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bullshxtvixen · 5 years ago

Note

can u do some oikawa or bokuto getting kinkyyyy in public like in the bleachers or smth 🥴🥴🥴

I’m sorry it took a while to post these, i’ve been setting up a haikyuu discord server so we can all thirst together so i’ve been slacking on requests :( but i really hope you enjoy them! ALSO I DID OIKAWA AND BOKUTO BECAUSE I COULDN’T DECIDE >.<

Public sex Headcanons - Oikawa and Bokuto

Warning: 18+, smut, public sex(duh) and a little bit of degradation.

Oikawa

- He’s had the whole thing planned since you’d agreed to come to the game with him. You’ve usually been pretty open to trying new things with him but he knew that if he’d warned you about his plan you would’ve chickened out.

- So when you’re sat at the back of the bleachers looking down at a particularly boring match and his hand find its way beneath your skirt, you couldn’t help but tense up and look at him with wide eyes.

- “What do you think you’re doing?” You’ll hiss at him but he’s just going to carry on watching the match as if his fingers weren’t caressing your inner thigh and inching dangerously close to your core.

- Fucking tease.

- Your eyes would be darting around checking to see if anyone had noticed what was happening but he’d chosen a secluded spot right at the back so the nearest people were at least 5 rows in front. It’ll click in your mind then that he’d planned this.

- “ Tōru , this isn’t funny, someone coul-“ you won’t get to finish your sentence before two of his slender fingers easily move your panties to the side and slip between your folds, sliding into you with ease.

- “Someone could see, huh?” You wanted to wipe the shit eating grin off his face. “If you were so worried about that then why are you already so fucking wet for me when I’ve barely even touched you? I think you love the risk of being caught, don’t you, you slut?”

- His words would have you shuffling in your seat as his fingers pick up their pace, his thumb now circling your clit, making that familiar ache build in the pit of your stomach.

- Gripping his thigh and digging your nails in won’t dissuade him, he’ll just continue to watch you from the corner of his eye with a smirk. He loves seeing you squirm.

- “T-tooru, I’m g-going to...I’m gonna...cum.” The words were almost incoherent, but he knew what you meant.

- “Ah ah ah, we can’t have that now, can we? You wouldn’t want to do something as dirty as cum all over my fingers in a public place now, would you?” He’ll pull his fingers out like the fucking tease he is, leaving you empty and unsatisfied.

- Annoyed and flustered, you’d get up and go to make your way past your idiot boyfriend but before you could get around him, he’s pulling you down into his lap, one arm firmly around your waist, securing you to him.

- “Don’t make a sound, don’t move unless I tell you to and don’t close your eyes. If you do any of those things I’m going to bend you over that seat in front of us and fuck your sopping little cunt right here for the whole gym to see, do you understand, sweetheart?”

- You wouldn’t even be able to process what was happening before for he growls “Answer me.” as his hand palms your ass. The only thing you could do was nod.

- That’s all he needed. In seconds he’s lifting you up ever so slightly so he can free his cock from the confines of his trousers, before pulling your panties to the side and easing you down onto his throbbing length.

- His cock isn’t the longest but his girth makes up for it, stretching you in the most delicious way possible.

- Your eyes would almost roll into the back of your head at the feel of him filling you but you couldn’t risk them closing, though the thought of him fucking you in front of a large group of people as they watched does spike your arousal.

- Your pussy is going to be clenching around his cock so tightly that he knows it won’t take much for either of you to find your release.

- “God, your cunt feels fucking amazing wrapped around me like that,” he’ll whisper in your ear, “but let’s get those hips of yours moving so I can fill you up with my cum.”

- Then his hands are on your hips, moving you back and forth against his cock as your nails bite into your palms.

- “That’s it, I can feel how close you are. Cum for me, cum all over my cock while we’re surround by all these people, you dirty little slut.”

- Then you’re both coming undone, you almost biting through your bottom lip in an attempt to stay silent while his hands have a death drip on your hips.

- “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Now let’s get out of here, we wouldn’t want my cum dripping out of you and ruining these seats now, would we?”

- Make no mistake, as soon as you get home he’s going to absolutely destroy you.

----------------------xxxxxx--------------------

Bokuto

- Bokuto has never really thought about fucking you in a public setting before, but seeing you in a skimpy swimsuit for the first time as you slowly test the water of one of the tide pools at the far end of the beach is too much temptation for him to resist. As lust begins to take over, it’s almost like he becomes a completely different person.

- He’ll watch as you lower yourself into the crystal blue water, slowly submerging yourself until your feet hit the rocky bottom. Luckily the water just comes up to your chest so you’re still able to lean your arms on the side of the smooth rock as some of the boys begin a new match on the sand a little further up the beach from you.

- Bokuto’s going to use the fact you’re distracted by the game to silently slip into the far side of the pool before dipping under the water and making his way towards you, fully submerged.

- When he surfaces he’ll put a hand over your mouth and his other around your waist, pulling your body flush against his in a flash.

- As you start to struggle his breath is going to brush against your neck before his familiar chuckle finds your ears.

- “Easy now, little bird, it’s just me.” He’ll say before removing his hand and pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, causing you to shiver against him.

- ‘Little bird’ is only something he calls you when it comes to sex so you immediately know something’s going on.

- The hand that was covering your mouth will snake down the front of your body, making it’s way between your supple thighs that he loves burying his face between.

- When you tense up he just smirks against your skin, his breath fanning against your neck.

- “What are you playing at, Kou?”

- Another chuckle. “Do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to just slip these to the side” his fingers trace the fabric covering your now throbbing cunt, “and take you right here and now, while our friends are just over there?”

- He’ll grind his hardened cock against your ass as he says it, causing you to arch into him, your head falling against his shoulder.

- He’ll use that to his advance and cover your lips with his own.

- And you know he’s going to take that moment of distraction to hook his fingers into the material of your swim suit and tug it to the side so he push the entire length of his cock into you in one quick thrust.

- It’s a good thing his mouth is covering yours because the feel of him stretching your walls is going to have you moaning against his lips.

- “Geez, would you guys get a room, you look like you’re about to fuck!” Someone who sounds suspiciously like Kuroo, calls from the direction of where the teams were playing, but the only thing you could focus on is the slow rock of your boyfriends hips against your backside.

- You should be embarrassed, maybe even ashamed that your boyfriend is about to fuck you while your friends aren’t even 10 meters away from you, but the risk of being caught is only making you that much more turned on.

- “You better say something to him before they come over here and investigate, little bird or they’re going to see what a cock hungry little devil you are.” He’ll whisper in your ear, his cock continuing to throb inside of you.

- From where the boys are positioned it would just look as though Bokuto was innocently cuddling you and being a doting boyfriend, but if they came any closer they’d see that beneath the surface of the water he was buried inside you as his hand made lazy circles around your clit.

- “~ahh, umm-fuck you, rooster boy. You’re just j-jealous because i’d be getting some.” Yeah your voice isn’t going to be stable as you say it but luckily Kuroo doesn’t question it and returns to the game.

- “Mmm, that’s a good little bird.” He’s got your fingers gripping at the rocks in front of you as your orgasm starts to build faster, his hips trapping yours against the hard surface in front of you as he slides his cock into you over and over again.

- “Fuck, Kou. You feel so fucking good, I’m close.” You’d whisper, knowing he’s a sucker when it comes to being praised.

- Even though it’s not the usual crazy sex that you’ve grown accustomed to with Bokuto, the slow build up of your orgasm has you covering your mouth as it finally washes over your body.

- Within seconds you’ll feel him release inside of you as your walls clench around him, filling you with his hot cum and his arms tighten around you.

- “Holy fuck, y/n. That was...so hot. I can’t believe we just did that.” Immediately he’s back to his usual self.

- He’s going to spend the rest of the day walking round with some extra bounce in his step and he’ll probably even blush whenever he looks your way. He really can’t believe he did that.

-------------------x-----------------

Ngl I’m not 100% happy with them but then again I never am 😂 I hope you liked them! If you have a request, feel free to send it in! ^.^

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agoldengalaxy · 4 years ago

Text

To Be Trusted

read on Ao3

Bucky witnesses Sam having a nightmare. He does his best to help.

Warm water gently rolls down his knuckles as he scrubs at a plate, handing it to Sarah, who runs a towel over it. “Thanks for helpin’ with the dishes,” she says, and he smiles, turning off the faucet.

“Least I can do. You’re letting me sleep on your couch.”

“Bucky Barnes, you are always welcome here, and don’t you forget it.” Waving the towel at him accusingly, she smiles as he laughs, hanging it over the faucet to dry. “It’s nice to have an extra pair of hands around here. Especially tonight, since Sam decided to go to bed early like an old man.” She pauses. “No offense.”

Smirking, he shakes his head. “None taken.”

Sam had been tired out after the Flagsmashers excitement, and neither of them could blame him. But Sarah was his sister, so of course she was still going to tease him for it. “Speaking of which, it’s probably about time I went to bed, too. I’m supposed to be takin’ the kids to Gloria’s in the morning. You and Sam can do your training or whatever it is you Avengers do.”

Bucky smirks again, sticking his hands in his pockets. “We’ll try to make ourselves useful.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She pats his shoulder with a wink, then heads toward the stairs. “Good night. Get some sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, watching her go with another smile. “Good night, Sarah.” She waves, and then he’s standing alone.

Giving the kitchen a once-over, he turns to turn off the lights, stretching his arms above his head. Even though it’s dark in the house, with the only source of light being the moon peeking through the window curtains, he doesn’t feel that sense of dread he used to when he lived in that apartment on his own. Things are so different here with the Wilsons, and he doesn’t think he would ever be able to express just how much that means to him.

He’s pretty tired from everything that happened, too, but he’s so used to powering though that it’s a strange feeling to actually want to sleep. But this house, and that small, worn couch he sleeps on, makes him feel safe. Like his memories can’t reach him here, because he’s busy making new ones.

And right now, the couch looks pretty inviting.

But first, he quietly heads down the hall. The boys’ shared room as well as Sarah’s is upstairs, but Sam’s is right across from the bathroom. And Bucky glances toward the closed door as he passes, wondering how Sam must be feeling. He’s finally accepted the mantle, but surely he must have a lot of pressure on his shoulders; yet, he’s been handling it all with grace. Bucky couldn’t be more proud to call him his friend...and partner.

He changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants and exits the bathroom, standing there in the hallway for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark. He’s about to continue walking when his ears pick up a quiet noise coming from behind Sam’s closed door. Bucky’s not one to eavesdrop (unless it’s for a mission), but his curiosity - and concern - is peaked. He steps up to the door, straining to hear something further. It sort of sounds like he’s talking to someone under his breath. “Sam?” he calls cautiously, waiting to hear a response. He doesn’t get one, and the noise continues.

His gaze slides down toward the doorknob, and he can’t help but hesitate. He has this feeling of dread building up in his chest, because he’s pretty sure he knows what’s going to be waiting for him on the other side of the door. He knows because he deals with it all the time. Not as frequently since he began staying with the Wilsons, but still there. And he doesn’t want to have to see Sam like that. But he knows if it were him, Sam would come to his aid, and so the choice is simple. Metal fingers curl around the doorknob quietly, and he pushes it open softly.

The room is almost completely dark, save for the moonlight that streams through his window. Sam is on his back, legs tangled up within the blankets, his face twisted up in pain. His head jerks back and forth, incoherent mumbles escaping through parted lips, body tense and rigid.

Bucky stands there for a moment, his heart aching. It’s exactly what he was expecting, but it still hurts to see Sam so distressed. He’ll be damned if he makes him suffer any longer than he already has. Stepping forward, he places his right hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, hey. C’mon, pal.” It takes a moment, but the words work. Sam’s eyes fly open and he sits up straight, gasping loudly. Bucky moves to stand in front of him right away, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright. You were dreaming. You’re safe.”

Sam’s bare chest rises and falls quickly with each shallow breath, glazed eyes barely blinking, staring at Bucky but not really seeing him. And then his gaze slides upward, and they make eye contact. “Bucky?” he breathes, voice broken, a sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

Just his name on the other’s lips breaks Bucky’s heart. He wonders what it is, but thinking on it for just a moment makes the answer become clear. Sam is always put-together, incredibly strong and brave, a good head on his shoulders. Seeing him like this just hurts, and Bucky almost doesn’t know what to do. But he recovers as quickly as he can, offering a sad smile and moving to sit on the end of the bed.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, keeping his hand on Sam’s shoulder to ground him. “Take some deep breaths, Sam. You’re gonna be okay.”

His eyes fall closed again as he tries to steady his breathing, unconsciously leaning in to the touch. Bucky continues to coax him, knowing it’s what Sam would do for him. It’s nice to be looked after when these things happen; and he’s glad he can be there for Sam this time.

A few long minutes pass. It’s a slow, gradual process, but Sam’s breaths are soon evened out. He opens his eyes again, letting out a quiet breath. “Thanks, Buck,” he mumbles, and it’s genuine. Under normal circumstances, Sam would almost definitely make some smart comment, but now isn’t the time. Bucky nods, slowly letting go of the other’s shoulder.

“You’d do the same for me.” It’s certain, he has no doubt in his mind. Sam is calm now, but he doesn’t look much better than he had a few minutes ago. So Bucky shifts his weight a little. “You wanna talk about it?”

Sam exhales slowly, looking toward the window. “...It’s been a while since I thought about him.”

Bucky frowns, face betraying his confusion. “Who?”

“Riley. My wingman.” He releases another shaky breath. “We were partners when I was in the force. There was nothing I could do to save him. Was just up there to...watch it all happen.” His shoulders sag a little, and he lets out a humorless chuckle. “He’d hate to see me like this. Tell me to get my head outta my ass and keep moving forward.”

Sighing quietly, Bucky offers a small, sad smile. “Sounds like a pretty good guy.”

Sam eyes him for a moment. “You two would have gotten along. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.” Quiet falls between them. Bucky wracks his brain to try to find something else to say. Something to make Sam feel better.

All he can do is lift an arm. “You want a hug or something?”

Under normal circumstances, Sam would most likely laugh at him for even suggesting such a thing, probably assuming that the other was joking in the first place. But he doesn’t laugh, he just stares for a moment, and then he leans forward, resting his cheek on Bucky’s shoulder, much to the latter’s surprise. “If you say anythin’ about this, I’ll kill you,” Sam mumbles, but the threat is empty.

Swallowing, Bucky’s heart skips a beat and he smiles a bit, wrapping his arms around the other. “What, me? Tease you? Never.” If anything, he’s just grateful Sam hasn’t started crying. He has no idea what to do in those types of situations. But this? He can definitely do this. It’s been a long time since he’s embraced someone so fully, but he finds himself glad that it’s Sam who ended up being first after so much time had passed.

He’s warm, and Bucky passes the time by watching Sam’s back rise and fall, much more even than it had been before. He can see the curve of his spine, the muscles relaxed along them, outlined thanks to the pale moonlight. And what a strange situation Bucky is in, he thinks, holding the man who once tried to kill him so gently, hoping that the nightmares that plague him will leave.

Bucky can deal with his own dreams. He doesn’t think he can take knowing that Sam also has to suffer.

It’s been quiet for awhile, so Bucky glances down. “Sam? Maybe you should try to get some more rest. It’s gettin’ late.” There’s no response. He shifts a little, trying to get a look at his face, brows knit together. “Sam?”

He can’t see it too clearly, but he knows by the silence that his friend has now fallen asleep on his shoulder. Somehow. Heat creeps up Bucky’s neck and toward his cheeks and ears, grateful for both the darkness and the fact that Sam can’t see it. He’s not sure why he feels so...warm. Sam trusted him enough, felt safe enough against Bucky that he was able to forget his terrible memory and rest again. And Bucky...doesn’t remember what that was like. To be trusted so fully when for so long, he couldn’t even trust himself.

Slowly, he releases his embrace, taking Sam’s shoulders gently. Maneuvering carefully, supporting his head, he pushes him back to lay against the pillows. Much to Bucky’s surprise, Sam doesn’t stir. His face is a big contrast to what Bucky had found earlier; his jaw is slack, his brows are relaxed, and he looks at peace. Bucky can’t help but stare for a few moments. Under the pale moon, Sam has finally found restful sleep, thanks to Bucky. And Bucky looks on with a fond smile.

After what seems like hours, he moves to pull the blankets over Sam’s chest, who mumbles something under his breath before falling silent again. “Just needed a hug, huh, pal?” he whispers, smiling a little to himself in the way he’d never be caught dead doing if Sam could see him. “You big softie.” Of course, he knows he’s a hypocrite, but he doesn’t really mind much.

Finally, he rises from the edge of the bed, walking toward the door. He knows Sam would rather die than talk about what happened come morning, but Bucky’s okay with that. He doesn’t mind keeping it a secret for him. Glancing over his shoulder once more, he smiles again. “Good night, Sam.”

And with that, he leaves the room quietly, heading to the couch, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

When he wakes in the morning, the blanket is thrown over him and a cup of coffee is already poured on the table. A single sticky note reads, “Thanks.” And Bucky grins, getting up to grab the cup and head out the door toward the boat, where he knows Sam will be waiting for him.

#marvel #mcu #tfatws #sambucky #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #not me writing MARVEL #gross I hate myself #nothing but respect for my cap tho #my writing #agoldengalaxy #my post

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quirklessthot · 4 years ago

Text

request: smut with creepy stalker!momo? please 😭✋

warnings: 18+, stalking, non-con, yandere

➤ When you get the job offer to work at the Creati’s hero agency, you nearly pass out. It was a rigorous interview process and you managed to beat out hundreds of other applicants to become the personal assistant of Japan’s number eight hero

➤ I don’t see Momo as the “follow you around, break into your home” type of stalker. Why would she do all that dirty work when she has the funds and connections to keep track of your every move from the comfort of her home?

➤ She would have files with every bit of information she can find on you. Your birthday, birthplace, address, parents’ names, pets, favourite food, phobias...

➤ There’s nothing that Momo doesn’t know about you

➤ And that makes it so easy to befriend you. She already knows all of your likes and dislikes. She already knows you. It’s like you two are practically dating already! Especially since she was so generous to give you such a coveted position

➤ What, you thought you got the job because of your resume and references? Ha! You’re there because Momo wants you there

➤ You spend a lot of time together, and not just as boss and employee. You try your best to keep things professional �� you don’t want to lose this job after all – but Momo is adamant on making your relationship more intimate than it’s supposed to be

➤ Months pass and Momo becomes more and more agitated. Why are you so unreceptive to her flirtations?

➤ Every compliment she gives, you shoot down with a polite rebuff. She tries to get physically close to you, but you insist on a distance of at least two feet between you. Even the gifts she tries to give you are turned down

➤ Apparently a diamond bracelet and a Chanel handbag for your two-month anniversary are ‘too extravagant’ for a lowly assistant

➤ But to Momo, nothing is too grand or expensive for her darling; she would give you the world on a silver platter if you asked for it

➤ At least you’re amicable to going out on dates with her. You call them ‘errands’ but she knows better, and soon, you will too

---

“Miss Yaoyorozu, there’s an urgent--”

“We’ve gone over this already,” Momo sighs from behind her desk. “I told you to call me Momo.”

You hesitate in the doorway of her office, clutching the files for her latest hero analysis close to your chest. “I don’t think that’s very appropriate, ma’am…”

“Oh! Or Yaomomo,” she continues, as if you hadn’t spoken. “My friends back in high school used to call me that.”

You’re powerless against the bright smile she sends your way and you give in, compromising on calling her by her first name when only no one else is around.

Momo would prefer you do it especially in front of others, but the relationship is still fairly new, and you do seem to be the shy type, so she lets it slide for now.

You continue you work, blissfully unaware of the looks of longing (tinged with possessiveness) that your boss sends you throughout the day. The following morning, as you’re heading out with Momo to get the busy day started, she instead has you drop her home to pick up something very important that she needs.

“A quick in and out, I promise!”

Which is why you’re so confused when she walks into her kitchen and turns the stove on under a stainless-steel kettle.

“Momo?”

She is elated that you call her by her first time without her having to prompt or correct you. She smiles and hums in acknowledgment as she goes around her kitchen to collect a platter of snacks and teabags big enough for a tea party.

You check your phone for the time. “I thought you said this wouldn’t take long. You have a meeting at eleven-thirty and a photoshoot with Hero Weekly magazine later this afternoon.” We don’t have time for this, you want to add but hold your tongue. Creati might be friendly to a concerning degree but she’s still your boss.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Momo laughs, pulling out two dainty teacups and setting them down on the counter where you’re seated. “We’ve got plenty of time for that.”

Right.

As Momo gets the tea together, you take the time to look around. “You have a lovely home, by the way.”

Lovely doesn’t begin to describe it. The enormous space is elegant and classy – much like its owner. Top hero rankings really do pay the bills. You imagine coming from money probably doesn’t hurt either.

“Thank you,” Momo says, handing you a delicate cup on a matching saucer. “I’m glad you like it.”

You nod in thanks and take a sip of the piping hot black liquid. It’s delicious and obviously high-quality. But you can’t help but notice the odd aftertaste - an almost bitter undercurrent that has you pausing for just a second. But not wanting to seem rude, you ignore it, silently finishing your cup while Momo slowly sips her own tea, looking on with a hidden smile.

It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling unusually drowsy. The room starts to spin as your vision blurs around the edges. You attempt to speak but your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, heavy and unwilling to from words so that anything that comes out is stilted and slurred.

“Oh dear, I think I made the dose too high,” you hear Momo mumble worriedly to herself.

You want to ask her what she means but it’s taking all of your energy just to stay awake. You allow her to sling a lifeless arm over her shoulders and drag you deeper into the house, into what you assume is her bedroom and onto what you assume is her bed.

“So beautiful…” she murmurs, using the back of her hand to gently stroke your cheek, nothing but adoration in her gaze. She leans down to place a gentle kiss to your lips and the unexpected action has you tensing up – as much as your body would allow, anyway.

Confusion mars her perfect features when you try to turn your head away and begin grumbling incoherently in protest.

“You’re not into…? But you had a girlfriend in your second year of college. You two only just recently broke up.”

Your brows furrow. How the hell does she know that…?

You attempt to voice that concern aloud but whatever was put in your tea has you fighting to stay conscious, until you finally succumb. The last thing you hear is Momo wishing you sweet dreams.

You come to sometime later, groggy and dazed, with a slight pain thumping at your temples. You groan and move to rub the sleep out of your eyes, but your hand is caught fast. Your eyes flick up from the padded cuff circling your wrist, up the gleaming metal chain to where it’s attached to the headboard; your other wrist is secured just as tightly.

Just as you start to panic, the door opens and in steps Momo. She’s out of her hero costume and in an oversized white sweater and black leggings.

“Miss Yaoyorozu!” you shout, nearly hysterical. “W-what’s going on? Why am I tied up?!”

Momo tuts, a small frown tugging at her lips. “Momo, dear,” she corrects gently.

Your boss’ behaviour has you baffled and a little apprehensive. Why is she acting as though having her personal assistant tied up in her bed is completely normal? Momo moves over to you, fluffing up the pillow your head is resting on, and asks if you’re comfortable.

You begin to tremble. “Miss Yao--”

A hand is on your jaw, squeezing tight enough to effectively shut you up.

“If you don’t stop calling me that I’m going to have to punish you.”

Momo leans over you, uncomfortably close as she keeps your face in a vice-like grip, perfectly manicured nails digging into the skin of your cheeks. Her tone is soft but strict, like a parent berating their child.

“Do you understand?”

Timidly, you nod your head.

Satisfied with your compliance, Momo lets go of your jaw to softly rub a thumb along the irritated skin. “I’m sorry, love. I hate being so rough with you. But we’ve got to nip those nasty little habits in the bud.”

“M-Momo?” You hate how shaky and small your voice is, but you continue when she hums in question. “What’s going on? I don’t… I don’t understand.”

She tilts her head to the side. “What’s not to understand?”

She can’t be serious can she? You swallow past the rising ball of panic in your throat. “I want to go home.”

“You’re already home, love,” she says with a chuckle. As if it’s the most well-known thing in the world and you’re being silly.

You immediately switch to another tactic. You’re going to have to play along if you want any chance of escape. “O-of course. Um, could you untie me? It’s a little uncomfortable,” you say, glancing up to where you’re tied to the headboard. You’ve never had any kind of combat training but maybe you can find a way to trick or overpower her once your hands are free. Going up against a Pro Hero is the last thing you want to do but you have to at least try.

Momo’s answer is swift and simple. “No.”

“No?” you repeat dumbly.

“You must really think I’m stupid,” she says with a laugh, high and bell-like. “Oh, my silly little baby, do you really think you have a chance of fighting me? You’re not going anywhere, and you can’t escape. So you’d might as well get that thought out of your empty little head.”

The patronizing quality of her jab leaves you feeling utterly defeated and you sag in your bonds.

“Don’t pout, beautiful. I’ll make it all better,” she says, hand pressing into your stomach as she moves onto the bed to hover above you. She leans down and plants an unsuspecting kiss onto your lips. You try desperately to pull away, but your efforts go completely ignored as she deepens the kiss, running her tongue along the seam of your tightly closed lips.

The hand on your stomach slips upwards to cover one of your breasts. She gives it a squeeze, trapping your nipple between her fingers. The action has you squirming, and you let out an involuntary moan.

“Good girl,” Momo purrs against your lips.

“Get off,” you respond in protest. “Get off of me!”

“Behave,” she scolds, sliding her hands down your body until she has a strong grip on your hips. She plays with the hem of the large cotton t-shirt you’re wearing – definitely not the suit you put on this morning; she must have changed you while you were knocked out. With dread, you also realize that you’re not wearing any underwear.

Momo lifts up the only piece of clothing you have on and tucks in under your chin, allowing her eyes to freely roam the expanse of your naked body. “You’re perfect,” she breathes out, reverent. “I’ve wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you, you know.”

A finger glides up the curve of your breast to circle your nipple, stroking over the quickly hardening peak. Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip, desperate to not let any noises slip out. But you can’t hold back the squeak when you feel her warm, wet mouth descend on your breast. You squirm at the way her tongue flicks over your nipple and her teeth

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, she slips a hand down to rest against your mound. Those graceful fingers slide down to pet against the lips of your cunt, slipping down even further to play with your hole.

She toys with you for a while, mouth firmly attached to your breast, sucking on your nipple until you can’t hold back your cries any longer. She slips a finger inside of you, the movement made easy by the copious amounts of slick. Another soon joins, slowly fucking you in a way that has your toes curling. The wet squelching sound is piercing in the otherwise quiet room; you ball your fists and shut your eyes tight, embarrassed by the way your traitorous body is responding.

You almost scream when Momo’s thumb begins to rub firms circles into your sensitive clit and within seconds you’re cumming all over her fingers. She doesn’t stop until you’re close to another orgasm.

“My sweet girl, you did so well,” she praises, slipping her fingers out of you.

You just lay there, panting and trying to come to terms with the fact that your boss just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life.

She holds up her fingers, the slim digits are covered in your slick. The embarrassment from witnessing how much you enjoyed that makes you want to crawl into a hole. But Momo shows no such reservations and pops them into her mouth, eyes closing and moaning as though she’s tasting the sweetest honey.

“If I had known you tasted this good I would have done this a long time ago,” Momo chuckles. “Good enough to eat.”

The hungry glint in her eyes has you quickly clamping your thighs together but it’s embarrassingly easy for her to pry them apart, holding you open and spread out in the most intimate of ways.

Despite the horror you’re feeling, you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of Momo getting comfortable on her stomach and leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your mound. She starts with kitten licks against your folds that that have unwanted excitement pooling in your belly, before licking a broad stripe from your wet, twitching hole to your clit. Her lips close over the little nub, taking it into her to suckle and lave with attention. You moan and buck your hips up into her mouth, desperate to feel more of her tongue.

She lets go of your clit to close her mouth of you entirely, tongue wriggling inside, your walls immediately clench down on the slippery intrusion. You keen, back arching as your pussy releases a wave of slick, which Momo is more than happy to lap up, moaning hungrily. With the amount of noise she’s making, you’d think she’s the one being pleasured. She hums and sighs as she works you over, obvious in her enjoyment of eating you out.

Your body tenses and you throw your head back with a scream. You can’t stop yourself from cumming a second time – this one just as intense as the last.

Before you know it, Momo is undressed and shuffling until she’s kneeling directly over you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she wants to do.

“It’s only fair, right?” she asks, thighs straddling your head. She doesn’t give you time to respond before she’s lowering herself down onto your face. “Don’t disappoint me, ok?”

Her tone is sweet enough, but the threat is clear.

Without much of a choice, you stick your tongue out and begin lapping at her pussy. She’s already soaking wet, worked up from giving you pleasure. You use every trick you knew to get her off as quickly as possible. Luckily, it doesn’t take long.

“Oh, god! Yes!” she’s soon crying out, writhing on your tongue. “Please, baby. Please make me cum! Make me -ah!”

Momo grinds down harder and her pace picks up until she suddenly stops, hips giving short jerks as she whines and lets out a satisfied little sigh. She pulls away, shuffling down your body until she can lie down beside you to hug you close.

“You did wonderful, darling,” she praises, still slightly out of breath.

You say nothing but Momo is having none of that. She taps a finger against your slick-covered lips. “What do we say when someone compliments you, sweetie?”

You try to blink back tears. You’re really not getting out of here are you?

“Thank you,” you reply obediently.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #momo x reader #yandere #yandere mha #noncon tw #tw: noncon

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vanchlo · 4 years ago

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The Partner / Chapter Ten, "The After"

Word Count: 6.3k / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Song: / Small Bump by Ed Sheeran (click to listen) / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death and miscarriage

"Life is never fair. I’m sure you’re well aware of that."

- Death Parade デス・パレード

Barely could I catch the thoughts that whirred through my skull, one after the other. Neither could I with my breath because with each one, the pain inside of my head grew. It couldn’t compare to what I felt when I turned my head to find the room empty. Becks was gone, somewhere else in this hospital having . . Shaking my head tersely, I let it fall into my hands as my hands shook.

“Get ahold of yourself, Harry,” despite the state of my throat and trembling lips, the muttering comes. The first words I’ve spoken in who knows how long. Yet, they always feel like my last, because this feels never ending, all of this.

I tried it for the third time now, breathing slowly in and out. It doesn’t work any better this time compared to the hundred other attempts. No matter what, I can’t feel better. Cursing, I shoot upright in the chair and fling my head back, staring at the ceiling for yet another few seconds. No, not that either, I think quietly before my eyes fall on it again. It had stared back at me this entire time of waiting, taunting me. Not only did it not seem real, but with each time I found myself looking at, it shouted at me to believe. There, her name sat on the whiteboard clear as day and a whole allotment of other things, but worst of all was The Plan. D&C Surgery at 11:30. I’d already known what it meant, hearing the risks and benefits of the surgery along with Becks earlier from the doctor.

Huffing, I sat forward, resting my elbows on my legs. They fought to stay there as my right leg bounced up and down impatiently. Checking my watch, I swear under my breath, wondering how it’s only been ten minutes. They likely haven’t even started the surgery yet and I’m already wild with worry, and with missing her. Whimpering, my fingers slide back through my hair and root themselves there, my scalp singing with pain as does my heart. For the hundredth time, I think no, this isn’t how it should be. We shouldn’t be here. No, not now. Not for another five months to bring our baby home, but now, we’ll be going home . . empty.

Through a thickness of tears, I watch myself dial the number, blinking the haze away once I press it to my ear. It rings as my heart beats on, aching and dancing against my chest. Words climb up my throat, but I can’t distinguish the right from the wrong, or find the energy to ever say any of them. Yet, I know that I have to and that I need to.

“Hare, hey. I can’t talk long, I’m on recess, but do you have an update on Becky? What’s going on up there?”

“I’m so sorry I had to leave My,” is all that I can manage.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered. Please, just tell me that you’re okay.”

Despite his well intentions, it hits me in the gut. It gets me good and sucking in a breath is harder than before. I try to fight it, but it drapes over me like a blanket that I can’t remove, because I can’t.

“No, My . . I’m not okay. W-We . . . ,” time to work there, lungs. I need you now, do you hear me? One breath. Two breaths. Okay, maybe I can do this. Just maybe. “We lost the baby,” I confess, pinching the bridge of my nose as the sound of cries finds a way past my lips. His silence is replaced by the choked sounds that I make, ones that I let lose to the air. To him.

“Oh, Hare,” he sighs, my heart cracking a little more at his voice. What I hear in it. “I can’t say h-how sorry I am, to you or Becky . . . I-Is there anything I can do?” a pause falls between his words, found in the breath I hear him take to settle himself. It’s the one that I can’t find.

“N-No, if there was I don’t know what it is. Just- I can’t even think about . . about going back to work anytime soon o-or for Becky. She- I don’t know how we’re going to do this, something like this h-has never happened. I-,” my footing is lost and the words fall haphazardly around me, no thought as to how to arrange them.

“Don’t even think about work, okay? Rose and I will take care of it, you don’t have anything to worry about, Hare. J-Just take care of yourself and Becky, and take all of the time the both of you need. I’ll figure out unemployment or something- it’ll be fine, okay?”

“Thanks, My.”

“No need,” he murmurs, words skidding to a stop. “Are you still at the hospital then?” not many other people could tell it, but behind the tears coating my cheeks, I can hear the ones in his voice.

“Yeah, probably for the good part of the day. S-She’s in surgery to . . “

“I’ve heard of the different um, treatments. Jeanie’s sister w-went through the same thing. It’s terrible. Fuck, I’m just- I’m so sorry, Hare,” some divine power breaks his voice on the curse, and if I weren’t sobbing, perhaps I’d find it in me to laugh. “Tell her I’m thinking of her, will you?”

“Of course.”

I wasn’t sure if silence was my friend right now, leaving me to the turbulence of my thoughts, until he interrupted it again. “Have you told anybody else, Hare? I know you, you shouldn’t be alone there, sitting in your thoughts.”

“My mom’s on her way, she w-was in town, so it’s only a matter of time,” I continue, pressing my thumbs against my closed eyes when the next thought arrives. “We . . . We were going to name the baby after her and Becky’s grandma, My. A-Annie. H-How am I going to tell her that?” I nod along with his coming words, my lips pressed together tightly, not letting any words slip past. Tears run over them, tasting of salt and something bitter. Loss. I’m not sure how long I sat there like that after he had to get back to arguing our case, leaving me in my whirlwind of thoughts.

It was all I could do, think. Well, that was before my legs kept me busy and I was walking circles around the room, trying and failing not to do the other thing. A silence had crept into the room long ago and refused to leave, even with the hum of the heating challenging it. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d fallen back onto the chair and gotten up again, fearing I’d never be able to get back up one of these times. No, I knew that I’d fallen off that chair somewhere in my head and didn’t even care to get back on. How could I? I was to become a dad. It was all that I could think about for the last nearly four months, and now- God. Now, I couldn’t stop thinking about how that had been stolen away from me in just a few moments. I woke up this morning, like any other recently, counting down the days to meeting our baby. I never would now.

I was long gone by the time there was a knock on the door, seizing my attention and any last whole piece of my heart that was left. Because when she walked through it, the only other person in the entire world who could make it all better was there.

“Honey, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that . . that t-this is happening,” my mom sobbed, pressing a hand against her mouth after the door closed behind her. I barely blinked and found myself standing, hiding in her welcoming arms.

If my heart hadn’t already fallen through my stomach and to the floor, it did when she brought my head to her chest, muffling my wailing. There was just something about crying on your mom’s shoulder that could never be rivaled, and if I couldn’t be with my Becks, this is where I wanted to be. I didn’t want it, any of this, but it’s like I was three again with an owie, and her hugs made it all better. Except, this time, the relief came and then it trickled away. It didn’t feel . . real, and through my tears, I cried harder, wanting for this one thing to feel real out of it all. But as her blouse grew wet under my cheek, it never came and very swiftly, I gave up on it ever arriving at all.

I couldn’t remember the last word that had passed between us, because all I could hear was the way her thumb drew waves on the back of my hand. All I could see was the hand on the clock ticking slowly with each passing second, and never quickly enough. A blaring of sorts went off in my head when the secondhand fell onto the 6, announcing 12:30. It had been an hour and still, nobody had come.

My Becks hadn’t come back, and neither had the tears. Somehow, they had come and gone with a ferocity that I’d hardly known. No, except for when it was her that I’d almost lost. This time, we actually had suffered a loss, and I wasn’t sure where to begin to process it. I’d lost my grandfather shortly after we’d reconnected and hers passed within a few weeks of knowing each other. Lola had gone in her sleep not long after, but that was the worst of it, if you could even say that. No, I hadn’t lost a parent or came close to it, like she had, but I’d still lost my best friends. I’d almost lost her, and she me, but was there ever anything that leaked similarity to that of losing a child? I couldn’t think of one, and I hadn’t known anybody who’d lost a baby before, I thought as the scribbled words on the whiteboard grew incoherent in front of my eyes.

A pang hit low in my chest when my thoughts dragged me back to that rainy day in February, just right after our first date. Skye had called and my entire world had came crashing down, and the same thing had happened to her not even six months ago. The calendar had only just turned to November then, and I’d only just flipped it to March yesterday. I’d seen it when I’d done it, the small handwriting of my own on next week’s date. ‘4 months w Baby P.’ It came after the stretch of days I’d marked for this case, and if my head wasn’t already in my hands at that, it is now.

I’d asked her, time and time again, if I should take this case, seeing as how I had to leave town to argue it. It’s only a few days and I’ll be fine, Harry, she had insisted, like she always had. She was a stubborn one from the very first day I’d met her, and it had never waned. I’d taken the case and she had helped me on it before leaving to assist Rose with hers, a criminal case that Becks had been interested in. Her and her curiosity of serial murders, but she’d only helped with research after we’d agreed on no high profile cases since . . since we’d found out about the baby. Exhaling, the sensation of pain comes to the front of my mind. Looking down, shocks of scarlet half moons look back at me when I turn over my palm. Gulping, I stretch out my hand before curling my fingers back in, ignoring the chorus of stinging now radicating my palm.

I shouldn’t have taken it, I knew it then and I knew it now. Something had told me not to. No, not with her pregnant. What if something had happened to me again, or to her while I was away? And it did. But I’d brushed the worrisome thoughts away, crediting them to irrational fear that didn’t deserve my time. Now, as I sit here, leaning forward with my elbows on my thighs, I curse myself for not being there. I should have, there’s no question about it. A new warmth gathers in my chest sourly as I imagine, for perhaps the fortieth time, her waking up alone to a nightmare. Blood pooling around her bottom and pain racking her insides as our baby died inside of her. Had it been this morning, last night, or days ago? I had kept wondering about it when Dr. Baker explained that they could have passed within the last few weeks and there was no way to know until her body recognized it, and . . began the process. If I were her, I’d be mad at me for not being there in the bed beside her when she woke. For not being there to drive her to the hospital, but instead, waking up in a bed two hundred miles away, unbeknownst to the storm today would bring. I could have-

“Honey, you have to stop thinking about what you can’t change,” somebody murmurs, weeding their way into my inner monologue. I don’t need to think for a second before knowing who it is, and that of course, they know.

“I’m not thinking about-.”

“Yes, you are. I’ve known you for the last thirty two years, I know how your mind works. How you work, Harry. You’re my baby, I-,” there, her voice breaks as if it’s a thread pulled too tightly, snapping. Something within me does the same, and I feel another chunk of my heart break apart. “I’m sorry, I know how that sounded. I didn’t mean-.”

“I know you didn’t, Mom, but I just- I can’t . . do that word right now,” I retort, pulling away from her touch, soon finding myself staring out the window onto the tops of houses for miles. Her sigh inches in through one of the dozen holes inside of me, taking hold as a rain droplet races down the window. A similar one runs the same race down my cheek. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. It’s not you I’m angry at, I could never be. But, I just-,” cutting myself off, her eyes are already waiting on me when I turn around. As always, they’re soft as can be, and forgiving too.

“It’s okay, Harry, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I just don’t understand w-why this happened to us, Mom,” I whimper, words shaken by the persistent trembling of my lips. “What did we do to deserve this? Did I do something wrong? Because Becks didn’t. I know I shouldn’t have taken this case- or maybe, this is a punishment for the asshole I used to be. To everybody at work, even to her. I never should have treated her that way. I don’t even deserve her, and maybe I don’t deserve to be a father, either. I’d probably just fuck up their lives like my dad did to me. I-.”

“Harry Styles, you stop talking like that right now,” her voice is firm, something it rarely is. Her voice echoes around the room with its fervor and volume, as does the look in her eyes. “You did nothing to deserve this and neither did Becky. This is none of your fault or hers, it could never be. It’s not because you took a case out of town, or because you mistreated her in the past. That was all so long ago and you have to stop beating yourself up about it, you know that she would tell you the same exact thing . . Honey, you don’t deserve this, either of you. It wasn’t the baby’s fault either, and sadly, there’s nothing you could’ve done to stop it or to know it would’ve happened. You have to stop blaming yourself,” she finishes, rainboots stopping in front of me. I almost want to laugh at the pink butterflies covering them and the squelching sounds they make, but it’s far away now.

What isn’t far away is the warmth in her eyes and how it tries to thaw me from the inside out. The very thing that Becky had done to me all of those years ago, changing me from the icicle I was to the person I am now. Somebody that I hated I ever was to her with the things I said and did.

“How am I supposed to tell her that wh-when I don’t even believe it myself, Mom?” I whisper, feeling the weight pull at my words. “Sh-She’s going to blame herself, I know she already does. She thinks she did something wrong o-or that she didn’t love them enough. H-How . . How do I fix her, Mom?”

Shaking her head, for the first time, my mother doesn’t have a word of wisdom to feed me. Standing there, a storm paving its path outside and one having its way with my insides, I try to think of my mom never not having an answer for me. Until now.

“I’ve never suffered a miscarriage, honey . . but I’m not sure how you can fix her. I don’t think that you can or that you should try to. That’s something that she has to do on her own. When your dad and I divorced, it was one of the worst times of my life. Not even right afterwards, but for years before that, knowing what was happening to us . . You just- you have to be there for her, give her space when she wants it, and take care of yourself too. Sometimes, you have to be there when she doesn’t want you to be- I know it’s confusing, but you just have to do your best, honey. You will be okay, maybe not today or next month, but you will find it one day . . I’ll always miss my father and the family that I’ve lost, even my marriage to your father, but I still can find happiness. Everybody grieves differently and in their own way, and it’s okay however you may feel. That’s what matters, to feel it. Don’t hide in your work, Harry, . . or alcohol . . I know you’ve done that before with losing Becky the first time and then, your grandfather. Focus on the things that bring you happiness and take the time you need to heal. You’re going to want to ignore it and not feel it, but you need to . . A-And I don’t know how to say this without sounding insensitive, because nothing could ever replace this baby, but when you’re both ready, you can . . . you know what I mean.”

Pools of tears had collected on the front of my button down long ago, and they only grew wetter now. Heavier. Blinking, I secretly longed for sleep as I ruminate on her words, knowing that she always had an answer for everything. Her own kind of answer. Licking my lips, I part them to speak an answer, but another sound beats me to it. All words are lost when I hear the knock on the door and its opening creak.

“Harry? It’s Dr. Baker,” a voice says. It’s as if a switch was flipped inside of me, and all I can think about is her again. Becks.

“H-Hi. Did everything go alright?” I stammer, turning my body to face the doctor who walks in wearing the same scrubs, a blue cap now fastened around her hair.

“Yes,” she smiles, clutching a clipboard to her chest, making me wonder. “Becky’s out of surgery and everything went just as planned. She’s been in recovery for a while now as she comes out of anesthesia. I suspect she’ll be waking up soon and I think that you should be there when she does. She’s still going to be pretty groggy, but I can take you there now, if you’d like.”

“Y-Yes, of course. Please, I’ve been worried sick about her,” I express, swiping at my cheeks hastily. Remembering my mom, I turn back to her and hug her quickly, hearing her encouraging words in my ear as I follow the doctor to the door.

There I stop when she turns around, a misty look in her eye, “I can’t remember if I’ve said it, but I can’t say how sorry I am to you and Becky, Harry. It’s been such a joy to be with you both on this journey. It’s always my favorite to work with new parents, and to see their excitement . . I’m so sorry for your loss. It’s never easy when one of my patients loses a baby,” Dr. Baker says, forcing a smile as she blinks away the tears filling her eyes.

“Wow, um- thank you so much, from both Becky and I,” is all that I can find to say, especially when I find her hugging me. It’s brief but it knocks the wind out of me, for the hundredth time today. No, I’d never found my way back to breathing safely ever since that phone call. As I stare back at her, both of us lost for words, a few of mine creep out. “How are we supposed to do this? I never imagined this would happen . . I’ve always wanted to make her happy, and now . . I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how we’ll get past this, especially her.”

Nodding, she remains silent save for the way she pats my shoulder, “You’re already doing a great job, a much better one than some of the partners I’ve seen this happen to. You two have something special and that’s what gets you through terrible things like this. You’ll be okay. It may not be for a long time, and I’ll tell you the truth, you’ll always miss them, but you’ll be okay.”

I’m unsure of what else to do but nod my head and follow her out of the room. We turn right and find an elevator, and the moment’s lost. As the numbers fall a few and an electronic beeping fills the small space, she begins to read from her chart. They pass through one ear and out the other, her words about care. It’s only when we’re walking off the elevator and I know that I’m nearing Becks, do the words register with me. I’ll get to take her home later today, once everything is looking good. She’s blunt at times and I think I appreciate it. She’s going to be in some pain, but she’ll prescribe medication and the like to keep Becky comfortable, and it makes me feel like just maybe I can breathe again. It only lasts until she’s honest that she needs to rest as much as possible, and that depression is a danger after something like this. This will all be written down and sent home with us she says, but that for right now, I should go and be with my fiance, she says when we stop in front of a closed door. One that I know Becks is behind this very moment, waiting for me. I won’t keep her any longer, I’ve done it too many times to count now.

I’m not sure which hurt worse, that first time seeing her clinging to life after her accident, or finding her peacefully asleep knowing what had just happened. No, they each hurt in their own unique way, different than the next. I could hardly think about then, knowing the misery that overtook me, and a similar one now as I realized again what we’d lost. We’d lost our child, our baby. In a way, it still didn’t seem real, even as I sat beside her and took her hand in mine. Tears had already begun to paint my face and my lip quivered quicker at the thought of falling back into that hole. This time, there wouldn’t be a ‘phew, that was close’ moment. No, I’d missed that entirely. It had never been a possibility that things would be okay. I’d known it somehow from the second she called me sobbing, because she knew too. Our baby was already gone.

As I tried and failed to swallow past the unmoving lump in my throat, everything was difficult. Seeing clearly was and even when I did, I wasn’t sure I wanted to, just like before. I couldn’t rub the top of her hand with my thumb, because the IV and its tape were in the way. Her rings were gone, and it was unsettling for me, seeing her without her grandma’s two rings, and her engagement ring. The labored sound of her breathing was what occupied my ears, that is if the turning wheel of thoughts wasn’t already.

It went on and on as I watched her sleep, chest rising and falling with each breath assisted by the nasal cannula. It wasn’t long before my fingers were caught in her hair and I was just grateful that she was still here. I sat there, trying to be grateful but it was something I could hardly manage. Of course, I was more than happy that she was still here, but this isn’t how any of it was supposed to go. I was supposed to be a few hours north arguing and winning a case with Myles. She was supposed to spend the day with my sister and her kids, painting nails and making cookies with Harper. Now, what was going to happen? I had no idea at all and there was no pretending that it didn’t absolutely terrify me.

A few minutes later, my heart squeezed when she stirred and her eyes fluttered open, searching the room until they found me. It crumpled when a lazy smile came to her lips and she yawned.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hi, buggie. How are you feeling?” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“I’m so tired. Mmmmm,” she sighed. A heaviness clung to her eyes and I knew it wouldn’t be long before she succumbed to it. I wished for it, almost.

“You in any pain, bug?”

“No, why would I be?” she almost giggled, letting her eyes fall shut. The doctor had warned me about this before I walked in, saying she may be a little loopy from the anesthesia. I welcomed it now, dreading the return to reality and all that it would bring. The heartache, something I didn’t want her to experience. “I’m going back to sleep. You’re boring.”

“Sweet dreams, Becks,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her head as the smile faded on her lips. Sniffling, a tear collected at the point of my nose, knowing that the next time she woke up, it would be real again for her. An ache began in my chest just at the thought, knowing what was to come. God, how are we going to do this, I wondered silently and yet ever so loudly as I put my head in my hands, sure there wasn’t a God at all.

I wasn’t certain what it was that I noticed when I first woke up. Was it the electronic beeping that I know too well? My own labored breathing? The odd smell of the place around me? Or was it the warmth around my hand, the only of its kind as a coldness covered the rest of me? The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was him, and the way he brightened. There wasn’t any pause from reality or waiting for it to hit me, because it already had. The look on his face said it for me, if I didn’t already know. No, the moment I woke up I did.

“Hi, buggie. How are you feeling?” Harry murmurs, cupping my cheek with his hand. It looks as if he’d just woken up from a nap himself, but it’s hard to tell for long as he grows blurry in front of me. “Oh, Becks honey.”

“No,” the word repeats from my lips, the weirdest of tastes in my mouth, but it doesn’t compare to the rest of me. More emptiness greets me when my hand darts to my stomach, and I know. “I was supposed to wake up . . . this was all supposed to be a nightmare, and I’d wake up and . . and it’d all be okay. The baby- would be okay,” I wail, overcome by the shaking of my chest as words fight their way out. He’s a blur of movements in front of me, and I don’t know what he’s doing until I feel him beside me.

“I’m here, Becks. I’m here. I’m so sorry, honey,” his voice breaks, and it only makes my hand press harder to my stomach, knowing what isn’t there anymore. Who. “I wish you would have woken up from this nightmare too, that we both could have. It shouldn’t be like this, any of it, and I’m so sorry.”

“I-It’s not your fault,” I whisper, feeling the assault of my tears already coat his neck where I hide my face. He’s careful, moving around the tubing and managing to wrap himself around me in this small bed.

“And it’s not yours, either, bug.”

“It feels l-like it, Harry,” I confess, my hands beginning to cramp at the way I ball his shirt up in my hands. “I should’ve known something might happen . . my feeling. I-It’s my own body, how did I not know something was wrong?”

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known, Becks. The doctor said so. You did everything right - you took all the vitamins, ate good, exercised- you did nothing wrong.”

I try to listen and soak up his words like a sponge, but I don’t feel like one for that. It’s as if I’m a mirror instead, reflecting what he says without taking it in. Shaking my head back and forth, I fight for breath as everything comes back to me. Waking up from the pain and feeling the wetness between- squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I try to forget but I can’t. Nor can I push away the silence when the doctor pressed the ultrasound wand to my abdomen, even though I knew it. I had been hoping I’d be wrong, that my feeling was incorrect for once, but it wasn’t. It never is.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s nobody’s fault. Not yours, not mine, not . . not the baby’s. We can’t blame ourselves, Becks,” his insisting words dance across my head and into my eyes, but I can’t believe them. I wish that I could, lying there feeling like an empty shell, unable to take my hand away from my stomach. But I do, I want to say and yet, I can’t find my voice. It’s somewhere hiding in my loud cries against his shoulder.

Until, my cries took the time to fall silent, and I’m not. Instead, I’m staring into the darkness hiding in the place where his neck and shoulder meet. The faintest of light lives there and if I could see the pattern to his shirt or the bedsheets, I don’t. Nor can I hear the song he sings to me. I can, but not the words soft from his lips, or the sweet things he assures me with. A never ending stream still leaves my eyes, but the ferocity of them has left, and I’ve never felt this empty.

He still whimpered above me when he turned on the tv and I heard the familiar voices of the Friends. I fought between hearing them and Harry’s singing, unable to move from where I was, even when the doctor came in after a while. A different softness had arrived in her voice, but I still refused to move from my favorite hiding place. It was everything I expected to hear, and yet, as I thought about how this was never how today was supposed to go, it wasn’t. He was the first one to break down when she announced she’d found out the gender from some kind of tests I didn’t understand. I remained quiet, and it grew deeper as he sobbed louder when she revealed if we had lost a son or daughter. I couldn’t decide, lying there motionless in his arms, if I had wanted to know. I already did in a way, but when she said it, something resonated inside of me as his heart broke inside of him. Again.

I hadn’t realized that she’d left or that he was talking to me, so removed from this world and in one entirely my own. Why should I return to that one, a world that had hurt me too many times for me to ever count? It had taken away the love of my life on several accounts, and tried to do so permanently. It had pitted us against each other day after day, and now, it had . . it had made our child die inside of me. I couldn’t come back to it but as the sound of his cries found purchase on something inside of me, they grew louder.

“A d-daughter, Becks. We were supposed to have a little girl,” his voice trembled, harder than ocean waves crashing against rocks. Somehow, my own voice was completely still- no, it was absent altogether. It took a walk down that same beach tens of minutes ago, and I was unsure of when it’d come back.

His body shook against my rigid one, and as he took the turn to drench my neck with tears, I lifted my head for the first time from his neck. Opening my eyes was something I didn’t think I could do ten minutes ago or even one, but I did and pointed them at the tv. Harry’s sobs filled my ears and so did the Friends’ voices. Relaxing my hands against his back, a tiredness had taken hold of me long ago. Now, I watched as their story unfolded beside ours as he buried his face in my hair, sobbing for our daughter. Something that I suddenly couldn’t do, and I didn’t even know why.

I despised it, the stillness that had surrounded us and refused to leave. It sat there, even as Harry’s snores threatened it, but it had already claimed me. It found it way inside of me, lying there in that hospital bed beside him, hooked up to beeping machines. Remain it did, when I pretended to listen to the care instructions of the doctor when she returned yet again. It consumed the space between us in the car, even with my hand tucked into his for the entirety of the ride home.

I couldn’t decide if stillness was my friend or my foe as I lay in the downstairs guest bedroom beside him later that night. The sounds of him sleeping had begun long ago, after showers for the both of us and a takeaway dinner I’d hardly eaten. I barely tasted the potatoes and beef of the pot roast meal, or felt the hot water kiss my body. The numbness that had filled my bones when the tears had stopped melts away, thawing into wetness that glides down my cheek. The clock reading midnight stared back at me as my throat tightened, my heart jumping back up it, as I gasped for air. It had been twelve hours since . . since we’d lost our baby. Next, it would be a day, and then . . Curling up into a ball, at last the stillness vanished as every part of me shook with feeling. Every ounce of it returned to me, overdue from the parts of today that I didn’t feel.

His own stillness frightened me, because I couldn’t feel this alone, and as much as I hated to wake him from his ignorant dreams, I had to. Sobbing his name, I scooched across the foreign bed until I was forcing my way into his arms. His snoring halted and then came a sigh.

“Becks,” he murmured, voice drenched with sleep. He moaned while stirring, opening his arms for me. A quietness came to him as my sobs grew in volume, soon finding a place against his chest. “I’m here, buggie. I’m here.”

“But our baby’s not. Wh-Why?” I weeped, feeling the warm metal of his necklace against my cheek. He held me against him, arms snug around me as every bit of stillness left my body. “They’re gone. I just shut down and- our daughter’s gone.”

“I know, honey. I know,” sorrow weighed down on every one of his words. My lips stung from pressing them together so tightly, singing from relief when I chased breaths.

“She’s g-gone . . Why can’t I wake up from this nightmare? I-It’s not fair, Harry, it’s not fair. We don’t deserve this,” every word wicked more strength from me. At last, I relaxed pliantly against him, giving up. “I wanted s-so badly to be her mom, it’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not, Becks. It’s not fair at all . . I wish I could fix it all for you, honey. I’ve never not been able to, but please, don’t disappear from me like that again. You wouldn’t hardly talk to me or look at me. I- I can’t lose you too, buggie,” he cried, sniffles adorning his words as tears filled them.

“I’ll try. I don’t know where I went. It’s like I went somewhere else, because . . because I don’t want to do this. Any of it. I can’t,” they’re the last words that I speak, muffled against his bare chest.

He fell back asleep first, his hand slowly dancing along my back until it stopped, but still I laid there, thinking. It was a long while until I joined him, hoping I’d get to dream about our daughter again, knowing that’s the only place I’d see her.

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

Note

Omg I just reread the hunter fic you wrote for me and I'm still screaming - I so fucking love it!!!! You're totally awesome babe! So, I was wondering - only if it isn't to much - if you would be willing to write a part two?💕

Of course! I hope you like this as much as the first!💛💛💛 thank you for requesting! ❤❤ (I'm so sorry this is so late!)

Goddamn Hunters. (Part Two.)

David (The Lost Boys) x reader

Warnings: blood imagery, graphic violence

Masterlist.

Part One.

The journey back to David's home is mostly silent, the only sound being a brief squeak from me when I realise that we are no longer on the ground, my hands clutching tighter at the comfortable fabric of his overcoat, my face burying into his chest, inhaling his somehow familiar scent. In my ears, the rushing wind is unbelievably loud, though the sensation of it against any exposed skin is not as biting as I thought it would be, possibly due to the frigidity of my body beneath my torn clothes. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at the ground far below us as he continues to move, his arms adjusting themselves securely around my trembling frame, the sensation making me feel safer, despite me not knowing this...person at all.

After what feels like hours, he touches down again, a roaring, crashing sound making itself known to me, as well as a pungent salty reek laced with a woody odour, all of which mix with the confusion already fogging up the inside of my head, my fatigue finally becoming noticeable to me. Yawning, I instinctively cuddle closer to David, my body reacting before my brain does, a deep blush rising to my cheeks as he looks down at me, blue eyes widening a little with surprise before they fill with some other emotion, something akin to pride. I don't quite register as he carries me somewhere dimly lit, whining quietly when he finally places me down somewhere, the noise a reflex I didn't know I had, though I am glad that the surface below me is soft and comfortable. Halting, the platinum blonde seems to think something through, eyeing my limp, tired form on what I can only assume is a bed, his hand absentmindedly reaching up to stroke back my hair, frowning a bit at my bloodied state. He jerks away suddenly when a voice speaks up from behind him, the words incoherent to me as I drift to sleep, aching and painful after my ordeal, only just catching the end of what David responds with.

"...mate."

For the first time in days, I sleep peacefully, none of the harrowing nightmares I've had previously assaulting my conscience, though the biting hunger at the back of my throat remains a constant, the blood on my clothes not helping at all. Thankully, the day passes quickly, my eyes opening just as the last rays of sunlight leave the surroundings, the bed I'm sleeping in blocked off from the outside light by black-out curtains, which is helpful, seeing as I learnt the hard way that the bright light hurts like hell. Hesitantly, I climb off the bed/nest thing and examine the room I'm in, surprised to find myself in a cave of sorts, the spacious expanse littered with debris and random objects, a few of them gathered around a decrepit fountain in the centre, near which there are sofas and a wheelchair, a faint layer of dust collecting on almost every surface. Confused, I step further into the room, moving to the fountain, where I trail a finger over the filthy surface, a greyish film coating the digit as I pull it away, my nose somehow picking up the musky scent emanating from it with ease. In addition to this, I can also smell four distinct odours, one of which I already recognise: David, the unmistakable smell inciting an odd longing feeling within me, my body aching to be with my mysterious saviour again.

In my confusion, I fail to notice that a tall figure has appeared in the hallway behind me, their eyes glowing yellow as they catch sight of me, a low growl escaping them, before I'm pinned to the fountain by them, strong hands holding me to the marble surface in a painful position. I yelp, struggling in their hold, my own strength dwindling due to my hunger, terror and panic flooding me as I fight to get free, only for my assailant to hold me tighter still, snapping their teeth by my ear in warning. Whimpering, I still, hoping that whatever they do to me, it will be quick.

"Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing here? Couldn't you tell this is our territory?" The voice is distinctly male, though the hostility sounds wrong in it, as if he normally uses a lighter tone to address people.

"T-territory? What do you mean?" I manage to get out, just as puzzled as I am afraid, wincing when he presses me tighter against the fountain.

"You know exactly what I mean. We've marked this area and laid claim to it more times than I can count, so you can't seriously tell me you don't know what I mean. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" He punctuates each word clearly, his breath fanning over my ear as he forces me into even more discomfort, my mind scrambling to piece together what in the hell is going on. My mouth opens and closes as I try to figure out what to say, only to snap shut when I hear a thankfully familiar voice somewhere behind us.

"Get the hell away from her, Paul." David snarls, rich voice laced with anger, the platinum blonde audibly stepping over to where I'm pinned to the water feature. The weight on my back is suddenly gone, my body screaming in relief from the painful position as I twist in time to see a lanky blonde being thrown to the floor by the black-clad platinum blonde who saved my life last night, a gasp escaping me as the former crashes into a rickety old table, the ancient structure cracking in two under the force.

"What's your problem, man?" The blonde, Paul, bites out at David as he climbs to his feet, pulling a few splinters of wood out of his jacket and mop of hair, eyes stool flashing yellow.

"You! You're my problem, waltzing in here and attacking my mate as if you own the place..." His voice trails off, eyes fading into their icy blue again almost as if he's realised what he just said.

Silence encompasses the three of us, shock evident on Paul's face, regret lining David's and confusion probably showing on mine, the quiet quickly becoming awkward as the taller blonde tries to process what he's heard, only disrupted when another two people emerge from the tunnel behind David. One of them, a slightly shorter blonde with curly hair, is pulling on a patchwork jacket, angelic features bright with mirth, whilst the other is a tall dark haired guy with no shirt on, his own leather jacket slung over one broad shoulder, nearly black eyes swiftly finding me.

"Ooh, who's this?" The shorter blonde queries when he sees me, doe eyes raking up and down my figure, though he quickly looks over at Paul when he makes a sound of disbelief.

"Your mate? Since when do you believe in that crap?" Paul exclaims loudly, his words stirring yet more confusion into the soup that has become my mind, my eyes flicking uneasily between the four boys.

"Hold up, who's whose mate?" The short blonde questions, frowning at his friends, the dark haired one staring at me with a vague expression of realisation.

David sighs, coming over to me with a gentle look on his handsome features, helping me back up again and keeping one hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles into the skin as he looks at me worryingly, silently asking if I'm alright. I nod, somehow trusting him.

"This is (Y/n). My mate. We only met yesterday, when I found her being attacked by hunters." He informs the others, eyeing them sternly, "And I'd like it if you could all respect that. She needs help transitioning."

"Hang on, before you go on, what are you talking about? Hunters? Transitioning? Mate? What on earth does it all mean?" I butt in, finally speaking up over the others.

David and the dark haired one exchange glances briefly, before the latter ushers the other two outside and out of sight, leaving the platinum blonde and I alone together. Carefully, he eases me onto the edge of the fountain, sitting beside me without making eye contact.

"How long have you been like this?" He finally asks, looking over at me.

"Like...this? You mean messed up, hungry, hysterical, nocturnal and not to mention chased around Santa Carla by two people I thought were my friends? For four days now." I respond, drawing attention to the gnawing hunger in the back of my throat again.

"Four days? How long have you been in Santa Carla?" He sounds confused now, as if he wasn't expecting me to say that.

"For three. I don't know why, I sort of just...needed to come here. It's like i felt this connection between me and what i have now figured out is you...sorry, this is too much information, and I probably sound weird as hell..." I admit to him, fiddling with the hem of my tattered shirt.

"No, that makes sense, it's a mate thing, I guess." He murmurs quietly.

"Can you just tell me what that means please?" I ask again, sighing in exasperation.

"This is probably going to sound pretty crazy, but you, as well as me and the others, are a vampire, and somehow, that has also made the mate bond between us stronger. Mate bond as in some weird, primal urge to be together."

"Wait, what?"

It takes David a full hour to properly explain everything to me, by which point I'm absolutely starving, my fangs itching to make themselves known, as well as slightly disturbed by the knowledge of what I really am, even if it does explain a lot about the events of the past four nights. David seems to notice my discomfort, as he suddenly stands up, offering me a hand with a small smirk on his face.

"Come on, let's get you some food."

"Food? Like blood?" I inquire, gingerly placing my shaking hand in his gloved one, allowing him to pull me up.

"Exactly like blood." He smirks, leading me to the entrance of the cave, where we go put and climb up a rickety old walkway to the top of a cliff. Once at the peak, we stand at the edge, looking out over the roaring sea, the noise of which is still unbearably loud to my ears.

"So we can either take my motorcycle, or we can take the more interesting route." The vampire offers, blue eyes boring into me.

"More interesting route?" I question, lifting an eyebrow.

He doesn't respond, instead just smirking wider, going to the edge of the cliff. With a suggestive wink, he steps backwards, off the edge, disappearing below the cliff line. Gasping, I go to step forwards, as if to stop him, only to freeze in place when he floats back into view, coat swirling around him as the wind rushes past his narrow body.

"What the...how are you doing that?!"

Incredulous, I rush to the edge, looking over it as if to check if he's standing on something, only to look back up at him when I don't see anything.

"Practice. Come on, you can float, too." He grins, coming closer. I smirk at the IT reference, edging forwards, taking his outstretched hands, only to feel confused when he bats them away, his arms wrapping around my waist securely. As he does so, I suddenly feel the ground melt away from under my feet, a squeak of fear escaping me before I look up into his pale face, laughing as a sudden rush of exhilaration course through me, my own hands coming up to rest against the hard planes of his chest. He grins at me happily, slowly releasing his grip on me, whooping out loud when I manage to float on my own, only to grab hold of me again when I waver unsteadily, tipping towards the ground.

"Come on, let's get you some blood." He promises, twisting around and gesturing for me to hold onto his back, before swiftly flying off in the direction of Santa Carla, an exhilarated scream escaping me. In no time, we're circling around the dark alleys and back roads of the small coastal town, swiftly locating a group of three people, who look hopelessly lost.

"Just drop down on them, and let loose." Dvaid encourages me, going nearer to the group.

Taking this into account, I release his back and fall to the floor, dropping right on top of one of them, my instincts taking over as my fangs break past my lower lip, slicing into the soft skin even as I tear into the available skin of my first victim. Blood spurts up into my waiting mouth, a ravenous moan escaping me as I clasp the person closer to me, relishing in the terrified shrieks of their friends, easily drinking my first victim dry. Throwing them aside, I stalk over to the others, who are paralyzed in fear, grabbing one and sinking my teeth into their soft skin, enjoying the sensation of the delicious life force flowing from them to me. Too soon, they die in my arms, allowing me to easily drop them and move on, finishing off the last one in no time.

As I finish, David drops from the sky, eyeing me closely, as if expecting me to attack him, too. When I don't, he comes closer, grinning from ear to ear, lifting a hand up to my face to wipe a trickle of blood away from the corner of my mouth, bringing the digit to his lips, licking the red substance off of it, the action making me feel oddly hot around the collar, despite the fact that the hunger is still rife in my mind, body still yearning for more. Swiping my tongue over my chin, I try to force it down, feeling my features slowly morphing back into their natural state, the fangs protruding from my gums sinking back into normal sized teeth, a groan of both satisfaction and dissatisfaction leaving me at the thought of having to stop now.

"Don't worry, kitten, we'll get you some more-" David goes to reassure me, only to suddenly be cut off as something explodes by his head, a familiar cloud of mist encasing him. Surprised, the vampire growls in pain, hands lifting to his face, rubbing at his now-bloodied skin, eyes flashing yellow in the fog of white moisture, the agonized groans he emits distressing me.

"David?! David, are you ok?!" I move to go and help him, only to flinch back when the vampire pushes me away again, voice strangled.

"I-I'm fine...damn...hunters again...get out of here!" He commands, twisting away from me. Annoyingly, I feel conflicted, part of me wanting to stay and help him, the other wanting to obey his words. It's only when he snarls another "Go!" at me that I turn and leave the area, biting my lip as I run around the corner.

As I do so, I hear an unfamiliar, distinctly female, voice start speaking to David, the words unclear as I start remembering something one of the hunters from the night before said, when they first tried to stake me:

"Wait till the girls find out they missed this."

These must be the girls he was talking about; vengeful girlfriends out to kill their boyfriends' killers. Peeking back around the corner, I nearly gasp as I see David on his knees, a woman pushing him down with a foot on his back, another standing before him with a stake poised over his head. At the moment, they seem caught up in some sort of joint speech, which gives me some time to figure out how to help, an idea swiftly forming in my head.

Looking around, I spot a pipe running up the side of the building near me, which I go over to, testing its stability. Inhaling, I start using it to pull myself up, my new strength allowing me to easily scale the building, ignoring the worrying creaking sounds that it emits as I heave myself onto the roof. Catching my breath, I race over to where I have a view of the alley below, my eyes swiftly finding the three people below. Standing straighter, I relax my muscles and concentrate on feeling light, straining to get myself up into the air, hopelessness starting to flood me as I feel the roof below me remain where it is.

For a minute, nothing happens, my feet staying firmly in place, until I let out an annoyed sigh, at which point i suddenly feel weightless, the slates under my shoes falling away as I open my eyes and look down, smiling briefly as I notice I'm a good few feet off the surface. Determined, I tilt myself forward a little, moving so I'm in line with the prone figure of my so-called mate, lowering myself somehow until I'm just out of sight. David struggles again, hissing as the girl with her foot on his back pours a liquid down the back of his coat, briefly distracting her, giving me the opportunity I need. I drop down, grabbing the stake-wielding hunter around the waist and pulling her upwards, my fangs instantly finding their purchase around her throat, tearing out her oesophagus and trachea with a horrible ease, the blood filling my mouth deliciously as her strangled screams fade into nothing.

Pulling away, I look down to see the other hunter glancing around, a stake now held in one hand as she tries to figure out where I am, pulse audible from here. Grinning sadistically, I allow the body in my arms to fall to the floor below, thudding loudly against the pavement, blood making a paint-like splash on the otherwise unstained tarmac, the sound drawing the hunter's attention away from David, a low gasp of air escaping her, before it breaks off into a pained scream when David suddenly jumps up to tear her heart from her back. As the blood erupts out of the now-limp body, i slowly manage to lower myself to the floor, wiping my chin on my sleeve as he looks at me in shock and gratitude. Noticing this, I make eye contact with him, smiling proudly.

"Goddamn hunters." Is all I say, mimicking him from earlier.

All he does is chuckle thankfully, sweeping me up into his arms, pressing me against his chest. Smiling, I wrap my arms around him, glad to have finally found someone to help me through this.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)#david x reader

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franklyshipping · 4 years ago

Text

Practice Makes Perfect ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

HERE WE HAVE ANOTHER WONDERFUL ANON PROMPT THAT INCLUDES ONE OF MY FAVE HEROES EVER AND SOMEONE THAT I HAVEN’T WRITTEN IN A WHILE! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @silvlee-shepherd

Harold B. Darrensworth liked to think he was in the know about a great many things. Colour co-ordination, how to be punctual without fail, how to hoover and dust correctly, and especially when it came to the laws of the land. However, there were still so many things that he wanted to know and understand, especially now that he lived with this strange myriad of a community wherein half of the people had the same face that he did. They were a very social bunch, and slowly but surely Harold was trying to be social too, and there was one particular activity that bonded this community more than anything else. Tickling.

Now unfortunately, Harold didn’t have much experience when it came to social cues and experiences and the like, tickling included, and he desperately wanted to learn about these things! Mainly, he wanted to learn how to tickle someone properly so he could partake in making his fellow egos happy….as well as to maybe persuade them to do a few extra chores around the manor. So Harold had decided to seek out someone who he figured would be an expert, someone who had been on the receiving end of every single tickler in the household. The great hero himself, Silver Shepherd. Harold decided to head to the hero’s room first, and luckily the hero was in, lying on his bed and just relaxing his day away. Harold took a light breath, before knocking on the door.

‘A-Ahem, Silver? It’s Harold, might I come in?’

Silver sat up with a smile, and called out.

‘Yeah of course! What’s up bud?’

Harold smiled at how jovial Silver was as he entered and shut the door behind him, and he beamed gratefully when Silver patted the bed, inviting him to sit. Harold sat by him as he replied.

‘I am very well….but I am in need of some help with something, and I think that you may be the only person who can assist me.’

Silver’s eyes widened in curiosity, and he immediately perked up, giving Harold his full attention. Whenever anyone needed help, they always became Silver’s top priority.

‘Of course, what can I help with? Whatever it is I’ll do my very best to do whatever I can!’

Harold smiled, because Silver never ceased to be the most selfless person in the room. Harold took a breath, before replying.

‘I require help….with tickling.’

Silver’s face went a little bit pink from hearing that ah….word, but he tried to keep his cool as he cleared his throat.

‘Uh ti-….t-tickling?’

Harold nodded, and cleared his throat as he elaborated.

‘Yes, tickling. It has become incredibly clear to me that tickling is the most prominent social interaction that we, the egos, tend to be involved in with one another. Now, I know that I do enjoy it, but I have very little experience when it comes to actually administering tickling on somebody else. I want to learn how I can tickle properly so that I may interact with people more, since even though practically everyone is a disorganised, lawless mess, I do enjoy everybody very much.’

Silver’s expression softened a he listened, and he almost felt ready to cry at how Harold wanted to put so much effort into interacting with people properly and being more social, because he knows how daunting that can be for someone who hasn’t been used to people for a long time. Silver beamed at him encouragingly, because he so badly wanted to help.

‘That’s such a sweet goal, and I really want to help! What is it that you’d like me to do?’

Now, Silver was expecting Harold to ask him to perhaps tickle him and show him different tickling techniques….but Silver’s blush ended up darkening when Harold replied with his suggestion.

‘Well, logically if I am to be an adept tickler I must practise on somebody. This person must be incredibly ticklish, enjoy being tickled, and have had experience receiving tickling from every potential other tickler in the household. You, Silver, are by far the most tickled ego by my calculations, so I can think of no-one better to hone my skills upon! I believe you will be able to properly advise me on my techniques and warn me against doing anything that is accidentally inappropriate or not part of tickling etiquette. Will you help me by letting me tickle you?’

Harold was looking at Silver hopefully, fidgeting with his shirt sleeves as he watched Silver gape and descend into thought. Well, in truth Silver was trying to just process all his flustered feelings that had arisen from the unintentional teasy things that Harold had said to him. Of course though, Silver was certainly not going to say no to being tickled, especially since it was for such a good cause! So, after a few moments, Silver smiled bashfully and nodded, and tried (and failed) to keep his stammers at bay.

‘W-Wehell I-….I-I’d l-love to help…..o-of course you can t-….tickle me Harold.’

Harold gasped, and practically started wriggling with elation as he replied in a frantic, excited manner.

‘Oh-thank you! Thank you so much! You won’t regret this! Ah, how do we begin, can we begin now?!’

Silver giggled endearingly at Harold’s cute excitement, before replying with an excited smile of his own.

‘Yeheah yeah we can, o-okay so uhm….I-I’m going to lie down, a-and you should probably just sit on my legs so uhm….s-so you have a good vantage point….’

‘Okay!’

Harold eagerly replied, and waited for Silver to lie back down properly before he took off his shoes and then carefully perched himself on top of Silver’s thighs. Harold got himself settled, before looking down at Silver brightly.

‘Is this comfortable for you Silver?’

Silver smiled and nodded up at him.

‘Yeah, yeah it’s good. Also that’s really good of you, asking after my wellbeing, that’s a-always really important.’

Harold beamed at the fact that he’d already done something right, and made a mental note of the factor, before Silver continued.

‘But the uh, the most important thing is actually knowing when to stop, so that the whole thing stays fun and perfect. So, generally the person being uh….t-tickled will choose a special word. A short word that, i-if they say it, is the point blank sign to stop, no matter what. B-Because a lot of the time t-ticklees will say the word “stop” r-reflexively, without a-actually meaning it.’

Harold happily nodded along, taking in all the new information with great interest and care, since he was so eager to learn.

‘That makes excellent sense, prioritising safety in the situation, I like that very much! What is your special stop word?’

‘Mine is Red.’

Silver replied with a giddy smile as Harold nodded, before Harold started rolling up his sleeves.

‘Red, noted! So is there a certain place I should begin at, or may I start to tickle at any place I choose? Also, are there any places that you do not wish me to touch? Aside from obvious intimate areas of course.’

Silver replied with a bright giggle.

‘Yohou can start wherever y-you want uhm….there’s nowhere that makes me uncomfortable a-as such but ah, i-if you decide to g-go near my navel y-you need to be extra c-careful. If you’re t-too rough then i-it can be really unpleasant.’

Harold smiled in understanding, he understood very well that some tickle spots can be so hyper-sensitive that anything other than a feather touch can be horrible. He replied in a caring voice.

‘Since I am as of yet inexperienced I shall avoid your bellybutton, so there is no chance of me making you uncomfortable. Okay….hmm…..where to start where to start….’

Harold spoke reassuringly, before trailing off with a murmur, and Silver now started to squirm as Harold’s analytical eyes gently flicked over his body. Harold took a good few moments to think, just because there were so many potential tickle spots on the human body that it was very hard to pick where to start! Then though, Harold decided on a simple methodology, and smiled and clapped his hands.

‘Alright, I shall simply start from the top and work my way down!’

Silver let out a gasp when Harold then reached for him, and started stroking up and down the sides of his neck experimentally with his fingertips. Of course, with Silver being Silver, he started to giggle immediately.

‘O-Ohohoho my g-gohohosh….’

Harold beamed at Silver’s reaction, his eyes lighting up at the fact that he’d already made Silver giggle and they’d barely freaking begun the tickling!

‘My goodness, you’re already giggling! So you’re ticklish here?’

Silver nodded, nibbling his lip bashfully as he replied.

‘Y-Yehehes I-I ahaham….’

Harold kept up the gentle tickling at the sides of Silver’s neck, and cocked his head down at the hero as he commented happily.

‘Your giggles are very sweet Silver, I can see why the others tickle you so often!’

Silver squeaked with flustered embarrassment and spluttered cutely.

‘H-Hehehey d-dohon’t tehease mehe!’

Then, in a similarly cute fashion, Harold furrowed his eyebrows in confusion down at Silver.

‘Tease you? I didn’t mean to tease you, I only meant to compliment you.’

And for Silver, that made it even worse, knowing that Harold hadn’t even been trying to tease him. Silver scrunched his neck as he whined through his giggling.

‘C-Cohohomplimehents lihike that ahare teheheasy!’

Harold blinked in surprise at this revelation, but knew that teasing and tickling very much came hand in hand, and therefore that teasing was a good thing! He smiled and had mercy on Silver’s neck, before replying matter-of-factly.

‘In that case, I shall tell you some more! Did you know Silver, that you have incredibly endearing dimples when you smile?’

Silver yipped in surprise, and hurriedly hid his face in his hands, grinning as he stuttered.

‘H-Harold sh-shuhush!’

‘I most certainly will not! Did you also know that the way you blush so fast is incredibly cute and unique?’

Silver then started whining incoherently into his hands, which made Harold gently laugh. Harold found that he was enjoying teasing Silver just as much as he enjoyed tickling him, using his words to fluster him so much was incredibly enjoyable, which meant he continued to eagerly croon.

‘And I especially think it’s sweet how your tummy twitches when you laugh.’

Harold poked Silver’s tummy gently as a way of emphasising his point, which ended up making the hero yelp. Harold noticed of course, and grinned at his discovery of the new tickle spot….and decided that it would be the next perfect place to continue honing his skills.

‘In fact, I think I’ll tickle this tummy of yours!’

He stated brightly, making Silver hold his breath in giddy nervousness, before he let it out in a splutter as the hero descended into loud, airy laughter. Harold had started experimentally skittering over and poking Silver’s tummy, and by his mirth Harold surmised that the hero was incredibly ticklish there.

‘OHOHO MY GAHAHAD HAHAROLD!’

Harold chuckled gently at Silver’s exclamation, keeping up the tickling as he replied.

‘You seem much more ticklish here than you were at your neck, is my analysis correct?’

‘Y-YEHEHES-OHO FRIHIHICK!’

Harold giggled in amusement, especially when Silver’s hands started to flap about, and Harold commented on it playfully as he kept up the tummy tickling.

‘What are you doing Silver? Are you attempting to dance or to fly, I can’t quite tell.’

Silver snorted cutely, and spluttered with indignant embarrassment through his laughter.

‘D-DOHOHON’T BEHE CHEHEHEEKY!’

Harold grinned at that, and now scratched specifically at the sides of Silver’s tummy as he replied in a half-nonchalant, half-teasy tone which Harold thought would fluster Silver immensely.

‘But being cheeky seems to make you blush more, and besides, I fail to see how you can stop me….you seem to be at my mercy Silver, would that be fair to say?’

Harold was right of course, his tone of voice and wording really got to Silver. Needless to say, Harold was one of the best amateur ticklers ever, and Silver had to admit that he was certainly at Harold’s mercy right now. Especially since the sides of his tummy were monolithically ticklish and had him squealing.

‘EEEE-OHOMYGOHOD YESYES OHOKAY I AHAM!!’

Harold beamed, feeling very proud that he’d managed to get Silver to admit it aloud, and he was feeling oh so happy and confident with his tickling abilities. Then, he raised an eyebrow down at Silver, still tickling him as he spoke.

‘Would you say that I am a good tickler then? Based on the fact that I have you at my mercy?’

Silver snorted again with embarrassment through his laughter, his dimples fully on show along with his sweet smile as he nodded and wriggled about, trying desperately to stay strong and not fight back instinctively.

‘YEHEHES YEHEHEHES!!’

Harold was thoroughly enjoying tickling Silver like this, and decided to move his scratching fingertips down to Silver’s waist. Harold let out a chuckle when Silver yelped and bucked, before throwing his head back with mirth.

‘Gohoodness Silver, is there anywhere you’re not ticklish? You must have the most unruly nervous system in humanity.’

Silver hit his bedcovers with his fists as he writhed, laughing hysterically now as he got happy tears in his eyes from all the tickling….Harold was just too freaking good!

‘IHIHIHI DOHOHOHO NAHAHAHAT!!!’

‘Oh I beg to differ! I’m not even tickling you intensely and you’re so hysterical! It’s adorable!’

Silver tossed his head about as he laughed, his face and neck a furious red from his flusteredness from all the surprisingly effective teasing and tickling. As a result, Silver had now reached the end of his tether for the day, and called out giddily as his face scrunched up cutely.

‘REHEHEHED REHEHED!!!’

Harold gaped and immediately stopped, looking down at Silver with a half-smiled. He was elated from tickling Silver, but also a little anxious to see if he was okay after saying his safe-word. Harold fiddled with his fingers as he cleared his throat.

‘Are ah…..are you a-alright Silver?’

Silver was panting and giggling residually, and of course didn’t hesitate to nod as he smiled up at Harold so damn happily.

‘Haharold Daharrensworth…..yohou are the b-best ahamateur t-tickler ehever!’

Harold gaped and went pink with happy bashfulness, letting out a laugh as he felt his heart swell at the compliment. He’d done good. On his first time, he’d done good, he’d done the right things and kept it all happy and fun…..he was a good tickler after all. Silver had loved it, and so had Harold. Harold slid off of Silver’s legs, and cleared his throat again as he smiled at Silver.

’So ah….what do we do now?’

Silver smiled, and made Harold yelp by pulling him down next to him and wrapping his arms around him.

‘Now, we cuddle, which fyi is completely mandatory.’

Harold giggled at that and happily snuggled Silver. Harold felt so happy. Because yes, the one on the receiving end of the tickling is the person being made to smile and laugh….but never underestimate how happy someone can become when they lovingly coax out that laughter. It is one of the most fulfilling things in the world.

WOOOO HOPE YOU ALL LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

#markiplier #markiplier egos #silver shepherd #silver #harold b darrensworth #harold darrensworth #harold #sfw #prompt #platonic #ego fic #ego fanfic #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #luv these bois

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gusu-emilu · 4 years ago

Text

Cantatio: Chapter Ten

Ship: Lan Zhan / Wei Ying

Summary: Lan Wangji learns what really happened last night—regarding more people than he expected.

Cloud Recesses AU, Rated T - read on AO3

“But you, Lan Zhan? Letting a girl from the Wen Clan sneak in through your window, then tiptoeing around the Cloud Recesses after curfew with her, and then sword fighting without permission?

All of that is much, much more deplorable, Lan Zhan.”

< Ch. 9 | Ch. 11 > | chapter list

It was as if Lan Wangji had swallowed an entire bottle of vinegar.

His stomach lurched. His face burned. His throat blazed with the acrid taste, itching to cough up the single question that singed the fabric of his thoughts.

Wei Ying, who is in your bed?!

But Lan Wangji had well earned the title of Twin Jade. Like his brother, he was serene. Cool. Composed. Nothing could penetrate the fortress of his mind. Nothing could get under his skin.

Do not act impulsively. Harmony is the value. Speak meagerly, for too many words only bring harm. Train your body and your mind.

Coming back to center with the Gusu Lan Clan rules—which he had been ignoring too much lately—was his priority. Not whatever frivolous things his roommate did.

And yet.

A man was in Wei Ying’s bed.

A man who did not belong in their room.

But these emotions were irrational. Why should Lan Wangji care? The biggest problem here was that sleeping in another disciple’s dormitory was prohibited. That was why he cared..

“I hope you don’t mind, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian looked over at Lan Wangji as they stood in the doorway. “I had a guest over. But, well, you had a guest in your bed too, so it shouldn’t be that big of a problem.”

A lump formed in Lan Wangji’s throat.

He knew. He knew that Wen Qing had snuck into their room. Had he been awake the entire time, watching them and smirking from beneath his blankets, while a handsome man slept beside him?

“I did not. Invite her.”

“Okay, Lan Zhan. Whatever you say. You’ll be glad to know that I, at least, am maintaining our duplex as a place of hospitality. I did invite my guest in. Very willingly.”

Lan Wangji’s fists trembled.

Was Wei Ying purposely trying to aggravate him? Purposely trying to rouse a reaction from him? Purposely trying to make him feel jeal—

No. If this was his intention, the attempt had failed. He didn��t feel that unspeakable emotion at all. There was no reason to.

Wei Wuxian pranced into the room. The unknown man still slumbered in bed, snoring lightly. Lan Wangji remained fixed in the doorway, trapped in place as if the moonlight tied around him like a rope, pulling him away from this disturbing sight.

How had he not seen two people in the bed? How had Wei Ying snuck outside to buy wine in Caiyi Town without alerting him or Wen Qing?

Earlier, Lan Wangji had felt the slightest bit amused—horrified, yes, but still a touch humored—that he was blatantly violating Gusu Lan Clan rules on his side of the room while Wei Wuxian, the biggest troublemaker in the Cloud Recesses, was fast asleep, completely oblivious.

Well, maybe not that amused. It was shameful behavior.

But had the situation actually been the reverse? Had Lan Wangji been so absorbed in his stubborn guest that he hadn’t even noticed what was occurring across from him?

Finally, he croaked out the question.

“Who. Is that.”

Wei Wuxian rubbed the back of his neck and flashed a sheepish grin. “Haha. About that. There’s something else I need to tell you, Lan Zhan. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Lan Wangji’s only answer was to twitch his lower lip.

“He’s…uh…under a sleeping potion.”

“What?”

“It’s not anything weird, I swear! He did it to himself! Well, at least, sort of. It was a dare. He lost a bet to Huaisang. I think it cost him a little too much, though. I, uh…I might’ve used the opportunity to slip two or three of his coins from his pockets to buy some stuff.”

What kind of wicked games had Wei Ying been playing with this man? And Nie Huaisang had been involved too?

Wei Wuxian waved his hands in front of himself. “He’s fine! Really! He just went sleep. Really soundly.”

Despite their raucous voices, the man had not stirred from the bed. His leg still hung off its edge.

“What was. It.”

“Remember in Madam Yu’s class when some of my ingredients went missing? I mean, I know you were ignoring me, but we were sitting at the same table, and she, like, slapped me. You must’ve noticed.

“Anyway, turns out that when you make an insomnia remedy without jujube seeds, it gets way stronger. Makes you pass out within a minute. Wen Qing told me that after class. She said she would pour it down my throat if I didn’t stop trying to talk to her. I’m best buddies with her little brother though, how could she say something so rude to me? She’s really quite terrifying. And that needle she stuck in me? Such a scary woman. I can’t believe you let her in our dorm.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened.

“But I’m getting off track. Since it was his”—he pointed at the sleeping man—“fault for getting my grade lowered, Huaisang and I decided that it was only fair he drank the mess that his selfishness had created. We bet him that if he couldn’t do a quadruple backflip after spinning in a circle for five minutes, he’d have to drink it. We didn’t think he’d actually agree to it.”

He paced the room as he continued the story, his hand gestures becoming more and more exaggerated. “And well, after he lost, Huaisang started teasing him. You know how Huaisang is, fan over his face, voice all singsong and provocative. But then Huaisang had to run away, because he got so mad, he was about to punch Huaisang! Still, he kept his word and drank the whole vial. Then he passed out. I didn’t want to carry him back to the dorm courtyard, because what if Nie Mingjue or Lan Xichen saw us? It was way past curfew, and it’s not exactly easy to hide when there’s a person draped over your shoulder. So I dragged him to our cozy little home and plopped him on my bed. You had been sound asleep. Didn’t even notice.”

As Lan Wangji listened, realization dawned on him. In Alchemy & Medicine class, a certain grumpy disciple had refused to give his jujube seeds to Wei Wuxian.

The man in the bed was Jiang Cheng.

Wei Ying’s brother.

Then he remembered another detail—Wei Wuxian had left an hour before curfew to play outside with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang. Lan Wangji noted bitterly that he hadn’t been invited.

As if Lan Wangji cared about any of this in the first place. He stomped over to his own bed and slid inside, shutting the blankets over himself with a violent sweep.

“Hahahaha, what kind of person do you think I am, Lan Zhan? Did I worry you? I was only doing a kind deed by letting my shidi rest in my bed until the potion’s effects wore off. And the Emperor’s Smile I bought was an apology gift for him when he woke up! At least, one jar of it was. It was his money, so it was only fair I let him have some.”

Wei Wuxian rubbed his hands together, like he was kneading dough he was about to roast in the oven. “But you, Lan Zhan? Letting a girl from the Wen Clan sneak in through your window, then tiptoeing around the Cloud Recesses after curfew with her, and then sword fighting without permission? And you destroyed my apology gift for Jiang Cheng! All of that is much, much, much more deplorable, Lan Zhan. I should take lessons from you. And you know, you really have to fill me in on this closet of yours. Maybe then, I’ll finally tell you how I animated the pixiu.”

Lan Wangji clenched his eyes shut and clamped the blankets over his ears, his face burning redder by the minute, a headache clawing at his temples, his mind trudging through a recitation of the Gusu Lan Clan’s core philosophies and not thoughts of his roommate.

They went to sleep without exchanging another word.

* * *

The next morning, Lan Wangji’s face was sticky with sweat. He dabbed it off with a warm washcloth, hoping to also wipe away the events of last night. But when he looked down, the coarse fabric only contained his salty perspiration. Not the fourteen rules he broke, not the frenzied twang of the guqin, not the sunken cadaver eyes he saw in the mingshi, not the buzz he felt while sparring with Wei Wuxian, not the inexplicable spite that gripped him at the thought of his roommate sharing a bed with a strange man, not the embarrassment that buried him afterward.

He felt…

Felt…

Haunted.

Who was the girl whose corpse hung in the mingshi? How did the guqin play itself? Why did Lan Wangji’s closet lead him to the tower that held them both?

How did Wei Ying affect him so much?

And why did he feel like with every step he took, he lost more and more of his dignity?

He sighed into the towel.

He needed time to process. Even the Second Young Master of the Lan Clan had a limit to the mayhem he could endure before longing to retreat into his shell. He still needed to discipline himself for his misconduct. No, he needed to report himself to his uncle. It was time. He had broken enough Lan Clan rules to last a year.

And now there were two mysteries to solve—the closet, and the mingshi.

Yet this morning, there was nothing left to do but meditate, meditate, and then meditate a little harder. He stood in the grass outside his dorm in the most challenging meditation posture. He deserved the pain, after all. It was nothing compared to what he’d receive after reporting his infractions to his uncle.

It was not a fruitful meditation session.

Once Jiang Cheng woke up in the dormitory, he wobbled around and sputtered incoherent nonsense for several minutes. Then he regained his senses and began hollering at Wei Wuxian, slugging punches at him, throwing hard objects at him. Lan Wangji was grateful for the silence after his roommate fled out of the duplex with the attacker at his heels and did not return.

At least there were classes to look forward to.

But apparently, even the pleasure of academics was to be robbed of him today.

When Lan Wangji arrived in the central courtyard of the Cloud Recesses, ready to enter his uncle’s classroom and nourish himself with more knowledge of Trans-Himalayan poetry, he was blocked by a clamoring crowd of disciples. The clan leaders stood gravely outside the Main Hall, murmuring to each other with obvious distress. Jin Guangshan looked the most outraged of all, floating from leader to leader with shaking fists and a running mouth like a hot air balloon that kept getting blown around.

Morning classes were cancelled.

A guardian lion statue outside the mingshi had come to life and escaped.

A guardian lion.

Would the chaos never end? This was not the peaceful Cloud Recesses Academy that he had heard about from Lan Xichen.

At that thought, he decided to search for his brother.. He slinked between chattering disciples until he spotted the sapphire robes, silken black hair, and white cloud-patterned headband that only looked that way on the elder Twin Jade.

“Brother.”

“Good morning, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said. He had been speaking to Jiang Yanli, whose eyes were puffy and red.

Lan Wangji glanced with concern at Jiang Yanli, scanned the commotion surrounding them, then stared at his brother with an expression that asked, What is going on?

“Have you heard? Last night the guardian lion from the mingshi captured a disciple and dragged him into the forest. A search team is hunting for them as we speak.”

"Whom?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes wandered to Jiang Yanli.

“…Jin Zixuan,” she said.

Jin Zixuan had been out at around the same time last night as Lan Wangji to scold the Lan Clan servant. At least, that was what the conversation of Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Jin Guangyao had seemed to indicate.

When Lan Wangji and Wen Qing had exited the mingshi, both of its guardian lion statues were intact and in place. Did the lion come to life and attack Jin Zixuan shortly after they had left? By how many minutes had they missed it? Who even had enough spiritual energy to animate it?

“Serves him right, too,” said Nie Mingjue, who had just marched over from the group of clan leaders. “Little snot-robed bastard had it coming, spitting backwash on his honor like that.”

Lan Xichen braced at the word ‘honor’ and gave a cautious glance at Jiang Yanli, as if afraid his friend’s words would draw fresh tears from her eyes. “Mingjue, no disciple deserves such a fate. And Young Master Jin is quite proficient. He will easily be able to keep himself safe and will return shortly.”

“Pah. I have no sympathy for a coward who would disrespect a lady like that. The lion can have him.”

This time it was Jiang Yanli who flinched at his words. Her lips paled, but she pinched them together and stood a bit taller.

Nie Mingjue did not realize that the woman Jin Zixuan had slighted was actually standing before him. His careless words only drove the nuptial dagger deeper into her wound.

Having never been in love himself—and not supposing he would be anytime soon—Lan Wangji did not know what it felt like to harbor unrequited affections for someone. But somehow, this day, he was able to imagine it more clearly than ever.

It was almost...real.

“Clan Leader Nie should not speak such words given his current company,” Lan Wangji said with a respectful bow of his head.

Nie Mingjue raised his eyebrows, but he did not seem offended. “As you deem fit, Second Young Master Lan. Anyway, where’s Huaisang?” he said with a bite in his tone.

“Just listen for my didi or A-Xian. You will find him nearby,” Jiang Yanli said.

“Hmph. Those two would be wise to find a more useful friend. He still hasn’t picked up a saber since he got here,” Nie Mingjue grumbled before stomping away. Baxia shivered atop the rippling muscles of his back, as if it, too, thought that Nie Huaisang’s lack of saber practice was the disgrace of the century.

Lan Xichen’s eyes twinkled. “Wangji, I did not know you were aware of the true nature of the…gift incident that occurred yesterday evening.”

Lan Wangji blinked. “Nor was I aware you knew.”

“Young Master Wei informed me just minutes ago. I immediately came to speak to Lady Jiang.”

Jiang Yanli smiled at them. “Thank you, both of you. But Young Master Jin is the one who needs our prayers. Don’t worry yourselves over me. It had been my choice. Young Master Jin’s reception of the gesture was not mine to control. I only wish he had known it was me. Not because I long for the credit, but because then he would not have sought out the Lan Clan servant and been seized by the guardian lion.” She sighed. “I truly hope he is safe.”

Lan Wangji’s chest tightened at these words. Jiang Yanli’s selflessness reminded him of the care his own brother bestowed upon him, and everyone else they met.

He decided that he needed to divulge last night’s events. For Jin Zixuan’s sake, which by extension, meant Jiang Yanli’s sake.

“Is it known at what time Young Master Jin was captured?”

“Only an estimate,” Lan Xichen said.

“I had been outside the mingshi minutes before you left the dormitory path with Clan Leader Nie and Young Master Jin Guangyao. At the time, both guardian lions were stationary. This information may help locate them faster.”

“Thank you, Wangji. This is very helpful. I’ll inform the clan leaders.” He paused, then tilted his head and said, “What were you doing outside last night?”

Lan Wangji looked to the side. “With company,” he said, intentionally vague.

“Young Master Wei?”

Of course his brother saw right through him.

He nodded.

“Young Master Wei has had quite an influence on you recently.”

Lan Wangji bit the inside of his mouth, hoping the pinch would fight back the rosy blush blanketing his cheeks. At least Lan Xichen would never guess that Wen Qing had been there too.

“He carried liquor. I apprehended him,” Lan Wangji said. “I accept punishment for my transgressions. I will report myself to Uncle.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes sparkled like the wine Wei Wuxian had carried. “Why not have a drink with Young Master Wei instead?”

Lan Wangji gaped at his brother in horror.

These were the same words Wei Wuxian had spoken to him so shamelessly while flaunting the jars of Emperor’s Smile. Lan Wangji had never tasted alcohol, but he imagined that the tingle he felt at this thought couldn’t be that different from drunkenness.

Lan Xichen only met Lan Wangji’s offended gaze and laughed.

At least this conversation seemed to brighten Jiang Yanli. “A-Xian can come on strong, but he has a good heart. I’m glad you two are roommates. He’ll be a good friend.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“Try to keep him from self-sabotaging too much.”

“I shall.”

Lan Wangji had said it. So he would do it. Somehow, a part of him desperately wanted to.

As the events of the day unfolded, it turned out that Wei Wuxian would need his help much sooner than he expected.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3! New chapters posted every Monday on AO3 and Tuesday on Tumblr.

Ch. 11 > | chapter list

#mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #mdzs fanfic #the untamed fanfic #wangxian fanfiction #wangxian fanfic #mdzs #the untamed #cql #cql fanfic #wei wuxian #lan wangji #cantatio #wei ying #lan zhan #wangxian #emilu fics #emilu creations

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louiserandom · 5 years ago

Text

Of Nosebleeds and Allergies

Rating: T

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara

Summary: The sight of Madara waltzing around in the summer heat half-naked, muscles flexing beautifully, causes Tobirama to have an unexpected nosebleed. To hide the true cause from his overbearing Anija, he blames it on aggressive pollen allergies.

It seems fine, until it isn't, because of course Hashirama would then assume that his Mokuton is a devastating allergen and starts sobbing because he now has to stay away from his beloved baby brother.

A/N: for @tuliharja who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS MADNESS, SOMEONE ARREST HER😤😤😤 but also thank you asdfghjk i had WAY too much fun writing this😂😂😂😂 this is peak flail. PEAK FLAIL i tell you

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 enjoy!

It's a cursed day, Tobirama decides.

For one, he'd always remained blessedly ignorant over why exactly Izuna swoons practically every time Tōka accidentally flexes her muscles—though whether or not it's ever truly accidental is up for debate—until today.

Today being the particularly sweltering mid-summer day when virtually every citizen of Konoha is frying alive, apparently, with only Tobirama, whose body temperature is naturally cooler due to his enhanced affinity for water, feeling perfectly content.

Madara, on the other hand, doesn't seem as comfortable, and that's Tobirama's only fully coherent thought before his mind blanks at the sight of Madara taking his shirt off, in their shared office no less, and stretching out his arms in a decidedly indecent manner.

Tobirama swallows heavily. Madara decides then to take a drink from his water bottle, so sloppily that stray droplets trickle from the corner of his mouth, along the column of his neck down his chest. Tobirama's brain, in turn, short-circuits.

Fuck.

Tobirama wonders if it would really be that strange if he runs away through the window right this second. Or douses the office with a Water Dragon.

He clenches his fists. Sighs. Berates himself for his ridiculous thought process.

Maybe Tobirama is overreacting. All right, maybe he's definitely overreacting, because of course, he logically understands that were it not for his stupid, godsdamned uncontrollable crush on the Uchiha Clan Head, he wouldn't be phased by the current display. He takes care to keep his face neutral and his posture more or less relaxed, focusing his gaze on the papers before him and away from the thick, bulging muscles, the tantalizing expanse of exposed, slightly tanned skin. It's more than a little horrifying for Tobirama to catch himself imagining how he'd licking the thin sheen of sweat on Madara's collarbones, chest, abs and—

Well. This is going nowhere.

Tobirama closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, frantically thinking of dead kittens and bloody battlefields in order to ward off the scorching flares of arousal.

Annoyingly, it doesn't work. He opens his eyes only to see drops of red on his—well, what used to be his top-priority tax proposal, and it takes his malfunctioning brain a few seconds to realize that he's been hit by what used to be Hashirama's constant plague during his sexually hyperactive teenage years.

A nosebleed.

A fucking nosebleed.

He scrambles for a tissue, keeping his gaze fixed downward and hoping to the gods Madara hasn't noticed the debacle.

"What the fuck is wrong, Senju?" Just Tobirama's luck. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Tobirama says, shaking his head erratically, "I just—I'm fine. A random nosebleed. Nothing to worry about, just—keep working." He even does a little wave with his hand, which is reminiscent of the flailing that's supposed to be Madara's specialty.

By the Pure Lands, this is embarrassing.

Madara watches him with narrowed eyes and then, because the universe doesn't care for Tobirama's mental stability, stands and walks over to him, removing the tissue from his face and inspecting the damage. Pale green flashes in Tobirama's vision, and he shuts his eyes closed, half-petrified, half-savoring the warm, comforting tingle that is Madara's chakra sizzling through him as he presses his fingers to the bridge of Tobirama's nose to heal him. The sensation stokes Tobirama's increasingly uncomfortable erection, making him resent the delectable pleasure.

(This is probably the gods' revenge for all the times he'd broken the laws of nature with his experiments. It's maddening.)

"Just a couple burst vessels," Madara says with a nod, finally (albeit regrettably) removing his hand. "Probably because of the damnable heat, yeah?"

"Mmhm," is all Tobirama manages, throat dry and mind ever more foggy as he's treated to a close up of Madara's taut, dangerously enticing nipples.

"You should maybe work from home the rest of the day," Madara suggests, pressing his palm against Tobirama's forehead. "You don't appear to have a fever, but you are a little flushed." He smirks then. "I thought you were blushing. It's a—it's a nice look—whatever, shut up!" Madara jerks away from him suddenly, both hands flailing a little.

Now that's... an interesting comment. Something to think about later.

"When did you become a mother hen, Uchiha?" Tobirama teases while Madara stutters through a bunch of incoherent insults. At least this is the Madara he knows and—likes, a welcome contrast to his uncanny concern earlier.

"Tch. Like I care," Madara glowers, "get a heat stroke, whatever, I don't give a shit. I mean—I do, but only because your brother would cry and get snot all over me if you get sick."

As if on command, Hashirama struts right through the door, the wood disassembling and patching itself back again once he's inside.

"Good morning!" he sing-songs.

"Stop abusing the fucking door!" Madara and Tobirama shout in unison.

"Oh, come on," Hashirama whines. "The door doesn't mind—I'd know!"

"We do," Tobirama says.

"Yes, and I also mind your presence," Madara growls. "You have your own office, so get the paperwork you need and fuck off."

"Madara, don't be so—Tobi. Tobi! Is that blood?"

Tobirama rolls his eyes. Great. Just what he needs right now.

"It's just a nosebleed, Anija. You don't need to heal it, Anija, Madara already did. Please, for the love of the gods, keep quiet." It takes all of Tobirama's self-control to keep his voice level as he talks alongside his brother's panicked whining, and it takes a particularly hard shove for Hashirama to shut up and focus on him. "Anija. I. Am. Fine."

"Okay," Hashirama breathes, worry never leaving his eyes, "you're fine—for now. But what if you get another nosebleed? How much blood did you lose? Is it the weather? Are you sick? Did Madara hit you, do I need to beat him up?"

"Hey!"

Tobirama scoffs. "I find it insulting that you think I wouldn't beat him up myself," he says, "especially considering his pathetic defeat in our last sparring match."

"You cheated, you fucking dick—"

"But none of the above," Tobirama goes on, silently laughing at Madara's attempts to get past Hashirama and presumably strangle him. "It's just..." His eyes trail treacherously over Madara's straining biceps. "Aggressive pollen allergies," Tobirama blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

The right thing to say, too, because Hashirama heaves a massive sigh of relief.

"Oh. Gods, well, allergies are easy to treat at least," he says, "but they're still dangerous, Tobi, and they can hinder your breathing! You'll need to stay inside a lot, of course, and I'll prepare some medicine for you, and—"

"Stupid fucking Senju," Madara grumbles, a bit calmer now and simply glaring at both of them, arms crossed. "Make sure to stay away from your precious brother too, since your Mokuton is one big fucking allergic hazard," he sneers.

Well, fuck.

Hashirama's expression twists into one of terror, and Tobirama sorely laments the lack of much-needed alcohol in their vicinity.

"I'M AN ALLERGEN, OTOUTO," the God of Shinobi screams, his eyes welling up with tears. "No, no, no, that means I'll have to stay away from you and gods, all the trees I grew in the village—"

"Why," Tobirama says, fixing a confused Madara with a glare.

"—I'll have to draw away all my chakra and probably seal and oh no, think of the children! What if I've already caused deadly allergic reactions—"

"Why would you do this," Tobirama sighs as Madara grows more and more baffled by the spectacle. He obviously meant it as a (poorly contrived) joke, but has apparently forgotten that Hashirama is an idiot.

"—Tobi, you have to move out immediately!" Hashirama shouts at him, shaking is shoulders, then recoils with a yelp, and Tobirama senses him forcefully toning down his chakra. "And far away from me, until I find a suitable treatment—oh, Madara!" He turns to his friend. "Since Tōka and Izuna are on their honeymoon, Tobi should live with you for a while—I mean you've finally confessed and you can spend quality time together! Just, you know, don't sleep with each other until Tobi—"

"WHAT THE FUCK," Madara shrieks.

What the fuck, Tobirama's mind echoes.

"I DIDN'T TELL HIM, YOU UTTER ASSHOLE." Madara lifts Hashirama by the collar and pins him against the wall. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"But you told me yesterday—"

"I lied!"

"Well, you can tell him now," Hashirama whines, prying Madara's hands off himself, "while I quarantine and de-Mokuton everything, because Tobi could suffocate and die, Madara, this is serious."

"I won't." Tobirama raises his voice to be heard over Madara's cursing. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a massive headache setting in. "Anija, you do not need to quarantine yourself. It's all right. I am not allergic to the Mokuton."

"How can you know?" Hashirama demands, managing to restrain Madara's hands behind his back. "You've never had allergies before, only this year when we've basically moved into a village half-built by my jutsu, Tobi! It all fits."

"It doesn't," Tobirama growls, "because I'm not allergic at all. I lied. Go away."

"Why do you two keep lying to me? And then why did you have a nosebleed?" Hashirama tilts his head to the side, confused.

Tobirama sighs. "Madara hit me. We need to talk it out."

"Wh-what the hell, Senju?"

"What?" Hashirama growls, just as Madara yelps as his hands are squeezed tighter.

"I hit him first," Tobirama lies through gritted teeth, "and he hit back. Stop fretting. Now if you leave, I promise we'll talk, make up and maybe even hug it out like you always force us to."

Hashirama blinks. "Hm." He slowly releases Madara and drops the scowl, though his eyes remain narrowed. "You'd better be telling the truth this time. If you're not, I will ground both of you and issue a decree for that if I have. And I expect both of you over for dinner today along with detailed explanations from both sides because this kind of behavior is unacceptable," he chastises them before stalking towards their desks, grabbing the paperwork labeled for him and heading out in the same atrocious way, through the malleable door.

Leaving Madara and Tobirama drowning in a very uncomfortable silence that stretches on mercilessly.

Madara clears his throat, speaking first,

"Fuck."

With that concise assessment, he stalks back to his desk, dons his shirt back on and hides his face behind the high collar, slumping onto the chair like a disgruntled porcupine.

"So," Tobirama starts.

"Your brother is a menace."

Madara's chakra rages throughout the whole office, now almost painful as it burns against Tobirama's senses. He sighs.

"So," Tobirama says firmly, "when Anija said you meant to confess..."

Madara sinks further into his chair, half-concealed by his desk at this point.

"He meant—you like me?" Tobirama asks, wincing as Madara's chakra flares further.

"I hate him," Madara seethes.

Tobirama rolls his eyes. Such childish behavior.

"Well if that is what you were trying to tell me," he says, "I was going to say that I might—"

"Not attempt to kill me?" Madara cuts in.

Tobirama resists the urge to throw something heavy at the infuriating man. "That I might possibly not completely hate you too."

This has Madara fumbling to raise his head above his shirt only to gape at Tobirama for a few tense moments.

"Well, why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demands and even has the gall to sound offended.

"Why didn't you?" Tobirama parries. So many things would have been easier if he had, Tobirama's far-too-frequent hard-ons included.

"Because," Madara glowers, "because—why should I be the one to take initiative?"

Huh. Another interesting observation.

Tobirama smirks. "Fine then. This is me taking initiative: I say we ditch Anija's friendship bullshit and go get dinner together." He flinches. "Ditch him for as long as we're able, that is."

Madara blinks. "Dinner?"

"At your place," Tobirama suggests, dipping his voice lower, "if you'd like more privacy?"

Considering his embarrassing reaction to Madara's earlier display, it's viscerally pleasing for Tobirama to see the man blush, dark eyes glazing over prettily.

"Oh." Madara's lips curl in a grin. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

"Perfect." Tobirama barely reining in his own giddy smile. He motions to the thankfully small piles of paperwork they've left to get through. "Let's take care of these quick then, before Anija has the chance to sabotage us."

Madara huffs out a laugh. "Please. He'll be stuck with those missives until midnight, and that's if he's lucky."

"Do you remember that time when Anija had work to do and then didn't do it?" Tobirama muses.

"Hm. You mean every single time?"

"Exactly."

It's a bit of a surreal pattern that follows, both of them falling back on their usual banter, only with the added weight of their revealed feelings hanging over them. It's a comforting weight, for Tobirama at least, and for once, it doesn't feel wrong to let his gaze linger on Madara's lips, focus on the way his tongue darts out to wet them, stoking Tobirama's fantasies about how they'd feel against his own. His staring must give him away, though, and it's a few minutes later that Madara falls into abrupt silence, his eyes suddenly widening as he proceeds to stare at Tobirama like he's grown another head.

"Wait a second. Did you happen to have that nosebleed because—"

"Because you're an idiot," Tobirama interrupts him, his insides growing cold with renewed embarrassment, "and that raises my blood pressure."

Madara's mouth shuts, curving in a devious smirk. The bastard. Of course he wouldn't be fooled.

Tobirama clears his throat. "Listen, the sooner we finish work, the sooner we can leave and go on that fucking date," he says with a pointed glare. "So concentrate."

"As you wish, Tobirama," Madara drawls, a teasing glint in his eyes, "wouldn't dare to disobey."

Somehow, even without outright taunts, Tobirama feels like he's been defeated. It doesn't matter, though; what he may lose in dignity, he’ll make up for by preserving his outward composure.

Besides, the next hours give him the added pleasure of seeing how the mere promise of a romantic outing ramps up Madara's usually sluggish productivity to an astonishing degree.

It's a good day after all, he decides, and about to get much better.

#madatobi #tobimada #fanfic #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #humor #romance

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simsadventures · 5 years ago

Text

Better Like This: Chapter 15: My Safe Place is You

Summary: You and Bucky both try to recover from the events of last few days. In one very specific way.

Warnings: smut (MUST 18+ TO READ THIS PART, this part of the story is not essential, it’s here solely for my horny followers… and myself, let’s be real here), emotional sex?, fluff, implications of PTSD and anxiety

Word Count: 2095

A/N: This is pretty much a pure porn, not that I’m any good in writing it, but I still can try, right? Anyway, this story is almost ending, and I think I might cry when I post the next chapter, which will be epilogue… I love you guys 3000, and I hope you’ll stay with me even when this is over. xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

The familiarity of Bucky’s mouth on yours calmed your nerves down a little. You wanted your Alpha, very much so, but at the same time, you felt like you were about to do it for the first time. Your memories might have been all back, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of something new starting with this moment.

Bucky could probably hear your mind reeling, so he pulled away a little, to have a look at your face. “Do you want to stop, doll? We still can, there’s no pressure whatsoever. We can just cuddle all evening and night, and I’ll be ok with that. Tell me, what do you want, Y/N?”

You smiled at how considerate Bucky could be for you. You knew he was a fairly impatient man when it came to anything else, especially his job, so to see him there, with you, letting you know that he would wait for you no matter what made your heart beat a little faster.

“I want you, Bucky, all of you. I’m just feeling as if I was stepping into some new territory, you know? I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t want to back down. I want you.”

His calloused hands crept under your shirt, and he cradled your hips and ribs. “We’ll take it slow, ok? If anything doesn’t feel right, I need you to tell me, so that we can stop. I love you, Y/N, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

With that, he kissed you again, but this time the kiss was much more deliberate. He was taking your breath away, he wanted to breathe for you, to shelter you from the world. And you let him. You needed to feel safe after all that happened, and Bucky was the only safe place you had. The kiss was slow but passionate. You could feel him licking into your mouth, devouring it and worshipping it on his way.

When he pulled away, it was only to trail kisses down your throat and to your collarbone. You intertwined your fingers in his hair, pulling ever so slightly, making Bucky groan against your skin. You were breathing hard, and his every touch made breathing even harder for you. He turned his attention towards your mating mark, at first, only pecking it, but when he heard your reaction in the form of a low moan, it encouraged him to lick it properly and to enjoy the taste of it.

He loved that mark with all his heart. You were his, and his only, and he there was proof to that. While you were out, he was watching your mark getting all angry and red from the threat of you dying and the bond breaking with it. Now, it was all healed up again, and Bucky couldn’t tear his gaze away from it.

He traced his finger along your collarbone, while still licking and kissing your mark. You fingertips found his biceps, and you squeezed his arms. You wanted more. You took the hem of his shirt and tried to get it off of him, but because he was pretty much sucking your neck, you couldn’t really get it up.

He got the hint, and momentarily undressed, and threw the t-shirt somewhere behind him. You purred when he attached himself to your skin again, and you could trace your fingertips along his chiselled chest and back. You even scratch him a little, when he pulled up your shirt and started playing with your nipples.

You knew it was a good idea to go braless. Bucky was groaning and moaning every time he touched a new piece of skin that hasn’t been worshipped by him. You instinctively pushed your legs a little farther apart, wanting to feel a touch where you needed it the most. This action didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky, as his fingers traced the outline of your panties.

“Bucky… please!” You moaned.

“Patience, doll, all in good time.”

But you didn’t want to be patient. You couldn’t wait any longer. You straddled Bucky’s lap and pushed him, so he was suddenly laying underneath you. You smirked and enjoyed the marvellous human being laying there, being yours.

Thanks to him being shirtless, you wasted no time and nipped his shoulder lightly, earning a throaty groan from him. You continued your attack on his skin, leaving little hickey along the way. You didn’t need to mark your territory, but knowing that only you could do that to him fill you with a certain amount of pride.

You kissed his nipples which made Bucky’s back arch from the bed. You knew he was sensitive there, and so you played with him for a while.

Your favourite part was when you came to his belly. He was especially sensitive there, and so al you had to do was scrape your nails along his muscles, and he was becoming a puddle in your hands. He was watching your every move like a hawk. He was no longer the protective, considerate Alpha (though you were sure that he could switch back any moment if the situation needed it). No, he was now in a much more primal state. His eyes darkened the lower you went, nipping and caressing his body.

You took the waistband of his underwear between your fingers and looked at him for consent. He nodded but was too engrossed in your actions to properly answer you. It was enough, so you took them off in one swipe, and because his dick was no longer confined, it stood proudly against Bucky’s stomach.

You marvelled at the scene. Bucky was breathing heavily, and you haven’t even done anything yet, his cock right in front of your face, angrily staring at you, leaking pre-cum and all but begging you to start giving it attention.

You spat into your hand and grabbed him hard enough for him to twitch in your hand. You were glad you had this effect on Bucky even after everything that happened. Your body was still healing, and there were scars all over it, so you were ecstatic that Bucky was able to see beyond that.

You weren’t in a mood to tease him, so after a few kitten licks delivered on the head, you hollowed your cheeks and swallowed him. You couldn’t take him entirely, so the rest of him, that didn’t fit in your mouth was pleasured by your hand. You bopped your head up and down, and when you felt Bucky’s hand pushing your hair out of your face, and caressing your cheek, you moaned around him.

Before you met Bucky, you didn’t really enjoy giving someone head. Not too much, anyway. But seeing this Greek God under your power, writhing and shaking, you couldn’t get enough. You continued to pleasure him, taking him to the back of your throat few times, because you knew just how much he enjoyed when you slightly gagged around him.

“Doll, stop. I need to knot you, and I won’t be able to if you continue at this frequency.”

You looked at him through your lashes, his dick still deep in your mouth, and Bucky could swear his heart stopped working. You released him with a pop, string of saliva still connecting the two of you. He groaned, wiped it from your mouth, and pulled you up to straddle him, so that he could kiss you passionately, tasting himself in the process.

You ground your pelvis into him, looking for some kind of friction. You needed to relieve this burning need growing inside you. Bucky didn’t want to stop devouring your mouth, but his hands started to wander, squeezing your hips and thighs, bringing you closer to him and pushing your clothed pussy on his bare dick.

“Fucking hell, doll. You’re soaked. Let me take care of you baby.”

You didn’t even know how, but you were suddenly on your back, with Bucky grinding against you. He wanted to go down on you, but you stopped him.

“I need you, Bucky. We can have more fun later, but I need to feel you. I need to feel us, please.”

The predatory look was momentarily gone, replaced with one of compassion and understanding. “I got you, Y/N. I got you.”

He kissed you again as if sensing your slight distress of something or someone like Amber happening again, tearing you two apart.

He got rid of your panties in a blink of an eye. He stared at your bare pussy for a second, before pushing two fingers deep inside you, scissoring them, opening you up a little. Your back arched off of the mattress, and you moaned lowly. But it still wasn’t enough.” Bucky”, you growled.

He chuckled, pulled out his fingers, and licked them clean, groaning at the taste of you. “Second round will be just me eating you out, my love. You’re too delicious for your own good.”

Your thoughts were starting to be incoherent, the need to feel your Alpha was overwhelming your senses. Bucky grabbed his cock, sliding it through your folds back and forth, sheathing it in your slick. You moved your pelvis to angle it so that he could slide right into you. And he did just that. In one swing motion, he was buried in you to his root, panting heavily to your ear.

You felt full and relished that feeling. You were connected with the man of your dreams on the most basic, but at the same time, the most intimate way, and your heart swelled. You were alive. Despite all that happened, you were there, with your Alpha, and both of you were alright. Tears were welling up in your eyes, and when Bucky noticed, he stopped moving.

“What is it, doll? Am I hurting?” You only shook your head and hugged him tighter, with both your arms and legs. “Talk to me, Y/N. Did I do something wrong, baby?”

“You’re perfect, Bucky, trust me. I’m just emotional, happy emotional after all that we’ve been through. Please, move, Bucky, I need you to move.”

He smiled, kissed away your tears, and started slowly thrusting again. He was repeating sweet nothings, how beautiful you were, how only you could make him feel that way, and how much he fucking loves you. With every such word you could feel yourself growing tighter and tighter, until you were a babbling mess, saying I love you, Bucky, all over again.

You came with a long whine, your walls squeezing Bucky too hard for him to be able to continue. He groaned your name as he could feel his knot swelling, and right when it popped inside you, he sank his canines into your neck again.

It was a sharp pain, but nowhere near the first time he marked you. The reinforcement of your bond was so strong that it made you cum again, gushing around Bucky’s knot, tightly secured in your cervix.

“I love you so fucking much, doll. I can’t ever lose you, do you hear me? You are it for me, don’t you ever forget that.”

He rolled over so you could lay on top of him, while his knot deflated. “I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to. Even when I couldn’t remember my own name, Bucky, I knew you. My heart knew you. Whenever you were next to me, I felt safe. It scared the hell out of me in those moments, because my brain couldn’t recall you, but my heart did, and it fought for us to stay together. Even if I never regained my memory, I want you to know that I was willing to start anew with you, because you’re it for me too. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, no doubt in my mind about it.”

Silence fell upon the two of you. You kinda thought he would at least hummed, or something, but when you looked up to see what was going on, you had to chuckle lightly. Bucky fell asleep, his cock still secured in your womb, your body on top of his.

He must have been so tired, so scared to not have his Omega with him, and when he finally found you, you couldn’t remember him. It took a toll on him, and you knew it would take a lot of time and probably therapy to make Bucky loosen his protective behaviour a little. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as long as the two of you were together. With this thought on your mind you let yourself be lulled to a sweet sleep by Bucky’s raising chest and puffs of breath.

/ Next Chapter >

Taglist

@kneel-begyourpardon @starkrobb @crazybutconfidentaf @waiting4inspiration @boxofteenageideas @hiken-no-stark @get0verit @mywinterwolf @cat-of-your-eye @iheartsebastianstan @slender--spirit @this-is-serenaa @henderwhore4life @owlyannah @rohaintahquil @libbymouse @chubby-dumplin @dumblani @laughsandlivia @kiki5283 @rippedpiece @marvellover1819 @barbar126 @p8tn0lish @atomicfandombomb @queen-of-elves @benditlikegumby @queen-of-nerdiness @daydreamerinadazedworld @kenzieam @bbmommy0902 @eteramfools @sunshine-2324 @dyanna-corona @carlya65 @supermassiveblackhope @eileenalone @thewackywriter @noseyrosey1597 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

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justimajin · 5 years ago

Text

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 6

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 4.5k

⇝ (Updated) Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn't offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away... ...but who ever said that was going to stop you?

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

⇝ Next Update: Tuesday, April 21

Your footsteps are quick and haste, sweat beginning to accumulate at your temples when the glowing numbers before you take their sweet time in lowering. The grip on your backpack only intensifies, glancing back and forth warily until a soft chime resonates.

Stepping inside, you whirl around and press your thumb against the silver pad for the sixth floor. The doors begin to shut when a voice suddenly calls out.

“Wait!” Your hand instantly shoots out with a grimace, only letting once the woman safely enters and the doors are shut close.

“Thank you.” She answers a bit breathless, but you can only offer a small smile in retaliation when you sink against the wall. She stares up at the bright screen, a frown on her lips.

“How long does it usually take to get to the third floor?”

You bite down on your lip, tightly grasping the steel railing. “F-Fifteen minutes.”

She catches the hesitance in your voice, eyes suddenly on alert.

“Are you alright?” When she inches closer, you flinch and hurriedly nod. “Are you sure? You look very pale.”

More colour disappears from your face at that, her keen eyes growing more and more concerned by the minute.

You hear a small ding and the doors open.

She swivels around, feet beginning to slowly move but not before she sends one final glance in your direction.

“Take care young man!”

The doors click and you sigh, slumping further against the steel wall. The numbers progress sluggishly, as if testing how much strength you have left. Once the noticeable giant red six appears, you haul up your plummeting form.

The doors open and you limp over as much as you can, punching your keys into the knob and twisting it instantly. Your backpack gets discarded onto the ground, not even being able to make it to your room when you collapse onto the couch.

Within a matter of seconds, your lids flutter shut.

***

You’re woken up with a wince, insides feeling like they had been churned and twisted. Curling up into a fetal position, sweat trickles down your forehead and your eyes scrunch up, a sudden wave of nausea not helping to relieve any of the symptoms.

Unraveling yourself bit by bit, you manage to flip yourself to face the ground, body suddenly jolting when you come face to face with a certain someone passed out on the ground.

He’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts, a headband keeping his black fluffy locks at bay and head resting against a pillow he’s snatched up. You speculate if he possibly came back from training and somehow just ended up sleeping next to you, but it’s a thought you can’t really contemplate any longer when a throbbing sensation churns up in your stomach.

You recoil back into that fetal position again, all hopes of trying to get up diminishing away. Biting down on your lower lip harshly, you stretch out your arm, fingertips barely meeting his shoulder.

“Taehyung…….Taehyung..….” You quietly whisper, another wave of cramps washing over you as you wince, “Tae…”

Your movements at best, get him to roll away until he’s completely out of your reach. A defeated groan escapes you, the throbbing only magnifying by the minute.

The rustling sound of keys jerks your head up, eyes frantically darting everywhere until they land on the door.

“Who–…oh.” Your eyes meet Jungkook, who leans against the door and is occupied with slipping his shoes off. There’s two bright green bags in his hands that seem to be overflowing with packets of food, but he strides over when he notices you on the couch and Taehyung sprawled all out on the floor.

You open your mouth to retaliate, but a sharp pulse hits your side and a shaky breath escapes you. “J-Jungkook…”

His attention is diverted over to you and you gesture towards the kitchen with your hand, “C-Can you get me my medicine? It should be in the top drawer.”

“Wha– are you okay?”

You peer up to see his furrowed brows when you curl up again, head quickly nodding in response. There’s still a frown on his lips when he glances down, eyes now narrowing at the soft snores escaping from the ground.

Jungkook pads over with his groceries to the man, who still appears to be very occupied with his drowsy state of slumber. Sticking the edge of his foot out, Jungkook pokes Taehyung mildly on the shoulder. To his dismay, he slurs some sluggish incoherent words in response before rolling over into the opposite direction.

“Is he dead or something?” Jungkook glances around for a moment, eyes fixating coincidentally on the location Taehyung has chosen to fall asleep on. His voice dips down, a harsh mutter of words passing through his lips.

“If he drools on my carpet…”

“He won’t.” Jungkook pauses when you interject mid-way, a soft reassuring smile on your lips. “I promise.”

He seems to be contemplating your response when another pricking sensation stabs you in the stomach again, words faltering as you weakly whisper, “Jungkook, m-my medicine…”

There’s still a level of reluctancy brewing within his eyes, but after a deep sigh, Jungkook heads for the kitchen. The groceries that had been gripped in his hands are discarded onto the counter, the drawer you had instructed to him being immediately yanked out. He rummages through it for a second with a frown, hands curling around the small box and leaning over to grab a water bottle from the fridge.

He glances down as he strolls back, brows contorting the longer he stares at it.

“Do you have a stomach ache Y/N?” He ponders, handing you the box and water as your eyes widen for a second. Letting out an uneasy laugh, you faintly smile.

“S-Something like that.”

You instantly take the medicine and chug the water down, handing it back to Jungkook who sets it on the table to the side. He moves to sit on the other end of the couch, seeming to relax though his gaze remains on Taehyung.

“How long has he been like that?

You shrug, “He was just sleeping on the ground when I woke up.”

Jungkook hums, but then he abruptly snaps up much to your own surprise. Darting over to the kitchen counter again, he rummages through the plastic of his grocery bags before a brightly red coloured packet and a box comes out into his hands. Coming back, your eyes remain bewildered until he couches down in front of Taehyung.

The brightly red packet is placed on the perch of Taehyung’s nose, your mouth dropping at the sight as Jungkook aimlessly shuffles back to his spot and reaches out for the remote.

There’s a small smile on his lips when he catches a glimpse of your astonished expression, “He’s been wanting ramen for days. It’ll wake him up faster.”

A faint chuckles escapes you at that, now flowing out freely once the medicine in your system begins to finally kick in. Sinking back into the couch, your lids flutter as you rest your head against the soft cushion.

“Did you eat something bad?” Jungkook questions, the box is in his hands open as he munches down on a cookie.

“Uh…yeah,” You clear your throat, “I should have been more careful.”

He hums, “Hopefully the medicine helps, you need to be good shape for our first game.”

You freeze, becoming wide-eyed as your thoughts come to a pause.

“H-Huh?”

“Yeah….” Jungkook arches up a brow. “It’s tomorrow.”

Your mind crashes with the information, thoughts suddenly spurting out of control. Jungkook’s words only work as a confirmation, because of course you know it’s tomorrow. You had bookmarked the date in your calendar beforehand and were slowly counting down the days in excitement. However, you’ve failed to realize the day had been drawing closer and closer, being too occupied with the radiating pain in your stomach and transcending aches writhing through your form.

You gulp, pupils beginning to shake and shoulders starting to quiver when you can already imagine the horror of trying to play in such a state, wondering if somehow you can just pull through for tomorrow and–

A loud yawn breaks the silence, disrupting your chaotic thinking as a head of tousled black hair straightens up.

“WOAH!”

The red packet falls onto the ground, strands of Taehyung’s hair sticking up in unusual ways and hand pressed against his heart as if he had just gone through a heart attack. He narrows his eyes, staring at the bizarre presence of the ramen before him.

Jungkook keenly watches him, leaning against his hand with a smirk. “Rise and shine dear prince.”

“You got it?!” Taehyung grabs onto the packet with both hands, crinkling the metallic wrapping in the process as he continues to gaze at it. He hurriedly flips it over, eyes searching in wonder, “And it’s the extra spicy flavour!”

Jungkook doesn’t respond to him, eyes darting over to his phone as he occupies himself – though there is a small smile lingering over his lips.

A wide grin stretches across Taehyung’s face, eyes suddenly landing onto you and morphing into concern.

“Oh! Y/N!”

He grabs onto your hand, “Are you feeling better? You were shaking a lot when I came back…”

“I’m alright Taehyung.” You quickly reassure him, however your head still wanders over to Jungkook’s reminder of a very important event tomorrow, not settled down onto a proper solution yet.

Tenderly watching Taehyung jump over to Jungkook with an especially generous hug, you can only hope to yourself that tomorrow will be okay.

***

It’s quite simple.

In the beginning, basketball was a mere game to you.

It’s a distinctive memory, and it started off how usually most new things do.

A peak in interest at a time you had least expected it.

You had been going about with your day, everything seeming to be as ordinary as it could be. That is, until a now familiar, but back then more much foreign orange ball rolled over to your feet.

Your eyes blankly stare at it, lips sullen. When you lean over to grasp onto it, the grainy texture meeting your fingers, there is nothing but mere curiosity dwelling in your eyes. It’s only until you hear the clearing of a throat, a girl around your age having her hand planted against her hip and one outstretched, face unamused that it withers away. A group formulates behind her, all staring at you in anticipation.

The ball tumbles towards the ground, bouncing off the rough surface and into the girl’s hands. She spins around without giving you a second look, the group behind her now fluttering with smiles once she returns.

You pout, feet slowly padding away but eyes still glued to how the girl begins to bounce the ball, passing it over to someone else. Only being able to catch a handful of glimpses through the tall metal wired fence, your steps halt when the second girl closes in on the basket, adding strength into her legs and shooting the ball outwards.

It flawlessly lands through the hoop, a roar of cheers echoing through her nearby players as they pat her on the back and congratulate her.

After that, you remain crouching in the same spot you faltered in. Simply and quietly observing from the cloaked shadows of the fence like a figured being discovering light for the first time.

Unintentionally, the observation ignites a spark, a small flicker of a fire that only seems to grow as time passes, becoming never ending through the desire to soar higher and higher.

It’s quite simple – and yet when you enter that roaring gymnasium, thundering voices bouncing off all the walls, you know that you’ve reached a point in time that is not as simple anymore.

“Over here.” The captain of your team gestures all of you towards him with his hands, a cardboard box resting at his feet. Within an instant, he’s pulled out sets of black sleeveless shirts, mumbling in a low voice.

“Jaebum, Hoseok, Taehyung….” The shirts go flying from his hands, each one meeting a different member’s outstretched hands.

“Y/N.” You react a tad late when he sends one your way, the delicate satin fabric meeting your fingertips. The front has bright swirls of purple, your team name highlighted with white undertones and grey prints.

Flipping over the shirt, there’s a row of giant orange numbers spelling your name, alongside with your assigned number.

“Seven…” You whisper, gazing at the number in puzzlement.

“Make sure you keep them safe.” Yoongi announces, ushering Namjoon over. He clears his throat, capturing everyone’s attention over immediately.

“Since this is going to be your first game, I’m sure you’re all nervous.” He chuckles, “I am too, but we made sure to prepare you all very well for this.”

He sticks his hand out, five fingers raised.

“We’ll have five players on the court at a time, that means ten in total during the game. We’ve already decided on which players will be on the court for today's game.”

A list is pulled out by Yoongi, who hands it over to Namjoon, “Jungkook, Taehyung, Jackson and Y/N.” He makes eye contact with the group, “You guys will be playing for this game.”

Your form stiffens, a forced smile arising on your lips as a hand unconsciously hovers over your stomach.

Yoongi is standing right next to you and it would have been a perfect opportunity. With one simple turn, you could do a swap that would have pulled you out instead of keeping you anchored to the situation at hand.

One simple turn.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to do it – not when there’s a multitude of flashbacks playing in your head, one that heavily consists of a poorly done try out.

Sucking in a deep breath, you move to stand beside Taehyung and the others. He darts his head around, gaze confused.

“Who’s our fifth player?

There’s a giant smug smile on Yoongi’s lips, sauntering over to stand in the line-up as he carries a basketball in his hands.

“I am.”

Your eyes widen, focused on how Yoongi moves to the middle of the court and beckons the rest of you to follow. Your line of sight briefly changes to the opposing team, who are patiently waiting for your team’s arrival.

With the basketball in one hand, Yoongi reaches out to shake the other’s team captain’s hand, a mutual look residing in their eyes. He then hands the ball over to the referee, signalling for all of you to get into your positions behind him. Jungkook and Taehyung move to stand on either side of him, you and Jackson heading for the back.

The referee holds up the basketball in his right hand, left hand curling around his whistle. Fisting your palms, you plant yourself firmly into position – mind empty as your quick eyes scan over the court.

“First team to three points wins.”

The referee blows his whistle.

The best way to describe the aftermath is a complete blur. Everyone sprints simultaneously, heading out in contrasting directions as you try to navigate where the ball has disappeared to. It’s only until a head of maroon hair darts out, expertly dribbling around the players surrounding him.

His shoes loudly squeak when he runs into the other’s team captain, letting out a grunt when the blockade the captain creates is challenging for him to bypass. However, that’s when Yoongi decides on accelerating his pace, generating enough momentum to breeze by the other captain as the ball is thrown over to an already prepared Jungkook.

He quickly seizes it, eyes suddenly alarmed with the overflowing amount of players rushing at him. Darting his gaze over, a tick escapes him when Taehyung and Jackson are buried in a sea of the other team's players and the captain is right on Yoongi’s toes.

You hastily glide over, finding a lucky opening at Jungkook’s back and outstretching your hands. Jungkook catches on right away, jerking over to the side and thrusting the ball in your direction with the little room he has.

Your hands slap against the basketball, form speeding up rapidly when you can easily swoop through the overshadowing players around you and head for the basket. But when you’re only a mere inches away, there’s a stab of pain on your side, something that causes you to harshly bite down on your bottom lip as tears well up in your eyes.

Your form curls in on itself, hands quivering as you try to clutch the basketball harder – but your attempts prove to be futile when the opposing team’s captain lunges straight for you, knocking the ball out of your hands.

The impact causes you to wince again, eyes now becoming blurry but still racing over to claim the basketball again. Jackson suddenly emerges in front of you, using the same tactic the captain did to steal the ball away from him.

He goes full ham, dribbling the ball away at an insane speed that leaves you perplexed, mouth falling completely agape when he manages to make it over to the basket and shoot.

The ball practically flies from his hands, falling into the basket as a loud cheer echoes through the room. Jackson fondly smiles, a huffing Min Yoongi patting him on the back.

You’re able to muster enough energy to send him a content smile, breathing heavily as you drag yourself over to your old position. Though the action doesn’t escape a certain someone’s eyes; Yoongi’s heavy gaze lingering on you for a moment, before he races over to take the centre position again.

The whistle is blown again, and the blur of players occurs once more. This time Yoongi manages to slap the basketball away, throwing it in Taehyung’s direction who catches it after it pounds against the ground. He spins around, eyes meeting Jungkook’s and passing it over to him.

The next set of minutes have your eyes harshly widening, disbelief crossing your features.

All the players charge at him at the same time, completely blocking all of his shots. Yoongi and Taehyung bolt over as Jackson hovers near the hoop, eyes on sight for any long shots Jungkook can make. It seems he’s not left with many options through, expression growing increasingly frustrated by the minute.

The basketball is knocked out of his hands, one of the opposing team’s members accelerating towards your hoop. You’re quick to move on your feet, dashing over to block any potential shots but the lack of team support doesn’t leave you with much hope.

The basketball enters your hoop, and the referee announces that you’ve both been tied.

Huffing even more, Yoongi resumes back in position and glances at his team.

“It’s only a tie, don’t mope.” When you look up, you notice his eyes pause for a moment before turning away completely.

The whistle is blown for a third time, the opposing team grabbing onto the basketball right away. All of your team players rush at them at once and Yoongi attempts to block off the captain by himself, granting the rest of you the opportunity to apprehend the basketball.

Taehyung manages to after quite a lot of attempts, his teeth clenching when his feet roughly pound against the floor as the basketball meets Jackson’s hands. He whirls around, dribbling the basket but suddenly meeting a blockade of three members.

Making a quick call, the basketball is headed for your direction and you hastily grab onto it, eyes coming into contact with Yoongi’s. Your feet squeak when he gives you a nod, legs tightening when you jump, the ball flying towards the basket.

The ball is slapped away.

Jackson’s blockade catches onto it, hurriedly making use of the newly acquired opportunity to pass the ball between themselves and make it towards your defenseless hoop. The ball plunges in, their overflowing and buzzing audience spreading cheers through the large gymnasium.

You pant, sweat trickling down your neck and soaking your new black jersey as you plant your hands against your knees. Your gaze falters up for a second, grimly regarding how the two glows so brightly for the opposing team, the luminescent and stagnant number one silently mocking you.

Acknowledging that you’re near the tip of the iceberg now, you let out a shaky breath as you straighten up. From a distance away, you notice everyone in position except for a crucial member of your team, someone your wandering eyes meet when he stands near Namjoon and whispers into his ear.

After a moment, he signals the members over. You pad over hurriedly, unfortunately realizing that the members were already departing by the time you reached them. Your lost eyes glance around, but Yoongi simply shakes his head and signals for you to get back into the resting position.

Shutting your eyes, you exhale and plant your feet firmly onto the ground. The whistle blows and Yoongi immediately catches the ball, whirling around and passing the ball over to Taehyung – who practically flies over to the opposing team’s basket. Meeting a barricade, he glances over at Jungkook and chucks the ball.

Jungkook quickly slides across the court, bouncing the ball over to Jackson who eyes down the man stealthily approaching behind him. When the ball is sent over to Yoongi, he focuses in your direction.

“Y/N!”

You flinch when he calls out your name, noticing the chain the members had created lead to one thing in the end–

You.

The basketball is hurled towards your direction, hands snatching onto it. You swivel around as your eyes try to determine who to pass it over to now, only to realize that you’re the one standing right beside the opposing team’s basket.

Eyes lighting up in relation, you don’t dwell on it any further when you jump and the ball goes straight into the hoop.

A loud range of ecstatic voices cry behind you, Taehyung and Jungkook rushing over with howls of encouragement. You smile, but your eyes are more focused on the way Yoongi seems to eye the distance from the centre to the hoop; the dots slowly beginning to connect for you.

The team is now tied – two to two on the gigantic board displayed close to the bottom of the ceiling. Meaning whoever makes it with this shot, wins the game.

A good glance around reminds you that although your team is highly motivated, everyone is certainly reaching their breaking point. Even Yoongi and Namjoon have been keen and through with your practices, they were also adamant about not wasting any energy and granted you with breaks that many of you were grateful for.

However, it’s crystal clear when your gaze roams, seeing the exhausted eyes, the way everyone’s hair and jerseys are thoroughly soaked with heavy breaths escaping them, that this final match will either make it or break it for you.

Clenching your fists, the whistle is blown for the last time.

Again, Yoongi replicates what he did last time, hand shooting out to grab the basketball before the other captain even has a chance to. Instead of whirling around like before though, he dribbles into the opposite direction and passes the ball to Jackson. When Jackson begins dribbling around and dodging attacking players, you slowly linger closer and closer to the opposite team’s basket, eyes carefully navigating through the horde of opposing players mixed in with your own team.

Jackson passes over to Jungkook, who quickly darts to Taehyung and bounces it over before he’s completely blocked. Taehyung grabs onto it, legs moving faster by the minute when all of the players are occupied except for one.

You promptly get into stance when Taehyung approaches, though you realize that the opposing team has fully understood your strategy. They intercept him right away, knocking the ball right out of his hands.

However, before they even get the chance to claim the basketball again, you hurriedly rush over and intercept instead. Gritting your teeth, there’s water being drawn to your eyes when the exertion of running overtakes you again, but you push the pain away when you draw near the basket.

Being fully aware that they’re players right behind you and ready to snatch up any opportunity of a mishap, you tightly grasp the basketball and angle yourself for the hoop.

Your breath is stuck in between your throat and lungs when the ball goes soaring, eyes glued to it’s every movement when it plunges into the hoop.

Your knees almost wobble, feeling like jelly when there’s a thunderous roar of screams behind you, the glowing two for your team being replaced with a three instead. Adrenaline overtakes your system and buzzes through your ears, breaking you out of your daze when you’re suddenly being lifted by a group of familiar members.

Shock crosses you but is soon exchanged for a hearty smile, a stream of water leaving your eyes. You’re placed down, each of your members grinning at you with huge smiles that makes you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

Namjoon softly smiles; hands crossed behind his back as he watches his team celebrate your victory. Yoongi dashes over beside him to grab onto a towel, wiping the lingering sweat dripping from his face with a light smile looped on his lips.

“Good call.” Namjoon mutters, eyes locking with his, “Even I wouldn’t been able to catch onto that.”

Yoongi knows exactly what Namjoon is referring to, the former’s memory recalling the way the captain rushed towards him immediately when the opposing team had scored two points.

“Change the strategy.” Yoongi breathes out, but Namjoon gawks at him.

“What? Why?” He eyes the glowing scoreboard, “It can still work Yoongi, we just need to find an opening and–“

Yoongi hurriedly shakes his head, gesturing over to your direction. “Something’s wrong, I don’t know what but change it so that he’s in the front.”

Namjoon’s mouth drops, eyes lingering over to you for a second. You looked perfectly fine and well to him – but he knows that if Yoongi is bringing something to his attention then it has to be something crucial enough to be taken into consideration.

“Alright. Call the boys over.” With a nod, Yoongi’s one gesture draws everyone near. As Namjoon explains the new chain strategy, Yoongi’s eyes linger over to you. He watches how the opposing team is eyeing down the team’s sudden formation, their gazes barely acknowledging you.

Yoongi smiles.

What a truly foolish mistake for them to make.

98 notes · View notes

upstartpoodle · 5 years ago

Text

Not Alone

Rating: T

Relationships: Dwight & George (platonic), past George/Elizabeth

Summary: A rewrite of the scene in 5x04 between Dwight and George at Elizabeth’s graveside, as requested by @ticketybooser.

***

The gloomy, labyrinthine corridors of Trenwith were filled with nought but echoes and draughts, and to the mind of Dr Dwight Enys as he climbed to the top of one of the old house’s many staircases with no small degree of trepidation in his heart, it seemed that the grim quiet of his surroundings was made all the bleaker by lone figure standing at the window of the little room to the end of the passage, staring down at the sunny driveway below. Dwight paused in his approach at the sight, steeling himself for what was undoubtedly to be a long and difficult day, both for himself and, more importantly, for his new and most unexpected patient. For what he would have to do today, he would need great strength—strength enough to support the both of them. Without that, any treatment he tried would surely fail.

After taking in a few deep, calming breaths, he headed towards the open door to the room, slowly, cautiously, making sure that his footsteps could be easily heard. He saw the line of the figure’s shoulders tense at his approach, shrinking nervously in on himself. George Warleggan—or more properly, now that he had been knighted by the King, Sir George—he thought with a sad sigh that he was barely able to bite back in time, may once have stood in that very room, surveying his ever-growing kingdom. Now though, huddled there as he was, in nothing but a thin nightshirt and his silk dressing gown, hair in disarray, skin as white as candle wax, he far greater resembled a ghost haunting its place of death than the baronet, peer of the realm and man of considerable fortune that he was. Or perhaps, now, had once been. It was an almost intolerably cheerless sight, but Dwight forced himself to endure it—what help would he be, after all, if he could not even face his own patient?

“George” he said quietly as he came to a stop beside the ailing man. He was mindful not to stand too close, keeping firmly to the opposite side of the large windowpane, but George remained rigid and wary at his presence nonetheless, watching him out of the corner of his eye with a timidity that seemed ill-fitting on the face of a man who had once seemed to him to be utterly indomitable. It reminded him of the way a wren might watch a cat prowling too close to its perch, cautious and ready to flit away and hide the moment he was given reason to.

“What was he doing here?,” he asked. His voice was high and thin, with a nervous edge to it which Dwight had become all too well acquainted with in his time treating the man, and which caused him no small amount of displeasure to hear. His hands, the doctor noticed, were balled up into fists, knuckles kneading anxiously at the low windowsill as he stared down at the spot which Ross Poldark had recently vacated, a deep frown drawn between his brows. “Ross? Why was he here?”

Dwight loved Ross dearly, despite his past (and indeed present) foolishness, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but curse his friend for his poor timing. He had observed in his patient a tendency to swing, in varying extremities, between two moods—one being an acute agitation and distress, and the other an equally alarming melancholy, the grip of which seemed to be nigh unbreakable. The account he had been given on his arrival at Trenwith had suggested that George had started out the day quite calmly, but it was clear that Ross’ sudden appearance had triggered some measure of the former mood in him.

Of course, both were concerning at the greatest of their extremes—in the case of the first it tended to surface as a panic so severe he seemed to lose all sense of what surrounded him, and in the second as a worrying, silent emptiness, where it was almost impossible to encourage him to speak or respond or even acknowledge that they were there at all; either way he was trapped within his own mind—but this distress, however mild it might have been compared to some of the incidents Dwight had witnessed, concerned him. He had taken the news of his patient’s relatively placid mood as a sign that he might be well enough to start the long and arduous process of confronting the delusion which had lodged itself in the man’s mind. Cary Warleggan was impatient to see his nephew returned to his former self, and his frustration with George’s continuing insistence that Elizabeth was still alive and well despite Dwight’s treatment was hardly something which he had shied away from sharing with—or perhaps more accurately taking out on—the good doctor. As quickly as Cary wished him cured, however, Dwight knew that it would take great delicacy and care, not force, if he ever wished to succeed in bringing George back to himself—especially so considering the wounds, both physical and mental, that had been left behind by the brute that had previously attended him. As such, he couldn’t help but worry that the step he had planned to take today, when compounded with the added stress of Ross’ arrival at his home, might, instead of guiding him onto the path of healing, cause him to regress.

“There was something he wished to discuss with you,” he said, truthfully. There was no point in trying to evade the question—even in the thrall of that pervasive illness, George was just as single-minded as he was when well, and attempting to obfuscate would only cause him further upset. “A matter of business.”

“Business?” The word was echoed as if it were completely foreign to him, as if he hadn’t taken his father’s provincial interests and turned them into a veritable empire, as if that same empire hadn’t once all but consumed his waking life before Elizabeth, before all this. It was a stark reminder of how thoroughly broken he had been—hollowed out until there was barely anything left, the remains shattered into pieces—and Dwight was once again struck by how insurmountable the task that lay before him seemed. Even if he could mend him, he doubted he could put him back together in the same shape he had been before.

“He wanted to make you an offer,” he replied gently as questioning eyes turned to face him. “For Wheal Plenty, to my understanding. There was a bad accident there—a collapse—and your uncle made the decision to close the mine.”

“And he was sent away?” George turned away from him and back towards the driveway, almost as if he were expecting to see Ross turn around and come riding right back up towards the house. He hadn’t stopped kneading at the windowsill, his movements more restless and troubled than before.

“Yes. Now is not the time for such things.”

“But he will come back!,” George cried suddenly, almost explosively, had it not been for the frantic quality of his tone that spoke far more of distress than of anger. “He will always come back, precisely where he is not wanted! Why can he not let us be?!”

Dwight swallowed a sigh. He knew well enough that a frank and honest answer to that question, to which he could only provide the vaguest of speculation, would do little to help or comfort his suffering patient. Instead, it fell upon him to nip this agitation at the bud, to find some way of soothing his stress over the situation before he could upset himself too greatly.

“I shan’t allow him to bother you, George,” he said, keeping his voice calm and low. “Nor will your uncle. He shall keep him away if I am not here to prevent it.”

George let out a strangled sound which might have been intended to be a laugh. There was a slightly hysterical note to it that only served to make Dwight more concerned.

“He didn’t keep away that man, nor the girl,” he retorted—from a previous conversation he had had with Cary, the doctor guessed that he must be referring to Ralph Hanson and his daughter, the former of whom seemed to be lingering about Cornwall in general and the Warleggans in particular like a bad smell. By contrast to Dwight, his voice was high and panicked. “He didn’t keep away the other doctor. He let him in and then stood by and allowed him to—”

He cut himself off abruptly at the mention of Penrose. Dwight straightened up, alert. George had not once spoken of the man to him, nor, as far as he was aware, to any other. True, he was not particularly loquacious in his current state—especially when the severest of his melancholic moods had him in its grasp—and their conversations, if not entirely one-sided, tended to be kept rather simple on his patient’s part, but he had noticed that that particular topic, should it be brought up, was met with anything from straight refusal to discuss it to outright panic. As such, Dwight had taken care to steer clear of talk of the man in the hope of preventing unnecessary distress when he was still so fragile—far too fragile to face those memories head on.

Unfortunately, while that decision may have reduced such risks in some ways, it did little to quell the damage those memories did when they did surface—which usually tended to be at the worst of times, at the smallest of things, or else when he was sleeping. Only a few nights’ past, he had received a frantic summons to Trenwith in the small hours of the morning, informed upon his arrival that George had, confused and panicked upon waking from some nightmare, somehow managed to barricade himself into one of the rooms on the upper floor of the house and was both refusing to come out or to let anybody else in. Dwight had spent what had felt like several long hours sitting in the corridor outside trying to calm him down and coax him out from the other side of the closed door. By the time he had managed to convince him to let him in, he had been thoroughly incoherent, having wound himself up to the point of utter exhaustion, but the few muttered, fragmented phrases Dwight had caught upon taking him back to his bedchamber to rest had spoken well enough of what—or rather who—had been the source of the trouble.

While his reaction now was not so severe as it had been then, however, it was clear that the thought of the man—and in particular, the prospect of his return—was causing him no small measure of distress. He had shrunk even further in on himself, shoulders hunched, head bowed, his messy curls tumbling across his crumpled brow and into his wild blue eyes. There were tears pooling in them, Dwight noticed, but, stubborn as he ever was, he refused to let them fall. A muscle in his jaw, tightly clenched, ticked at the effort, his whole form trembling slightly as he fought to bury down the flood of emotion that was threatening to consume him. It was, in many ways, a reminder of the man he had once been—private, closed-off, determined to hide the part of himself that was human and vulnerable behind a deep, impenetrable wall of haughty aloofness—but to Dwight, it indicated that George, despite his quiet tolerance of his care, did not entirely trust him—not enough to prevent him from trying to control and mask that vulnerability in his presence, however unsuccessfully. That did not greatly surprise him. After all, he suspected there had only ever been one person whom he had ever trusted with such things, and she was well beyond being able to aid her ailing husband.

To gain that trust, Dwight knew, would take a lot of time and patience, but in the meantime, it was clear that his all too fragile charge was in need of kindness and reassurance. He reached out carefully, making sure that George was able to gauge his intentions—he had discovered fairly quickly into his taking on of the man’s case that sudden touches were liable to cause him panic. His fingertips came to rest on the other man’s biceps, mindful not to grip. George gave an odd start at the touch, his nervous little movements coming to a sudden stop. He made no move to pull away, however, and after a short moment, Dwight, ever so gently, encouraged him to turn about to face him. He obliged, rigid and trembling, but his arms flew up to his chest, keeping the doctor firmly at arm’s length, when he tried to coax him a little closer. There was surprising strength in the gesture, for a man who seemed so frail and unwell, yet Dwight could feel him shaking beneath his palms, whether from the effort of it, the fear of some form of reprisal, or perhaps a little of both, he did not know.

“He shan’t return here, George,” he said softly, feeling the smooth silk of his dressing gown underneath his touch as he ran his thumbs up and down his arms in a slow, soothing gesture, trying to calm the man’s quivering. “I shall see to that. I shan’t allow anyone to hurt you whilst you are under my care.”

At this, George’s eyes, which had been fixed firmly on the floor, snapped up to his face, wide and confused, searching. There was something in his gaze—something so raw and wounded that it almost hurt to look, but Dwight forced himself to meet it, so that he might see the truth of his words in his own eyes.

“Why?,” George whispered. “You’ve every reason to hate me. Why would you…?”

He trailed off, unable to finish his own sentence. He looked so lost, so helpless in the face of his assurance, as if the thought of being shown care was completely alien to him. Dwight frowned, careful to keep his own sadness from showing upon his face. He understood why George might think it, but he did not hate the other man—had never hated him, not like Ross did. That feud, as far as he understood, was deeply personal on both sides, and rooted all the way back in their childhoods. On Dwight’s part, it was true that he had never been particularly fond of George, and that Ross’ enmity with the man had often put them in opposition, but he had never harboured any true dislike of him. Despite the distance there had been between them, he had seen enough of the way that George had acted in the presence of Elizabeth and his children to know that he was not the unfeeling monster Ross liked to imagine he was. Ross, he thought, seemed to have forgotten long ago that George was a human being, flawed and imperfect as the rest of them, just as capable of feeling love and loss and hurt, and no more deserving of the pain that had been inflicted upon him than any other. Dwight, however, had not. How could he, after all, with that wounded, fragile creature, so unlike the man he had come to know over the years, stood before him? And more importantly, what kind of man would he have been if he had turned away and allowed him to suffer alone, without aid or care or hope of recovery? No, he could never have brought himself to be so cruel. Not for anyone.

“Because you are my patient,” he said, honestly, “and it is my responsibility to see to it that you are kept safe and cared for whilst you recover. I shan’t do you any harm, and nor shall I allow any to be done to you. That, I promise you.”

George stared up at him at the admission, wide-eyed, uncertain. For a moment, Dwight thought he was about to say something, but before he could speak, there came a little cough from the doorway, and with a slight start, he shrank right back into his shell. Taking care to mask the frustration he felt at the intrusion, Dwight turned around to see Trigg, the footman, standing by the door with his usual air of inscrutability, face studiously blank as he regarded the doctor and his ailing employer. Dwight raised his eyebrows at him quizzically.

“Yes, Trigg?,” he asked. “What is it?”

“Forgive my interruption, sir, but Mr Warleggan said that you had given instructions that you would be out for the day,” came the obsequious reply. “I was told to fetch Sir George so that he might be made ready for the outing.”

He felt George shift under his gentle grip, manoeuvring himself so that he was partially shielded by Dwight’s arm. Whether it was the appearance of Trigg himself that had caused this reaction (Dwight knew that the man had probably played some role in Penrose’s treatments, even if it had been little more than fetching and carrying the necessary supplies, and that he had definitely played a role in forcibly sedating him on at least one occasion before Cary had turned to him for assistance—that confession he had drawn from the elder Warleggan like blood from a stone some days ago), or else any number of wild thoughts about what “readying him” might mean, or even the prospect of leaving the house, he did not know. Likely, he suspected, it would be a mixture of all three.

“Thank you, Trigg. If you could allow us a little privacy for a moment, we shall be with you presently.”

With a neat little bow of the head, Trigg disappeared promptly from the doorway, but his departure did little to soothe Dwight's charge. The expression on George's face was one of deep anxiety, and once again, the doctor privately cursed the man's interruption. It was not the way he had wanted to introduce the prospect of leaving Trenwith to his patient. He had known, of course, that there would be no way to wholly avoid worrying him—Penrose's cruel treatment had left George disposed to worry about anything and everything, to the point where even coaxing him onto the lawn for a little fresh air had been a struggle at first—but he had hoped that, had he been able to introduce the idea gently by degrees, he might have kept the man's distress to a minimum. That, however, was clearly not to be, and he would simply have to make as best of the situation as he could.

“What did he mean?” George's left hand, which had been placed flat on his chest to keep him at arm's length, had found the lapel of his coat, and was clutching at it with white knuckles. There was a suggestion of that wild panic in his voice that he had only just managed to tame, eyes flicking towards the door where Trigg had been moments before. “What do I need to be made ready for?”

His expression was so crumpled with bewilderment and distress that, for a moment, Dwight toyed with the idea of leaving the outing for another time. George was already very fragile and he did not want to cause him too much strain—his aim was to mend him, after all, not break him. He was sure that Cary would protest—he wanted the delusion gone as soon as possible, ostensibly due to concern over the family's reputation and secretly, Dwight suspected, because he hadn't the slightest idea of how to care for his nephew whilst he was in such a delicate, dependent state. Unfortunately, this meant that he tended to mishandle the situation. Cary thought of the illness as he might have thought of an infestation—some foreign thing that had lodged itself where it shouldn't and had to be forced out like rats from a hole. Dwight, however, was more inclined to think of it as a cage, an iron fist which had him trapped in its grasp, unable to look to the future, to move forward. The longer the delusion remained, the tighter that fist would squeeze, until he shattered under the strain of it, broken and beyond the reach of any who might be able to put him back together. For that reason alone, Dwight knew that it would be unwise to put it off. He could delay, again and again and again, and each time he might think to try and tackle it again, George would be no less fragile for allowing the delusion to linger. No, it would be best to face it now, so that he might begin to heal.

“I had intended to take you out today,” he said, keeping his voice calm and measured. “To St Sawle Church.”

George frowned, his brow upturned in worry and confusion. He was tugging slightly on Dwight's lapel. The doctor allowed it without comment. It was more for comfort than a means of getting his attention, he knew.

“Why?” came the agitated enquiry after a long pause. Dwight was careful to keep the frown from his face as he contemplated what he should say. He'd no wish to lie to George, but to tell him the whole truth would do nothing but ensure his complete refusal to come, and to say nothing at all would lead to naught but suspicion and mistrust.

“There is something I need to show you there,” he said. “I cannot promise you that it shall be pleasant. In fact, I suspect it shall be painful and difficult, but what I can promise you is that, once it is done, it should help you get well again.”

At that, George's expression crumpled. The panic, gradually fading from his eyes, was being replaced by a look of resigned despair. It occurred to Dwight, suddenly, that he had probably been given such platitudes under the brutal care of Dr Penrose.

“Must I go?” The pleading note in his voice was almost childlike in quality, but the desolate look in his eyes told Dwight that he didn't really believe he had any sort of choice in the matter, and that was a state of affairs that the doctor could not allow to stand as it was.

“I shan't force you to,” he replied carefully. “Look at me, George, look at me,” he added, his tone coaxing and gentle when the man refused to meet his gaze. “I promise you that if you wish to remain here today, then that is what we shall do. But I urge you, if you wish to recover, this cannot be avoided for long. It may be hard, but what is easy is not always what is best for us. All I can ask is that you be brave.”

Had a passing stranger seen this moment, they would likely been surprised to learn that before them lay the very same man who had once stood against an armed mob with naught but a handful of men and a few firearms in order to defend his family, but Dwight thought he saw a shadow of him, however faint and brief as, after several long moments of stillness and silence, he gave a short, sharp nod, his jaw clenched tight. Dwight smiled at him encouragingly. Good, at least there was something of him still in there.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now come, it shan't do for us to keep Trigg waiting, shall it?”

***

With a great deal of time and effort, they had managed, between them, to coax George into some warm clothes suitable to ward against the autumn chill, and outside the door of Trenwith and into the carriage. The journey to St Sawle Church was not a long one, and could, as a general rule, be easily traversed on foot by a reasonably healthy man. For George in his current state, however, Dwight thought that a walk or ride there, where they might encounter all manners of people with whom the thought of interacting could well be distressing for his frail charge, would perhaps be too taxing, especially considering that he had no idea what state he might be in on the return journey. What he intended would be stressful enough for his patient without adding extra sources of worry along the way.

The carriage slowed to a stop outside the church in barely any time at all, jolting the both of them as it came to an abrupt halt. Dwight turned his gaze towards George. He was dressed neatly enough in his usual clothing, but, with his head bowed, staring forlornly down at the hat clasped tight in his gloved hands, he looked no less fragile and unhappy in his Sunday best than he had in his nightshirt and dressing gown. They hadn't been able to do anything about his hair, which was still a disorderly mess of tangled curls. He wouldn't let anybody near it—at least, not without descending into a sharp, intense panic from which it was extremely difficult to calm him down. He had had similar reactions before to touches to his shoulders as well, and his wrists, and from this, Dwight suspected that it was related in some way to Penrose's rough treatment. He knew from experience, after all, how easily the smallest of things could dredge up memories of that kind. In the end, he had simply told Trigg to leave him be. George had looked so pathetically grateful at that that it had almost shattered his heart to see the once proud man fallen so low.

“Come, George,” he said, standing from his seat and moving to open the carriage door. “We have arrived.”

George did not move, save for his nervous kneading at the brim of his hat. It was only until Dwight had alighted from the carriage and had turned about to wait for him to follow suit that he shuffled carefully along the seat and made to step out onto the path below. He was a little unsteady on his feet, and he staggered slightly, unbalanced. Dwight's instinct was to grab hold of him to stop him from falling, but he forced it down—he'd no wish to distress the man with any sudden touches. Instead, he confined himself to a slow, light touch at his elbow, waiting until he had righted himself to withdraw.

“Thank you” George murmured, after a long pause. Dwight gave him a slow nod of acknowledgement in reply.

“It is not too far now,” he said. “Are you ready?”

George's eyes flickered from the ground upon which they had been fixed, up to the church, and then down to the myriad of gravestones surrounding it. From the apprehension in his gaze, the doctor suspected that, somewhere beneath the delusion, he knew exactly what it was that Dwight had brought him there to see.

“I-I don't—” he stammered.

“I will be beside you the whole time,” Dwight reminded him gently. “I shall be here to help you. It is just a little further.”

George tore his eyes away from the graves to meet his gaze, lost and afraid, but nevertheless, he followed in Dwight's footsteps as he began to lead him into the churchyard. Their pace was slow and unsteady, and Dwight had to keep checking over his shoulder to check that George was still behind him. He took care to send him the odd word of encouragement, coaxing him carefully on when he faltered. It was a relief, he thought, to see the churchyard nigh empty, for he knew that his charge, whilst in his right mind, would have hated to be seen in such a state.

It was just as they rounded the corner of the church to where their destination lay that George slowed to a stop, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to go any further. He had spotted the gravestone. They were close enough to make out the name it bore, and it had been enough to halt George in his already slow, unsteady path. He looked lost and bewildered, clutching tight at the brim of his hat like a frightened child. It seemed as if he did not know whether to go backwards or forwards, whether to approach, or to run and hide and forget.

“A little further,” Dwight said, trying to keep his tone gentle and encouraging. When George made no response, eyes fixed firmly on the gravestone ahead, he knew that words would not be enough. He lifted his arm, offering it to him to grab hold of. “Take my arm. This will not be easy, but it is a necessity.”

The movement was enough to tear George’s eyes away from the grave. He gazed down at the proffered arm, timid and uncertain. Dwight kept carefully still, waiting. A long moment passed in which neither of them moved, and he thought George might reject the offer, but then, with some trepidation, the ailing man crept forward, hand reaching out to clutch faintly at his elbow. The touch was barely there, feather-light against the fabric of his coat.

“Come,” Dwight said, with an attempt at an encouraging smile. “Just a little further.”

The going was slow for such a short distance, but eventually they came abreast of the grave, slowing to a staggering stop when George could go no further. Dwight felt his patient's grip at his elbow, barely noticeable before, tighten like a vice.

“But I-I saw her only yesterday” he protested. His brow crumpled in confusion and distress as his eyes fixed on the name on the stone, then onto the date below it. His voice was faint, a slight tremor to it as he desperately tried to make sense of the sight in front of him.

“In your memory,” Dwight replied, slow and quiet. He knew that George would fight against it, that his mind would twist and turn to find ways of denying it, and so he, in turn, must remain calm and patient if he stood any chance of guiding his charge towards the truth. “And memories should be cherished, but not mistaken for what is real. However painful that is.”

George shook his head. Letting out a wounded little noise that Dwight just barely heard, he drew back, almost imperceptibly, caught between the urge to back away from the grave, and the strange transfixion the sight seemed to have over him.

“But I – It-it can't – She isn't – ” It seemed as if he could barely form a coherent thought, his distress was so great. He turned to Dwight, wounded and bewildered, and the doctor felt his grip on his arm lessen as he pulled away. “It must be a lie, a trick. She cannot be – Why would you show me this?”

Dwight let him retreat, but he kept a hand hovering just above the man's bicep, so that he might take hold of him if need be. George was in a deeply fragile state, and he worried that he might collapse, or else do himself some injury trying to get away, should it become too much for him.

“Because it is the truth,” he returned, gently. “A painful and difficult truth, but the truth nonetheless.”

George let out a pained whimper which sounded like a half-attempt at the word “no”. He was still shaking his head in tiny, jerking little movements, his eyes fast filling with tears which he refused to shed. Dwight stared at him sadly. It was not enough, he knew, to simply tell him it was so. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and took George's hand in a gentle grip, waiting to see if he would pull away. When he did not, Dwight tugged at it lightly, trying to encourage him to step forward.

“Come,” he said. “Just a few more steps.”

George stared at him with wide eyes, now frantically shaking his head. He had realised what Dwight wanted of him, and he stood firm, refusing to move.

“No.” At any other time, there might have been considerable force behind his refusal, but as it was, it came out more like a plea. His voice shook, though he made no attempt to remove his hand from Dwight's grasp.

“Just a little further, George,” he repeated, running his thumb soothingly over the other man's knuckles. “You've come this far already. I need you to be brave for just a little longer.”

George stared into his eyes, jaw clenched so tight in his fight to hold back his tears that Dwight wouldn't have been surprised if it shattered. Then, after a long moment, he bowed his head and allowed himself to be guided forward, his gaze fixed firmly on the movements of their feet. It was only a few steps before they were inches away from the gravestone itself. Carefully, Dwight took the hand cradled in his own and placed it atop the stone. He could feel it shaking beneath his palm.

“You can feel it, can you not?,” he said, gently. “You can see it. Does that not make it real?”

“But—” George's eyes flitted over the stone, as if trying to take every detail of it in, to find some tiny thing which might prove it to be a lie. “But I-I saw her. Many time's, I've seen— Why must it be that she is the lie?”

“They cannot both be true,” Dwight reminded him softly. “You know that.”

George shook his head. His grip on the headstone was so tight that Dwight was sure his knuckles must be bone white behind his leather gloves.

“She shouldn't be—,” he gasped out, and there was a vehemence to his words that was only slightly dampened by the unsteady, lost look shining in his eyes. “This shouldn't be—”

He could not finish the thought, lips drawn tight in a trembling line, breath ragged as he fought to contain the emotion that was threatening to overcome him. Dwight, however, caught his meaning well enough, and he looked away across the path leading up to the church, his own jaw clamped about a sudden rush of feeling. Elizabeth should have been alive and happy, with her family, not dead and buried beneath their feet, but if there was one thing he had learnt in life, it was that death did not care about “shoulds”. It was a brutal lesson—one which he had learnt battling both people and disease—but never had it been cemented more in his mind than when he had walked up that very path, rain pouring down upon him, Caroline trailing behind him, beyond tears, and a little coffin cradled gently in his arms, as if its inhabitant were merely sleeping, and the slightest jostle would have disturbed her. Oh, how desperately he had wished for that to be true then, but he had known no amount of wanting would bring Sarah back.

“If there were any fairness in this world, Elizabeth would still be with us,” he murmured. He was glad to hear that, despite the dark turn of his thoughts, his voice came out quiet, but strong. “But wanting it does not change the fact that she is gone, no matter how strong that want is.”

George, who had seemed almost frozen in place as he listened to his words, tore away from the grave, almost as if he had been burnt, as he whirled abruptly around to face him. His pale eyes glistened in the autumn sunlight as he met Dwight's gaze with a desperate, almost feverish intensity—pleading, though for what, the doctor was not sure either of them entirely knew.

“Sh-she could have— She needn't have—” He stumbled, trying to find the words for a sentiment he could barely express. “If she hadn't had the child— If I hadn't—”

He spoke the last words with such pain that he could barely choke out another sound, his hands, which were now clutching at the brim of his hat so tight that it looked as if he might crush it, shaking violently. There was a maelstrom of emotion in his eyes, each to greatly entangled to even begin to set them apart, but if there was one that shone through, clear as day, it was guilt. In that moment, it seemed so powerful that it might well crush him into dust. Dwight felt his throat constrict as he met the man's gaze. His thoughts flashed back to the vial he had found on Elizabeth's dressing table that awful night—the vial to which he suspected, though could scarce believe the purpose of. Should he tell him? But no, he couldn't, not here, not now. George was not ready to hear such things, and even if he were, Dwight doubted that vague suspicions would do anything to help him. Once he knew the truth, perhaps—if he ever knew the truth—he would ensure that his patient knew it too. If nothing else, for better or for worse, George deserved to know exactly why his wife had died.

“There is no fault here,” he said. He prayed that time would not make a liar of him. “Loss, but no blame.”

Given the thoughts that were rushing through his head, the platitude sounded weak to his own ears, and it was clear from the expression on his face that, no matter how reassuring he had tried to be, George did not believe him. He turned away from him, back to the gravestone, eyes fixed once again on the elegant inscription before him. With one trembling hand, he reached out, barely touching the carved “E” of her name as he traced the shape of it with the tip of his finger.

“She will be cold down there,” he said, and Dwight could hear the tears that he was still stubbornly holding back thick in his quivering voice. “A-alone in the dark. She was afraid of the dark.”

It took all of Dwight's willpower not to jolt at his words. George barely seemed to realise what he was saying, but to Dwight, it was proof. Proof that the memory—that one horrible memory that he had tried so hard to push away that he had crumbled under the strain of it—was not buried so deep as to be lost completely. Beneath the comforting lie that he told himself, he knew. He remembered. All he needed to do was get him to face it.

“She told you that, do you remember?” he asked, careful to keep his voice as calm and measured as it had been before.

For a long time, George made no response. He was busy tracing the letters of Elizabeth's name. Despite his ongoing battle, a single tear seeped, unbidden, from the corner of his eye and trailed down his hollow cheek, but still, he refused to let the rest follow in its wake.

“I held her hand” he said eventually, so quiet that, for a moment, Dwight thought he must have imagined it.

“Yes” he replied, just as softly. He watched his patient carefully, hovering close by to support him if need be. He didn't like the way he was shaking, as if the strain was becoming too much for him.

“I— She—” It was no longer just tears which were making George's eyes look misty, his gaze losing focus as he started to fall into the memory. He swayed dangerously, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “She was cold— I-I can't—”

Dwight caught him deftly before he could crumple in a heap on the grass below them. Too soon, he thought. George wasn't ready to face that memory—not yet, not here. He would have to confront it soon enough, but now...he had done enough for now.

“It's alright, George,” he murmured as he staggered against him, his breathing too fast and too shallow at the sudden touch. “It's alright.”

That, he thought, was the closest thing to a lie he might have said, but what else was there to comfort the man? He adjusted his grip so as to keep him upright, and though George flinched at the movement, he seemed too overcome to push him away. Strain and exhaustion had quashed what vestiges of his pride remained, and he allowed himself to slump against the other man, one hand gripping tightly at the lapel of his coat.

Dwight let him lean against him until his breathing slowed and his trembling calmed. He glanced about him over the top of his head, glad to see that they were still alone in the churchyard. He was acutely aware of how vulnerable his patient currently was, and how much it would have alarmed him, in his right mind, to risk being seen in such a state. They should return to the carriage, he thought, but he wasn't sure George would be able to make it so far without having time to compose himself.

“Come,” he said, gently encouraging George to right himself. “I think we had best get inside the church.”

George pushed himself upright, but he did not let go of his lapel, still tightly clenched in his gloved fist.

“Is there more?” he asked. His voice was hollow, and his gaze was directed towards the floor, rather than his face.

“No.” Dwight shook his head firmly. “It is over now. I simply wish for you to sit down and rest for a little while before we return to Trenwith.”

George made no reply, his eyes, still fixed firmly on the floor, suddenly full of a kind of empty despair which reminded him, despite the bright sunlight rather than the dim gloaming, and the safety of the ground rather than the edge of the cliff, all too much of the occasion which had started all this. Once again, he knew that it fell upon him to lead him away from that despair.

“Come” he said again.

Slowly, carefully, Dwight shifted so that his arms were rested protectively around his shoulders as he began to lead him in the direction of the church. Despite the padding of his coat, he felt no less bone-thin than he had in nothing but his nightshirt on the clifftop, held fast to keep him from falling. He wondered why it had never truly occurred to him before that George was really a rather small man, slight of build and short of stature. But then, he supposed, he had—or had once had—such a presence about him, such a formidable force of personality, that one barely took notice of the fact. Well, there was none of that now, he reflected grimly as he glanced down at his fragile charge. All of that—all his strength and stubbornness, all that rage and ruthlessness—had been gutted from him, leaving nothing behind but that poor wretched slip of a shadow in his arms. He thought back to the day he had first seen George, back during—good God—Julia’s christening, all those years ago. He had understood why, then, underneath his velvet coat and neat hair and pretty smiles, Ross had found such a formidable opponent in him, why he was a man whom most did not dare cross. How greatly all their lives had changed since then.

The church was blessedly empty as they staggered inside, and Dwight praised the lord for small mercies as he guided a trembling George to the nearest pew and encouraged him, wordlessly, to sit. The man sank down onto the bench, spine bowed as he buried his face in his hands, like a willow forced to bend its boughs before a strong wind. He made no move, not even the slightest acknowledgement, as Dwight came, cautiously, to sit beside him, but his shoulders were shaking violently, and with an unpleasant jolt, the doctor realised that he had finally, finally begun to cry.

Time ticked on, the silent church filled with nothing but the sounds of the wind outside, the scrabbling of starlings in the eaves above them, and George's quiet sniffles, muffled behind his hands as he tried, in vain, to mask them. Dwight was not sure how long they remained there—the doctor and his weeping patient, neither saying a word to the other—but after a while, he noticed a slight lessening in his charge's trembling. Slowly, he reached out and pressed the flat of his hand against the small of his back. He half-expected the gesture, just as he had the offer to take his arm, to be shrugged off, but though George let out a startled little noise at the contact, he made no move to withdraw from the touch, save for an almost imperceptible twitch.

“I didn't show this to you to be cruel,” Dwight said. Quiet as his voice was, it still echoed strangely about the walls after so long of silence. “I know that it is painful, and pain is powerful, but it is also needful. It reminds us that we are alive. We cannot avoid it, nor should we try.”

For a moment, George made no move, no sound, and Dwight begun to wonder whether he had heard him at all, lost in the harsh grip of his grief as he was. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his head from his hands, face pale and wan, his eyes very red. He did not turn to look at Dwight, but instead stared straight ahead of him, unseeing.

“If this is being alive,” he said, and his voice was thick with emotion he could no longer repress, “then why should I wish to live?”

It took all of Dwight's willpower not to inhale sharply at his words. As much as he might wish to be, he was not surprised by them. How could he be, when he had been the one to pull him away from the cliff edge that had so nearly been the end of him? If anything, he had dreaded them. He was painfully aware that, though he had prevented him from falling that evening, George was still teetering on a precipice which he might tip over at any moment. For that was what the delusion was, Dwight saw—a poisonous comfort, a gilded cage which kept him from tumbling into the abyss as much as it prevented him from turning away from it. With that strange security which he had been clinging to beginning to break down, it would be his, Dwight's, duty once more to keep him from falling over the edge.

There was something different this time, however, something which gave him pause. The way he had asked whether it would matter if he fell, that time on the clifftops, had been bleak and despondent, the words of a man resigned to the thought that his life was not worth living. Now, however, it was less despairing and more beseeching, as if he desperately, genuinely wanted—needed—an answer to that question which he couldn't seem to find within himself. He needed a reason, Dwight realised, a reason to keep on fighting. In a moment, his thoughts flashed, unbidden, to that terrible time in the aftermath of losing Sarah. He wondered, if there had been no Ross, or Demelza, or his dear Caroline, if he would have been inclined to ask that very same question.

“You still have your children” he said, quietly, gently. Thinking of Sarah made him think of Ursula, and of Valentine. Ursula was too young to know what was happening, though Dwight thought from the nature of her cries that the strange absences of her papa had not gone unnoticed. Valentine was even more affected, all too aware of the cloud that had descended over his home and family, of the loss of his mother, and of the fact that he was fast losing his father too. It was a harsh reminder that it was not just the life and soul of one man that depended on his aid and success. More than ever now did the fear of failing weigh on his mind.

“My children.” The words were soft, barely audible. Still, George stared blankly ahead of him, the quality of his gaze a little glassy, but there seemed a little more light in his red-rimmed eyes. It was a response, of sorts, and thus encouraged, Dwight continued on.

“Elizabeth may be gone,” he said, “but she lives on in them. They have already lost their mother. They need their father more than ever. For their sake, if not your own, you mustn't give in.”

“My Valentine, my Ursula.” He still had that faraway look in his eyes, but Dwight knew that he was thinking on his words. For all his faults, George loved his children. If their need was not enough to bring him back from the brink, he doubted anything else could.

“For them, you must at least try to keep fighting,” he continued, the hand on the small of his back travelling up to rest between his shoulder-blades. “And for Elizabeth as well. She wouldn't wish to see you so lost. For her, you must try to find yourself again.”

This time, George finally turned to face him, eyes shining. He looked adrift, like a ship that had lost its anchor to the depths of the sea, afraid of falling into dangerous currents that it could not steer away from.

“I don't know how.”

The admission was small and faint and frightened, so unlike the man he had come to know, but Dwight thought that, somehow, it was one of the most brutally honest things he had ever said to him. He reached out, taking one of George's hands carefully in both of his own.

“All I can ask is that you try,” he said. “I shall be there to help you. You are not alone anymore.”

George stared up into his eyes for what seemed like an age, then down to their joined hands. After a long moment, he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Dwight smiled, sadly. It was no wonder he had fallen into despair, with nothing and no one for company but his own misery, guilt and his unfeeling old uncle pushing him forward until he broke. Now, however, it would be different. It would not be he—Dwight—who left the vulnerable man lost amongst the waves. No. Whatever happened, whatever stood in his way, he would make George Warleggan well again.

#poldark #poldark fic #dwight enys #george warleggan #poldark s5 #poldark au #scene rewrite #fic #mine #my fic #fic request #fic prompt #ticketybooser #tw suicide mention

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years ago

Text

Decryption_Error: “Decided”

Summary: Y/N can’t sleep knowing how she hurt Elliot. She tries to make amends, but will Elliot forgive her?

Story Summary, “The Server Room, Part I”, “The Server Room, Part II” “The Long Weekend, Part I”, “The Long Weekend, Part II”, “The Aftermath”, “Undecided”

Word Count: 3800

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @txmel @hopplessdreamer @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging@alottanothing @moon-stars-soul @free-rami @ramimedley

If you want added, let me know.

Warning: Smut, 18+ only, please

A/N: I just couldn’t sit on the follow up! I wanted to space updates out a bit more, but here it is : ) Forgive me when it feels like it takes forever before I update again, but rest assured, there’s still much more to come.

I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.

The mantra wouldn’t stop. From the time I got off my train, to when I walked in my front door, as I dropped my bag, as I got ready for bed, my mind kept circling, fixated on what I’d just done. And every I fucked up was interspersed with that look on Elliot’s face.

I didn’t deserve to have peace, didn’t deserve to have the mantra cease. How could I have done that to him? All I wanted was for him to make the first move, and he did, and I ran. I ran, not Elliot.

After everything I said to him about friendship and trust, after the kiss, and the talks, and the touching, and the vulnerability Idrew out of him—I was nothing more than a. . .

Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.

Alright. A new mantra, an even worse chant. Ever since the incident in the server room, I wanted to prove to Elliot people were better than he thought, at least that I was better, that I was good. And he was ready—he put himself out there, I mean, the timing absolutely sucked, but he did it. He took a risk and I panicked and shot him down, point blank.

Maybe that’s where I start? I tell him I panicked. I freaked the fuck out. He, of all people, should understand that.

It was 2 am and somehow I knew Elliot was still awake. It’s like I could feel it, like our energies were connected like the grids of electricity that ran under our city.

I could just die for being so stupid, I thought as I flung my blanket off, hot and agitated, and thumped down the hallway to the living room. Opening the balcony door, I was hit with a waft of stale, humid air that was a stark contrast to the cool air running through the vents in my apartment. It was like purgatory was welcoming me into its grasp, ready to hold me, sweaty and writhing in my guilt until I atoned for my sin.

“Fuck!” I yelled as I thumped my hands on the railing.

“How could I have been so stupid?” I asked the night in a harsh whisper as I listened to the city answer, groaning beneath me.

I pushed my hands off the balcony and marched inside before I lost my nerve, damn near jogging down the hallway. Flicking on the light of the closet, I rummaged for something to wear, settling on a simple, knee-length, black maxi dress. I changed into a pair of lime green panties and wrestled into a nice black bra in the event things went exactly how I really wanted them to go.

I slipped into my sandals and opted to throw my wallet and my keys along with a few overnight essentials into a mini-backpack. I also rummaged through my junk drawer for my pepper spray on a keychain and slipped the little metal ring over my middle finger to inconspicuously hold onto it.

I growled as I remembered I needed to grab my metro card out of my wallet and flung my backpack off, digging out the card.

The subway ride to Elliot’s was pretty quiet, and I probably looked agitated and strung out, which meant eyes worked to avoid me. I had thrown my hair up in a messy bun because it was so hot and I had been tossing and turning like a madwoman.

It had also occurred to me as I made my way to the subway that Elliot may have invited Sarah home, or he may have went home with her. Jealousy burned in my gut, and I hesitated when the train reached his stop.

Fuck it! I thought. Hesitation was the reason for this current disaster.

I rushed out of the train doors and quickly made my way to Elliot’s building, gripping my pepper spray a little tighter.

It was fairly quiet in the entryway, but I could hear the thump of a speaker from somewhere beside me as I climbed the stairs to his apartment.

I took a deep breath and banged on the door, the sound reverberating through the stairwell.

Please be home. Home. Alone. Alone. Please be alone.

In less than ten seconds, I heard the sliding of the lock-chain and the turning of the knob as Elliot slowly opened the door, his bright eyes reflecting the dim overhead light in the hall.

He said nothing—just stared at me through the thin crack in the door and I wanted to just melt into the despicable blob of a being that I was.

“Can I come in?” I barked out more as a command than a question.

Elliot seemed to realize he was still only peering out into the hallway, not quite processing my appearance on his doorstep and he stepped back quickly, opening the door the rest of the way to let me in.

As soon I was inside, he shut the door, but didn’t turn to face me. Instead, he stayed in his place with his hand on the doorknob.

He spoke to the empty space in front of him, his voice filled with sadness, not anger.

“What are you doing here?”

He was dressed in dark jeans and a dark t-shirt, his hair looking a little more haphazardly than usual and I wondered if I had woken him until I glanced at his computer monitor, the dull light of his desktop casting a shadow over his bed. The only other light on in the apartment was the light that was fixed over his sink.

Elliot was still standing sideways, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes unwilling to meet mine.

I shook my pepper spray off my finger and laid it on his kitchen table, then I shrugged out of my backpack, too.

Elliot’s eyes flicked to note my movements, but his head remained looking straight, staring into empty space.

My body was almost sick with anticipation. My heart was pounding and my stomach was in knots, desperate to just run to Elliot—to hug him, kiss him, and beg him to be with me. I was always careful in our physical interactions, but I just couldn’t figure out any other way to begin.

I quickly closed the space between us, pulling his hand off the doorknob and turning his hips so I could push him flush against the door. I still left space between our bodies, not wanting to force something he didn’t want, too.

I kept my fingers at his hips, but I dipped my head to force him to meet my gaze. That same hurt, that same vulnerability from earlier was still there and I wanted to punch myself in the face for causing it.

“Yes, Elliot. Yes, I will go home with you,” I breathed, my face inching closer to his, waiting to see if he’d close the gap.

“I panicked—it was stupid and I’m so sorry. Please, Elliot. Forgive me.”

He let out a breath I hadn’t realized he had been holding and he pressed his lips to mine. That was all it took for everything I had been feeling, everything we had been feeling, to just have the fucking lid blown off.

I pressed into him so hard his head thumped against the door, but at the full body contact, Elliot groaned and I licked into his mouth, tasting him, not caring about the lingering taste of cigarettes of which he’d clearly been chain smoking. There was something so uniquely Elliot wrapped up in his smell and in his taste that it overpowered everything else, leaving me incoherent, a bundle of raw nerves and want.

My kiss was bruising, controlling, and I used my tongue to memorize his mouth and my teeth to nip at that damn lower lip he was always biting, sucking it into my mouth and making Elliot elicit the most delicious sounds I had ever heard in between our heavy breaths.

Elliot’s fingers had been digging into the flesh of my lower back, but he shifted his hands to push me away, his eyes wide and searching as he asked, “Are you sure you want this?”

“I want you,” I said, my eyes locked on his. “Do you want me?”

I’ll go to my grave remembering the exact way Elliot’s eyes changed as he took in what I said. The vulnerability melted away and was replaced with a look of unabashed affection as Elliot’s mouth formed a little grin, his head nodding yes, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement.

What followed next was a blur of movement, a frenzy of desperate kisses and scattered clothes. Our hands and mouths never left each other’s bodies as Elliot pushed me toward his bed, reaching down to gather the fabric of my dress in his hands to toss it god knew where. His shirt had already been yanked off and my sandals stumbled out of.

By the time we hit the mattress, nothing was left except my lime green panties and his black boxerbriefs. And as soon as we hit the mattress, I spread my legs, inviting him to crawl between them and to continue our heavy kissing.

His hard cock was rocking against my core and my legs were wrapped around him in a vice. I never wanted him to move from between them again, but as Elliot moved down my body, I was forced to relinquish my grip, my thighs twitching under the grasp of his fingers as he spread them further apart.

He reached to pull my underwear off and I lifted my hips to help, spreading my legs as he sat on his haunches and looked at me. I should’ve felt shy considering this was our first time together, but there was nothing but that adoration on his face.

I was so wet, so willing, and Elliot seemed unable to believe that we were finally here, that we were finally about to become much more than friends.

I toed at his underwear and he took the hint and shucked them off, crawling back between my legs before I gasped and scooted away from him. Elliot looked incredibly alarmed, but I choked out, “Protection?” before he could start apologizing.

“Oh, fuck,” Elliot said, frowning, clearly unprepared.

“Go grab my backpack,” I said pleased he didn’t have a lot of female companions. And then my grin fell as I watched his ass flex as he hurried over to the table, the muscles in his back shifting as he reached for the bag.

Or that just meant he had a lot of female companions. No, no, I told my mind. Don’t do that now.

Elliot handed me my backpack and I dug out the condom box, pulling one out and then setting the box on the side of the bed we weren’t using. I had shifted up onto my knees and I met Elliot who was in the same stance. We resumed our heated kissing and I let my hands roam over his ass, his back, his thighs, anything I could reach.

Elliot’s hands were following a similar trajectory on my body, but he moved to grasp my breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands and running his thumbs over my hard nipples.

I pushed on his shoulders, nudging him to lay on his back. He readily complied, and I opened the condom, rolling it onto his cock which hadn’t lost any of its hardness during his foray to the kitchen.

I pinched the tip of the condom and reached between my own legs to gather the excess wetness. I made sure Elliot saw my glistening fingers as I rubbed them over the top of his covered cock. I positioned my hips over his cock and all I needed to do was slide down and he’d be inside of me.

Elliot was watching where our bodies were about to join, and I reached up to cup his face, using my thumb to push his chin up.

When his eyes were settled on mine, I slowly slid down onto his cock, both of us fighting not to close our eyes in pleasure, both of us groaning in unison at the sensation.

From that moment on, we were locked onto each other, fucking each other with our bodies and our eyes, the sensation overwhelming both of us as I rode him.

Soon, Elliot grabbed onto my hips and pulled me with him as he moved into a sitting position. I adjusted my knees and continued my now slower pace.

And then I realized, this was about consuming each other—it wasn’t about fucking.

Both Elliot and I began to break out into a sweat and it was evident his apartment didn’t have air conditioning. My hair was still in some sort of wild bun on top of my head which left Elliot with unimpaired access to my neck.

He was quiet as a lover, but attentive, kissing and sucking on places to draw out moans as I clung to him, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, my breasts squeezed between us, sweat trickling down my chest and from his temples.

He was running his hands over my back, his fingers digging in as he clung to me in the same way I clung to him, both of us chasing our pleasure. I moved to reach between our bodies and to circle my clit, but Elliot, clearly perceptive, replaced my hand with his own, first bringing my fingers to his mouth to press kisses to the pads of my fingertips, licking my wetness from the middle and first finger.

I shuddered, a moan reverberating through my body at how sexy it looked when he took my fingers in his mouth. I left them there, lingering as I traced his lips and his strong fingers found my clit.

He rubbed lightly, hesitantly and I whispered, “Harder. Faster.”

Elliot followed my direction and I was soon grinding my hips into his as he shakily thrust up to meet mine. My orgasm was so close, my chest flushed, the sweat now breaking out across my brow as I started to shake, to moan from the buildup of pressure that was so close to releasing.

My eyes started to close and my head tilted back, but Elliot used his free hand to grasp my face in a mirror of my earlier gesture. He wanted to watch me come; he wanted to know he was the reason why.

“Fuck!” I yelled. “Oh, god, Elliot!”

Once I locked my eyes onto his, I came quickly, Elliot’s eyes darting between mine as if he were memorizing the moment.

I clenched around him, both of our thrusts erratic and out of rhythm, but it didn’t matter because Elliot’s hips bucked up into mine, his hands grasping at my hips to still them while he spilled into me.

His eyes were locked on my face as he came, his features twisted into the most perfect picture of release.

We stayed, locked together, our breathing still ghosting over each other’s hot skin until we needed to stretch and untangle ourselves.

I reached down to hold onto the condom as I moved off of Elliot, flopping over onto my back to finish catching my breath. I felt the bed bounce up as Elliot walked to the bathroom, the light flicking on as he threw away the condom and turned on the sink.

Elliot came back with a wet washcloth and I thanked him. I cleaned up a bit and then crawled out of bed to go use the bathroom, not bothering to put a stitch of clothing on.

When I came back out, I was surprised to see Elliot had put his pants on and was smoking a cigarette on the couch, the window open to try to take out some of the smoke. I actually jumped a little because I hadn’t expected him to be there.

And now I felt really awkward in my nakedness, his eyes avoiding me as I stood half in and out of the doorway.

“Do you . . . want me to go?” I asked, puzzled.

Elliot blew a stream of smoke toward the window.

“El?” I questioned when he continued to smoke, his eyes not meeting mine.

By now, I was walking toward the couch, but when he didn’t answer, I stopped and put a hand on my hip. If this was going to be awkward for me, I wasn’t going to make it any easier on him by getting dressed. “I still like it when you call me that,” he said, relaxing into the couch, his head leaning onto the back of the sofa.

I huffed, a little noise of a laugh and finished walking over to him. I stopped for just a second before I crawled onto his lap, my knees settling on either side of his jeans. “Well,” I said, reaching out to pluck the cigarette from his fingers, then stubbing it out in the ashtray. “It’s more articulate than the ungodly noise I make in my mind when I see you doing something cute, you know, like walking, breathing, typing, blinking—" Elliot laughed and pulled me close, his face smushed between my breasts as he hugged me.

“Why did you put pants on?” I asked, my hands scratching his scalp, mussing his hair even more.

He looked up at me, his head lulling back on the couch again, as he explained, “I didn’t want to literally be caught with my pants down if you waltzed out of the bathroom and said, ‘Goodnight. See you at work on Monday.’ I figured I’d rather not be dually exposed for . . . that.”

I laughed at the tiny octave Elliot’s voice went up as he presumably imitated me.

“Is that what I sound like?” I asked through giggles.

“Maybe,” Elliot said, smiling.

“So, it was better that I was the one who thought I was being kicked out.”

“Better for me, yes. And, well, you did reject me once already tonight.”

I swallowed, hard.

“Elliot—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it now. It worked out alright, didn’t it?”

“It did,” I said slowly, frowning a little.

“Stay here?” Elliot asked, whispering into my shoulder so he didn’t have to look into my eyes as he asked.

“Of course,” I said, pressing a sweet kiss into his hair.

Elliot nodded as I shuffled off his lap and pulled him toward the bed. Elliot clicked off the monitors on his computer, leaving only the recessed light above his sink in the kitchen on. I crawled in and settled under the sheet, and I heard Elliot kick off his jeans. I stretched out on my side in my sleeping position, exhausted, but one more thing weighed on my mind.

Elliot didn’t wrap his body around me; instead, he shuffled in close so that he was right next to me, his skin ghosting along mine.

“El?”

“Yeah?”

“I need to ask, well, to—to tell you something. Possibly tell. No, definitely tell.” “You’re cute when you’re shy,” he mumbled sleepily. “We need to tell HR.”

I thought Elliot had fallen asleep bc he was quiet for so long. When his very awake response sounded in the dark, I jumped. “Don’t you want to keep this a secret?” “Do you want me to be a secret?” I asked rolling over to look at him in the dim light. “Because if all you want is a friend to fuck kinda thing then I made a big mistake.” Elliot was still facing the ceiling as he said softly, “You want me to be—to be your boyfriend?” “Yes.” Elliot turned his head and his eyes moved over my face and again, I wondered what the hell was going on inside his head, and then his hand was on my cheek and my jaw, cupping my face and pulling me in for a desperate kiss. Immediately, I was lost in it. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so wanted just by a kiss. And just as immediately, Elliot was pushing me back and pushing my legs apart, his hard cock bumping my inner thigh. I pushed him back, holding onto his face and whispering, “Hey, hey. Slow down for a second.” “Talk to me,” I said, my thumbs caressing his cheekbones. Elliot pulled his bottom lip in and I could see him nibbling at it as he searched my face again. “I—I don’t know how else to tell you how much I want to be with you. I’m afraid if I say it, if I say I want it, then it won’t happen.” I laughed softly, “Sooo you just want to fuck your feelings into me?”

Elliot laughed as he hung his head.

“I told you I’m not good with people.”

“I don’t want to be a ‘people’ to you, remember?”

“I do,” Elliot said as he brushed a kiss against my lips. Before the kiss could turn into anything else, I gripped Elliot’s chin and looked at him, making sure his big grey eyes were focused on me.

“I don’t live my life in the shadows. I strive to live with integrity. Sometimes . . . the vulnerability that comes with that can be too much. I want you in my life, Elliot. And I want us to be good together, and we can’t be if we’re a secret or if we keep secrets.”

Again, Elliot was quiet for a long time, his eyes reading mine, wondering if it was possible for someone to be this truthful with him, this open. There were so many times like this, so many times when I could read his thoughts. Until . . . well, that doesn’t matter right now.

“I will always be truthful with you, El. I want to earn your trust because I know you think trust is an illusion. I want to prove you wrong.”

Elliot’s eyes flickered over my face and he said, his voice tinging with emotion, “You have.”

I took a deep breath before Elliot’s lips crashed onto mine. Again, we made love with a feverish desperation to consume one another, this time with him on top of me, thrusting into me at a steady pace until we were both trembling, our fingers digging into each other’s flesh as we clung to one another and rode out our highs.

As we settled into sleep, the greying light of dawn began to creep into the night, and Elliot curled his body around mine, holding onto me tightly as if he could hardly believe I was real.

He whispered, “I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend.”

I quietly laughed and lifted his hand to my lips, placing a kiss on the soft skin of his palm.

“You’re off to a damn good start.”

I could feel him smile into the skin of my shoulder before he placed a kiss there, sighing contentedly as he rolled back and settled onto his own pillow.

#Elliot Alderson #elliot x reader #female reader #elliot alderson x reader #mr robot #rami malek #rami malek character #elliot #mr robot fanfiction #elliot alderson fanfic

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cosmictrust · 5 years ago

Text

back to you

sweet pea x fem!reader ♀

warnings: angst

you and sweet pea have been dating, but sweet pea isn’t quite over his ex.

when you began dating sweet pea, it was only a few months after school had started. which meant that josie and SP’s relationship had come to an end four months before yours. you thought that sweet pea would be okay now, that he was ready for another. you’d taken a generous amount of time to really talk with him, getting to know his emotions well before anything would become complicated.

he swore that he was over josie, and that he wanted you. and you believed him.

“it just doesn’t make sense,” you admit, looking at reggie over your milkshake. you agreed to hang out at pops, just once. the whyte wyrm was your usual. “i mean, i thought i could trust him.” you frown, sweeping back a piece of hair from your face.

“i say, you break up.” reggie deadpanned.

“hey!” you laughed, reaching across the booth to slap his shoulder. “i’m serious!”

he smiles, pretending that he wasn’t wishing that you would crack the serpent's heart in two.

“i don’t know, sweetheart. i’m not good at this.” he admits, throwing an arm across his seat, the other ruffling his hair.

“i know, reg. i’m just happy that you listen anyway.”

reggie sometimes thought you were too innocent and kind to be a serpent at times. you attracted the opposite; sweet pea being the prime example. maybe even reggie.

“thank you, y/n, but i already know how amazing i am.” he laughed, and she just scoffed playfully.

he loved how she made time for everyone. she was a careful being, always checking in on the ones she cared for.

reggie’s eyes flicked to over your shoulder as the bell over the door rang. he groaned and rubbed his forehead as furrowed your brows.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, slowly turning your head to follow his gaze. you feared reggie’s ruthless ex veronica, would come to ruin a fun time.

fangs approached your table, a warm hand coming to clasp your shoulder as you smiled in relief. “fangs,” you exhaled. “hey, good to see you.” at the very least, fangs would offer you a smile.

but, something was different.

his posture is tense, his face was unwelcoming and rigid. your fists balled by instinct, and your jaw clenches. “what?” you ask, a bit anxiously.

“it’s pea.” fangs says, tugging your arm to come with him. your heart sank as you quickly rose out of the booth, pulling your purse out with shaking hands.

“i’m so sorry, reggie.” you quickly apologise, beginning to shuffle through your purse for a five.

“don’t worry about it, i’ve got it.” reggie gives you a forced smile.

you wave goodbye for a split second before whipping around as fangs drags you out of the chock’lit shoppe.

fangs doesn’t say anything until you arrive at the whyte wyrm. as you throw the stick into park, fangs finally speaks to you.

“it’s bad this time,” he warns you, a disappointed look on his face. “he’s drunk.”

you thank fangs before rushing in, seeing sweets on a bar stool, head in his hands.

“baby,” you’re relieved that he’s in one piece, still conscious. “i was so worried.”

you hug the cool leather of his serpent jacket, kissing the spot behind his ear.

after a brief hug, you come to sit in the bar stool next to him, gently raking the stray hair from his face. “let me see, sweets.” coaxing him into seeing the damage done.

“go away.” he mumbles grumpily.

“i just wanna help,” you try again, your hands nimbly attempting to pry them away.

sweet pea doesn’t reply. his shoulders sink further.

“sweet pea, i’ll just t-“

“fuck, y/n! just go!” he stands up suddenly, staring down at you.

he has a deep cut across the bridge of his nose, and deep purple bruises scattered across his face, the most prominent on his right cheekbone.

your cheeks turn red as the bar falls silent and most of them stare.

“pea, i’m just trying to help you get home safe.” you look at him in the eyes, your voice hard. “fucking fangs had to come while i was having fun, and take me away to take care of you.”

you don’t even know why you argue with him when he’s drunk. he’s not in the state of mind to even process your words.

“yeah, and who were you with, baby?” SP lets out a flat scoff.

“let’s just go.” you groan, standing up and glaring at him expectantly.

pea rolls his eyes, giving you a dirty scowl.

“i’ll help you home, yeah? get you something to drink at your house. you don’t gotta be here.” fangs cuts in, sounding desperate.

although you’re pissed at sweets for embarrassing you, and although it feels deeply buried inside you right now, you want him to get home.

“c’mon, sweets. i’ll take care of you. tuck you in and we’ll forget about it.” you offer, a tone so soft you know only he’d hear.

he groans in response, finally standing and wrapping an arm around fangs to go back to your car.

he’s practically asleep when you manage to get him in and buckled, mumbling a few incoherent words here and there.

when you and fangs finally lay him down in his bed, you thank fangs and reassure him you could take it from here. he gave you a long hug, before departing.

sweets was asleep by now, and you tugged off his serpent jacket and hung it up. you worked quick, sure to organize everything the way he’d want things. his chest and ribs seemed fine, just a few light bruises. the most damage was to his face, so you worked as quietly and carefully as possible. cleaning away the shallow cuts with alcohol pads before applying just a bit of ointment.

sweets was really pretty. his hair was pushed back, so you could really look.

he was in the deep sleep, on his way to a hangover, you quickly realized. he hadn’t even moved a bit while you fixed up his cuts. you pulled a tylenol from the bathroom mirror and set it on the nightstand before leaving. “good night, sweets.” you whisper before kissing his forehead, your heart fluttering as you turn to leave.

pea mumbles something, and you look back, thinking maybe he’d woke. his eyes were shut, and you chuckle to yourself as he continued on a string of jumbled sleep talk. that is, until you could make out a certain name, four different times.

josie.

the next day, you don’t talk to anyone. you’d spent the night thinking about everything you weren’t to him. that each time you kissed, had sex, held hands, touched..

he thought of someone else.

it absolutely broke your heart. it seemed like no matter what you did, you’d always be second. even worse, it made sense. why he didn’t want to go to the winter dance. why he never wanted to go to veronica’s speakeasy. he loved josie too much to see her.

sweet pea calls three times and texts more when you don’t respond for the better part of the day. you don’t read anything.

you ask toni if she’d come over. everything is bottled up in you, and the constant flow of tears isn’t helping. when she comes, you absolutely fall apart. you can barely breathe as you explain everything, including your feelings. you wish that the sting of rejection didn’t hurt so bad.

sweet pea is worried. he first woke with a bitch of a hangover, then realized how everything was arranged. the tylenol, the hung jacket, and his face was properly taken care of. he was so lucky for a girl like her.

he called to tell her how much he appreciated it; to thank her. she didn’t pick up, and he thought nothing of it, but when he texted six times and called twice more by noon, he felt a sinking feeling of dread as he asked all of his friends around the wyrm if they’d seen her.

he decided toni as the last chance before going over to her place. calling her, toni picked up on the second ring.

“what?” she hissed, not sounding very happy.

“jesus, i didn’t even say anything.”

“shut up. what do you want?”

“have you seen y/n?” pea asks hopefully, clinging to the last of his hope.

“yes. i’m here. comforting her, asshole.”

sweet pea had no idea what she was talking about.

“what? why? what happened?” was all he could rush out, already getting up and reaching for his keys.

“fucks sake, sweet pea. you really fucked her over last night.” sweet pea froze as she spoke, in utter shock.

“me? toni, what the hell are you talking about?”

“you don’t even remember. well, why would you? you were drunk.” toni says with a razor edge in her voice.

“fuck. what did i do?” sweet pea’s hands shake, his heart racing.

“fix it, pea. now.”

the next three school days, you avoid him. he searches for you, constantly, desperately missing you. toni wouldn’t tell him; she claimed he had to make it up to y/n. she didn’t have a say in their relationship. fangs knew a part of it, but they shared details of everything that had happened with each other.

he waited outside of your biology classroom. up until the bell, he watched closely as students filled the hallways, waiting to see his girlfriend.

unsurprisingly, she’s talking to reggie. sweet pea forces himself to swallow the rage that he feels.

was this why you’d been ignoring him? the bulldog had gotten to you?

he briskly pushes past others, grabbing your forearm and yanking you to the side of the hallway.

“what the fuck, y/n?” sweets jaw is jumping, his fist clenching and unclenching. “you’ve ignored all of my texts and calls? you ditched me for a bulldog?”

“get the fuck off of me!” you push at sweet pea, but his grip only tightens as he grabs both forearms.

“what the fuck is your problem?” sweet pea asks, glaring down at you.

“you’re a fucking liar! that’s my problem!” y/n stares back up at him, eyes filling with tears and spilling before she could stop them.

sweet pea lets go of her, his hands dropping to his sides. his heart aches, seeing her like this.

“y/n,” reggie’s unwelcomed voice intrudes the couples conversation. “we should go.”

sweet pea stares at her as she looks at reggie, then back up at him. he’s trying to suppress it all; every nerve in his body is tense and on edge. he was ready to kill reggie.

“stay out of it.” sweet pea snaps at him, looking past her to glare at him for a second. “slumming it with a north sider?” sweet pea humorlessly laughs.

“accusing me of cheating? again?” she’s tired of sweet pea being such a fucking hypocrite. she crosses her arms as she doesn’t take her eyes from his own. “that’s rich. you know, coming from you.” rolling your eyes, you throw a look over your shoulder to reggie, a half smirk on your face.

you receive the same look back.

“coming from me?” sweet pea narrowed his eyes.

“well, considering how much you love josie..” you trail off, ignoring the sting.

“oh my god! that’s what this is about?” sweet pea shoves a hand through his hair, raising his voice.

“no, it’s not! it’s about how you never cared about me! it’s about using me, wasting my time, a-and..” your voice cracks as you almost hug yourself, finding comfort in the serpent jacket you wore.

“stringing me along.. but still thinking of her.” you shudder, not even being able to continue all the reasons you should hate him. “a-and making me love you!” you turn away from sweet pea, breaking down into tears as you rush towards the girls bathroom. sweet pea nor reggie had time to react.

because, holy shit, you just said you loved him. sweet pea stood appalled, his own throat tightening as his fists clench.

toni tells him that she had left early that day. so, he does one thing right; follows her. he doesn’t care how insane it seemed, or how stupid it make him. that’s what people who love each other do, right?

you’re sitting on the end of your bed when he opens your door, one of his huge tee shirts on your body. you don’t say anything as he comes and sits next to you. your cheeks and nose are red. guilt drowns him.

before he can rattle off a speech of his feelings, everything he’d wanted to say to her, she broke the silence.

“i think we should break up.”

sweet pea snaps his head up to look at her, and her face is almost sympathetic.

“i don’t deserve this. i don’t want to be your rebound. then when you kept saying her name while you were asleep.. pea, fuck. i felt used. i had sex with you. and then you accused me of cheating in front of everyone at the wyrm.. i still brought you home, and cleaned you up, sweets! do you have any idea how dumb that makes me feel? i took care of you. the entire month of that dumb school dance.. i waited for you to ask. but you probably already had your plans with josie, huh? couldn’t bear to go through it with someone you didn’t love?” you look at him, then. he realizes you weren’t the girl that you were at the beginning of your relationship. you’re tired of him. he ruined you.

he’s crushed. all this time, you’d quietly suffered.

“i love you.” sweet pea admits. he should tell you how he didn’t love josie; that she doesn’t compare, and never will. he belongs to you. but he can’t seem to choke out a single word. He tries to blink away the tears. this can’t be the end of it.

there’s a long silence between the two of you.

“yeah, i love you too.” you stare at the ground.

sweet pea isn’t sure what to do. he feels rigid; like you hate him now.

his body longed for yours. you look at him again; you realize he’s crying, too. your eyes wonder to his lips for a mere second.

he just wants to make it better. he has no idea how. he’s never done this.

he moves to kiss you, his hand cupping your cheek but you turn away.

“i think you should go, now.” your skin is practically buzzing with sweet peas warm touch. it’s mournfully cold when he pulls away again.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, trying to keep his voice clear and strong. hands running through his hair in frustration. “i’m clueless when it comes to this.” sweet pea stands up, getting on his knees in front of you. “y/n, come on, we can’t break up.” his hands rest on your thighs, gently squeezing them. “i’m sorry. fuck, i don’t care, i’ll do whatever you want me to. anything,” sweets hates feeling so fucking helpless. “please. i love you. and this is all so new to me! i don’t wanna lose you.” you look away, slipping your hands over his own.

“sweet pea.. i don’t want to be with you.” you lied, clenching your teeth. you wanted him to leave you alone.

that was the last thing sweet pea wanted to hear. she was drawing out his heart ache painfully.

he left her that night, wounded by her words. even though each of their hearts told them to stay.

#sweet pea #riverdale #sweet pea x reader #josie mccoy #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea angst #south side serpents #serpent!reader #sweet pea x y/n #sweet pea x you #sweetpea x serpent!reader

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yesloverboy · 5 years ago

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Neighborly (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader) Part 5

SUMMARY: Desperate to explain himself, Tommy runs out of the party to find you after drunkenly kissing a groupie– despite his claims that he’s in love with you. Realizing he completely fucked up, Tommy vows to do whatever it takes to make it up to you and prove that he really means what he says. Something tells you it’s going to take a lot of convincing, but how far is he really willing to go?

word count: 4,327

[Warnings: swearing, body image, little bit of angst, a lot of fluffy goodness, drug and alcohol mention/usage.]

NOTE: Sorry for the big ass delay on this chapter, I started a full time internship and haven’t had a lot of time to myself lately. That being said I do have some stuff planned, so hopefully writing the next few parts won’t be nearly as difficult. There’s even a smut chapter coming (fairly) soon, so don’t worry Reader and Tommy will most definitely fuck. Cross my heart.

tags: @kwyloz, @scarecrowmax, @lavendersoundbarrier, @stevenandsam, @totallynotkaibiased, @rogertaylur, @fatheadtheroger, @secretly-a-groupie, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @abbysdogcollar, @dirtysixxers, @black-tights-black-heart, @valentines-in-london, @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @hxllywood-whxre, @ccidk, @sharon6713, @myshakespeareandarling, @moon-beame, @carmineharry

You manage to sprint up to your apartment before Tommy is able to catch up with you. A chorus of yelling and screaming can still be heard from downstairs, but it seems more aggressive than before. Deciding whatever’s happening is officially none of your concern anymore, you rush into the safety of your apartment. The door slams behind you with a heavy thud, causing the brittle walls to shake and echo in its wake.

With your back against the door, you find yourself unable to move. The events of tonight keep replaying in your head– from Tommy kissing you at your dining table to watching him become colored pink by some other girl’s lipstick. All the memories were meshing and molding together, burning a hole in your mind like a bad reel of film.

Your ruminating thoughts are promptly interrupted by a harsh knock on the door behind you. For the first time since you moved in, you spin around and secure the door chain, preventing anyone from fully entering the apartment.

“Y/N, it’s me! Open up!”

You say nothing, stupidly hoping that Tommy will get the hint and continue the rest of his evening downstairs. Instead, he only pounds on the door harder, making you worried it may very well fall off the hinges.

“I know I fucked up! Will you please just open the door so we can talk?!”

Tommy tries opening the door this time, but the door chain catches the movement, only allowing it to open about four inches at most. Through the crack in the frame, you can see a sliver of Tommy’s washed out expression as he gazes at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N, what the fuck is this?” Tommy gestures to the chain fastened firmly in place, his face fraught with worry.

“I have nothing to say to you,” your voice shakes as tears threaten to leak out once again. Gritting your teeth, you avert your eyes to the floor, unable to look at Tommy without trembling.

“But, Y/N I love–”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, finding that Tommy wanting to admit his supposed love for you after what happened was the final straw. “You don’t get to say that.”

Summoning your courage, you take a few steps toward the door. Tommy watches you with glassy eyes, looking more like a kicked puppy than the party animal you witnessed downstairs. Sometimes it’s hard to believe they’re the same person.

“Please Tommy, just leave.”

Tommy bites his lip, and you know his leg is bouncing nervously by the way his shoulders involuntarily rock back and forth. “I-I can’t. I won’t.”

With a heavy sigh you go to push the door the rest of the way closed. Surprisingly, Tommy doesn’t resist and allows it to slam in his face, eyes remaining fixed on the ground.

For the first time since that morning, you’re finally able to breathe. You’re proud of yourself for being able to deny Tommy’s effort of engaging in damage control but, for some reason, it still doesn’t feel very good. The music from the party downstairs reverberates against the old floorboards, reminding you of the growing pit in your stomach.

Deep within, you knew going to the show wasn’t a good idea, but Tommy’s deep blue eyes and gentle touch brought something out of you that you didn’t recognize. Now here you are, confused and hurt at the hands of your crazy neighbor who claims to already be in love with you. You thoughts wander back through visions of Tommy kissing the brunette downstairs, causing you to reflexively clench your jaw.

I deserve this, don’t I?

Feeling exhausted, emotionally and physically, you decide it’s best if you just turn in for the night. Trudging into your bedroom, you immediately shed Tommy’s jacket. It falls to a sad heap on the floor, coiling up in the corner of the room like a poisonous snake. Although the sight of it inherently sickens you, you still recall the way Tommy’s goofy smile and contagious laugh had lit up your apartment for the past week.

In an attempt to drown out your thoughts and some of the party below, you switch on the radio and tune it to the oldies station, hoping that the white noise will be relaxing. You yank off your jeans and switch off the light, not bothering to wash your face or change into pyjamas. Nothing seems more important than allowing the softness of Ella Fitzgerald’s gentle croon lull you to sleep.

You close your eyes, trying to cleanse your thoughts of all the stress and anxiety from the past few hours. Still, you dream of lipstick coated kisses and endless, blue eyes.

I’ll be seeing you.

...

That morning, you allow yourself to sleep in, awakening only when the sun is just about to dip into early afternoon. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you look up at the cactus bathing in the sunshine on your windowsill. It’s standing taller in its jar than when Tommy left it for you. With a bitter scoff, you kick off the covers and exchange last night’s halter top for an oversized t-shirt.

Although you didn’t get wasted last night, your steady consumption of beer on a near empty stomach left you with a throbbing headache and a sour taste in your mouth. You try to busy yourself by starting a pot of coffee and jumping in the shower. No matter how hard you scrub, it seems you can’t get the scent of Tommy’s cigarettes and cologne off of your skin. If last night were a phantom, it would surely be haunting you.

By the time you’re able to get a sip of coffee, the entire apartment is hot and sticky with shower steam. Feeling hyper-aware of your raw skin and heavy eyelids, you decide now is a perfect time to make use of the balcony. Maybe getting some fresh air would even be good for you.

You remain in just your old t-shirt and a pair of underwear, permitting your hair to drip freely onto the floor. Typically you’d feel more inclined to cover up, but it seems you have much bigger problems than your idiot neighbors. Even if one of them was the biggest problem of all.

Coffee mug in hand, you unlatch the chain and pull open the door. As you go to step outside, you foot caches on a soft object blocking your way. What the fuck? Looking down you discover a long, lanky body curled into itself on your welcome mat.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, recognizing the tangle of limbs and brown curls as none other than Tommy fucking Lee.

Tommy stirs at the sound of your voice, stretching out and rolling onto his back. You hesitantly nudge his arm with your foot, trying to shake him awake before he has time to process where he’s at. If you were being honest, Tommy was the last person you wanted to see. You assume he must have been a lot more fucked up last night than you thought, judging by the fact that he’s presently passed out on your doorstep.

“Tommy,” you whisper harshly, wanting so desperately for him to get up and go away, “Tommy get the fuck up!”

“Hmmm?” he hums in confusion, his saltwater blue eyes squinting against the invasive rays of sunlight. Tommy’s eyes meet yours, and you try to ignore the little flutter of hope your heart feels when his face lights up with recognition.

Tommy pulls himself up on his feet, jutting upwards as if awakening from a dream. You take a step back, afraid he may lose his balance and collapse on top of you.

Noticing you recoiling away, Tommy grabs ahold of your shoulder with a firm hand. You scowl as coffee sloshes out of the cup and lands on your bare feet, stinging your toes.

“Wait! Don’t go yet– please don’t go yet, I have to talk to you–I have to explain,” Tommy’s words come out in an incoherent babble, “I waited all–all fucking night, just like I said and I, uh, can you please just let me come in?”

You mouth falls open in utter astonishment as your weary brain puts the pieces together. Tommy didn’t pass out, he slept on your doorstep in the hopes that you would eventually open the door. Technically, he succeeded.

Tommy doesn’t wait for your answer, and instead continues to plead with you, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, “I couldn’t leave, I didn’t want to.”

Sighing, you step aside and open the door all the way, wordlessly inviting him inside like you had in the past. You hate yourself for empathizing with his dark circles and broken posture from sleeping on the ground, but figure it very well may have been punishment enough.

Tommy makes a beeline for your tiny sofa, flopping on it so forcefully that you fear it might snap in half. With his head hanging limply off the arm of the sofa, he buries his face in his hands and groans up at the ceiling in relief.

“No offense, Y/N, but that welcome mat of yours fucking sucks.”

You abandon your coffee mug by the sink, deciding you don’t have the patience to reheat it, and perch on the opposite arm where Tommy’s feet are resting.

“That’s because it’s a welcome mat, not a please sleep on me when you’re being an asshole mat,” you retort, still unable to rid your voice of its residual bitterness from the night before.

“I know, you’re right,” Tommy sits up straight, hugging his impossibly long legs to his chest, “But I had to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because I–well, you know what I’m trying to say,” he picks at his shoelaces absentmindedly, cheeks pink with something that resembles embarrassment.

You sigh running a hand through your hair, “You know I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Tommy.”

“Look, I know I royally fucked up, but I just don’t know how to do this,” he gestures between the two of you as if there’s some kind of tangible force holding you both together. You swallow hard, wondering if maybe there is.

“There is no this, Tommy. It’s obvious that there never was,” you can’t help how harsh you sound as the ghost of self-doubt starts to creep into your head, making you wonder if Tommy ever genuinely liked you to begin with.

“God, but I want there to be. I want this to be something so bad, you don’t even understand.”

I do, you think, wanting nothing more than to just shout it at him and end the conversation. You decide that you can’t, choosing now to guard your heart better than before. “I’m just not sure I believe you,” you answer honestly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Tommy leans forward and grasps both of your hands in his, the sudden touch causing your skin to prickle with goosebumps. His hands are warm and secure against your own, fitting together just as comfortably as your lips had when he kissed you.

“Hey, Y/N, look at me. Please.”

You comply, meeting his gaze and seeing nothing but honesty. No alcohol, no drugs, no pushy bandmates– just happy-go-lucky Tommy.

“Let me prove it to you, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes, I swear,” Tommy grazes your palms gently with his thumbs, settling the uneasiness in your stomach. As much as you want to move on with your life, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something in the universe that keeps dragging the two of you together. Even though Tommy fucked up, you had never met someone so eager to gain your approval and keep it– especially not someone you didn’t officially belong to.

Tommy awaits your reply with bated breath, obsessively searching your face for any indication of what you might be thinking.

“I’ll think about it,” you decide, giving Tommy’s hands a gentle squeeze of affirmation.

Tommy releases your hands and claps his together victoriously, “Oh thank fucking god!”

“You do realize I didn’t say yes, right?”

“I know dude, but everyone knows that if it isn’t a no then it’s definitely a maybe. Which is code for almost yes.”

“Unbelievable,” you roll your eyes, trying to fight off the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. For the first time that day, Tommy is grinning. Tommy’s smile was something you didn’t know you needed to see until it was gone, but being able to bring it back makes it all worthwhile.

“You know you say that a lot,” Tommy averts his eyes, a hint of shyness lingering in his voice. Apparently you weren’t the only one turning into someone unrecognizable since the two of you crossed paths.

“That’s because you haven’t given me a reason to stop,” you nudge his knee playfully with your own, “now get out of my apartment before I change my mind.”

“Whatever you say, pretty girl.”

...

After Tommy left, you decided to busy yourself with flipping through the Help Wanted section of the paper, hoping to find some odd jobs to do while you wait to see if UCLA will let you transfer for the semester. If you were lucky, maybe you’d even score a scholarship. You try to shake the thought, attempting to be a little bit more realistic about your life choices. Help Wanted it is, then.

Store clerk, housekeeper, secretary, assistant manager– nothing seemed to be jumping out at you. At this point, you know you can’t really afford to be picky, but it would be nice to find something that you won’t mind doing just in case college doesn’t work out.

Chewing thoughtlessly on the end of a pen, your eyes slowly drift downward to a cluster of small print at the bottom of the page.

‘Help Wanted – Record Store Sales Associate’

The possibility of working in a record store didn’t sound so bad. At least if something were to fall through with UCLA, you’d still be able to get involved with music in some small way. You go ahead and circle the small ad, think that you may even try giving them a call later.

Your job search is halted by the shrill ring of a telephone coming from your kitchen. Perplexed, you get up and eye the old phone cautiously. In the short amount of time you’d been in Los Angeles, you hadn’t had any reason to give anyone your phone number just yet. Who could be calling? The old tenant, maybe?

Picking up the phone, you barely catch it before its final ring.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Hey, it’s Tommy!” his low voice crackles softly through the static. You can hear the sounds of cars and people talking in the background, and figure he must’ve stopped at a phonebooth. “Tommy? How the hell did you get this number?” you try to ask calmly, but hiding the surprise in your voice is nearly impossible.

You barely know your own number, and highly doubt Tommy’s memorization skills are better than yours. Tommy chuckles on the other end and you can practically envision the goofy expression on his face.

“The landlady, dude! She may or may not have a thing for me, and I may or may not have asked her for your number.”

Tangling your fingers through the telephone cord with an unthinking hand, you feel lucky that Tommy isn’t able to see the girlish smile forming on your face.

“Of course you did,” you say, stifling a giggle.

“Yeah well, you know me– oh yeah! I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” you reply, racking your brain for any ideas as to what could be so important that Tommy would go through the trouble of getting your number and calling.

Tommy takes in a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Would you–would you go on a date with me?”

You nearly laugh out loud. “So this is what you couldn’t wait until you got home to tell me?”

“Well, I just thought that taking you out would be the best way to show you that I really care, ya know?”

You feel your heart soften at Tommy’s words, but there’s still something inside of you that wants a little bit more payback for what he put you through yesterday. As much as you appreciate the attention and his eagerness to please you, you want to make absolutely sure that he isn’t trying to play you.

“Tommy, you know I said that I’d think about it.”

“Yeah, but that was before I had a plan,” he scoffs impatiently, “and now I have one and I want to take you out.”

“Okay well I’m pretty busy, so talk later–okay?” you go to put the phone down when you hear the faint sound of Tommy’s excited yelling coming from the receiver.

“Wait, Y/N! Before you go, can I ask you one more thing?”

“I’m listening,” you say.

“Do you like flowers?”

The question catches you off guard, “Uh, yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Okay cool, I was just wondering. Anyways, I gotta jet! See ya, dude!”

The line goes dead as Tommy abruptly hangs up, the dial tone echoing flatly in your ears. As usual, Tommy leaves you confused and smiling to yourself. Just last night you thought you never wanted to give him the time of day, and now here you are, grinning like an idiot alone in your house.

Why him?

...

There’s a knock on your door about an hour after Tommy’s phone call. It certainly doesn’t take much brain power to figure out who’s probably waiting for you on the other side.

“What do you want now, Tommy?” you ask, pulling open the door.

Tommy looks down at you with a crazed look in his eyes, “Whoa, Y/N! How’d you know it was me?”

“Lucky guess.”

Tommy leans against the doorframe, head cocked to the side to get a better look at you. “So, uh about that date…” he wastes no time getting to the point of his sudden visit, “...do you think you might wanna go?” “I said I’d think about it,” you shoot him a wry smile, finding yourself relishing in the opportunity to make him squirm for once.

Tommy runs his hands through his hair, tugging at his dark waves in mild frustration. “Yeah but that was hours ago and–”

“One hour ago. At most.”

“–and I just really want to show you I’m serious okay? Let me take you out, Y/N. Please.” Tommy’s giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes he can, resorting to his boyish charm to win you over.

You rub your chin for show, attempting to give the illusion that you’re lost deep within your own thoughts. “Hmmm…” Tommy looks at you expectantly, hanging on your every syllable, “...still thinking about it.”

“Oh come on, now you’re just being mean.”

“Maybe,” you laugh, a playful lilt coloring your voice, “but don’t worry, loverboy, I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

“Fine,” Tommy pouts, looking oddly adorable for a nearly grown man in such a disgruntled state of being. You give the toe of his sneaker a reassuring nudge, “I’ll come to you.” It wasn’t just a possibility, it was a promise. After all, he was impossible to say no to. “When?” Tommy asks, chest swelling with hope.

“Eventually.”

...

It’s almost evening when yet another knock sounds at your door. With a frustrated sigh, you fling the book you’d been reading down onto the coffee table, letting it splay out in a heap of crumpled pages. “Tommy, how many times do I have to tell you that I’d think about it,” you groan, rushing to open the door. When it swings open you look up, expecting to see Tommy’s looming figure, but instead look across from you to find Mick standing at your doorstep. In one of his hands is a bouquet of crimson roses wrapped snugly in a sheet of parchment paper. They’re absolutely stunning, and look extremely expensive.

“Sorry to disappoint, neighbor,” Mick says, voice weary and bored as always, “but your idiot boy is off doing god knows what.”

“Then what are you–?”

Mick holds up his free hand, gently cutting you off before you can finish. “He wanted me to give you these.” He points the bouquet in your direction so you can take it, the parchment paper it's wrapped in rustles gently against the summer breeze. “‘Says you told him not to come up here.”

“O-oh,” you stammer, unable to control the flush of heat rising rapidly to your cheeks. You aren’t entirely sure why Tommy was so hellbent on getting you to go out on a date with him, but you can’t deny that his methods are starting to work on you.

“Look,” Mick huffs, as if being bothered to speak is an unbearable burden, “I can’t vouch for Tommy often, but what I can say is that he really wants to make this right. Whatever it is that’s going on up here.”

“But I thought you said he does this shit all the time?” you don’t mean to sound argumentative with Mick, but part of the reason why you had a hard time buying that Tommy really cares is because of what you had heard and seen for yourself.

“I’ve seen him fall in love a dozen times, but I’ve only ever seen him want to stay in it once– and that’s right now. He even called off our gig tonight just so he could go and figure everything out.”

You swallow hard, knowing deep down that Mick would never had come up here to do such a ridiculous errand if he doesn’t at least partly believe what he’s saying. You think back to last night’s party and recall Mick’s shocked expression mirroring yours when that girl kissed Tommy. If anyone had even an inkling of what you had experienced, it was him.

“Thank you,” you reply, voice softening with sincerity.

Mick rolls his eyes, “Don’t thank me, go downstairs and tell Tommy that you’ll do it. I know you’re not that dumb, neighbor.

...

“Hey drummer, special delivery!” Mick yells as the two of you step into the Crüe apartment.

The boys’ apartment is in the same state of disarray as when you had fled from it the night before. The only difference is that, now, it was devoid of rambunctious party goers and populated by the occasional roach or two. From down the hall, you can hear Tommy’s wide steps approaching as he struts toward the living room.

“Mick! Hey man, listen. I really don’t have time for this I have to get everything ready for–” Tommy stops dead in his tracks when he sees you standing by the busted window, hugging a dozen roses securely to your chest.

“Y/N! What’re you doing here?” Tommy’s face lights up, his eyes brightening as he approaches you.

Mick interjects before you can respond. “She’s here to tell you that’s she finally come to her senses. Although I can’t blame her for being...apprehensive,” he punctuates his statement by glowering in Tommy’s direction.

Tommy is only able to raise his hands in a form of surrender, taking an instinctive step back away from Mick.

“Now,” Mick continues, “I leave you to it.”

With that, Mick saunters out of the window ledge and into the sunshine, his back ramrod straight to support the slight limp developing in his leg. When he’s finally out of sight, you and Tommy exchange a bewildered look that quickly dissolves into an amiable fit of laughter. The roses are still pulled firmly against you as you look up at Tommy. You love the way his nose crinkles when he laughs, and know that–one day– he’ll probably have crows feet from a lifetime of smiling. Hopefully you’d even be around to see them.

“You know,” Tommy starts, pointing at the bundle of roses in your arms, “if I had known flowers were going to do the trick I would’ve bought you a hundred.”

“Let’s just say that a certain alien may have put in a good word for you.”

Tommy lets out a huge sigh of relief, “I’m so happy to hear you say that. Sending the old man up there was a gamble, and he definitely wasn’t happy with me today. Guess I owe him one.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you smirk, satisfied with the fact that you aren’t the only one around here that isn’t completely willing to let go.

“Anyways,” Tommy asserts, stepping into your personal space and placing his hands on his hips impatiently, “isn’t there something you wanted to tell me?”

You gingerly pull one of the roses out from the bunch and hold it out to Tommy, careful not to prick your fingers on the thorns.

“Tommy, may I go on a date with you?”

Tommy accepts the rose, a broad smile breaking out across his face, “Hell yeah, baby girl. Pick you up at noon tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, drummer boy,” you say.

In a moment of sheer impulse, you stand up on the tips of your toes and place a soft kiss on Tommy’s cheek. His thin layer of stubble tickles your lips as that familiar, electric feeling courses through your being. When you come back down to the ground, Tommy is stunned to silence. He gently places a hand on his cheek, securing it to the spot where you kissed him as if were trying to preserve the delicate gesture forever.

“So now will you leave me alone?” you laugh, making your way over to the open window.

Just as you are about to climb on out of the Crüe apartment, Tommy suddenly comes back to reality and rushes over. “Wait! Uh, don’t forget to wear a bathing suit tomorrow.”

“A bathing suit?” you ask incredulously, a single eyebrow raised, “What for?”

“You’ll see.”

Part 6

Masterlist

#idk if it was worth the wait #but lmk what you think!#and what you wanna see next!#mgk!tommy lee #mgk!tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #tommy lee x reader #motley crue #mötley crüe #vince neil #nikki sixx #mick mars #the dirt #the dirt netflix #writing #mgk #80s #80s music

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