#i slept with the goddamn closet light on

[azurescaled]

for the first time in what feels like forever, i got unnerved because of something horror related.

[sometimesanalice]

Like I Can (Part 3)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 7.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

(All’s well that ends well❣️ Enjoy!)

You’d been on edge all day. 

Having slept terribly the night before, you’d woken up early and giving up on the idea of going back to sleep had ended up at a sunrise yoga class, hoping that some movement would help you clear your mind. By the end of the hour you were even more frustrated than you were before you arrived, the poses feeling unnaturally forced instead of flowing seamlessly as they usually did. 

So much for some goddamn inner peace.

Work was even worse. You had arrived to find that the espresso machine was broken. And whoever made a pot on the ancient drip machine, that was undoubtedly pulled out of a dingy storage closet somewhere, clearly hated everyone else since it tasted like tar. You could barely focus enough to clear out your inbox, when your work nemesis started breathing down your neck about a proposal that wasn’t due for another two weeks. 

Time was dragging on. And every time you looked at the clock thinking it had been at least an hour since you’d last checked, were continually shocked to see that barely fifteen minutes had passed by. Thankfully it was Friday, so your boss didn’t care when you called it a day and left at lunch. It was better for everyone this way.

You had tried painting your nails, but didn’t have the patience to let them dry and smudged them trying to open a package of crackers. Ignoring the crumbs that got everywhere as you ate them while working the cotton pad over the remnants of your pretty pink polish. Your new favorite show didn’t hold your attention like it usually did and you found yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone, missing most of the plot you’d had to restart it. Twice.

Not even the scenic drive along the coast to the restaurant you were supposed to meet your date at had done anything to alleviate your nerves.

You had been surprised at the choice of location when you had received the text message with the information about this particular date. As much as you enjoyed going to the Hard Deck, you were very much looking forward to drinking something other than a beer. Sure, Penny could make a mean spicy margarita, but sometimes an overpriced aesthetically pleasing cocktail just hit the spot better than anything else. 

But most of all, you were thankful for a change of pace and the privacy this offered you. You had never been one for the spotlight, and dating on display had left you feeling drained.

You’re sitting in a surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker dining chair on the outdoor patio of the new trendy fusion restaurant you’ve been dying to come to. From your spot tucked away in the corner you can see the ocean waves rolling in and back out again. The golden rays already promising a stunning sunset later in the evening.

The foliage of the giant potted monsteras and birds of paradise made the terrace feel like a lush oasis, and contrasted stylishly against the large painted terracotta tiles on the ground. The pergola that covered it was dotted wisteria amongst the other climbing greenery, and numerous oversized hanging rattan sconces. The dainty lights woven throughout reflecting off the wine glasses on the table.

This was exactly what you needed. Too bad you couldn’t let yourself enjoy it, the twisted knots in the pit of your stomach had served a constant reminder of your nerves all day.

You had used this date as an excuse to finally buy the deep green floral dress you’d had your eye on for ages. The gentle drape of the neck was subtly sophisticated, while the high slit on the side added some serious sex appeal. 

There was nothing wrong with a little retail therapy you had told yourself as you’d swiped your credit card. If you looked good, maybe it would help you to feel good.

In all honesty, it probably had a little too much sex appeal since you couldn’t stop fidgeting in your chair trying to get the silky dress cover up more of your thigh that was currently displayed rather provocatively. It felt like the more you tried to get it to lay right the more of your leg was exposed. 

It probably didn’t help that you couldn’t stop the restless bouncing of your leg. You weren’t usually an antsy person, leg bouncing had always been more of Rooster’s anxious habit than yours.

Maybe you’ll feel less exposed once you draped the linen napkin across your lap. You’re tempted to do it now, but you don’t want to disturb the artfully laid out tablescape before your date has arrived.

It had been three weeks of back to back truly terrible dates. You could see the finish line now, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t wearing on you. It had sounded like fun in theory, but now you weren’t so sure you would said yes again if you were offered a do-over. 

You were tired. 

Tired of going through the motions with men who could hardly be bothered to do the bare minimum. Tired of trying to sell the best version of yourself. Tired of putting on a show when all you wanted to find was an easy kind of love.

And this particular date had you more on edge and anxious than any of the other ones you’d gone on.

Even if you were pressed, you could not remember a single thing about the guy Payback had set you up with on your most recent blind date.

That evening you hadn’t even bothered trying to put together a cute outfit for the meeting. Instead, the only real effort you’d opted to put in was painting your lips a bright red as an attempt to psych yourself up for it. You didn’t usually wear such a bold color, but when you did it never failed to make you feel more brilliant.

And while you couldn’t remember anything about your date, what you did vividly remember was the fight you got into with Rooster that night.

You had been coming back from the restroom and on your way back to your date when you had bumped into him rounding the corner. 

“Sorry, that was my fault,” he’d said as he reached out to steady you with hand going to your waist, dropping it once he realized it was you. “Oh, hey.”

Glancing over to your date who seemed absorbed in some game he was playing on his phone, you figured he wouldn’t miss you if you spent a few extra minutes away to catch up with Rooster.

He had been acting really distant lately, taking a couple days to respond to texts rather than a couple of hours like it usually took him. Natasha had told you about the rigorous training they were being put though, and you had assumed it probably had something to do with that. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off between you two.

Rooster was already pulling away from you and taking a step towards the bar when you reached out grabbing his wrist to keep him with you. Looking around for a quiet place to talk, you’d heard him sigh behind you, but still held on to him as you made your way to one of the high-top tables in the corner by the empty stage. 

You’d stopped and let go as you turned towards him, only to find him already looking at you with an expression that landed somewhere between expectant and exasperated. The cuffs of his shirt straining around his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well?” he grunted out.

Was he mad at you? You couldn’t think of any recent arguments you’d had recently that would explain the harsh tone he was using with you. 

“Is everything ok? I feel like you’ve been really off lately. You know I’m always here for you, right?” Your hand was already reaching out to touch him, but you resisted the urge not wanting to further agitate him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised you even have time to talk to me with all these washouts you’ve been wasting your time on. You’re the one with the busy social calendar, not me.” He was looking over the top of your head avoiding your gaze now, the bitterness in his voice had stunned you. 

“Seriously? What is the matter with you?” 

He’d never been so intentionally callous with you before and it hurt. 

“Listen, if there is an issue me dating the people your friends have been setting me up with, you need to let me know,” you’d said pointing a firm finger at him, your anger rising. “This was supposed to be a fun no pressure situation, but I don’t want to be in the middle of this if things are getting heated between you guys. It’s not worth it to me. But you don’t get to ignore me for days and then claim that I’m the one avoiding you.”

He made a noise of frustration as he dragged both hands through his curls. You could see the flex of his jaw as he’d clenched his teeth together.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he ducked down to that his eyes were level with your, and you could see the remorse in them. “You’re right, that was shitty of me to take it out on you. I’m just… tired.”

You’d simply nodded at him, feeling like you weren’t on the same page as him didn’t sit well with you. “Phoenix told me about your new training program, it seems intense,” your voice sounded small even to your own ears.

“Yeah, the training,” he’d sighed out pausing for a moment as he weighed his words, rubbing at his chest, “It’s taking a toll on me, but that’s my problem. I mean it, I’m sorry.”

“Are we good?” you searched his eyes, your friendship with him was so important to you.

“You and me? We’re good, kid. Always.” He’d reached out and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to where the group was gathered together pretending like they weren’t just watching your argument play out. 

Needless to say, your head was somewhere elsewhere entirely as you made your way back to your date. You’d felt bad being so distracted, but your mind just kept playing the argument on repeat. It was like your brain was trying to pull apart every little word to decode something that you didn’t think was there.

After Payback’s friend had left, you rejoined everyone else around the pool table. You couldn’t tell if the mood was off or if it was just you reading into things, since they hadn’t been prodding you with questions like they usually did.

Natasha was in the middle of giving you a glowing review of the man she had been bragging about since she first offered to set you up, when Rooster came to sit with you both.

“He’s just your type. He’s an engineer, so he’s smart. He’s got that whole glasses wearing and floppy hair thing going for him. And he’s funny. Rumor has it that he talked back to his Rear Admiral one time and got away with it because the guy had found him amusing. I fully expect you to name one of your future children with him after me.”

Rooster had surprised the pair of you when he stood up so violently that he almost knocked over the beers on the table. 

“What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Nat had exclaimed as you both worked to rescue the teetering bottles from becoming casualties from his sudden movement.

You had no idea what he was going to say as an explanation for why he’d jumped out of his seat the way he did, but what he ended up unexpectedly announcing instead of answering Nat’s question had sent you into a tailspin.

So now here you are in a restaurant you’d be dying to go to, fidgety and anxious in a probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative dress for a first date with the guy who Rooster was willing to break his long-standing rules for to set you up with.

To say you were feeling the pressure was an understatement. No one knew you like Rooster did. He’d seen you at your best and at your worst. He wouldn’t just pick any random guy he knew, he would be picking the one who he thought would be the best for you.

The thought should be comforting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness.

You pick up your phone again and double check the time in the text that Rooster had sent you with all the details for your date with his friend. 

It was either that do that again or moving the ever-so-slightly crooked gold salad fork back into place.

You’re about to open Instagram for the third time since you sat down, turning when you hear a throat clear purposely behind you.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

For Rooster, when you’d first agreed to participate in the bet with his friends those dates started off as annoying inconveniences. Just inconsequential disruptions that got in the way of his time with you.

You were his best friend and at his bar, yet he felt like he’d hardly seen you these past couple of weeks- or at least not as much as he would have liked. 

Sure, he got some time with you here and there at the end of the night like when you had late night tacos on the beach. Or when he’d taught you his favorite pool trick, well more like attempted to teach you, he loved how stunningly bad you were at the game. But he felt like he was competing with these idiots his friends had picked out for your time and your attention. 

He wasn’t used to sharing you. In the past, if you had a date that conflicted with something spontaneous he wanted to do or something that the group had planned together, more often than not he could get you to move it or cancel completely.

He’d never been above a little bribery to get his way, he knew what you liked.

You going on dates wasn’t a new concept to him, but seeing them paraded in front of him was a different story. And he was getting really tired of watching you from across the bar while feeling like you were out of reach.

The more of them you went on, and the more he heard Natasha crowing about having the perfect man for you the more agitated he felt. The worse that feeling in the pit of his stomach got. 

The evening of date for Payback’s pick, they’d all seen you walk in through the doors of the Hard Deck wearing that shade of red lipstick. You’d wore it so well. His friends had immediately started speculating about what it meant. Phoenix had called them all idiots, and while he couldn’t claim to know anything about make-up and those things, he did know you didn’t just wear that color for no reason. 

He had vague memories of his mom putting the color on when they’d go greet his dad, at least he like to think those were his memories. Or maybe they were just something he’d created in his head from all the time he had spent looking at old photos of his mom and dad together, her smile always outlined in the color. His favorite was the one where his dad’s cheeks were covered in bright red lipstick kisses as he smiled indulgently down at his mom while a young Bradley was propped on her hip clutching his prized F-14 Tomcat. He had that one framed on the end table next to his couch. 

And seeing that color on you for a date with this random guy had rattled him.

He’d felt so terrible later that evening when he took those feelings out on you. Hating himself as he lashed out at you. Hating himself as he saw your face fall and the hurt in your eyes. Hating himself for being the person who made you feel bad.

And the crux of it all was that you weren’t wrong, he had been deliberately distant by being slow to reply and ignoring texts from you. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He’d hoped by creating some space that it would help him to try and get his head back on straight. 

He’d let you assume that he was tired from the new training program they were being put through. What he didn’t tell you was that he was already outperforming everyone on the team, and that he hadn’t had to do any extra push-ups in a week and a half. 

He was tired because he hadn’t been sleeping, and he couldn’t sleep because every time he tried to close his eyes all he could see was you on these dates. Replaying them in his mind’s eye wondering what the outcome would have been had they not gone so terribly wrong each time.

The what-ifs swarming around his brain day and night like agitated hornets.

While he had been quick to apologize for being a dick, the sharp pain that settled behind his sternum wouldn’t subside no matter how much he had tried to rub it away.

He didn’t know what was more unbearable, the idea of losing you to a chance encounter of circumstance. Some meet cute courtesy of the universe that he couldn’t see coming until it was too late, when it’s already too far out of his hands and out of his control. To see you grinning that smile so bright, the one so wide it made your dimples appear, as you introduced that guy to him. 

Or sitting here night after night analyzing every little thing as you date the people some of his closest friends had picked out for you. Watching and hoping that these dates would just be funny stories you told on drunken nights out rather than the story told at your wedding about the night that everything changed when you met your person. Of having to be happy for you even as you pull away from him.

His ears were ringing and he’d felt his stomach drop. 

He could see it now, a day when your life ran parallel to his rather than entwined as he was used to. Of you with a partner. With children. Of him as ‘Uncle’ Rooster, demoted to the rank of ‘longtime friend of the family’ rather than a core member of it. 

The thought of it making him feel sick. 

All evening he had been moving around like a ghost completely lost to the thoughts in his head, but now it felt like he’d been shocked by a live wire. He’d pretty much jumped out of the chair he had just settled in, almost knocking the beers in front of him off the table completely. 

“I want in, I’ll do it,” he’d blurted out, interrupting the conversations that had continued on around him while he had been spiraling. “This whole thing has been a complete shit show. I can’t watch this anymore. I know a guy, I’ll set it up. I’m in.” 

His hands were sweating as he hoped no one would call his bluff. He’d made it a point to actively avoid looking at you. You had such an uncanny way of reading him. 

“I don’t know, Bradshaw. You’re a little late to the game, aren’t you? I’ve been saving the best for last, and I’m ready to collect my winnings.” He’d expected some shit from Hangman, but he never would have guessed it’d come from Phoenix. 

Feeling his anger flare up, he reached into his back pocket and fished out a $100 bill from his worn leather wallet, double the original entry fee. He slapped it down on the table, leaving no room for any further discussion, “I’m the one setting her up for the next date.” 

He’d caught a look between Hangman and Phoenix, but he couldn’t be bothered to read into it as he tried to keep his temper in check.  

He wouldn’t lose you. Not to someone who didn’t deserve you, especially when he already knew the person who could make you happy.

“Alrighty,” Jake had drawled out, as he pocked the bill. “Looks like we have another player. I look forward to taking your money.” 

He’d extended his hand out and they’d all shook on it, reaching Phoenix last her grip firm and her smile sharp. And that was that. 

Now he was here at the new popular restaurant he’d heard you talking about a few weeks ago, his feet cemented to the tiles beneath him just gazing at you. 

He could tell from where he was standing behind you that you were nervous by the way you were opening and closing apps without truly looking at anything. He knew it was a habit of yours when you were feeling anxious, something for your hands to do as you tried to distract yourself.

He had sweet talked the hostess over the phone into reserving the best spot on the outdoor terrace, and you looked so beautiful sitting there wearing his new favorite color. Your hair is held back by a delicate golden clip on one side leaving the line of your neck exposed, the sea breeze picking up a few wisps.  It makes his teeth ache with want.

He knew you were gorgeous, he’d stared down enough men at the Hard Deck to know that others thought so too. However, he’d never let himself sit with those thoughts for too long, not trusting himself to keep his mind from wandering. 

You were his best friend. 

And best friends don’t think about how the other would look so perfect in their bed, that pretty green dress forgotten on the floor. 

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look under his arm.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look with his ring on your finger.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you are for him.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect he is for you.

Him.

It was a good thing he didn’t want to just be your best friend anymore. 

He’d already done too much thinking, done too much waiting. He wasn’t going to miss his moment. 

Taking one more deep breath, he made his way to you.

“Rooster? What are you doing here?” He was the last person you’d expected to see when you turned your head to see who had been trying to get your attention, “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Did he get emergency orders? Did your date get in an accident? 

Your anxiousness was quickly morphing into panic, you’re already half way out of your seat when he puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb stroking the skin there reassuringly. 

He is standing there looking completely at ease, as if he belonged there, “Nothing’s wrong, sweet girl.” 

And there it was again, you hadn’t been sure if your ears were playing tricks on you the first time he’d said it. That simple term of endearment silencing the alarm bells that were going off in your head, the edges of the lush restaurant softening around everything except him.

“Your mom always called me that,” you say softly. 

You cherished all the memories you had with Carole, the woman who had been such a significant figure in your life for so long. You knew your mom still sent Rooster a cake every year to celebrate her birthday from whatever bakery was closest to wherever he was stationed. 

“I know, I remember,” his voice so warm and deep, “She loved you.” 

He says it so simply, so sincerely. As if his presence here hasn’t just completely untethered you and sent you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.

The writhing snake that had made a home all day in the pit of your stomach finally disappeared, only to be replaced with the fluttering of wings that you were desperately trying to ignore. 

You’d been so shocked when Rooster had exclaimed that he was going to set you up with someone, your mind had been whirling so much at the time you could barely focus on anything that had been said in the aftermath of his announcement. Maybe you had missed some caveat he’d come up with for his participation in the bet? That could make sense, considering how adamant he had always been in the past about never getting involved in your love life. 

He was standing there looking so good in his best short-sleeved button up shirt, the one that was scattered with vibrant palm leaves that fit snugly against his body. And wearing the white slacks that usually had you looking anywhere else in the room to avoid acknowledging the way they clung to your best friend’s thighs and ass. If only he knew how weak they made you. 

There just has to be a logical reason for why he’s here, but the soft smile on his face was rendering your brain uncooperative. 

You were getting tired of feeling like you were missing something that should be so obvious, “My date is supposed to be here soon, are you going to hover in the back like you have been at the Hard Deck? Or are you just planning on pulling up a chair and third wheeling up close and personal?” 

“Why would I need an extra chair,” he asks as he pulls it out and eases his large frame down onto the wicker seat, “When mine’s already free?” 

You move to open your mouth when the waitress arrives, asking if you had your drink orders selected. 

“I’ll do the Bourbon Sidecar. You feelin’ like a gin, sweet girl?” You just nodded at him mutely, still desperately trying to catch up. “And the Clover Club for her, please.” 

It’s what you were planning on ordering to calm your first date jitters before had Rooster arrived and sent you into a complete tailspin. He hadn’t even looked at the thick textured cardstock of the drink menus that were strategically placed just to the right of the golden soup spoons on the artfully laid out table. 

The butterflies were threatening to break free from the tightly locked cage you had attempted to shove them in. 

The waitress took down the drinks, and you watched her as she crossed the patio pausing to tap away on the screen of their POS, trying to give yourself a few more moments to collect your thoughts. 

“Bradley. I don’t understand, what’s going on?” He’s sitting there looking so secure, so steadfast, so sure. 

His cheek ticks up, “I like it when you call me Bradley. Why did you stop calling me that when you moved out here?” 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Why did you stop calling me Bradley when you moved out here?” he asks again, leaning in. How does he expect you to answer a question, when your mind is going 1,190 miles an hour? 

“I don’t know,” you start with a halfhearted shrug. “You’ve made a name for yourself in the Navy, you are ‘Rooster’ to everyone here.” You open your mouth to say more, before closing it quickly.

“There’s more going on in that head,” you feel his foot reach out tapping against yours under the table, before leaving it there a steady presence. “Tell me.”

You know you can tell him anything, but this feels different.

The intensity of his stare has you fighting the flush you feel spreading across your cheeks.

It wasn’t something that you’d ever given much thought to before, but you know if you answer truthfully now that he’s asked you it’s going to leave you feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been with him. 

You sit up more fully in your chair deciding to be brave, “I mean, we haven’t really truly been in the same place since we were teens, and things are so different now. It was easier to start calling you ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ like everyone else, because it didn’t make me feel like I was piece from a different puzzle trying to force myself into a new picture. I wanted to fit into the life that you’ve built here, to feel like I still have a place with you as you are now.”

You’re actively fighting to keep your eyes on his. It would be so easy to look away or to laugh off your confession, but for whatever reason, you don’t want to take the easy out. 

“I never knew you felt like that, but I wish I had,” the look in his eyes is softer than anything you’ve ever seen from him before. “I like being Bradley to you, I want to be Bradley to you. You aren’t just a piece to me, you’re the whole picture. You’ve always had a place here, exactly as you are you are now.”

It’s never been like this between the two of you. It feels like you both are saying too much and not enough all at the same time. As much as you find yourself wanting to sink into these intoxicating yet unfamiliar feelings, you know you’re still holding yourself back.

God, he is so handsome. You had been right, the sunset that was just starting was stunning, but the way golden beams were hitting the lightened strands of his curls was spectacular.

You’re almost too afraid to ask, but it’s unbearable not knowing, “Why are you here right now, Bradley?”

Of course, the waitress chooses that moment to return with the drinks. 

She sets them down in front of you, the skewered raspberries sitting daintily on the side of your glass are suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. You vaguely hear him saying you both need more time and that he’ll flag her down when you’re ready to order. 

He waits for her to leave to attend to her other tables before turning his heady gaze on you once again.

“I thought I’ve been making my intentions pretty clear here, sweet girl.” 

He takes a sip of his Sidecar before continuing, the slight bounce of his leg the only thing giving him away that he might not be as self-assured as you’d originally thought, “I’m here for our date.”

There’s no hope of containing the butterflies now. You’re a lost cause. 

“Bradley.” You can only imagine the emotions he is reading on your face. It would absolutely break your heart if this was some kind of bad joke.

“He’ll never love you like I can.” 

“What?” you ask sounding every bit as dazed as you feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says shaking his head slightly, huffing out a little laugh at himself, “I got ahead of myself.”

You watch as he resituates himself in the chair, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks before restarting. 

“Watching you on those dates has been hell, I don’t want to be jealous of some guy you gave a second glance. I don’t want hold back, not when we can be so much more,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand between his two large ones, “I thought having you as a friend was enough for me, but how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I could be the one who makes you happy and then do nothing about it? That I’m the only one who can love you the way you deserve to be loved?”

You’ve always known he’s cared for you, that was unquestionable, but to be loved by Bradley Bradshaw? It was something you’d never let yourself imagine, let alone dared to hope to for. It had been kinder to spare yourself from the heartache that came with hope. But now? With him sitting right here in front of you saying you could have him like this?

Was this how he felt flying in his F-18 every day?

He gets up and rounds the table coming to your side, hooking an ankle around the tapered leg of your chair pulling you out a bit. You’re suddenly very thankful for the probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative for a first date dress you purchased when you see the way his rich brown eyes turn molten as he gets a glimpse of your exposed thigh.

He settles into a crouch before you, his warm hands seeking out both of yours, “You don’t need Phoenix or anyone else to set you up, because he’ll never love you like I can. Let me show you how good it can be. Let me be it for you, sweet girl.”

The man in front of you is everything you could have ever possibly wanted for yourself. And to be the one who could get to keep him forever? There’s no doubt in your mind, it’s worth everything.

You’re sure you will have to have a more serious conversation about what this means for the two of you, but that can wait for another time when he’s not in front of you with his eyes so earnest. So hopeful. To another time when he’s not wearing his heart on his sleeve as he patiently waits for any kind of response from you.

It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now. 

So easy to learn what that mustache would feel like against your skin. 

To learn how his lips and tongue would feel against your own. 

To learn how his mouth would move with yours.

But what’s a couple more hours when you’ve had years to build up to it.

“Well then, Lieutenant. I guess you better show me how it’s done,” you bring your hand up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking along his cheekbone. “But I’m warning you now, I fully intended to give you as good as I get.” 

Being on the receiving end of a Rooster smile was something special, but it had nothing on the beaming grin that Bradley Bradshaw is giving you now. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he says as he lands a lingering kiss on your cheek before standing and pushing your chair back in for you. “You’ve always known how to keep me on my toes.”

He returns back to his surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker chair, stretching his leg to rest it against yours. When the waitress comes back you both end up picking your meals at random, having been too absorbed with each other to actually bother reading the menu. 

You’d barely eaten all day because of the knots in your stomach, and now you were starving. Thankfully, Bradley at least had the commonsense to ask the waitress to pick her favorite dish as a third entrée “for the table”.

It feels the same in many ways, he knows what to say to make you laugh and what to bring up to get you fired up. And you know what questions to ask to keep him talking and how to push his buttons just right. 

But it’s also different when he doesn’t bother to hide his knowing smirk every time he catches you looking at his lips. And it’s even better when you don’t bother trying to hide yours when you catch him doing the same.

Afterwards, he takes your hand in his as you slowly make your way to the parking lot, his fingers lacing between your own. He surprises you when he leans against the Bronco, murmuring something about not wanting to let your pretty dress get dirty. His long legs extended wide as an invitation for you to come stand between them, his strong hands stroking the silky material of your dress on your hips as you step closer. 

You’ve been ignoring the pull low in your stomach all evening, the tension between you two the most luscious feeling you’ve ever experienced. The combination of his heat, his woodsy smell, the headiness of his gaze on you almost too overwhelming. 

Almost.

Your hands settle on his broad chest, playing with the button of his shirt now a bit nervous. Your faces closer than you’ve ever allowed them to be before. If what you’re hearing is the sound of the waves or the roaring of the blood in your ears, you couldn’t say.

You know he is waiting for you to make the first move. You see the moment when he’s about to say something, knowing him the words would be wonderfully reassuring and perfectly Bradley.

Why would you want to talk when his mouth was already waiting like a question. Why would you want to talk when you could learn what it’s like kiss him instead?

So you do.

When your lips meet his for the first time it feels like the sweetest kind of devotion. 

bradleybradleybradley

His mustache scratching satisfyingly at the skin of your upper lip. His mouth tasting like the Sidecars he sipped on throughout the night and something that was just fundamentally Bradley. 

Your hand moves on its own to stroke the side of his neck, your fingers seeking out the line of the longest scar that adorns his skin there from that night all those years ago. 

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as he licks his lips before bringing his face down to yours again. Your other hand tightly clutching his shirt in anticipation.

He’s always been so in tune with you, so when he tilts your head just right before leaning into the kiss it feels like a homecoming. 

thisthisthis

One of Bradley’s hands makes its way up your back, pressing you closer to him as the other bands more securely around your waist. And when his tongue skims your lower lip, you sigh into his waiting mouth thankful for his strong grasp on you. 

Nothing your mind could have imagined would have ever come close to the perfection that is Bradley Bradshaw’s mouth moving against yours. Nothing has ever felt so good, so right.

When he pulls away, you’re both over fighting back the smiles that feel like have been permanently fixed on your faces all evening.

“I’m don’t want to call it a night yet,” he tells you, as he brushes the hair back from your face. His smile turning playful, “What do you say, kid? Wanna go get some milkshakes?”

“Depends,” you reply cheekily, “Can I drink it in the Bronco?”

Wrapping both arms around his neck you draw him back in towards you again.

“Anything you want, sweet girl,” he promises against your lips.

The next night at the Hard Deck, you entered the bar with Bradley’s arm draped your shoulders. 

His team whooping loudly when you pull him in for a kiss as he handed you a Blue Moon. They’d declared the drinks were on Bradley that night as they’d swarmed you both in celebration. Maverick pulls you aside to give you a warm hug, whispering “I knew you’d get here” in your ear before releasing you.

Now that you had let yourselves cross that line from friends to more, the pair of you are entirely too aware of the other. Never content to be too far away from the other. Your eyes like magnets, each seeking out the other to find them already looking back.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he has his hands on your waist. Nothing neighborly in the way his hands rub your shoulders. Nothing platonic in the way he rests one hand on the back of your neck, his thumb making teasing circles.

And there’s nothing friendly about the way you run your hands through his curls when he’s at the piano. Nothing neighborly in the way you slide your hand into his back pocket. Nothing platonic in the way you rest your hand on his chest, your finger tracing the line of his collarbone. 

It has always been so easy with him, even as you explore in this new area of your relationship.

You’d been orbiting around each other all night, when Jake yelled out to heckle you both about indecent exposure, threatening to call his cop friend if Bradley didn’t “get his ass over to the pool table in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d peppered your face with kisses before you’d shooed him away, laughing when you realized he had swiped your beer and had taken it with him.

“So you and Bradshaw,” Natasha states as she settles down next to you.

That makes you smile.

“Yeah, me and Bradley.” 

How could you have possibly thought you’d want anyone else other than him? You were a goner from the moment you’d turned and saw him standing there at the restaurant. Your golden boy.

You turn towards her, putting a hand on her arm, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a fair shot at the bet. I really do appreciate the effort you all went through. I mean, Bradley would have had it in the bag anyways. But still–”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waves a hand, cutting you off, “We had a team meeting and changed the rules of the bet anyways. I still won, so it’s all good.” Her smile was nothing less than mischievous. 

“Wait, what?” 

“We could all see from Rooster’s reaction during that disaster of a first date with all the dogs that he was completely hung up on you. We didn’t want to wait for him to figure it out, so we decided to adjust the terms a bit to help him out,” she laughs at your clearly baffled expression. “We reached out to the cringiest people we knew and set you up with them instead. And then took bets on how long it would take Rooster to get his head out of his ass and go get his girl.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” The revelation has you bursting out in laughter.

“Yep, well except for Bob. His date was a genuine accident, bless him. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even bother reaching out to anyone. I was betting on Rooster getting it together before I needed to step in,” she explains while wearing the most self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Of course Natasha Trace had bet on him. On you.

You couldn’t wait to tell Bradley how you had both been so absolutely played by his team. 

You loved these people. You loved your life here in San Diego. 

“I’d apologize for putting you through all that, but it looks like it worked out well in the end,” she says knowingly nodding her head towards him. 

You’re fully watching him now as he bends over the pool table looking amused at something that Hangman says. 

Bradley looks up catching your eye and shoots a wink in your direction, a grin taking over his whole face. You already know you’re wearing a matching one.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Thank you so much for all the love on this one! I’ve loved sharing this journey with you all! Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! 

If you want to know what happens next for these two you can check out my masterlist! 

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) as always for being the ultimate hype girl! 

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @artemissunn​ @hey-assbutt35​ @mayempress​ @eddiemunsonreader @averyhotchner​ @caatheeriinee07​ @rileyanntoinette​ @lublycho

[zmediaoutlet]

They ended up south of the hospital mainly because Dean had to pick a direction when they pulled out of the lot and, considering the day he’d had, a coinflip was as good a way to make a decision as anything. A motel even if it’s two in the afternoon, and two beds because it’s always two beds, and he drops his bags on the one closer to the door and wants to flop face-first straight into the ugly brown comforter but he feels like if he falls he’ll never get up again. His shoulders and low back and the arches of his feet all hurt. He hardly even had to fight, today. Go figure.

Sam’s flicking the light in the tiny closet, checking the mini-fridge, casing the bathroom. “Huh,” he says, for no reason Dean can tell. Drops his bag on the luggage rack and shrugs out of his jacket. Absently pops his neck. Says, then, “I could eat, you want—I don’t know, delivery something,” like he didn’t almost check out on Dean, like he didn’t disappear in the middle of the night like every one of Dean’s worst nightmares, like in the middle of driving about ninety through too-crowded city streets Dean didn’t get a call on his cell from an unknown number and about have a heart attack when the woman on the other end said Mr. Smith, you’re listed as the emergency contact for Mr. Sam Smith. I’m afraid—  Like the world didn’t just crackle out to static right then.

He’s standing there, though. On two legs and with his back up. Going for the yellow pages under the room phone, flipping to the back. “Number One China Palace,” he mutters, and glances across at Dean, and is alive. Alive and walking around and his brain where it’s meant to be. He frowns, the phonebook dangling against his thigh. “You okay?” he says, and Dean says, “Yeah,” and then he says, “God,” and then he sits down hard enough on the bed that he almost bounces, and he plants his hands on his knees and has to breathe, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Acid roiling up his throat. He wants a drink so bad he could kill something.

“Dean?” Around the bed, crouching. Alive and compos mentis and hovering a hand over Dean’s leg, like he’s worried Dean’s hurt somewhere he can’t see. Except, no, that was Sam—that was Sam all this last goddamn year, or longer, all this time Sam’s head was crumbling or boarded up but still crumbling behind or trapped in hell with a shark-smiling sociopath wearing his face or even before, when he thought he had to die to prove something to the world, or when he had to rot himself to prove something to Dean, or when—Dean takes another deep breath and blows it out extra slow, his heart doing something weird in his chest, and Sam stops with the hover-hand crap and grabs his thigh, frowns up at him, says, “What—hey, hey.”

“I’m not having a panic attack,” Dean says.

“Looks like it,” Sam says, but sits back on one heel, and the death-grip on Dean’s thigh turns more into Sam just—keeping a hand on him. Heavily warm. “You good?”

Dean fishes in the inner pocket of his jacket and finds the flask, takes a pull. Sam’s eyes tighten but he doesn’t make a comment. The whiskey’s crap and it burns all the way down but he feels like he breathes better after. Sam watches his face, his hand sliding a little up the side of Dean’s leg. Like he hasn’t—god, since before Cas pulled that shit-ass trick with Sam’s wall. Dean wants to pull Sam up by the wrist and fall backwards on the bed and sleep for a goddamn year, Sam laying heavily over him like the worst sweaty-nasty suffocation torture Dean ever accused him of being, when they’d share beds sometimes, and Sam would roll his eyes and pull Dean in by the small of the back and Dean slept better than maybe he ever had. Why did they ever stop that. What would it take, to go back.

“And it’s really all just—gone,” Dean says, picking up the staggered confused stupid back-and-forth they’d had back in that awful hospital room, while Cas moaned shaking on the bed and Meg held him grimly down. “Just like that.”

Sam’s cheek sucks in on one side. “Not just like…” he starts, and then looks at Dean’s face, and his chin drops. “But—yeah. I’m okay. Not even that tired, for some reason. It’s just you and me in here, I swear.”

It always was but the way Sam says it makes Dean’s shoulders ripple, like someone’s standing directly behind him, watching. He shudders totally without meaning to and Sam’s head picks up and he shifts forward, kneeling, his hands going to Dean’s knees, gripping firm. “Don’t get hit by a car again,” Dean says, and Sam huffs and says, “I’ll do my best,” and Dean reaches forward and grips Sam’s shirt and feels Sam’s skin warm under it and says, “I mean it,” and Sam looks him in the eyes and doesn’t say that Dean’s being a dumbass and doesn’t even seem like he’s thinking it, really, and he says, “Yeah, Dean,” and, “Okay?” and Dean doesn’t know the answer to that. It has to be yes because Sam’s alive and here and that makes it a ranked good day, by Dean’s usual metric, but the time when he wasn’t isn’t far enough in the rearview for Dean’s taste. That white hospital room and the white bed and Sam sitting there like he didn’t care so much about the difference between alive and not. When the difference there, for Sam, was the only thing in Dean’s life that had ever mattered. When it was pretty much the only thing he was hanging his hat on, these days, and if it came to it, if any time between now and the shitty future Dean could see, the answer flipped from one to the other, Dean didn’t know if he’d be able to make it in the world that was left, after. He just didn’t see how that could be so.

Sam watches him, quietly. Tightens his grip on Dean’s legs and then stands up. “I’m ordering Chinese,” he says, steady. “Gonna take a shower. Find something to watch, huh?”

Dean blinks, wipes his hand over his face. “Yeah,” he says.

“We should’ve gotten a king bed,” Sam says. He half-smiles, when Dean looks up at him. “So you won’t bitch about kicking.”

“Wouldn’t have to if you weren’t Chuck Norrising in your sleep,” Dean says, and Sam really smiles, then. Goes for the phonebook, and the Chinese. Ordering extra broccoli, the bitch. Dean grips the edge of the mattress, and manages to stand up after all, to deal with his bag, to find the remote. Sun coming in through the gaps in the curtains. Sam, smiling at something Dean can’t hear. The rearview feeling, for a minute, a little less crowded.

[separatist-apologist]

The Enemy

I would make you the enemy if I could

Summary: In order to kill his most hated enemy, Azriel has to kidnap Graysen Nolan's fiance.

Should be easy, right?

Chapter 2/5: You've Got That James Dean Daydream Look In Your Eye | Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

For @elainweekofficial- I am not following the prompts (as no prompts can contain me)

Azriel slept like shit. Elain was silent when he’d expected screaming, vicious rage. More of that bottled anger she’d unleashed in the kitchen. The lack of noise kept him up, knee bouncing as he waited for the inevitable. Rope sat on the coffee table, taunting him. She should have smashed something, giving him an excuse to tie her up. Hatred blazing in those big doe eyes as a stream of curses and pleas fell from her lips. 

He couldn’t take it by four in the morning, and though he swore he didn’t care about her—because he didn’t—he still unlocked her bedroom door to check on her.

Just to make sure she was alive, he told himself. Rhysand would kill him if she injured herself, after all. It had begun to occur to him that maybe she’d found a way to hurt herself that didn’t make noise. Had he cleaned everything out of the cabinet? 

He found her curled up on the bathroom floor, cheek pressed to the cool, dark tile. No blanket, no pillow, just her body curved in on itself, arms over her face to block out the light. He didn’t know how long he stood there staring at her, trying so hard not to think about his childhood—of all the times he’d slept in his bedroom closet, foregoing a blanket because he didn’t think he deserved it, letting himself get used to the rough shag carpet against his skin.

Azriel had kidnapped enough people to understand whatever was happening with Elain was unusual. Some stupid, sentimental part of him wanted to pick her up and dump her in the bed. And another angrier, vicious part of him wanted to throw her over his shoulder and tie her up in the basement for feeling anything for her at all. 

Given he’d never been a good sleeper to begin with, Azriel returned to the kitchen for coffee before fishing out Elain’s phone. He needed her to send a text letting Graysen know she was safe and unharmed.

At least, for now. 

Also, Azriel was mildly curious about the woman Graysen Nolan wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Azriel believed Elain had to be just as bad as her fiance, if not worse. The media called them a power couple, and Azriel knew from experience no one obtained power by being nice. He wanted to see what Elain and Graysen talked about, certain he’d have his proof and could free himself from feeling bad for her. It was her big fucking eyes, he thought with a grumble. It made her seem sweet—innocent. 

He knew better.

Turning on her screen revealed no passcode, which he found odd. No thumbprint, nothing to protect whatever she might try to hide. Her background picture was her and Graysen, cheek to cheek grinning into the camera. He rolled his eyes as his stomach clenched. He hated Graysen, and Elain by association. 

She had a deluge of texts, nearly all from her fiance. Here it was, he thought. Proof that she and Graysen were evenly matched, that the woman who’d tried to sit with him with an easy smile was merely trying to manipulate him. 

Where are you? 

Answer your phone, Elain.

Elain, I swear to God if you don’t open your door. 

Where the fuck are you? 

Answer your goddamn phone Elain or I swear there will be hell to pay. 

On and on, text after text threatening her and pleading in equal measure. Azriel frowned, scrolling up to their last conversation. 

You look like a slut. 

Azriel blinked, thinking of every picture he’d ever seen of Elain. Clean lines, high necks, and skirts well past her knees. Slutty was hardly the word that came to mind.

Sorry. Would you like me to change?

Azriel suddenly felt gross, reading her messages. He closed out her phone and tossed it to the coffee table while pulling his feet closer to his body. If he shut his eyes, he could practically see a similar exchange between his parents during a contentious drop-off. 

“You still look like a whore,” his father had said, having caught his mother in a tank top in the hottest of summer months. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll change,” she’d said, even though they hadn’t been together in years. Azriel had been twelve years old and humiliated on his mothers behalf. She hadn’t owed him that and yet his father had broken her down so thoroughly, had scarred her so deeply that it was easier to yield than to stand up for herself. 

He let his coffee grow cold at the thought that he’d accidentally rescued Elain Archeron. Azriel was no hero, was not the good guy. He didn’t know what to make of her relationship, of which she was still firmly in. She still wore that ostentatious diamond around her finger. 

He didn’t have to wait long for Elain to fly out of the bedroom. She’d yanked at the handle, clearly expecting to be locked, only to tumble into the hallway.

He couldn’t help his laugh, twisting around the back of the couch to watch her scramble to her feet. 

“Ass,” she hissed, rubbing at her knees as she stood. 

He turned, waiting for her to make her way toward him. Elain’s eyes snagged on his coffee, body turning toward the kitchen. He didn’t offer her any, and Elain didn’t ask as she made herself at home. The clinking of cups followed by the sound of the refrigerator opening—and slamming shut when she realized there was no cream—filled the silence. 

“We need rules,” Azriel said when she finished. Elain had found sugar, and when he turned he found her liberally spooning it into her chipped mug. She didn’t bother to look at him, nor did she acknowledge him in any way. 

Obnoxious. 

“Let's start with—”

“I don’t think you get to order me around,” Elain interrupted with faux sweetness. “I’m here, aren’t I? Now you want to control everything else?”

“I’d like to avoid another tantrum,” Azriel snapped, rising from the couch. He leveled a stare that often made grown men’s knees quake with fear. Elain brought her mug to her lips and met it.

There was no visible terror, and Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if that was because Elain was used to living with a violent, capricious man.

He could have chosen to be better than Graysen—if he wanted.

But he didn’t. 

“Oh, well, please accept my sincerest apologies for not being your good, compliant little captive,” she said with eyes that made Azriel feel two feet tall. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Forgiven,” he said dismissively as he stalked into the kitchen. Elain shrank a little, pressing her back to the counter at his approach. “I still have to live with you.”

Her smile widened. “Oh, that's awful.”

Azriel slid her phone over the island counter, not bothering to conceal he’d gone through her messages. Elain’s face paled when she saw Graysen’s name staring back at her. 

“Tell him you’re safe,” Azriel murmured, watching how her hands trembled as she reached for the phone. “Tell him I haven’t hurt you—yet.”

Her eyes snapped to his face, her bravado gone. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“Are you going to do what I say?” he countered. 

Elain typed out a quick message but didn’t send so he could see. Her message was unusual—almost clinical and so at odds with what other people typically typed.

I’m not coming home, Gray. I’m safe. 

Azriel sent it. Rhys would have let Graysen know they were holding Elain by then. Elain sighed into her mug of coffee, eyes glazed for a moment. Still holding her phone when it went off, Azriel was given the opportunity to read the text as it came in.

If anyone touches you, I’ll kill them. 

Azriel shouldn’t have felt surprise, and yet he was curious as he showed Elain. She expressed no emotion at all, hands wrapped around her mug as she blew absently at steam.

“You know,” he began, wondering why he was hedging around the truth. “Most people ask if you’re okay first.”

“Why would he care about that?” she demanded bitterly. 

“Why wouldn’t he?” Azriel replied, more curious than anything. If she was his girl…if someone had his girl, Azriel would want to know they were safe. 

Right before he ripped apart the world to get her back. Elain didn’t need to know that. 

“You went through my phone,” she reminded him, unaware that he’d only looked through her messages with Graysen. He didn’t care about anything else. Still, he kept his mouth shut as Elain continued. “He’s sleeping with other people—at least one, that I know about. I thought—”

She swallowed whatever she thought, eyes snapping to his face as she realized who she was talking to. 

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?” Azriel asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Elain slammed her coffee mug onto the counter, unaware of how much he enjoyed her show of temper. 

“How am I allowed to spend my time?” she asked instead. Azriel lowered his gaze.

“In the house, however you like. I don’t care.”

He could feel her eyes on his face—he didn’t think he’d like what he’d find if he looked up. His own phone was buzzing with a text from Cassian.

Lead on Hybern. Tie up Archeron and join me.

Azriel knew he should. There was no reason to leave her standing in the kitchen, to inform her he had cameras everywhere—an objective lie—and he’d hurt her viciously if she tried to leave. And yet Azriel found himself doing just that as he reached for his leather jacket and boots. 

He couldn’t explain why he thought it. But as he slammed the passenger door, Azriel had the strangest sense that Elain wasn’t going anywhere.

That she was exactly where she wanted to be.

ELAIN: 

Azriel left with a snap of the door, locking it behind him. He’d assured her he would hurt her—holding a lethal looking knife as he said it—if she tried to leave. It was tempting to call his bluff, if only to see if she could manage. And once he was gone, Elain unlocked the front door easily and stepped onto the little porch to survey her surroundings.

He’d taken her up into the mountains. Getting down would require trekking the steep, icy roads and hope she wasn’t accidentally struck by a car in the process. She didn’t have snow shoes, either. Only heels and a pair of dressy flats that would be filled with snow the minute she tried.

Elain slammed the door shut, turning in a circle around the cabin. She could destroy it and face his ire—and risk him tying her up or worse. 

She had no doubt that Azriel couldn’t kill her, if he wanted. She wasn’t even convinced he didn’t want to, which depressed and angered her in equal measure. He was merely an extension of whoever Graysen had pissed off. In her fury the night before, Elain had torn apart that bedroom wishing it was Graysen’s face. Wishing he knew how angry she was—how angry she’d been for so, so long.

And as she imagined every hateful thing she’d say to him, and prepared responses for all his rebuttals, Elain had also wondered who he might have pissed off. It could have been anyone. It was that thought that had settled her into a sobbing sleep. Graysen’s cruelty extended well beyond just her and whatever he’d done, Elain suspected it wasn’t deserved. 

And maybe she was the perfect person to pay for his many misdeeds. Elain thought that, too—that she’d sat idly by, well aware of Graysen’s nature. She’d told herself she suffered, too, but Elain could leave. She could. Even if it meant fleeing another city, abandoning her life, her friends, her family…

Elain went to the kitchen, palms braced against the granite countertops. She couldn’t leave and she knew it. This was the closest she’d ever get before she was dragged back by a scowling Azriel, relieved to have washed his hands of her. Elain could only imagine the fall out—if Graysen saw Azriel’s face, he’d think…

He’d punish her for Azriel’s proximity, captor or not. 

Perhaps she could convince Azriel to take her somewhere else when this was all over. Somewhere warm, somewhere sunny and with ocean front access. She wouldn’t have the Archeron money anymore but Elain had a bachelor's degree—she was smart. She could get a job, make her own way like so many other people did. Maybe Azriel could fake her death, even—

She was losing it. 

There was no way he’d do any of those things, and no way Elain was brave enough to ask. It was all just wishful thinking. Her father wanted to see her marry Graysen and Graysen needed her to marry him. Practically, his career was dead if she walked away and her father withdrew his support. 

She suspected Graysen liked some part of her, outside of how useful she was to him. He could be so kind when he wanted to be. Elain often lived for those precious moments, working overtime to bring them back. That was the Gray she loved—the Gray she wanted to marry.

Elain twisted the engagement ring on her finger, slamming it to the counter. That wasn’t enough. She stared at the drain, but someone might fish it out. Someone might find it. 

Marching back to the front door, Elain flung it into the cold, gray gloom. She didn’t let herself track it, didn’t dare let herself see where it had fallen. Twenty thousand dollars, gone. Just like that. Someone else would find it, might sell it for a fraction of what it was worth, but Elain would never wear the hideous, ostentatious ring ever again. If she’d known where it was, guilt would have driven her to pick it up. 

She slammed the door behind her, retreating back to the warmth of the small cabin. If she looked, Elain bet she could have found a gun. Maybe a dagger. Azriel hadn’t hidden anything before he’d left and he seemed like the type who had multiple weapons within grabbing distance. She imagined him returning to find a gun pressed in his face—held by her.

And how even in her fantasy, she knew she couldn’t pull the trigger. That he’d disarm her and then make good on his threat to chain her to the radiator. Naked, as he’d said, though he’d spat it like the very thought of her unclothed disgusted him. So maybe she’d have her clothes, but she wouldn’t have her dignity, and Elain needed to maintain some pride.

She returned to the kitchen, intending to find a snack and watch shameless television until he came back. Upon opening the fridge, she found actual food—strawberries in a container and eggs and butter…and in the pantry, flour and sugar—all the things she needed for strawberry muffins. Elain closed her eyes and thought of the last time she’d made them.

How Graysen had let her, up until they were finished, and then had swept them all into the trash. She didn’t need the carbs, and neither did he. Elain’s eyes burned at the memory, of her hopes dashed as Graysen walked away, unbothered with yet another callous act. He wasn’t there, though.

No one was.

Not even Azriel, who had forbidden her from using a knife despite having a kitchen stocked with them. No one to yell at her or tell her carbs were bad for her or to put down the knife. Elain dug out a cutting board and a comically sharp knife as she assembled her ingredients.

She found, improbably, an Alexa. 

Alexa, call 911, she thought to herself as she plugged it in. She could have laughed at how easy she made it to kidnap her. And as Elain set the oven, she called over her shoulder the only thing she wanted in that moment.

“Alexa. Play Taylor Swift.”

AZRIEL:

FuckfuckFUCK.

Azriel slammed his scraped hand against his steering wheel. He’d been shot—twice—and was no closer to Hybern than he’d been when he left. And though those bullet wounds were shallow, dug out by a grim, bloodied Cassian with his own injuries. Azriel exhaled through the pain, gritting his teeth. 

The jangling of his phone cut through the stereo, silencing what Rhys had once called horrifically emo, even for you. Azriel answered, willing himself to keep the pain from his voice.

“Yes?”

“How are things going?” Rhys asked mildly. Azriel kept his eyes on the winding, icy road in front of him. It might be spring in Velaris, but up in the Illyrian mountains it was still the dead of winter. 

“Fine,” he lied. He needed a stiff drink and a sedative if he could find one. Barring that, he needed absolute silence for the rest of the night, which he doubted Elain would give him. 

“No problems with Elain?”

Azriel paused. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Good, good. Graysen is in a rage, but I expected that. He raided one of the warehouses at the pier.”

“Oh? Find anything interesting?”

“Just empty crates,” Rhys chuckled. “I’ll give it a few days before I reach out to her father and organize a ransom.”

Fine. Two weeks, just as Rhys had promised. Azriel merely grunted his response.

“Oh, Az?” Rhys continued in that cool voice. Azriel’s heart quickened at the sound. How often had he stood beside Rhys, listening to captives lie to Rhys’s face? And how often had he heard that tone, heard that same question?

“Yes?”

“If you leave her to hunt Hybern again, there will be hell to pay. This takes priority over your fucking grudge. Do you understand me?”

Azriel swallowed. “Yes. Of course.”

Rhys paused for a moment, and Azriel wondered if his brother was mad at the deception or at being left out. Azriel didn’t dare ask—not today. Another day, when Rhys had forgotten, when he wasn’t so irritated.

Those were the risks of being king. He had responsibilities, couldn’t run out on the drop of a dime like Azriel and Cassian still could. From the loud breath Rhys blew out on the other end, Azriel suspected it was the latter. 

“First aid is in the master bedroom in the closet. Maybe Elain knows how to sew.”

“Rhys–” Fuck him for not taking his own advice, but he had to know. “How did you know we were out?”

“Outside of the blood trail you left?” Rhys replied on the other end, his voice laced with amusement. “The alexa in the cabin has been playing Taylor Swift for an hour. Figured that wasn’t you.”

Fucking Elain. 

Azriel pulled in the drive, embarrassed and angry and radiating pain. He should have tied her up. Should have locked her in a closet until she sobbed and acted normal.

Acted scared. 

Azriel ended his call and cut the engine, dreading the moment when he’d have to stand. He managed, grunting loud against the howling wind. He was half on fire, cursing himself for rushing after Hybern without support, in a half-cocked scheme that was going to leave him useless and housebound for days. 

Azriel pushed open the front door, and just like Rhys said, Elain was listening to Taylor Swift. Blaring it, so loud it made the headache forming behind his eyes bounce. She hadn’t spotted him from the foyer, dripping blood onto the dark wood. He meant to bark something at her—shut that off, go to your room, what the fuck are you doing—

She was in an ivory sun dress, so out of place in the cold given the little straps that tied over her tanned shoulders and the lacy hem cut against a slim thigh. Half her hair was pulled from her head and tied with a pretty, blush colored bow while the rest cascaded gold down her back. She’d dug out one of Rhys’s aprons—the one that read ask about my sausage—and had a pile of muffins towering on the counter.

She turned, singing into a wooden spoon she’d just washed. James Dean daydream indeed, he thought when her spoon clattered to the floor.

“Alexa, off,” she managed, eyes as round as saucers. He must look pissed, for the color to have drained so quickly from her face. Azriel stared right back, waiting for something, though he didn’t know what. And while he looked, he realized that beneath the make-up she’d been wearing that washed her out, made her seem chiseled into perfection, that Elain Archeron was beautiful.

Stunning.

Ethereal.

He’d never seen anyone that pretty in his life. Azriel’s heart stumbled, his throat closing in the wake of those unadorned, wide, fawn-brown eyes. Freckles were splattered just over the bridge of her nose, likely from the time she spent beneath the sun. Pink lips seemed to curve upward, as though cut into a perpetual smile. He resisted the urge to look lower, to rake his eyes over her.

He hated himself for it.

She would be Graysen’s wife. She was marked, had chosen his greatest enemy and Azriel was standing before her, bleeding and injured and somehow still entranced by how beautiful she was. 

“What,” he whispered as his eyes swept around the room, “the fuck are you doing?” He wanted to punish her.

That was a lie. He wanted to punish himself for the constant weakness. For being caught off guard, for being shot, for thinking Nolan’s soon-to-be-wife was beautiful. Elain’s bottom lip trembled which only made him hate himself more. Why wasn’t she scared? 

“Baking,” she whispered. Azriel forced himself not to betray how badly his body ached. 

“Who said you could do that?” he asked, well aware he’d told her he didn’t care what she did. 

Elain’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. He could see her dashed hopes—that he’d come back and she’d give him a muffin and maybe he’d thank her. He had the urge to shove them all onto the floor, to crush them beneath his feet until she never looked at him like that again.

Elain didn’t respond. It didn’t matter what she said. Azriel had already made up his mind. He strode toward her and Elain shrieked, though she didn’t move quick enough. With a grunt of pain, Azriel hauled her over his shoulder. This—this was good. This was what he needed. Elain was sobbing now, fists beating into his ruined back. Each new pound reverberated against his bones, sharp and hot and cruel. It was what he needed.

He was a monster and she was a princess. They had their roles and she needed to understand hers. Azriel forced open the basement door, taking the wooden steps quickly despite how badly his lungs burned. Elain was sobbing, and when he dropped her to the concrete floor, she threw her hands up over her face like she expected him to hit her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chanted, the words a mantra he could see she’d said before. 

She scooted toward a wall while Azriel stood where he was, trying to ignore how spotty his vision was. Elain peeked up through wet lashes, her perfect face splotchy and swollen. Azriel opened his mouth to scream at her—though the words didn’t come.

Fear coated her gaze for the first time and for a miserable second, Azriel knew what his father must have felt like. The rage and the power and the utter insecurity, all battling for dominance. He went to her, knees curled to her chin. Elain winced when he crouched in front of her, betraying that, like his mother, she was too used to making herself small.

To weathering violence by someone much stronger. 

What could he even say? “I—” 

Elain looked back at him, her eyes drifting to his hands. It was the second time he’d caught her staring. He could still remember the last woman who’d looked at his scarred hands. How she’d flinched away every time he’d reached for her. Elain, still trembling, brought her eyes back to his face.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered and too late, Azriel realized there was wet blood smeared along his fingers. She hadn’t been staring at the scarring at all. 

“I was shot,” he told her, ignoring how wild his heart was. 

Elain blinked away a few more tears, wiping her cheek on her shoulder. He just watched, trying to make sense of her. “Do you need help cleaning them?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he didn’t need help from anyone, least of all her. But the memory of how she’d tried to protect herself from blows not a minute before flashed behind his eyes. He couldn’t stomach anymore cruelty. Not to her, anyway. 

“Can—” he swallowed again. “Can you sew?”

She nodded quickly. Azriel rose to his feet, unable to hide a groan of pain. Elain was still at his feet, still red-eyed and nervous. He reached between them, offering her his hand. Elain hesitated only for a moment, looking up at him warily. Like she expected him to explode again, to lose his temper and drag her back to the radiator. 

Still, she accepted and Azriel pulled her up despite the shooting, white hot pain that lanced through him. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his own, her nails coated in a fine layer of flour and now a smear of his own blood he couldn’t look away from.

She tried to pull her hand away but Azriel closed his fingers around her delicate wrist and yanked her just a little closer.

“Does he hit you, Elain?” he asked, his voice soft enough he could almost pretend he’d said nothing at all. 

She opened her mouth and Azriel silenced her with a soft growl. “No lies.”

“Yes.”

Azriel’s nostrils flared and the pain from his wounds returned. “Rhys is wrong. I should kill him.”

“Rhys?” she asked and fuck—had he let that slip.

“Up,” he said instead, nodding toward the stairs. It was only then that he remembered he was still gripping her hand. Azriel let her go—a mistake. He swayed and Elain caught him before he fell face first onto the same concrete he’d dropped her on. Maybe a few cracked teeth were what he deserved, then.

“Come on,” she murmured, letting him brace some of his weight against her. She was careful with where she put her hand, and patient though he didn’t deserve it. One step after another, encouraging him gently before they reached the landing.

“Couch,” he grunted, catching a whiff of sugar in the air. Azriel wheezed when she dropped him to the leather, hands on her hips. He’d stained her ivory dress splotchy red which satisfied him. He told her where the kit was and then worked off his leather jacket and then his shirt. He couldn’t see the wound in his shoulder, but the one against his ribs seemed shallow enough. 

Elain returned, eyes sliding down his tattooed body for only a moment. “Are those it?” she asked, dropping to her knees as he laid stomach first against the cushions.

“Seen worse?” he tried to joke.There was no amusement on her face, only a grim sort of determination. 

“Are there just the two?” she clarified softly.

“Yes, just the two,” he agreed. Elain nodded, and then got to work. Azriel jerked when the cold antiseptic stung against his inflamed skin, earning a whispered, I’m sorry from Elain.

Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.

He hadn’t meant to say it outloud, but she’d paused to look at him, her eyes wide and startled. They didn’t speak again. Not after she sterilized that needle and began pulling his skin back together. It took every ounce of Azriel's will not to make a sound. Even when his spine arched and his muscles locked, Azriel remained silent. 

He waited until she’d finished, sitting cross-legged on the floor and repacking the red tin box, that he asked, “What did you make?”

She didn’t look up at him, just as she didn’t look at her blood stained fingers. “Strawberry muffins.”

He exhaled. “Can I have one?”

“Yeah.”

She rose to her feet and Azriel tried to, too. Gaping, Elain asked, “What are you doing?”

“Getting…a muffin?” he responded. She scowled.

“I’ll get it. Lay down.”

He fell back dramatically, grunting in pain—and yet relieved when she returned a moment later with a misshapen muffin wrapped in pink paper. Where had she found it? “Is this my punishment?” he asked as she sat carefully on the far end of the sofa. He could have stretched his legs and touched her, could have scooted an inch and dragged her up to him by his calves. It was a tempting thought, even if he had no idea where it came from or what he would even do if he had her. 

“Punishment?”

He held up the droopy muffin. It was as close to an apology as he’d ever get. “Is this my punishment for…?”

“The broken ones taste the best,” she murmured, eyes flicking toward the dark television. “Everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t,” he replied, not daring to read into her words. Elain yanked the blanket from the night before down—the one he’d tried to sleep under while she’d cried—and spread it over her lap and his legs.

“What are we watching?” she asked, not looking at him. Azriel groaned softly as he fished out the remote. 

“Do you speak any spanish?” he asked, turning on his mother's favorite soap opera. 

“Enough,” she replied.

A thrill ran through him, tempered almost immediately. He didn’t dare smile, turning his gaze to the actors on the screen.

“If you get lost, I’ll translate.”

[somebodycall911onabc]

Spoon me, you idiot

Post ep4x13 Buddie because my brain is just that episode on loop. Hands up if you're not ready for the season 4 finale, folks. Have some cuddling and love confessions in the meantime.

Buck helps Eddie over the threshold with one hand at Eddie’s elbow and the other pressed against his hip. Eddie’s fine, he’s fine, he’s alive, but he’s exhausted. Pain and shock weigh down his shoulders, make him unsteady on his feet.

Carla breathes in sharply at the sight of him. Then she’s stepping forward, folding Eddie into a soft embrace, pulling his head down cheek to cheek with hers. Buck drags his eyes away from his living, breathing, living friend to find Chris, who’s lying on the couch with his glasses askew, mouth open in sleep. Buck’s heart clenches like a fist. He’s going to remember Chris’s haunted, horrified expression for the rest of his life, the light dying in Chris’s eyes as Buck had to tell him… had to tell him that his dad wasn’t coming home that night.

Buck walks over to Chris and kneels down beside him. He’s pretty sure it’s the first time Chris has slept since he heard about it. The first time in more than 48 hours that the kid’s closed his eyes. Buck brushes the curls back from Chris’s forehead, trying to be gentle, not wanting to wake him.

Eddie gets down next to Buck, their knees pressing together. Buck feels the shudder that runs down Eddie’s spine, feels it echoed in his soul. Buck isn’t the religious type, but he feels like this is another miracle. Years after his first brush with death, Eddie coming home once again to his son.

With a hand on Chris’s shoulder, Eddie murmurs, “hey, my little Superman. Chris, I’m here.”

Chris’s eyes open slowly, reluctantly, until he sees his dad’s face and wakes up all at once.

“Dad!” Chris shouts, hands flying up to attach themselves to Eddie’s face. “Dad!”

Eddie’s smiling, huffing out laughter in pure, unadulterated joy at seeing his son’s delighted expression. Chris is grinning and whooping, falling forward to curl himself into his dad’s chest. Eddie lifts one arm to hold Chris close and buries his face in Chris’s hair.

Buck blinks back tears, feeling relief crash over him. He rubs his eyes and starts to get to his feet, wanting to give the Diaz boys some space, until he feels a tug on his shirt. Eddie’s hand twists in the fabric. He’s not even looking at Buck, head tucked against the curve of Chris’s skull. Buck sinks back down and tentatively puts his arms around the both of them, Chris’s knobbly spine and Eddie’s strong back, his cheek brushing Eddie’s forehead. Buck lets out a breath that trembles like an earthquake.

It feels like home. It feels impossible. It’s what he’s always wanted. It feels like something Buck isn’t allowed to have.

When they finally let go of each other, what could be a minute or a year later, Buck notices Carla standing at the end of the couch. She’s smiling fondly at all of them, and Buck realizes abruptly that this is the first time he’s seen her since the pandemic started. He gets up—although it’d be more fair to say he tears himself away—and moves toward her, and there’s always been something magic about Carla because she takes one look at him and she knows.

“I missed you,” Buck says, his nose smashed into her chin. She’s hugging him like she’s trying to pack Buck down tight and snug him into a little box where she can keep him safe. Or maybe that’s just Buck’s wishful thinking. He’s so goddamn tired.

“I missed you too, Buckaroo,” Carla says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Buck swallows the lump in his throat her tenderness causes.

She pulls away and very gently pats his cheek, looking Buck in the eye. “He needs you, you hear?” She whispers, holding that eye contact like she’s bet money on a staring competition. “Take care of each other.”

Buck can only nod.

She lets go of him and Buck shakes himself into standing straight, even though he’d much rather crumple to the floor. But he needs to get Eddie and Chris to bed, he needs to figure out what’s still edible in the kitchen and take out the trash, he needs to call the pharmacy for Eddie’s meds and the station for Eddie’s med leave, he needs to—

“Alright boys, get some rest.” Buck blinks and Carla comes back into focus. She’s addressing all of them, voice firm. “I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow to help out.”

“Thank you, Carla,” Eddie says.

“No need for that.” She bends down to give Eddie a quick hug, and Buck hears her tell him, “just try not to get on the bad side of any more sniper-rifle-wielding nut jobs, alright?”

Eddie’s reply is somewhere between a laugh and a choked-back sob.

Buck walks Carla to the door. Before she leaves, she looks at him, sharp-eyed and commanding again. “You call me if you need anything. Anything. You look just as bad as he does.”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Carla.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but this is what Buck has always been best at. He wades through the hurt and the pain and just keeps going. He gives her a tight smile, reminds himself that he wasn’t the one shot (no, just the one sprayed with Eddie’s blood, he can still feel it on his skin, still taste it on his lips), and closes the door behind her.

Getting Chris and Eddie to bed is easy. Buck lifts Chris up, carries him to Eddie’s room, and pulls the covers over both the Diaz boys. Eddie tries to catch Buck’s eye while Buck leaves the room, but if Buck stops moving then he’s not sure when or if he’ll start again. Buck pulls the bedroom door most of the way closed, leaving a tiny crack in case Eddie or Chris need him in the night.

In the kitchen, the clock on the stove informs him that it’s just past 9 pm. It’s jarringly early. It feels like time doesn’t really exist, that he’s been moving in a place defined by the hours since Eddie dropped, the hours since Eddie went into surgery, the hours since Eddie woke up.

Buck opens the fridge and looks into it without seeing anything, like when you’re reading only to realize that three pages have gone by without you remembering a single word. He closes the fridge door and opens it again, and oh, there’s the carton of milk and bottle of ketchup on the top shelf, the egg carton down to its last egg, a container of left-over fried rice from… was it yesterday? Buck folds back the top flap and sniffs it, decides it will be fine for one of the boys to eat when they get up.

He closes the fridge and investigates the pantry next. Two boxes of spaghetti, a can of beans, three cans of chicken noodle soup, an unopened bag of quinoa that is probably the result of Ana because Buck’s not sure Eddie has ever heard of quinoa—like he’s taking inventory of the truck. Thermal blankets, C-spine collar kit, 3L of sterile water, 3L sodium chloride, hug-a-bear. The 118 has a blue elephant courtesy of Athena. Buck could honestly really use it right now.

Buck runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his phone, planning to make a grocery list. He sees two missed calls from Bobby and eight from Maddie. One from Chim. Hen texted him at 4pm: How you holding up?

Buck very slowly puts the phone down.

He takes a step back and grips the edge of the kitchen counter. Breathe, Buck, he thinks. Just breathe.

His vision is spotty when he opens his eyes, like he’d shut them too tight. He doesn’t remember shutting them. It doesn’t matter. Buck finds a scrap of paper in the recycling bin and a pen from the junk drawer and writes a list. It’s late, so he’ll go to the grocery store in the morning, early, make sure breakfast is on the table for when Eddie and Chris get up. Oh fuck, does he have a shift tomorrow? What day is it?

Buck puts down the pen and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. He can’t do this. He can’t stand here and pretend like he can take care of Eddie because he can’t stop seeing Eddie die. It’s in the back of his head every moment, it’s what he sees every time he closes his eyes, it’s the memory rewritten by his cells as they multiply and decay, it’s in his fucking genome now or whatever they call it—

it’s in the air he breathes, the reminder that for a moment that lasted an eternity, Eddie’s heart had stopped beating.

It’s a loud silence. Deafening.

Buck thinks, take a breath before you pass out, idiot.

Buck thinks, get a glass of water and pull yourself together.

Buck thinks, your best friend just got shot, you don’t have time for this bullshit.

Buck peels his hands away from the counter slowly, carefully, like if he makes one wrong move he’ll come away with flayed palms. He pours himself a glass of water and makes himself drink the whole thing. He picks up the list he wrote and reads it over and over and over. He thinks: what do I know is true? I’m standing in Eddie’s kitchen. I’m alive. Eddie is alive. And: I should get carrots.

Buck hiccups. Carrots—fucking—

No. Get it together. DAMN IT, Buck!

Buck bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds and does not add carrots to the grocery list. Because apparently they cause emotional breakdowns, and Buck can’t afford one.

He puts himself to work. He ties the trash bag and then he wipes down the counters, and then he unties the trash bag to throw some paper towels in. He transfers the dishes from the sink to the dishwasher, quiet as he can, and locates a broom at the back of Eddie’s hall closet to sweep the floor.

When he’s emptying the dust pan into the trash (he’d tied and untied the bag again, but nobody’s counting, so what does it matter), Eddie says: “Are you OK?”

Buck jumps at least three feet in the air. He’s got the quads for it.

“Hey!” Buck whisper-shouts, turning to face Eddie. “What are you doing up?”

“Was wondering where you were.”

“Uh,” Buck looks around at the spotless kitchen and the broom in his hand. “Just, you know. Thought I’d be of service.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. “Buck, the last thing I’m worried about is the state of my kitchen.”

“Right. That’s why I’m taking care of it. You know, so you don’t uh. You don’t have to.”

“OK.” Eddie squints at him like maybe a closer look will explain why Buck is sweeping his kitchen at 9:45pm three days after he got shot in the street in broad daylight. Buck sincerely hopes he doesn’t figure it out. He leans the broom against the counter and clips the dust pan to it in a rare display of tidiness. The pan slides down the broom handle until it hits the floor.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

Buck shrugs.

“Answer, please.”

God, what a dad.

(Not that Buck would know.)

“Uh… I think I got a few hours while you were in surgery.”

“That was two days ago, Buck,” Eddie says, frowning at him. “You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over.”

“Well, we’re inside.”

“Why are you being so stubborn? You need to sleep.”

“I’m just not really feeling it,” Buck says, folding his arms and resting his hip against the counter.

“Not giving you a choice,” Eddie says, looking extra grumpy because he can’t fold his arms. Unless you count the one in a sling as folded.

“I’m fine, Eddie. Don’t worry about me. You should be with Christopher.”

Eddie lifts his hand to his face and rubs his temples.

“Buck,” he says, “the only thing I need you to do right now is come to bed.”

“But I—“

“Come to bed, Buck.”

And it’s the repetition. It’s the look in Eddie’s eyes like a slow, early flame: the promise of a fire.

Buck’s throat is very, very dry.

“I… yeah. OK.”

Eddie gives him a small smile. Buck’s reeling. Because here’s the thing—they’ve shared a bed before. They’ve shared a too-small bunk at the station and a backseat and even a beanbag once (courtesy of a very poor decision on Buck’s part, but at least Chris likes it). But it’s always been “just bros.” It’s always been necessity. It’s been about efficiency and familiarity. Which maybe Buck is reading this all wrong and snuggling up with your best friend and his son after a near-death experience is totally no homo but… come to bed. Come to bed. Like it’s their bed. Like Buck belongs there.

Buck’s ears are ringing while he follows Eddie down the hallway to his bedroom. Their bedroom? He’s losing it.

The hallway light illuminates a strip of the room as they step inside. Buck can see Chris tucked in the sheets, curled into the rumpled spot where Eddie slid out to fetch Buck. This has to mean something, right? They’ve been dancing around and on the edge of something for so long, Buck doesn’t know how to interpret anything anymore. He loves Eddie, though. And probably the only way he’ll sleep right now is if Eddie’s in arm’s reach. So it doesn’t really matter what this is, because Buck will take any scrap of Eddie he can get, not just tonight, but always.

Eddie slips into the bed and scoots forward, leaving a space behind for Buck. Chris makes a heavy, sleepy sound and turns his head into his dad’s shoulder. Carefully, so, so carefully, Buck lowers himself onto the bed and fills the space Eddie made for him.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, exasperated.

Buck blinks at the ceiling. “What?”

“Idiot,” Eddie mutters. “Spoon me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Buck, this bed is small enough as it is with one person. I know you’re hanging half off it right now.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“Call it intuition,” Eddie says, dry as the desert.

Buck gingerly turns on his side, his chest just a breath away from Eddie’s back. “I…” He swallows. “Where should I put my arm?”

“Buck, you must have done this before.”

“That’s your bad arm, Eds.”

Eddie shifts a little, his calf coming into contact with Buck’s shin. Buck breaks into a cold sweat.

“Shit, well… under the sling, then. Around my waist?”

Dry, dry, his throat is so dry.

Buck lifts his arm up and drapes it over Eddie’s waist. He shuffles in closer, pressing them together from head to toe. His nose is in Eddie’s hair, his dick is nestled in the curve of Eddie’s ass, his ankles are knocking into Eddie’s. Buck feels like he might reverberate out of his skin.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather have Ana here?” Buck whispers. His mouth is like, one inch from Eddie’s ear.

Eddie turns his head a little, so his ear actually brushes Buck’s lip. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Eddie says, “There’s no one in this world I want here more than you.”

Buck stutters on his next breath.

“I wish it’d been me,” he says, suddenly. Eddie has to know. Eddie probably already knows. Buck’s grateful, so goddamn grateful, that Eddie survived. And sure, part of it is that self-deprecating shit he’s been working through with this therapist: Eddie has more to live for, Eddie has a kid, Eddie is a better man than I’ll ever be. But mostly, it’s far simpler than that.

If Eddie had died, the sniper may as well have shot Buck too. Because Buck doesn’t know how to live without Eddie. He’d found that out ages ago, when he lost Eddie under fifty feet of mud and water.

Eddie’s next words are nearly a growl. “The only good thing to come out of all this,” he says, “is that you didn’t get hurt.”

“What are you—“

“After it happened, when I was… when I was lying there, I—I looked at you. I looked at you, Buck, and I was terrified. Not because I might die, but because if I did, who was going to protect you? Who was going to keep a sniper off your self-sacrificing, heroic ass, and make sure someone came home to Chris? Who was—“ Eddie cut himself off with a sigh. “I was worried about you.”

Buck feels like… like an unbroken, empty tundra. Like a fried electric socket. Like someone dropped him to the very bottom of a very deep well.

“Eddie, Eddie I—“

“Shh,” Eddie murmurs, as Buck shakes apart. As he bends his head to hide his tears in the nape of Eddie’s neck. As he bites his tongue to stay quiet and not wake Chris up. Eddie presses backward into Buck’s hold. “I know, I know.”

“I can’t lose you,” Buck grits out between several halting breaths.

“You won’t,” Eddie says.

“I almost did.”

“You had my back.” Buck’s throat makes an awful, wheezing sound as he fights a losing battle against crying. “You got me out of there. You saved me.”

“I love you,” Buck says, losing the fight against that too.

“Buck… I…” Eddie sounds like someone knocked the wind out of him.

“Sorry,” Buck hurries to say, chest icing over with panic. “Sorry I just—“

“I love you,” Eddie interrupts. “I do. I know it took me a long time to realize, but… I’ve been in love with you, Buck.”

“Oh my god,” Buck says. I mean, what else do you say to that? No wonder Eddie froze up. Buck is in shock. “Is this real?”

“I hope so,” Eddie says. “And if it isn’t, then I’ll just have to tell you when we wake up.”

Buck feels fit to burst with more emotions than he can name. Relief, joy, fear, disbelief, pin-prickly. It feels like another miracle.

“Deal,” Buck says. And places a kiss to the fatal, devastating spot behind Eddie’s ear.

Eddie is the first thing Buck sees when he wakes up. “Good morning” are the first words he hears.

And then:

“Just so you know, I love you.”

[indianamoonshine]

Strawberry | Chapter 13 | Common Tongue

Summary: This chapter is titled after a Hozier song. Take that as you will.

Rating: M. If I see anyone minor interacting with this or hear of anyone reading it, I will block your ass.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople @literallydontlook

“I’m a virgin,” you had said to him one night.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing because, to him, you were the same with or without having slept with someone. Din knew that - had you chose him - it would be an honor. He would think no differently of you either way, and that even if the two of you never had sex, he was glad to have met you.

Now he thinks he may be addicted.

Part of him really wishes that you hadn’t gone this far; that the innocence would have lasted until whenever it was that he forced to leave. Because now he was in over his fucking head.

Behind the shed, you’d grabbed his hand and palmed yourself against the cotton of your underwear. The song of cicadas did a humbling job of masking your little pants or the way you whimpered beneath him. And, sure, Din did everything in his power to break traditional norms, but he wasn’t going to fuck you behind a shed for the first time. His heart broke when he separated himself from you and you whined underneath your breath in protest.

“Come on,” he huffed, lungs attempting to keep up. “Let’s go.”

|

Three minutes.

That’s how long it took to run from the main house to the cabin. Three goddamned minutes was a record. You don’t recall running that fast since becoming an adult. If your high school gym teacher has witnessed the velocity in which you just sprinted, she’d be amazed.

It was good old fashioned motivation.

Fortunately, Din’s barely taken his hands off of you so he managed to catch your clumsy ass when you tripped over the lip of the front door. The two of you had chuckled against the other before he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. You place a hand upon your cheek in feign distress. “But I think I may need to lay down…”

Your tone, which is laced with suggestive demure, has Din raising a brow. “Oh yeah?” he growls.

You nod sweetly, lips still pressed against his. “Mm hm.”

|

You’re so goddamn beautiful.

When he presses you against the plushness of the sheets, he admires the way your hair fans about you and frames your face. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips plump from his kiss, the natural pout of them more pronounced now that he’s bitten and sucked at the flesh. The brilliance of your skin glows beneath the yellow light, neck joining the expanse of your bust which heaves with endurance. He kisses down your pulse point until he reaches the neck of his t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

“Can I?” he whispers against the hollow of your neck, fingering the edge of the fabric.

“Yes.”

|

You’ve never been this exposed to anyone other than the occasional friend (when changing) or your sisters (also when changing). It’s been so long since you’ve gone outside of yourself - into the very thick of reality - so when he asked if he could reveal you to it, the urgent “yes” surprised yourself.

Still - it’s another kind of anxiety; not violent, but in the way. When he’s stripped the shirt from your body - carefully, as though he were unwrapping a priceless antique - it’s a natural instinct to cover yourself, confident of the way you weren’t.

“Take all the time you need,” he whispers against the flesh of your neck. “I’m a patient man.”

It should’ve been enough and maybe in an alternate universe it was. Maybe that version of you threw all misogynistic beauty standards out the window into the night, but in this present day-in-age, you took a minute to go over the mental checklist. What if you weren’t to his standards? What was the situation like down there? What would you do if he wasn’t all that you decided him to be?

How long would it take to heal from that?

Before your mother died she took your hand and made you promise: I will do everything I can to feel joy, as fleeting as it may be. There are lessons to be learned. She’d made you chant it in a monkish way, as though preforming a ceremony in the sterility of a hospital room strung with cheap tinsel and a sad, plastic tree at her bedside. You’d understood what she meant then like the way a student might understand the components of Ancient Greek; not until it is utilized can its full potential make any sense at all.

The philosophers - and your mother - be onto something.

|

Something like a muffled version of his name slips lazily through your lips. And while it’s dissected, pulled apart with a lazy and tense breath, it’s the first time his name has sounded poetic. Din never thought of himself this way; that his person could ever inspire such an organic response as the way you unwound beneath him. He’s laid with women before - three, he thinks - but he’s not positive he’s ever experienced a woman before.

Xian was good at what she did and she knew it; Din wasn’t oblivious to that but it lacked a certain something. The other times his body has been weaved together with another’s was faceless; just hookups he’s tried so desperately to forget. Hazy nights in which he woke up to in the morning, their backs to him, and identity indistinguishable. Eventually he just stopped trying.

It wasn’t until now with your fingers clutching at his hair that he realized how the act - the very dance itself - could be purifying. How it could wash away the very worst of similar experiences and how it made something that always felt cheap now priceless. The body is a temple, his elders would always say, and it never made any sense to him. The body is a fortress made to withstand hurricanes and torpedos. It was no place to kneel, to worship, to inspire anything other than sheer refuge.

How ironic, as kneeling was the very thing he was doing now.

Irony wasn’t the word. Fateful, he supposes, as he tastes the fruit that’s always been so forbidden to him. Your thighs clench around his head and the fingers that have been stroking his hair grip the sheets, white knuckling the starched weave, until a gasp is caught in your throat. And then there is nothing but the pressure of ignition until it crumbles around you, fizzing the air with something akin to champagne bubbles.

There is no nasally whine that follows afterwards like there always had been before you. No wild “yes!” that pollutes the air. Just the instability of a weakened chest, the grasping at air, and the delicious feel of your hand enveloping his after having pulled it from your sex.

|

You weren’t a stranger to penetration though this was was with exceptions; no one had ever done anything to you with foreign or, well, domestic objects. At the age of eighteen, your friends at the time had dragged you to the building on the east end of town that never officially existed until legality said that it did. La Boudoir Rouge was the place ‘vodka aunts’ went to cure the blues, bought mysterious items, and then hid the pink bags in the back of their closets.

So, yes; sex was a foreign exchange policy you’ve never found yourself involved in, but you knew the dynamics. You’d bought equipment and even enjoyed it more than you’d initially expected. Penetration wasn’t at all strange to you.

This made it easier, you think, as Din finally slides in. There was a stretch of course, and it took you a moment to get comfortable enough to brave any movement. Din drops his forehead upon yours, letting out a strangled breath through his nose, as you struggle to come to terms with the size. He’d given off an energy but…

“It’s so big,” you gasp once he reaches the spongey part of you. It feels stupid, it falls short on a botched intake of breath, but it’s the truth.

Din’s composing himself, silent in his endeavor to mold himself within you. His arms are pressed on either side of you, body flush against yours with his pelvis meeting your pubic bone. There’s another moment of silence before he kisses at your temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

A smile graces your lips, though your eyes are clenched. “That’s an understatement.”

|

The pace is fast, sweat inspiring. It drips down your neck until it falls in the valley of your breasts and Din wants so badly to lick it from your skin, but he’s too distracted by the way you clench around him. It’s ironclad - it’s the best goddamn pussy he’s ever had.

He wants to tell you that but he’s unsure of how you’d react. You’ve been letting out delicious gasps and moans reaching an octave you’d never reach sober, but not you’re coherently vocal enough for him to say it outright.

And then you breathe it in a pathetic whine: “It’s yours, Din. It’s yours.”

He almost stops, but his body is hellbent on seeing this through. Whatever the fuck this was; a spiritual experience maybe. Perhaps he’d died after the last mission - broken and buried underneath mounds of dirt - and now rests in paradise where he fucks his way through eternity.

A raw, animalistic response possesses him, the fistful of flesh from your hips is replaced by the swell of you cheeks. He embraces you softly, but sternly enough to incite a whimper.

“What was that, chica bonita, huh?”

You throw your head back as he slams his hips against yours with more force, the excitement conjuring a great wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. You try to speak but it fails to materialize.

He was balls deep and you were still shy by your interjection.

“What’s mine, sweet girl?” he whispers, mouth tickling along your collarbones. The contrast of gentle words and barbaric thrusts is something he’s never experienced during sex. Ever.

You let out one more mouthwatering whine before saying: “My pussy is yours, Din. Take it. Please, please…”

|

Suffice to say, that’s what does it. The two of you cum at the same time, like a synchronized dance, clutching one another so tightly it leaves red ribbons. Your fingernails had dug into his forearms and his at your waist in which his hands wrapped around. He lets out a deep, broken growl as you whimper, shaking like a leaf, and he pulls out just in time to paint your belly with pearlescent threads.

He collapses on top of you, knocking the wind from your fragile body. You’re absolute jelly beneath him, crumbled into bits, and would never be the same. Let’s stay here forever, you want to tell him.

Din presses his face into the hollow of your neck, listening to the rapid pulse beneath flushed and thin skin. Then he kisses the blood flow beneath once, twice. “My gorgeous girl…”

Stay with me. Stay with me.

You wrap your arms - which have settled from the convulsions - around his neck and hug him tightly against you.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

[foxilayde]

Pumpkin [Part 1] Blue Jones x Fem!Reader

Warnings: callous mentions of dubious consent. Blue Jones is his own warning. Reader is a little unhinged. No explicit smut, yet. LOTS of cursing.

Words: 2.7k

Summary: AU, not sucker punch asylum. Blue Jones is an Orderly, you’re a patient. You’ve got the hots for him, he’s a big fat tease. (I’ll release part 2 later, because I'm a big fat tease too.)

Dedication: to @bluejones​ and @propertyofabelmorales​ 

If you weren’t fucking crazy when you were first admitted to the asylum, you sure as shit were now. Your thoughts were consumed. Your mind could fixate on one thing and one thing only.

Orderly Blue.

And how he was, without a doubt, not into you.

This greasy lethario seemed to have his claws in so many of the other female patients. But not you. You knew, you fucking knew he was shtuping Carol. Carol! Of all people. And not you? Well maybe you weren’t the hottest thing to grace these hallways, but you at least had a few more points on you than Carol. She wasn’t even fully conscious most of the time.

You walked in on them in a supply closet last week. He had her bent over the utility sink, giving it to her from behind. You went in to grab some paper towels, saw THAT, and promptly amscrayed.

You dished to Lydia that night about the tryst and she was unsurprised.

“Oh yeah, he fucks. Lots of girls.”

“Lots of them?” You inquired, scooting closer to her on your cot after lights out.

“Are you... jealous??” She gave you a devilish grin.

“No!” You said almost too loudly. “ I just... Carol?!”

“Yeah, the man’s got strange tastes. Likes em pliant.”

You flopped back on your back, emitting a frustrated sigh. You were definitely going crazy. Why? Why did this bother you so much? It must be the conspicuous lack of dick. You were in the female ward, surrounded by women. You’d been here a while... it must be that. That you hadn’t so much as had a conversation with a man in WEEKS.

“You are SO jealous!” Lydia laughed.

“Yeah, right. Like I really want that slimeball to fuck me.” You did though. You really fucking did.

-------

The morning brought you the most objectively frustrating part of your day. Medication time. Not for the effects of the meds. But for the delivery.

Blue would come by, down the line, dishing out everyone’s medication. When he finally reached you, you licked your lips in anticipation. Here it fucking comes.

“Morning, Pumpkin. How’d you sleep, precious?” He'd taken to calling you ‘Pumpkin’. The pet name gave you the fucking shivers. He called Lydia, “Lydia”, called Carol “Carol”. But you were Pumpkin.

You batted your eyes and gave him a luscious smile, “I slept well. How about you, Blue?”

“Just fine, Pumpkin.” he said offhandedly, not looking at you - pushing your chest out (maybe the nickname wasn’t endearing, maybe he’d forgotten your name). He was crossing off something on his clipboard. You licked your lips again.

“You know the drill, sweetheart.” he handed you a cup with three pills. And a bigger cup with water.

“Yes, Blue.” You put the pills on your tongue and gulped the water to flush them down your throat.

“Swallow, Pumpkin.” Yes. There it was. That fucking eye contact where he ordered you to swallow. Those fucking eyes. You couldn’t help but think of that command in different contexts.

“I did.”  You did. You knew what was coming, he did the same routine with you every day, rain or shine.

He set the clipboard down on your bed, freshly made, and grabbed your jaw.

“Open, precious.”

You opened your mouth.

His big, gorgeous eyes inspected your mouth.

“Tongue up, babygirl.”

You lifted your tongue and allowed him to inspect further.

“Good girl, Pumpkin.” He patted your cheek gently before picking up his clipboard and moving on to the next girl.

Goddamn, that was so fucking sexy. You could feel yourself getting wet at his commands and his praise. Jesus. You were fucking crazy, weren’t you? It was barely ten seconds of interaction and it was the most thrilling part of your day.

Maybe you weren’t so crazy. He didn’t do this little song and dance with any of the other girls, as far as you knew. This was YOURS. Your morning routine. Starting everyday off with peak level Horny. “Swallow it baby, that’s right. Good girl.” Those words made you touch yourself every freaking night.

_________

The words Lydia had spoken to you the other night took root in your brain.

“He likes em pliant.”

You could be pliant. Yes indeed you could. You’d been a good girl for him for weeks, without him giving you any extra attention. Being malleable was your tactic so far, and it didn’t seem to be working.

You were going to have to try something different if you wanted his attention. You figured out something about Blue in these past few weeks. He liked to be needed. Loved it when girls would ask him to do things for them. “Blue, can you get that?” “Blue, what do we do about this?”etc. He’d preen and smirk. He probably got off on the fact he was the lead male Ordely of the female ward, all these helpless things needing him. Maybe it made him feel useful or relevant. You didn’t care about why, just how. How could you demonstrate how much you needed him?

You decided you were going to bug him into submission. You ‘worked’ in the asylum library. Stocking and checking out books to girls from the meager, donated selection. You were given this coveted job, because you weren’t crazy.. per se. So, okay, yes you DID set fire to your ex’s car, and since it was within one block of an elementary school, which you had NO fucking idea about, that made it substantially more of a felony. You’d been relegated to this asylum for a 90-day probationary stint. You were one month and three days into it. Only two more months to go and you’d be out. “Criminally insane”. That phrase was thrown around a lot at your hearing.

You weren’t fucking crazy, okay?

But you were going crazy for Orderly Blue.

You were stocking shelves when the idea struck you.

You made your way over to the com button, leaving the cart stacked with books, and pressed.

“Orderly Blue to the library, please. Oderly Blue to the library.” You went back and continued with your task, pleased with your little plan.

____

Blue showed up about 5 minutes later.

“What seems to be the problem, Pumpkin?” God he looked fucking hot. Even in that dingy lab coat. Playing doctor. He sauntered down the aisle, making his way toward you.

“You rang, Pumpkin?”

“I can’t reach the top shelf.” You gave your best big bottom lip pout and pantomimed placing a book on the highest shelf. Getting on your tip toes and wiggling your hips. “I need your help, Blue.”

He scoffed at your little show.

“I’m not the tallest Orderly here, Pumpkin. Why didn’t you ask any of the other guys?” He crossed his arms, giving you time to orchestrate your thoughts. He had a point.

“None of the other orderlies are nice to me. Not like you, Blue.” you took a step towards him, stroking the lapel of his lab coat with the spine of the book in your hand. “I wanted you to do it for me.”

“And you don’t think I’ve got anything better to do than do your job for you. Huh, Pumpkin?” He took the book from your hand, his face coming closer to yours. You backed against the shelf and his whole body crowded around yours.

You swallowed thickly, lips of the shelves digging in your back, you looked him straight in the eye, “I do think you have better things to do, Blue.” Nodding your head and licking your lips, “like me, for instance.”

Blue’s eyes widened slightly and he gave a little smile, he leaned closer to your face, “oh yeah?” his lips were centimeters from yours, you could feel the warm air of his words ghosting on your lips. He took a step closer. Your bodies touching.

“Yeah.” You whimpered. Actually fucking whimpered.

He leaned to your ear, his whole body was all around you. Fuck, he hadn’t even touched you yet and this already felt so fucking good. You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Doing you is not in my job description, Pumpkin” he said it so sexy, whispered it right in your ear. You both turned heads to look each other in the eye. He was smiling at you. He pressed his body closer to you as he lifted his arm... and he put the book he’d taken from you onto the top shelf.

He stepped back from you. Not breaking eye contact. He had stunned you into silence with that little move. You’d forgotten to breathe for a minute too.

“Get a step stool next time. Or better fucking yet, don’t put any books on the top shelf, seeing as how the librarian can’t fuckin reach em.” The words were harsh, but that was Blue, delivered with a teasing smirk.

“Yes, sir.”

Blue groaned a little at that, the groan turned into a chuckle. He looked down and shook his head, still chuckling. He shook a finger at you.

“I see what you’re doing, Pumpkin. And it’s kinda hot.” His laughter stopped and his eyes became serious, and maybe a little sad? “you don’t know what you’re playing with, sweetheart. You aren’t fucking ready.”

“What am I playing with, Blue?”

“Fire, baby. You’re playing with fire. And just like fire, I wanna lick you and eat you all up... but you’d be nothing but ashes at the end.” He blew you a kiss, turned around and walked out of the library without a glance back.

What in the hell did that mean? You just wanted to get railed against the bookshelf. The man was acting like it was life or death. And it was kind of turning you on. He was making it sound so dangerous, so forbidden. Fuck, he really knew how to ratchet up the passion, didn’t he? Was this the same game he played with Carol? You doubted that, seeing as how Carol is a vegetable, not one for tête-à-tête. And that’s not jealousy talking. She was the worst activity partner. Couldn’t play checkers or do a puzzle. She just fucking sat there. That drove you nuts too, getting partnered up with Carol for activity time. You weren’t crazy... but she made you kind of crazy.

You couldn’t completely blame the asylum, what were they supposed to do for activity time? Partner up all the vegetables with each other? Nope. So that's where you found yourself the next day, sitting across from Carol at the spindly table in the rec room. A checkerboard between you.

“Your move, Carol.” You didn’t need so say anything, she wasn’t going to answer. But you needed to speak because, again, driving you crazy.

She stared at you blankly.

“Big fuckin surprise, didn’t see that one coming, Carol.”

You caught Lydia’s eye from across the rec room, she was with Emerald, doing a puzzle. Well, Lydia was doing a puzzle. Emerald was breathing... probably.

Lydia pantomimed a gun to her head, you laughed.

“What’s so funny, Pumpkin? Did Carol tell you a joke?” Blue’s voice from behind you caught you off guard.

You didn’t miss a beat, whipping your head around.

“Yeah, she’s got a great sense of humor. Can see why you like her so much, Blue.”

Blue pulled up a chair to sit at your spindly table, eyeing the checkerboard with only one initial move completed on your end.

“That's not funny, Pumpkin.” Blue reached out to Carol’s stringy brown hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Carol used to be funny, you know? Before the surgery. Always cracking wise.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. She had still not moved. “She was pretty, too. And loud. And she was fucking good at checkers. At all games really. Competitive little thing.”

This shocked you, you didn’t know he knew Carol pre-veg state. Didn’t even cross your mind that Carol hadn’t always been this way.

Blue cradled her chin and squeezed her cheeks together. “And now you can beat her at any game, all day long, and there ain’t a wise cracking word she can say about it. Isn’t that right, Hot Stuff?”

He nodded her head for her.

This should have been disturbing and revolting to you, but the way he was playing with her like a doll was kinda hot. Kinda really hot. Like you’d said: going crazy.

“Blue, will you play with me?”

“Checkers?”

“No.”

“What do you wanna play then, Pumpkin?”

“Just play with me.”

“Naughty Pumpkin. You really want me don’t you?”

“Yes”

“Want me to take you right here?”

“Um…”

“You wanna bend over this table, lift up your skirt and let me fuck you right here in the rec hall with Carol and everybody fucking watching, don’t you, baby? You wanna let them know you belong to me don’t you?”

Was he serious? He looked pretty fucking serious. And sexy. Goddamn, were you really considering this?

You scanned around the rec room... your first instinct to that suggestion was ‘absolutely fucking not. No way.’ but the more you looked around the rec room the more you did not fucking care what any of these people thought.

“Okay.”

If he was shocked, his features didn’t betray him.

“Flip the checkerboard over. And bend over the table. Right in front of me.” Blue pushed his chair back from the table to give you enough room to stand between his chair and the table. You didn’t move right away and he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Fuck it. You were about to get nailed in the middle of an asylum rec room by the most dubious motherfucker you’d ever met and you did not give two shits. In fact you were pretty damn excited about it.

You stood up, flipped the checkerboard over- several draughts hitting Carol in the face, one landing on the top of her head and staying there. She was about to get a front row seat to this nastiness. You supposed in the back of your mind it was payback for when you walked in on them in the supply closet.

Everyone looked over at you, the sound of the draughts skittering on the linoleum bringing all attention in the dead hall over to you, where you were bending over the table, right in front of Blue. You arched your back and lifted up your skirt so he could see your panties.

You could hear Lydia whistle from the other side of the room, you turned your head to look at her and she winked and nodded, mouthed what looked like, “Nice.”  Everyone was fucking crazy here.

A nice thing, a freeing thing about being at the asylum, is you could pretty much say and do whatever you wanted all the time. You weren’t held back by any societal norms. There was no filter, and hanging onto your filter in a place like this was asinine. What was the point in playing coy with this smokin hot orderly? He wanted you to degrade yourself and so you did. And each second that passed with his hands NOT on you was getting more degrading. He was just, presumably (since you couldn’t see him) continuing to remain seated. Everyone was silent, and everyone (who wasn’t a damn vegetable) was waiting to see what the hell was going to happen. At least a whole minute passed with you just bent over. Back arched, ass bared to the whole crazy room.

“You really did it, baby. You really fucking did it. I didn’t even tell you to lift your skirt up, you did that all on your own. Such a good fucking girl.” You couldn’t see Blue’s face but his words were in awe.

“Blue. I did what you asked. Are you going to give me what I want?” Nothing. Fucking crickets. “Please” you added hastily, wiggling your ass right in his face.

Blue’s chair scraped backwards, the grating sound against the tile provided the only sound in the stunned hall. He rested his hand on your ass as he stood up. Yes, this was it. Finally. You closed your eyes in anticipation of whatever his sick mind wanted to do to you. He’d probably start off by spanking you. He was definitely one of those kind of guys.

Wrong.

He pulled your skirt back down, covering your ass. He braced his hand by yours and leaned over your back, whispering in your ear, 

“clean up those checkers, Pumpkin.” and gave you a tiny tap on the rear before walking away.

[ladyfogg]

First Date

First Date 

Fic Summary: The time has come for you and Colin to finally have your first official date. Love Exists Masterpost. The Evans Fics Masterpost.

Fic Rating: M

Pairing: Colin Zabel/Female Reader

Warnings: Language & some making out/suggestive language

Last week when you flirted with Colin and followed him to his hotel room, it had been a quick, spontaneous decision. While it hadn’t worked out quite how you wanted it to, you got your chance a few days later when he slept over at your place.

You didn’t expect to spend the following day in bed with him, nor did you expect to feel so goddamn horny for the man the second he left. Even the quickie in your car wasn’t enough. You want more of Detective Colin Zabel and it’s driving you crazy.

You’ve never wanted someone this bad before. But your stomach is a jumble of nerves for an entirely different reason. Because tonight, you and Colin are having your first official date and you have no idea how to act.

Dating is new territory for you. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in a relationship and even then it wasn’t serious. When Colin asked you to join him for dinner at his friend’s restaurant, you said yes before you could overthink. Of course, now that means your anxiety has been building.

The case Colin and Mare are working has kept them busy over the last few days so you haven’t been able to spend much time with your…friend? You don’t know what to call him. Boyfriend sounds too formal. Lover is a weird word that never settles quite right. Potential romantic partner? Booty call? Really close friend?

See, this is why you never date. It gets too confusing and messy.

At least, that’s how you used to feel. Now, you’re not so sure. Because every time Colin catches your eye and smiles at you, those old thoughts aren’t as loud as they used to be.

You keep telling yourself to relax and go with the flow, but it’s easier said than done. Which is why you find yourself running around your room trying to find something to wear.

Currently, most of your clothes are piled up on your bed. Digging through them, you reject everything you see, almost to the point of tears. It’s not until you sit yourself down and take a few deep breaths that you realize just how nervous you are.

“It’s okay,” you tell yourself. “It’s Colin. You know him. You like him. And he likes you. He’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met and he’s not going to care what you wear as long as you have a great time.”

Bullshit. Dress to impress. Knock him dead. Take the beath out of him.

After several long minutes of internal debate, you manage to find something relatively dressy that fits and looks good on you. Shoving all your clothes back in the closet, you try to make your room mostly presentable on the off chance you and Colin end up back there after dinner. You’d like to assume you will but are trying not to put any pressure on him or yourself.

You just finish getting ready when there’s a knock on the door. Checking yourself over in the mirror one last time, you take a deep breath, before going to greet Colin.

Dear GOD, he looks amazing. While Colin tends to dress very well for work, it’s different seeing him in a suit jacket and tie.

“You look beautiful,” he says, eyes taking you in with appreciation. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yup. Just lead the way.”

Colin offers you his arm in an endearingly formal way and you can help but accept, letting him lead you to his car. The sweet man even opens the door for you. With a quiet word of thanks, you climb in, your heart fluttering with nervous energy.

As he drives away, you sense the nervous tension between you two.

“So…” Colin says. “I know I suggested my friend’s restaurant but if you’d rather go somewhere else that’s good too.”

“No, no, your friend’s place is fine.”

Colin nods, flipping on the radio to help fill the awkward silence. You don’t know what to do with your hands and find yourself fidgeting with your coat, seatbelt, purse, and whatever you can.

“How was your afternoon?” Colin asks. “You were gone by the time we got back from canvasing…”

“It was fine. Made some coffee runs and filed a bunch of stuff.”

“Cool...”

More silence. As Colin pulls into a parking space at the restaurant, you feel the need to clear the air.

“I’m sorry I’m not very good company tonight,” you say. “The truth is, I’m really nervous.”

Colin smiles and puts the car in park. “Honestly, me too.”

You both laugh, partly from relief and partly by amusement. “Look, I don’t have any expectations,” Colin continues. “I asked you out because I really like you and I’ve never connected with someone like I’ve connected with you.”

“We have connected very well,” you tease.

Colin’s cheeks turn red and he ducks his head as he tries to hide his smile. “I meant emotionally but yeah, physically too.”

“I also meant emotionally,” you say. “Mostly.”

He laughs and looks at you again. “I’m really happy to hear you say that. Glad it’s not all in my head.”

Hearing the self-deprecation in his voice, you slide your hand into his hair and pull him into a kiss. He responds instantly, melting into your touch and kissing back with equal intensity. When he draws back, his eyes are hooded.

“It’s not all in your head,” you assure him. “There is something here. Why wouldn’t I feel something for you? You’re smart, considerate, fucking adorable as hell…” He smiles and blushes harder. “You’re a great guy, Colin.”

He kisses you gently one more time. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I do,” you tease. “Now can we go eat?”

“Absolutely.”

Feeling lighter and less nervous, the two of you get out of the car. Colin takes your hand as he meets you on your side of the car. Heading inside, you can’t help but focus on the feeling of his hand in yours. It was solid and warm, just like the rest of him.

You’re seated right away and Colin let’s your hand go so he can hold your chair our for you. The atmosphere is calm and quiet, the low lighting set the right mood. Colin looks even more dashing than he did on your front porch.

The waiter takes your drink orders and you pick up your menu, trying to figure out what to have. Colin does the same.

“This is a nice place,” you comment, glancing around. “I’m not used to going out like this.”

“Stick with me and I’ll take you to all the nice places.”

“What? The backseat of my car isn’t nice enough?”

His ears turn red this time and he chuckles. “I didn’t say that. It has its merits.”

The waiter arrives with your drinks and takes your orders, before leaving once more.

“So, Detective Colin Zabel,” you say, resting your elbows on the table. “What’s a big shot like you doing in a place like Easttown?”

He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “I’m no big shot,” he says shaking his head. “I’m just a guy trying to do the right thing.”

“It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?” you realize. “Talking about that big case.”

“Can we not talk about that case?” he asks. “I’m not…I’d rather talk about something else.”

“No problem. Sorry I brought it up.”

“It’s okay. What about you? I never asked what it was like for you starting out. You know, after the academy.”

He seems relieved that you are willing drop the subject and as the conversation starts to flow, both of you get more comfortable. Wanting to take his mind off things, you decide to tell him about your more memorable moments as a young trainee.

“Oh, and THEN! Then Mare arrives right as I’m trying to detain this guy,” you say, hands moving wildly as you talk. “And she just gives me that stern, unamused look that she always has…”

“Yup, I know that look.”

“And when I finally get him into the back of the car she goes, ‘Hey, kid, I think you’re forgetting something’.”

“Oh god, no…”

“Yeah, the guy’s dog. He came tearing out of the house and I chased me around the car while Mare just fucking laughed.”

Colin throws his head back and laughs, a sight that makes your own grin widen. You’ve never seen him so jovial, well without alcohol, and you vow to think of more stories that’ll make him laugh that hard.

“Didn’t you go there because of the reports of his dog being loud and aggressive?”

“Sure did. Then promptly forgot when I noticed the stolen merchandise from the theft. Needless to say, I got a little too excited and, whelp, got chased by the dog.”

Colin is still laughing, shaking his head while he does. “Wow. Just…just wow.”

“I am so glad you enjoyed my embarrassment.”

“I absolutely did.”

His face is bright and you want to reach across the table and kiss him.

You wonder why you were even nervous to begin with. Once the food arrives, Colin lifts his wine in a toast. You follow his lead with your drink and you both smile as you clink glasses.

“Any particular plans after dinner?” you ask as you both start to eat.

Colin shakes his head. “Not in particular. What do you have in mind?”

“There’s a soft bed that’s been missing you.”

His pupils dilate and you see his breathing pick up. “I…yeah, that sounds great. I kind of hoped you’d say that but I didn’t want to assume anything.”

Under the table, you run the tip of your shoe up the back of his calf and he jumps in surprise, almost dropping his fork. You smirk as he gets flustered.

“You have my complete permission to assume all you’d like,” you say in a low voice.

The evening takes on a very different energy after that. Heated looks are exchanged as you both eat as quickly as you can while still being polite.

“Are we thinking dessert?” the waiters asks when he gathers your empty plates.

You shoot Colin a raised eyebrow.

“I think just the check will be fine,” Colin says.

The drive back to your place is different than the drive to the restaurant had been. Colin’s hand rests on your knee, and just the pressure of it is enough to get your body going.

He barely puts the car in park before you reach for him, yanking him into a searing kiss. Colin is just as eager, hands fumbling to turn off the car before he can get them on you.

“We should go inside,” he pants between kisses.

“Yes, please.”

You stop just long enough to get out of the car. Coming around to the front, you both meet in the middle, Colin cupping your cheek while snaking his arm around your waist. God the way his mouth slots over yours is just so perfect.

The ringing of his cellphone cuts through the quiet night.

You groan in frustration. “Noooooo.,” you whine.

Colin huffs in annoyance, pulling back. “I’m so sorry,” he says taking the phone out of his pocket. “Shit, it’s Mare. I should take this.”

Sighing but understanding, you motion for him to go ahead.

Colin answers the phone. “Zabel, here. Yeah, hey, Mare…”

You know work has interrupted your date and you probably won’t be getting to the best part anytime soon. Colin’s face is somber as he listens to his partner.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says, giving you an apologetic look. “Bye.”

He hangs up.

“Duty calls?” you ask.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “She wants me to meet her in an hour. There’s a club we need to check out.”

“An hour, huh?” you ask, lips curling into a smile.

“Yeah. It’s across town so it’s going to take me a—what are you doing?”

You push him so his back bumps into the hood of the car. “You have plenty of time to get there. I want to at least make out a little.”

Colin gives you that lopsided smile before pulling you into another heated kiss. You slide your arms around his neck as his go around your waist, crushing you against his chest. It’s filled with promises and silent wants. Neither of you wants him to go, both of you would love to go inside and pick up where you left off the other day.

But work is work, and you won’t make him feel guilty for doing his job.

Your tongue finds his, deepening the kiss as your fingers dig into the collar of his coat. Colin draws back just enough for his nose to brush yours as he lays several pecks on your lips.

“If I’m not done too late, can I come back?” he asks, voice filled with hope.

“You better.”

His smile widens and he gives you one final, sweeping kiss before gently pushing you back so he’s not pressed against the car.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Colin watches you walk up to your door but doesn’t get into his car until you’re safely inside. You wave to him from the door, hoping he’ll come back sooner rather than later. In the meantime, you are going to find the sexiest underwear you own and wait.

--- 

Series Taglist: @lejardinfleur​ @spidergirlmcu​ @anonymushhy​ @samsassinparvismagna​ @kitwalker64​ @tatestripedsweater​ @xmaximoffic​ @marshmallow--3​ @stellarbound​ @kais-messiahbaby​ @margaretboothsear​ @slightlyvicked​ @nia-s-not-so-secret-diary​ @liandav​ @billyhxrgrove​ @TheOriginalDoll87

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Long Nights - part 5

Neil x Reader

Chapter 5: After rain

(see chapter 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: you learn to cope with the new situation, but you aren't the only one struggling

warnings: 18+, angst and pain, explicit language and other things

author’s note: This part of the story's been with me for... oh, so long. I just hope I did it justice. ✨6,1k words.✨ I don't even know.

Hurt/Comfort.

The song for this part is Dermot Kennedy - After rain

Enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas @neutron-stars-collision ​ @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @mellifluous-cosmos @wonderwoman292 @buckysgoldenheart @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

Your hands clenched on the bed’s frame, its coldness felt like the only real thing your drugged mind could process.

Doctor’s words were filling the room, but they were muffled as if they were coming from behind a barrier. Falling from such height...extreme luck...no broken bones…head trauma...internal bruising....

Was all that talking really necessary? Yeah, you were battered, all right. And it seems that even with painkillers the weird throbbing, like a morse code from your bruised cells, was about to stay with you for a little while.

...just like the darkness.

The more the doctor spoke, the more it became clear that they didn’t have any definite answers for you. Seemed like the day spent on being prodded, stabbed with needles, and tossed into various machines resulted in nothing more than a verdict: optic nerve injury.

As for what were you supposed to do now--

“Let me get this straight, doctor,” you said, slowly losing patience. “Your only solution now is: let’s wait and see what happens?”

Drumming fingers against a piece of plastic, followed by a sigh.

“Yes. There is no effective treatment, we could try a high dosage of corticosteroids, but there is no evidence that it’s gonna make any difference, really. And as some recovery may spontaneously occur within days or weeks--”

Weeks.

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you swallowed with effort.

And that was a maybe.

You just wanted to go home.

“Grand,” you cut in, “please tell me I can wait for that possible joyful occurrence anywhere else but here.” You aimed for a lighter tone, but every word coming out of your mouth was dripping with bitterness. Grimacing at your own attitude, you forced a weak smile to appear on your face. “No offense, doc.”

“None taken,” the doctor said with a snicker. “I get it.” A short pause filled with a rustling of paper. “With all the tests done, I don’t think we need to keep you here for observation any longer, but I’d recommend you weren’t alone for the next few days. Do you have anyone to take care of you after we discharge you?”

“I don’t need--”

Neil’s firm voice overlapped with yours.

“Yes, she has.”

You huffed, startled. And a bit annoyed.

You almost forgot Neil was in the room, but to be fair, you were quite sure he’d never left your side since you woke up. His initial nervous chatter got replaced by a silent presence, always ready to jump in should you needed anything - no matter if it was a glass of water or an arm to lean on. It was all comforting, endearing even, and you were so grateful to have him around, but the thought of having Neil in your apartment triggered an irrational panic.

Instead of dwelling on the roots of the anxiety, you decided to over-talk it.

“Neil, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be okay, and you surely have better things to do than babysitting me.”

“I don’t.” Was that a hint of hurt in his voice? “Doctor, can you discharge her even if she is gonna be alone out there?”

“I’d rather she spent at least one more day here then.”

Unbelievable. You rolled your eyes, hoping it would make the same effect as always, and groaned. “Fine, you win, only because I want nothing else but to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“Excellent,” said the doctor cheerfully, “I’ll get the forms and come back to you soon.”

“Thank you, doc,” you sighed, hanging your head in defeat.

After spending enough time with a person, it was always easy to recognize them by the way they walk. That’s how you knew it was Neil who approached you, ever so hesitantly.

And only because of a brush of his fingers against your hand you realized you were still clinging onto the bed frame.

“Hey, I’ll just help you set up everything you need there, all right?” he said quietly and you felt him sitting down next to you. “You’re gonna have all the space you want, and as soon as you decide it’s too much, I’ll get out of your hair, I promise.”

He must have noticed that little panic of yours, huh?

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to form a coherent thought. “It sounds good though, thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Neil shifted slightly. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged and grimaced. “I don’t know, but either I’ve slept through the best high or these drugs they gave me are kinda lame.” Hearing Neil’s light chuckle, you cracked a small smile. “Honestly? I’m knackered.”

He hummed with sympathy.

“Is there anything I can do for you now?”

The softness in his voice was more than your tired and dazed mind could handle. You leaned to the side and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Just… take me home,” you asked, forcing the words past your clenched throat.

Neil exhaled sharply and carefully wrapped an arm around you, pressing a cheek to the top of your head.

“Of course.”

------

“Welcome to my crib.”

“Thank you, it’s...” - Neil hesitated as he closed the door behind you - “...cosy.”

Patting the wall to your right, you located a small hook and hung the keys on it.

“That is certainly one word for it,” you snorted. “Why, what did you expect?”

“Frankly? Considering you’re such an... acclaimed locksmith, I imagined something… well, bigger, for starters.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he stumbled on words, trying so hard not to sound offensive in any way.

Grinning, you put on your most snobbish tone. “Ah, sorry to disappoint, all my gold, glitter, and general pizzaz got moved to one of my many summer houses as my spacious lair worthy of the most infamous thief is under renovation, so I was forced to retreat to my humble family place in this ghastly neighborhood.”

“Such a shame,” he said and a smile brightened his words. “I like it, though. Matches your vibe, somehow.”

“Because it’s small, detached, empty, yet somehow messy?”

Neil sighed in a way you were absolutely sure he was rolling eyes at you, then helped you with the coat. “It’s gonna take more than putting words in my mouth to make me want to leave you here all by yourself, you know.”

You were quite sure a dirty joke was hiding in there, but it eluded your tired brain.

“Damn, need to up my game then,” you giggled, leaning against the wall to take the shoes off without losing your balance. “Nah, I’m messing with you, I’m grateful you got me out of there. Can’t wait to rinse that hospital stench off of me.”

“Do you want me to run a bath for you?”

You mused over the idea for a moment, “Thanks, I’ll take a shower - two minutes tops and I’d end up asleep in the ‘tub.” Probably even faster, considering that you already were running on fumes. “Anyway, make yourself at home, gonna grab some fresh clothes.”

Neil was not willing to give up.

“I’ll get you--”

“I’ve got this,” you uttered, instantly hating yourself for how harsh it came out, so you quickly added, “But would you please put the kettle on?” sending an apologetic grimace along with your words.

“On it.”

He seemed happy to have something to do. Or at least sounded like it as he took the crackling grocery and takeaway bags to the kitchenette.

You walked across the room with confidence, your hand reluctantly extended ahead on your waist level just in case you miscalculated the route to the bedroom. When you reached the door frame, you smiled to yourself. It wasn’t that hard, was it? Almost like going to the bathroom at night, not willing to put the light on to avoid waking up, right?

And exactly then, your shin hit the edge of the bed footboard, the impact sending a searing wave of pain up your whole leg. You bit your knuckle to stifle a groan and a curse that was bound to follow. Every. Goddamn. Time.

The noises coming from the other room stopped, but luckily there was no question. Nor a hero coming to rescue you from the sudden and vicious attacks of furniture.

Finally, the closet. Your fingers ran through the folded clothes. Clean underwear. A soft t-shirt. Comfy pj pants. The fatigue was so severe that the term dress to impress didn’t even cross your mind. Not that Neil cared, right? But before you stepped back from the wardrobe, you hesitated, sliding your hands down to one of the bottom drawers. All that boring into nothingness was straining, and keeping your eyes closed all the time felt wrong, somehow. Might as well, you shrugged, pulling out a silky blindfold. Maybe this would trick your brain into thinking it was just a game. A temporary thing. Nothing serious.

...but what if--

You took a shaky breath and slammed the closet shut. Swallowing with effort, you took the clothes and limped out of the room, then followed the wall to the bathroom.

Neil’s concerned voice reached you halfway there.

“You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said and flashed your teeth in a strained grin.

“Let me know if you need anything, all right?”

A change of strategy, then. You certainly didn’t mind, at least this way it didn’t trigger the unnecessarily rude reaction. And you had a feeling that you were going to need a pair of eyes to take care of those bruises of yours.

...or you could just follow the radiating ache and slap some gel where it hurts most, but at this point, as the painkillers were slowly wearing off, it would probably be easier to just pour the whole tube on the tiles and roll over in it.

“Will do, thanks.”

You closed the door behind you and sighed. The undressing required an accompaniment of grunts, hisses and curses, and when you finally got into the shower (hitting yourself only once while doing so) you were all sweaty and panting as if you’d run up twenty flights of stairs.

You winced as the warm water poured over your body, but you couldn’t wait to get rid of the lingering smell of antiseptics. Using soap uncovered the injured spots with a burning precision, but you gritted your teeth and soldiered through it, changing position slightly so you wouldn’t cause more damage with shampoo and conditioner. Condemning your past self for choosing a matching set of hair products, you were forced to guess and pick one to pour a little bit of it on your hand to judge which is which based on the texture of the fluid. Why did you even bother…?

When you were done and more or less dry, you put on the panties and wrapped another towel around yourself. A slow thumping in your head was growing stronger by the minute, but it was still bearable. As for taking care of the bruises… you realized you didn’t even know where the arnica ointment was. You’d bought one on your way just in case, but that meant--

You groaned and rubbed an eye with the back of your hand. Help it was, then.

“Neil?” you called out, cracking open the door.

A sudden rumble of a chair made you cringe, but a corner of your mouth twitched.

“What is it?” he asked as his rushed steps carried him closer.

“Could you help me with putting something on the most banged-up spots, please?” - a sheepish smile crept on your lips - “I thought about just mixing some cream with my lotion and rubbing it all over, but--”

He scoffed as if the idea personally offended him. “Jesus, please don’t. I’ll be right back.”

Your legs seemed to weigh a tonne, but also started to shake as though they were about to give in any moment, so you sat back on the edge of a bathtub with relief.

Neil came back after a while and muffled clanking suggested he brought a full medkit with him. You waited as he washed his hands thoroughly, and you stifled an amused giggle at the dedication, even though it was nothing more but common sense.

Neil’s soft voice broke the silence. “I’m gonna take a look at those wounds first, but for that, I need to touch you, is it okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you shrugged. “I imagine you can’t do plenty without that, huh?”

A light chuckle. “Fair enough.” And featherlike touches that followed.

Careful fingers examining every bruised inch of skin, starting from the freshly hurt shin, scraped knees, going up your thighs until they met the edge of the towel. Then, ghosting over your hands, unhurriedly moving up the forearms…

You realized your breath got shaky.

He tucked a still quite damp strand of hair behind your ear and his fingertips glided over your forehead and down your temple, traced your jawline up to your chin. His knuckles grazed your neck, then moved across your collarbones, but when they met the towel again, Neil hesitated.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?” you joked playfully and untucked the corner of the towel, letting it slide down your body.

A sharp inhale and a slipped-out curse.

“Christ…” uttered Neil, and you were quite sure what he was referring to. Your hip pulsated with dull pain in the place where the oxygen container had been, or rather where it must have moved to during the escape, bruising the hip bone and surrounding area at the impact.

You forced a crooked smile to your face. “And here I was hoping it looked better than it felt.”

“I can always lie to you if you want,” he offered, aiming for a lighter tone.

Shaking your head, you nibbled on your bottom lip. Somehow, the sole thought of him lying to you seemed like a certain heartache.

“No.” Your voice sounded weak, but maybe that was understandable, given how powerless you felt overall. Or maybe you could stop being so pathetic any moment now.

You closed your eyes, and while you tried to parley with your brain to give you a break, Neil started meticulously treating your wounds, focused on not causing any more discomfort than it was needed. You switched all your attention to his ministrations, grimacing slightly from time to time as he was tending particularly sore spots. Neil’s warm fingers contrasted with the cold ointment, all the different sensations fought a merciless battle to take precedence over one another, making even more of a mess in your tired head.

You heard Neil shifting in front of you as he was about to move to your injured face. Acting on an impulse, you spread your legs to allow him to come closer, and so he did, positioning himself on his knees between your thighs without a word. Quite a concentration, you thought and smiled fondly to your memories of the times you’d seen him so committed to a task. Slightly furrowed brows, blonde strands falling into shining blue eyes, with a bottom lip tugged between the teeth...

A brief touch on your temple brought you back to reality and you gasped, reaching out to hold on to Neil to keep your balance. As you rested your hands on his sides, he gently cupped your face and continued with taking care of the bruises. It felt as if the warmth radiating from him was mending you whole, even more so when it got combined with tender, soothing brushes of Neil’s thumb against your cheek. You melted into his palm and exhaled slowly, dropping your shoulders and relaxing.

Before you could stop the words from spilling out, you said under your breath, “It was just a fall, I don’t know how it got that bad,” voicing the thought that’s been on your head all day.

Neil pulled back abruptly and the tranquil moment shattered like glass against the bathroom tiles.

“Are you being serious right now? Just a fall? You’re lucky you’re alive, goddamnit, let alone able to walk!” Disbelief mixed with anger in his tone, taking you aback. And to your surprise, it felt like yet another wound, inflicted right at your chest. “Y-you hit the wall before you crashed on the ground, you--” his voice broke and Neil sighed. You heard him packing the medkit, simply tossing things inside before he moved away.

“Oh,” was all you could say, reaching for the abandoned towel to wrap it over your shoulders, in a sudden and desperate need to cover yourself. In every way possible. “Remind me to tie a cat and a buttered slice of bread to myself the next time we do this.”

He didn’t respond to your poor attempt at lighting up the mood, instead, you heard the door handle, a deadpanned “I’ll heat up the food” and he was gone.

You had no idea where his reaction had come from. Normally, you’d have followed him straight away to confront him, but right then you felt so exhausted and helpless you just slouched in your spot, with your hands fisted on the towel, and sat like that for a while, leveling your breath. You mustered all the strength you had left, found your clothes and put them on. Then, you tied the blindfold, letting a piece of sleek material bring a shred of comfort and hide a pitiful glimmer in the corners of your eyes.

You joined Neil in the other room and sat at the table. He didn’t comment on your attire nor the choice of accessories, hell, he barely even spoke to you when he put the plate in front of you, as well as through the whole meal.

Even though you’d picked up your favourite comfort food on the way, it tasted bland, and with your stomach tied into a knot, you couldn’t force more than a few bites into your system. Judging by the sounds - or rather the lack thereof - coming from across the table, Neil’d lost his appetite too.

Finally, you cleared your throat, breaking the heavy silence. “I think I’m full,” you said and stood up, grimacing slightly.

“I’ll do the dishes, go lie down,” he said quietly. “Please.”

As if he anticipated an argument. You really had no energy for that.

“Thank you. Are you--...” you stumbled on the question, but Neil chimed in.

“I’ll be on the couch.”

...maybe it was for the best.

You nodded and turned on your heel to fetch a spare pillow and a blanket while Neil was occupied with the dishes. The ever-growing headache was becoming unbearable, but you hoped that the sweet arms of Morpheus would bring a much-needed release soon. You brushed your teeth quickly and mumbling “‘night,” you disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the door half open for god knows what reasons. Perhaps to make you feel less alone.

The plan of sleeping off the worst pain looked good on paper but proved to be too hard to execute. That bloody awful feeling of being tired beyond comprehension and still unable to doze off, right? You tossed and turned (although carefully), trying to find the most comfortable position. After a while, you took the blindfold off and curled on your side, staring into the nothingness again. Listening to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Forcing every breath through your clenched chest. Trying to focus on anything other than neverending soreness.

You heard Neil’s footsteps and how they stopped right at your door. Stalling.

And you didn’t even try pretending you were asleep. Waiting.

“Hey... I wanted to check if you need anything before I turn in for the night.”

The softness of his voice was tainted by something as if he was holding back. But you were so glad to hear it anyway.

“Actually,” you said, propping yourself on the elbow and wincing, “could you bring me one of those fancy painkillers, please? I thought I might do without for a little while but-- ...yeah, not quite.”

“Of course, coming right up.”

When Neil was back, you sat on the bed, allowing him to hand you a glass and ...a shot glass? You shook the latter slightly and something rattled inside.

“Ah, okay, smart,” you smiled with recognition. “Thanks.”

“Don’t tell me you thought it was vodka?”

A hint of amusement in his tone made you snort.

“I can’t say I would mind,” - shrugging, you swallowed the pill and washed it down with cool water - “but this is gonna be more efficient, I guess.”

You shifted in your spot to put down both glasses on a bedside table. Neil was there to make sure you actually placed them on top of it, pushing your forearm gently when you were about to create a mess.

That light touch brought a lump back to your throat. As if the awkward silence wasn’t suffocating you enough.

“If that’s all…” said Neil quietly, taking a step towards the door.

But you reached out into the darkness and found his hand.

“Neil…” you squeezed his fingers, desperately trying to convey words that eluded you. Your plea was barely a whisper. “...stay?”

The pulse pounded in your ears as the stillness that followed seemed to last forever.

Then, Neil squeezed your hand back.

“I will,” he choked out, and his thumb grazed over your knuckles. “Be right back.”

You nodded and let go of his hand, not even sure that he could see your gesture, then moved to the other side of the bed. The held-back breath escaped in a shudder as another wave of pain overrode your senses, leaving a trail of cold sweat down your spine.

A faint tock of the light switch in the other room, then footsteps and a pillow landing next to yours. Neil snuggled down, keeping his distance, and you curled again in your spot, hoping that his proximity will calm you down enough to fall asleep. But as you said your goodnights and Neil’s breath leveled and got deeper, you still waited on the pills to start working, getting more and more lost in your own head and thoughts you’d managed to keep lidded on until now.

Because if only you’d cracked that safe faster. Or maybe if you’d discussed that escape route beforehand, somebody would have found a better path through the roofs. No, scratch that, the plan was tight, and it was your goddamn fault that you’d gotten distracted by a sodding rain, of all things. And that jump? Bloody amateur hour. Should have seen that coming, stepped to the side, or caught onto anything. You’d been granted a second chance at that wall. But no, you’d had to panic like a bush-leaguer, as if it had been your first fall in your life. And now you were lying there, feeling sorry for yourself. Abso-fucking-lutely pathetic.

What if Madame Karma finally decided to make you pay? What if you were never going to get your sight back? A warm tear trickled down your face slowly. No more free runs and adrenaline rushes while taking shortcuts through the most obscure places. No more lying on the rooftops to observe how the sky changes colours through the night. No more sitting on the hill and watching how the sun reflected in the river. How it danced on that messy blonde hair. You would never see his blue eyes lighting up again--

Your chin trembled as the tears stained your pillow. It felt as if you were nothing but pain, fear, and heartbreak. Pressing your lips together, you stifled a sob that shook your body mercilessly. You were nothing.

“What’s wrong?”

You wanted to brush it off, to tell him you were okay and he could go back to sleep. But instead, you sniffled and whimpered, unable to pass any word through your tightened throat.

Neil gasped and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey, come here,” he said softly as his fingers pressed lightly onto your back, urging you to move and you shifted into his embrace, clenching your fists on his t-shirt, struggling for every breath. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” he cooed, wrapping the arms around you gingerly. A much-needed reassurance whispered over and over again like a plea to anyone who could be listening.

Weeping quietly into Neil’s chest, you sought refuge in his closeness, clinging onto him as he held you and stroked your hair, waiting for the worst to pass. Soon, you ran out of tears, and there were just sobs, convulsing you whole like a heart-wrenching hiccup. Neil hugged you a little tighter, placed a small kiss on top of your head, and started humming, a melody barely more than a murmur. It felt familiar, but why?

By and by, the song and a steady heartbeat against your cheek weaved together and calmed your racing mind. Enough to finally let you drift off, with Neil’s soothing voice and warmth enveloping you, bringing comfort and hope for a better tomorrow.

-----

You should have known better than to expect something to be different when you woke up. Swallowing down the disappointment and resignation, you dug yourself up from under the covers. The pain dialed down, but was very much there, especially during sudden moves.

Maybe you would feel better if you washed your face, still a bit puffed after all that--

…oh shit.

Your brain halted, torn between making you cringe and spreading the warmth through your chest. If you were to survive the day, the key was not to think about what happened last night. At least you didn’t have to look him in the eyes, huh? Armed with a smile, albeit a bit sour, you grabbed some clothes on your way out and ventured into the quiet living room.

“Neil?”

For a split second you were sure he was gone, but--

“Over here.” Judging by the sound of it, here was somewhere near the couch. “How are you feeling?”

Concern. Obviously. He’d seen you at your worst, so there was no point in hiding your state.

“Like I’ve spent some time inside a cement mixer,” you sighed. “But better, thanks. What time is it?”

“Almost 3 o’clock.” A faint thud of a book being put down. “Are you hungry? I was about to fix something.”

It was a good moment for your insides to growl in confirmation, but at least this time your body decided to spare you. Although your stomach was pretty much cleaving to your backbone, all right.

“Oh yes, please.” You smiled with appreciation and raised a hand with a bundle of clothes. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

That minute took a little longer, as your mobility was still pretty lacking, but fresh as a (beaten-up) daisy, in a comfortable outfit and a blindfold, you followed your nose to the kitchenette.

“Smells delicious.”

A soft chuckle came through the sizzling. “Hope it tastes good as well, wanna try?” When you nodded, you heard Neil walking up to you. “Open your mouth, careful - it’s hot.”

You recognized the rich flavor as some variation of the Napoli sauce, perfectly balanced, and you could only hum in approval. Where the hell had he gotten those herbs from?

“It’s amazing,” you said, but couldn’t resist a little smirk, “or I’m just starving.”

Neil scoffed lightly. “Might be that.” There was a smile and a hint of pride in his tone, and it made you beam a little wider. “Come sit down.”

When you did, and a bowl of pasta landed in front of you on the table, your mind involuntarily went back to last evening. That tension. Sudden distance. Everything after that. What was worse, it seemed like you weren’t the only one thinking about it, because the silence that fell between you now grew heavy with unresolved issues lingering in the air.

But maybe you were misreading the room and you were fine.

“Listen, about yesterday--”

...or not.

Instead of letting Neil finish, you panicked, and before you could stop yourself, you used his moment of hesitation to blurt out, “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I was exhausted and everything hurt and--” you frowned and hid the face in your palm. The shame felt like a tightening ring around your chest, making it hard to breathe. ”I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Wait, what?” huffed Neil, his voice filled with consternation. ”Jesus, no, that’s not what I meant, I--” he faltered and groaned, then added more softly, “Why are you even apologizing for that?” And when you shook your head, unable to find the right words, Neil gently touched your arm, rubbing it up and down slowly. “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

Your heart clenched with fondness as you palmed over his hand.

“Thank you for being there for me.”

A twist of the wrist and a light squeeze on your fingers.

“Of course.”

Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

After a moment, you asked quietly, “If it isn’t about that, then what?”

A loud buzz cut through the air, the unexpected noise almost making you jump in your seat. Impeccable timing.

Neil picked the vibrating phone from the table. “It’s work, I have to get that.” His hand was still holding yours, reluctant to let go. “If I’m not done by the time you finish eating, two words: bed rest.”

“May I make it a couch rest, doc?” you grinned, and by the resigned sigh you could tell Neil definitely rolled his eyes at you.

“Just make yourself comfy and horizontal, all right?” A final brush of his thumb against your fingers and he was up, walking off from the table. “Hi, what’s up?”

Whatever they needed him for, it took so much time that you finished your meal and obediently moved to the couch. That unfinished talk left you anxious enough to nervously pick at the edge of the blanket, but as Neil was still lost in a hushed conversation, and the aforementioned blanket was way too cosy, you slowly drifted off into a dreamless nap.

You weren’t sure what woke you up - a shift on the other side of the couch, or a heavy sigh, one of those signaling the weight of the whole world on somebody’s shoulders. Hearing the latter was enough to wipe the remains of sleep from your system and you sat up, grunting slightly.

“What is it?”

Another sigh.

“I’m an idiot.”

You puffed your cheeks and shrugged, a corner of your mouth twitching in a nervous smile.

“Before I let out a purposeful no and kick you - why are you saying that?” Silence. “...Neil?” When the answer was not coming for too long, you moved to your knees, reaching out until you touched his shoulder. No reaction. Trying to keep a rising worry at bay, you urged him quietly, “Talk to me, please.”

Neil inhaled slowly and he finally spoke, his voice barely there.

“I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked, knitting your brows together as you brushed your hand down his arm only to find his clenched fist, tightening even further under your touch.

“For yesterday, for letting it out on you, when you were just--” he paused to swallow audibly, and then continued, blurting out one strained word after another, “and all of that while this whole mess is my goddamn fault because if I hadn’t hesitated out there, we both would have made it in time--”

“No, no, no, you can’t do that to yourself,” you said, crawling into his lap and nestling between his legs, wrapping yours around his waist. “It was a perfectly normal reaction.” The pulse thumped in your ears when you placed one hand on Neil’s chest and the other one travelled up along his neck to cup his face. Then your thumb glided over a wet trail on his cheek and it felt as if your heart shattered into a million pieces. Oh please, no. “My darling...” you whispered, but it was as if Neil barely acknowledged you were there, trembling and lost.

He pressed his forehead to yours and continued, traces of dread ringing in his hollow tone more and more with every choked-out sentence.

“When I turned back and I saw that--….at first, I thought you’d been shot, then you fell and-- suddenly all I could think was if your oxygen container was intact, or--... I called the Cavalry on the way down but I was so scared I was too late, I thought--” his voice broke and you felt him frowning as he shuddered, struggling to carry on. “I thought that you were gone, and I didn’t--”

His heart raced under your palm while you kept stroking his cheek, consoling him softly, “Neil, I’m here, it’s all right, I’m here.” But when that didn’t seem like enough to bring him back to you, you reached to his neck to pull him closer and kissed him, desperate to make him stop spiralling down. To make him stop hurting.

A muffled whine against your lips. But then you felt him melt and he kissed you back, still helpless, wrapping his arms around you carefully as if he expected you to fall apart under his touch. Not quite there. You deepened the kiss purposefully, burying your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands as you pressed yourself to him as much as you could in your position. You didn’t care about your own pain or discomfort. If any of you were meant to be lost in any way, it might as well be this. Neil gasped and lifted you up so you properly straddled him, then tightened the embrace, clinging on to you for dear life as he captured you in another kiss, and this time it was his turn to try to convey the unbearable mixture of despair, relief, and immense longing. All of that poured into this simple act of devotion until there was nothing but pure need. To touch and to be touched. To hold and to be held. To be close. To be wanted. To be found.

A breathless moan escaped your mouth and Neil pulled back ever so slightly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, his fingertips gliding over your features.

Oh, how much you missed looking into his eyes.

The fact that he cared, without simply going ahead with it, made your chest clench with fondness. At this point, you trusted him beyond reason, although it was still nice to hear it.

“I’m not made of glass,” you huffed, nuzzling his nose.

A low hum and a trail of kisses along your jawline. You shivered when his lips reached a spot just below your ear and then smiled against your skin.

“Are you sure?” his husky voice was playful, but you knew he was double-checking.

“Try me.”

That moment was not about chasing the high. It was about feeling each other. Being with one another. As close as possible. That couldn’t wait, and neither could any of you, tugging at the clothes in random order with urgency.

Neil looped his arm around your shoulders, settling you on your side in his embrace. Keeping you steady. Safe. Close. And even though his kisses were desperate and leaving you winded, his touch was gentle, and you knew the blue eyes were watching you attentively, ready to react to the smallest sign of discomfort. But also to any encouragement to go further.

A hitched breath. A leg hooked on his hip. Fingers dragged across his back.

He was ready to give you everything and take whatever you were willing to offer. And you wanted to do the same for him until everything else lost its meaning and it was just you and him, and the fire that burned inside you. Searing every nerve. Cleansing the doubts. Numbing the pain. Lighting up the darkness. And, in the end, bringing resolution as you both came undone, moaning and gasping for air only to be comforted by hands cupping cheeks and yet another kiss. Slow. Tender. Full of admiration.

When Neil drew back and shifted slightly, you whined in protest, wrapping your leg around him tighter to keep him in place.

“Where are you going?”

A quiet chuckle, followed by a feeling of a soft blanket sliding over your naked body. And a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You sighed with content as Neil pulled you closer again. The light stubble scratched your fingers as they studied the impossible angles of his face unhurriedly.

“Good.”

(next chapter ->)

[freddiefcknmercury]

A Promise(part 2)- Crimson & Clover

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader(Black coded/Genderless)

Word Count: 2.7+

Warnings/Disclaimer: SMUT. ANGST. cursing. mild depression/heart-ache. etc etc. if something needs to be tagged please lemme know.

A/N: LOL I'm back on my bullshit yall. heavy angst/depression from the previous Steve centered storyline so if you haven't read "You really think I didn't know?" I'll do some magic linky links here and at the bottom just in case. Also I'm trying something kinda different with the way I post the fics so feedback is welcome.

ALSO this one comes with a tiny playlist! there are Bolded lyrics throughout if you want to get a deeper sense of where I was emotionally writing this and where reader is as well you can Def give these songs a listen, they are in order of appearance:

Crimson & Clover- Tommy James & The Shondells

Every Time I Breathe- Arlissa

Navy Blue - Hasani

Summary: Bucky takes an extended leave for "work" related reasons and reader slips back into some dark places in his absence...

~*As always, be Nice to me I’m Delicate*~

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He said he might be gone most of the week. Sam called the day before and all you know is it's something important. He didn't go into detail, just packed a bag and you'd never seen him do that before. But he was also only gone a day or two at a time and never felt the need to tell you about it before now either.

Up until recently you'd tip-toe around each other. Not like you used to with Steve though, worse. Bucky is a lot better at making sure you don't know he's there until it's too late. It felt like you'd never get used to each other, or more likely that you'd never want to. You might've still been secretly hoping that he'd stop caring and go away... after a while you got tired of your own bullshit and realized he's giving off that vibe on purpose. Wordlessly telling you how you should feel about him, not wanting to get too close. You never much liked being told what to do.

It was only about two months before you became a Barnes' expert. You'd sit up at night listening intently for when he'd shower, get in bed, or wake up. He never slept more than five maybe six hours at a time, you'll never understand how he can function like that. You know how he likes his coffee, which angle he holds his cup. How and where he takes off his shoes, how much ice he puts in a drink, the way he likes to cut his toast, and what time he has to do all of it. There's an almost unnerving pattern to him, one that's always been there and you were just unwilling to notice for so long, and you're not sure if he's even aware of it.

You woke up to him already gone. You knew he was leaving but actually being left alone like that unsettled you more than you anticipated, a serious case of Deja vu. You went into your routine like normal, because everything still was, but by the fifth day... you stepped into the front room and got that empty feeling. One you hadn't really had since...

It stopped you for a few seconds longer than you liked and a large knot formed in your stomach. You spent the whole day trying to ignore the feeling but it only got worse. Like a hunger pain but much more vague, crawling through each muscle. You'd catch yourself staring at his room, Bucky's room but also... Steve's. It's the first time you let yourself admit to him fully crossing your mind in over a year.

You laid up in bed, trying to count the metaphorical sheep to no avail. Getting up thinking that a snack or a warm drink will stop the restlessness, you pause in the tiny hallway shared by your bedrooms. The low blue light from the moon outside dustily illuminating the space through  a cloudy bathroom window. You stare at the door like any second he's going to ask what you're doing up so late and you can tell him to mind his own business while pouring two cups of tea.

You just wanted to touch the knob; turn it to make sure it still works- that you're still "allowed in there if you want". But stepping inside was too far, an invasion of Bucky's privacy, and you felt it. But you couldn't help yourself. You needed to know.

They were definitely cut from the same cloth. Sparse furnishings and no decorations, save a few very small trinkets he'd held onto from who knows where. There is exactly one row on his bookshelf filled with composition notebooks that were beat to hell and back. Sticky notes lined the edge of most of the pages, so much so that they easily could've been mistaken for feathers on a quick glance. You dare not touch them. Observing someone with a past that checkered is very different to reading into the things they deem worthy of physically writing down.

Where Steve used to leave small drawings and notes Bucky left half empty ink pens and a few well used pairs of gloves. You saunter to the far corner of the room and caress a worn leather jacket hanging precariously on the lowest peg of a coat rack. Doing a slow sweep of the space something in the otherwise barren closet catches your eye. The knot in your stomach that had almost disappeared was back and it brought friends. Your shirt. His shirt. The big one that said BROOKLYN across the front, what you didn't know was your "going away gift." The one you balled up and shoved in the top corner of his closet, at the time hoping you'd never look at it again. You're amazed that it's still here, that Bucky hadn't tossed it out or tried to give it back to you when he moved in.

So you put it on. You're still not sure why but you needed to wear it. To feel it drape over your skin, enveloping you in warmth and that beautiful clean familiar scent you... loved once. It sent a shiver down your spine. The knots in your stomach were gone but now there's one in your throat. You can feel the tears seated right behind your eyes. You sit on the bed holding your face pleading with the water to stay put but it's too late. You miss him. You hate to admit it, but it's true and it always has been. You're angry and you should be, you loved him- you thought he might've loved you. Pulling the hem of the shirt up you wipe the tears off your face and fall into a pillow, trying to calm yourself out of your rage unintentionally drifting into sleep.

*****************************************************

You wake up to the sound of music in the kitchen.

...Ah, now I don't hardly know her, but I think I could love her...

You sit up quickly checking your phone: 11:34am. You'd fallen asleep in Bucky's room, in his bed. A blanket had been placed over you and a short scan of the room returned a brown leather duffel bag and set of black boots that weren't present last night. He'd come back early this morning and found you here. You can feel your heart fall straight out of your ass, the void that was left being filled with pure embarrassment. Is he angry? He did tuck you in...

As slowly and quietly as possible you make your way towards the door, poking your head out just enough to assess the situation. You can see his back in the kitchen, he's hovering over the sink. You notice the couch, the spare blanket and pillow from the bathroom closet folded neatly on one of the arm rests, he had to sleep there. The void gets deeper. You pull the door open just enough to slip out of and there's a quiet creak. Steve never did fix that, and you just figured out why.

Bucky didn't turn around but definitely noticed. He steps to the side, now in front of the stove and you here something crack and sizzle. You're not sure what to do here. You can try to apologies and explain but there's no un-embarrassing way out of this one. You fold your arms over your stomach trying to hold all your very delicate pieces together while you attempt to speak up. Finally reaching the bar and fully prepared to say good morning when he quickly sets a hot bowl down in front of you. White rice and a fried egg- runny yolk. You'd make it for breakfast when you'd get up early or couldn't sleep, a friend from school put you on to it. Looks like he's been studying you too. You make eye contact but, just briefly. From what little of the expression you get on his face nothing indicates that he's mad. But he hasn't said anything to the contrary either.

How was your trip?  Dangerous I bet-sorry you couldn't come home and sleep in your own goddamn bed! Oh?! AND you made me breakfast!

You feel like a crazy person.

"Comfy last night?"

He's pouring himself some coffee, not yet turning your way. There's no hostility in his voice.

You chuckle nervously.

"Yeah.. sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it."

He sets a small glass of juice down in front of you. Heavy eye contact this time, but his expression is soft. He didn't ask for an explanation and you really didn't want to give him one. But you still feel guilt looming over you. You take the glass in both hands and nurse it.

He nods at you with a squint, taking a big sip of coffee.

"If I knew that was yours I would've given it back."

The shirt. You forgot you actually put it on. You hold your breath stroking the fabric gently. Contemplating your next words.

"It's not- well, not really."

He raises an eyebrow.

"It was a gift, so I guess it does belong to me..."

Glancing back down at it you can see him realize it says "Brooklyn." His expression changes to a knowing one and it reads like regret but he quickly tries to box it back up for you. This is a new move for him.

There's a much longer pause in conversation than either of you would like before he shifts his weight awkwardly.

"Sorry."

You push glass, now empty back across the bar towards him.

"Don't worry about it-"

You swivel in your seat quickly, taking your bowl and getting up to leave. He steps out from the kitchen after you.

"Thanks for breakfast."

The tears had been welling up and started to pour over as you left. You're still in no state to pretend to be a functioning person right now. Trying to save him from your ugly cry face by escaping but he grabs your shoulder gently suggesting you backwards.

You cover your mouth to hush a sob. You can see your chest start heave but there's nothing you can do to stop yourself. He grabs the bowl setting it down carefully, then you feel a warm metal sensation squeezing the back of your neck.

"You don't have to be over it."

He's been back a couple hours and already knows you're still a mess. You scoff, laughing at yourself really.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing."

He whispered back quickly, exasperated, but tender.

You sniffle; pathetic.

"That's not how it feels."

"He fucked up. He just doesn't know it."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you into his embrace.

It's nice to feel another person. A real solid human being; you can't remember the last time you hugged someone like this. You turn in his arms to face him. He looks tired. Not just 'had-to-sleep-on-an-old-couch' tired. Emotionally repressed. Maybe he has actually wanted to talk to you. He pulls you into him, it's just a hug  but it almost hurt how sweet this was.

Then a thought came to you, not really sure how, you can't handle more rejection right now; but you kissed him anyway, hard. Like him being gone almost killed you- because it did. He pulls away from you, just a little, reading your face his own expressionless. You search his eyes for any kind of hint as to what's going on inside his mind. You're not ready to admit this was a mistake yet. There's no real way to know how long you stood there like that. You only dare to move after you hear the song change in the background.

Words... thought they just fade away

but hurt... gave them a place to stay

"Do something."

You were sure it was just in your head but it creaked out past your lips in less than a whisper, pleading with him.

He covered your mouth with his, smoothing both hands down your neck to your shoulders gripping them gently, intently. You cling to his waist almost afraid to explore anywhere else, then slowly drag nails along his back. He pulls you back into him, you want to fuse with the warmth radiating off of his body, he bends and you collide onto the floor with a muffled thud. He cradles your head quickly so you don't get hurt but you wouldn't care at this point.

The way you fit into each other is unnerving, like your bodies weren't meant for anybody else. You both scramble to undress him in between breathy wet kisses and he's... magnificent. He pulls off his shirt and you swiftly run fingers from his neck down each arm. The metal one is warm, this surprises you for some reason. You watch as each "muscle" dances at your touch and you catch a small glimpse of something on his face that resembles insecurity... or fear. He shelves it quickly in response to you bucking your hips up to dismiss your underwear.

He buries his face in your neck, warm breaths ghosting your skin. Hooking his hands behind your knees he hoists your legs up around his waist. He bites down gently and you gasp. It's too much. He's everywhere, all at once. The last person to touch you event remotely close to this was-

"...Steve."

It just came out, you almost didn't notice it. Bucky stops, pulling back and away. He scans you, a pitiful, panting mess on the floor. The most vulnerable you've probably ever been and definitely in front of him. He shakes his head slowly once, chest heaving.

"No."

Knots line your stomach once again. He grabs your wrist to hold your arms in place up above your head and presses his forehead against yours.

"Look at me."

You hold eye contact there for a solid minute, you're sure of it. He leans forward delicately dragging teeth against your ear.

"You're gonna keep saying it until you can't forget."

He drops his hips and lines up with your entrance. You feel a thick wash of euphoria from the pressure, throwing your head back as much as possible given the floor. You roll your hips along to his, cradling each other perfectly.

His eyes didn't leave your face until you both feel your legs begin to tremble.

"Oh Bucky."

The only words you can remember.

You feel every stroke hasten and all his muscles tighten each time his name falls from your lips. He pulls your shirt up to your neck looking to spatter kisses and bite marks across your torso. You futilely dig one set of nails into the floor and the other in his shoulder as he hungrily growls into your stomach, cursing, longing for mercy.

"Fuck."

You pull him back up to your face demanding his tongue. You hear the floorboard creek from the pressure of a metal hand, the flesh one surely bruising your hip by now. There's a deep enduring moan from the back of his throat as he finds his release inside you. You gasp at the sensation and you both pant into each other, nothing but a mess on the floor now.

He presses a long, firm kiss into the bridge of your nose then falls gently on his back beside you. You roll your head up to look at his face, whatever it is he's feeling isn't immediately obvious as he stares up at the ceiling. You shift onto your side placing a light, cautious hand on his chest and he glances over at you, reaching to squeeze your thigh reassuringly.

The sky is Navy Blue soon to be baby blue and baby you got nothing but time...

He looks over your face in a deep sigh before retiring his gaze to the ceiling.

"I don't know him... The guy that left you like that."

You watch intently has his jaw clenched, he's never been able to hide that bit very well.

"I don't know what kind of..."

He trails off, clearly upset.

You sigh deeply.

"I was gonna die that night."

He rolls his head back to look at you.

"The day I met him? I had pretty much made up my mind."

You start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Almost reminiscent.

"But he found me in the staircase..."

You hate how subtly he did some things. If you weren't lying next to him. There's no way you'd ever be able to tell his breathing had changed.

"Essentially-"

You pick your head up, chin on his sternum.

"He saved my life."

You state matter of factually. You watch his body relax in a short, bitter way.

He rolls his head over just enough to look you in the eyes. You kiss his chest once tenderly before moving to stand up. You extend a hand down for him to grab.

"That isn't good for your back."

"You really think I didn't know?" Part1

[elisaphoenix13]

Mama Bear Drabble 52

Prompt: "Just trust me."

By: @funkylittlebidiot

Lucy was already down for the count, and knowing her, she’d probably sleep through the night, despite already having slept most of the day away. Val was still struggling with sleeping the entire night in her own room, but they’d gotten to a point where she’d at least sleep in her own bed for a few hours before waking up and sneaking into the master bedroom.

Tony was still in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hand as he waited for Stephen to come home. There was a chance he wouldn’t make it tonight, but Tony didn’t feel like going to bed yet anyway.

There was some noise coming from upstairs, probably Peter and Harley being awake still. It was only a little past midnight, after all.

Tony huffed in amusement at how having two small children had changed his sleeping patterns over the last few years. It wasn’t long ago that he’d considered midnight as the start of the night instead of the end of the day.

Taking another sip, he pushed away from the counter and headed up the stairs. The murmuring was indeed coming from Harley’s room, but he opened Dia and Val’s room anyway to make sure they were still sleeping peacefully.

Surprisingly, the room wasn’t dark after all. Val’s bed was the closest to the door, and Tony could clearly see the little girl was still fast asleep. The bed behind it was lit up by the reading lamp on the bedside table.

“Piccola, put your book away. It’s time to sleep,” he whispered as he walked around Val’s bed, his oldest daughter’s head snapping up as she noticed him.

She pouted but obeyed and put her marker in the book before placing it on the bedside table. Tony leaned down so he could tug her blanket closer around her as she laid her head down on the pillow, and he combed her hair out of the way before placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Buona notte,” he muttered, turning off the light as he walked away from her bed, dousing the room in darkness.

Closing the door to the girls’ room, he walked across the hall to stick his head into Harley’s bedroom.

Once again, he was surprised by what he found - Peter was lying facedown on the floor, Harley’s feet resting on his back as the older kid sat in his desk chair with a book in his hands.

He backed out of the room, deciding not to ask, and turned to head back down the stairs.

Walking into the kitchen, he placed his now-empty coffee mug on the counter next to the sink and rubbed a hand over his face.

He missed Stephen - even though they’d seen each other that morning. The morning rush of wrestling the kids into cooperating and being taken care of before Stephen had to leave could hardly count as ‘quality time’. It had been like that for the last few days, and he could only be glad that Val seemed to have outgrown her separation anxiety - or at least was content to latch onto William when she knew Mommy had to work.

He perked up when he finally heard the familiar whizzing of a portal opening in the living room, but, of course, right at that moment, a crash sounded from upstairs.

Lucy would most likely sleep through it, but he could already hear the girls’ door opening.

Groaning, Tony rushed into the living room, quickly making up his mind as he grabbed Stephen’s wrist and pulled him towards the elevator.

“What-,“ his husband spluttered, eyes clearly drooping in exhaustion and confusion at being dragged away right after coming home. “Tony-“

“Just trust me,” Tony sighed, pulling him into the elevator and pressing the ‘up’ button. He was glad he was still wearing his earpiece, so he could confirm with FRIDAY that the boys were already frantically trying to get the girls back in bed before ‘Mom and Dad notice’ without alerting his husband.

It probably wouldn’t be too bad upstairs, but he just wanted two goddamn minutes alone with Stephen - and now Val was awake, he knew she wouldn’t let go of Stephen any time soon if she noticed him finally home. Stephen would definitely cave and let her spend the night in their bedroom.

“What about the children?” Stephen mumbled, still taken aback as the elevator slid closed in front of them.

“They’re taken care of.” Tony shrugged, not wasting any more time in pulling Stephen against him in a long-overdue hug.

Tony smiled in satisfaction as Stephen immediately melted against him, letting out a long sigh of release. His husband’s body around him immediately relieved the tension that had been slowly but steadily building since the last moment they’d gotten for just the two of them. Tony loved their kids to death, but during moments like this, he missed the time when it was just the two of them. He missed spending time with Stephen when it could so often be sparse. There wasn’t much time left in between taking care of the children, Stark Industries, Earth, and the mystical world.

He missed getting take out for two and eating it at the coffee table while some shitty movie played that wasn’t produced by Disney. He missed when they used to cook together and it was fun instead of a chore. He missed the two of them sitting at their empty dinner table in their empty penthouse - Tony doing his paperwork while Stephen did research.

He missed it, not because he preferred it, but because it allowed them to talk about things other than groceries and kids’ schedules and the best diapers brand. Missed it because it allowed them to focus entirely on each other for an extended period of time.

The elevator stopped, and Tony pulled away to type in the passcodes needed for the doors to slide open onto the roof terrace.

He’d locked it after Peter’s sleepwalking incident, the very thought of any of their kids being up there now still giving him nightmares. Though he hadn’t been there since, himself, and the sight sent an unpleasant chill of memory through him, he had to admit the view was lovely.

Being up this high, they could just see the hint of stars despite the light pollution tinting the night sky in an orange glow, and the noises of the city were softened by the distance.

There was still a set of deck chairs standing off to the side that hadn’t been used since before the snap, and though they hadn’t used the roof as a terrace since that dreadful night when Peter had felt like skydiving, Tony was glad they were still up here now. They were clean enough as it had rained recently, the grit washing away through the slats, and Tony lay down on one, pulling a confused Stephen down with him.

“What’s going on?” He asked as he was pulled down and let out a little ‘umf’ when he fell against Tony’s chest. “Not that this isn’t very nice but why are we here.”

The cloak had been so quiet till now that Tony had barely noticed its presence - it must be exhausted too (if mystical objects even get tired. Tony could have sworn he'd caught it snoozing in a closet once.) - but it spread out now, covering the both of them like a blanket.

“I missed you,” Tony replied, pressing a kiss to Stephen’s crown where it was tucked underneath his chin.

Stephen chuckled, and Tony had a feeling he was rolling his eyes. “Okay, but we have a warm and comfortable bed downstairs. You could welcome me back there.”

“Meh,” Tony shrugged, “Pretty sure we have bedbugs.”

“Uhu.” Stephen hummed, and Tony could tell that despite his protest, he was perfectly comfortable and close to dozing off.

“Tell me about your day,” Tony demanded quietly, tightening his arms around his husband and pulling him closer in the process.

And Stephen did, until they both dozed off to the sound of each others voices.

[itsnsfwalways]

Canyon Moon

FIC MASTERLIST

warnings for ch 3: mentions of drug use (weed), swearing, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), a hint of degradation if you squint

chapter 3: you’re so golden

The sun hitting your eyes was the first thing that woke you up, the warmth inviting, but also very bright. Scrunching you’re face up, you tug the blanket over your head, turning to the side and taking a deep breath in. You find giving your body a few minutes to wake up before you force yourself out of bed makes you feel so much more awake and in a good mood.

Stretching your back, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and roll out of bed, trudging to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth.

Yawning as you walk into the kitchen, you make yourself an iced coffee before starting on breakfast. Putting on Rumours, you sing quietly to yourself while making a scramble with a bunch of veggies to get your greens in early.

Heading back to your room with hot sauce in hand, you light some incense and take a few bong rips before eating your breakfast quietly on the window sill. That was something you absolutely LOVED about your room, the edge of the window was just wide enough for you to sit (or lay down) and admire the view of palm trees and beautiful blue skies.

Opening up Misery, you finish a few chapters and mindlessly eat for a bit, listening to the birds chirp and the buzz of the city waking up. Once you finish your food, you go sit cross legged on your meditation pillow, facing the floor length mirror as you make sure your posture is straight. Putting on your favorite meditation music, which, at the moment, is 432hz Healing Tones, you take a deep breath in, clearing your mind and allowing the sun and healing vibrations to roll over you. You imagine yourself breathing in healing energy and nothing but love, and exhaling all of the stuck, negative energy, trying to ‘push’ it out with your breath. Sometimes it felt a bit silly, but if it made you feel loads better, why not do it?

About twenty minutes pass before you slowly blink open your eyes, yawning quietly before going into child’s pose, stretching your back and hips after sitting for so long.

Lying down on your back on the mat, you stare up at the ceiling, feeling an overall sense of being okay. Your body feels good, your mind feels good, your stomach’s full of butterflies that make you smile and blush at the thought of seeing Harry in a bit.

Pulling yourself up with a grunt, you throw on a swim suit and a random pair of shorts, not caring to bring a real top. After applying a bit of sunscreen on your face and shoulders, you slide into your flip flops and fill up a water bottle before heading out the door.

Unlocking Sunflower, you sit on the edge of the side door while sliding on your scuffed white rollerskates with obnoxiously bright blue wheels. They were your pride and joys, and made you feel as if you were in a different time, enjoying the breeze on your cheeks as you skate towards your spot. The journey only took about 15 minutes, with minimal stumbles, so it was already turning out to be a great day.

Finally pulling up to the small lot, you squat down to pull of your skates, putting them behind a rock along with your socks and shorts. You shook your head as you sprinted towards the ocean, leaping into the freezing water. It was the only way you were able to get in, you were never one to wade slowly in. Swimming about half a mile out, the waves crash over you coolly, soothing your quickly warming body. It was going to be a hot day today, good to know. Treading water, you look at the coast, everything looking so small. You made sure to breathe in, capturing this exact moment in memory. The feeling of salty water on your skin, wet hair stuck to your neck and the slight burn in your arms, but this was it. This was pure bliss.

But, you’re also not insane, so after a bit you swim back to shore, spending about ten minutes doing handstands and flips before getting out, wringing out your hair on your way up the beach. Climbing up the pile of large rocks next to cliff, you lay on top of a relatively flat one, allowing your body to dry off for a little bit and give you a few extra moments of sun.

You always hated dusting off your feet for forever before getting back in your socks and skates, but rather that than get sand in them.

“Fuck, I really am killing it today,” you pant to yourself, definitely feeling a burning in your thighs as you start heading home, desperately wanting a shower and some chocolate.

Throwing your skates in Sunflower, you slam the door closed and trudge up the steps to the apartment, practically falling over as you enter the door.

Laura looks up from her phone, perched on the countertop eating a bowl of cereal.

“Look at you, sexy girl, how was the water?” She teases, handing you a banana from the counter immediately because she knows you need it.

“Good,” you sigh, taking a bite and moaning, leaning against the wall for a minute in silence.

“When’s your date with Harry again?” She asks, glancing at the clock.

Oh fuck.

The clock read 10:30.

“Okay, that’s not bad, I just need to get my ass in gear,” you convince yourself, throwing the banana away and grabbing a spoonful of peanut butter. You didn’t have time to make yourself anything else, plus you were eating with Harry soon anyways.

“You got this. Do I get to meet him?” Laura encourages, raising her thumbs at you.

You laugh and nod. “Absolutely, just don’t ask about his exes or I’m going to look crazy.”

“Got it, no exes. Get in the shower, you’re dripping everywhere!”

You run upstairs, yelling back, “I’ll clean it up,” as you head into your room, turning on Currents by Tame Impala to pump you up as you shower, quickly washing your hair and body, shaving the itty bitty stubble just in case.

Running some curl cream through your hair, you try and scrunch and dry your hair as fast as possible, which doesn’t really work, but at least you tried.

A bathrobe envelopes you as you sit down at your small vanity, starting on a little bit of makeup. Dabbing a bit of concealer on your undereyes and small blemishes, you keep it semi-natural with just bronzer, blush, and highlighter, admittedly a ton, but who’s to say. Brushing your brows out and filling in the ends a little darker, all that goes on your eyes is a brown eyeshadow and a beautiful gold pigment, then comes drenching your eyelashes in mascara.

You turn your attention back to your hair, thank god you were having extremely good luck today, because it fell perfectly, the layers framing your face so elegantly that you had to smile at your reflection. Self-love is a journey, and you were glad to be in a good space.

Checking your phone finally, you find a text from Harry, sent 2 hours ago. Whoops.

Good morning, Y/N, just wanted to make sure we’re still on for 12. Hope you slept well.

Well, it’s confirmed, you’re a completely asshole. It’s 11:15 and you still haven’t responded to a text about a date happening at NOON.

AHH IM SO SORRY hi harry ! i don’t check my phone for a while in the mornings, i’m the worst, i know. we definitely are still on, haha, noon still work for you ?

You throw your phone on your bed while you stare at your closet, trying to find a good outfit for today.

Eventually coming to a pair of high waisted white shorts that you got from your mom, thankfully having the same waistline as her in high school, and a light blue silk tank top with gold straps. Planning on wearing your black boots with the gold detailing, because, hey, it seems you’ve got to up your fashion game dealing with Harry, you place them next to your bedroom door before checking your phone.

You scared me for a minute, I was about to go eat a very sad lunch by myself. I’m going to start heading over, that alright by you?

You giggle quietly at his response, typing out,

sounds great :) i’m planning on wearing a pair of boots, should i bring sandals or anything ?

Woah, trying to outdress me?

He sends the next one moments later.

Just teasing, boots will be fine. We’re going to this cafe I really like.

of course i’m going to out dress you, who do you think i am ? and awesome !! see you in a bit !!

You grab a small black bag, putting your sunglasses case, gum, keys, wallet, chapstick, lighter, your dab pen (you never know), and a small rollerball perfume inside. Sliding in some gold hoops and placing your rings back on your fingers, you wiggle them a bit. They always look a bit naked without them on.

Putting on your boots, you head into the bathroom to brush your teeth once more before Harry arrives. But nope, the doorbell, rings as soon as you start brushing your molars.

“Shit,” you gasp, heading over to the door, toothbrush in hand.

You swing open the door and rush out, “Hey, Harry, I’ll be out in two seconds, come on in.”

Taking in his appearance, you grin at the white sunglasses pushed in his hair. Wearing a white t shirt, it’s tucked into a pair of blue pants that matches your shirt to a goddamn T, which you can’t help but laugh at as you walk away. Passing Laura in the hallway, you give her a look as she walks over to him.

Their conversation travels through your open door as you finish brushing your teeth.

“You must be Laura,” Harry starts, and you can just see him reaching his hand out.

“I am, it’s great to meet you,” she says, her smile bleeding into her voice.

“You have a beautiful home, so close to the beach too,” Harry compliments.

“Thank you, yeah, Y/N found this place forever ago and we’ve been living here since we moved out. My dad knew the landlord and they gave us a ridiculously low price for it, but I am not complaining.”

“Oh that’s sick, I’ve been in Malibu for just a bit, always kind of changing my location around LA and England.”

“That was what we thought we were going to do, but I definitely am glad we stayed here. Living in the city is fun and all, but it’s a lot, you know? We need our peace and quiet at home.”

You walk back out, purse and phone in hand, taking in their positioning. Laura’s sitting on a stool, cup of coffee in hand as Harry stands across from her, eyes on you as soon as you walked out.

“I’ll see you later,” you grin at Laura, sneaking another glance at Harry as you give her a quick hug.

“Okay, bye! Nice meeting you, Harry!” she smiles, and of course he replies with the same.

You close the door behind the two of you and he looks you up and down again, meeting your eyes and smiling.

“Hi,” you breathe out, his eyes capturing you immediately.

“Hi,” he whispers back, squeezing your exposed side. “You look really good, Y/N.”

You bite your lip to hide your smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, feeling the fabric (but really just his muscles). His hands immediately go to cup your waist, not pulling you in, just holding you.

“So do you. Like the blue,” you grin, moving your hands down to his waistband.

“Proper matching, I’d say,” he cheekily smiles, thumbs feeling the edge of your shirt’s material along your ribs, your breath hitching slightly at his movement.

You’re the first to pull away, moving your hand to lace your fingers together, tugging him gently down the stairs. He follows after you, squeezing your hand with his and shaking his head, trying to mask his smile by twitching his nose.

That gorgeous being of a car is parked in front of your house, the color alone bringing a smile to your lips, but now the top was down, which was about to make this a lot more fun.

“God, Harry, I might have to steal this from you,” you sigh, arms crossed as you look up at him seriously.

He laughs loudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Maybe one day I’ll let you drive it,” He whispers, kissing the top of your head before pulling away and opening your door like nothing happened.

You stand there still for a moment before blinking and getting in, holding his hands on the door when he closes it. Turning your body, you lean out the door, placing your hands next to his as you whisper in his ear,

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Sliding your lips along his cheek as you pull away, you plop back into the chair, putting on your sunglasses and messing with your hair a bit.

Harry clears his throat before walking around the car, sliding into the driver’s side and starting the car.

“Do you want to play music?” He slowly asks, his tone sending shivers down your legs.

You perk up at this, nodding quickly and taking the aux cord from him.

“I’d love to. Have you heard of Tash Sultana? They released an EP a few years ago, their voice is incredible. They make all their own loops and play every instrument by themselves.”

Harry gives you a side eye, grinning as he says,

“That’s some pretty new music for you, princess.”

Your lips part slightly and Harry watches closely as your cheeks flush, licking the side of his mouth with a grin.

“Have I found a nickname you like, Y/N?” His voice has raised slightly, obvious excitement in his expression.

“Only sometimes,” you shrug, trying to play that off as cool as possible. “And yeah, my ex actually introduced me to their music.”

Harry raises his eyes at this, bringing a finger to his lips to hold his laugh in.

“Why the fuck did I say that?” Your hands go up to your face as Harry finally laughs at you, turning the volume down just a little to listen to you.

Sighing for a second, you pull your hands away before blurting out,

“I don’t want you to think that I’m lying to you about not knowing your music or you, because I do listen to stuff released now, obviously. I’m not a music snob or one of those too cool for school people because I absolutely blast SZA when I’m drunk and I’m starting to overthink and-“

Harry cuts you off by taking your jaw in his hand, turning your face towards him. Perfect timing, as always, pulling up to a red light right when he needs it.

“Hey,” he whispers with a smile, stroking your cheek. “I don’t think that you’re lying to me, and I understand. I was kind of a dick for saying all that right away to be honest, but I get it. I listen to mostly oldies too, if I really think about it.”

You exhale, looking up at him.

“Okay. I’m still going to freak out about it and make sure you know.”

He squeezes your jaw slightly, scrunching his nose.

“No,” he cutely protests, and you can’t help but giggle.

He smiles in return and lets your jaw go, hands going back to grip the wheel a little bit tighter

The two of you drive for a little bit, not really saying anything. You can’t help but dance in your seat to the beat, silently mouthing the lyrics to yourself. Harry keeps glancing over at you, too, grinning at the way you blush when he notices you doing it.

“How was your morning so far?” You start, just wanting to hear him talk.

He has to talk a little bit louder over the wind, but he’s happy to get the conversation started.

“Quite good actually. I’m going to Cabo in a couple weeks and was just getting some early packing in. Don’t you hate when you go somewhere and realize you forgot something like a toothbrush at home?”

“It’s the worst, I always end up having to go to a corner store and get something. What’s in Cabo?” You ask, already so amazed at his lifestyle.

“Friend of mine is having a birthday, so we’re there for a bit celebrating, going to be an amazing trip. Happy to be here, though,” he adds, eyes flicking to yours as he says it.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

“What about you? How was your morning?”

“Really good. Sorry about not texting you back for so long, by the way. I just have this thing about using technology right after I wake up, it gives me pretty bad headaches so I go as long as I can without it unless I hear it ring. But it was super productive, I got a good breakfast and read in, meditated a bit, skated to the beach and went for a swim, then got ready for this.”

“You put me to shame, Y/N, you really do.” Harry laughs, running a hand through his hair.

“I just woke up in a really good mood. I can definitely be grumpy in the morning, I’ll tell you that,” you try to explain, scared of feeling too pretentious.

“Yeah? I can see you throwing a fit if someone wakes you up before you’re ready,” Harry nonchalantly says, looking at the rings on his fingers before checking your reaction.

Cheeks hot, you feel almost scolded by him, thankful for the large sunglasses on your face.

“You’re not wrong,” you finally agree, crossing your legs smoothly.

That doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, reaching a hand down to rest on your thigh almost immediately. His large hand wraps around your skin, thumb immediately starting to go in small circles.

“I started meditating a few years ago but I absolutely love it, I feel like it allows you to start the morning off right.”

Taking a deep breath before answering, you nod and say,

“Completely agree. It still can feel a bit weird doing it when I’m in a mood or anything, but whether you believe in it or not, having all that negative energy in you without doing anything about it isn’t good for you.”

“You’re quite cute when you talk about things you like. Light up like a little sun,” Harry smirks, pulling his sunglasses up to look at you, the piece of gum in his teeth allowing his jawline to be even more prominent. You do the same, placing them in your lap as you uncross your legs, his hand staying on your left thigh as it goes back towards the seat.

“Yeah?” You don’t stop looking at him, watching his eyes flit between you and the road.

Harry hums before adding, “I think you know that though.”

“That I’m quite arguably the epitome of all things golden? Of course, but it’s always nice to hear.”

You make a noise of protest as Harry removes his thigh to make a left, while simultaneously laughing at you.

“You are absolutely golden, love, don’t you forget it.”

He pauses for a moment before starting again.

“I’m going to warn you right now that there might be some photos taken of you when we go in or leave, or fans coming to take pictures. If that bothers you-“

Cutting him off quickly, you sit up, shaking your head.

“I dressed cute for a reason, if it happens it happens. I’m going to be pissed if someone comes for my outfit though.” You giggle at yourself and grab Harry’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I know what I’m signing up for. You’re good.”

Squeezing back, he looks down at his lap for a moment before glancing back at you, eyes so sincere your heart clenches a little.

“Thank you. Just... need a little reminder sometimes too.”

Unlacing your fingers, you stick your pinkie out, swearing, “I promise that I will always remind you that you’re not going to cause me any problems, and I’m not going to do the same. You promise to always remind me I’m golden?”

“‘Course, love. Was gonna do that anyways,” Harry chuckles, intertwining your fingers, heartbeat going just a little bit faster.

He couldn’t explain it, didn’t want to admit it to himself even, but your presence made his world just a little bit brighter. He couldn’t get you out of his mind, your smile, giggle, and sweet-smelling perfume was all he could think about since last night. His brain was trying to come up with reasons why this was a bad idea, how you could be using him, you were going to break his heart and leave without a second glance. But one look at your face, those eyes looking at him with so much wonder, made him hate the part of himself looking for excuses. These feelings felt way too much, too fast, but all he knew was he wanted to call you his girl. His sweet Y/N.

Parking his car next to some trees, he runs over to open your door, helping you step out and shutting the door behind you, placing the cover on the car quickly. The two of you walk into the cafe in silence, arms swaying next to each other. You figured he wasn’t comfortable holding hands in public on the first date.

The atmosphere of the Beachwood Cafe was everything you could want in a coffee shop. Absolutely stunning artwork covering the walls, a checkerboard floor, fun colors splattered all over. Your face must show how excited you were because you feel Harry bump you, grinning down at you. You hum, smile on your cheeks as he holds your face in his hands for a second.

“Like it?” You nod happily at his question, following the waitress to your table, one in the furthest corner from the door.

“Can I start you off with some drinks?” She asks, setting menus in front of the two of you. Harry gestures for you to go first and you quirk an eyebrow before turning.

“Can I please get a large iced coffee with some honey? Thank you so much,” you add, looking Angie, her nametag reads, in the eye.

“And for you?”

“A large iced americano would be wonderful, thank you, love.” Flashing that award-winning smile at her, she writes down his order and heads back to the front.

“This place is really cute, Harry,” you gush. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

His chest tightens at your cute face looking at him from across the table, the amount of gratitude coming from you at all times filling him with light.

“‘Course, honey. You don’t have to thank me,” He earnestly tells you, placing his chin in his hand.

“I know, but I feel like I need to,” you trail off, looking at one of the names of the scrambles on the menu. Snapping your eyes back up to him, Harry can tell where you’re going with this.

“Please don’t,” he half-laughs, half begs.

“But it’s so easy,” you pout, grinning when he sighs and waves his hand for you to continue.

“Should I ask how strong the Weid scramble is going to hit?”

Groaning into his palm, Harry tries his hardest not to laugh, but can’t help one escaping when you kick him under the table.

“Satisfied?”

“Very,” you nod, looking over the menu once more. “Have you had the Thai noodle salad? That looks hella good.”

“It is ‘hella’ good,” Harry teases, using quotation marks in the air.

“Right then, love, what’re you getting?” You respond in a British accent, folding up your menu.

“Probably the Brussels sprouts salad, it’s my usual here.”

You open your mouth to say something before your drinks are placed in front of you, Angie asking if the two of you are ready to order. Harry goes ahead and orders for the two of you, delicately grabbing the menu from your hands to hand it back to her with a charming smile on his face. Watching her walk away, you grab your drink, lifting it for a cheers.

“To living,” you simply state, Harry repeating it with a look in his eyes you can’t quite name.

“So,” you start, adjusting your position in your seat for a second. “You said you’re writing for your second album, right?”

Harry nods, licking his lips as he pulls away from his glass, catching the way your eyes wander to his mouth.

“Sort of. I want to, you know, take a break, try and just have some fun, rather than jump straight into writing and recording again. At the same time, I really fucking miss it. Writing and being in the studio and getting all that out just feels so good.”

The way his accent wraps around his words makes it hard for you to focus on what he’s saying all the way, realizing he’s waiting on you to respond.

“I definitely think you could use some down time. But that also doesn’t mean you have to stop making music. Write out your ideas when they come to you, and when you feel like you’re ready, start pumping them all out. I’m willing to bet $100 that you already have at least a few songs under your belt, though, am I wrong?” You grin at the headshake Harry gives you, catching the blush on his cheeks. “I knew it! We all do, it’s impossible to just not write, but don’t worry about timelines or due dates. You can’t rush art.”

“God, it’s just so good to hear out loud, I feel like you already know me,” Harry shakes his head, pushing his hair away from his face with one hand.

“I’m pretty good at reading people, I’d like to say,” your arm raising above you as you stretch a little, tilting your head from side to side.

Seeing your neck arch and the way your veins move slightly under your skin causes Harry to have to clear his throat a little, taking a sip of his drink as he feels his forehead start to sweat.

“What kind of artists do you normally write for?” He blurts out, trying to figure out how to get to know more about you in a roundabout way.

“If you’re offering me a job, I’m walking out right now,” you warm, raising your eyebrows. “Kidding. I don’t know, really, I write for a lot of my friends, like I said, when they need help on some of their own projects, or if I’m hanging out in the studio I get pulled around the rooms for a different set of ears. Working with Khalid was one of my favorite experiences, though, he was so fucking cool.”

Harry’s eyes sparkle at this, perking up.

“Love Khalid. He is so talented, and hilarious. I swear, my stomach was aching after being with him for a little while. I only asked because I think I’m trying to figure you out a bit. I just wanna get to know ya,” He shrugs, fingertips tapping on his glass.

“I wish you good luck on that task, Harry, I really do. The first step in recovering is admitting you need help,” you solemnly nod, bursting out laughing when he rolls his eyes and ATTEMPTS to hide his smile.

Your food is placed in front of you suddenly, and you jump, glaring at Harry for smirking at your reaction. He couldn’t help it, you were like a little puppy, overexcited and always jumping from place to place. Harry starts eating right away, sending you a quizzical look when you sit with your hands in your lap, almost like you’re waiting for something.

“You going to start eating, honey?” He gently presses, snapping you out of wherever you went.

“Sorry,” you blush, grabbing your fork and shaking your head a little. “I don’t know what the fuck that was about.”

Fuck, yes you did, and Harry knew that. You were waiting for his permission, and that thought alone sent you into a daze. Closing your eyes around the fork, you fought off the urge to moan and tried to push the fact that he already holds so much control over you out of your head. Snapping them open, you find Harry’s eyes on you, the look in them dangerous. Clearing your throat, you whisper, “It’s really good,” which Harry responds with a simple hum, leaning forward on his elbows towards you.

“You tell me if this is too forward or too much, yeah?”

Your lips part as you nod your head, not really ready for what’s about to cross his lips.

“I’ve been noticing certain... things that you do and, well, are you a sub, darling?”

Your throat dries, unable to break eye contact or even speak, only nodding when he squints his eyes a little at you. Fuck, this was not happening, you thought, reaching to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Like to hear that pretty voice of yours, yeah?” Harry urges you, hands fighting off the urge to hold your jaw in his fingertips.

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking a swig of coffee to think of something to say. “I’m going to assume you’re a dominant,” pausing to let Harry nod, jaw moving as he chews. You throw your hands up, leaning back in your seat.

“You are the complete package, Harry, shit.”

He laughs at this, covering his mouth quickly. “‘S’all you. A dream, really.”

Your heart flutters at this, shit, no, this is a FIRST date, you cannot be feeling like this. Taking a bite of your food, you are able to just sit back and look at him. Watch how he sticks his tongue out while he puts a bite in his mouth, something you’ve done since you were a kid for no reason. How his hands look almost sinful holding the white napkin to his lips.

“Staring at me, love,” he comments after a few minutes, his eyes looking at you sweetly, like he didn’t mind, but just needed to call you out.

“Merde, je veux te sucer,” you breathe out in French, banking on him not understanding you.

“Viliane,” Harry tuts, clicking his tongue at you. Before you’re able to answer, Harry is handing his card to the waitress who passed your table, asking for two boxes for your meals.

Your eyes snap to his, all the oxygen leaving your body as he brings your plate his side, getting ready to pack it up for you.

“W-Where?” Is all you manage, drinking the rest of your coffee, before setting it down on the table, a drop of honey falling down your lip. Harry can’t help but swipe it off with his thumb, slowly placing it in his mouth afterwards, not breaking eye contact, with you.

“I live nearby. That alright with you?”

Nodding slowly, you sit quietly in the booth as Angie comes back with the check and two boxes, legs bouncing excitedly as Harry packages the food up.

“Come on, lovely, let’s get out of here,” he tells you, holding you by your elbow as you walk outside, heading straight for the car. He doesn’t bother taking the top off, opening your door for you without a word and shutting it, almost sprinting to the driver’s side.

His hand finds your thigh immediately, rings shocking the delicate skin and making your muscles tense, his fingers quickly moving to massage out these aches.

“You wanna give me a safeword, pretty girl?” His voice drips with confidence, his hands moving closer to where you needed him most. His eyes keep flickering back to you while trying to focus on the road. His curls are a mess around his sunglasses, the brown hair swallowing up most of the eye ware. A pinch on your thigh reminds you that he expects an answer, shaking your body out slightly before answering.

“The stoplight system’s good. Green, I’m good, yellow, slow down or take a break, red, stop everything. What kind of dom are you, Harry?” You push, wanting to know what you’re getting yourself into. You had done a lot of kinky stuff in the past, and there were some things you weren’t a fan of.

“Mm, I’m relatively easy going. Not going to give you any rules, unless we’re playing and have a scene set up. But,” he pauses to exhale harshly, “I’m quite mean, love. I like to take control, pick you apart bit by bit until you’re just trembling under me, can’t say anything but my name. How does that sound, puppy? Tell me now how you like it.”

His voice sends shivers throughout your body and you moan quietly, biting your lip to try and stifle it. Harry’s words circle around your brain, your stomach tightening with need. All the air seems to escape you, but you know he wants an answer.

“G-good. I like it rough, dirty, just wanna please you,” you stutter out, chest rising and falling rapidly. You absent-mindedly rub your fingers against your neck, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe while thinking about what he’s saying.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he moans, removing his hand from your thigh to place it behind your neck, squeezing it in his grasp. He knows what you want, even if he’s driving, he’s able to pick up on any little signals your body makes. Your back arches as you let out a breathy moan, eyes slipping closed.

“Tell me, princess,” he starts, squeezing the side of your throat to make you open your eyes and pay attention to him. “What do you want to happen when we get back to my house? Don’t want to go too far too soon.”

“Fuck, Harry, I just really want to suck you off, please, please, please,” you beg, a tear actually falling from your eye as you look at him. His pupils dilate at your words, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows harshly, mouth suddenly dry,

“Y/N,” he growls, reaching a hand to squeeze his growing bulge in his pants. His tanned hands and dark rings contrast the bright color, adding to your ever growing list of things that Harry does that turns you on.

The car pulls up to a gate and you sit there for a few seconds before Harry is buzzed in, probably driving way too fast back to his house. Parking in his driveway, he finally releases his hand from your neck and exits the car, making his way around to open your door. Holding your hand as you exit, he places his hand on your low back to guide you into the gorgeous home, the size of it taking your breath away. Harry gives you no time to admire it, shutting the door behind him with a slam before bringing his hand up your chest to rest on your throat, slamming you into the wall. He slips a leg in between yours and takes your hip in his free hand, guiding you to start grinding on his thigh. Your face flushes with heat as he tightens his grip.

“Know you wanna suck me off, but will you cum for me first? Don’t want this pretty cunt to go to waste.”

Your head rolls back and hits the wall, hips stuttering at his words, eliciting a chuckle from Harry as he leans in, breath hitting your lips before he envelopes them, encouraging you to start grinding faster. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, prying them open to lick into your mouth, your moans being instantly swallowed by him. Pulling away slowly, he maintains eye contact with you as he removes his hand from your throat to slip two fingers into your mouth. Feeling your wet mouth on him, sucking his fingers with such need, Harry groans lowly, removing his fingers to kiss you even harder, hands making quick work of removing your shorts.

“Such a naughty girl, can’t even wait to get to the bedroom, just has to have me feel you right here, hmm?” Harry scolds, removing his lips from yours to suck a mark into your neck, fingers moving to feel your wetness through the cloth underwear. Your hands wrap around his curls as you shakily inhale, resting your forehead on his to moan out lowly.

“Fuck, Harry,” you sigh, feeling him rub along your folds through the fabric, pushing it ever-so-slightly inside of you. His mouth pulls away from you with a pop, only to bite down on the red skin harshly, working his way up to your mouth once more. He bumps his nose against yours and opens his mouth to move his tongue past your lips. Your head is spinning, breath ragged as you suck his tongue with yours, feeling the vibrations in your mouth when he moans lowly, pulling a whimper from you.

Suddenly, he drops to his knees, pulling the thong down with him. You swallow at the change in pace and allow him to help you step out of them.

“Wanna take your boots off, sweet girl?” He checks, kissing your inner thigh softly as you lean fully against the wall. You think for a second, these were pretty comfortable, pretty solid grip, why not stay in them?

“‘S okay. Perfect height for you,” you breathe, bucking your hips up. He doesn’t even wait a second to smack your pussy, grabbing your thighs to spread you even wider.

“Filthy, you are,” he growls, licking a long stripe from your hole to your clit, a gasp immediately falling from your lips. He looks up at you and grins, licking long stripes through your folds, almost like he’s trying to remember how you feel. He takes his time catching your wetness slowly, despite the little gasps and moans coming from you. Flicking his tongue over your clit for a second, he pulls back to blow cool air on it, the motion causing your legs to falter for a second.

“Gotta stay still, okay? Can’t have you falling over,” he spits directly on your core as he says this, looking up at you with his jaw hanging slightly open, loving the way your hands go to your hair to find something to grab on. He smirks to himself, licking into you while his hands find your hips, pinching the delicate skin between his fingertips. He collects as much of you and his spit on his tongue as he can, swallowing around your clit after he sucks it into his mouth. The suction makes your hips fight to buck up into him, but you use all of your strength to stay still, causing your thighs to start quivering in his palms. Harry grins and scrapes his teeth along your clit, your loud moan going directly to his quickly hardening cock.

“Taste so fucking good, angel,” he groans, nose rubbing against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you, the soft muscle dragging along your walls and guiding your wetness into his mouth. The sounds coming from him are obscene, loud slurping, sucking, and spitting onto your trembling pussy.

“Fuck, Harry, I’m not going to last,” you cry out, feeling yourself start to clench around him. He grins around you, pulling away to thumb at your clit and look directly into your eyes.

“Mm, that’s not how good girls ask,” is all Harry gives you, slipping a finger inside and immediately curling it towards himself, finding your g-spot with ease. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly while his tongue draws designs on the sensitive button.

“Please, Sir, can I come?”

This has Harry moaning against you, pinching your clit between his teeth as he slides another finger in, fucking into you faster. Your eyes roll back, one hand splayed against the wall, another in his hair to give you some sort of balance. He relentless massages and thrusts into your g-spot with his fingers, feeling you clench around them so tightly that his head starts to spin. “That’s it, puppy, ask me again,” he demands, the title you gave him sending shivers throughout his body. He sucks harder on your clit, somehow speeding up his fingers inside you. A moan vibrates against your center when you pull on his curls, your hips bucking up against his waiting hand.

“Sir, please please please can I come? I’ve been so good, haven’t moved,” you beg, gasping loudly when your legs start to shake noticeably. Harry pulls away, looking up at you and grunting out,

“You have been such a good girl, haven’t you? Go. Cum, now, right fucking now on my tongue.” A loud slapping noise is heard when Harry smacks your ass, the pain sending you over the edge. Your head hits the wall with a thud, but your moan drowns everything out, the guttural sound coming from your soul. Tilting your head back, you cum into his mouth, one leg slipping out from under you and Harry places it on his shoulder without a second thought, holding you up as you ride out your orgasm. The tightness in your stomach releases and your pussy trembles around his fingers, only encouraging him to continue the constant pressure on your g-spot.The strength of it knocks the wind out of you and sends electricity throughout your finger tips, your hips slowing down their rocking motion as Harry eases his fingers out of you. He continues to lick you clean before placing your shaky legs back on the ground together, trailing his hands up your body as he stands up.

“Thank you,” you breathe into his chest, holding on to his hips for balance. His chuckle vibrates against your cheek, and you feel him move your hair out of the way to kiss your shoulder.

“Of course, lovely. How you feeling?” He is all smiles, his voice gentle and caring as he breathes in your smell, leaving small kisses along your neck.

“G-good,” you stutter out, nudging his head to make eye contact with you. He pulls away after a second, one arm going around your waist when he notices how you’re practically falling over with how shaky your legs are. Smirking, he places his other hand on your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. Tasting yourself on his tongue was too much for you, whining into his mouth before pulling away.

“Can I suck you off now?” You ask shyly, using your best puppy dog eyes. And, wow, do they work. Harry groans, biting your bottom lip harshly before pulling away, not wasting a second before pushing down on your shoulders. You topple to the ground easily, landing surprisingly softly (thanks to Harry’s expert hands), on the hardwood floor. After helping him remove your shirt, you place your hands behind your back immediately and tuck your chin down, grinning to yourself when you hear the moan Harry let’s out at your position.

“Spoiled little girl. Gets everything and more that she asks for, hmm, yes?” Harry demands, tugging your chin up by his hands. His eyes are pointed, staring directly into yours, pupils blown out and hair a mess behind him. You can see the pieces stuck to his forehead from sweat, but his chin glistens with something that has to be you.

“Yes, sir, so good to me. Wanna make you feel good, please,” you beg, leaning closer into him, the difference in clothing setting you into a daze, seeing him fully dressed while you’re waiting on your knees in front of him, naked, panting, and pleading to have his cock down your throat.

“Greedy,” he sighs, taking his hand away from your face to slide off his shirt, tossing it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He keeps his eyes trained on yours, daring you to avert them as he unzips his pants, stepping out of them. He looks away for a second to pull of his boots, and you take your time admiring his thighs, because, fuck. They were thick, muscled, tanned, and the little tattoos on them were asking to be bitten, you made a mental note to do that later.

“Got a bit of a staring problem, love.”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your daydream, eyes flickering back up to him, mouth dropping open when he’s bare in front of you, slowly stroking himself. You involuntarily make a little noise in the back of your throat, sticking your tongue out for good measure. Seeing Harry’s hips thrust up into his hand and his neck vein pop was confirmation enough for you, but you waited for him to put himself in your mouth, absolute torture you must say.

Harry finally takes mercy on you, moaning out, “God, you’re such a little cockslut, just want something in that fucking mouth of yours. Bet I could leave my fingers in there all day and you wouldn’t complain once,” when he eases himself into your open mouth.

You flatten your tongue on the underside of him, not breaking eye contact as you slide off his cock to lick at his tip with feather light touches, drawing figure eights along the top. Suckling lightly on just the head, you feel a spurt of precum land on your tongue, licking it up happily. Tearing your eyes away from his, you open up your throat to begin taking him deeper, feeling his hand immediately come to your hair as you do this.

“Yes,” Harry draws out, allowing you to take control for a moment. You wanted to suck him off, so who is he to tell you how to do it? The view is what is killing him the most, though. Your tits bouncing as you slurp him down, spit falling onto your thighs, your little bit of stomach pudge falling over as you completely lose yourself in making him feel good. That is what gets him to buck into your mouth, closing his eyes and biting his bottom lip, breathing heavily as he begins to thrust into you. You pull away after a moment, jerking him off steadily as you swallow and look up at him.

“You can fuck my throat. Don’t have much of a gag reflex, anyways. Wanna see how you like it, Sir,” you pant, not giving him any time to think before you take him back into your mouth, placing your hand on the wrist that’s in your hair, giving him another okay.

“God, Y/N, you’re heavenly,” Harry breathes, testing out the waters by doing some shallow thrusts, only then beginning to actually throat-fuck you. He places his other hand around your neck, essentially pulling you into his throat and choking you from both ways. Your eyes roll into the back of your throat and you place your nose against his belly, breathing in deeply. Harry pulls himself out of you, rubbing his cock against your cheeks.

“Feel so good,” he draws out, easing himself back into your waiting mouth, rubbing the head on the ridges on the roof of your mouth. He moans through closed lips and tilts his head back, giving you the chance to admire his strong jawline from this angle, body sculpted by Michaelangelo himself. He had no room to call you all these beautiful names while he looked this fucking good getting his cock sucked.

You start speeding up your bobs, keeping him deep in your throat and only picking up a little, the change in pressure earning you a tug on your roots when Harry pulls you to look up at him.

“Mm, you want me to cum, don’t you, dirty girl,” he grunts, a lazy grin on his now flushed face. His thumbs make their way to press on either side of your cheek, moaning lowly when he feels himself through the tissue.

You hum around him, using your tongue along the vein you can feel, looking up at Harry with such need in your eyes. You pull off for a quick second, gasping loudly while saying,

“Want you to come in my mouth so bad, want to taste you and make you feel as good as you made me,” Taking him back in your mouth and sucking him off with a vice-like grip.

“Fuck,” Harry half-laughs, half-moans. “You’re incredible. Gonna make me come so fast, you’re taking me so fucking deep.”

Not even a minute later, you feel him begin to pulse in your mouth, pulling back to just suck on the head, using your tongue to dip into the hole, and Harry cums with a loud shout, burying his cock down your throat as he shoots ribbon after ribbon of come into you. You keep your eyes at his face, remembering how his mouth looks wide open, his eyes pinched closed, hair making a perfect halo around him. His throat makes you want to cry, the veins popping out and slightly red. He stays in your mouth for a while, allowing you to suck him dry and soften slightly, before pulling out of you with a pop.

“Thank you,” you croak out, swallowing what’s left in your mouth and leaning into his touch, quite spent if you were being honest.

Harry had to look away for a second, moving his hand to hold your head while he caught his breath. You were right about being golden, your skin shone, and you just radiated everything good in this world, right after he had his cock balls deep down your throat nonetheless.

“You’re too much, beauty. Thank you, did such a good job,” he gushes, kneeling down. He takes your chin inbetween his fingers and kisses you softly, just barely moving his lips. He leans his forehead against yours and wipes your lip with his thumb, allowing you to suck the bit of cum still on your face off with a blush tinting your cheeks.

“Reminds me of this morning, a bit,” he giggles, laughing louder as you hit him in the chest, grumbling ‘dumb’. He pushes your hair out of the way and holds your face in his two hands, effectively shutting you up as you breathe in deeply, feeling strangely comfortable being this vulnerable with him this fast.

“Do you wanna take a bath with me right now? Know you were on shaky legs and this hard floor for a while,” he pouts, kissing your forehead softly. You nod slowly and he smiles, nodding against you before pulling away to unzip your shoes, placing them next to the wall before he’s picking you up with way too much ease, pulling a shriek from you.

“‘Sorry, love, your poor legs okay?” he asks, holding you to his chest with one arm, using the other to hold your thigh. He receives another nod to the shoulder and he nuzzles you, trying to see what’s happening.

“I’m okay, just tired,” you sigh, and he murmurs an ‘okay’ kissing your temple before allowing you to sink back onto him, making a mental note to ask you about it once you’ve got your breath back.

“Why don’t you go turn on that shower and wash yourself real quick with some warm water and I’ll have the bath ready when I join you, that okay?” Harry whispers, sliding you down slowly. He pushes you toward the large glass door and you smile back at him, your heart bursting with appreciation.

This one is going to change you.

A/N: and that’s a wrap !! lemme know if you guys prefer this kind of phrasing (‘you said’), or if you like ‘she said’, or ‘i said’ better. this is my first time working with a full story using y/n and second/third person kind of view, so pls bear with me. also !! i know some people aren’t really cool with weed. im a ~stoner~ (such a weird thing to type out lmao) so i smoke a lot, but if y’all aren’t comfortabke with me mentioning it p much every other chapter, let me know !! (it can even be anonymously sent in) hope you liked it, and let me know if you have any other requests for future chapters or just one shots💗💗

- lana💔

[honey11blog]

Insomnia

Pairing - Bucky x reader 

Warnings - none 

Summary - Maybe Bucky’s night terroirs and your insomnia wasn’t always bad 

________________________________________________________________

I pull the large flannel on, one I’ve stolen right out of Sam’s closet, and tip toe out of the room. It’s quiet, being nearly three in the morning. The view is nice from my apartment window but there’s just something about the warmth of the common room that makes me feel better. The tower is dead silent and it almost seemed abandoned, but this was home to the Avengers and I knew when dawn broke that everything would be buzzling. 

The large floor to ceiling window allows light to fall through and illuminate the shadow on the couch. He’s sitting and looking out the window, appearing to be deep in thought. He wears a red tank and sweatpants. I sigh, walking to the kitchen to make two cups of tea. He likes jasmine but I take chamomile. His hair is tied into a messy bun, he shivers despite the hot summer night. I set the two cups down onto the coffee table and sat next to him. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice is small, almost a whisper and it cracks painfully pulling at my heart. 

“Why didn’t you come get me?” I ask. He extends his arm, seeking the gentle touch that I bring. My fingers dance across his hand and run up his forearm. 

“I didn’t want to bother you again.” He says. Bucky turns the palm of his hand up and catches my fingers, holding onto it tightly. But how could he think that? Bucky is never a bother, has never been and most likely never will be. 

“You’re cold.” I tuck our fingers together, pulling myself closer so I can rest my head onto his right shoulder. 

“Nightmare.” He whispered. The metal plating in his left arm brings a nice chill to mine when he pulls it across him towards me. “You?” 

“I slept for a little… but insomnia, she’s a pretty thing ain’t she?” I joke if only to make him feel better. His chest rumbles but the laughter is little to none. “Have some tea.” I pull away from his embrace to grab the two cups. Buckys to go cup was white with a black handle, it was stained with red lipstick and despite how many times we scrub, it won’t let up. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it had been mine when he first came to the compound. I bought a new cup, it’s black with faint gold detailing, faded from all of the runs through the dishwasher. 

“Thank you.” He says. I nod, sitting back with my own cup. 

“You know, jasmine doesn’t help you fall asleep.” I smile. It’s my first clear look at his face tonight. We have matching dark eye bags, his arguably worse. He looks tired and pale, though that could just be due to the shine of the moon. His hair is messy and pieces fall into his eyes but he’s all the more handsome. 

“Yes, you’ve told me many times, and you know my answer.” 

“You don’t want to fall back asleep.” I say. Bucky nods and brings his cup to his lips. I managed a smile for him, it was always for him. 

“So, insomnia?” He tries. And my heart breaks all the more because he’s trying so hard. He tries so hard to be good, to pretend that nothing is wrong, to lighten the mood for my sake because he feels like a burden. My hands tuck a piece of stray hair from his face, the pads of my fingers running down his cheek. Bucky let’s his eyes close and leans into the cold of my fingers. 

“Well, let’s see.” I sigh, “it started out fine, really, I fell asleep for two or three hours and then I woke up, partly a nightmare, partly because that’s just how it works. I couldn’t fall asleep so after an hour of rolling around, here I am.” Bucky nods. “Would you like to tell me about your nightmare?” 

His eyes close and his eyebrows furrow, his sign that he’s in pain. “Not really.” He decides. I nod and turn to face forward again. We sit in silence until the tea is finished and we both have nothing else to occupy us, nothing to chase away the demons. 

“Stay here.” I smile. Bucky gives me a confused look but nods, trusting that I’ll come back to him. I brought back a record player and a vinyl. He raises an eyebrow in question and I smile, setting it up on the table. I place the vinyl in and start the music. The music starts slow and sets a rhythm. 

“What’s this?” His voice is filled with curiosity. 

“Ben E. King, Stand By Me.” I say as the music starts. “Come on, dance with me.” I pull his hands up. His motions are sluggish but he stands, moving with me towards the window so there’s more room. 

“I don’t dance.” The corner of his lips tug upwards if only slightly. 

“Then I’ll lead.” I laugh, placing my hands where his should be. Bucky shakes his head with a grim smile. We move in slow motions in rhythm with the song, stepping back and forth, sideways and turn. 

“You’re a terrible lead.” He laughs. I stumble but he pulls me up. 

“Not true, you’re just a slow old man.” I joke, moving faster. 

“Slow down, stay with the song.” He shakes his head. “Here, I’ll show you.” In quick movements our hand placements have switched and I’m being pulled closer to his chest. He laughs, moving back and pulling me with him. “Let me lead, just feel it. Don’t force it.” 

I look down at our feet, moving as he moves. “And don’t look down either.” My head snaps up towards him, I’m falling into his blue orbs again and he doesn’t even realize it. They sparkle in the moon's light and despite him looking pretty in the sun, I think the moon was made to compliment him. There’s a crinkle at the corners of his eyes and his smile stretches wide. I smile too.

I’m as thankful as he is for the distraction, for the moment of peace where no demons haunt our minds. It’s a bittersweet moment really, a moment that won’t last and when it ends everything seems dull again. Once the dance stops the nightmare returns and haunts his face, taking away the beautiful smile and light in his blue eyes. And we go back to denying the love we feel for one another because we’re too scared to chase it, too scared to lose the one thing that doesn’t bring pain. 

But as if the universe knew this, the song plays again so we move again. It’s like a small blessing, giving us both a goddamn break. I’m more thankful than I can express. The song plays enough times to be annoying but I don’t think either of us was really listening. Bucky’s metal arm pulls tighter and his hand grips mine harder as he stares down at me. And I look back, too afraid to ruin the moment to look away. 

They say the eyes are windows to the soul and I wonder what he sees in mine because I can see his. A blue aura that looks sad and lonely. It’s faint but I can see the want in his eyes, the desperation, the fight to be better. It’s there surrounded by self doubt and loathing and I want so much to reach out and erase it but I can’t. It’s not something I can do for him. While I can chase away the demons for a night or bring calm to his aching scars, I can’t erase his hatred. That is something Bucky must do himself and I can only hope to see the day that he succeeds. To see the day that he can smile freely and be himself. The day where he can sleep through the night and his face isn’t haunted by the million doubts that run through his head everyday. 

I wonder what he sees in mine. 

And I thank god for my insomnia because without it, I wouldn’t get a chance to be here with him, to help his nightmares and to make him tea. To dance with him by the window and to watch the sunrise together. I wouldn’t be here to see his growth and tell him how proud I am when he holds my hand and kisses my head calling me doll. 

I wouldn’t get to experience what loving Bucky Barnes felt like. 

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Heartbreaker

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 3057

Warnings: Language mostly, implied sexual relations and angst.

Beautiful moodboard made by the amazing @peterquillzsblog Thank you again 💙

This was written for the lovely @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I'm super late, but thank you so much for letting me participate 💙 I had fun writing this and I hope you like it.

I used prompts #12 and #28. They are highlighted in bold.

I tagged those who might be interested.

...

“I told you not to fall in love with me.”

The words hit her like a fucking truck. They tumbled so easily from his lips with that dreaded nonchalant tone she'd only ever heard him use on others whenever he spoke over the phone. It was never aimed at her.

He had his arms crossed over his naked chest with brows raised, sitting comfortably up against the large fancy black headboard of his equally large and fancy bed, the very bed he had her in only nights before. His long hair was messy, shooting out in all directions from being tugged at mercilessly. A pretty blonde had snaked her way from under his black satin sheets, her naked body in full view. She makes a show for him, pulling her denim jeans over her sad excuse of a behind slowly, obviously interested in hearing the rest of their exchange.

Ivar licks his lips, his blue eyes following the soft lines of that broads basic body before shifting them back to her. “You’d only get hurt in the end.” He finally says.

What a low blow.

She swallows the lump forming in her throat, knowing the tears would be forcing their way out of her glossy eyes soon. How fucking stupid was she? She stood there, hands balled into fists as her eyes flipped between him and the smirking blonde. Her lower lip trembled like a goddamn child, standing awkwardly in front of the pair. From the looks of it, this dalliance with the blonde had been going on for a while. The girl seemed far too comfortable.

Ivar was right. He did warn her not to fall in love with him. It was just supposed to be a fling, nothing more. They had met at a mutuals party, Ubbe’s friends cousin or some shit. They couldn’t remember the details now if you asked them, but they both knew the guy, and when they met, it was instant physical attraction. And that was when their “friends with benefits” relationship began. She had been a phenomenal plaything for him, and she seemed to know exactly what Ivar needed. She was pretty, had an amazing body, shiny hair, long fluttering lashes. She looked perfect on his arm and he liked her enough to keep her around, but he didn’t love her. How could he? He wasn’t meant for that shit. He was Ivar the heartbreaker, a hot young bachelor born into the old money of the Ragnarsson family. He could have any woman he wanted. And he did.

She was so fucking stupid, but Ivar was fucking stupid too. He’d given her a key to his flat, allowing her freedom to come and go as she pleased as if they were a fucking couple. And she was stupid enough to believe that was the relationship they were forming, that somehow they had silently crossed this bridge of uncertainty that went from nothing to something. They had been “together” for months, almost an entire year. Ivar wasn’t a bad person, he was just bad at relationships. He couldn’t settle with one girl, so he played with many. She wondered how many others he played with when she wasn’t around.

Not much regret could be detected in his eyes, his blue orbs shimmering with the words she could read so clearly: Get out. So that's exactly what she did. Turning swiftly on her booted heels, she walks back into his fancy kitchen, slamming his key with this cute pastel blue pom pom keychain she bought onto the marble island counter. Digging into one of the totes full of groceries that she intended to use to cook the fucker dinner, she pulls out a small tub of Häagen-Daz strawberry ice cream, shoving it in her bag. She'd need it later. With a shaky breath she looks around the modern sleek flat one last time before slamming the door behind her.

She could hear that bitch giggling as she left.

…

“Did you see the look on her face?” Freydis giggles, slipping on her low cut cropped top before pouncing onto the bed beside Ivar, “Poor thing. You really had her hung up.” Ivar did see the look on her face, and although he’d seen it many times before on countless other women, it hit him a little differently this time. Dammit.

She looked heartbroken, eyes wet like that day her cat had gotten sick and she begged Ivar to rush them over to the vet that was an hour away. He didn’t really care much for the cat, it had sharp claws and was always hissing at him, but he did it for her. Her cat was saved from whatever the fuck was wrong with him, and she was happy. She’d given him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

That night had been a great fuck.

Ivar releases a breath from his nostrils, ignoring Freydis babbling on and on about god knows what. The blonde was a fool if she thought she would be next to take her place. Fucking bimbo. Was only good for a measly fuck. And she was terrible at it. He pushes away the satin sheets, completely nude, before turning to peer at her from over his sculpted shoulder with a look of indifference.

“Get out.”

“Ivar?” She looks up at him through her lashes, her lips forming into a frown at his sudden disdain.

“I didn’t stutter,” He states calmly, but a stern tone laced his words that had her sitting up at attention,” I said get the fuck out.” Freydis rolls her eyes, pushing herself off the bed and grabbing her purse she meticulously hung in his closet.

“Douchebag,” She mutters, but she offers him a sickly sweet smile, pushing a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, “You know I’m always available. I’ll be waiting for your call.” She winks at him, blowing him a kiss before slinking out of his room. Once Ivar heard his front door slam close he sighs, shuffling over to his bathroom for a much needed bath.

For some reason, he felt dirty.

…

It had started raining as soon as she left Ivar’s flat. She had forgotten her umbrella at home and she was soaked to the bone from the heavy droplets by the time she stepped foot into her own flat.

It was cute and cozy, with fairy lights and tapestries that were the complete opposite of Ivar’s stupid modern sleek bachelor pad. Ivar preferred simplistic Scandinavian living, while she gravitated towards that boho atmospheric vibe with scented candles that she had in practically every room. He joked about it whenever he slept over, which wasn’t very often. It looked childish to him. The scented candles made him sneeze and the cat was a bitch, but he’d settle under her warm quilted covers just fine, gazing up at her ceiling that reflected a projection of a star lit sky. That was actually kinda cute. She was always a romantic, but that was the problem.

She kicks off her tall boots, tossing her keys atop the little ceramic dish by the door. Moving over to her tiny kitchen, she puts away the ice cream in the freezer and makes a b-line towards her bedroom. She hangs up her bag on the very corner of the door to her closet, shedding her jacket and the rest of her clothes on the floor without a care before heading to her bathroom. She immediately lights all her candles, setting up a relaxing bubble bath with a lavender scented bath bomb. Lastly, she grabs her phone, searching for the right playlist before sinking into the warmth of the bubbly water.

As soon as her eyes fall shut, her mind goes back to Ivar.

Fuck him. And the blonde.

She didn’t want to berate herself anymore than she already did while taking that miserable walk home, but she couldn’t help feel like her heart was burning a hole right through her chest. It beat faster the more she thought of him, and her eyes pricked with the sensation of tears, until finally, she let them fall. The fat drops roll down her cheeks as she cries into her hands to muffle her sobbing.

This would be the only night she’d shed tears for him, she promised herself. Tomorrow was a new day.

Benji, her fat calico cat, slinks his way into the bathroom, curling up in a corner to enjoy the warmth of the bath for himself. She brings her teary eyes to him, the calm state of the feline having her wish she could feel such peace. Sometimes she wished she were a cat herself, only having to worry about sleeping, eating, shitting, and doing it all over again day after day.

Sinking deeper into the water she forces herself to relax, listening to the soothing sounds of Moonlight Sonata, a dreary tune for a dreary day off. When her eyes fluttered with sleep, the classical playlist was interrupted by the obnoxious sound of her phone's vibration over the plastic toilet seat. With a scowl she reaches over to snatch her phone, biting her lip as Ivar’s name flashed on the bright screen. Without hesitation, she taps her finger to end the call, sending him straight to voicemail. She had nothing to say to him.

Fuck him.

After 30 seconds, her phone vibrated again. Ivar was fucking persistent.

Again, she ignored the call, and after the 4th call, she angrily slams her finger on the green button, bringing the phone to her ear.

“What do you want?” She spits, shivering now that the water had significantly dropped in temperature. She runs a hand down her gooseflesh covered leg as she awaits his answer, but so far he was silent, only a frustrated breath could be heard on his end, “I detect guilt.” Her words were dripping in pure venom, something he honestly found rather attractive. But now was not the time for that.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, so unlike him, and somehow, so fucking irritating.

“Peachy,” She replies sarcastically, sinking into the water once again. The bubbles had long disappeared and she was getting cold, “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” Was the weak scoff. There was an awkward silence after that, which was strange considering she felt she could talk to Ivar endlessly about anything really. That’s the sort of pair they were, or maybe it was her doing all the talking and soul baring while Ivar patiently listened and...kept his own secrets. She sighs, just about ready to hang up until she hears him mutter something.

“I can’t hear you.” She counters, annoyed.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” He clears his throat, “I didn’t want you to see us. Me and Freydis.”

“You did a great fucking job hiding it.”

“Is this really a good time for your sarcasm?”

“Fuck you, Ivar.”

“I’m being serious,” He hisses in frustration, “That was nothing for you to see. I had no idea you were off today.” He sounded irritated, as if it were somehow her fault he got caught. It shouldn’t have mattered if they weren’t anything to begin with. “I don’t even know why I’m explaining myself to you!” He ended his little childish rant with a sigh, the kind of sigh where he needed to run a hand down his face to keep his shit together.

“So then why the fuck did you call me?” She hissed back, and in her annoyance she splashed water from out the tub, the cold droplets sprinkling over Benji. It had the cat screeching for his life before running out of there.

“I don’t even fucking know myself.” She hears him take in another frustrated breath, grumbling something about the complications of women. Asshole. He was the complicated one.

The splashing of water was heard on his end. He must have been having a bath of his own. That was their thing, after a particularly rough day at work, or whenever the actions of their lovemaking called for a bath, they didn’t hesitate to slip in together and enjoy each other again. It was clear she valued those moments more than he did. It all meant nothing to him.

Her traitorous mind conjured up images of how his body must have looked, water droplets running down his glistening chest and chestnut colored hair plastered on his face. Fuck.

“I’m fucking stupid.” She groans, already feeling another wave of tears surging through her. She sniffles, bringing her knees to her naked chest as she stares at the flickering candles surrounding the tub.

“You’re crying,” Ivar says stupidly, his tone unreadable, “Please, don’t cry. I hate it when you cry,” He was speaking gently, as if that would be enough to soothe her, “I told you not to fall in love with me.” He repeats the phrase softly, almost sadly, like the corny lead of some fucking corny romantic comedy that did trash in the cinema.

“Yeah…” She says, fighting to hold back the sob she wanted so badly to release, “Yeah, I know.” And with that, she hung up, tossing her phone aside and sinking deeper into the now freezing water.

Maybe if she stayed in there long enough she’d feel numb.

…

She had stared at her ceiling, the star lit sky projection twinkling down at her, much like they always did when she was a little girl back in her hometown. They always did serve to calm her, making her feel safe and helped her sleep a lot better. They didn't help much this time around.

She stared all night, even after the stars disappeared with the sunrise, thinking about him. She was getting too old for this, crying like a fucking teenage girl.

She barely slept and was desperate for a cup of coffee the moment she rolled out of her cocoon-like bed. Dragging her feet over to the kitchen, she brews a pot of the caffeinated liquid before preparing Benji’s breakfast. The cat slithered between her legs, meowing uncontrollably as he awaited his food.

“Shut up, Benji.” She mutters to him tiredly, placing down his food bowl and giving him a quick pat. She leans against the counter, her eyes following the slow drip of the coffee into the glass pot, wondering how the fuck she’d gotten to this point. Her eyes hurt, swollen from all the crying she did last night, and everything felt hazy and slow.

After last night’s conversation with Ivar, she decided to block him, erasing whatever memories she had of him. Ivar was always a generous man with her, sometimes buying her little things that caught her eye, probably just things to appease her with she realized. She gathered all the items up in a cardboard box she had laying around, leaving it by the door to throw away once she left for work.

Finally, the coffee was done. She poured herself a much needed cup, adding a few drops of her favorite vanilla creamer. Taking a small sip of the hot beverage, she groans in delight as it coats her taste buds, ignoring the burning caused by her impatience.The fusion of bitter and sweet was helping her recharge for the day. She’d need at least 2 more cups if she was going to do these guided tours at the museum today.

There was a knock on her door as soon as she moved to get ready. In her confusion she pauses her morning playlist, turning to look toward her door as if something were about to burst through and devour her whole. It was 7:30 in the morning, an unusual hour to knock on anyone’s door. Her first thought was Ivar, but why would he even bother showing up to her door? He was never awake this early as he got to show up to his office whenever he wanted. Ruling him out, she finally makes her way to the door, peeking through the peephole. No one was there.

She unlocks the door, turning to look towards the left and right of the hall before looking down. She blinks, stunned.

Flowers. A huge bouquet of flowers. Her favorites actually, Gerbera Daisies, all in a soft powdery pink color with bright yellow centers. They were placed in a monstrosity of a vase of white porcelain, painted with stunning blue designs like fine china. Beside it was a small bag with a generic looking orange tabby cat on the front with its paw up. Those were Benji’s favorite treats.

Taking one last look around the hallway she bends down, carefully picking up the vase of flowers and the cat treats, all while pushing Benji back in before he tried to make a run for it. She tosses the treats aside, staring long and hard at the pretty flowers with a scowl. There was a white card clipped within the stems, wet from the vase water. Snatching it, she runs her finger over the parchment-like surface before opening it to see a familiar scrawl in the blackest ink. The water spreads the ink, staining the white card in black streaks like tears. She read the simple message:

I know these are your favorites. You deserve pretty flowers. I’m sorry you felt the need to fall in love.

-Ivar.

Her brows arch and a frown tugs at her lips. She felt her heart drop instantly as her brain finally processed the simple words he’d written. Reading it was enough for her to sense the emptiness of the message. She knew him well enough to know he slept just fine last night. Probably next to that other chick. How could he possibly think that flowers would make it all better?

She quickly rips the card into little pieces, tossing them into her trash can. She lifts the bouquet of daisies from their stems, removing them from the vase and throwing them harshly into the trash with a snarl. She squeezes her eyes shut, the tears already coating her lashes, rolling down her cheeks and onto those stupid flowers. She already broke her promise of no more tears and it wasn’t even 8 am. She bites her lips, glaring down at the daisies as if they were the root of the problem.

“Fuck you, Ivar.”

...

Part 2

...

@heavenly1927​ @didiintheblog​ @leilabeaux​ @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @shannygoatgruff​ @syrenak

[foggyladyking]

The places we don’t walk

Bryce Lahela x F! mc (Zelda Herschel)

words: 2170

summary: Rewrite of book 2 chap 11 from bryce’s pov, as Zelda stresses over everything happening and Bryce realizes he’s not content with just a smile, fickle promises, and leaving words unsaid to keep from going down to the places they won’t walk. 

rating: teen and up Light swearing, and light sexual themes

hurt/comfort 

_________

a/n

listen I hated how it emphasized how hot Bryce was, like okay we get it bryce is hot but his best friend is dying my thought wouldn’t be Let me look at your beautiful face one last time lets give bryce some more personhood other than being hot. pls fuck me pb wtf 

______________

Zelda pulled Bryce away from all the eyes to a supply closet, pushing him against a shelf, and pressing against him she attacked his lips. diving into him entirely.

her hands found their way under his scrubs, and his found their way to her waist. They had mere moments before a nurse would page her, moments before it was all shattered and the facade of perfection they created with each desperate kiss was gone. 

Bryce broke apart, giving a breathless laugh as he looked at her. Bags under her eyes that jumped around, she had this look of exhausted desperation on her, he didn't fail to notice how her hands shook ever so softly, the way she seemed to jump out of her skin at everything. 

"Do you wanna talk about it or just continue to kiss the shit out of me?" he asked with a gentle smile. "I don't think I can take this," She said before kissing him again. He pulled away once more only to wrap his arms around her. "what happened?" He asked "it's nothing, just kiss me," "It's obviously not nothing, have you slept?" 

She shot him a look that told him to proceed with caution. "What happened, Z?" He asked softly, smoothing her hair back into place. "Ethan is a bit.... much, He doesn't agree with what I'm trying to do to save the hospital and he's being such a..... baby, I've fought with him and argued for weeks, Bryce He makes me want to rip my hair out, He's so stuck on the idea of what the diagnostic team was meant to be and he only sees one part of what it means, You know? I feel like I'm playing wife, scolding him, when he's acting like a child," she let her head fall to Bryce's chest. 

"He's so goddamn difficult Everyone else on the team is trying, everyone else is playing their role but he's so.. stubborn," Bryce listened dutifully, soothing the back of her head and holding her in his arms. 

"I feel like things keep coming and coming and they keep pushing me and I know, they push everyone I know that's the point but I just feel like they push me harder?  I just- I don't know, I don't know, I just wanna give up, I don't want politics or anything, and I'm here, on T.V talking up some shitty politician, Pretending that's my job, Because yeah, now my phone's blowing up Because despite everything I'm reduced to Ramsey's 'possible new girlfriend' Because fuck me that's why," She ranted, taking a deep breath before looking up. 

"The curse of being hot, smart, and skilled, is that people only recognize one of the three at a time, it's a heavy cross to bear, Yknow?" She joked with a tired smile. Dismissing everything with that smile.

He knew it All too well what was happening, what she was doing so easily, pulling away and fixing herself. He knew and yet he stood there with a sad frown on his face, brows furrowed as he reached out slightly.

"Maybe let's go somewhere," Bryce tried with a smile, "you need a break from this place," He added hopefully. "If you could do anything what would you do?" He asked with a smile, they both recognized the plead, and neither acknowledged it, something that happened a lot with the pair if he was honest.

"It's okay, I should keep working on my cases, I'm sorry I went off like that, I'll make it up to you," She promised with a soft smile. "Zelda come on, It's okay, Let's do something," He urged wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She was saved by the abrasive lights from the hall flooding in,  An annoyed nurse standing in the doorway. Pulling away from him she fled past the nurse, smiling at him as she did. 

Bryce was left, disheveled and helpless. He let out a deep breath as he ran his hand through his hair, his pager going off once again, Pulling him away from Herschel's fleeting form, She was gone, walking beside someone else. 

With the mental promise to check up on her later, he allowed himself to be pulled away.

________

By the time he saw her again, it was before Krya's surgery and she seemed a bit better, She pressed a kiss to his lips and told him to take care of Krya before they separated.  

They separated all the time, parting ways with a promise to see each other at work, at a party, or just the next time they met up, A smile and a wave was a promise that they were only a text away, that if they needed the other, there they'd be. 

And then his hands started to shake, And as he finished the surgery and rushed to Zelda they didn't stop. He was met with a hoard of friends all looking at him with this grim look, they all went the same way.

He watched her through the window, pacing around the room, in bed was Rafael who followed his gaze and met him once again with a shrug, as if to say he'd already tried. 

"Zelda?" Bryce called from the other side of the wall. She turned to look at him, and with the knowledge, she was likely going to die, the first words out of her mouth upon seeing him was "Bryce, You shouldn't be here,"  He gave a soft smile and made a passing comment if he was honest he couldn't remember what he said, His mind was too wrapped up in watching her. 

She pressed her hand to the glass and sighed, within a second he pressed his own to the same spot on the glass. "Maybe Ethan will be less of a hardass on you, now," He joked with a hopeful smile. She let out a bittersweet laugh, and before he knew it there he was, fighting the same losing battle of trying to stay calm, to be strong in front of Zelda Herschel.

He watched as The diagnostic team drew blood, As Ethan lingered and once again, with the sound of his pager, he was pulled away.

But maybe for the best, as Bryce couldn't watch this, Watch her pale and her eyes roll back, He saw it enough He knew. He couldn't watch her wither away. 

He wasn't far, though, At all times he was a text away. She was pale and her cheeks had become gaunt, her lips were cracked and so dry she had a hard time stopping the habit she had since she was a child of picking at her lips till they bled. 

The hardest part of it all was watching through the glass as Ethan offered reassurance and dutifully she gave him her new symptoms with a gentle smile. It wasn't because he was jealous, it was the simple fact that she'd resigned into them failing that while they all tried to fix it, she was trying to ease them into the idea that if it can't be fixed she loved them. 

It was that at that moment she and Rafael shared a quiet resolve to make sure everyone knew that it was okay. 

He returned to her side after hours of working with some of the greatest minds he knew settled on the conclusion that there was no cure, she scanned their faces nodded, "how doomed am I?" She asked, If Bryce would have met her eyes, he would have seen that her's never left his form.

Bryce half-listened, to it all, the rundown of what he already knew, "I'm going to die here," She said and with a sigh that seemed sort of light she continued; "so be it," Three words that made the group flinch, ever so slightly. 

"Now's not the time to give up..." He heard Ethan say, But in honesty, they all knew He was just clinging to anything that might keep her from losing hope. As Sienna wetted the glass with her tears he finally looked at her, She watched her friend with a gentle smile. "I hear you no dying yet," she promised. 

And all at once, he was alone, and her eyes fell to him, with a forced smile he says "It's gonna be all right." Today seemed to be the day of promises made to ease hearts, he noted, making one of his own. 

"You don't have to be positive for my sake," She said gently. "I'm not, I can't let myself lose it, not when there's still hope," He said. She nodded thoughtfully, taking a labored breath before replying "whatever helps," 

Every moment felt heavier, with the weight of it all, with the fears they carried, and even as she gave him the same smile, the same one that said 'I'll see you later,' he came to the realization suddenly that the promise that was held in a smile wasn't enough for him. 

He suited up and within a moment, he was by her side, "what do you think? Am I still handsome? or am I maybe more handsome? Be honest." He said upon his entrance. 

The fear of making it real by saying anything else hindered him, But graciously She laughs, clapping lazily as he struts about in his bulky suit. 

"It's your best look yet," she informs with a tired grin. 

it's all coming down, He's losing her, he's losing her, it's over and they wasted time, This was it.  Every 'I love you' he trapped behind his teeth came back to the tip of his tongue. "I can't believe you actually came in here," She admitted with a sigh.

"if gonna be here for you I'm gonna be here for you," He said, As though repeated a club oath. 

"I'm not doing well on my own," She admits softly stroking her thumb over his rubber one. "No, no you've been brave," He denies. "I got two men killed because I was stupid," She reaffirms so sternly that it broke his heart.

So he does all he can, for the woman he loves and takes her in his arms just like before this began, Repeating "I'm sorry" till his voice broke. 

He gives her the only advice he can "stay positive," stupid as it may be, that's all he had. 

Even in joking, it all felt fragile, one breath it'd shatter. Everything was a funhouse version of their usual interactions, a melancholy facade of normalcy that she broke with "Did I tell you how thankful I am that you're here?" 

once the facade broke, so did Bryce's strained smile, "I was starting to go crazy worrying out there," He admits, "I couldn't imagine, I suppose it's just as hard, to watch," She replied. 

And it all came down, the weight of places they didn't walk, and the things they didn't say with the belief that it was obvious fell onto him, threatening to suffocate him. 

 "You mean a lot to me, More than you know, the idea of losing you...." He trailed off 

"if tonight's my last night, You're the one I want to spend it with," she said with a smile. 

She settled into the bed, too weak to pace about anymore, she looked up at him, in his bulky hazmat suit that was not at all made with cuddles in mind, and asked "Would you hold me?" her voice strained and rough, and Bryce didn't even have a thought of saying no. 

In the time spent spooning, it seemed everyone else spent it making a miracle because they rushed up, dark puffy eye bags looking more than a bit disheveled but with hopeful smiles on their faces. 

Bryce with his arm around her helps steady Zelda's arm, biting his lip as he watches the needle go in, sending a silent prayer to a god he doesn't believe in with it.

Reluctantly, to the demand of Ramsey, Bryce leaves her to rest, sleeping in the on-call dorm, despite being told to go home, no one would enforce this, in fact soon He was woken up by Ethan a broad smile playing on his face. "It's safe to go to her, without the hazmat suit, I have a feeling there's no other person she'd rather go tell her than you," He said gently.

And so, he did rushing in with all the confidence in the world, announcing "it worked?" A look of pure disbelief found its way to Zelda's face, so he strolled through the door with a grin, arms open as if to prove it. 

Without so much as another word, she jumps up and runs to his arms, nearly taking him down in the process, everything lost to him but her fists curled into his scrubs, and her lips on his. 

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers "thank you," "for what?" she asked with a soft smile. "for being alive." He replies, anchoring himself by embracing her.  

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter two)

pairing: reader/bang chan
 side pairings: established changbin/minho, past jisung/reader, a moment of changbin/chan flirting but it’s brief and not serious rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: alcohol, party drug use, violence (fist fights), a little angst because everyone loves drama, lots of profanity, smut, unprotected sex, a bit of exhibitionism, minho is definitely a bit of a hoe and a bad influence word count: about 11,100! also on my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter two: hello stranger, who the hell are you?

recommended tracks: just disappear by takayan, the last by agust d, phobia by stray kids, fairy of shampoo by tomorrow x together, dynamite by bts, dumb litty by kard. playlist can be found here!

note: this chapter is much longer than chapter one and it’s a wild ride. I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it!

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

The soft light of dawn comes through the window behind you, gently causing you to wake up. For a brief moment, you forgot where you were, but last night comes crashing down on you like the slight headache you have from your body being mad at you for having a bit too much fun with drugs last night.

The bed shifts next to you as Christopher starts to wake up. He reaches his hand over your abdomen and pulls you back into his chest. “Morning,” he sleepily grumbles, half-awake, “how’d you sleep?” You smile, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

“This bed is really nice.” You run your hand across the sheets, then slowly turn to face Christopher. “I think our escapade last night helped me sleep pretty well. What about you?”

He grumbles and ducks his head under your chin. “You absolutely wore me out last night. I feel like I slept like the dead. What time is it, anyway?”

“I’m not really sure, let me check.” You say, starting to roll over when Christopher stops you, his grip tightening on your waist.

“I thought we agreed to have a repeat of last night this morning?”

“Yeah, yeah, but maybe we should eat something first,” you manage to squeeze out of Christopher’s grip as he groans dramatically with feigned despair, pulling yourself to the side of the bed and reaching down to your jeans. It takes some skilled fumbling to get your phone out of your back pocket with only one hand, but you manage to get it. Miraculously, when you press the side button, your phone comes to life - there’s still some semblance of battery left.

‘Holy shit,’ you think to yourself as you see your screen. Eight missed text messages from Minji and three missed calls. You expected the mass of texts, but she must have had a really good time last night if she called you.

As you open your texts, you briefly scan through them and your stomach falls to the floor.

What?! No way!

Eonni, you seriously can NOT be hanging with THE Bang Chan?

Babe, he is dangerous, you need to get out of there.

Oh my god. Why aren’t you answering my texts?

Chan’s a kkangpae, like, he sells a lot of drugs and shit. Why do you think I broke up with Hyunjin last year? He got involved in that and I wasn’t gonna deal with it anymore.

Oh, I never told you I dated Hyunjin, did I? Oops.

Eonniiiiiiiii I swear you better not be dead. I’m going to bring you back and kill you if you’re dead.

Seriously, I thought after you were done with Jisung you swore off music producers?? Girl, you have bad taste lol.

“Well?” Christopher’s voice scares you and you involuntarily drop your phone to the floor in surprise. “What time is it? Hey, are you okay?”

You shake your head in disbelief, but somehow compose yourself enough to nervously laugh it off. “It’s, uh, like 10:30.”

Your answer doesn’t really convince Christopher that you’re actually fine. He places a hand on your shoulder, gently giving you a squeeze, and you flinch in response. “Are you sure you’re okay? You dropped your phone and you look like you’re gonna be sick.”

Chan’s a kkangpae. It feels like Minji’s text is burned in your head; it’s all you can think about. A bout of nausea washes over you - the red flags you had pop up last night were right. The nice apartment, the drugs, the cool demeanour, hell, even the way he looked - everything clicked into place. This man wasn’t just a music producer, he was something way more serious.

Christopher gets up out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He shuffles around for a minute before he comes back with a bottled beverage in his hand, kneeling down in front of you. “Babe, you look terrible. Drink this, it’ll help you feel better.” He takes his other hand and gently rubs his thumb over your knee. The look on his face is deceptively calm and inviting. How was he so dangerous?

You shake your head and grab the drink, briefly glancing over the label. Some cold ginger tea blend that you’ve had a thousand times before. The thought of drinking something right now was really off-putting, not due to nausea, but this crippling, suffocating feeling in your stomach.

“The washroom’s through that door back there,” Christopher says as he points behind his shoulder. “I’ve gotta check on something, but I’ll be back in a minute. If you need anything, just yell for me, okay?”

You still can’t manage to look him in the eyes, but you will yourself to nod your head weakly. He pushes himself up onto his toes, kissing your forehead softly before he walks over to his closet, ruffling through the clothes hanging up. It’s a good moment to take off to the washroom, if anything just to wash your face and get your bearings straight.

Time seems to stand still. You’re not sure how long you stand with your head hanging over the sink, water starting to dry on your face. The fact that Christopher was a kkangpae seemed foreign and odd, like the word didn’t actually exist anymore, the more you mulled over it in your head. You came to the conclusion that he himself couldn’t have been that dangerous, but that the people he involved himself with were probably really dangerous. Right?

Knowing that you had slept with someone with dangerous connections didn’t bother you as much as the fact that you liked sleeping with him, that he was arguably one of the best guys you’d fucked. If the circumstances were different, you would probably try and keep whatever you had going. The thought of dating someone like him didn’t seem so terrible, except for the fact that he was a goddamn drug dealer.

“Fuck,” you groan as you look at yourself in the mirror. You decided you had to get dressed, come up with some excuse and get out of there. “Right.” Instilling a fake air of confidence, you straightened up and opened the door back to the bedroom. As you walked through the doorway, you could see Christopher in the kitchen through the corner of your eye. In the time it took you to get your head on straight, he had dressed himself back up in a nice button up shirt and some dark blue jeans.

“Oh!” He calls after you from the doorway, “I grabbed a shirt of mine and a pair of pants that I think will fit you? They’re on the bed.”

‘Great,’ you sarcastically thought to yourself, ‘I’ve always wanted to wear a drug dealer’s clothes. Very cool.’

You grab your underwear and bra from last night and slip them on, feeling gross and like you needed to get back home now, if anything, so you could shower and wear fresh clothes. Since you were already pretty deep in, you decide to just wear Christopher’s clothing and hope that he didn’t want it back. It was kind of cute, an obviously worn band t-shirt, and comfortable, yet somehow flattering black joggers. If this were another lifetime, you could see yourself stealing Christopher’s clothes more often.

Alright, you were nearly ready to go. However, when you went to grab your phone to respond to Minji and let her know you were okay, you were foiled by fate and it was dead. “Motherfucker,” you grumble as you grind the heel of your foot into the ground in frustration. Life was not on your side today.

You decide to suck up your pride for a bit, after all, shit was already bad enough, how could it get worse? With a bit of a lazy shuffle in your step, you make your way out to the kitchen, weakly shaking your phone. “Hey,” you squeak out, “I don’t suppose you have a charger, do you?”

“Wow!” Christopher’s eyes light up at seeing you in his old clothes, “You look really cute in that. Yeah, I’ve got a charger in there, come here,” he walks over towards you, grabbing your hand and guiding you towards the far side of the bed in the bedroom. “Here,” he says as he bends down and hands you the end of the cord. “I think this will work? Looks like you’ve got an iPhone too.”

“Thanks,” you say, plugging your phone in. The way that he looks at you so softly warms your heart a bit - it’s been a long time since you felt so cared for, and you felt guilty that you were going to try to dash out of here as soon as possible and leave all this behind. “Of course,” Christopher smiles and kisses your forehead again. “I’m gonna make something for breakfast real quick. It’ll be ready in a bit, so try not to fall asleep again, alright?”

The pit of regret in your stomach grows a bit. “Yeah, sure thing,” you say with fake enthusiasm.

Christopher’s footsteps fade from your ears and you have a moment’s reprieve before you hear a ringtone that isn’t yours. “Oh shit,” you hear him exclaim from the kitchen, “What happened now?”

“Changbin,” his voice turns dark as you hear him answer his phone. “Shit, yeah, no, I got your text messages. Wait,” he sounds slightly panicked, “you’re here? Goddammit, this is that bad, isn’t it?” There’s a lengthy pause. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Whatever. You know where I am.” You hear his phone hit the countertop as Christopher sighs heavily and shouts, “Fuck!”

‘This is bad,’ you think, unconsciously gripping the sheets beneath you. The silence in the apartment is deafening; you swear you could hear your heartbeat beating out of your chest. Then, suddenly, footsteps come back into the bedroom as Christopher says your name, firmly and seriously, before sitting down next to you on the bed.

“I’m so sorry for this, but,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “someone I work with is coming over and it’s serious. Can you stay in here for a bit? After he’s gone, I’ll order us something for breakfast, something nice. Okay?” As you space off, lazily gazing towards Chris, you notice that he’s staring down at your right hand, gently placing his atop yours and softly wrapping his fingers around your hand. You noncommittally nod your head yes in reassurance, too distracted to really answer.

He’s a kkangpae, the reminder pops up in your head again. You swear that you can hear it in Minji’s voice. You know should get out of here, just bolt up and leave, but you can’t bring yourself to leave quite yet.

A pounding on the front door rips you from your thoughts. As Christopher bolts up to his feet, a chime comes from his phone. He pulls it from his back pocket, glancing at it briefly before relaxing the tense look from his face for a second. “Don’t worry, he’s friendly,” he says, getting up and walking out of the bedroom. “Well, friendly enough, at least. Stay here, I’ll deal with him.”

A moment passes, and you hear some light shuffling.

“You dense motherfucker,” an unfamiliar voice comes from the entryway, immediately followed by the door slamming. “The Chan I remember was never this stupid.”

“Changbin,” Christopher’s interjects, his voice terse.

“You went out after I explicitly told you not to and you brought a complete stranger back to your apartment? You absolute moron.” The voice, you assume belongs to Changbin, sounds more irritated than angry. “Hyunjin was spotted at that party last night. I don’t know who took it, but that photo of you and that woman is making the rounds in the group. Who only knows who all saw that? I thought I told you both to stay away from all of Itaewon-dong this week?”

The name Hyunjin causes your breath to hitch in your throat, piquing your interest. You pull yourself up to your feet, quietly walking towards the bedroom door. Cautiously, you poke your head over the doorframe, glancing into the kitchen. Christopher is standing behind a barstool, his hands ruffling through his hair before he casually tucks them in his pockets. A shorter, lean man with dark brown hair walks on the opposite side of the countertop, nervously pacing back and forth.

“Changbin, look, it was a mistake,” Christopher tiredly pleads, “I admit that I fucked up, yeah, but-”

“You fucked up?” Changbin cuts him off, punctuating his sentence a sarcastic laugh. He turns back to face the fridge and you hear the door opening, the sound of items shuffling echoing through the quiet apartment. “Yeah, you definitely fucked up. I’m drinking some of your beer. Gonna fucking need it. You know,”  he slams the door shut, “you’d better hope you weren’t tailed. If they find out where you live, well, I can’t protect you from that.”

A soft tss comes from what you assume is Changbin opening a can of beer. Christopher catches your eye as he reaches down to the can that Changbin placed in front of him. He looks down, then looks back up, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second, lips parting and his eyes widening in surprise. You quickly hide behind the wall, knowing you shouldn’t have spied on their conversation.

“What?” Changbin’s voice perks up for a second. “Oh my god. She’s still here?” He somehow sounds more annoyed at this and lets out an exasperated groan. “Goddammit, Chan, what happened to you? Oi,” he stresses, footsteps coming closer to the bedroom, “Get out here, this involves you too.”

“What, you thought the high heels were mine?” Chris sarcastically scoffs as you walk out of the bedroom. “Changbin, this is-“

“Yeah, I know.” Changbin cuts Christopher off, throwing his free hand up in frustration, as if he was dismissing Christopher, “trust me, I fucking know.” He grumbles out your full name and adds, “Some model from northern Japan, Korean mom, Japanese dad, right? Graduated from Todai a couple years ago; bachelor’s in economics.” He glares at you as he takes a swig of beer from his can, clicking his tongue in disapproval and muttering something under his breath. “Typical, just your fuckin’ type.”

“W-what?” You stutter out, completely floored that he knows so much about you. “Chris, how does he know all of that?” Panic starts to overtake you and your hands start to tremble.

“Babe,” he whispers, a look of pity painted on his face. Christopher stands up and walks over toward you, but you step back into the wall, waving your hands in a frenzy.

“No, no, no, don’t do that. You don’t get to do that until I know what’s happening.”

Changbin sarcastically chuckles and crushes his can. “Here we go,” he says, digging in the fridge once again. He pulls out two cans of beer and puts one of them on the corner of the counter closest to you. “You’re gonna need one of these, too.”

Your head is spinning, from the window, the skyline of Seoul seems to blur together as you try to make sense of everything that’s happening. If you understood it correctly, Christopher was indeed a drug dealer, just under Changbin in their group’s hierarchy. Hyunjin was also involved, but sold trafficked guns and other weapons in and out of the group.

Christopher went out to that house party in Itaewon last night when Changbin ordered him not to (he stressed that point several times), someone from a rival drug dealing gang saw both him and Hyunjin, snapping photos of them both, as well as a photo of you sitting next to Christopher, his arm around your shoulders, clearly enjoying yourselves.

What made it worse was that someone mistakenly spread a rumour that you and Christopher were an item, that you were a close girlfriend of his, and it put a target on your head so that they could specifically shake up Christopher. Changbin had said that he was unsure exactly how much danger you were in, but it would be best if no one knew where you were. Neither of you were to leave this apartment without someone escorting you.

A nervous laugh came bubbling up from your stomach, erupting into a full-blown, wild cackling fit. There was no way that any of this was real - you were just out with a friend last night, you left with someone else to have a one night stand, and now you were having some sort of crazy fever dream thanks to the drugs you took last night.

“This is crazy,” you say in between laughs, “Christopher, you can’t be serious. This is a joke, right?” You calm yourself, no longer laughing as you look at both Changbin and Christopher, their faces stone cold and free from expression. “Oh my god,” the realization hits you and you sink further into the couch, hoping that it will eat you alive so you don’t have to deal with this mess. “What about Minji? She ran off with Hyunjin last night. Is she okay?”

The men looked at each other with confusion. “I only heard about one woman, and that was you,” Changbin says, leaning back in his chair, throwing his arm over the back of it. “If there was someone with Hyunjin, this is the first time I’m hearing of it. What’s her family name? I’ll have one of my guys keep an eye on her.”

“Moon. Moon Minji. She models with me. Lives in the apartment across from me.” You were somewhat relieved, shaking your head in disbelief. Naturally, you were happy that Minji was safe - for now - but you couldn’t believe this was happening to you.

Changbin stands up, pulling his phone from his back pocket, “Alright. I’m gonna make a call. Don’t go anywhere, either of you.” He starts tapping on his phone and ducks off into a room on the opposite side of the kitchen.

Christopher gets up and sits next to you on the couch. He cautiously reaches his hand out to your thigh. You want to swat his hand away, but you don’t have the energy to do it. “I am so sorry,” he says in a soft tone, his voice sounding like it’ll break at any second, “If I had known, I wouldn’t have brought you here, wouldn’t have risked this.” He sounds genuinely apologetic, but you don’t really register it. He takes his free hand to brush your hair back behind your ear, rubbing his thumb soothingly on your cheek.

Honestly, this conversation had exhausted you. Your life was turned upside down because of this man, this dangerous, but wonderful man. Part of you resented him, but the way he tried to calm you by stroking your face made you less angry at him. For all the shit he put you through, his genuineness did make you forgive him - at least somewhat.

“Chris,” you start to say, looking up at him, before Changbin opens the door and loudly walks back into the room.

“Your friend’s going to be fine. I’ve got one of my best guys following her,” he interjects, walking to the fridge, grabbing another can of beer, “she’s gonna be tracked until we get this shit sorted out. Hyunjin texted me and apologized, for whatever the hell that’s worth. You two are idiots.”

Christopher sighs heavily, furrowing his brows in frustration as he looks up at Changbin. “Oh, yeah? That time we were in Shanghai? Want me to bring that up?” He drops his hand from your face and stands up.

Changbin closes the fridge door and loudly slams his unopened can of beer on the counter. “You bastard, that was entirely-” Christopher cuts him off, advancing towards him.

“Entirely what, different? You easily lost us, what, a hundred million won? Or was it three hundred?” You swivel your head around to see the two of them get in each other’s faces. “And for what, Minho?”

Whatever that meant, it snapped something inside Changbin. “You motherfucker,” he gritted, taking fistfuls of Christopher’s shirt into his hands before shoving him backwards. “I’m gonna fucking kill you. Don’t you dare bring him up like that again.”

A growl came from Christopher as he rolled up his sleeves, “It’s your fault that he got shot and you know it. You’re lucky he didn’t die.”

Changbin managed to take his elbow and ram it into the side of Christopher’s face, causing him to collide with the kitchen cabinet. He wound his arm back and threw a fist towards Christopher’s face, trying to get him one more time. He ducked, running his shoulder into the shorter man’s chest, pushing him back a few steps before he fell to the floor with an audible thud. Christopher towered over Changbin, fists tightly clenched. He knelt down and drew his right arm back, ready to deck the smaller man.

“Fuck you!” Changbin shouted as he flailed underneath Christopher, grabbing a fistful of his shirt with one of his hands, pulling his right arm to the side, winding up another punch.

You started to panic, yelling at them to stop. You did not need this happening on top of everything else. However, your words fell on deaf ears as the guys kept yelling at each other, thrashing around on the floor.

Suddenly, the movement stops, and you hear Changbin pound on Christopher’s chest. “I’m never going to forgive myself,” he chokes out, his voice laden with regret, and it almost sounds like he’s holding back tears. “I can’t even look at him without seeing him lying there, dying. And I know it’s my fault. You don’t have to fucking remind me. Knowing I almost got  Minho killed haunts me. I’d give anything to trade places with him so he didn’t have to experience that pain.”

Christopher sits back on his heels, offering Changbin a hand to sit up. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. That was a low blow, I’m just fucking panicking.” The brunette accepts his hand and sits up, his face red and slightly puffy. His eyes were red and glossy as he rolls them in your general direction.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to either of you. I know you barely know her, but if she got hurt or killed, I know you’d never forgive yourself either.”

“Thanks,” Christopher says, pulling Changbin to his chest. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. Not by blood, by the code, yeah?” Changbin grunts in agreement, slapping his hand against Christopher’s back.

“Not by blood, by the code.” Changbin repeats back to Christopher, who is offering his hand to help Changbin stand. You could tell there was an exhaustive history between them and you were only scratching the surface of it.

“Alright,” Changbin says, setting a couple of bags down on the coffee table. “I grabbed some jjajangmyeon from that place you like and some more alcohol since I’ve been drinking all of your beer.”

“You didn’t need to do that, we have plenty in fridge in the studio,” Christopher sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, I didn’t say it was for you anyways,” Changbin continues, looking at you, “Minho’s gonna swing by in a bit. I asked him to go out and get you some clothes since you’re gonna be here for a while. I’d have done it myself, but I don’t know shit about clothes. He always goes shopping for the two of us.”

You’ve been sitting on the couch for a few hours now, barely moving. The sun was behind the building now, so you assumed it was probably some time in the early evening. Christopher was nice enough to bring you your phone so you could tell Minji that you were fine, but you were sick so you wouldn’t be around for a while. Thankfully, you didn’t have any gigs planned for about a month and a half, but you knew you’d have to get a hold of your boss eventually.

Christopher was on the couch next to you, an awkward gap apparent between the two of you. Neither of you had spoken much to each other today, conversations mostly happening between Christopher and Changbin. He has, however, kept his hand on top of yours the entire time. Before Changbin returned from his errand run, Christopher apologized to you several times, genuinely upset that he brought an innocent person into this. You were thankful that Changbin returned when he did, because if you had to listen to Christopher apologize one more time, you were ready to lose it.

“Here you go,” Changbin says as he starts emptying a paper bag, placing a couple takeout boxes of jjajangmyeon and side dishes in front of you. “I grabbed some soju and beer for us, think we could use it.”

“Haven’t you had enough beer today?” Christopher sarcastically says, reaching over to grab a pair of chopsticks and a box of food, putting both in your lap before he reaches for his own food.

“Look, man,” Changbin started, bringing a few bottles to the table, “after the day we’ve had, there ain’t enough beer in the world to deal with what’s happened. Might as well have fun for now, yeah?”

You don’t say anything and just reach for the closest bottle of soju, tilting it back and forth a couple times before opening it, lifting the bottle to your lips and taking a hearty chug. The aroma of strawberry perfumes your mouth as the alcohol burns all the way down. You didn’t really like strawberry soju, but tonight was gonna be different. You slam the bottle down on the table and smile widely. “Let’s do it.”

Christopher and Changbin are staring at you with their mouths hanging open. This is the most active you’ve been in over an hour, and it had taken them by surprise. “Alright, that’s my gal,” Changbin says with a smirk, grabbing his own bottle of soju and downing an equally long swig. He shakes his head, scrunching up his nose in disgust, and coughs, “Oh shit, that’s a terrible idea. Why the hell did I get flavoured shit?”

You grab a bottle and put it in Christopher’s hands. “Your turn,” you say before turning to open the takeout box in front of you. The warming smell of the black bean sauce brightens your mood a bit, excited to eat one of your favourite meals.  

Christopher’s pensive, although he decides to suck it up as he reaches down to a fresh bottle of soju, shaking it, “Yeah, fine, whatever,” he says, cracking open the bottle and sucking down a couple of hearty gulps. “Fuck, Changbin, blueberry?” He coughs before reorienting himself, “Really? The fuck is wrong with you?”

You stifle back a laugh, taking a bite of your jjajangmyeon. “You’ll be fine, you can do it,” you say, reaching back down to the bottle of strawberry soju in front of you. “This will help make things a bit more bearable, yeah?” You look at Christopher with a toothy smile, hoping he’ll lighten up at least a bit.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and Changbin perks up. “That’s probably Minho.” He stifles a smirk, looking down at his phone as it chirps. He gets up, walking to the door with purpose. It takes a minute, but he eventually opens the door. You casually look over your shoulder, trying not to obviously stare, noticing the small man embrace the dark-haired man that walks in. The man isn’t much taller than Changbin, maybe only a couple of inches taller. Their embrace is soft, warming, like you can tell that they care about each other.

“Hey there,” he says softly, and you catch him plant a soft kiss on Changbin’s cheek. His voice is low and calm, “I grabbed the things you asked me to grab, but are you sure you’re alright?”

“Aish,” you hear Changbin shush him, “I’m fine, don’t worry about me, baby. Come in and hang with us. I got some soju for you.”

The shorter, black-haired man comes up in front of you, “Hi, I’m Lee Minho. Changbin’s probably talked about me by now.” He bows slightly before dropping the bags he has behind the table, taking a seat across from you, opposite from the chair Changbin’s was occupying. The man grabs a bottle of soju off the table, shaking it up and down twice before cracking it open and drinking a quick swig from the bottle.

“Oh, ew,” he groans, a clear wince on his face, “Peach? Binnie, what the hell’s wrong with you?” He whines, looking at Changbin as he grimaces.

“Yeah, yeah,” Changbin waves a hand in the air dismissively as he sits back down, “I know, I wasn’t looking when I grabbed the alcohol, okay? I was a bit distracted. Fuck you guys,” he grumbles, reaching down to his soju bottle. “If you don’t like it, go to CU and get your…. oh.” He stops in his tracks, bottle halfway to his mouth. “Shit, my bad. Want me to go get something different?”

You’re about to dismiss it, but Christopher looks at Changbin, “Yeah, go get something better, especially if Minho’s gonna be here for a while. We’re gonna need it.” He sounds cold, taking a quick drink from his bottle. “We’re gonna need to stay entertained tonight somehow, yeah?” He turns to look at you, reaching out to grab your thigh again, a sly smirk on his face.

You can’t help but blush. You turn down towards your lap, grabbing a large amount of food with your chopsticks and shove it in your mouth. “Mmmpfh,” you manage to grumble out, in a seeming sense of agreement.

All of the guys share a soft chuckle, then Changbin excuses himself with a grumble before walking up to the front door. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright? Don’t go anywhere.” The door closes with a soft thud, and a few moments pass as the three of you sit there quietly.

“So,” Minho smiles, looking at both you and Christopher with purpose, “Changbin told me that you two seem to have taken a liking to each other already.”

You swear you hear Christopher choke on a mouthful of food before looking at you through the corner of his eyes. “Um,” he manages to squeak out, swallowing the food in his mouth, “I suppose you could say that? It’s only been a day, though.”

“Well, I guess you’re going to get to know each other really well here soon.” Minho shrugs his shoulders, grabbing the peach soju he was drinking earlier. “Oh,” he exclaims, beaming with a smile, “when Binnie gets back, we should play a drinking game. That’s a good way to get to know someone, isn’t it?” Admittedly, it did sound fun at the beginning. However, when you were on your third bottle of soju and Changbin and Minho were getting flirty and handsy with each other, you were a bit jealous. You and Christopher were starting to get closer and you were really feeling good, but it would be weird to be that playfully touchy-feely with someone you’ve known for less than 24 hours.

“I have an idea,” Minho turns to look at both of you, “you know what’ll help you even get closer?” He gets up, walks towards the kitchen counter and starts rifling through Changbin’s bag.

“Oi! That’s my stuff!” Changbin proclaims from his seat.

“Relax, babe, not like you don’t go through my stuff,” Minho quips, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Ah,” he exclaims, “found ‘em.” He comes back to the coffee table and puts a film canister on the table, the container rattling the entire time. Changbin sighs and rolls his eyes, realizing what’s in it.

“Aish,” he groans, “what is with you and this stuff when you drink?”

“Oh, shut up. You still love me, especially after one of these.” Minho says, with a laugh, suggestively looking at Changbin for a moment. He pops the lid of the canister and pours out the contents on to the table. Out comes a few baby blue tablets, similar to the ones you took last night.

A memory of you sitting on Christopher’s face, struggling to stay upright, shouting his name, flashes through your head. Your face gets hot and you look down, visibly flustered. He must have noticed, because Christopher squeezes your thigh, then moves his hand up to your shoulder. “What’s up?” He asks.

“Oh,” you look up at him, then back down to your lap. “The pills just reminded me of something.”

Christopher looks at the table, letting his thoughts register for a moment. It must have hit him, because he sucks in a breath through his teeth and giggles a bit. “Ah, yeah, last night, right?”

“Oh my god,” you groan with frustration and put your head into your hands.

“Hold up,” Minho perks up, a giddy smile on his face, “What happened last night?”

“That’s a bit rude, Min.” Changbin says in a disappointed tone, playfully shoving Minho’s shoulder.

“You both know that I’m nosy. So, what happened last night?”

Christopher rolls his eyes, then sits back on his hands. “We took some ecstasy and had a couple lines last night, so we were rolling pretty hard. We felt pretty good, one thing led to another, you know.” You feel eyes bore into the back of your head, and turn to look at Christopher. He’s got a big grin on his face, clearly happy with himself. “Any time I can make someone shout my name at the top of their lungs is a good time.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groan and drop your forehead to the top of the coffee table, sighing in embarrassment. You sit back up and glare at Christopher, ready to be mad at him, but the way he smiles melts any anger you had towards him.

“Nice,” Minho hums as Changbin nods his head in approval. He grabs the pills on the table, and gives one to everyone. The guys immediately pop theirs into their mouths, and you sit there, pill in hand, just staring at it.

“You alright?” Christopher asks, rubbing a hand on your back. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, baby.” The word ‘baby’ slipped from his lips naturally; he clearly didn’t mean to say it, it just happened. “Uh, um, sorry.”

The next thing you know, the pill is halfway down your throat and you’re finishing up your third bottle of soju. “It’s all good, baby,” you say, jokingly mocking Christopher. You turn to look at him, and give him a wink. He smiles back to you, scooting himself up next to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“Ugh,” Changbin grumbles, rolling his head back, “you’re already insufferable.”

Christopher picks up a lid from an empty soju bottle and tosses it at the brunette. “Oh, shut up. You and Minho were all over each other just a few minutes ago. Not to mention, you’re going to be even worse once the E kicks in. The last time we were down in Busan and we all were tripping and you started fucking each other in front of me, remember that?”

“You enjoyed watching it, though, quite a bit from what I recall, “Changbin quips, “I very clearly remember you whipping out your dick and taking things into your own hands while we were putting on a show.” Hearing this makes your eyes widen in surprise, spinning your head to the side to look at Christopher, who’s blushing and covering his face with his hand.

Minho starts laughing really hard, and it causes the frown on Changbin’s face to crack into a smile. “Aish, you’re so cute when you laugh.” He leans over and gives the dark-haired man a peck on the cheek. “And I don’t care who knows how I feel about it,” he smirks as he turns to look at Christopher, raising his eyebrow in jest.

“Yeah?” Christopher taunts, slipping his hand down your shoulder to your waist and pulling you closer. “You should hear her when I -“ Before he can finish his sentence, you take your elbow and dig it into his ribs.

“They don’t need to know everything,” you whine.

“Yeah,” Christopher smirks, “They’ll probably get an earful of it tonight, anyways.”

Both of the men across the table groan in feigned disgust. “Anyway,” Minho stresses, trying to change the subject, “Why don’t we bust out a couple beers and play some truth or dare?” Changbin stands up, walking to the fridge. “Sounds like we’ve already opened up quite a bit, yeah?”

“I’m on it, I’ll grab a couple for everyone. Don’t say I don’t do anything nice for you,” he scoffs as he enters the kitchen. Minho starts putting all of the emptied soju bottles, except for one, in a bag. The last bottle, he takes and lays it on its side, putting it in the middle of the table. You look at the bottle, then turn to look up at Christopher.

“Hey,” you whisper in his ear, “was that story actually true?”

Christopher blushes again and stifles a laugh, “Yeah, yeah it was true. Not my proudest moment, but have you looked at them? Anyone would’ve done it, too.”

His honesty makes you laugh a bit, and you lean up next to him, nuzzling your head up against his shoulder. He’s warm, and comfortable, and he rests his head on top of yours, reaching down to grab your hand.  Even if you were stuck here in this near-stranger’s house for longer than you’d like to be stuck, the little moments of comfort like this were helpful.

“Alright,” Changbin chirps up, setting down a couple cans of beer in front of you and Christopher. “Perk up, lovebirds, let’s party.”

“Okay!” Minho excitedly claps his hands together before cracking open his beer. “We’ll spin the bottle, and whomever it lands on gets to choose between telling the truth about something or a dare. If you back out, you’ve gotta take a drink of your beer. Got it?”

The game started off innocent enough, all of you were sticking to truths, and the questions were relatively mild. However, things started to take a turn when the drugs started to kick in. Minho wouldn’t stop touching Changbin, his fingers constantly trailing over the brunette’s chest. When it’s his turn, he spins the bottle, landing on Changbin.

“Dare,” Changbin says, confidently looking directly into Minho’s eyes.

“You’re gonna regret that,” Minho says, smirking as he turns to Christopher. “I dare you to make out with Christopher, if he’s okay with it, of course.”

“What?” Christopher spits out in shock.

“Aish, baby,” Changbin groans, “Why do you get like this every time we roll? You just want to watch me make out with other men and make them miserable.”

Minho grins, leaning over to Changbin to kiss his cheek. “It’s because you’re hot and you know it.”

You can feel a look of complete bewilderment being plastered on your face. Your mind couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Was this seriously about to happen? Have they done this before?’ Almost as if it was on cue, Christopher turns to look at you.

“Are you okay with it? I know we’re not, like, dating or anything, but,” his voice trails off and he bites his bottom lip in, darting his eyes down to the floor.

“Yeah,” the word slips from your mouth before you have a chance to actually think about it. You were admittedly curious, thinking it would be kind of interesting to watch Christopher be a bit physical with someone else.

Christopher gives you a quick peck on your cheek before he turns to Changbin, “Do your worst.”

Without saying a word, Changbin crawls over towards Christopher, straddling his lap and taking his hands to Christopher’s face. The smaller man presses his lips to the blond’s lips, almost timidly at first, until Christopher takes his hands and grabs Changbin’s hips, pulling him in. “You can do better than that,” he whispers.

“Oh shit,” Minho says, leaning onto the table with a grin. “Binnie hates being teased, Channie.”

Changbin grumbles under his breath, reaching his hands up to Christopher’s hair, pulling his head back as he grinds down into his lap. Christopher lets out a small whimper from the pain and looks up at Changbin with half-lidded eyes. “Don’t talk back to me, hyung,” the brunette warns with a serious tone.

Changbin licks Christopher’s bottom lip before taking it in between his teeth. He bites it somewhat firmly, eliciting a gasp out of the man beneath him, then goes to let his tongue explore his mouth. The men let their hands travel on each other while kissing with a burning passion.

Admittedly, this was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen, all of this was causing you to feel warm and tingly as you watched it. This is what Christopher looked like when the two of you were rolling around in bed last night, and it was hot. You made a mental note to take control of your makeout session and to pull his hair the next time you were able to.

“Oh my god,” Minho groans, “Okay, that’s enough, I can’t watch anymore, it’s too good.” He sits back and takes a drink of beer from his can, dramatically fanning himself with his free hand. Changbin pulls away from Christopher and smirks, and Christopher has a blissed out smile on his face.

“You’re not my type, but I’ll admit you’re good,” Christopher says, wiping his lips with the back side of his hand.

“Yeah, I know,” Changbin says with a laugh as he gets up and walks back to his spot. He sits down, a wide grin on his face, before he takes a hearty drink from his beer. “Minho tells me all the time.”

Christopher turns to you, gets a bit closer, and pulls your face to his, kissing you passionately for a good few seconds. He breaks away from the kiss and moves to your ear. “I want you,” he whispers quietly, so Minho and Changbin can’t hear, “I’m going to make you mine again tonight.”

His words make you blush and smile. He pulls away from you and takes a drink from his beer. “That was something else,” you say, looking at Changbin, then Minho, then Christopher. “You’re all… close?”

Minho laughs, “Nah, we’re not normally like this. When we’ve been partying a little hard, though, things get interesting between us. Nothing more than this, though. I don’t wanna share my Binnie that much, just enough to make him squirm and come crawling back to me.”

Changbin rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, you’re insufferable when we party hard like this. It’s always, ‘Binnie, make out with me, Binnie, make out with that hot guy over there, Binnie, Binnie, Binnie’ with you.” Minho playfully shoves Changbin’s shoulder and laughs.

“I wouldn’t do it if you didn’t like it, or me, so much,” he says, taking another drink of his beer. “Alright, Channie, it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” Christopher says, reaching out to spin the bottle. It takes a couple rotations, then it slows, and stops, pointing at you.

“Oh,” you say, looking at the bottle, then looking at Christopher. You weren’t feeling brave enough to do a dare, so you say “truth” with an upward inflection, almost like you were asking a question.

“You’re no fun,” Minho pouts. “Make it a good question, Channie.”

“Hmm,” Christopher brings his index finger to his chin, thinking for a moment. “I’ve got it, what’s the most embarrassing sex story you’ve got?”

Your face flushes and you look down to the floor in embarrassment. You begrudgingly admit there was the time a couple years ago with your last boyfriend, Jisung, that you had gotten a bit too eager and a bit too drunk, sneaking off to the nightclub’s washroom. Your boyfriend had propped you up on the sink, one of your legs was up in the air and over his shoulder. Right when you two were in the middle of having the fuck of your lives, some guy had walked in and immediately walked back out, since neither of you had remembered to lock the door. There was a definite walk of shame as both of you immediately got dressed and left as soon as possible.

Christopher busts up laughing, because apparently he’s walked in on something similar to that before. “I mean, it’s kinda hot to see something like that in public, but if it happened to me, I’d be mortified. I’d never show my face in public again.”

Changbin looks at Minho and grins, “Yeah, sounds like that one time I came back from Taiwan and you were too excited to see me that you couldn’t wait until we got home and demanded that I take you in the airport parking lot.”

Minho laughs in response, playfully slapping Changbin’s shoulder, then moving to spin the soju bottle. “You had a good time, so you don’t get to complain.” The bottle spins, eventually landing on Christopher. “What’s it gonna be, Mr. Voyeur?”

“Get bent,” Christopher scoffs, “let’s do a dare this time.”

“Ooh, fun,” Minho says. He opens his mouth to speak, but Changbin leans over to whisper something in his ear, slyly looking at you as he whispers. “Oh, good idea,” Minho chirps, grinning deviously at the both of you. “Go into the studio and record the vocals of you both having sex, then play it back for us when you’re done.”

“What?” You yell out in surprise, your face turning beet red.

“Challenge accepted,” Christopher says cooly, grabbing your hand and pulling you up before you can wrap your head around it.

“Wait, I don’t get to say anything about this?” You shriek out, slightly panicked, as you stand up and follow Christopher.

“C’mon, baby,” he says soothingly, “I’ve got you.” He stops in front of the door that Changbin was in earlier, opening it and turning the lights on. He guides you through the door, closing the door behind you. “Just sit in that chair right there,” he points to the chair in front of the control panel. “I’m gonna get some stuff set up behind the mic and then we can get started, okay?”

If you hadn’t taken the ecstasy tablet earlier and had a few drinks, you definitely would’ve said no to being recorded, but you figured it would be funny to see the reaction on Minho and Changbin’s faces when they heard both of you. Something about it really got you excited. Christopher adjusted some things in the recording booth, then came back out to the control panel, opening his laptop and flipping some switches on.

“Okay,” he says as he turns back to you, reaching his hands out to yours. “Let’s go.”

You let Christopher pull you up and lead you into the recording booth. Your stomach was doing backflips as you entered the room, taking in the atmosphere. It was calm and relaxing; the spotlights were dim and it made everything seem comforting. The foam padded on the walls absorbed most of the ambient noise, making everything seem abnormally quiet.

Christopher sat down on the padded chair and pulled you into his lap. You crawled on top of him, straddling his hips. The positioning was probably going to be uncomfortable, but you didn’t mind. He takes his hands and slides them up your shirt, pulling you closer to him. “Let’s give them a show, baby,” he says in a low whisper before he brings his lips to yours, kissing you with an intense need.

You decided to not waste any time, reaching down to pull the shirt you were wearing off, tossing it behind Christopher. Your bra follows in succession, and the man beneath you sighs as he stares at you, slowly looking you up from your torso to your eyes, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He kisses you again, this time in short pecks, before he moves his fingers to grab the waistband of your pants. You get up on to your feet, helping him pull your joggers and panties off, then go to undo his jeans, slipping them along with his boxers down to his ankles.

Christopher sucks in a breath as his cock springs up, free from his clothing. “I’ve been sitting out there so hard since Changbin wrecked me. I can’t wait to have you ride me, baby.” He looks down at you, his eyes completely glazed over as he bites his lip.

“I’m gonna make you feel amazing,” you say in a breathy voice, kneeling down in front of Christopher, your face right up next to his cock. He looks at you, eyes widening, about to say something, but you take him into your mouth before he can say anything. You slowly work him completely into your mouth, and he lets out a primal groan as he throws his head back, gripping the sides of his chair with a vise grip.

“Fucking hell,” he moans out, “that’s incredible, baby, don’t stop.”

You come back up, sucking your cheeks in and letting his cock leave your mouth with an audible pop. “I want to feel you, too. I’m just getting you prepped.” you whisper in a sultry voice as you crawl back over him. Christopher looks up at you with a pleading face, upset that you stopped giving him head. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll give you all the attention you need later. I want you right now.” As you say that, you reach down and guide him inside of you.

Christopher grabs your hips, helping get himself into you. As you slide down onto him, there’s a warmth that spreads throughout you, making you feel like your nerves are on overdrive. A breathy, shaky moan unintentionally escapes your lips. You open your eyes and look down at Christopher; the blissed out look on his face is something you could drink in for days. He looked like only wanted you, that you two were meant to be together, at least for now.

He breathes out your name as you slowly grind your hips down into his, then take them up, almost removing yourself from him completely. You bite your lip, smiling at Christopher, before you thrust yourself right back down on him.

“Fuck,” he groans, digging his fingernails into your hips as his chin falls to his chest. “Baby, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says as he looks back up at you, taking one of his hands to the back of your head, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. It’s passionate and messy and you can’t get enough of it; the way his tongue rolls around in your mouth as you ride him up and down causes your nerves to tingle from head to toe.

Just when you think you have enough stimulation to start building you up to your orgasm, Christopher removes his hand from your head, interrupts your kiss to lick his thumb, and he starts rubbing it up against your clit. Your eyes snap open and roll backwards as you groan into his mouth, your entire body starting to feel like a supernova with all of the stimulation.

“I’m gonna make sure you come with me,” he breathes out, continuing to roll his thumb in circles against you. “You’re mine and only mine. Fuck,” he moans as you grind up on him, “Tell me who you belong to.”

Your mind is reeling from all of the stimulation, the ecstasy and the alcohol causing everything to feel magnified, like you would never feel something so good in your entire life again. “You, Christopher, you,” you breathe out, panting heavily, “I belong to you.”

“Yeah,” he groans, taking control and thrusting in and out of you faster, “You’re mine. Now come for me, baby.”

Something about the way he demanded you to come made all the tension inside of you release, caused all of your nerves to sing in harmony for a moment. Christopher did one more rotation of his thumb against your clit, and that was it, it was enough. Your orgasm completely took control of your body, making you arch your back and writhe against him. You shouted his name so loud, you were sure that Changbin and Minho could hear it through all of the soundproofing in the studio.

“Good girl,” Christopher praises, breathing heavily, “I’m gonna come inside you, baby, I want you to take it all for me.” His voice seems like it’s across the room, like you’re so far away from him that it’s difficult to hear. Everything, even the air, feels soft against you. You manage to mumble out something, although you’re not quite sure what it was, as you collapse into Christopher. His breathing speeds up as he digs his fingernails into your back as he grinds up into you one last time, and you feel his cum fill you up.

It takes a few minutes for both of you to come back to reality. When you do, you notice how sore and sticky you both are, like you could use a shower right now. You nuzzle up to Christopher’s neck, giving it a few light kisses before you sit up and look at him. “Wow,” you say, “that was mind-blowing.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, looking at you with a silly grin on his face, “that was somehow better than last night. But I definitely need a shower. Who would’ve thought that this studio got so hot?” Both of you laugh in agreement, and peel yourselves off of each other. You both get dressed and walk out into the control room; Christopher fumbles with his laptop and turns off some of the switches on the panelling.

“Shall we?” He says, walking up to the door. “We can make them listen to it in here.” He opens the door for you, and you both see Minho kneeling on the floor in front of Changbin, his head bobbing up and down in a familiar motion.

“Shit! Minho, stop!” Changbin exclaims with a whine, trying to get Minho off of him. They fumble around a bit as you turn around in secondhand embarrassment.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Christopher groans, “Really? You couldn’t wait until we went to bed?”

“You two are loud,” Minho whines in protest, “And with you and Binnie earlier I couldn’t help it!”

“Oh my god,” you groan, bringing your hands to rub your temples.

“Well, the recording’s saved to my laptop, so we fulfilled the dare,” Christopher says before grabbing your hand and walking you both towards his room, “We’re gonna shower and go to bed. Have fun, lovebirds.”

“Fuck off,” you hear Changbin groan as you both walk into Christopher’s bedroom.

“Well, that was,” your voice trails off, still in disbelief from what you had seen, “unexpected?”

Christopher groans again, removing his clothes, “Nah, they do this all the time. If it’s just the three of us and we’ve been drinking or taking drugs, Minho can’t control himself around Changbin. It doesn’t bother me, but I’m sorry you had to witness it firsthand. C’mon, let’s go shower.” He wiggles his fingers in a come-hither motion before he slips off into the washroom.

“It’s fine,” you say, disrobing as you make your way to the washroom. Christopher is already in the walk-in shower, setting the temperature to something tolerable. “It was unexpected, but it didn’t bother me. They obviously care about each other and I respect that.”

Christopher laughs, motioning for you to get in. “Yeah, they’re really good for each other.” You step in the shower behind him, enjoying the warm water as it splashes on your skin. “Changbin was an absolute asshole before he met Minho, though. You might think he’s abrasive now, but he was completely cold and closed off back then.”

You stick your head under the shower head, wetting your hair down, then turn to look up at Christopher. “I’ve known Changbin since we were in middle school. He was always quiet and nobody really wanted to be friends with him because he was so standoffish. Always rubbed people the wrong way.

“We didn’t mean to become kkangpae, it was just a matter of survival. Producing music got us nowhere financially, but one of the connections we had said we could make enough money to live if we just sold some stuff now and then. Turns out, we were really good at it. But the bigger you grow, the harder you fall.” Christopher sighs, sticking his head under the water for a minute before he leans up against the wall.

“A couple years ago, we were in Shanghai. Changbin and I were ordered to secure this big deal with the Triad, worth a couple hundred million won. It was a big fucking deal, and incredibly dangerous. Shit went south really fast. One of the new guys, Minho, was ordered to come with us to learn the ropes. He wasn’t supposed to come with us when we met with the Triad’s higher ups, but Changbin was angry that shit wasn’t going right and he ordered Minho to come with as a ‘learning experience’.”

You listened attentively with bated breath, watching the water bounce off of Christopher’s skin as you focused on his story. Based on what you heard earlier between the argument between Christopher and Changbin, you knew this wasn’t going to go well.

“It was horrible,” Christopher sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The Triads were pulling out of the deal and Changbin got pissed. I’d never seen him so angry in my life. We were working on leaving, trying to get away before things got violent, but one of the guys on their side was trigger happy - must’ve been new too. He pulled out a pistol and aimed it directly at Changbin. Fucking Minho…”

Christopher sucked in some air through his gritted teeth, and you could tell that reliving this experience was painful for him. He was biting back tears and his eyes were turning red. “Minho pushed him out of the way, which is what you’re supposed to be willing to do for your superior, but he got shot in the lung and in the leg because of it. Changbin was furious, he wasn’t gonna let them kill one of his men. He had his gun in his hand, ready to shoot at them, before I intervened, somehow getting us out of there. Honestly, I don’t know how we made it out of there alive. Minho was in the hospital in Shanghai for a couple of months, then was sent to a rehabilitation facility here in Seoul when he was stable enough to travel.”

Christopher looks over at you, seeing the look of concern on your face. “He’s fine now, but he doesn’t work in the field anymore. Changbin helped nurse him back to health once he was back home in Seoul, visiting him at the rehabilitation centre every day for three months straight. I think there was something going on between them before Shanghai, but after they spent all of that time with each other, they really fell hard. They’ve been living together ever since. Changbin doesn’t want Minho out of his sight, understandably.”

“Holy shit,” you say, shaking your head, “that’s horrible. I never would have guessed.”

“Yeah,” Christopher says, standing back upright and wiping under his eyes, “this life isn’t for the weak-willed. A couple of brothers have died just in the past two years. Most of us have gotten shot or stabbed or had the shit beaten out of us. We’ve got enough money to bribe the cops to stay off our backs, but it’s exhausting to never have the comfort of security. I’m so sorry to have brought you into this. I never wanted to drag another civilian into this.”

You reach up to his face, stroking his cheek with your thumbs. “It’s alright, Christopher. We couldn’t have predicted this. Now, we just need to get through it one day at a time.”

He looks up to you and smiles weakly. “Well, in that case, I hope I can make you happy during the time we’re stuck here. I’m here for you.”

“I’m here for you, too. How about we finish up showering and go to bed? It’s gotta be late.”

“That sounds like a plan,” he says, leaning down to give you a short, soft kiss.

You wake up in Christopher’s bed, wearing an oversized, well worn t-shirt of his. The voices of Changbin and Christopher float in from under the closed door, but you can’t really make out exactly what they’re saying. After a minute of slowly waking up, you slip on the pair of joggers Christopher loaned to you yesterday and head out to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you groggily say as you make your way to the countertop.

“Oh, morning. Did we wake you?” Christopher says in a hushed voice, standing between the island counter and the refrigerator. Changbin is sitting on a barstool on the opposite side for Christopher. You look around for Minho and see that he’s still passed out on the couch, softly snoring away.

“No, no, I needed to get up.”

“Ah, alright. I’ve got some stuff in the fridge. Changbin was nice enough to grab some groceries and prepped food for us, so I’ll make something nice for lunch in a bit. There’s some mugs up here and I have coffee pods for the maker right here,” he pulls open a drawer and there’s an array of various different types of coffee, which is just what you needed.

The idea of a home-cooked meal sounded really nice. You wondered if Christopher was a good cook or not; judging by the fact that his fridge was pretty empty yesterday, you assume that he’s probably too busy to cook, and likely eats a lot of takeout, you weren’t confident that he was good at cooking.

You fumble a coffee pod into the maker and grab a mug from one of the cupboards. Christopher gives you a soft peck on the top of your head and turns back to Changbin.

“Anyway, it wasn’t a big deal,” Changbin continues their conversation, taking a swig of coffee from his cup. “After your call with Xiaojian the night before last, Han reached out to me and said he’d come here later today to take care of the deal you’d been working on. He just got back from Beijing last night.”

Han. Hearing that family name made you do a quick double take. It had been a year since you and Han Jisung had split, coming to a mutual agreement that your relationship wasn’t going anywhere. You were busy travelling thanks to your career, and he had just taken up a big job that he didn’t like to talk about. The way he acted over it, you assumed he was probably having an affair and just used his new job as a cover.

The coffee maker made a gentle ting noise as it finished brewing your cup. You take the mug and immediately bring it up to your lips, grateful for the warm beverage to help wake you up.

“Han?” Christopher questions, shifting his weight on to one foot. “You really trusted Han Jisung with that?”

Holy shit. You spit out your coffee as soon as it touches your lips and haphazardly slam the mug on to the counter. “I’m sorry,” you exclaim, “Did you say Han Jisung?” There was absolutely no way that they were talking about your ex-boyfriend. No way. He had a relatively common name, but hearing it still shocked you.

Changbin and Christopher turn to look at you, surprised by your question. “Yeah, Christopher says, an alarmed tone to his voice, “You probably don’t know him, though. He’s quiet, introverted, and doesn’t get attached to people.”

Oh shit.

“The Jisung I knew was introverted but he would bleach his hair every month or so; he likes to stick out a bit from everyone else. Looks cute when he eats because his cheeks puff up like a squirrel. He also produces music and he’s about your height.” You ramble off random facts you remembered about him, but the more you divulged, the wider Changbin’s eyes got.

“Fucking squirrel,” Changbin sighs. “How do you know him?”

Your heart sinks into your stomach as you look at Changbin, the look on his face making you uneasy. “We dated for a few years before he left me for a new job. I thought he was just saying that because he was having an affair and felt guilty, though.”

“Shit,” Changbin sighs, and lets his head fall into his hands. “He said he had broken up with his girlfriend when he joined up with us. She was a model, too.”

Christopher looks mortified. “What?” He shakes his head and looks at you, wide-eyed and taken aback. “You dated Han?”

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse this week, it seems like your expectations had been lowered yet again.