go home- I don't have anything to give you just..! Please.."

Begging.

It made her feel disgusting.

But she needed to get out of here, Out of here before he became affected too.

Lucifer hummed, Unaffected by her words as he leaned back on the couch he was sitting in. He had picked up his tea again and began to sip on it once more, His body still tense, The rot on his skin continuing to fester.

"So you can't control it.." Lucifer mumbled as he peered down at the liquid circling in his teacup. [F/N] was sat on baited breath. Well aware of the eyes on her, The body guards, The Illuminati members that she was unable to see stationed about the room.

"N-No..- So could you please just.. Please let me go." [F/N] spoke quietly, Yet desperately, Trying her best to convince The King of Light to let her go. Like a mouse begging a cat to let it out from in-between it's claws.

Lucifer didn't respond. Just sat there. Staring down at his tea.

"P-Please.. I'm only an exwire, I couldn't do anything even if I tried-" The grip on the teacup handle tightened.

[F/N] cut herself off as she watched his jaw tighten, Shoulders squaring, The teacup beginning to shake from the sheer grasp he had on the handle.

"Commander..!"

CRASH!

[F/N]'s eyes widened as she watched the teacup slip from his fingers, Shattering on impact at the edge of the table. Lucifer groaned under his breath, Keeling over, His trembling gloved fingers grasping the ledge of the table.

Homare, The woman from before rushing over to his side followed by a small fleet of guards. [F/N] pushed herself back in suprise, Hadn't expecting the crowd as they rushed to their superiors side.

"What the-"

"It appears this body is much weaker than I had thought..-"

Lucifer grasped the side of his cheek, Where [F/N] watched as the decay visibly grew. She felt her eyes widen as Homare helped steady him. Her attention focused on him and only him, Her lips thinned. [F/N] blinked.

Was this her chance?

Demon Kings, Their bodies unable to handle their strength, Decaying faster the bigger they are. It was only correct that the strongest amongst them would be in constant pain, Constant torture.

She knew what she needed to do- To try.

[F/N] slowly released her grip on the couch. Lucifer keeled over, His guards and right-hand focused soley on him. Nudging herself to the side, Further, A little more. [F/N] needed to find summoning paper, Or at least something to prick her thumb-

[F/N] didn't expect to get far, Not without her dear sylphs-

CRASH!

[F/N] yelped.

Trays and platters fell to the floor, The desserts crumbling against the floor to make way for the arm that lunged out from amongst the small group. A hand grasped onto her wrist. A thinning, Shaky, Sickly hand with such unbelievable strength.

A pair of green eyes were illuminated through the parting of silvery hair, Wide, Staring at her. His instincts and his reflexes unmatched. [F/N] stared into them, Her throat going dry-

"Do not move-"

THUMP!

It was like a pin had been dropped in a silent room, Or a scream erupting within a library. It was the kind of thing that could be felt from miles away, Like the devastation of a tsunami or the the heat scorching off the sun.

And it was without any noise, Not much anyway.

His hand let go. [F/N] pushed herself back onto the couch, Her legs almost kicking in her scurry, Trying to get as far away from him as possible.

THUMP!

She knew what had happened when Lucifer had gasped for air, Like a drowning man taking his first breath of air. When his face moved like it had muscles underneath, Not tin and clockwork.

The guards all made barks of concern as he collapsed back onto the couch. Body jerking. His eyes wide as he stared up at the ceiling, Heaving, His chest raising up and down at an unnatural pace. His expression, It was-

"Commander..! Are you..-!"

"T-This heart.. This.." Lucifer breathed, In and out, His body splayed against the couch as his eyes lit up. The words of Homare went completely ignored. "This vessel-! T-This body..!"

Lucifer's hands grasped his vessel, One grasping the fabric and flesh covering his heart and the other almost frantically trailing up the rot that festered on the side of his face. His breathing ragged, Yet his body calm and almost relaxed.

"Commander..?" Homare's eyes widened as she watched him, Raising up as her eyes stared on with confusion. Lucifer grasped his chest, Where his heart was, His breathing slowing. Calming. If only a bit.

He shuddered, An audible shiver running down his spine. The fleet of guards stepped away from him, All looking at one and other at the scene. It was almost like his body had melted into the cushions, Relaxing, Like the numb procured from a good night's sleep.

"This body..!" Lucifer breathed out, His eyes aglow as he stared up at the ceiling above. His hand shook where it grasped his heart, The organ that began to thump. "There is no pain- I- What is.. It feels.. Good- No. It feels great..!"

Lucifer stirred, His head almost lolling to the side as he sat forward on the couch. His eyes looked almost dizzy, And if not for his unsightly self-control he would've collapsed right back onto the cushions.

[F/N] flinched when his head raised.

He was affected.

Lucifer's eyes snapped onto her, Widening, Watching.

"You..-!"

His voice sounded like he was parched, His eyes lighting up when he finally drew his attention back to her.

[F/N] could only yelp once she was yanked forward. When those hands grasped onto her wrists and tugged her forward. She almost collapsed over the table and the fallen trays, Barely grasping onto the edge to save herself.

"T-This was it..! I understand it now.. What my siblings were raving about, This is it..!" Lucifer rasped as he pulled her closer with such unthinkable strength, His stare scorching, Looking down at her- "You.. I understand now, Why they were so enthralled by you- I understand-!"

[F/N] yelped.

"No- No- NO-!" [F/N] yelled out, Unable to take it anymore. She cried out. Trying to yank her arm away from him to no avail. Lucifer only tightened his grip around her wrist. Painful, Almost bruising her skin.

"You..! You stay right there-!" Homare called out, A hiss in her voice as she quickly took charge and grasped onto [F/N]'s shoulder, Keeping her in place. [F/N] struggled, Trying her very best to get out of the woman's grasp but it was futile.

"L-Let go-!"

"Please.. Come closer." Lucifer almost begged, His voice quiet yet pleading as he relented the grasp he had on her to beckon her towards him.

Was the space between them too much? The two foot wide gap? [F/N] felt tears begin to prick in her eyes, Pure hatred running through her veins as Homare wrestled her up to her feet and began to shepherd her around the table.

She almost slipped on the polish of the wood, Trying to kick her way out of Homare's hold.

But it was useless.

[F/N] felt herself get pushed down onto the opposite couch, Her back hitting the cushions as a chill ran down her spine. Whenever this happened, Whenever another demon king got affected by her penchant she had always found a way out. To run or fight, She had always found a way out of here.

She always had. Always. Even now there was a way out, Wasn't there? There must be- Surely-

"There you are.. That is much better.." Lucifer spoke out, His voice returning to that gentle lilt though there was an undeniable warmth to it now. His eyes gleaming, Sitting there beside her, Facing her, His attention unwavering.

"Don't- Don't touch me-!" [F/N] cried out, Tears starting to trickle down her cheeks as Lucifer took them into his gloved palms. His touch was freezing, Even through the silky fabric.

It was enveloping too, His grasp a little too tight. How could she get out? How could she escape? His grasp make her skin feel dead and embalmed. The guards surrounded them, Homare especially keeping her eyes trained on [F/N] for any sudden movements.

Fuck. [F/N] trembled. There was no way she'd be able to get away, There was no chance. [F/N]'s reddening eyes were wide, Unable to remove them from Lucifer's. Tears falling down her face, Sizzling at her skin.

How could she get away? In the end she was still just a girl.

The same girl refused to follow her friend into the forest.

Oh, Who was [F/N] kidding?

She was still a kid.

A stupid, Scared, Sniffling little kid.

"No.. No. Why are you crying?" Lucifer asked quietly, Eyes narrowing. His thumb rubbing circles into the skin of her cheek. Wiping away the tears that erupted from her ducts. "It.. Does not feel good to see.. Tell me, What is it that you want? What will make you stop?"

[F/N] hiccupped.

"To go home-! Let me go home-!"

"-No. Anything but that." Lucifer answered quickly, His lips thinning. His hands holding her face growing tighter at her words. "I'll give you anything else.. You see, This vessel.. I have never been able to exist a moment in this world without pain.. An ache that never dissolved, Not until now.."

Lucifer's voice almost shook, The euphoria of normalcy was overwhelming, Overtaking. It was something he could feel in his very being. [F/N] hiccupped, Her throat aching.

Lucifer parted his eyes from hers for only a moment, Glancing up at his right-hand.

"Homare.. Please summon a cleaner to fix this mess as well as more tea." Lucifer ordered firmly, Still gripping [F/N]'s crying face in his hands as Homare saluted and bowed, Barking out a "Yes, Sir..!" before quickly making her way towards the rooms pair of doors.

It was only once they opened and shut did Lucifer return his gaze towards her. Such a sickening, Burning gaze.

It was calculating, Thinking, Asking himself what he was to do.

"Now.."

Tears continued to run down her face even when she was tugged closer. Gently, Yet firm as she felt his arms awkwardly rest around her in what could only be described as an android's attempt at a hug.

His movements were stiff, His limbs not use to the action he was doing. An arm around her back with another on the back of her head. He had leant down, Her head resting on his shoulder. It was if he was trying to mimic what others have done before, A fraudulent copy of what usually was such a genuine action.

[F/N] didn't even fight back, Not when she felt the stare of the entire guard on her back.

"..Does this make you feel better?" Lucifer asked after a moment, His head resting atop hers. [F/N] still shook in his grasp, His cold and mechanic grasp. Feeling his fingers weave themselves into her hair, Firmer than what she expected.

Awkward, But firm enough to ensure she would be unable to get out.

It didn't make her feel better, Not in the slightest. [F/N] tried her best to calm herself down, To think rationally. To imagine that she was hugging someone she actually loved, Like Lewin or Osceola or her friends from the cram school.

Friends, They really were her friends.

[F/N] sniffled, Trying to imagine she was with them and not Lucifer right now. Imagining the smell of ash in the classroom, The obnoxiously coloured halls, The echoing chatter that bounced around the room.

[F/N] missed them. Her friends. Her actual friends. She had companions for once in her life. She had a network, A system she could rely on when she fell, Knowing that they would help her get back up.

[F/N] hoped they were coming for her, To help her get out of here. Anywhere but here, Anywhere.

"Commander."

Homare had returned, Had it been that long? [F/N] saw her standing there through the blur of her tears, Arms positioned behind her back and her eyes a little bit wider than they were before.

There was no tray of tea in her hands like she was ordered to bring.

[F/N]'s eyes widened.

A sudden chill washing over her.

"Commander, I apologise for returning so quickly however I've just been informed that we have- Erm.. Guests." Homare coughed on the last part, Almost as if figuring out how to put it.

Readjusting her glasses she spoke once again.

"The other demon kings, They are here."

[F/N] felt her heart stop.

The demon kings.. They..

They were here?

Lucifer let go of [F/N] however reluctantly, Releasing her from his hold. He pushed himself up to his feet and readjusted his uniform, Settling the velvet of his cape back over his shoulders as he turned to face Homare.

"I had expected this much.. I can sense their presence already.." Lucifer spoke calmly as he dusted himself off. "Not just Astaroth, Iblis and Egyn.. I can sense that Beelzebub, Amaimon and Samael are here as well.."

"Yes, Commander. They are currently standing within the foyer as we speak, They are currently waiting for you."

"Is Samael willing to talk?"

"Yes, I believe he was the one that alerted Beelzebub and Amaimon here. He has not came with anyone from The Order."

"I see. Good."

[F/N] felt her heart near explode. The kings, Demons, The worst of them all.

They were here.

A cold sweat covered her skin worse than it had before, Tears and snot dribbling down her face even harder. All of them, The ones she had met over the years, They had never forgotten her and now they were here.

[F/N] couldn't fight, Couldn't scream, She couldn't run anymore like she had done so many times in the past.

This was it.

There was no escaping now.

"Prepare the master dining room for a feast, Summon the cooks to prepare food however last-minute. Whatever they deem is best."

"How many chairs, Commander?"

"Nine. I can sense Azazel has recently found himself a vessel, He should be arriving rather late but make room for him anyways."

Lucifer turned to her, The emerald in his eyes glinting as he looked down at her. That expression, The one of calm and collected demeanour holding something else now. Something much darker than his title suggested.

He turned to her, Examining her from head to toe.

"I suppose there would be no time to fix your appearance, Unfortunately. I don't believe that our siblings would stay patient much longer.." Lucifer remarked as he looked at her, Frozen there, Terrified out of her mind.

He turned to face her now, Homare already running off to complete her order. Lucifer looked at her from head to toe, At her expression of gritted teeth and sweat building on her brow.

Lucifer almost sighed.

"And I don't suppose you would come peacefully to the dining room either. You are still shaken from the unorthodox way I brought you here, Not to mention that I've heard you have a rather troublesome distaste for us demons." Lucifer almost lamented as he looked down at her.

He took a step forward, His hand raising in the air.

"Ah.. It's no matter. Today you have shown me how it feels to exist without pain, Without weakness." Lucifer spoke, Grateful, His words were dripping in it. "Even now I feel the beating of this vessel's heart, What a wonderous feeling. I understand what the rest of our siblings meant when they had told me.. And I thank you for that."

All of a sudden, He snapped his fingers.

[F/N] only heard the quick sounds of footsteps, Hundreds, Thousands. Echoing and ringing in her ears as she was hefted up to her feet. An arm under each of her pits, Carrying her, Holding her up with such daze in her expression.

Lucifer's gaze almost softened.

"This is familial love, Is it not? Even such a demon as I can be affected by it, By you." Lucifer spoke, So eerily, Dreamily. As the guards surrounding her began to take her away, Her mind in shambles with no more tears left to cry.

[F/N] felt her feet drag against the floor, Mind yelling at her- Screaming as she heard a door open.

Wishing this was all just a dream.

A ghost of a smile appeared across Lucifer's face, Only fitting on such a lifeless being.

"Don't try to fight or run, [F/N]. You may not favour demons, But as our newest sibling, You are sure to learn how to see things our way. However long it takes. Please, Try to behave yourself, Will you?"

The door slammed shut.

And suddenly, Everything turned black.

106 notes · View notes

legacygirlingreen · 3 months ago

Text

"Princess" || Commander Wolffe x OFC Perdita || Clone x Clone OC Week 2025

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x OFC Perdita Halle (Bio HERE)

Word Count: 6.8k+

Rating: SFW but Teen+

Warnings: heavy flirtation, mentions of order 66, grief

Author's Note: Day 3 of @clonexocweek! Shifting gears to one of my other OC's Perdita. You can find her Bio linked ahead! This is also the next installment of her story with Commander Wolffe! So thankful to this writing challenge to really push me to keep my stories going! As always, this story exists within @leenathegreengirl 's AU and she is responsible for helping bring Perdita to life!

Previous Work || Masterlist

Wolffe stormed through the swamp, fury in every step. How he had ended up here was something he still couldn't fully accept as his own doing. The decision to fire on his own troopers the moment he set foot on the landing platform with the Jedi in custody had set everything in motion—forcing them both into a frantic scramble for a shuttle to escape. While their initial flight had been successful, it became clear that no matter how many ships they commandeered, they were always being tracked. The Empire was waiting for them the moment they made it off-world. And so, their latest crash landing on Nal Hutta, the ship's descent still echoing in his mind…

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

“I’d brace yourself for a rough landing, Princess,” he muttered grumpily, his eyes scanning the damaged shuttle’s computer system. The trajectory was set, but that didn’t ease the gnawing sense of dread. The hyperspace jump hadn’t been the problem—no, it was the damage they’d sustained during the last firefight. When they entered the atmosphere, the shuttle had been torn apart even more, each burst of fire and each jolting impact chipping away at what was left of the ship.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she snapped back, her voice edged with irritation.

He wasn’t sure why the nickname had stuck. Maybe it was the undeniable truth that, despite everything, she did look every bit like royalty—her elegance even in chaos a sharp contrast to the grim reality of their situation. Or maybe it was just his way of dealing with everything—his passive-aggressive shield, the thin veil of sarcasm and annoyance that kept the world at bay. He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing: the name fit her, and it kept slipping off his tongue without a hint of regret.

The shuttle’s hull groaned in protest as it plunged further into the atmosphere, metal screeching under the strain. Wolffe’s fingers flew over the controls, trying to stabilize the craft, but it was like trying to tame a wild animal. Sparks flew from the dashboard, and alarms screamed in their ears as the ship's systems malfunctioned one by one.

“We’re not gonna make it,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. His hands tightened on the controls, his mind racing with calculations, but there was no escaping the inevitable.

Perdita’s voice cut through the chaos. “Wolffe, do something!”

He barely heard her over the sound of the wind whipping through the shuttle’s breaches, but he could feel her eyes on him. He knew she was scared. Hell, he was scared. His mind raced, thinking of a hundred ways to try and save them, but his heart kept coming back to one thing: her.

She was a fighter, he’d seen that time and again, but there was something about the way she sat there—straight-backed, almost too calm for someone about to crash into a swamp—something that gnawed at him. It wasn’t the same composure he saw in seasoned soldiers. It was something more fragile, hidden behind those defiant eyes of hers.

His breath hitched as he looked over at her, the storm of emotions he’d kept locked up inside surging to the surface. “Don’t worry, I’m not letting you die,” he growled, more to himself than her, his voice rough with the weight of the words. There was no time to explain, no time to reconcile his feelings, but that fact rang clear in his mind.

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly about to retort, but the shuttle bucked violently, throwing both of them against their seats. The world outside spun, a blur of treetops and sky, before the ground suddenly rose up to meet them with a bone-rattling jolt.

The crash itself felt like an eternity—a gut-wrenching mix of twisting metal and bone-shaking impacts. For a moment, Wolffe was sure they were done for. His grip on the controls tightened as the shuttle careened towards the swamp, its fuselage skidding through the muck before coming to an abrupt, jarring halt. The sound of groaning metal filled the air, followed by an eerie silence.

He was breathing hard, disoriented, and his ears rang. For a moment, he just sat there, fighting to clear the fog in his mind. Then, he turned to her. Perdita was still in her seat, eyes wide but alert, a few cuts and bruises on her face from the impact and her hitting the glass viewport, but—thank the stars—still breathing.

“Princess,” he breathed, his tone softer now, betraying the storm of emotions he’d tried to mask. “You okay?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her hand pressed against the side of her head as she checked herself for injuries. It was then that Wolffe realized how deeply he’d been holding his breath. The relief flooding through him was overwhelming, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he let himself be vulnerable, his concern for her slipping through the cracks of his tough exterior.

Perdita finally looked over at him, her lips curling into a small smirk, despite the blood trickling from a gash on her temple. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Wolffe’s lips twitched, but his gaze softened. "Maybe later," he muttered, then quickly turned his attention to the wreckage around them. "We need to get out of here. Now."

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

That was how he had ended up slogging through waist-deep, murky water, making his way toward what he could only loosely call civilization. If you could even label it that in Hutt-controlled territory. Still, it was precisely the area's reputation for being lawless and corrupt that had sparked the decision to come here in the first place. Nal Hutta, despite the Empire’s claims of dominance, remained firmly beyond their grasp. But in the chaos and uncertainty of this place, there was opportunity—a chance for both of them to regroup, to blend in with the shadows and find something they desperately needed: new clothes, supplies, and a ship the Empire wasn’t tracking.

The only problem now, however, was the eerie sound of water sloshing quietly beneath their boots, a constant reminder of how far from safety they truly were. There was no conversation, no words exchanged between them as they waded through the murky waters. Silence had become their constant companion. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, either. Their interactions had devolved into either tense, frustrated silence or harsh words. Gone were the days of lighthearted banter that had once filled their conversations during the war.

It hadn't taken long for Wolffe to realize that the fall of the Jedi Order had profoundly changed Perdita. The peaceful presence she had once projected, that calming aura she used to exude, had been dulled. In its place, there was a rawness to her emotions—a sharpness in her gaze and a palpable edge to her every move. Wolffe had seen glimpses of this before, flashes of intense emotion that cut through her usually serene exterior, but now, those moments were no longer rare. They were becoming the norm. And it was in this silence, as the water lapped at their feet, that he found himself unsure of where they stood now—or where they were heading.

He’d read her file shortly after the fall of the Jedi Order, desperate to find any shred of information that might explain which of the Jedi he had known were still alive—and, more hauntingly, which ones had perished, and how. Perdita’s name had appeared on the list of the missing, along with that of her padawan. At the time, that brief mention had sparked a small flicker of hope in him, something to hold onto as he navigated the confusion and loss of those early days. His ears had remained attuned, waiting for any news, any whisper that might tell him more.

But, despite all the time that had passed since their reunion, he still hadn’t found the courage to ask her about the whereabouts of her padawan. The silence surrounding that question had remained a heavy weight between them, one Wolffe wasn’t willing to lift. He could feel it in the air between them—an unspoken truth that the padawan had likely met the same grim fate as so many others. The odds were too high, the likelihood of survival too slim. He had seen too much in the aftermath of Order 66 to believe otherwise. He had learned, painfully, that the Empire’s reach was long and merciless.

"He’s fine—" Perdita's voice cut through the silence, her words tight with tension as they waded through the water. The sentence hung in the air, heavy with the unsaid. Wolffe hated it when she did that. He hated how she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, even without a single word exchanged between them. It wasn't that he could fault her for it; after all, she had never once intruded on his thoughts since they had found each other again. Perdita respected his boundaries, never reaching into his mind the way others might have. But she couldn’t help when his emotions grew too loud, too raw, for her to ignore.

She always seemed to sense it—when his heart clenched, when his thoughts wandered into the darker corners of his past. She could feel the weight of his unresolved questions, his guilt, his fears. But there was something else, too—something deeper in her tone that he couldn’t quite place. It was as if, in that one brief sentence, she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him.

Wolffe didn’t respond immediately, but the silence that followed was thick with the tension of unspoken truths. Perdita’s assurances weren’t enough to silence the nagging doubt in his mind, but he knew better than to press her on it. He assumed she wasn’t ready to share, and that was something he could respect, even if it ate away at him.

"You are free to ask what happened if you like," Perdita spoke softly, her voice devoid of the sharp edge that had marked most of their exchanges since they’d been reunited. Gone was the venom, the anger that had become familiar whenever she addressed him. Instead, there was a quiet resignation in her tone, something fragile that caught Wolffe off guard. She seemed different now—less guarded, but in a way that spoke of deep, hidden sorrow. That sadness, creeping into her voice, halted his movements. He paused mid-step, his boots sinking slightly deeper into the murky water as he turned to face her fully.

The air between them felt thick with something unspoken, an invitation to tread where they had never dared before. Her eyes were distant, almost lost in a memory, as though she had seen something he couldn’t, something far beyond the shadows of Nal Hutta. He searched her face for some sign of her usual composure, but it was no longer there. The flicker of vulnerability in her eyes made his heart tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. He swallowed, unsure of what to say.

"It is not my business—" he began, but she interrupted him, her voice firmer now, tinged with something that bordered on resolve.

"Nonsense," she said sharply, though the bite in her words was softened by the underlying emotion. "You threw away so much to help me. You are at the very least owed an explanation if you desire it."

Her words lingered between them, carrying the weight of a history neither of them had fully confronted. Wolffe felt a strange stirring in his chest. Perdita had always been one to keep her secrets, and to offer even a hint of explanation was something rare, something she clearly didn’t give lightly. He could see the effort it took for her to even offer this. She wasn’t asking for his pity, but perhaps, for understanding—a moment of honesty in the aftermath of all they had lost.

He took a step closer, his voice low, steady, as though each word carried weight he didn’t want to acknowledge. "I didn’t do it for an explanation, Princess. I did it because I know you are a good person, someone who didn’t deserve to suffer. I didn’t want to be complicit in causing you pain," he admitted, the truth falling from his lips without hesitation.

There was a long pause between them, the weight of his words sinking into the murky water surrounding them. For a moment, Wolffe wondered if she would respond with bitterness or if she would retreat into the walls she’d built so carefully around herself. But instead, she simply nodded, as though the admission was both expected and understood. It was a moment of quiet connection between them, a rare honesty amidst all the lies and deceit they had both endured.

Perdita inhaled deeply, her shoulders tightening, as if bracing herself for the weight of the memories she was about to relive. She spoke softly, almost to herself. "We were on an assignment off-world. Onderon. We were assisting Gerrera’s forces—fighting the Separatists trying to reclaim the system.” Her eyes unfocused, drifting back to the distant horizon as if the memory was replaying in her mind. "When it happened... when everything fell apart, his men helped Zatt and I escape."

Wolffe’s chest tightened at the mention of Zatt. The padawan. His thoughts flickered briefly to the child, imagining the fear in his eyes as his world crumbled. He said nothing, allowing Perdita to continue, knowing she needed to speak.

"Kenobi sent out a message from the temple, warning survivors not to return, so we did that—we ran. Hiding where we could, wherever we thought we were safe. But as the Empire began taking over system after system, it became harder for someone like me to stay hidden, especially with a child. A child who doesn’t look anything like me." She shook her head, the sorrow clear in her voice. "It draws attention, and we couldn’t keep pretending that he was my flesh and blood. The Empire’s reach was too long, and the risks... they became too high."

Her voice faltered for a moment, a brief crack in her otherwise composed demeanor. Wolffe’s heart ached at the thought of how much she had carried alone during that time. She had been a beacon of strength in the war, but even the strongest of people break when they carry too much.

"So, I got him back to his people." Perdita’s voice hardened slightly as she continued, as if her decision was one she had replayed in her mind a thousand times. "They promised me that they would protect him. And... I trust that he is alright. I trust in the Force. He’s—" She paused, her words catching in her throat for a moment, as though the weight of them was almost too much to bear. "He’s a good kid. He deserves the chance to be a kid."

Wolffe felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to her words. The image of a child, a bright and hopeful young soul, caught in the crossfire of a war he couldn’t fully understand, hit him harder than he expected. Perdita had risked everything to ensure the boy’s safety, even if it meant letting go of him. He could see the love and the pain in her eyes, the impossible decision she had made out of love for a child who wasn’t hers by blood, but had become her responsibility all the same.

"You did what you had to do," Wolffe said quietly, stepping closer still. "You did what was right."

Perdita looked at him then, her eyes searching his, almost as if looking for confirmation that she wasn’t alone in her choices. "I hope I did," she murmured, more to herself than to him, her voice breaking slightly. "I hope he’s safe. That he’s somewhere far from this war... that he can live a life outside of the Empire's reach."

The silence that followed was filled with the weight of everything they had both lost, everything they had both endured. And yet, despite the darkness surrounding them, Wolffe could feel a quiet strength growing between them. Perdita’s pain was raw, but she wasn’t letting it consume her. She had made sacrifices, had fought for a future that didn’t belong just to her, but to someone else—a child who deserved a chance to grow up, untouched by the horrors of the galaxy.

"You’ll find him again," Wolffe said, his voice firm with the certainty of his words. Perdita’s gaze softened slightly, the tiniest hint of hope flickering in her eyes. "I hope you’re right, Wolffe," she replied quietly. "I really do."

Wolffe watched as a small tear escaped the corner of her eye, a fragile drop of emotion she couldn’t quite hold back. For a moment, it hung there, suspended in time, before she quickly brushed it away, as though to erase the vulnerability that had slipped through her defenses. "We should keep moving," she said, her voice steady, but there was a faint tremor beneath the surface—one that Wolffe could feel, even if she tried to hide it.

"Hey—" Wolffe’s voice was hesitant, laced with concern. He took a step closer, unsure if she would push him away.

"Nightfall is approaching," she replied quickly, her tone resolute, though the effort to mask her emotions was clear. Wolffe knew the routine, the constant push forward, the need to keep moving. It had been their mantra ever since they’d been thrust into this war-torn galaxy together, but something about the cold finality in her voice made him hesitate.

He couldn’t just leave her like this—not when he saw the raw pain etched so deeply into her face.

Without thinking, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his grip light but firm. He turned her body slowly to face him, not allowing her to keep walking. Her eyes met his, wide with surprise, and in that brief moment, Wolffe saw a fresh wave of tears gathering at the corner of her eyes—tears that threatened to spill over, despite her best efforts to hold them in.

"Perdita," he whispered her name, his voice softer than he intended, but full of meaning. It was the first time he’d said her name, the first time since their reunion, and the sound of it seemed to cut through the thick, heavy air between them.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sound of it, as if hearing it aloud was a jolt to her system. Wolffe noticed the subtle shift in her expression—the way her eyes softened, the way her breath hitched, as though his voice had pierced a wall she had so carefully constructed around herself.

For a brief moment, she looked like the woman he had once known, back when they were fighting side by side in the war. But then, the mask cracked just enough for him to see the depth of the grief she had buried inside. "I... I don’t remember you ever saying my name," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It was almost as though saying it aloud brought the reality of everything they’d been through into sharper focus, forcing her to confront the distance that had grown between them.

Wolffe’s heart tightened at her words. He hadn’t meant to bring back those old wounds, but somehow, he had. He realized then that, for all the battles they had fought together, all the missions they had survived, they had never truly stopped long enough to talk, to heal. Back then, it had always been "General" or "General Halle" in the field. A title, a role. There had been no room for anything else. Since their reunion, he’d stuck to calling her by the nickname she had loathed, a habit formed from years of familiarity, but it had never been her. He had never truly seen her until now, in this fragile moment of shared silence.

“Sorry, Jedi aren’t supposed to be weak,” she muttered, her voice laced with self-derision. She reached up to brush the tears from her face, as though to erase the vulnerability she had just allowed herself to show. But before her hand could make contact, Wolffe stopped her, gently intercepting her movement.

“Perdita,” he spoke her name softly, his voice quiet but steady, “you aren’t weak.”

His hand found hers, but instead of simply holding it, he gently guided it away from her face. His thumb traced the delicate line of her cheek, his touch light, almost reverent, as though he was afraid of breaking something even more fragile than the tears she had shed. He had never been one to shy away from battle, from hard decisions, but this felt different. In that simple act, in that moment, he was offering something she had probably not had in far too long: tenderness.

The gesture wasn’t necessary, not in any practical sense. He knew she could wipe the tears away herself. But there was something inside him, something deep and unspoken, that made him want to help ease the burden she carried. And so, with each gentle sweep of his thumb, he felt a warmth spread inside him—an unexpected pride. This was not just about shielding her from the storm outside. It was about giving her the chance to fight the battles within herself, the ones she had been fighting alone for so long.

She had always been alone in this—carrying the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, trying to make sense of everything that had been ripped away. But for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t have to do it alone. He was here, and he wanted to be here.

Her breath caught in her throat as he traced the scar that ran along her cheek. It was an old one, from long ago when she was a padawan, yet it was still part of her. It was a reminder of what she had survived. And as his fingers lingered there, a quiet admission slipped from his lips, barely above a whisper, but filled with meaning. “And you always were better than most of them in that Temple,” he said quietly, the words rolling out with the ease of someone who had seen the truth from the start, but had never said it aloud. “You were always different. You are different.”

The words hung between them, heavy with sincerity, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though time stood still. Perdita blinked, taken aback, her chest tightening as his words settled in. No one had ever said that to her—not like this, not with this kind of raw honesty. There was no judgment, no expectation. Only the simple truth, spoken with care.

She didn’t know how to respond. There had been so many voices over the years, so many opinions of who she was, what she should have been, who she had failed to become. But Wolffe wasn’t like the others. His words weren’t meant to fix her. They weren’t some hollow comfort, a fleeting reassurance to make her feel better. They were a quiet acknowledgment of everything she had been through, everything she still carried. It wasn’t just about the battles she’d fought or the scars she wore, inside and out. It was about who she was—the woman standing before him, still fighting, still surviving, despite it all. And for the first time in a long time, she felt as though she didn’t have to hide from it.

Wolffe, who had seen her at her best and her worst, who had fought alongside her before and now when the galaxy was falling apart, stood before her not as a soldier, not as a comrade, but as someone who saw her. Really saw her.

Her breath shuddered, but this time, the tears that welled up were different. They were not born of sorrow or loss, but of something more profound—a release. A moment of pure honesty, of being seen, of being understood.

For a long moment, she couldn’t speak, the words stuck in her throat, but she didn’t need to. Instead, she simply met his gaze, her hand reaching up to rest on his wrist, the quiet connection between them saying everything that needed to be said.

Wolffe, in turn, held her gaze with a quiet determination. He wasn’t going to push her. He wasn’t going to demand anything from her. He simply stayed there, his presence solid and unwavering, offering her the one thing she had always needed more than anything else: understanding.

“Thank you, Wolffe,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with gratitude. It wasn’t just for saving her, not just for the battles he had fought for her, but for something deeper—something she hadn’t realized she needed until now. Thankful for the way he had listened, how he had seen her when no one else had, and for the care he was offering so freely, without asking for anything in return.

How the Jedi had seen attachments like this as a danger showed Perdita just how misguided the order was.

For a moment, everything else faded away. There was no war, no Empire hunting them down, no scarred past between them. It was just the two of them, standing in this fragile space where words didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be understood.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Wolffe’s lips—one she hadn’t seen in what felt like ages, not since that last day at the Jedi Temple, before everything fell apart. A quiet, familiar expression, filled with that old, comforting confidence. It was a smirk that reminded her of the man she once fought alongside, and yet, there was something different about it now—something softer, something more.

Without warning, Wolffe leaned in, and the smirk, like a subtle, unspoken promise, grazed her skin as he pressed the lightest of kisses to her temple. It was brief, but it lingered in a way that left her breathless, like a gentle caress against both her skin and a part of her soul she’d not quite acknowledged before. She could feel the warmth of his lips, the softness, the tenderness in the gesture—a contrast to the rugged soldier she had always known him to be.

Her heart skipped a beat, and for the briefest of moments, it felt as though the world had slowed down, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the moment between them. She didn’t pull away, didn’t move, instead she closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of him there, so close, yet so carefully distant.

When he pulled back, his face softened, but the smirk was still there, like a secret they shared.

“Anytime, Princess,” he said, his voice low, but his tone teasing—though there was something more in it now. Something that hadn’t been there before. He called her “Princess” but now instead of in the heat of an argument, the word now carried a weight she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t a jest anymore.

Her breath caught for a moment, and she found herself searching his eyes, as if trying to make sense of the moment, of the unexpected depth in his words, his touch. There was no pretense between them now—no shields, no walls. Just the raw honesty that had grown between them in the shared emotions of their joint situation.

She could see it now. The way he looked at her was different. Not with the same respect he had shown in the heat of battle, but with something warmer, softer—something that made her heart race a little faster. It wasn’t just the soldier standing before her anymore. It was Wolffe—the man who had always respected her and was grateful for saving his life. Now, as if trying to prove he was worthy of her by tossing away all he’d known to keep her safe.

“Wolffe…” Her voice trailed off, and she didn’t quite know what to say. There was too much between them now, too many emotions swirling in the space they shared, to fit into just a few words. She didn’t need to say it all out loud. He already knew.

His hand, still resting lightly on her shoulder, tightened ever so slightly, not possessive, but protective—gentle, yet firm. Her eyes, searching his face, spoke volumes—questions, uncertainties, and perhaps even a hint of something she wasn’t yet ready to name. He saw it all, the raw vulnerability behind her gaze, and yet, there was no fear in it. Just honesty.

Wolffe knew she wasn’t the kind of woman to let herself need anyone, especially not someone like him. He had seen the way she fought alone, the way she carried the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders with the stoic grace of a Jedi. But now, in this quiet space between them, he could sense the shift. She didn’t need to say everything. He already knew.

Gently, as though allowing her the space to pull away if she needed, he moved his hand to tenderly cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against the smoothness of her skin. He wasn’t trying to push, only to offer her the quiet reassurance that he was there, unwavering. His fingers lingered at the side of her head, where the soft, shorn hair met her scalp. He hadn’t yet asked whether that style had been a choice, or a necessity born of their circumstances. They hadn’t been running long, but already, he’d grown unkempt—his face dotted with the beginnings of a beard, his hair far past regulation. Yet, there was something captivating about the contrast between her long hair and the one side she’d kept so short. It highlighted the delicate curve of her neck, leading down to her nape. As his fingertips brushed over it, he found himself mesmerized by the beauty in the unexpected—a striking blend of sharpness and softness that left him almost breathless.

Her breath caught, just a whisper of a sound, as his touch lingered against her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, as though afraid that if she opened them, the softness of the sensation would slip away, leaving nothing but the cold reality of their world.

"I like this," he confessed, his voice low, tinged with a quiet warmth. His fingers brushed over the short hair again, the gesture casual, yet it carried a weight he hadn’t expected.

Wolffe couldn’t quite understand it—the way his stomach fluttered at something so simple, so seemingly trivial. To touch her hair, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips—it was enough to make his heart race, to stir a feeling deep inside him that he couldn't place. It was a strange blend of yearning, of wanting more, and yet, at the same time, a quiet anticipation that left him breathless, as though this moment was something more than he could put into words.

Perdita let out a soft scoff, the sound tinged with an edge of frustration. "I didn’t really have much choice in the matter," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. The puzzled furrow of his brows seemed to silently demand more, urging her to explain. With a reluctant sigh, she did. "Hair got caught trying to escape not too long ago. It was easier to just cut myself free and deal with the consequences later," she confessed, the words coming out heavier than she intended. There was a fleeting vulnerability in her tone, one she quickly buried beneath the weight of practicality.

Inside, she knew it sounded ridiculous. The Jedi had always taught her that vanity was a frivolous concern, something beneath the greater mission. It was one of the reasons she had always kept herself veiled. She had listened to the council’s recommendation to cover herself in fear of leading her peers to stumble with their own vows, as many women at the temple did.

But standing here now, with Wolffe's gaze lingering on her, she felt a sudden self-consciousness she hadn’t expected. There was something raw in the way his eyes held her—something that seemed almost hungry. And in that moment, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of uncertainty about the simplest of things: the unexpected and frankly unwanted cut made her worry about his opinion. It seemed so trivial, yet she couldn’t help but wonder how he would view it.

Wolffe’s hand remained at her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin with a slow, deliberate rhythm. He watched her carefully, the softness in her eyes, the faint tension in her posture as she spoke. There was something about the way she seemed so conflicted over something as trivial as an unwanted haircut that made him smile. But it wasn’t just any smile—it was a smile filled with admiration, warmth, and, surprisingly, a bit of boldness.

He took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto hers with a playful intensity, as though testing the waters before plunging in. "I’m about to say something that would’ve definitely landed me in hot water when you were my superior..." His voice was low, steady, and there was a subtle weight to his words that hinted at something more. "But the truth is, you’re an incredibly attractive woman. I always noticed things—like how the faint shape of your body would show through those robes, or how your eyes, no matter how stoic, could still be so captivating."

He paused, meeting her gaze. There was no sense in pretending anymore. They had too little to lose, and he knew she'd likely sensed his thoughts already. This confession, he decided, needed to come from his lips, not his mind.

He leaned in slightly, the intensity of the moment drawing them even closer. “But right now? In this filthy swamp, covered in blood, sweat, and tears?” He let out a quiet chuckle, one that mixed affection with something deeper, more genuine. "Even with your... unique hairstyle," he teased with a warm smile, "you’re damn enticing, if you ask me."

The words hung in the air between them, charged with honesty and something far more intimate than he'd expected to reveal.

She blinked at him, the comment catching her off guard, and for a second, Wolffe thought she might blush. Instead, she quirked an eyebrow at him, her lips pulling into a teasing smirk.

“Well, aren’t you the smooth talker,” she replied with a sarcastic, yet amused tone, trying to cover the way her heart fluttered at his words. She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before responding with a slight chuckle of her own. “If I’m being honest, I’ve kind of gotten used to the scruffy look,” she teased, her eyes lighting up with playful mischief. “I think it suits you. We’ve both seen better days, after all. It kind of fits this whole... runaway, no-one’s-gonna-catch-us vibe we’ve got going on.”

Wolffe let out a low laugh at that, the sound rich and genuine, and his thumb brushed across her cheek one more time before he dropped his hand. “Scruffy, huh?” he mused, his lips curving into a sly grin. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Perdita shrugged, her expression shifting into something softer, more genuine beneath the teasing facade. “I’m just saying,” she added, her voice quieter now, “there’s something... enticing about someone who’s lost the need to keep up appearances.” She repeated his choice of words back to him.

He studied her for a moment, taking in the lightness in her words and the warmth in her eyes. He could see the change in her—the way she let down the walls just a little bit more, the way she let herself be a little more real with him.

“You’d better get used to the scruff. No guarantees we’ll be able to find razors anytime soon, so it’s going to be this for the foreseeable future,” he warned, referring to his own appearance.

Perdita’s lips curved into a playful smile, her eyes glinting with amusement as she regarded him. “Oh, trust me, I think I can handle it. It's not like I’m exactly looking pristine myself,” she teased, gesturing toward her own disheveled state. “Besides, if I’m going to keep surviving this runaway life, I’ll have to learn to appreciate the little things. Like scruffy Wolffe,” she added with a wink, the teasing tone in her voice softer now, the playful banter offering a shield, but beneath it was something more sincere.

Wolffe chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, and his gaze lingered on her a little longer than before, not just taking in her teasing words but the subtle way her posture had shifted, the quiet vulnerability that had seeped into her demeanor. She leaned into his hold, and at some point he hadn’t noticed that she’d settled her hands on his waist. There was something refreshing about the way they could still find humor in all of this, despite the chaos surrounding them.

“I’m not exactly worried about my looks right now,” he admitted, his voice quieting just a touch, something more serious weaving through. “But if you think I look good this way, then maybe I should hold onto it a little longer.” He raised an eyebrow, the playfulness still there, but now it was paired with a flicker of something deeper, something that hadn’t been there before.

Perdita tilted her head, studying him closely. Her expression softened, and the teasing edge from earlier seemed to fade, replaced by something more sincere. “I’ll admit... there’s something more real about it. It's like the soldier is finally disappearing, and what's left is just... Well, Wolffe.”

“Well, good to know Princess…” he said. Perdita raised an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Princess again?” she asked, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You really can’t let that go, can you?”

Wolffe grinned, his eyes glinting with mischievous humor. “What can I say? It suits you. You’ve got that royal vibe, even when you’re covered in dirt and mud.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Royal vibe? Please, I’m far from royalty.” She gave him a nudge with her shoulder, her voice light but laced with curiosity. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

He let out a chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. “I don’t know... I guess it’s just suited to you at the moment. If I didn’t know who you were, I’d assume someone as pretty as you would be royalty.”

Perdita blinked, her expression softening. “Well, I don’t know if that’s true,”

Wolffe’s grin deepened. “Don’t sell yourself short, Princess. You’ve got a lot more going on than you give yourself credit for.”

She shook her head with a smile, the playfulness in her eyes still dancing. “Alright, alright. But I’m not letting you off the hook for that nickname anytime soon.”

He shrugged with an exaggerated nonchalance, though there was a glint of warmth in his eyes. “Sorry but you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Perdita’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the teasing faded, leaving something more honest, more vulnerable behind. “You know,” she said quietly, “even though it’s been... insane, I don’t mind these moments. The ones where we can laugh, forget the world for a little while. And hey, we’re not screaming at each other for once.”

Wolffe met her gaze, his smile slipping into something more genuine, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “I get what you mean,” he said softly. “But just so you know, I’m still going to argue with you. Count on it.”

Perdita raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at her lips. “Oh yeah? You’re not done with that?”

“Of course not. You’re easily the most vexing woman I’ve ever met,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Vexing?” she repeated, a mischievous glint in her eyes before she shoved him playfully. The sudden motion caught him off guard, and he stumbled backward, sinking deeper into the murky water than he’d planned.

“Oh, you are not getting away with that one, Princess.” Wolffe scoffed, reaching for her, but his hand froze mid-air, caught in some unseen force. He blinked, startled, as Perdita flashed a sly grin and wiggled her brows at him.

“Sorry, what was that?” she teased, her voice light as she turned to walk away. “Can’t hear you over being this vexing.”

Wolffe stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before finally feeling the hold around his hand loosen. As she started walking, he could still feel the playful tug of her teasing energy. She glanced back over her shoulder, tossing him a look that spoke volumes—like maybe, just maybe, things could be okay if they kept going down this path.

With a quiet chuckle, he followed her, the promise of more moments like this could make his decision worthwhile. It wouldn’t be easy. They’d still clash. Danger was always there, lurking in the background. But if life on the run could be this... chaotic, but somehow enjoyable, he was more than willing to take on a little more conflict.

Tag List: @leenathegreengirl @asgre @badbatch-bitch @cw80831 @heidnspeak

#clonexocweek2025 #clonexocweek2025 day 3 #commander wolffe x oc #commander wolffe fan fiction #legacygirlingreen’s oc’s #oc perdita halle #the clone wars ocs

28 notes · View notes

universe-in-the-void-in-the-cube · 3 months ago

Text

Might make a page link to my OCs not sure. But here is some of my OCs I have finished bios for.

The Wreckacons!!!

Name: Bash Quote: "You're going down, Autobot!" Faction: Decepticon Subgroup: Wreckacon Function: Heavy Assault

Profile: Bash is a brash and aggressive Decepticon who loves to cause chaos and destruction wherever he goes. He's a natural bully, taking great pleasure in intimidating and intimidating others. Bash is fiercely loyal to his fellow Wreckacons and will stop at nothing to protect them.

Abilities: Bash is a skilled driver and mechanic, able to navigate even the most treacherous terrain with ease. He's also a master of hand-to-hand combat, using his brute strength to overpower his opponents.

Weaknesses: Bash's arrogance and impulsive nature often lead him to underestimate his opponents, making him vulnerable to attack. He's also prone to getting distracted by his own ego, which can leave him open to counterattacks.

Tech Spec:

Strength: 8 (Bash is incredibly powerful, able to lift and throw heavy objects with ease)

Intelligence: 4 (Bash is not the most strategic thinker, relying more on brute force than clever tactics)

Speed: 6 (Bash is quick on his feet, but not as fast as some other Decepticons)

Endurance: 8 (Bash can withstand a significant amount of damage before being defeated)

Rank: 5 (Bash is a mid-level Decepticon, but his aggression and loyalty earn him a place among the ranks)

Courage: 9 (Bash is fearless in battle, charging headfirst into combat without hesitation)

Firepower: 7 (Bash wields a powerful repulsor cannon on his arm, capable of blasting through thick steel)

Skill: 5 (Bash is skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but not as adept at more complex tasks)

Teamwork: 6 (Bash will work with others when necessary, but his ego often gets in the way)

Cooperation: 4 (Bash has difficulty taking orders and working with others, often leading to friction within the team)

As the left leg of Wreckamus, Bash provides the foundation for the gestalt robot's mobility and stability. His aggressive personality and combat skills make him a valuable asset to the team.

***

Name: Crash Quote: "Oops! Did I do that?" Faction: Decepticon Subgroup: Wreckacon Function: Tactical Support

Profile: Crash is the lovable klutz of the Wreckacons, known for his frequent blunders and accidents. Despite his endearing nature, he has a knack for unintentionally causing mayhem, which can be both a blessing and a curse. While his clumsiness often frustrates his teammates, there’s no denying that his big heart and unwavering loyalty make him an integral part of the team. In battle, he may trip over his own feet, but when he’s on his game, he provides invaluable support to his fellow Wreckacons.

Abilities: Crash possesses surprising strength for his size, allowing him to lift heavy debris and clear obstacles when needed. His transformation into a Ford F-Series pickup truck grants him impressive towing capacity and off-road capabilities, making him versatile in various terrains. Despite his clumsiness, he can also deploy gadgets on the fly to distract opponents or create tactical diversions.

Weaknesses: Crash's accident-prone nature puts him and others in jeopardy, leading to unexpected mishaps during critical moments. His poor coordination can make him a liability during stealth missions, resulting in unnecessary noise and attention. Additionally, his lack of focus when things get chaotic can lead to further mistakes, which sometimes frustrates his teammates.

Tech Spec:

Strength: 7 (Crash can lift heavy loads but may sometimes drop them due to his clumsiness.)

Intelligence: 5 (He has street smarts but struggles with strategic planning.)

Speed: 5 (His vehicle mode is capable but lacks the speed of more agile Decepticons.)

Endurance: 8 (Crash can take a lot of damage and keep going, often thanks to sheer luck.)

Rank: 4 (While not a high rank, his value lies in his ability to support the team.)

Courage: 6 (He knows he's not the best, but he still bravely steps into danger for his friends.)

Firepower: 4 (Armed with basic weaponry, though his aim can be questionable at best.)

Skill: 3 (His clumsiness greatly hampers his technical skills, especially in combat.)

Teamwork: 7 (He genuinely tries to be a good team player and supports others.)

Cooperation: 5 (Crash can follow orders, but his distraction tendencies sometimes get in the way.)

As the right leg of Wreckamus, Crash brings a unique blend of strength and unpredictability, ensuring that while Wreckamus stands tall, he often does so with an element of comedic chaos. His presence reminds the Wreckacons that sometimes it’s the unexpected moments that can lead to triumph, even if they come at a cost.

***

Name: Dash Quote: "Faster, faster! Life's a race, and I'm in the driver’s seat!" Faction: Decepticon Subgroup: Wreckacon Function: Speed Specialist

Profile: Dash is the high-energy speed demon of the Wreckacons, always itching for the next burst of acceleration. His hyperactive personality is contagious, but his relentless need for speed often pushes him to questionable and dangerous limits. Rumors swirl among his teammates that he is consuming a dangerous energon concoction, comparable to meth on Earth, to enhance his speed further. Despite his reckless behavior, Dash is a thrill-seeker with a heart of gold; he just has a hard time dialing back his enthusiasm when it comes to speed.

Abilities: Dash possesses unparalleled speed, allowing him to dart around the battlefield with incredible agility. In his Lincoln K Series limo form, he can weave through obstacles and evade attacks with astonishing finesse. His hyperactivity also grants him remarkable reflexes, allowing him to take swift, evasive action when needed. Dash has the ability to launch short bursts of energy that can temporarily boost his speed beyond normal limits, but this comes at the risk of burnout if overdone.

Weaknesses: Dash’s obsession with speed often leads to reckless decisions, putting himself and his teammates in danger. His hyper nature can be exhausting for others to deal with, and he sometimes misses important details in his eagerness. Additionally, relying on energon “boosters” can create health issues, leading to periods of fatigue or withdrawal that leave him vulnerable.

Tech Spec:

Strength: 3 (Not physically strong, but his speed makes him a hard target.)

Intelligence: 5 (Clever in strategizing for speed, but lacking in long-term planning.)

Speed: 10 (Truly unmatched within the Wreckacons, capable of outrunning almost anything.)

Endurance: 4 (Can burn out quickly if he pushes his energon levels too high.)

Rank: 4 (His speed earns him respect, but his impulsiveness hinders his position.)

Courage: 7 (Fearless in pursuing speed, though it can manifest as recklessness.)

Firepower: 3 (Not focused on firepower; prefers to zip around the battlefield rather than engage.)

Skill: 6 (Quick and agile maneuvers give him an edge in dodging and flanking opponents.)

Teamwork: 5 (He has a genuine enthusiasm for his team, but his hyperactivity can complicate coordination.)

Cooperation: 4 (Often struggles to slow down and listen to others, leading to missed opportunities for collaboration.)

As the right arm of Wreckamus, Dash complements his team with his incredible speed and agility. His thrill-seeking nature and risk-taking attitude can sometimes create chaos, but when he harnesses his abilities, he becomes a whirlwind of energy that can shift the tide of battle in the Wreckacons' favor. If only he could find a way to balance his need for speed with the importance of teamwork!

***

Name: Flash Quote: "You had me at 'hello' – and I'm not leaving until the curtains open... or in this case, until the dust settles!" Faction: Decepticon Subgroup: Wreckacon Function: Support Specialist

Profile: Flash is a self-proclaimed thespian and socialite who has somehow managed to infiltrate the Wreckacons. His dream is to trade in his combat skills for red-carpet stardom and become an A-list celebrity. He often quotes famous movie and TV lines, hoping to channel the great actors who came before him. While he can deliver a decent performance, his acting style is ham-fisted and over-the-top, making his teammates cringe in embarrassment. In the heat of battle, Flash panics at the slightest hint of damage to his pristine Lincoln limo mode, frantically trying to preserve its spotless appearance above all else.

Abilities: Flash's transformation into a Lincoln limo grants him impressive speed and agility, making him an asset for rapid transportation of his teammates. His limo mode is equipped with state-of-the-art audio visual equipment, perfect for broadcasting his own dramatic monologues to the battlefield. Flash is also skilled at psychological operations, using his theatrics to intimidate or demoralize enemies.

Weaknesses: Flash's overacting and tendency to freak out in the face of danger often hinder his effectiveness in combat. His focus on maintaining his limo's appearance leads to an excessive concern for aesthetics, causing him to prioritize style over substance. Additionally, his fixation on becoming a celebrity makes him distracted and less invested in the battles his team participates in.

Tech Spec:

Strength: 5 (Not the strongest member of the Wreckacons, but his agility helps to offset this.)

Intelligence: 4 (Flash is an amateur actor, not exactly a brainiac.)

Speed: 8 (As a limo, Flash is one of the fastest members of the Wreckacons.)

Endurance: 4 (He panics easily, which reduces his ability to take a beating.)

Rank: 2 (Despite his aspirations, Flash's ineptitude holds him back from taking a higher rank.)

Courage: 2 (Flash's dramatic nature can make him seem brave, but he often falters in the face of actual danger.)

Firepower: 3 (His psychological operations rely on showmanship, not sheer firepower.)

Skill: 5 (Flash is somewhat competent at his support role, but his theatrics can be off-putting.)

Teamwork: 6 (He genuinely wants to be a team player, but his ego often gets in the way.)

Cooperation: 3 (Flash's self-absorption makes it difficult for him to listen to others.)

As the left arm of Wreckamus, Flash provides the Wreckacons with a much-needed boost of speed and agility. While his theatrics can be grating, his limo mode and psychological operations skills make him a valuable asset to the team – as long as he doesn't get too distracted by the glamour of being a Decepticon celebrity.

***

Name: Slash Quote: "Life is fleeting, just like this battle. Let’s get it over with." Faction: Decepticon Subgroup: Wreckacon Function: Team Leader

Profile: Slash is the brooding and mysterious leader of the Wreckacons, embodying a gothic aesthetic that matches his pessimistic worldview. With a penchant for grumbling and complaining, he often casts a shadow over his teammates’ spirits, but his dark humor can sometimes be a source of camaraderie. Despite his eerie demeanor, Slash is fiercely protective of his crew, often putting their needs above his own. His leadership style is unorthodox; he prefers to lead from the shadows, relying on his intuition and experience rather than conventional tactics.

Abilities: Slash has an uncanny ability to assess the battlefield and identify weaknesses in enemy formations. His transformation into a hearse gives him a unique and intimidating presence, capable of transporting his teammates and providing cover during engagements. He possesses a range of tech-based abilities, including sonic disruptors that can incapacitate foes with unsettling frequencies, reflecting his dark aesthetic.

Weaknesses: Slash's gloomy outlook can demoralize his team, leading to hesitance in battle just when they need to be bold. His tendency to complain can also strain relationships, causing friction between him and his more upbeat teammates like Crash or Bash. Additionally, his moody nature can make strategic decisions difficult in high-pressure situations, as he may dwell on the negatives instead of looking for solutions.

Tech Spec:

Strength: 6 (Strong enough for close combat, though he prefers strategy over brute force.)

Intelligence: 8 (High intelligence gives him great insight into tactics and strategies.)

Speed: 4 (His hearse mode is not built for speed, but rather for durability and presence.)

Endurance: 7 (Slash can endure a lot of punishment, thanks to his tough exterior and resolve.)

Rank: 9 (As the leader of the Wreckacons, he holds a high respect, despite his demeanor.)

Courage: 7 (Although he grumbles, he’s willing to face danger head-on to protect his team.)

Firepower: 6 (Uses sonic disruptors and other tech weapons to incapacitate enemies; lacks heavy artillery.)

Skill: 6 (His strategic thinking is strong, although he may not always execute plans flawlessly due to his mindset.)

Teamwork: 5 (He can work well with others, but his grumpy nature sometimes stifles communication.)

Cooperation: 4 (Slash may struggle to take input from others, often feeling that he knows best, which can lead to conflict within the group.)

As the torso of Wreckamus, Slash brings both strategy and an imposing presence to the gestalt. While his dark and eerie nature might put some off, when called to action, he leads with a fierce determination that commands respect from the other Wreckacons, proving that even the grumpiest of leaders can inspire their team to greatness.

***

Name: Wreckamus Quote: "Why think when you can smash? Let’s wreck things and worry about the details later!" Faction: Decepticon Subgroup: Wreckacon Function: Heavyweight Combiner

Profile: Wreckamus is the colossal and chaotic result of the Wreckacons combining into one formidable Decepticon. His personality is a bizarre amalgamation of traits from Bash, Crash, Slash, Flash, and Dash, mixing bravado with hyperactivity and reckless decision-making. While Wreckamus is a towering force on the battlefield, his impulsive and erratic behaviors can cause more harm than good, often leading to mayhem in both his plans and execution. He embodies the worst qualities of his components, maintaining a childlike glee for destruction that’s both entertaining and terrifying. Wreckamus is a walking contradiction, displaying moments of sheer brilliance followed by bouts of utter foolishness.

Abilities: As a combiner, Wreckamus possesses the combined strength and abilities of all five Wreckacons, making him a powerhouse on the battlefield. He can thunder across the terrain with both brute force and surprising agility for a combiner of his size. Wreckamus is equipped with a variety of weapons, including heavy-duty blasters and melee weapons that harness the chaotic nature of his components. His hyper-speed attacks can overwhelm opponents, and he has the unique ability to combine various combat styles, albeit unpredictably.

Weaknesses: The chaotic blend of personalities within Wreckamus often leads to poor decision-making, resulting in reckless strategies that can backfire spectacularly. His instability can make coordination with allies difficult, as he frequently vacillates between aggression and silliness. The lack of a central, focused plan puts Wreckamus and his team at risk, and his self-destructive tendencies often lead him into unnecessary danger. Additionally, while he has high power, his vulnerabilities increase when separated back into his individual Wreckacons.

Tech Spec:

Strength: 10 (As a combiner, Wreckamus possesses immense physical strength, capable of overwhelming foes.)

Intelligence: 3 (The combined IQ of reckless traits makes him far from a strategic genius.)

Speed: 6 (His size limits his speed, but the component traits lend him some agility in specific scenarios.)

Endurance: 8 (Wreckamus can withstand considerable damage, thanks to the combined durability of the Wreckacons.)

Rank: 6 (Despite his chaotic nature, his power and presence earn him a respectable rank.)

Courage: 9 (Wreckamus shows no fear in battle, often rushing headlong into the thick of combat.)

Firepower: 7 (He wields an array of heavy weaponry and can unleash formidable firepower.)

Skill: 5 (His skill is unpredictable; he may land powerful hits, but strategy often eludes him.)

Teamwork: 4 (Wreckamus struggles with collaboration due to his chaotic tendencies.)

Cooperation: 3 (In moments of chaos, cooperation can fall apart, leading to solo endeavors.)

As the embodiment of the Wreckacons, Wreckamus serves as a chaotic force within the Decepticons, bringing both mayhem and might to the battlefield. With a penchant for destruction and a personality as wild as a turbine, he embodies the ups and downs of having many voices but no true directive. Wreckamus is an unpredictable whirlwind of havoc, ensuring that no stone is left unturned – for better or for worse.

#transformers #transformers g1 #transformers decepticons #transformers generation one #transformers ocs

2 notes · View notes

tomochisblog · 2 years ago

Text

LET ME TALK ABOUT THIS CLEARLY SO WE GET OVER IT WITH NO HARD FEELINGS

Look, first important thing to know : the one who started the fight is not even arabic. it's a salty person who hates that arabs are being mentioned , I have no proof I heard it from my arabic friends

The only proof I can provide is that in our community we don't say we're lesbians I don't mean to say lesbians are bad I don't care what is happening outside I'm just saying AS A PROOF people who are spreading this "please delete the essence" message all have lesbians and pronouns written in their bio that's not common here

Second the colonisation and the fact that arab culture is westernised is true like almost every culture in the world is affected. It's not smth weird that's why some arabs stood with " let's delete the essence " message especially after female dancer skin "I'll talk about it later" so it's understandable some people went with the flow and talked about other media showing inappropriate things about our culture .. like genshin and etc..

BUT IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS ESSANCE

Aladdin is a westernised movie if we hate it we talk to the one who made it and that's not net ease (most of us don't hate it ) also genshin problems is genshin company problems idv has nothing to do with it

Arabic and northafrican clothes are not only one kind of clothing like mentioned on twitter there's plenty to pick from and as for us not showing skin it's true we don't show skin we don't have dancers it's all in the past and by that I mean ancient past before we were even called arabs so it's ok to say it's a part of our history but not a part of our lifestyle or after islam culture and this also has nothing to do with the essence

About The book of a thousand nights and a night "the writer is unknown " to be honest the writer is known to be Syrian but the book was so popular in the past they didn't want people to like arabs for whatever political reason idc , why I know that ? Because I'm Syrian if you don't know syria it's an arabic country beside Turkey. It's where the first language ever was created, and the land of Sumer 2900 BC

Ali baba and the 40 theives is proven to be written by a Syrian and it's a part of the book , I love this story there's also the phoenix and thousands nights of proofs

Now to keep it short , what to do : as an adult cultured Syrian arabic person me and a lot of other arabs are so happy to be mentioned in identity v we are not sad at all we appreciate being mentioned we do hate being sexualised or talked about as bombers or barbarians or villains or theives but for me and most of us I think the essence portrayed both evil and good theives and heros , sexualised and annie in her full covered body and I think every country has all these kinds of people right ? Then what about a group of countries that has the history and culture of billions of years ago ?! It's normal

My English needs serious fixing I'll do smth about it I promise

So it's ok to be happy and buy the sexy alva and the amazing other skins with no regrets please don't worry at all it's all right

I'll leave the essence part 1 video link here if you wanna check it out , please send this to anyone feeling bad or lost you know or reblog it so people can see it

youtube

#identity v #luca balsa #ルカ・バルサー #第5人格 #identity v edgar #identity v postman #identity v grave keeper #identity v painter #cuteness #idv embalmer #identity v essence #identity v arabic #Youtube

10 notes · View notes

getinstagram · 1 year ago

Text

5 Instagram Effective Strategies to Scale up Your Business

Why are we talking about Instagram? Why not increase Social Media platforms like Twitter, and LinkedIn?

300 Million Stories are used on Instagram every day

Every month about 800 million people use increase Instagram

80% of people follow Business on Instagram

Instagram is the only platform that has a good engagement rate as compared to other platforms. It has provided great exposure to influencers and Businesses as compared to other platforms.

Before we dive into 5 Effective Strategies to leverage instagram let me introduce myself.

I am Mangesh Rane, Digital Marketing Strategist scaling up Business digitally through my experience and skills in online marketing.

5 Effective Strategies to Leverage Instagram for Business Growth

1. Instagram Account

1. Instagram Structure

When creating an Instagram account for the Business make sure you have a Business profile and not a personal account profile.

Instagram Business account provides good insights on stats of your post engagement, profile visits which are not featured in the personal account. Instagram claims to reduce the reach of Business accounts when you update the post as it prefers personal accounts reach.

By having a Business account you can promote your posts from Facebook Business Manager which have detailed targeting options. This is the main advantage of having Business Account.

How to create and link a Business account to a Facebook Page? On my website Mangesh Rane, you will find 101 Guide for Instagram Marketing which will give you a clear in-depth procedure. I have explained Instagram in depth with all relevant examples.

After a Business profile, the next step is to update Bio which talks about your Business and must have a call to action. For example, if your business is about Tour Packages you can update a Bio such as

"We offer phenomenal #Tour packages! Trip to any domestic and international destinations. Follow us to know more "

Call to action with a crisp bio appeal others to follow your Instagram account who have interest in traveling.

Use Instagram Creator Studio

Through Creator Studio you get access to details of your post engagement on Business Profile which are not provided in a personal account. You must try the Creator Studio tool provided by Facebook for both FB and Instagram to gauge your posts performances.

The advantage of the Creator Studio is

Age group, Gender details

Day and Hour insights

Cities and Country insights

These details can feed great insights while running a paid promotion on Instagram. By doing so you may have better sales or leads for your business.

2. Define your Niche

What's your product/service about you need to create content relevant to it. Share tricks, tips that could ease the pain points of your prospects. Instagram is about engagement,you can keep it entertaining, inspiring value adding post content. Use 20 - 80% rule i.e. after every 10 value addition posts you update have 2 promotional posts on your Business Profile.

Avoid posts which have broad general topics. Keep a consistency in your posts with Brand elements such a logo, color code for Brand recall. In short by doing this you create an impression that lasts longer to recognise your Brand. Differentiate your Brand from others by a tagline that reflects your Brand key.

For example, you have an architectural firm. On Instagram, you can share designs of projects. The background story of a successful work undertaken. You can update a people's choice post on which design looks good where people can comment with reason.

You can share posts of the world's best Architectural monumentals with facts people don't know. In short, creates Instagram content that is interactive & engaging.

Have a consistency of such posts which will result in creating a Brand image. People will recognise what's the account about and which Business you are in.

A few Business categories that receive a good response on Instagram from people are

Health/Fitness

Pets

Modelling

Fashion

Photography

Travel

Cooking

3. Four Instagram Account Checklist

Original High Resolution Logo of your Business

Crisp Bio describing Business details with Call to Action ( For example Follow Us, Contact Us)

Use Emojis, hashtags wherever relevant in Bio and posts

Consistent posts of your Business details

Instagram provides only one option to update the website link in Bio. Update your Business website link in the Bio. This will drive people to your website looking for more details regarding your products/ services.

Create your Brand hashtags. Use these hashtags in your Marketing collaterals, bio which will create awareness. As you update content on Social Media associated with hashtags people find it easy to discover your post details through your Branded hashtags.

Brand hashtags enhance your brand search on Social Media directly through your Business name.

All above mentioned points are also applicable for influencers, Trainers, Personal Brands, Freelancers.

2 Content Marketing Strategy

The power of content marketing has made influencers from zero to Hero. It's an art to hold a person's attention through words written in the form of post captions, Ad creatives, emails, website content, and blogs.

The power of quality content can lead to sales.

Any form of content to receive engagement or traction requires 3 important factors

Strike Conversion through addressing pain

Provide solutions to the pain points

Put a Call to Action for people to engage

Here is an example of Ad copy I created for the Coaching Institute -

Are you looking for the best Online Classes from 8th to 10th?

Due to the current lockdown situation, Vikas Academy presents all students with free online coaching sessions.

Free Olympiad Classes

Free NTSE Classes

Free Meditation Mind relaxing sessions

Online Live Practical sessions

Free Student Counseling

Activity Based Teaching

Post-lockdown transport facility

At Vikas Academy, we have a panel of expert faculty from engineering backgrounds with 5+ years of experience in teaching. Team of 5+ trainers shaping 400+ student's life from 2024.

We have limited seats of 10 students batches. Contact Us Today!

If you look carefully it has all the 3 elements which provides exact details in a better way. The AD Creative received a good response when I promoted it on Facebook.

( If you want such digital marketing tips for your Business you may access it on Mangesh Rane website)

On Instagram you can update content in 3 general formats as of 2020 on your profile as posts

Images

Videos

Carousel

Trending types of the format are 60 sec vidoes and Carousel posts. I use a lot of Carousel posts as Instagram allows about 10 images of sequences which can be displayed swiping left one after the other.

Tools for Content Creations

I use the following tools for content creation and edits on mobile.

Canva - For making Social Media posts

Quora - For content curation and research

Kinemaster - For editing 2 min Videos

PicArts - For editing images and adding creative effects

There are a lot of tools as per your requirement on google. Above listed tools can be easily used on Android mobile.

3. Scale Up Instagram Account

Follow accounts that have good followers base which aligns with your business

For example, you are a pet lover having a Business to supply products related to pet shelter, and pet foods. Follow an Instagram account of a person with a high volume of follower base and also interested in pet products. In short, there should be a commonality between you both.

Connect Engage Retain Formula

You can engage on the other's Instagram posts through comments by adding a tip that others might use to ease their work. Create a long-lasting relationship by connecting first, and second engaging through adding value in any form as per your knowledge then flourishing that relationship to build a like-minded community. This will retain and increase your followers in the long run. Aim to create a community of the same Interest and keep watering the roots of this likewise formed people through joy, emotions, help, and solutions through your posts, comments, likes, and chat messages. It's a win-win situation for all.

Contest | Competition | Giveaways | Quiz | Games

Once you have a base of followers with good response on your posts, stories on instagram you can arrange a Contest like tag us and post a selfie with your pet and win a gift voucher worth 2k INR. I have given an example assuming you have a pet product or pet care niche.

What will happen when people tag your Instagram account to win a contest? Your account will reach larger people and others might know about it while they participate in it. Thus there is a possibility you may gain followers and engagement in this process.

You can keep a Competition that will allow people to participate in a way they send their cooked dish to you while you post all the participants cooked dish images on Instagram from your Business account, reward the highest comment and like received post as a winner. Assuming your niche is food blogging or cooking.

Hashtag campaigns for awareness

Most of the brands create an awareness around a conference, event or video using Hashtags in their posts, content. They connect with influencers to get reach.

These influencers on Instagram have a base of trusted fan base. Brands associated with them to create awareness of their marketing campaigns.

#super mario #ryan gosling #social media #social services

0 notes

bolilloquemado · 2 years ago

Text

The last one just has FULLED MY TANK OF INSPIRATION and I have to use it. (English is not my first language soooo it may be fucked up)

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

Mikey had always been talented. Since very little. It was one of those little things that were true and nobody could denied it.

True like the sun always rising. Even if you can't see it.

Mikey had always loved his family deeply. He would do everything in his power just to assure that they'll be happy and safe. It was another truth. One that had been proved every time.

His chains and fire only would burn those that dared to harm his family. And they will feel like hell.

One of his favorites truths was that Mikey has a Soulmate. Miles Morales. Kind of a mutant but still a human.

Draxum told him that Soulmates were something weird, not in the concept but to happen, not many yokais had Soulmates and the very few who had one not always found them. It was something beyond knowledge. Something almost divine. Two souls created just with the purpose to fulfill a live and a destiny with someone else. Someone the universe had created and chosen just for you. A Soulmate was a partner for the rest of your life.

A match with a human and a half mutant half yokai, was one in a million. To say that Mikey and Miles were lucky enough to meet was something that fulled the turtle to the brim with love, and hope, and determination to keep protecting and fighting.

They both knew eachother soon after the invasion. When cities where still some kind of cities, and existed a division between humans and yokais or mutants. The sky was still blue and the world was in despair.

Then, he and his family started the resistance. Not just to survive, but to fight. For the world that were theirs, for their people, for their families, for their future. And the one Miles always added, for love.

And then, they become Masters and Commanders.

Master Michelangelo was very strong, and powerful, and wise, and kind. The resistance always looked up to him. To his brothers. And he was proud of being a light of hope in a dark world and darker future.

But also, he had been the youngest of his family for a very long time. He didn't know what was not having his family near. He never felt alone until the Krang.

And his father was the first. Hamato Yoshi. Lou Jitsu. Splinter. His father.

His. Father.

They still had the greatest weapon. Hope.

He still had his brothers, April and Miles.

With the lesson learned, Mikey began to train more and more. His mystics had always been more powerful than his brothers, so it was natural to him to focus on that. Thanks to the training Mikey discovered how worked his link with Miles.

Being two parts of a same core, soul, and heart, they shared a lot of things. One was his ninpo.

Miles, since becoming Spiderman, got the abillity to, let's say, electrify his webs. He could even make a whole network of spider webs completely electrified. Turns out, it was nothing to do with radioactive spiders or mutagen, but with Mikey's ninpo and their link.

They shared the mystic. The ninpo.

When they found out and started working in deepend the conexion, nothing was the same. They could use eachother abilities with ease even being away. Miles could burn things with his webs and Mikey could fry krang dogs with his chains.

The most powerful duo in battlefield. And also out of it. Orange and webs were a symbol of strength.

When Raph... left them, blinded by sorrow and rage, Mikey forced his flames to burn and destroy the bio-shits that the krang and their organism was. Mikey forced his ninpo to be more destructive.

Master Michelangelo and Commander Miles where one of the few thing that could actually kill the pink bastards. But not always worked. Donnie told him, as a teory, that sharing his mystic with Miles was the reason. Cause the core of his power was feeding two things at the same time.

It maked sense. But it didn't changed things. They were still losing, the planet was still dying, people were still dying and the krang were just getting stronger and fierly.

Things worsened day by day, but he still had Donnie and Leo, April, Casey jr, and Miles.

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

Part two, pretty soon (maybe)

:D✌️ 🧡🐢❤️🕷

I think we as a society are missing out on the potential of shellshocked soulmate AUs.

I do not know why I enjoy this trope so much because I think in a lot ways it's pretty allo-and heteronormative and I do not in any way believe in soulmates irl but it is interesting to explore in fiction, I guess.

After that completly unnessecary ramble, here are some cute suggestions I would love to have fics about:

-a classic "what I draw on my skin, appears on mine, too" soulmate AU

Fits them both perfectly, they would have been in contact since they were small but can't meet each other because Mikey's a mutant.

-painsharing between soulmates AU

Mikey's dangerous lifestyle as a TMNT would lead to a lot hurts that Miles has to suffer, too. Yay! Angsty, I guess. Miles would worry a lot about his soulmate in this one. (Maybe, it would even work better if it's a Raised By Draxum AU)

-This isn't really a seperate soulmate AU trope but the return of Mystic Miles.

So, because soulmates share oftentimes literally in these AUs souls and we say that Mikey's mystic come from his soul, would that mean Miles would be just as mystically talented as Mikey? Like, in this case, it's not only Hamato ninpō Miles would get but like all of Mikey's mystic badassery.

Fun angsty twist to the whole thing: When Future!Miles dies in the bad timeline, Mikey gets stronger in mystics because he now has all of his mystic potential for himself. Yayyyy

So yeah, shellshocked soulmate AU, my dudes. Fun stuff.

#my first oneshot (? here #i just keep writing non-stop #im felling brave enough to share it #shellslinger #shellshocked #rottmnt mikey #miles morales #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt #mikey x miles #rottmnt #miles x mikey #*sobbing and crying*#hahaha

81 notes · View notes

imaginesfordifferentfandoms · 3 years ago

Text

Stay, Stay, Stay

Click here for my masterlist.

Click here for Red (Taylor’s Version) masterlist

Add yourself to my Taglist (Click link in bio)

Prompt - 'I've been loving you for quite some time’

You sat on Peter’s bed, frustration clear on your face as you listened to Peter plead his case. You and Peter had been together for a good few months now and this was your first real fight, sure you bickered and argued sometimes but you never fought, not like this.

“I said I was sorry!” Peter exclaimed, feelings just as frustrated as you, if not more so. He hated that he had let you down, he had known how important it was for him to show up at the event your parents had been hosting earlier that night and he was on his way over, really he was, but then he saw a rush of police cars and the sound of gunshots and only minutes later Spiderman was swinging into action.

“One night, that’s all I asked for.” You yelled back, standing from the bed and making your way towards the door. This wasn’t the first time Peter had left you hanging but usually you got a phone call and it wasn’t so important.

“Why can’t you just accept the fact that something came up?!” You couldn’t help but scoff at that, anger coursing through your veins as you turned to face him. Your phone had left your hand before you could even register it, flying over to Peter who skillfully caught it.

“I’m sorry, ok?” Peter said again, softer this time. He saw the tears in your eyes, from sadness or anger, or both, he didn’t know but he felt terrible for making you cry even if you refused to let them fall.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You told him, suddenly drained.

“No, come on, please stay,” He pleaded with you, eyes turning wide as he did, “It’s too late for you to be walking home tonight.”

He was right, it was well past midnight and it was only now that you gave thought to Aunt May who you knew was home as she was the one to let you in. You grimmanced as you thought of her hearing everything between you and Peter.

“I really don’t want to be around you right now.” You said whilst shaking your head and moved to pull the door open.

Peter frowned as he moved in front of you, blocking the exit off.

“Stay in here, I’ll take the sofa.” Peter insisted and the two of you went back and forth for a while until you finally rolled your eyes and agreed to take his room.

As you lay alone in your boyfriend's bed you couldn’t help but frown as you cuddled into his pillow. You knew you were being silly, Peter wouldn’t miss tonight unless it was important but the fact he hadn’t given you a straight answer annoyed you more than him not showing up.

The next morning you felt just as bad as you had last night. You hated leaving things like that with Peter, you hated not resolving the fight and you hated that you had both gone to bed angry and alone.

You couldn’t say just how long you lay in Peter’s bed, waiting for the man himself to come into his own room. You heard voices drifting up the stairs and knew both him and Aunt May were up.

So you had to make the first move then.

You weren’t quite ready to go down to Peter so instead grabbed your phone and pulled up your texts.

‘You know,’ you started it, wanting to keep the message light, ‘i read somewhere that you should never leave a fight unresolved.’

There, that was enough to let him know you were ok with him coming up, let him know that you wanted to talk.

You heard a crash from downstairs and raised an eyebrow, the sound of somebody rummaging through a closet or something made you sit up.

It wasn’t long before Peter’s door opened and you couldn’t stop the laughter from leaving you as he walked in wearing a football helmet that had seen better days, clearly it was a good few years old.

Peter grinned as he heard you laugh, glad to have eased the situation somewhat. He really was sorry for not showing up but sometimes with Spiderman it just couldn’t be helped.

Sometimes he did wonder if it would just be easier if you knew but then he thought of all the risks that came with you knowing and backed out, pushing any thoughts of you and Spiderman together out of his mind.

“Alright,” he said, grin widening as he listened to you giggle, “let’s talk.”

You patted the bed next to you, cheeks flushed from laughter and a smile firmly in place.

Peter was good at that, making you laugh and smile no matter the situation. You were glad for it, especially now after your first fight. You didn’t want things to be weird, you just wanted to talk and get it out of the way before going back to normal.

“Take that damn helmet off,” You laughed, causing Peter to roll his eyes jokingly but he did as you requested.

“I only wanted the truth.” You said softly after a moment of silence. You were both sitting side to side and you let your head hit the wall before turning to face him. Peter did the same, his smile turning sad as he did.

The truth? The truth was that Spiderman was needed, Spiderman was always going to be needed and he loved to help, he never wanted to give up Spiderman but he also didn’t ever want to lose you.

So, what was the truth?

“You saw that police chase last night, right?” He asked, watching as your smile fell and a concerned expression took over your face.

He knew now wasn’t the time but he couldn’t help but think of how adorable you looked, eyes filled with concern, eyebrows drawn together as you gently bit your lip.

He reached up, gently pulling your lip away from your teeth before letting his hand drop.

“Yeah I saw it, two guys broke out of prison and started shooting the streets up.” You said, voice so soft it was barely above a whisper as you put the pieces together. “You were there?”

“I got caught up in it.” He said, feeling incredibly guilty for lying to you. It was lie after lie with him and now he had you looking over at him with so much concern written across your face that it made him turn away from you, disgusted with himself.

Maybe if he told you the truth he could keep you and Spiderman separate, he’d done it so far. All he had to do was never interact with you as Spiderman unless absolutely necessary.

“Pete,” you gasped, leaning over to grab his hand in yours, “I’m so sorry, why didn’t you just tell me that? Are you ok?”

Peter couldn’t handle the guilt, his stomach twisting and it was then he made his mind up. He just hoped he was making the right decision because if something happened to you he’d never forgive himself.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I can’t do this anymore. You’re the best thing to happen to me and I just keep lying to you,” He told you with watery eyes as he pulled his hands from yours. You were so confused but before you could speak he started talking again, “no more, no more lies, I promise.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?” You asked, utterly lost as to where this conversation was going.

“I need to tell you something and if you don’t want to be with me anymore I understand but I need you to know.” He said, turning and resting on his knees as he gave you his full attention. “I was caught up in that police chase last night but not in the way you think. I was there and I was helping the police.” Here he watched as your eyebrows furrowed further together as you took in the information but hadn’t made the connection yet.

“Y/N, I’m Spiderman.” He confessed.

The silence spread for minutes, Peter not prompting a response from you but desperately needing one. You continued to stare at him in shock, replaying all the times you’d seen Spiderman on the news, joining dangerous situations and shooting of quick remarks as he took down the latest bad guy.

Spiderman was Peter, your Peter.

“Please say something.” He finally said, so softly but in the quiet of the room it wasn’t hard to miss.

“I love you.” You said, watching as Peter’s eyes widened.

A confession like that was honestly the last thing Peter expected to hear leave your lips. He expected you to be furious with him, for being Spiderman or for keeping it a secret, or both. He expected you to hate him, to not want to risk being around him. He expected you to walk out of that door and to never speak to him again, only catching glances of you as you passed each other in the hallways or as he sat behind you in class.

“What?” He managed to get out, utterly confused.

You let out a breathy laugh of disbelief. Whilst ‘I love you’ was the last thing Peter expected to hear, him telling you he was Spiderman was the last thing you thought he would ever say.

“I love you,” You repeated, eyes filling with tears as you cupped his jaw in your hand, Peter leaning into the touch without hesitation, “I love how selfless you are, I love that you care so much about people that you're willing to risk your own life to help them. I love how much hope and joy you inspire and trust me you inspire people to believe, not just as Spiderman but as you, Peter Parker. I love that you think it’s funny when I’m mad,” You laughed, gesturing to the abandoned football helmet, “you’re just, you’re so amazing and I love you so much Peter.”

Peter couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward. He connected your lips together in a soft but passionate kiss, the kiss communicating just how much the two of you loved each other, how much you cared for each other. The two of you clung to each other, not planning on letting go ever.

“I love you too,” He whispered, resting his forehead on yours as he looked at you with a stupidly large grin on his face. You couldn’t help but mirror the expression. “I have for quite some time.” He told you, causing you to giggle softly as you brought him in for another gentle kiss.

__________

AG Peter Parker Taglist - @haroldpotterson, @imjustassaneasyou, @dindjarinsspouse, @rottenstyx, @asherhunterx, @powerpuffluuvv, @filmsbyblair, @mrs-scottmccall, @roseslovedreams, @janesofia7, @cinderellacauseshebroke, @black-rose-29, @wierdstark, @runawaywithmyghost, @chaoticevilbakugo, @ppgrayson, @onyourgoddamnleft, @divanca2006, @90sbella, @siriuslyfearless, @mystic-writings, @levisbloodcut, @mrs-brekker15, @alexxavicry, @sweetdreamsjg, @alwaysclassyeagle, @peterpgrace, @asherhunterx, @vx-vexedvixen, @ordinarylokix, @carmellasworld, @ellabellabus07, @battinsonn, @labellapeaky, @lokismidnight, @maeve-7, @caediae

2K notes · View notes

nev3rfound · 4 years ago

Text

option two : b.b

after nightmares continue to haunt his nights, bucky knows there’s one person left who could potentially provide some form of comfort, but is she still willing to see him after all this time? (1.5k)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

5k giveaway celebration

warnings: angsty, sad bucky, minor spoilers for ep1 of tfatws requested: nope, just something i’ve been thinking about since ep1 of tfatws

It felt real, as if he were back there holding the gun with no remorse.

Cold sweat covers Bucky’s body as he pants heavily, feeling the cool tags against his exposed chest rising and falling with his deep breaths that refuse to calm down.

He knew it wasn’t real, it was all in his head. But he knew it happened, even if it was many years ago, he still held the gun in his hand and pulled the trigger.

“It’s not real.” Bucky mutters to himself, glancing up to see the TV silently blaring a football game that he has no interest in, but it proves as a worthy distraction for the time being. “It’s not real.”

Remaining seated on the wooden floorboards with a blanket draped over his lap, Bucky glances over to his phone knowing there are two possible options ahead of him.

A sigh ghosts his lips as he stares at the contact list consisting of five names, only one having been used in the last week, well, month.

“James, you’ve got less than ten contacts in this phone and I’m the only person you’ve called all week.” Doctor Raynor sighs once more as she reaches for her notebook, not caring about the look of disdain crossing Bucky’s expression.

“It’s not like I’ve got anyone else to call.” Bucky shrugs it off, hearing her pen pause on the paper.

“Well, you’ve been avoiding messages from Sam for a start,”

“He doesn’t count.” Bucky remarks, hearing another quieter sigh leave her lips.

“Okay, then when was the last time you spoke to her, huh?” She counters, noticing his tense form relax at the mention of you. “Come on, James. If you want to help yourself, you have to keep in touch with those who still care about you.”

“I don’t even know if she does anymore, Doc.” Bucky admits, trying to hold back the sadness in his tone as Raynor closes her notebook.

“You have to try, James.” She reminds him. “Otherwise you’ll never know.”

Swallowing his pride, Bucky presses on the contact and listens as the number rings out. He’s counted the rings endlessly, knowing the hesitation there would be at the other end of the call.

“Hello?” He holds back the desperation clinging to his throat upon hearing someone answer, a loud yawn echoing through the line.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Bucky lowers his head into his metal hand, even if it’s a different arm, it’s still part of the same tormented history. “I, could you come over?” A whisper leaves his lips as silence protrudes. “P,please?”

His ears perk up at the sound of sheets ruffling. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Before Bucky can say his thanks, the line goes dead and the realisation sinks in; he’s going to see you again.

Bucky listens closely, hearing you outside of his apartment. He can hear you knock once softly, and a second time with more confidence.

He knows he should hold back a moment and pretend he hasn’t been hovering beside the front door since you hung up a mere twenty minutes ago, but he can’t help himself.

Unlocking the several locks covering the door, Bucky opens it a sliver, allowing you to slip in.

Keeping your head down, your focus remains on your feet as Bucky closes his front door before turning to you.

“I, I didn’t think you’d come.” Bucky admits quietly, afraid to hear what you have to say in response.

“Well,” You start, now lifting your head up to see him and your sentence falters in your mouth. You can’t deny that he looks worse than you envisioned, even during those late nights and early mornings when he woke up screaming in your arms, he’d never looked so grief-stricken like this.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out, following your gaze to his tired eyes, scratches covering his arm from attempting to claw it off in his sleep as sweat still clings to his chest. “it’s not great.”

You scoff under your breath as you follow Bucky through to his small kitchen where he pours you both glasses of water. “That is clearly an understatement.” Accepting the glass, you take the moment to reflect whilst he’s occupied. “How long has this been happening?”

Pausing at the sink, Bucky stares down into his glass of water, remembering the countless nights they attempted to drown him or try shock therapy. And how every time it didn’t work, he remembered it all.

“A while.” He mutters, his grip tightening on the kitchen ledge as his metal hand clenches around the glass, shattering it into the sink.

“James,” You call out, slowly rising from your seat and moving toward him. “I’m right here, you’re here too, alright?”

Standing beside him, you reach out for his hand, easing his grip on the counter until he lets go.

“You’re right here.” You repeat to him as his eyes remain tightly closed, his jaw locked and left hand still clenching the broken glass. “You can let go, Bucky.” The words leave your lips in a whisper as the remainder of the glass drops into the sink, and Bucky turns his body to face yours.

“It wasn’t real,” Bucky tells you weakly. “please tell me it wasn’t real.”

Without thinking twice, you lift your hand to rest it against his cheek and Bucky instantly cradles it with his flesh hand, keeping it in place.

“It wasn’t real, James.” You confidently state as he moves your hand and presses a gentle kiss against it. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” You sigh as you both remain in the dimly lit kitchen, the only movement from Bucky as he turns the tap off.

“Nothings been the same since Steve,” He can’t help but trail off, knowing he doesn’t have to explain himself around you. “and I just couldn’t face it, not with all that history.”

Stepping backwards, you let your hand slip from his as you lean against the counter, crossing your arms. “But what about the rest of us, Bucky? You just stopped answering, after everything we’ve been through.” You try to keep your voice low, remain calm, but after all this time, it’s difficult to not let your feelings get in the way. “I’ve lost all of you. Sam, Wanda, Peter, Clint, Bruce, Thor and now you too.”

“I’m sorry, doll,” Bucky breathes out. “I never meant to hurt you, I, I’ve been making amends.”

Walking past you, Bucky rummages through his bedside table, revealing the well-worn notebook.

“Was that?” You don’t have to finish your question before Bucky nods, flipping through the pages to a series of names scribbled down.

“These are all the people I wronged or hurt or who were affected by the Winter Soldier.” Bucky explains, holding the book out to you.

He watches closely as your eyes scan over the names, flipping through the pages seeing those crossed out or circled or left untouched. Until you see the last name on the list, yours.

“Y/n, I’m truly sorry for leaving you, for causing you any pain.” Bucky begins to explain as you close the notebook, placing it back on the counter out of sight. “I know I can’t take back what I’ve done, for disappearing for months without warning, but I,” Unable to fight his emotions, Bucky cracks.

You reach out as he curls up to the ground, quiet sobs wracking through his body as you hold him close.

“It’s okay,” You shush him as you fall to a sitting position, Bucky curling his head into your lap once more. “we can talk about this in the morning, okay?”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Bucky tenses beneath you before sparing you a glance, allowing you to see those blue eyes, the ones you’ve missed falling asleep beside and waking up to, those same blue eyes that hold so much pain you can’t comprehend.

“No,” You whisper, running your fingers through his short hair, missing how the long ends used to feel against your face in the mornings. “I promise, I won’t go.” You lean back against the cabinets as Bucky begins to relax beneath you, his metal arm outstretched whilst his flesh arm remains around your waist, hugging you close.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Bucky sadly asks, looking out toward the dark hallway of his apartment, seeing nothing besides the faint glare of the tv. “I, I’m not dreaming this again am I?”

The thought breaks your heart as you rest your hand on his shoulder, running your fingers along the faint scar that remains etched into his skin.

“It’s real, Bucky.” You tell him, trying to disguise the cry that is lodged in your throat. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Despite your words of comfort, Bucky closes his eyes uneasily, wondering when he’ll wake up from this dream to the painful reality he truly lives in.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up sorry!)

@biss-stuff @psychicforest @lourightm @mywinterwolf @justsomedreaming @stanlux17 @smokeandnailz @supermoonchildbroski @xrosegoldwolfx @courtneychicken @marvelsangels @supraveng @tommy-lee-81 @smilexcaptainx @fandom-princess-forevermore @sarge-barnes-sir @pleasantlysecretdream @decaffeinated–fangirl @howdyherron @kirby-boo @florencxs @eldahae @handmesomecoffee @hi-my-name-is-riley @dev1lbella @thanossexual @alissaginger @sambucky8 @notbrooklynsblog @nikkixostan @cosmiccaptian @adoreyou976 @sarcasticallywitty15 @multi-fandom-princess07 @16boyfriends-and-me @courtneychicken @mackevanstan80 @torchwoodoctor @pleasantlysecretdream @yougottalovefandoms @magicalxdaydream @soccer-100000 @tenaciousperfectionunkown @talksoprettyjjx @btsonthedaily @jessyballet @katiaw2 @buckyswildflower @lucrea @weenersoldierr @katiaw2 @lucrea @amelia-song-pond @bluelakeee @dottirose @emilytheukuleleplayer @5-seconds-of-mendes @rudystilins @bookfrog242

831 notes · View notes

the-witty-pen-name · 4 years ago

Text

Deadbeat Pt. 7

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), fluff, angst, cursing, abandonment, toxic parent, violence, toxic siblings, infatuation, cheating/divorce, insecurity, mild housewife kink, mentions of prostitution, mentions of alcohol, corrupt official, fake relationship, jealousy

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N:

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!!

I’m sorry for this chapter being shorter than normal, but it is more of a transitional chapter to set up some new stuff! I’m trying a new writing style in this chapter and this is why the word count is shorter. I’m nervous about posting this chapter honestly, since I tried something different. The following chapters will be back up to 3.5-4k as usual! This story is not over!

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing my work. Everyone whose reached out and told me how much they love the story really makes my day, oh my gosh!! I love you all so much, I’m so thankful.

Address mentioned is completely made up.

This is unedited, and I missed anything I should include as a warning let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

Tags and Requests are OPEN

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six

Lee never stopped telling you how much he loved you. At first, you had thought it was a spur of the moment exclamation but you were mistaken. When you realized he meant it, you reciprocated telling him you loved him too, making him the happiest man in the world. It all happened so fast, and your relationship was evolving quickly.

Maybe living together played a factor in how quickly the relationship progressed. It’s hard to just be dating someone you already live with and can’t take out on proper dates. It made everything else happen faster. He wished he could spoil you and take you to restaurants and walk into a room with you on his arm, but he couldn’t yet.

But from that moment on, he never stopped telling you. He said the phrase probably every moment he could manage. Every time he called from his office; he wouldn’t hang up without muttering the phrase. He’d tell you that he loved you before he left the house, or he’d just announce it unprompted when you both were home together, like it was some epiphany or declaration. He’d love to whisper it to you, especially at night with you pulled tightly to his chest.

He made sure he’d tell you in nonverbal ways as well, always letting you know he was thinking about you. Somehow, you’d end up with flowers on your desk at work at least once a week as well, never with a card. He’d cook, and on his days off, he’d spend them with you or he would surprise you by fixing things on the house. Never in a million years had you ever expected Lee Bodecker to be such a romantic, and when you’d joke about it, he’d say,

“You give me a reason to be, doll.”

It was thrilling, having someone to love and to have those feelings reciprocated. The ability to just be able to give and receive love was something he was never able to manage, perhaps it was just never the right person, or perhaps he had always been too selfish.

Now for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t thinking about himself.

You gave him purpose and something worth fighting for.

“When this whole thing is over and we’re out of this town, I’m gonna marry you,” he said rubbing your arm as you lay in bed cuddled up to his side. You lay your arm across his tummy and rest your head on his chest. You hum in agreement, resting your eyes, both of you waking up earlier than you needed and you were enjoying the peaceful moment of the morning together.

“I hate seeing you with that Russel kid,” he’ll mutter, possessively pulling you closer, you could feel the vulnerability in his voice.

The past weeks have been really hard on Lee. It bothered him more and more each day, knowing Arvin was the one who got to drive you home from work and just being out and about with you. He knew you were his, and he never didn’t trust you. But you were so blind to the boy’s obvious feelings for you. It was something that would eat at him at night.

He couldn’t even blame you, if Arvin was able to sweep you away from him. Arvin was a good kid- took care of his family, worked a decent job, went to Church, and he was your age. He was much better looking in the traditional sense than Lee as well. Plus, you had a history. The boy was your first love and no one forgets their first love.

He knew you didn’t look at Arvin the same way Arvin looked at you, but he was always worried that a shift could come. If that damned reporter wouldn’t leave town and the more time you spent with Arvin, the more you’d see how much you’d actually want to be with him instead. You always told Lee he was the one you wanted and he believed you, but he worried that you would change your mind. He was so insecure, and he felt guilt, and he knew that he didn’t deserve to be happy, that he didn’t deserve your affection.

Sometimes he couldn’t let himself relax. Scenarios of all the different reasons you could leave him for polluted his mind and he hated how it took him out of being in the moments he just wanted to enjoy. He’d see you in his mind, happy with Arvin, marrying him instead and creating all those experiences with Arvin instead of him.

“He’s just my friend,” you reiterate, probably now for the millionth time. You were patient, and it never seemed to bother you, that the two of you ending up having this same conversation over and over. He needed the constant reassurance, and he hated the fact that he did.

“I want you, Lee,” you’ll mumble affectionately, trying to shower him with compliments and praise, to lift him up when he got down like this. “I don’t want any other man,” you’d affirm.

“This town is poison,” Lee mutters, looking out the window, the blinds pulled back as the sun is steadily rising. “Everything feels like it’s tainted,” he observes.

“Except us,” you correct him. He nods, but he knows his statement especially applies to him.

“Except you,” he sighs, his fingertips tracing circles on your bare shoulder.

“You don’t think you’ve ruined me, Sheriff?” you tease, making him smile, gradually pulling him out of his state. You’d lean up and kiss him, and the sensation would help his thoughts fade away for a few minutes. The feeling of your lips and soft skin against his own just putting his mind at ease, using his other senses to just keep his mind at bay.

He’s not sure if you realize how much he means it when he talks about escaping away from the town and marrying you. He thought about it all the time and it was what he was working toward. He knew even if he managed to go straight, if when Curtis left town, if the case around your mom was resolved, the town would still eat you up. The image of you both would be sullied. Reputation was crucial for survival in a town like this. You’d already been subjected to it before your relationship started.

He knew the solution was simple. He needed to take you away from Ross County, move to a new town where no one knew you both. It would just be a Sheriff and his new bride looking for a place to settle down. No rumors, or peeping eyes, or reporters, or exes, no corruption- just the two of you. Get a house, maybe start a family if you wanted that too.

He hoped you did. He’d be content either way, but he wanted a big family. His growing up was much less than ideal and it was just him and his sister. He loved the idea of a bigger family. He loved the image of having a house that was loud in a different way than what he grew up in. He often worried if he’d be a good father, but he never once doubted how excellent of a mother you would be if you wanted.

The only thing he wanted in his future was you, and everything else would be a blissful bonus of things he also doesn’t deserve. But to him you deserved the world and he simultaneously wanted to give you everything but then at the same time he felt like he would hold you back. You were young and had so many good years ahead of you. He couldn’t imagine you’d want to waste the rest of your life or even the rest of your twenties with him.

You could get a job doing anything you wanted and he could run for Sheriff in the new town maybe, or he could do something else. It didn’t matter to him anymore really. The time he’s been with you has really helped him see what is actually important. It was the only thing he wanted. He wanted to be able to give you that because he knew that you deserved it and more than he’d ever be able to give you.

Laying in bed with you on this lazy morning, reminded him of the last time he was there when you were still bartending. It was the first time that pesky day dream of his started. It was something a lot bigger now than it was then. He loved you, and he was relieved he could say it to you now, and he wanted to settle down. This backwards way the two of you got together was a mess but it was yours. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, but he knew he needed to make things right.

He had been so blind, for so long, and he finally started to feel like he could be someone he actually wanted to be.

All he needed was time and he could set it all straight.

***

Arrest of Pimp in Knockemstiff, Ohio Reveals Corruption of Town Sheriff

By: Henry Curtis

Sheriff of Ross County, Lee Bodecker, has been allegedly involved in the coverup of a local brothel, run by Leroy Brown. Brown and several of his associates were arrested on Wednesday night by local police for drug possession and possession of illegal firearms. As the group resisted arrest, there was a shoot out at a small bar in Meade, which was revealed to serve as a front for their operation. Seven men, including Brown, were arrested Wednesday night for questioning by the local police.

While giving his statement, Brown confessed to the charges and in hopes of a lesser sentence, cooperated with police and provided names of all involved in the underground prostitution ring. He provided the police with twelve names, including that of the local Sheriff Lee Bodecker and his sister Sandy Henderson, who has since also been apprehended by the local authorities.

Sandy Henderson was apprehended on Thursday morning, and made bail for $500 that Saturday. Henderson and her husband, both denied an opportunity to provide a statement. The pair only stated they will be promptly returning home and want to put this behind them.

Although there has been no release of his official statement as of yet regarding this alleged involvement, Bodecker was taken into custody the next morning, apprehended by his deputies from his home. Deputy Bill Thomas has since announced that the Sheriff will be subject to a trial in the near future, and for now faces an indefinite suspension from his post until his innocence has been proven. Deputy Thomas has also said that regardless of the outcome of the trial, Bodecker will be unable to run for reelection next term.

With this new development, it is also worth noting that the Sheriff is a tenant of (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the daughter of Estelle (Y/L/N)-Tucker who is currently wanted by law enforcement for embezzling thousands from her husband Harvey Tucker’s company, Tucker Brokerage, and then fleeing with her sixteen-year-old son. When police arrived at her home Thursday morning to apprehend the Sheriff, deputies on scene took an official statement from (Y/L/N), where she denied knowledge of the Sheriff’s involvement in any of the alleged criminal activities nor any knowledge regarding her mother or brother’s whereabouts.

Woman Wanted for Embezzling Funds from Tucker Brokerage Arrested in Indiana

By: Henry Curtis

Former resident of Knockemstiff, Ohio, Estelle (Y/L/N)-Tucker was arrested in South Bend, Indiana yesterday morning before dawn. Being able to identify her as a wanted person, Este and Harold Turner, owners of the Sunnyside Motel where (Y/L/N)-Tucker had been staying for about three days prior to the arrest, notified the local authorities she was staying in one of their rooms. She also was accompanied by her sixteen-year-old son.

The boy’s older sister has now become the boy’s sole guardian and he has since returned to his hometown. According to the police, the boy was completely cooperative and they believe he had no knowledge of his mother’s crimes. In a statement given the night of the arrest, the boy told police he believed they were running from his step-father, as his mother insinuated, she had been a victim of domestic abuse. There is no evidence yet as to whether her statement is true, but there will be an investigation of husband, Harvey Tucker, to discover if this claim is true.

Both children of Estelle (Y/L/N)-Tucker have not agreed to speak about their mother or the situation to anyone except police. Daughter, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), said when she arrived in Indiana to pick up her brother, seemed to only care about getting her brother home safely. Locals report she never asked to see her mother, and only focused on her brother.

As of now, (Y/L/N)-Tucker will remain in the custody of the South Bend Police until they are ready to transport her to Columbus, Ohio where she will face jail time and then eventually a trial.

Corruption in Knockemstiff High School Staff, Principal Arrested for Illegal Distilling- Sheriff Involved in Cover Up

By: Henry Curtis

Principal of local high school, Mark Cunningham, was arrested today after local police discover an illegal distillery on his residence. Police had retrieved a warrant to search Cunningham’s land after receiving an anonymous tip from a source close to the Principal.

Following his arrest, Cunningham admitted to the felony, but also claimed Ross County’s previous Sherriff, Lee Bodecker, had prior knowledge of the still, and in exchange for his silence, he demanded Cunningham offer a secretarial job at the high school to his landlord, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), who is the daughter of Estelle (Y/L/N)-Tucker, who recently was tried for embezzlement.

The vice-principal of the high school, Meredith Lively, has stepped forth as interim principal until the position can be filled, and ensured the press (Y/L/N) had been fired effective immediately, despite her claims of being unaware any such deal had conspired. Police have found no evidence to contradict (Y/L/N)’s statement, and in an official statement taken from Bodecker, he confirmed that it was part of the deal she not be made aware of the circumstances.

New Sheriff Elected to Ross County

By: Henry Curtis

Former Deputy Bill Thomas has been elected Sheriff of Ross County. Following the trial of former Sheriff Lee Bodecker, who had been found guilty of all charges, Bodecker was barred from office, and given a five-year sentence.

Deputy Thomas in an acceptance speech during a recent town hall meeting, ensured residents of Knockemstiff that “one bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole bunch” and the Sheriff’s department under new control will keep the town safe, and clean of crime and corruption. When asked by reporters how he felt about Bodecker, Thomas only described his situation as “unfortunate.”

There has been no other evidence of corruption within Ross County Sheriff’s Department although the investigation is still ongoing. When asked during his trial if he received any corroboration from any other law officials, Bodecker stated he never involved other members of the force with his wrongdoings.

REAL ESTATE

Room Available for Rent in Knockemstiff, Ohio

$50 monthly rent (utilities included)

1 Bedroom (250 sq. ft.), furnished

Private bathroom with shower

4 Birch Street

Knockemstiff, Ohio

Please call the following number with serious offers. Price negotiable.

PART EIGHT

Taglist

@scar-is-bi @jiminlife2k18 @asylummaniac01 @rosalynshields @charmed-asylum @jamesbuchananbuckybarnes1917 @alexandrathegreat3 @hersilencedscreams @malar-region @purplerain85 @vesper852 @smilewolfdolan @softshell-taco @champagnebucky @lilacmeadows @mollygetssherlockcoffee

386 notes · View notes

uncpanda · 4 years ago

Text

Small Town Moose: Part 15

AN: After watching the show, I noticed that Hotch is fairly open outside of work, he’s not as serious and he smiles more. Also, JJ doesn’t leave, she will be promoted when it’s time.

AN: Want to see the outfits mentioned in this chapter, click on the link in my bio to go to pinterest and see the board!

Master List

Aaron wonders if the universe hates him. You’re a week away from your due date when the team gets called out on a case. Aaron is ready to refuse, and start his paternity leave early, but then he hears it’s a case with kids, and he has to go. He expects some sort of glare, or fight about it. Most women wouldn’t want their partner, the father of their child leaving right before they’re due to give birth, but you’re different. You hand him his go bag and promise to call him if you even think you feel a contraction.

Jessica is put on standby to take Jack if you need to go to the hospital, and Penelope volunteers to check in on you. You and Jack spend the days getting ready for the baby. You cook and freeze some meals. You make sure you have all of Jack’s favorite snacks, and spend a lot of one on one time with him. You also try to make plans for after the baby is born. You want Jack to feel included and loved, and make sure that he knows this baby is not replacing him.

Aaron calls multiple times a day. It becomes a joke between you and Jack, that anytime the phone rang it was Aaron. The sad thing was, it was true.You didn’t even look at the caller ID anymore, you just greeted him. You can tell the stress of being away is getting to him. So, you text Dave and ask him to let you know when the team is supposed to land.

You get the text an hour beforehand, at around noon. Jack is still in school, but you figure you can convince Aaron to pull him out early. So, you load Moose into the car, and head to the tarmac, and you relish the look of relief on Aaron’s face when he sees you waiting . . . still massively pregnant. He drops his go bag, and his hands go to your belly as he kisses you. When he pulls back he leans down and says to your daughter, “You are a very behaved child. Thank you for waiting till I get home to arrive.”

Gwen rolls her eyes at that statement.

You roll your eyes, as the rest of the team comes over and gives you hugs. Spencer goes straight to your car to pet Moose. Morgan is grinning as he leans in, “Is she kicking?”

You laugh, “She’s always kicking.”

“Can I feel?”

“Go for it.”

Morgan and Rossi both lean in to feel, and when your daughter kicks Morgan grins, “She’s strong.”

Dave nods, “She’s going to be a soccer star. Just you wait.”

Your hands go to your back in an effort to ease the pain there, “Might as well, I’ve already got one at home. A second would be welcomed.”

Your eyes go to Aaron for confirmation, and you find him and Gwen studying you, “What’s up?”

“Your back is hurting?”

“And has been for over a month.”

“No contractions?”

“None. Which is why, I thought we’d pick Jack up early from school. Maybe take him and Moose to the park.”

Dave grins, “Now that sounds like fun.”

“You guys are welcome to come with.”

“Really?”

You look back at Spencer who is full on holding Moose in his arms. You smile, the boy genius had always gravitated towards your dog, and you often found him, Jack, Henry, and Moose playing together at team functions, “Really.”

Dave and Morgan both agree to come, and so does Penelope, and Gwen is already in the back seat of your car. But JJ has to head home to her own family.

You pass the keys to Aaron. You, Aaron, Gwen, and Spencer take your car, and Dave and Morgan take a bureau one. While they head out to pick up Penelope, the four of you head to Jack’s school. As predicted the boy is ecstatic to be pulled out early. Especially when he realizes his dad and Uncle Spencer are there.

Spencer and Moose keep Jack occupied while Aaron drives. You hear the two of them debate superheroes, and occasionally Moose will chime in with a bark. You’re all laughing and having a good time by the time you reach the park. You immediately claim a bench and take Aaron’s suit jacket and tie while he and Spencer chase Jack and Moose around. Gwen goes to lay under a tree, something she had enjoyed doing since childhood.

Dave and Morgan join in once they arrive, while Penelope takes a seat next to you and presents you with adorable pink, hand knitted, baby booties. “They’re adorable Pen.”

“Yes. They are, and I would say this is only one reason I would be a great fairy god-mother. This and I already have the wand.”

You study her for a second before saying, “Penelope, I love you dearly, and if Aaron and I get our way this won’t be our only kid, but for this one, we’ve decided on Gwen.”

She smiles, not at all offended, “The next one is mine though?”

“I’ll make sure to tell JJ that you called dibs, and you can still be Aunt Penny.”

She beams, “I love the sound of that. Now I’m going to have to get her an outfit that says my aunt loves me.”

“You get it and I’ll make sure to put her in it.”

There’s a moment of silence before Pen asks, “Do you mind me asking how you and Gwen met? I mean the two of you are so different.”

You smile, “She moved to town in the middle of second grade, and that was a big deal. We never got new kids. Even then she could barely stand other people, and she was a bit of a loner. But one day I was on the playground with my older sisters, and well . . . sisters aren’t always the easiest to get along with.They were teasing me over a crush I had, being rather mean if I’m honest, and Gwen threw mud at them.” You start to laugh, “She got Lily right in the mouth, and it was the first time someone had ever saved me from my sisters.

“Of course, mama was not happy. She forbade me from hanging out with Gwen, but it didn’t stop me. Eventually mama just accepted it, and got in snide remarks where she could. She even convinced Gwen’s Mama to sign her up for the debutante ball alongside me. Gwen complained through the whole thing, and spilled something on her dress so she wouldn’t have to debut.”

“Wow. I never would have guessed.”

You cradle your bump, “Gwen has never been afraid, as long as I’ve known her. She’s never pressured me into anything, never guilted me over anything, but she pushed me to be better, and want more out of my life. And as a result I have everything I could ever want: A career I love, a son and a daughter on the way, and I’m engaged to one of the best men alive.”

“You’re what?”

You realize what you just said, and wince. You and Aaron had decided to wait and tell the team until after your daughter was born. You also weren’t wearing your ring since your fingers were swollen.

Penelope smiles, “You’re engaged?”

You nod and she leans over to hug you. She gives you a squeeze, and promises not to tell anyone until the baby is born. You hear Jack call your name, and you struggle to your feet. You’ve just made it upright, when you feel the gush of water. You go ramrod straight, and being surrounded by profilers everyone notices. Everyone is by your side a minute later.

“What happened?”

You blink, a little confused, “My water just broke, but I haven’t had any contractions.”

“That’s not uncommon.” you all turn to face Spener, who is grinning.

“Continue please.”

“It’s called PROM or Pre-labour Rupture of the Membranes. It happens in about 5% of

pregnancies and 60% of the time labor will start on it’s own in the first twenty-four hours, but I would recommend going to the hospital and having them induce labor. There’s less risk of an infection.”

Your eyes go wide at the word infection, and Gwen squeezes your hand. Aaron goes into Unit Chief mode, “Dave, Y/N, Gwen and I are going to the hospital. Garcia, Reid, do you guys mind staying at our place with Jack and Moose?”

They answer together, “Not at all.”

“Good. Morgan, mine and Y/N’s hospital bags are in our room. Do you mind driving the others home and bringing us those bags?”

“No problem Hotch.”

Not even a minute later you’re all spurred into action. You find yourself in the back seat of the bureau SUV with Gwen, while Aaron races through the streets with the lights and sirens. You’re fairly sure that’s not what they’re supposed to be used for.

You can tell the nurses are a little overwhelmed when your group comes in. You figure three FBI agents, who have guns on their hips tend to have that effect on people. Your doctor arrives half an hour later, and does indeed want to induce labor to limit the chance of infection.

You’re changed into a scratchy hospital gown, and given horrible yellow socks with rubber grips on the bottom, before your labor is induced. That is the start of a twenty hour process. You come to the same conclusion as millions of other women; labor is not fun. Your hospital room is a little crowded with Gwen and Dave off to one side while Aaron stays with you, feeds you ice chips, and lets you squeeze his hand when the contractions hit. It’s exhausting to say the least.

You’re about ten hours in, when you send Aaron away to call Jack and keep him in the loop, and Dave goes out to get food for those who are allowed to eat. Gwen stays with you. She’s been silent most of the time, and you realize she’s scared.

You turn your head towards her, “It’s going to be okay.”

She chews on her lip, a nervous habit she had kicked years ago, “Logically, I know that. It’s still a little. . . scary.”

“This coming from the bad ass FBI agent?”

She shrugs, “I can’t fight this for you. For all intents and purposes you’re my sister, and I can’t protect you from this. That bugs me.”

“That and childbirth grosses you out.”

She slumps with relief, “It does, so bad. When you start pushing I’m heading outside.”

“Good. I don’t want you to see me like that.”

Her nose wrinkles, “You know . . . I never wanted the whole spouse and kid thing . . .”

“And now?”

She deapans, “I’m thinking of getting my tubes tied. If I want to play with kids, I’ll play with yours. I can give them back after a few hours that way.”

You laugh, and then stop as another contraction starts. Gwen is there, she holds your hand, and actually winces a bit when you squeeze. When you let go she shakes out her hand, “Yeah . . . no kids for me.”

Ten hours later, exhausted and sweaty beyond belief, your little girl comes into the world screaming at the top of her lungs. Your heart accelerates at the sound, and all you want is to see your baby. Aaron is all smiles as he’s asked to cut the umbilical cord, and your struggle to see her. You don’t have to wait long. The moment she’s cleaned off, she is wrapped in a blanket and placed on your chest. She is a perfect seven pounds and eight ounces, and you can’t help the tears that fall as you kiss the top of her head.

You look up at Aaron who is also smiling and crying, he kisses you and says, “You are amazing.”

Three hours later, after you and your baby girl have been cleaned up, Aaron goes to get Jack. It’s a little after three in the afternoon, you’re exhausted, but you can’t bring yourself to let go of the little girl in your arms, despite the nurses’ offers.

When Aaron comes back, he’s in jeans and a polo shirt, and a very excited Jack is holding his hand. You hear Aaron whisper, “Now you have to be very gentle, Y/N is a little sore, and your sister is small.”

“Okay daddy.”

Jack beams at you as he’s placed on the bed next to you, and scrambles to look at his sister. He stares at her for a minute before he whispers, “She’s so little!”

You giggle, and adjust the baby in your hold, so that he can see her better. “Can I touch her?”

Aaron nods, “Gently.”

Jack is extremely careful as he runs a finger down her cheek and then pokes at her little hand. You feel the tears well when your daughter’s tiny fist wraps around one of her brother’s fingers. There’s a look of awe on Jack’s face. And you turn around in time to see Aaron snap a picture. God bless that man. Jack stays with you as the rest of the team files in.

You allow the baby to be passed around, until she ends up back in Aaron’s arms while Jack snuggles into your side. You run your fingers through the boy's hair, and Penelope is the one to finally ask, “Okay, what’s her name?”

Aaron smiles, “One or two announcements before that. First off Gwen and Morgan we’d like you to be the godparents. Gwen nods and smiles, while Morgan beams. “Second of all, Dave, if you’re up to it. . . Jack and this little one . . . well they need a grandfather. We thought you might like to be Pop Pop?”

Dave grins, “I’d love that.”

Aaron’s smile widens, “The rest of you are aunts and uncles of course.”

There’s a chorus of “Of course.”

“Finally, this little girl’s name is Olivia Emily Hotchner.”

There’s a moment of silence for the missing team member, before Morgan says, “That is

a beautiful name.”

“It was Y/N’s idea. She really wanted to honor Prentiss.”

There’s murmurs of wishing Prentiss was there, and then there are calls of Aaron hogging the baby. You’re so focused on Liv and watching where she's going that you completely miss the look JJ and Aaron share.

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #jack hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss #david rossi #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #derek morgan

330 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

5K notes · View notes

lottiebagleywritesobx · 4 years ago

Text

Love Language

At the time they'd made it the language had felt like no one would ever be able to understand it.

They were only 9 and JJ had been granted permission to stay at her house, her parents used to be around a lot, although they weren't anymore, and they'd always welcomed her blonde best friend leading to his near constant presence at their home.

It was late for two kids, maybe 10 pm, and they'd been wrapped in blankets in her box sized room that felt so much bigger when they were young.

They always got each other in a way no one else understood for reasons way more complex than a secret language they would use to write each other messages, but at 9, all they needed to know was that the language was another thing that tied them together.

It was simple: to spell a word you combine the first letters of the other words.

So to write Hello you would write Hungry Elephants Love Lollipops Okay

It had stuck a lot at first, they used it everyday and it drove Pope and John B insane, but as they got older it died out.

It was used a few times at 12 when they had an annoying teacher who made students read notes out if they were caught passing them, to everyone else it sounded like gibberish.

It was used once at 15, the world help spelled out when an older Kook boy wouldn't leave her alone and she knew he was reading her phone screen over her shoulder, not wanting to trigger him.

Now, at 17, she had laughed out loud when she'd unfolded the note tucked into her locker.

In JJ's scrawl that only she could read with ease.

Ukraine

Rollercoaster

Penguin Ranch Eyelash Tractor Tangerine Yoghurt

You are pretty. She blushed a little, looking around for any sign of the familiar blonde boy but he was nowhere to be seen, she tucked the note into her bag, hating the way he made her heart race, before shoving the books she didn't need over the weekend into her locker and walking down the corridor and out of the front doors.

When she arrived at the twinkie her friends were already there "Took your time," John B smirks from his open window, occupying the front seat

"She was probably busy flirting with Mack," Sarah teases from the passenger side

"For the last time Sarah, he just needed tutoring in bio,"

"You are shit at bio," Sarah smirks even wider

"Better than you sweetheart," The girl grins, climbing into the back and diving out of Sarah's reach as she moves to try and flick her. Both girls laughing loudly

"I'll get the door then," Pope chides

"Thanks P, i can't get too close or Sarah will attack me," She grins, Pope rolls his eyes but sends her a grin as he leans forwards to pull the door to the twinkie closed.

She moves through the seats to her usual space, she always sat next to JJ, no matter what. They could be drinking at the chateau, relaxing at the beach, adventuring on the boat. No matter what they were next to each other. It wasn't uncommon when one of them was feeling tired, or clingy, or touch starved for her to end up in his lap, his arms wrapped around her stomach and his chin on her shoulder.

She leans up pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, it wasn't uncommon in their friendship, often used as a greeting, a thanks or even just out of the blue, and so the other's don't think anything of it even though JJ feels himself melting into a puddle. What is a little different though is the way she grabs his hand giving it a tight squeeze before pulling her own away and settling down in her seat as John B starts up the van. He knows what it is. It's a silent thanks for the note, not wanting to say anything in front of their friends but it was a sign she got it and she was grateful for it.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder, his touch gentle but Pope gives him a knowing look, the touch is supposed to claim her. She either doesn't notice or doesn't seem to mind though, instead leaning into his now open side as she chats happily with Kie.

It's monday morning and JJ is in first period history. He fucking hates history, yet, it had become his favourite subject simply because it was the only one all 6 pogues shared. He opens his school bag with sigh, placing the textbook on his desk and starting to fish around the bottom of the bag for a loose pen.

Pope turns around from the seat in front of him, placing a pen on his desk with a knowing smile. JJ drops his bag to the floor, opening the text book only for a note to fall out.

Her neat writing fills the page and the smile on his face is immediate.

Umbrella

Rocket

Happy Ant Neck Drop Surf Olive Mars Egg

JJ tries to ignore the feeling of a red hot blush creeping up his neck as he turns to look at the next desk along, she's already looking at him with a smirk shooting him a week before turning to face the front, god if JJ can't feel himself falling.

It continues for weeks.

Tucked into the wind screen wiper of her old shitty truck.

Taped to the sandwiches she would bring him to lunch.

On her pillow when she went to bed one night.

Stuffed into the pocket of the hoodie she borrowed.

Her school bag.

The bathroom mirror at the chateau.

They both started to home a large collection of notes. Her's placed neatly in a drawer in her bedroom. His tucked in a box under the floor board that lifts up in the room he claims as his at the chateau.

"What you writing?" John B questions as he steps onto the porch

"Just a note for y/n,"

"You guys have been passing a lot of secret notes recently," John B comments, JJ shrugs placing the pen down "It's sweet,"

"What d'ya mean by that?" JJ questions, John raises his eyebrows giving JJ a knowing look before having a realisation.

"You still haven't told her you're head over heels in love with her?"

"No," JJ admits, he was way past his days of fighting back when his friends accused him of being in love with her. "I don't know how to. You know me, I never say things right and I just- I really don't want to fuck this up. Only got one shot at it,"

"So write it," John B shrugs like it's obvious

"I can't,"

"You can,"

"What if she doesn't feel the same?"

"JJ, you're the most annoying person I know and she puts up with you all the time and has done since you were 2 . She feels the same,"

She's only wearing a bikini and a tshirt that belongs to JJ when she exits her house on Saturday morning. Her plans to meet at the Chateau go surfing with Kie already made, she grabs her board and at first she doesn't even notice it, attached to the cool box full of water and fruit she'd loaded up the night before is a note.

Ice

Art Magic

Igloo Note

London Orange Venus Elephant

Wine Ill Tiger Hungry

Yam One Under

It takes less than a minute for her to decipher the note, abandoning her surf board and the cooler in favour of sprinting to the Cheateau.

JJ is seemingly waiting for her when she arrives, he's pacing in front of the house, going still the second he sees her.

"Are you kidding?" She questions, he's stares, eyes wide not quite able to process why she looks so hopeful. "Because JJ, if this is some fucked up joke I will literally never speak to you again,"

"It's not a joke," He assures

"It's not?" She questions, it's het turn to still, having expected to arrive for him to laugh and ruffle her hair like he was her brother.

"No. I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since we were 12 and you stole my cap and started wearing it everyday,"

"We were 14 and you snuck into my room because my parents were fighting and you read harry potter to me cause you knew my parents used to," She states

He nods, now it was all out there in the open neither of them quite knew what to do.

"For fucks sake kiss already!" Pope shouts, they turn seeing all the pogues watching them from the porch.

JJ looks at her, an unspoken question in his eyes. "Just promise me if this all goes tits up we will be friends, cause I can't loose you maybank,"

He holds his pinky out, smiling as she loops her with his and squeezes slightly. He pulls her into his chest with their pinkies. Lips crashing onto hers, spare holding her closer to him by the small of her back. Her empty hand moving to play with the blonde curls she's wanted to run her fingers through a thousand times. Their pinkies stay linked by their side, his thumb stroking at her hands lightly.

Yeah, she'd be keeping the note he left in there little love language.

#jj #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank x y/n #obx fic #obx #outer banks

80 notes · View notes

ethanesimp · 4 years ago

Text

SWEETHEART // D.D. - INTERACTIVE (OPTION B)

Pairing: Damiano David x Fem! Reader

Word Count (Option B): 1k

Summary: What started as an afternoot out shopping turns chaotic after it starts raining.

Warnings: Fluff, smut written by a minor, swearing, unprotected sex (pls use protection <3) In case you randomly found this and are like “wtf? this makes no sense, click HERE to go and read from the beginning so it actually makes sense.

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

You stayed in a comfortable silence as you both undressed and got into the warm water. Your back was against Damiano’s chest as he washed your hair with that vanilla scented shampoo he was obsessed with. He'd take water with his hands and rinse your hair as he hummed softly.

After you handed him the soap, he began to rub it up and down your arms slowly as goosebumps involuntarily formed on your skin at the feeling. Damiano moved your hair out of the way and started kissing your neck.

Your hand grasped his hair softly as he started nipping and sucking on your sweet spot. You let out a breathy moan and closed your eyes, moving to give him more access to your neck. Damiano dropped the soap as his hand slowly trailed down your thigh. He parted your legs open while you turned around and crashed your lips to his in a passionate and needy kiss. All you felt was lust and a desperate need for more as his hand kept evading the place where you needed him the most.

You pulled away, "Please touch me, Damià. I need more," You whispered. He chuckled and gave you nothing more than a teasing smile as his hands moved up and down your inner thighs. You couldn’t help but whine as he completely ignored your request and kept on teasing you while nipping at the exposed skin of your neck. Then, out of nowhere, his hand started to gently massage your clit as his other hand cupped your breast and he teased your nipple with his fingers. Your head fell on his shoulder as more sounds of pure pleasure fell from your lips.

It all felt so comforting, with the hot water warming up your body and the soft bubbles that had formed at the top from the soap and shampoo. Not to mention the soft scent of the candles he’d lit while he waited for the water to heat up. The feeling of his calloused hands massaging your breasts and clit only helped to make you feel more relaxed.

He inserted two of his fingers into your heat and moved them slowly in and out of you as he got back to sucking and biting your neck, leaving a few hickeys behind.

You could feel his hard-on pressed against you as he kept fingering you, eliciting even more sounds from you, "This okay?"

"More than okay, please don't stop," you begged as he sped up his pace and added a third finger. With his other hand, he circled your clit with his thumb when he felt you clench around his fingers, "I'm gonna cum," You whimpered and he sped up his actions.

You were slipping into an absolute feeling of bliss at his touch. The mere ease with which he slowly moved his fingers in and out of you… It made you want to curse from all the pleasure in more languages than you even knew how to speak. You wished he would never halt his actions because you had no clue what you’d do if he did. Especially now that you were so close to coming undone all over his fingers.

"Fu-fuck," You pantedas you came. He kept massaging your clit softly for a few seconds before you turned around so you were straddling him.

You pumped his length with your hand a few times before sinking down on him completely. It took you a few seconds to get used to his sides and he moaned at the feeling of your walls clenching around him as you moved slowly, "Feels so good babygirl," Damiano mumbled as he placed a kiss on your shoulder.

You cupped his face with your hands and leaned in to kiss his inviting lips. Damiano could taste the cherry lip balm you had been wearing when he swiped his tongue through your bottom lip, asking for access. He grabbed you by the hips as you started moving up and down his length. You moaned and he took it as his chance to slide his tongue into your mouth. Oh, if only you could freeze time right then and there to always feel the satisfaction his lips brought you.

The kiss was desperate and heated, with teeth clashing and noses bumping constantly. He moaned into your mouth when your walls clenched around him, "I love you," he mumbled against your lips.

"Fuck, I love you too," Your movement became slower and sloppier as you got closer to coming for the second time that afternoon. As you softly rocked back and forth on his lap, you heard even more water splash out of the tub. It sent you into a fit of giggles, "We're making a huge mess... and you bet your ass I'm not cleaning," You said out of breath.

Damiano rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Don't ruin the moment by making me think of cleaning, that’s literally the last thing in my mind right now.”

He left a few more kisses on your neck and one on your temple before whispering, “Now, why don’t you stop worrying about cleaning and keep going, amore?”

You nodded and kept on lazily rocking your hips back and forth. You clenched around him as you came and that was enough to make him come along with you, "Oh my God," Damiano let his head fall back as he sighed in pleasure.

You got off him after you both came down from your high. His brown eyes looked at you in adoration as you spoke, "So much for taking a bath, huh?"

He stepped out of the bath after the water became too cold. Even when the water had cooled down considerably, there were still a few beads of sweat falling down his forehead, which he wiped with his towel.

With a large smile on your face you said, “Even the cold water can’t seem to make you any less hot,” Damiano threw his head back as a loud laugh fell from his lips. He helped you out of the bathtub then wrapped a towel around his waist and another one around your body, "I love you."

55 notes · View notes

hrina · 5 years ago

Text

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes!

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

if you enjoyed this series, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #oh my god i can't believe this is the last part aaaaaaaaaa #i really hope u all like it!#boxrry #harry writing

2K notes · View notes