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wife-of-all-dilfs · 8 months ago

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the five stages | f. odair

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summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

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lichenes · 6 months ago

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Disco Belgica

You and Joost work in an office in his early days as a musician. Enemies to lovers who?? what??

CW: haterperson and loverboy truly, toxic workplace behaviour

wc: 814

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•

You were Joost’s worst nightmare. He was plagued by you everywhere he went. It wasn’t helping that you were so fucking bright and cheerfull to everyone you met, yet when it came to him - he never got the same treatment. “Do you mind?” You said as you waved at him, your eyes and voice full of disdain. “What?” He answered. “You’re staring.”

It happened more often than he’d like to admit, the constant surveillance made your stomach do flips. Joost has been working in the same office as you for a few months and, apparently, made it his purpose to drive you crazy. “I need you to go through these documents.” You dropped them onto his desk, his blue eyes drifted to your own. “What’s this?” His accent evident, the venom rolling deliciously off of his tongue.

“Boss told me to give them to you I don’t know what they pertain to Klein.” You were about to turn on your heel and walk away but he called your name. “I didn’t tell you to use my name, did I?” You said making sure to convey as much hate in your tone as you could. “Jesus you’re such a pain in the ass.” You opted against retaliating his stupid remark and went back to your work.

At the end of the day you were getting up to leave as one of your coworkers approached your desk. “Hey, Klein left this for you.” You looked at what appeared to be a folder with over 2 hours of work. “That motherf- this was supposed to be done by the end of the day! Did he tell you why he didn’t finish it?” You were fuming. “I’m not taking this home, it’s his job left unfinished.”

Joost was just walking past the reception when you caught up to him and almost tripped him over (it was meant to be a tap on the shoulder). “Jesus, what the fuck?” The folder was shoved into his arms. “Don’t take me for a pushover, Klein. I’m not gonna do your fucking work.” Walking away you caught his face going red.

God damnit. He hoped it wasn’t visible - although his pale complexion must’ve given it away. Truth be told he just liked fucking with you to rile you up to the point of breaking. Your authoritative side came out just when you were about to snap and he loved it. He did the remaining work in his house but couldn’t quite keep his mind off of you.

The next day he dropped off the documents at the boss’ office and made a beeline towards the kitchen where you usually resided for the first few hours of the day. “I need to talk to you.” You raised your eyebrow. “No you don’t, save the apology for someone who cares Klein” He rolled his eyes. “Just- please?” You eyes widened when you heard him mutter the word, for the first time since you’ve known him.

You stood up wordlessly and followed Joost to the desolated part of the office - a corridor mostly used for the cubby holes of the janitors and cleaning supplies. “What the fuck do you want.” He looked increasingly nervous with each passing second. You crossed your arms. “Cut the shit Klein. Come on, spit it out.” He straightened his back and pulled out a small packet of your favourite candies.

“What is this?” “I just wanted to apologise properly. I don’t hate you and I wish you wouldn’t hate me too.” You were flabbergasted. Your hands fell to your sides. “Cat got you tongue?” He smiled at you for the first time since… ever, you realised. “H-How did you know I liked these?” You were starting to suspect he was stalking you. “It’s not anything bad! I just asked the only guy who you talk to. B-besides me…” His voice faltered a litte when he mentioned Alex.

You took the candies into your hand and quickly thanked him then walked away moved by his sudden change in attitude.

The next day when you walked up to his desk he actually gave you a smile and you handed him a thank-you card. “I wasn’t sure what to give you so I went with the path of least resistance. It isn’t as thoughtful though…” He read the little annotation you wrote under the pre-written text. He smiled and proceeded to chit-chat the whole time you would spend in the kitchen.

“So… you and Klein huh?” Said Alex jabbing your side. “It’s nothing like that… we’ve just gotten on better terms.” Your face got hotter. “Yeah, suuuure.” You were packing your things and just about to leave the office when he called your name and when you turned around he gave you a wave and a huge grin. Your heart started to beat faster and that’s when you felt and knew you were in big, big trouble.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────••────────•°•❀•°•────────•

masterlist

#x reader #joost #joost klein #joost x reader #joost klein x reader #joost klein x you #joost klein fanfic #enemies to lovers #eurovision #eurovison song contest #eurovision 2024

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glorfindel-of-imladris · 5 months ago

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I've mentioned this in passing in this post, but this is hands down my favourite line in The Fellowship of the Ring. The line speaks volumes about Glorfindel, and yet the details are easily missed by a first-time reader travelling along with Frodo and friends, and that's because not once does Glorfindel explain how significant his words and actions were. Yet there is so much to unpack! It is only left to us to appreciate them after learning more about this world.

“There are few even in Rivendell that can ride openly against the Nine…”

Again, Glorfindel only mentioned this in passing and did not explain, but the reason for this is because the only ones Rivendell would send to ride openly against the Nazgûl were special members of the Eldar: the Calaquendi, old Elves from Valinor and who have seen the light of the Two Trees. Gandalf later explains that these Elves “live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and Unseen they have great power”. The Nazgûl, as we learn, were wraiths that reside only in the Unseen world, and so to anyone else, they were invisible.

We know there were very few Calaquendi remaining in Middle-earth by the Third Age, and most of them reside in Rivendell. But even among them, likely only the warriors could be sent to go after the Nagzûl, chief of Sauron's servants. This early, we get a clue that Frodo and company have met someone extraordinary.

“It was my lot to take the Road…”

By “Road”, Glorfindel meant The Great East-West Road, an ancient road that cuts across Eriador from the Grey Havens to Rivendell and the Misty Mountains. This would have been the most perilous of the roads because it would have been the most obvious path passing through the Shire. Later, during the Council of Elrond, it would be mentioned that Sauron would be expecting the Ring to go from the Shire either to the Grey Havens or to Rivendell, both routes reached primarily via the Road.

It was to be expected therefore that this is the one path most guarded by the Enemy. Again, Glorfindel only mentions his task securing the Road in passing, but the fact that he got the most obvious and thus most perilous path speaks volumes of his ability and position in Rivendell. Only a few deemed able to ride openly against the Nine were sent out, and out of them, Glorfindel was the one sent to secure the most dangerous route. What ability and skill must this Elf have to be entrusted with such a task!

"I came to the Bridge of Mitheithel, and left a token there, nigh on seven days ago."

The Bridge of Mitheitel, or The Last Bridge, is the only way to cross the great River Hoarwell (Mitheitel) from Weathertop to Rivendell. Aragorn, as much as he could, avoided the Road, himself knowing the dangers possibly waiting for them there. Later though he tells the Hobbits, "I am afraid we must go back to the Road here for a while, [for we] have now come to the River Hoarwell... There is no way over it below its sources in the Ettenmoors, except by the Last Bridge on which the Road crosses."

Aragorn and the Hobbits therefore went to the Bridge dreading to encounter the Nazgûl, only to find it safe. Instead, Aragorn finds an elf-stone in the middle of the bridge, which gives him hope. We now learn that it was Glorfindel who left it there, for he has secured the Bridge, likely knowing how important it was to do so because unlike all other paths, this was the one path that Frodo and company would inevitably need to take. If the Enemy wanted to lay an ambush, they would have done so at the Bridge; strategically Glorfindel understood this, and coming after them at the Bridge was exactly what the company needed from him for them to stay safe.

“Three of the servants of Sauron were upon the Bridge, but they withdrew and I pursued them westward. I came also upon two others, but they turned away southward.”

Here once again is Glorfindel describing something incredible in the simplest of ways: the Nazgûl actually flee from him! Thus far in the book, the Nazgûl were the first source of terror for Frodo's company as well as for us, the readers, yet here Glorfindel was riding about with bells on his horse, not even trying to hide at all. He is the one hunting the Nazgûl and not the other way around, this was made very clear.

Glorfindel has been my favourite character from the start. He got me from their first meeting because he gave the Hobbits a sense of safety, even though they and we perhaps do not yet fully appreciate who he was and what he was capable of. As we read through the rest of the books, and even beyond through The Silmarillion, The Fall of Gondolin, The Peoples of Middle-earth and all these other books that share his history, I only learned to love him all the more. Years later, having read all these other books, I still sometimes just sit in awe thinking back on this first encounter in this first book, in the Fellowship of the Ring, about how Frodo and his friends met this seemingly humble Elf, who in actuality was literally an Elf of legend. Yet apparently one would not think it, encountering Glorfindel on the road.

#this is why i love imagining Glorfindel in some tavern in Bree #like literally just chilling there #nursing a pint #exchanging stories #and once he's left someone just asks #who was that #and a guy says #one of them elves #but a regular here so he's okay #glorfindel #meta #tolkien #the lord of the rings #the silmarillion #tolkien's legendarium #histories of middle-earth

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fics-by-noworriesifnot · 5 months ago

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Welcome to the very first chapter of my fic "Hermione Granger and the Petulant Poltergeist." If you found the 1995 movie 'Casper' to be the height of romance as a child, then this is the fic for you. There will be ups and downs for our favourite duo, but you're in safe hands <3 I really hope you'll join me on this adventure. Slide description:

"Dear Miss Granger,On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, we would like to offer the Malfoy Manor Estate as not only reparations for the personal toll the war had on you and your family, but as a thank you for your efforts saving the wizarding world from certain ruin. Please find attached a copy of the deed and title. Yours Sincerely, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hermione looked nervously up from the paper in her hand and mouthed "Oh my," as her eyes travelled up the stone path, to the foreboding manor before her.

The gates of Malfoy Manor creaked open in recognition of their new owner. Hermione swallowed and made her way down the stone path, her suitcase and Crookshanks trailing behind her.

Standing in the foyer, she stared in awe at the magnificent crystal chandelier directly above her. The portraits looked down at her and Crookshanks with distain, though they didn't utter a word.

Treading quietly across the marble tile, she made her way up a spiral staircase, all the while looking around in awe at the lavish manor. Crookshanks followed a few paces behind.

She alighted at the first landing and wandered down the wide hall, the eyes of portraits followed her in silent disapproval.

As she passed an archway, a flash of something silver caught her eye, she turned and gasped when she saw what- who, rather, it was.

The spectral form of Draco Malfoy glowered at her from across the room, his elbow resting on the mantle of a fireplace. "Granger." He said. "What do you think you're doing here?"

In complete shock she uttered "Malfoy, you're a-a ghost."

He pushed off from the mantle, his steps made no sound as he crossed the carpet to stand over her. "Way to point out the obvious, Granger." He said icily. "You have no business being here. This is my father's residence."

His eyes lingered on hers, before he twisted away. "Leave." He demanded, his back to her. "Please Malfoy." Hermione said, the smallness of her voice magnified by the vast empty room. "I have nowhere else to go."

Malfoy spun to face her. "That's hardly my concern." He sneered.

Finding her courage she met his combative glare with a severe one of her own. "Well you can't make me leave." She said simply, realising he was in fact a ghost and therefor couldn't lay a finger on her. Malfoy grit is teeth and said. "we'll see about that."

#draco malfoy #dramione fanart #dramione #hp fanart #hermione x draco #hermione granger #fanart #hermione granger and the petulant poltergeist #dramione ghost story #enemies to lovers

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fourmoony · 1 year ago

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omg haii, i read ur mini seiries called hope, and i absolutely ADORE it!!! you're probably already writing a part 4, but i wanna request an idea - her first b-day and she meets regulus and lily for the first time where regulus is kinda quiet, not involving himself that much and hope penguin-walks over to him and hugs his leg and regulus goes full-on sweet mode omgg and he baby-talks her like "heyy hope" and "i'm your favourite uncle, right?" and hope babbles back <333

i would be in total awe if i saw this in at least one of your parts, it's also my birthday in 10 days so perfect fit in with hope's birthday!!

tysm for reading <333

hi! I love this idea... sorry it took so long, I've been swamped with college work. this one only features Regulus because the story got away from me, but I could do a separate one for Lily if you like. happy belated birthday, I hope you had an amazing day :) hope you like it

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 (𝟒) - james potter x f!reader - this part doesn't have much james content, sorry!

summary: Hope and Uncle Reggie fluff. 1.9k

masterlist - part 1 - part 2 - part 3

There’s balloons and banners on every wall, presents on every surface, toys strewn all over the floor, and paper plates dotted in various areas.

Hope stands in the middle of it all, in the eye of the storm, the brightest smile you’ve ever seen on her chubby little face. It’s strange, when you really think about it, that she smiles just like James. Considering she’s not biologically yours, nor his. But she smiles like him. Unabashedly, bright, all of her tiny little teeth on display, eyes crinkled at the corners from the sheer force of her happiness. You’ve wrangled her hair into pigtails and she’s wearing the pink corduroy pinafore Sirius bought her with matching pink socks. She’s the epitome of cuteness and your heart can’t take it.

It’s surprising – and yet not at all – that she hasn’t napped all day. It’s not long gone four pm, the party winding down, and there’s been not a single tantrum, nor a moment of calm from your daughter. James, on the other hand, has had several tantrums. He’s adamant Hope has defied all biological laws and is growing too fast. He says it so often you think he might have wished it true, because today, for the first time, you see it.

She’s no longer the baby James brought home bundled in a blanket, with a nervous smile on his face. She’s a bright, loving, happy little girl with so much attitude, so much love, so much energy, and you really feel like maybe she is growing too fast. You can’t slow time, no matter how hard you try, and that makes your lip wobble as you stare at your daughter, pointing sticky fingers at Remus who tries to dodge her, and your boyfriend, who’s trying to corral her with a baby wipe.

All the kids invited to the party have long gone, stuffed with cake and with a complimentary party bag. The cottage is no longer crowded or overrun by hyperactive children. Calm has resumed – well, as calm as any residence with your daughter and your friends inside of it can be. Sirius is half passed out on the sofa from hours of keeping up with his god daughter, legs swung up over the arm, a haphazardly placed party hat on his head. Remus is still trying to dodge Hope’s sticky fingers but is now the one with the baby wipe trying to corral her. He won’t win. You know your daughter and by now, Remus should know that his attempts are futile. But they’re both laughing, even if Remus keeps grimacing every time her hands land on his beige trousers.

“So,” James appears beside you, an overly fond look in his eyes, “Hope’s Epic First Birthday – success?”

You hum, lean into the arm he’s wrapped around you, emulating warmth and comfort and every bit of him you’ve come to love over the years – home – “Massive success. Best parents ever.”

James huffs a laugh and presses a kiss to the side of your temple. He tenses when the doorbell rings. It’s habit, after the war, but you’re safe now, so he releases you with a chaste peck to the lips and jogs off to answer. Remus has strong armed Hope into his lap and is wiping down her hands. You smile. He’s better with her than he would ever know. You can hear James happily talking away to someone, shoes are discarded with a familiar thump by the front door, and then he appears back in the doorway with a wide smile.

Regulus appears behind him, a tentative smile on his face. He’s so similar to Sirius it’s kind of shocking, but the differences are there. Where Sirius is punk rock and messy black eye liner with leather jackets and shaggy hair, Regulus is stoic, regal, neat and put together. It’s been an odd adjustment, watching the two brothers become acquainted with each other again after years of being apart, but it warms your heart every time share a smile or a joke, sometimes an awkward hug. Winning the war was mostly because of Regulus and his behind-the-scenes efforts and when Sirius found out, it shattered everything he’d ever thought about his brother. Watching him recover from what he thought would be mourning his brother, but actually turned out to be healing with his brother, has been beautiful.

“Sirius,” You call, “Regulus is here.”

Sirius perks up, all sense of exhaustion gone, and smiles wide at the sight of his younger brother. Regulus is wearing all black – slacks and a button up shirt. They have the same eyes, same cheek bones, same nose. But Regulus is, for lack of a better word, serious. He’s well put together, posh, a man of luxury, after inheriting half of the Black family riches two months ago.

It’s why, when you spot the sparkly pink gift bag in his hand, you have to bite your lip to stifle a laugh.

“Reg,” Sirius stands, hesitates, but ultimately decides to go for a hug, anyway, “You made it.”

Regulus hugs Sirius back, albeit a little awkwardly, “Of course.”

He turns to you and James, “Sorry I missed the party. All the people, I just…”

James waves a dismissive hand, bright and easy smile on his face, “Honestly, mate, don’t worry about it. Twenty screaming kids is anyone’s worst nightmare.”

Regulus smiles a little, nodding in way of an answer. Hope has wrangled her way out of Remus’ grip and is tottering across the living room floor, dodging stray balloons and wrapped presents as she goes. When she reaches Regulus, she stops, tiny fist clutching at the leg of his trousers. Regulus hasn’t spent much time around Hope. You don’t know if he really likes kids. But when he crouches, a soft look about his eyes you’ve never seen before, you release a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. James guides you to the armchair, pulling you into his lap.

You sit happily, watching the scene before you unfold. Sirius and Remus seem to be as mesmerised by this version of Regulus as you are.

“Hi, Birthday Girl,” His voice is quiet, sweet like honey as he holds the bag out to her, “This is for you.”

Hope looks enamoured by the pink glittery bag, let alone whatever could be inside. Regulus sits it on the ground, legs in a basket to get onto Hope’s level. The bag sits between them like a peace treaty. Hope stares at Regulus and he waits, face blank, lips upturned maybe a little. Her tiny, little hand reaches out, palm flat against his cheek and Regulus closes his eyes for a second before a wide grin spreads its way across his face. Sirius steps around them carefully to reach for the camera by the mantle. Without another word, Hope clambers into Regulus’ lap and sits down. She’s never been shy, so you don’t know why it surprises you so much.

“So,” Regulus starts, holding open the bag so that Hope can see inside, “Start with this one.”

He hands her a neatly wrapped gift, white paper with little pink hearts and you melt at the idea of cold, stoic, Regulus Black in a shop somewhere buying pink gift bags and wrapping paper. He helps Hope a little to unwrap it, and then holds it out in front of her. It’s a book, from what you can see, with a tiger and a little girl on the front cover.

“This book is called The Tiger Who Came to Tea. It’s a muggle book, one my cousin Andromeda used to read to me. I think you’ll like it.” He’s talking so quiet you really think he’s only intending for Hope to hear him.

Your daughter looks entirely fascinated, enthralled by the attention she’s gaining from Regulus.

Sirius snaps a picture, but Regulus doesn’t look up.

He pulls another gift out of the bag, a smaller box, which he helps Hope unwrap again, “Your Uncle Sirius says you’re going to be a famous Quidditch player, one day. This is Plan B. You don’t have to be magic to make potions,” He flips the lid on a little wooden box, engraved with her name, and inside are loads of scribbled on pieces of parchment, “These are my perfected recipes. You’ll go a long way with these, but something tells me you’re going to surpass them by a mile.”

Your lip wobbles as you watch. Throughout the nine months Hope has been your daughter, you’ve thought many times about her future. Sirius has a can do, no worry attitude about her becoming a Quidditch star. You think he’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen for her. But Regulus has given her the beautiful gift of his own potion recipes, and the ability to create and succeed in something she can do with no boundaries.

He’s given her an heirloom, a starting point, an incredibly thoughtful gift and it’s truly beautiful.

“Your mum and dad can probably hang onto this for a few years. But it’s yours, don’t let your dad nick it, I know how bad he is at potions.” Regulus looks pointedly at James, who wipes tears from his eyes as he laughs.

You place your hand over his heart and share a look you’ve come all too familiar with – how lucky are we to have a little girl who is so adored?

The last present Regulus takes out of the bag isn’t wrapped. It’s a teddy bear, brown and small enough for Hope to carry. She takes it from his hands with a wide smile, giving him a small ‘ta’ as way of thanking him. Regulus smiles, nods his head, “You’re welcome, Hope. Happy Birthday.”

She’s up like a shot once presents are finished – as is to be expected. She totters over to Sirius, who looks equally as teary eyed as you and James and shows him the bear with great enthusiasm. You stand to collect the box of potion lists from the floor, holding it gently, a smile on your lips. Regulus is standing now, so you look to him, finger rubbing softly over the engravement of her name, “Regulus, I- thank you. This is a beautiful gift. And the book, she loves tigers.”

He smiles softly, nodding his head, “Remus told me she made Padfoot wear a Halloween costume of a tiger.”

You laugh fondly at the memory as Sirius – who’s holding Hope in his arms as she wriggles – growls at Remus for recounting the story. Remus holds his hands up in surrender, a knowing look in his eyes.

“And the potions stuff is because there should be something from our world for her to access no matter what. I have a feeling she’ll be one of the greats, I wasn’t lying about that. Just like her mum.”

“Can I hug you?” You ask Regulus.

He nods, and so you do. It’s a little stunted, a little awkward, but it means the world over.

“Okay,” James claps his hands together, the remnants of tears on his cheeks like a little snail trail, “Cake?”

“Please.” Regulus nods and follows your boyfriend to the kitchen.

Sirius hands Hope off to James as he passes, who immediately reaches for Regulus. He takes her wordlessly from James, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Sirius reaches over to the mantle, hands you a photograph that’s been left to develop. Hope and Regulus are on the floor, your daughter curled comfortably onto his lap, smiling brightly up at him as he holds the book in front of her. He looks so happy, so content, nothing like the boy you knew in school, Sirius’ estranged brother. He looks like Reggie.

You smile, take your wand from your back pocket and wave it over the photograph.

In small cursive letters, underneath the moving photograph, appears: Hope and Uncle Regulus on Hope’s First Birthday.

Sirius beams.

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natashaslesbian · 1 year ago

Text

Sleepy Bear

Summary: Natasha finds an unusual way to help you sleep

Word Count: 1.1k

Parings (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Warnings: none I believe :))

————

You had no idea how long your girlfriend had been doing this for you. Sleep had never come easy to you, only did you get a rest when your exhaustion would force your body to shut down. Your thoughts leave you restless each night, the anxiety had always been there. Your mom started you in therapy when you were 7, the nightmares should have stopped by then. She tired everything, your mother, each week was a new medication. Your dad on the other hand, he couldn’t have cared less. It was him who marched you into the hospital demanding they scanned your ‘daft brain’ as he put it. There was nothing to be found. Years of therapy only brought the diagnosis of anxiety, much to the disappointment of your father. Dr Grey was a nice lady, but she couldn’t quite solve your problems. You were too young to put your anxiety into words, you just knew it made you too scared to sleep. You stopped therapy after your mom died and your dad refused to pay, you were left to your own devices.

You met Natasha 2 years ago at the coffee shop you work at. She fell head over heels the second she laid her eyes on you, not that she’d ever tell you that. You had your eyes on her too, it took you months to realise that she was purposely going out of her way to visit the shop multiple times a week. It started with lasting looks and then lingering touches when you passed the redhead her iced caramel oat milk latte. Soon you were slipping her extra cookies and then one day she slipped you her number, you never looked back after that day. After a few months you finally let Natasha come over to your apartment, she was horrified at the state you were living in, sleep was the last of your worries. Your dad kicked you out after you told him you were gay, you took what you could and found the cheapest little studio available. The paint was chipped all over, the cooker didn’t work and you were on the verge of eviction. The widow was desperate to move you into the compound, despite your discomfort at the idea. Eventually you agreed to take residence in one of the spare rooms, and surprisingly you settled in straight away. Your life fell back on track after that and you and Natasha had grown closer and stronger than ever, you even shared a room now, Natasha had to move the ring in her bedside draw to Clint’s room.

A slightly sharp corner had you stirring slightly, the assassin quick to flash you a worried glance. You settled again straight away, rolling your face into the cold window. The day you had finally told Natasha about your anxiety was a relief, you cried for hours that wednesday. Since your mother, no one had been so kind. You were so afraid she would run a mile, but she sat with you for all those hours, just holding you. Nat promised to spend every sleepless night with you, lord knows she had her own problems when it came to sleep, but you somehow found comfort in each others restless nights. Often you would take turns in reading to each other, some nights you would go for a stroll around the grounds of the compound. But your favourite form of medicine was the car. Natasha would wrap you up in her fluffy blanket and strap you snug into the passenger seat, the gentle hum and sway of the motor would eventually lull you into a slumber. It took months for your girlfriend to convince you to even try the idea, you hated it at first, what did she think you were, a baby? “I know you’re not an actual baby, but your my baby” she would say “let me take care of you” how she even thought of the plan was a mystery to you and you definitely didn’t want to admit it was working.

Natasha pulled into the 24 hour gas station, the car coming to a scratchy stop. “Mm, Tasha?” You mumbled, half asleep still. “I’m here sweetheart, I just need to get some gas” she said “would you like some snacks? Or do you wanna sleep a little longer?” Your belly rumbled right on cue “choccy biscuit” maybe you were still a baby at heart, “one pack of chocolate biscuits coming right up” the beautiful red head said, oh how you thought her locks were just gorgeous. “You’re so pretty” you whispered, eyes only half open “thank you baby” Natasha laid a kiss on your warm lips and you couldn’t stop the little squeal that escaped you. She wasn’t gone long enough for you to miss her, considering you continued to doze in her absence. You heard the familiar commotion of your girlfriend climbing back into the drivers seat, you peeled your eyes open to give her a sleepy smile “here you go sleepy bear” your favourite biscuits were deposited into your lap and you whispered a small thanks.

You contently nibbled for the 45 minute journey back to the compound, while Natasha quietly sang along to whatever trash was on the late night radio, you always thought they played the worse songs during the early hours of the morning. A quick glance at the clock told you it was 2:36am, Natasha had been driving you to sleep for over an hour, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for you. “I love you” you said, breaking the silence “I love you too y/n” Natasha replied, a bit unsure at why you were suddenly all mushy. “No” you continued “I really love you” a red light gave Nat the chance to flash you another worried look, she softened when you saw your eyes glistening back at her, and the smile engraved on your face “you’re welcome baby girl” you swear she could read your mind. With the conversation at a happy standstill you decided to close your eyes again, just for a little nap until you were home.

When you stirred again, the rough car seat had become your plush mattress and your head was laying comfortably on your pillow. It quickly became Natasha’s as she climbed into bed with you “can I have my own pillow sleepy?” She giggled “no” you sighed, carrying the sound to the end of your breath “it smells like you” you mumbled “but I’m right here?” The widow kindly shot back “oh yeah” you said, eyes still tightly shut, you still failed to roll back over though. “You’re not gonna move are you?” Natasha said, you shook your head against her arm and she didn’t hesitate to haul you up into lap, her arms wrapped tightly around your waist and your head perfectly slotted into the crook of her neck. “Sweet dreams y/n” Natasha wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep that ring locked away.

————

I wrote this when I couldn’t sleep and I almost cried

-Astara

#marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel fic #nat x reader #avengers #fluff #insomia #wlw

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stuckymonkey · 1 year ago

Text

Stolen

Mafia Bucky Au

Pairing - mafia!bucky x fem!reader

Summary - y/n lived an ordinary life as a surgical resident in New York. Her father left when she was young, and her mother recently passed away. Bucky was promised by her father to get his firstborn daughter, unfortunately for y/n, that fits her description perfectly. Kind of enemies to lovers.

Warnings - violence, angst, being taken against will/kidnapping, mentions of death, stitches and medical things, mentions of suicide, mild cursing

Word count - 3.5k

a/n - i was feeling some angst, let me know what you think! feedback is always appreciated!

masterlist bucky masterlist

"Clamp" Joe said from across to table to one of the scrub nurses. "Lap pads" I said. We were doing a coronary artery bypass graft on a six year old patient. Five hours in and Lena was doing really well. She had maintained stability the entire time, making recovery look good for her.

I was about to irrigate when the door to the OR burst open. Me and Joe didn't look up, too focused on finishing Lena's cabg, starting to close up her heart with delicate sutures. "Y/n Y/L/N?" a low masculine voice boomed out. My head shot up to meet Joe's eyes, silently asking what to do. Her eyes were almost as wide as mine.

That voice belonged to James Barnes, head of the Brooklyn mafia. They had access to anywhere and everywhere in Brooklyn, no questions asked.

After having a silent conversation, we both opted to go back to Lena's heart. The voice boomed again, this time louder and much closer. "Y/n, scrub out." Joe whispered. I couldn't scrub out. Not now. Not while it was just me and Joe with a few scrub nurses. She couldn't close alone. "No." I kept suturing, almost to the point where we could start to close up entirely. "What?!" her head jerked up "I said no. You can't close on your own. Lena has been my patient for six months. I know everything about her, and her family. I am finishing this surgery with you and I will be there when they see their baby girl for the first time in six hours." I clipped the last suture, ready to close up her chest. "Y/n, I think you should listen to Joe and scrub out."

I suddenly felt cold metal pressed to my temple. "Put the tools down Y/L/N. I'm not afraid to pull this trigger." I heard the click of a bullet sliding into place at the end of his threat. I was shaking with tears running down my cheeks at this point. "I'm sorry," I said to Joe, it was obvious that I was crying. Through blurry eyes, I saw a tear slide down her cheek too.

What was going to happen to Lena? And her family? What would Joe tell them? I stepped back from the table and let Mike, my favourite nurse, help me take off my gown and relieve my trembling hands from my sterile blue gloves.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't go back to that table. By pressing a gun to my head, James had broken the sterile field. "Well done," James spoke lowly into my ear. I hadn't noticed when, but his hand was wrapped securely around my arm. He led me away from the table, out of the OR and into the hallway where he stood in front of the elevator. The entire time my sobs never ceased and neither did the grip he had on my arm.

He let go before we left the elevator. Outside, many of what were probably his men waited for us. They lined the hallways. I felt like a sheep being herded by big, powerful, scary wolves. Tears were still running down my face as I made eye contact with my Chief of Surgery and Resident Chief. I had grown close with them over the years, and now they were watching me be escorted out of the hospital.

They knew what this meant. I was taken. The mafia had me now. Tears ran down their faces, and the faces of my coworkers who I loved like family. I tried to keep my head up to let them know I would be okay, but I couldn't help the way my shoulder shook from my sobs.

James helped me into a black car. In the front seat was a blonde, with a driver who had dark skin and short hair. I didn't try to hide the fact that I wanted to be anywhere but here. I felt exhausted, more emotionally than mentally.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "Home." James said, adjusting the cuff of his dress shirt. "I hate you, James Barnes." I said, defeat laced in my tone. "Please, call me Bucky." he said. He sounded sad. That bastard. How did he have the nerve to be sad when he is the one who chose to steal me out of my OR. "What are you going to do when I kill myself?" I asked. "You won't kill yourself." the driver spoke up. "Sam-" the blonde said in a nervous and warning tone.

"She won't." he said, looking at the blonde. "You're y/n y/l/n. You're a surgeon." he said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. Everyone's attention was on him as he refocused on the road. "You saved my sister's life, Sarah Wilson. Pancreatic cancer. Four hours after being in your OR she was cancer free. We were told to start planning her funeral. I was signing paperwork to legally adopt my nephews, but you saved her life." he looked into the rearview mirror at me again. "Thank you."

We arrived at "home". During the long ride to the outskirts of Brooklyn, I learned that the blonde's name is Steve. He and Sam were Bucky's seconds in command. Steve helped with the dirty stuff like interrogations, and dealing with orders and shipments of weapons. Sam helped as well but he was also really good at chauffeuring Bucky wherever he needed to go.

There was a very very long gravel driveway leading up to Bucky's huge mansion. It was pretty, I had to admit. Nice dark brick with ivy, a beautiful garden that I bet Steve helped out with, and a peaceful fountain in the center of the drive. I noticed more fountains in the garden area. We had passed tall black iron gates on the way in, giving me an eerie feeling of what the interior of the mansion would be like. Probably dark and scary.

Boy, was I wrong. The inside was beautiful. White marble stairs, golden curtains and natural light everywhere. It felt soft and safe, while still looking professional and wealthy. I was scared to touch anything, it all looked so clean and like everything was in its place.

Bucky dismissed Sam and Steve, leading me up the stairs and to the right of the hall. We walked for quite a bit before he turned into a room. "This is yours. You are to sleep here and I will have all of your stuff here in the next two weeks." He turned to face me, "My office is down the hall to the left, first hall to your right. My room is down the hall to the right, first room on your left hand side. If you need anything, ask me, Sam or Steve. Nobody else lives here but the four of us." he sounded so calm and collected. Did he steal people often?

"I don't live here." I corrected him. The quirk in his eyebrow let me know I shouldn't have spoken. I didn't care. It couldn't get any worse than this. "You do live here. You will not leave this property until you ask me for permission and you have been assigned an escort." "I do not live here! You do not own me, and I am going home. I have to go to work, and I will not stay here." I clenched my jaw, waiting for him to say something.

"Y/n, you live here. Your father promised me his first born daughter just before your mother got pregnant. He was a horrible man, you knew that. Your mother never knew about the deal. You are mine and you will not be leaving. Are we clear?" I hated how the tone of his voice made me clench my thighs together, but I hated even more how he was speaking to me and how he thought he could just keep me here.

"No! I will not stay here! You stole me out of my OR while I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A SURGERY! An open heart surgery. A poor young girl's life was in my hands, Bucky!!!! You could have killed her!! She was INNOCENT!! I hate you. She could have died. Her parents have been in and out of hospitals with her for six years!! Six years, Bucky! She is six years old and her whole life has been within the walls of hospitals and I had a chance to change that. You could have ruined her life and I hate you." I was so angry, tears were running down my face again. I felt warm and exhausted. The urge to just sleep and hope this was a really really bad dream came over me. "Get out." I spat through my teeth, daring him to challenge my order.

He almost looked pitiful as he left my room and closed the door behind him.

The bed was uncomfortable, and I had none of my own possessions. Bucky had come in later to apologize, which fell on deaf ears. He had thankfully given me one of his shirts and some sweatpants before he went back to his office. The sheets on the bed were scratchy, and his pants were too warm.

At around 2 a.m, after no luck at sleeping, I slipped out of my room and headed towards his office, just like he had directed. I figured he would be there, being a surgeon I know what it's like to stay up late to get work done, especially if you're stressed. Which I assume he was after kidnapping someone.

I opened the door slowly to reveal Bucky. His jacket was discarded and a few of the buttons on his shirt were undone. "What are you doing here?" He asked after looking up at me. I felt his gaze rake over my body, now only clad in his shirt and a pair of my underwear. "I need your help," I said calmly. I was desperate after only a few hours with this man. I felt pathetic.

Bucky's eyebrow quirked, encouraging me to continue. "My dog, Joe is probably watching her. I wouldn't know because you took my phone, but that's what I'm assuming." he looked intrigued, with his head tilted to the side and his hands still instead of typing. "If Joe isn't watching her, she only has enough food and water for one day, unless she drinks out of the toilet bowl, but I don't really want her to do that, not that it isn't clean! But she's a big dog and-" "y/n." His cold voice stopped me right in my tracks. Shit. This is probably where he refuses to help me get my dog.

"Please," my eyes began to water at the thought of her at home, all alone, wondering where I went, and then possibly starving to death without anyone to take care of her. "She's my best friend, and I promise she won't be any trouble, I'll pay for everything, I'll even pay a rent fee or something! I just really need my dog back." I think he could see my lip wobble because that look of pity from earlier came back.

"I used to have a dog," his voice surprised me just as much as his words. I looked up at him inquisitively, "She was a Great Dane named Nala. I get it. I'll arrange to pick her up tomorrow, and some of your things later in the week." "Thank you." I whispered before turning to leave his office.

"What's her name?" I heard just before I reached the door. "Hazel," I smiled at the memory of her. "She's an Irish wolf hound." I said sheepishly. at my confession, he smiled. "Goodnight y/n." "Goodnight Bucky."

It's been a week since we got Hazel, and Bucky has seemed kinder and kinder every day. It was probably just because Hazel was such a good dog, but a part of me hoped I helped to make him happier too. When I brought it up to Steve and Sam they had both agreed it wasn't just my dog.

Another night rolled around and I still didn't have anything else of my own. I had been sharing clothes with all three of the men, including underwear. The night was the worst time for me, always leaving me frustrated at my inability to get comfortable enough to sleep. Hazel had no problems, sleeping soundly at the foot of my bed just like she would at home. Or my old house? Was this place really my home?

At 1 a.m, when I hadn't heard any movement in a while I snuck out to Bucky's bedroom where I knew he wouldn't be. He was still in his office working, I knew because I hadn't heard him walk to his room, something he doesn't usually do until at least 3 a.m. Hazel had decided to follow me, making this a bit harder to get away with when being followed by a huge Irish wolfhound.

Slowly, I opened the door to his bedroom. It was gorgeous. He had an abundance of pillows, a soft blanket at the end of his bed and thick creamy coloured duvet. Dark wood furniture decorated the room, complemented by dark curtains and hunter green walls. The place was gorgeous and very well decorated. I moved closer to his bed and found an extra soft blanket under the duvet. I slid it out and draped it over Hazel's back so my hands could hold other stuff. I grabbed a body length grey pillow, deciding he wouldn't miss it for one night.

Before he came to his room, we scurried back to my bed as quietly as possible, Hazel not dropping the blanket once.

"That's the best she's slept in weeks, boss." I could hear voices outside of my bedroom. Steve. The curtains were closed, so it was still nice and dark in my room, then another voice spoke, "Really? She hasn't been sleeping well this whole time?". Bucky. "No, she tosses and turns all night. Honestly, I would too if I didn't have anything of my own.". Sam. "She likes your pillow though." Steve commented.

I didn't want to get up yet but I didn't want to be watched either. I slowly opened my eyes and lifted my head to see the three men in my doorway. Steve and Sam smiled before walking away with waves directed at me. I waved back before focusing my gaze on Bucky.

"I see you like my stuff." he smirked, slowly making his way towards my bed. Hazel jumped off to go find food, her bowls had been placed in the kitchen. "You know, it's wrong to steal sweetheart." Bucky was looking down at me now, his hands in the pockets of his neat dress pants. "You left me with no other choice," I said without much confidence.

"I don't have any of my things, and these sheets are god awful and scratchy." "Maybe I just like seeing you in my clothes," he hummed. A warm blush coated my cheeks as he leaned closer. "You're kinda cute sweetheart." At this point I could smell his minty breath, and feel it as well. "Give me my stuff, and you'll get yours back." I suggested before flopping down on my bed and pulling the covers over me, specifically the blanket I stole right off of his own bed.

He laughed before tugging at the blanket to reveal me clinging to his body sized pillow like a koala. I refused to meet his gaze, instead keeping my eyes closed. "I can't sleep unless I'm comfortable." I stated.

"I get that. We'll have Steve pick your stuff up, but you can keep the pillow." he winked.

That afternoon, Bucky had sat down and had lunch with me. He made eggs, bacon and fluffy toast. I helped a little, making us tea and setting the plates at the black marble island.

"So, I was thinking, you can start working remotely until they absolutely need you back at the hospital." his eyes met mine, waiting for a reaction. I was excited, but I tried not to show it too much since I really shouldn't have been taken from the hospital in the first place. "Then, once I'm sure it's safe, you can go back."

"Safe?" How did my safety play into this decision? I was confused, I was always safe at the hospital, save for the occasional confused patient. "Y/n, your father had a lot of enemies, quite a few of them are associated with other mafias, none as well built or known as my own. He promised you to me in hopes that peace could be made, but he betrayed several of his promises and upset more people than he could handle. Because they can't get to your father, they might get to you next."

"Fine. But I need to get to the hospital sooner rather than later. I have a million patients and I've missed so many rounds. For all I know, Lena could be out of the hospital by now. I haven't had contact with anyone for weeks." I sighed, to which he frowned at. "I know, and I do feel bad but I also care about your safety."

I blushed at his admittance, not used to being romantically cared for. Over the days that turned into weeks, we had grown to like each other. Maybe this arrangement would end up working after all.

"Fuck."

Bucky had given me a space to work within his office, so that's where I was when I heard a string of curses and muffled groans near midnight. The door suddenly swung open, revealing a bloody and battered Bucky.

"James?" I asked. "Hey -shit- y/n/n." He clutched his right arm to his abdomen. There was so much blood from so many different places. "It looks like you need my help," I sassed, getting up to help him settle down on the leather couch. His "yeah" was cut off by a groan. "I need to take your shirt off, okay?" Concern was surely painted on my face as I saw his blood soaked jacket.

"At least buy me dinner first," he laughed. "Ha ha. I'm glad you're in a decent mood," I said while starting to unbutton his white work shirt. I rolled up the sleeves of his black Henley that I was borrowing. He had three major wounds: one on his cheek, one on his right arm and one located on his lower abdomen.

"This is going to hurt," I warned, getting the first aid kit from across the room and preparing the peroxide. He hissed as I poured it over every wound, dabbing them after with gauze. "You're doing great," I tried to smile sympathetically while remaining focused.

"I'm going to stitch your face first, okay?" I asked, getting the supplies ready. "I don't need stitches." he countered. "Bucky, this wound is deep and it's not going to stop bleeding until I close it. You need stitches." "Doll, I'm fine, just leave it."

"Right! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I forgot that you had a medical degree." I said sarcastically. He blushed in return and stayed still while I started to stitch his cheek.

A part of me wanted to make a jab about being out of practice, due to being kidnapped from the hospital, but I held back. Bucky was a good man and we were starting to bond and get along way better than I had ever anticipated. I learned that he had a sister, Steve had been his best friend since highschool, and he had inherited the mafia from his father.

James was a man who loved dogs, and making sure the ones he loved were safe, from his best friend all the way down to Anne, the maid and housekeeper. Another hiss pulled me from my thoughts. "Sorry," I winced. "Almost done."

"Thank you" he said after I patched each site with gauze and polysporin. "Anytime." "I guess we make more sense than I thought." he said as we sipped coffee in the kitchen. "How so?" I laughed. "A surgeon and a mafia boss. I could use you doll." He smiled. I tilted my head to the side in mock offense. " 's that all I am to you? A good pair of hands to tend to your messes, Mr. Barnes?" I asked. "No no no! I just mean that we make sense, you know?" I smiled at him over my mug. "I know."

He started leaning closer to me, to the point where I could feel his breath on my lips. Bucky's eyes met mine over the small table, his flesh hand coming up to cup my cheek, the other resting its cooler touch on my neck, pulling me in. I never fought once, instantly kissing him back when I felt his lips meet mine.

I sighed into the kiss, letting him hold my face and tip it back. His tongue caressed my lower lip before bringing it into his mouth, sucking on it tenderly. My hand moved to cover his flesh one, leaning into his touch slightly. He inhaled me as he pulled back. I felt my face flush and go warm and his hungry gaze, as if I was his prey and he wanted to devour me whole. "Bucky," I panted.

He smirked devilishly. "You like that, doll?" I nodded dumbly at his question. Bucky's eyes creased at the corners when he smiled, tilting his head down to look at me. "I like you," I whispered. He leaned closer, "I like you too, printessa."

Over the weeks, I had started sharing Bucky's room with him. I had an abundance of plush blankets and soft pillows to cuddle with. He had started coming to bed earlier, and I have started back at the hospital. Joe and my other friends missed me while I was away, and I can guarantee that I missed them just as much, if not more. My Resident Chief and Chief of Surgery both cried when they saw me walk back into the hospital lobby, happy and unharmed.

Life was good again, and I finally felt peace.

#marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #mafia!bucky x reader #mafia!bucky x fem reader #mafia!bucky x y/n

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mauvecherie-writes · 2 years ago

Text

Cupid’s Kisses.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Black f!reader.

tags: 18+ nsfw, minors dni, super fluff, cheesy in parts, an overdose of corny, smut, mention of birth control, unprotected sex, choking, hard breeding kink, gagging, minor spanking, dirty talk, creampie, aftercare.

word count: 6.6K.

note: Welcome to my first fic of 2023! So so sorry it took so long to come but life got in the way. Things are a little rusty but either way please leave feedback and your thoughts! Reblog and like! Thank you 💕. NOT EDITED.

tip jar.

Since your years in university, Valentine’s Day was one of the celebrated holidays that you hated purely from a resentful standpoint and you weren’t ashamed to admit that yourself. Every time that you had tried to celebrate with a partner, it never ended well for you one way or another - from being dumped on the day to your partners just not having any type of enthusiasm for Valentine’s. “I mean I love you everyday, one day shouldn’t change that.” You hated hearing that - it was such a lame excuse used to justify not wanting to go through the efforts to plan anything special. It made you feel like shit to be honest and after a while you began hating the day. The only way that you really celebrated for the past three years was exchanging gifts with your friends and then coming back home, watching romantic movies and indulging in all of your favourite foods and wine.

However, you did not expect the whirlwind persona that was Lewis Hamilton - the absolute charmer swept you off your feet and they haven’t touched the ground since. It had been a blissful seven months since a chance encounter at the French Grand Prix. You had been a guest of the Mercedes Petronas team and when he laid his eyes on you in his side of the garage he just knew (he said) and since, you were never out of his presence.

Weary at giving the high profile man a chance, you did not regret agreeing to a date with him. Giving him the opportunity to win a chance at your heart had not gone wrong thus far and as the days went by, you knew that you could not walk away from him without heartbreak. He made you feel a deep love and ultimately it made you realise that Lewis was the person for you.

This year, Valentine’s Day was going to be different and you knew this when you were greeted with a box of your favourite artisan chocolate that spelt the question ‘Will you be my Valentine?’ as you woke up on the first day of the month. Of course you enthusiastically agreed to the question, jumping into his arms and spending that morning making out and sharing the chocolate.

For the first time in years you felt butterflies in your stomach and you were unable to shake them off the more your relationship with him grew. Today was Valentine’s Day and you didn’t feel utter despair and dread when you woke up and got out of bed. Unfortunately, ever the busy man, you weren’t able to wake up in Lewis’s arms. He had flown you out to Monaco to his beautiful beachfront apartment, fed you and made sweet love to you until the both of you passed out. This morning, he needed to do some last minute business stuff before he was able to shut himself away and just be with you.

After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you walked out of the bedroom and you gasped as the open floor living and kitchen area came into your view. Red and pink rose petals were scattered all over the floor from the corridor you were standing in to the kitchen island where a few varied sized boxes resided along with love heart balloons and a bouquet of your favourite flowers. In the front of a large, circular black box was a pink envelope with your name elegantly written on it. For what felt like hours, you just stood there, simply in awe of the effort Lewis had put in for you. In the earlier stages of your relationship, you had confessed about your hang ups with Valentine’s Day so the fact that he was going to such lengths to change your perspective of the day was greatly appreciated.

You hadn’t realised that you had been softly crying until your best friend had picked up your facetime call and that was the first thing that she noticed.

“Bitch! Why are you crying?! What did he do! I’ll fly over there and beat his short ass right now!”

You laughed through your tears, shaking your head. “Nothing bad, I promise.” You sniffed as you tried to wipe your tears away. “Ugh I don’t even know why I’m crying but look at what I woke up to.” You flipped to the back camera and panned to the view that was ahead of you.

“Oh my god!” Ariel gasped as she took in the decorations. “That’s so fucking cute!” She gushed.

“I know! And there’s an envelope with my name on it but I haven’t opened it yet. I was too overwhelmed and just called you.”

“Do you want to open and read it together?” She asked and you nodded your head as she could see you. You then propped your phone and sat on one of the bar stools at the island. You took a deep breath, wiping away your tears before grabbing the envelope and softly opening it. You ignored the slight trembling of your fingers and pulled out the letter.

Princess …

Every moment that I have spent with you since I saw you in the garage had been an awakening, an awakening as to how I could have gone years without you in my life. You bring me such an unfathomable joy that I didn’t even know I was missing and I want you to know that and I will let you know that everyday for as long as you let me.

Inside this box are forever roses to represent each day since we’ve met how grateful I am that you’re taking this chance at cupid with me. I hope that you don’t regret making that choice as much as I don’t regret following my heart in chasing after you.

You are worth it my dear Valentine …

Yours,

Lewis xxx

The tears were now freely streaming down your face after you had finished reading the letter. You even heard Ariel sniffing as well.

“Holy fuck, that was the most romantic thing I have ever heard. Who knew short stuff had that in him.” Ariel commented as she watched you cradle the letter into your chest. Your heart was beating so fast as another wave of emotions crashed against your ribcage. Lewis, near or far, had the ability to rock your equilibrium, leaving you unbalanced and flustered.

“I can’t deny it anymore.” You whispered just loudly enough for her to hear through the phone.

“Are you going to tell him?” Ariel asked.

Before you could answer, the apartment door opened and along with his footsteps, Roscoe’s loud barks echoed and filled the space. You quickly tried to dry your tear soaked face but you knew that you couldn’t hide the redness and puffiness of your face.

“Baby I’m home!” Lewis yelled, his voice carrying through to the kitchen.

“In the kitchen.” You yelled back, willing your voice to not crack. Roscoe rushed as fast as he could to your feet as Lewis came around the bend and came into your view with the brightest smile on his face. However, the smile slowly dropped away from his gorgeous features as he took in the state that you were in.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he drew closer to you.

“I read your letter.” You replied as your bottom lip quivered as his words rang through your mind. “That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever written to me.”

“Awe Princess, come here.” He cooed as he cupped your puffy cheeks in his warm hands. You leaned into his palm as he wiped your tears away with the pad of his thumb and placed assuring kisses on your skin after. “I meant every word.”

“I know.” You whispered as you smiled at him. Lewis smiled down at you before he placed his lips on yours. You leaned into the kiss, letting your body be swayed. He wedged his hard body in between your legs, letting the fabric of your robe slip away from your thighs. As the kiss deepened further, your hands grabbed onto his waist as you stabilised yourself.

“Alright now. As much as I love both of you and think that this moment is cute, you’re making me feel like I’m intruding on something I shouldn’t be looking at right now.” Ariel loudly announced, causing the two of you to break apart. You groaned in slight embarrassment and hid your face in Lewis’s chest. His laugh shook his body and vibrated through you.

“Hi Ariel.” He greeted her as you hugged him, melting into his embrace. His scent was soothing and the sound of his steady heartbeat calmed your unregulated feelings at the moment. You sat in silence as the two briefly interacted before Ariel bid her goodbyes. You waved at her before Lewis hung up the call. You sighed contently as you focused on the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips.

Lewis dropped his hands to the sides of your thighs and caressed them. “How are you feeling Princess?”

“I’m feeling happy.” You smiled, still rubbing your face into his chest. You felt the pressure of his kiss on the top of your head.

“And those were all happy tears?” He questioned as he began to rock your body from side to side.

“Mhm. Thank you for the letter and gifts.” You lifted your head to meet his eyes. You blushed as he smiled, the creases of his cheeks almost touching his eyes.

“You’re very welcome.” Lewis bent his neck and captured your lips into a slow and passionate kiss once again.

“Are you ready for the rest of the day with me?” He mumbled against your mouth.

“I am!”

“Good, because I intend on making sure that today becomes the first of many.”

“Oh really?” Your eyebrow quirked upward as a smile threatened to spread across your face.

“Yes really and you better be ready for it all.”

Your heart seemed to have capsized in your chest as were at a loss for words. Truthfully the words were the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t say them just yet. Instead, you chose to kiss him, hoping that he could understand that the fervour of your movement conveyed the words you couldn’t say …

There was never a dull moment during the day with Lewis and your favourite pup. You had spent most of it in Monte Carlo, enjoying the beautiful sun and waves the location offered. Lewis at one point had tried to teach you how to surf but you were not having it. Your cornrows were relatively new and you were not about to let the salt water ruin them more than they had already been ruined after you had accepted to ride on the jet ski with Lewis. His inability to be slow on any vehicle led to you being splashed by the water as you screamed and he laughed at your dismay. After that you decided you rest on the private sunbed, reading a book with the occasional glance at Lewis playing fetch with Roscoe.

When evening came, the dog sitter came to collect Roscoe at the last minute after Lewis had decided you would spend the rest of the day in the Monte Carlo region on a whim. Luckily for you, you had grabbed his gifts and hidden them in your day bag. With his status and wealth, Lewis was somehow able to manoeuvre a last minute booking of the Venus Lover’s suite at the Fairmont Hotel and when you arrived at the suite, your belongings that you needed for the night were already there. You shared a shower together but then prepared for dinner separately and you were happy about that considering that you wanted the second part of your gift to be a complete surprise.

You embellished in a black backless maxi dress that hugged your figure and almost exposed the crack of your ass but somehow due to the bunched up fabric on your ass, it didn’t. Due to the high neckline of the dress, you barely accessorised sticking to large golden hoops and a bold statement bangle to match. With one last puff of your signature perfume - you were ready.

“Baby! Are you ready?” Lewis asked from the bathroom, where he had been getting ready.

“Yeah!” You excitedly exclaimed. You dug your first gift out of your bag and waited for him to approach you in the sitting area. He was fixing his cufflinks and had yet to lift his head and look up at you as he walked into the space. Finally, he looked up and the familiar look of adoration that always adorned his face when he looked at you drew on his features.

“Aren’t you the most beautiful woman to ever grace the earth.” He complimented as he walked towards you. With a roll of your eyes, you tried to hide your blush.

“Are you always this corny?” You enquired. “Or is it just something about this day that brings it out of you?”

“I like to think of myself as a poet.” He shrugged his shoulders confidently as you rolled your eyes yet again.

“I have something for you.” He looked down at your hands and saw the velvet box being trapped in the grip of your fingers. “As you know, this particular holiday hasn’t been the best for me for some years now to the point that I hated it.” You started and you could already feel your emotion climbing up your throat.

“But here you come, barging your way into my life and breaking through all of my walls and making me feel things that I haven't felt in a very long time.”

“Angel..” He said as he picked up on the quiver in your voice as you spoke but you shushed him.

“No. Let me say this now before I lose my nerve.” You mumbled.

“Okay.”

You took a deep breath before you continued with the small speech that you had planned out in your head. “Seeing so much of the effort you’ve put into making this day be worth it for me has shown me how you truly care for me. I feel so wanted, adored and most importantly, you make me feel so, so loved.” Your voice lost volume towards the end as you tried to control your emotions and stop yourself from ruining your makeup with your tears.

“I didn’t know what I could get a man who could have the world at his feet but I hope the fact that I put a lot of thought into this counts.” When you stopped talking and met his eyes, they were unshed tears lingering in his but the spark never dwindled. He took the box from your hands and opened it.

“Princess, this is … wow.”

“The necklace is encrusted with lab grown diamonds and the bracelet with a matching pinky ring are made from old gold jewellery I did not want anymore. Turns out that it’s cheaper to smelt old gold making it into something new than buying something else outright.”

“That was so thoughtful of you.” He softly murmured as he placed the gift down and took you into his arms, securing them around your waist. In your heels, you towered over him and a part of you secretly loved that in situations like this, you looked down at him but his eyes were so captivating, it was hard for you to shift your gaze anywhere else but his eyes.

“Thank you for the gift, I’m probably never going to take them off.” You giggled, fixing the lapels of his suit then shifting your ever moving fingers to his shirt. He had opted out of wearing a tie and let his chains hang low on his exposed chest.

“Good, so that everyone knows that you’re mine.” You spoke softly and inched down to peck his lips.

“Oh you’re claiming me now?” He smirked as his hands moved down to your ass, pulling you into him. You felt his hardening cock on your thigh and a part of you wanted to say fuck it to dinner plans and stay in the room but you had put too much effort into getting ready and there was no way you were going to let it go waste.

“You knew what the deal was.” You giggled before giving him one more kiss. “Now let’s get out of here before I change my mind on dinner.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Lewis decided to wear the pinky ring and bracelet despite the fact that it clashed with the silver jewellery he was already wearing. The table in the hotel restaurant was in the VIP section but it did not stop people from reaching for their phones to sneak a picture. It had been a while since Lewis had stepped out publicly with a woman but you had the discussion prior to this and you were prepared.

Dinner was still as intimate as it could be in the open space. You were sitting side by side instead of across from each other because you loved looking so closely into his eyes as you spoke. You loved the sound of his voice so close to your ears and with the way that you were feeling now, being right by his side was the better option.

“I had forgotten to mention that I wrote something on the inside of the ring and bracelet.” You said as you played with his fingers as you waited for dessert. Lewis’s eyebrows curiously quirked upward before he pulled his hand away to take the jewellery off. He was silent for a beat as his eyes squinted to look at the small engravings.

“Yours, YN and yours as you are mine.” He read out loud with a bright smile on his face and you could feel your cheeks rise as you grinned in response to his joy. He put the jewellery back on and leaned forward to capture your lips in a soft kiss. Your hand came to his cheek as you dove in, tasting the addicting sweetness of him - letting the sensations take over and slowly losing yourself. His moans were soft and barely audible but you cherished them all the same.

A clearing of the throat broke you from your love spell.

“Sorry.” You apologised as you cleaned Lewis’s lips of any reminiscent of your gloss.

“It’s not a problem, It is the day of love after all.” Your server replied with a cheery tone. You dropped your head onto Lewis’s shoulder as he announced Dessert. There was a range of sorbets and fruit before a specific plate of vanilla cheesecake was placed in front of you. At first you were confused but then you gasped as you registered the worlds that decorated the plate.

“When did you do this?” You asked Lewis as you looked at him.

“When you went to the bathroom.” He softly laughed. “I think now is an appropriate time to ask you officially.”

You didn’t hesitate to exclaim an enthusiastic yes before pecking his lips multiple times. It wasn’t a must that he asked you to be his girlfriend. The boundaries of your relationship had been established around Christmas but as your friends had always drilled into your head, nothing is ever truly official until clear titles are put in place, that way no one else can question it.

Lost within yourselves, the server quietly left the both of you. This man made your heart burst out of your chest with just how happy he made you and it was sickening because the lingering doubt threatened to ruin your joy.

What if it is all too good to be true?

You did not even want to think of a possibility that Lewis was faking any of this - call yourself delusional, crazy or whatever but you were going to stay in this moment with him and maybe come back to reality some time later.

Right now you were completely content with what you had.

“How do you feel about the coming season?” You asked him as the both of you fell back into your conversation. He had been sharing with you his anxieties about the new car for the upcoming Formula One season.

“You’d think with how long I’ve been doing this, I wouldn’t be getting nervous. But the last couple of years, I won’t lie to you and say that they didn’t fuck with my mind a little bit. There’s a certain confidence you tend to get with the experience I’ve got behind me but 2021 and 2022 really shook that up. It was like everything I had done up to that point didn’t really matter because the governing body could just say fuck that shit and create their own champion.”

His candidness left you awestruck. He had made the decision to stop talking about what happened in Abu Dhabi for his peace and well being but you could tell even with the work that he had put into moving on, what happened on that night and in the coming year affected him a lot. By then, you had been an avid supporter but that night really shifted you to become an even bigger supporter than you already were. The way that he had handled himself with such grace and humility for people who didn’t deserve it was commendable.

You caressed his hand that was on your lap. “I still think you should have lost your shit on them.” Your comment caused him to snort out a short laugh. “Like I know how it would have looked in front of cameras, but at least backstage. I was so angry for you! I still am by the way. You may have been able to move on but I hold a mean ass grudge.”

“Let’s hope you never bump into the FIA then.” He teased.

“I’m gonna be at every race that I can, they won’t hear the end of it if shit goes down like they did last time.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do?” He raised his eyebrow, smirking softly - seeing you getting worked up amused him. To him, the situation was past him and hated looking back at it but it was always good to know that people close to him, especially you, were able to voice all the things he couldn’t say without it being a whole separate issue.

“I’m YN fucking LN, I’ll create Dante’s inferno on earth for everybody.”

“Okay YN fucking LN.” His soft laugh lightly shook your body. “Thank you for having my back.”

“Well, we’re a package deal now. You do the racing, I do the hating.”

The restaurant slowly began to empty but the night was still young and there was still so much energy to burn. The champagne the both of you had been sipping on was burning through your veins as you rushed back to your suite, excited to be getting back to privacy, away from prying eyes, ears and cameras.

Once you were back in your room, you threw your shoes off and opened the fridge to pull the bottle of wine out. You grabbed your phone and set your R&B playlist before pouring the alcohol into a glass.

“Baby do you want a glass?” You asked but didn’t get a response. “Lew?”

You straightened up and turned to face him but he was just staring right at you as he played with the black tie he had abandoned to wear for dinner.

“You okay?”

“Come ‘ere.” The sudden shift in his mood and tone almost startled you but not too much. The tension had been lurking all day like a bad habit. A lustful cloud followed you everywhere and it was finally going to pour. You walked to him and stopped right in front of him with your glass of wine still in your hand. He took the glass away from your hand, taking a sip from it before placing the glass down on the table.

You exhaled a small breath as he silently placed his hand on your neck and tipped your head to the side.

“What’s your safe word?” Lewis murmured into the side of your neck as he placed kisses on your skin.

“Cherry.” You whispered as your eyes fluttered shut as you enjoyed his lips travelling along your skin. His other hand came to your back and pulled on the strings of your dress. The material fell from your body and pooled at your feet. He dropped his hand from his neck as a harsh breath left him.

“You were naked beneath the dress the entire time?” He asked as his eyes hungrily drank in your body. You shifted on your feet beneath his heated gaze.

“Underwear would have ruined the outfit.” You justified it as his hands came to your body once again. His fingers traced from your collarbone to your heaving chest. He outlined your nipple before softly pinching it eliciting a soft moan from you.

“I haven’t been inside you all day.” His lips followed the trail of his fingers, kissing, sucking and nibbling on your flesh as you stood leaning into his touch. You could feel yourself throb with anticipation as he teased you. His words caused your body to ache as if signalling to you that you indeed missed the feel of him buried deep inside of you.

“Yes.” You gasped as he abruptly lifted you into his arms. You secured yourself tightly onto him, your heat pressed against his shirt.

“We’re about to change that.” You tugged on his locks, freeing them from the hair tie and running your fingers through them. He got to the bed and laid you down with him hovering above you. He devoured your mouth as his hands moved down your body, gripping you tightly. Teeth clashed with tongue as the kiss grew heavier. You moaned into his mouth as he pressed his clothed hard cock on you.

“I love the sounds you make for me. So sweet.” He groaned as he took your hands and placed them above your head. You lifted your hips, trying to create some friction on your clit. Your soft panting made Lewis press even harder into you. “You just can’t help yourself can you? Humping me so desperately because you want me to fuck you.”

“Please, please.” You whimpered which caused him to chuckle. He bruised your lips with a rough kiss once more before he flipped you onto your stomach and parted your legs. You wiggled your hips as you patiently waited for him - you knew that he loved taking his time with you. He caressed the back of your thighs, kneading your ass and parting your cheeks.

“The prettiest pussy.” He said as he laid in between your legs and softly bit onto your thigh.

“You’re gonna eat it baby?” You asked him as you leaned back, feeling his beard on the inner part of your thigh.

“Yes pretty girl, I’m gonna eat your pussy and you’re going to cum all over my face.” Air faltered out of your lungs as he dragged his tongue down your slit and pulled your clit into his mouth. His hands pulled your cheeks further apart as he feasted on your pussy.

The sloppy sounds of Lewis eating your pussy mingled with your unfiltered moans. He groaned into your cunt and smacked your ass as he flicked his tongue even harder against your clit.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned louder when he introduced his fingers into your cunt, immediately pressing down onto your g-spot. You grabbed onto the headboard and began grinding on his face faster and faster. His satisfied groans vibrated through your body as he worked your body with his mouth and fingers.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, I’m gonna fucking cum!” You gasped as you moved your hips until your body trembled with your first orgasm of the night. He licked your pussy until you were trying to throw your body away from him. He chuckled as he finally moved his lips away from your body and watched you collapse into the mattress.

“I hope you’re not tapping out just yet Princess. I’m just getting started.” He said as he stripped his clothes away from his body, leaving him bare between your legs. He flipped you onto your back and took your hands into his and from the side, he pulled the tie and bound your hands together and raised them above your head. Securing them on the headboard, he moved away from your body to search for condoms.

“Wait!” You yelled which halted his actions and he looked at you.

“What’s wrong Angel?” He asked you as he approached the bed and sunk beside you. As bound as you were, you leaned your body closer to his and held his eye contact.

“I want you to fuck me raw.” You told him.

“Baby …”

“Please? I’m clean and I’ve been on birth control for the past three months. I want to feel you come inside of me. I need it, please baby. Can you give that to me?”

“Fuuucckkk.” Lewis moaned as he grabbed your throat and shoved you into the bed as he situated himself in between your legs once more. Your eyes slightly rolled to the back of your head as he restricted your airwaves and rubbed the tip of his cock against your opening.

“Are you sure you want that with me? Because once I have you this way, there’s no going back. I’m going to want to fuck you just like this every time.” He warned as he coated himself in your slick. It was true what he was saying but you loved this man more than anything and this was going to be the next step. During a conversation, you had made it known that you loved the feel of your partner filling you up but it took an immense amount of trust for you to get to this point. With Lewis, you were there and you wanted him completely.

“I’m sure. I’m so fucking sure, I need you.” With that he pushed his cock inside of you, slowly until you were filled to the brim. With your air passage restricted and Lewis slow stroking you, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the pleasure quickly intensified.

“Fucking hell Princess. You feel so fucking good like this.” He growled as he snapped his hips forwards. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You spread your legs even further for him to accommodate his body. Your mouth fell open as you looked in between your bodies where you connected and watched his dick move in and out of you, covered in your cream. His breath hitched in his throat as he disappeared in your folds. He was slowly losing his senses but he held onto his control as he guided himself deeper into you.

He was so thick and stretched you to your limits and you were taking it all. You wanted to touch him as your arms ached to reach out for him but the tie was digging into your wrists. He held onto your waist as he rocked himself into you, the weight of his body almost crushing you but it felt too good having him thrust in and out of you over and over again.

Your moans rang out until he shoved his fingers into your mouth, gagging you as he fucked you harder until you couldn’t breath. Your chest was burning but the pleasure was too much and all consuming. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and wrapped them around your neck once more as he pounded your cunt . The sound of your thighs slapping against each other with your wild moans echoed in the room.

Lewis leaned down and sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, slowing his pace and caressing your arms to soothe them from the ache from being stretched out. You whimpered into his mouth as he felt deeper this way as he rolled his hips.

“I love the way you handle me.” He whispered. You nodded your head in a daze as you could feel yourself tightening up causing him to groan into your jawline. He nibbled on your soft skin, kissing the bruising from his suckling on your neck earlier. He put his hand underneath your back, pulling you tighter against him which changed the angling of his thrusts which caused a gasp to leave you as he pushed against your spot. The tip of his cock hammered at it until you were trembling beneath him.

“Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck!” You cussed as your eyes closed and your mouth parted. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Come for me right fucking now.” He hissed against your cheek as he kept up with his momentum. He watched as you writhed beneath him, letting yourself go and soaking his dick and his thighs with your cream. “You look so beautiful when you come Princess. Do it again.”

He quickly untied your wrists and you wrapped them around his neck. He smacked the right side of your ass as his thrusts became more desperate. He tightly gripped your hips as he became more erratic and you could feel him swell inside of you.

His moans were getting louder with each thrust.

“Please come inside of me Lew.” You whispered as you looked up at him. His hand came to the back of your throat and pulled you in for a rough kiss, his grunts echoing into your mouth as the both of you got closer to the edge.

“Say it again.”

“Come inside of me! Please baby, fill me up. Wanna feel you please!”

“Fuck!” Lewis exclaimed before he dropped his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m gonna fill you up Princess. Gonna fuck my cum deep inside this pretty pussy.” He murmured as he kissed your shoulder. His word threw you over the edge as you clenched around him tighter and came yet again. Your orgasm triggering his own as his muscles tightened beneath your fingertips as he came deep inside of you. He held onto you as he twitched until he stopped coming.

Your soft breaths and caresses brought him out of his daze. Lewis lifted his head and kissed along your jawline until he captured your lips into a soft and slow kiss. He cupped your cheek with one hand and held his body up with his other as he watched you.

“How are you feeling beautiful?” He asked.

“Full.” Your answer caused him to chuckle before he slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered at the loss of him inside of you and clenched your muscles to keep his essence from dripping out.

“Stay right here.” He smacked your ass causing you to giggle. He walked to the bathroom, staying in there for a while as you closed your eyes to take in the moment. The intensity was different this time around - the both of you had crossed a line that you personally could not come back from.

You were his girlfriend now and that brought on a wave load of emotions that you weren’t able to deal with right now. You were happy and that’s all that mattered.

The bed dipped and you felt a warm cloth touch your thighs. He wiped you down, showering your body with kisses as he did so and after he was done, he grabbed a bottle of water and a fruit platter from the room fridge. Getting into the blankets, he wrapped his arm around you and you laid your head on his chest.

“You feeling okay baby?” He asked as he fed you grapes along with sips of water. You nodded your head as you looked up at him and pecked his lips.

“Today was amazing, thank you so much baby.” He cuddled you closer to his body and pecked your lips again.

“You deserve the world Princess and for as long as you want me, I’ll give it to you.” He murmured.

“You’re so fucking corny.” You mumbled which caused him to chuckle.

“But you love it.” He replied as he began to tickle you. You squealed as you tried moving your body away from him but he dragged you closer, continuing to tickle you anywhere that he could.

“Okay okay! I love it! Damn!” You yelled which caused him to stop.

“I have one more present for you.” Lewis said as he got out of the bed with his boxers hanging low on his hips. You bit onto your bottom lip as you watched his hips sway as he walked. His back was slightly red from your nails marking his skin making his back even more attractive to you. He bent down into his suitcase and grabbed onto a black velvet box.

He came back and sat on the bed beside you and placed the box on your chest. You sat up and took the box into your hand.

“What is it?”

“Just open it.”

And when you did, your eyes were greeted with a necklace with his initials as the pendant. The letters were encrusted with white diamonds along with the chain.

“I had gotten this as a way to show you that I truly mean it when I say I’m committed to you. I don’t take this relationship lightly and sometimes when I say stuff, it’ll come out as corny but I mean it, it’s how I feel about you. There’s no hiding with you YN, I’m proud to be your boyfriend.”

“Fuck.” You sniffed as tears began to line your eyes yet again. You placed the box on the side as you grabbed his face and captured his lips. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue slipped into yours.

“I love you.” You whispered in between the kiss.

“I love you too. So, so much.” He replied as he pulled away from you and laid his forehead against yours. You hugged him before you pulled him down with you onto the bed. He shifted his body underneath the duvet and in between your legs.

“We go together, like real bad.” You grinned as he pressed his hardening cock against the inner part of your thigh. Your body was becoming hot all over again as you pushed his boxers away from his hips.

“I like the sound of that.” He replied as he held onto your chin as he kissed you once more …

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orchidyoonkook · 2 years ago

Text

Under The Willow Tree | MYG

Title: Under The Willow Tree

Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life

Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?

Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.

Word Count: 7401

Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM

A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process.

A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k, @katykatmeow, @here4btsfics and @phthartic-fox for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness.

It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.

Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.

It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.

The one under which you had your first kiss.

You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.

But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.

It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.

To get away. From anyone and everything.

There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.

Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.

Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.

Copy. Paste.

Copy.

Paste.

You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.

You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.

You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are.

And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.

Copy.

Paste.

It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.

You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.

You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.

What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.

You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.

Of leaving.

But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.

It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.

You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.

You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.

Seen how they treat him.

Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.

You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.

The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.

Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.

Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.

They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.

As if he were acid.

As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.

You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.

And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.

You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.

You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.

And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.

You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’ having not once in your life resonated.

You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.

The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.

The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base.

Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.

No one bothers you here.

Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.

And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.

So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.

Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.

Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.

Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.

So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.

You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.

You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering.

You’re always elsewhere.

And he’s finally figured out where that is.

He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did.

Not to him.

But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer.

Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.

So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house.

For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.

After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves.

You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you.

Soft. Wistful even.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.

Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.

And as he does, you get your first real look at him.

He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.

The ones now focused on you.

“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”

So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?

…Why you?

You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.

To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.

It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

Can you trust him?

No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.

All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.

“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.

“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

Those four words alone are all you need.

He gets it.

“Yeah.”

Maybe you can trust him.

Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.

And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”

You think about it for only a second.

No. No you didn’t.

“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”

He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.

And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.

“Yoongi.”

An introduction.

“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.

His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff.

So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.

Releasing, he settles in.

What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.

It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.

Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.

Your favourite.

Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.

Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.

The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.

You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.

On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.

“Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.

Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.

“Pride and Prejudice.”

That was the last answer you expected.

“Why?”

He lifts his head to look at you.

“I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”

After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.

“Just have to save up enough money first.”

You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?

Who knew?

Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.

He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.

That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.

You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.

“Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.

“Getting there,” was all he gave.

And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.

Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.

“My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”

You grieved for him as he told you his story.

How he had to raise himself.

Just like you did.

“I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.

Knowing how it felt to be alone.

You understood.

You did, you did, you did.

Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”

It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.

And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.

How you’d…treated him.

A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.

Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.

“My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.

Even though it was August.

“He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”

You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips. He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.

He understood.

It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.

The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.

Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.

Just him and his bike.

You turn sheepish.

“Can I tell you something?”

He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.

Brown and endless.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take a deep breath.

“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”

A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.

“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”

There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.

He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”

You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.

“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too.

But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.

“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”

“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.

“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”

“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.

“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”

Oh. Well then it must be,

“Your pants pocket?”

“Nuh uh, try again.”

Damnit!

You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?

“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.

“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”

Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.

It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.

He holds it against a palm to show you.

“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.

With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”

A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.

And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.

An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.

One he doesn’t know if he deserves.

Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.

“Yoongi,” you hesitate.

It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.

You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.

What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.

You falter. “W-what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”

“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”

“But I—”

“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”

It never leaves your neck.

“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.

“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.

“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”

He was kidding right? He must be.

For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.

What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.

So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.

But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.

“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.

“Because I’ll be there.”

And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,

“Okay, fine.”

Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.

“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.

Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.

“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.

“Oh.”

What a weird place for an ignition.

“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”

Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.

“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.

He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”

Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.

You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.

Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”

You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.

The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.

“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”

“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.

“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”

Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.

Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.

Holy shit!

You’re riding a motorcycle!

You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?

Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.

Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.

He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.

You’re positively giddy.

“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.

Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate.

But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.

It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.

“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.

Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.

And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.

The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.

Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy.

“Really?”

He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’

You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.

Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.

Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.

And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,

“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours.

What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well...

“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided.

Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen.

Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.

He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.

You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.

You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.

You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to.

Literally.

But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.

Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips. A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you.

Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.

Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.

Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.

He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.

And you’re worried.

Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.

It’s not like you can go looking for him.

And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.

But you can’t help it.

Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.

Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.

They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

Six days.

It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.

“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.

“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.

And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”

Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.

“B-but why? What happened?”

“I got fired.”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”

Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.

Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.

The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.

The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.

The Yoongi you fell for.

Your Yoongi.

The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.

He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.

You don’t know this person.

And you hate it.

You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.

He’s—he’s leaving.

Actually leaving.

This place, it’s people.

You...

The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.

“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.

Don’t let him see you cry.

He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?

You don’t get to feel this way!

Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.

Make it go away. Far, far away.

Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.

In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.

His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.

He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.

Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”

But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.

You’re crying.

He made you cry.

And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.

“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.

Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.

Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.

You have no one, aside from Yoongi.

And now you won’t even have him.

So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.

But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help.

And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.

An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight.

He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.

He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.

You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.

When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.

“I got you.”

“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do.

This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust.

Of course he’s got you.

You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”

The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.

“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.

“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.

It doesn’t meet much resistance.

Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.

He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.

Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.

It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.

You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.

So close, yet so far away.

Because he’s leaving.

And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.

He’s as special as they come.

Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.

Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.

Like him.

You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.

It’s funny, really.

It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere.

Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

Anywhere he can reach.

Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.

You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.

And then you’re scared.

Terrified, actually.

To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.

What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?

Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?

What if you just ruined everything?

Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.

For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.

Is it shock? Or worse.

Disgust?

Doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“

Lips on yours shut you up.

It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.

It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.

He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.

You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.

Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.

The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.

Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.

He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”

You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”

“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”

Yoongi looks so serious but..

He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.

And now?

Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss.

“Come. With. Me.”

It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.

So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.

You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.

“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”

He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.

Your salvation.

And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.

Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.

In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.

In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.

Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years.

Something he never wants to lose again.

He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.

Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.

Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.

For not being like one of them.

Because you’re not one of them.

You never have been.

And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.

You don’t have to anymore.

You’re free.

A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

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wisecrackingeric-2 · 11 months ago

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LONG ASS MESSAGE UNDER CUT!!!!!!!!!!!! ITS A MASSIVE THANK YOU TO EVERYONE!!! I’ll tag everyone whose made a star for this drawing in the replies- if I’ve missed anyone or if you wanna be added, PLEASE LET KNOW!!!!!!!

At the time of writing this, there’s about 40 minutes let of 2023, and I’m VERY DETERMINED to get this posted before 2024 so I am in a bit of a rush so alas, this may not be as well-written as I’d like it to be but that’s the price I must pay alas HDNEHENEJDN

I wanna start this by saying I’ve always had a lot of anxieties surrounding the New Years, and things changing- even just seeing posts that were from the year prior always seems to give me anxiety. Things change, people move on, while I stay with the same interests- it’s always been something I’ve struggled with, but making this has helped me come to terms with all of that and I’m glad.

Theres no better words I can say right now other than; Thank You. Thank you so, so, SO much to my friends, both new and old- my friends who’ve been here since the very beginning and have stuck by me through this whole rollercoaster- and to all of my new friends, who it sometimes feels like I’ve known you all for at LEAST five years and not like, five months or something HDBWHNWUDNDHDJS thank you to everyone who has ever been kind to me, supported me and enjoyed what I’ve created- I’ve recieved probably the kindest words I’ve ever heard in my entire life this year. Thank you to the people who stuck by me when times got tough and helped me through my own seemingly very insignificant or silly problems HDNEJENSK

This year has easily been one of the best years of my life. 2022, to keep it short, was awful- I came out as a Transgender gay man to my parents and it went awful. I was dealing with the worst mental health of my entire life and there were times it felt like there was no hope. On top of all of that, my childhood dog passed away- so all and all, I wasn’t looking forward to the future. But my loving partner introduced me to Resident Evil, and as a result the community as a whole- and to say it changed my life would be an understatement.

I know it’s obviously no secret that I have a favourite character, Luis Serra Navarro- but to say his character has changed me as a person for the better would also be a MASSIVE understatement. I’ve never ever in my entire life resonated with a character so profoundly before- as a queer and trans man, I saw myself reflected in his performance, and that means more to me than words can even describe. His character encapsulated me in a way no other has done before, and genuinely helped me accept my autism, my queerness and my trans identity as a good thing- I could write absolutely ESSAYS on his character and I have. I’ve consumed more Don Quixote media than I think I ever would have otherwise HDNEHENEJD and to say I’ve genuinely become a more confident and happier person because of his character would, again, be SUCH an understatement. It’s truly hard to describe how much he means to me, but I hope my words give a good idea.

For the first time in a very, very long time, I get to look forward to my future. I don’t see my Queerness or my Trans identity as a setback anymore; I have things to look forward to, plans I’ve made and a future I can look towards. And I cannot thank my friends- all of you know who you are- André and Andrea and everyone in my life and this small little community I’ve unintentionally formed for giving me that opportunity. Words will never be able to describe how grateful I truly am, but I hope this is close enough.

Thank you for letting me fully indulge in my autism and enjoy Luis’ character to the fullest. I’ve never felt happier enjoying something in my entire life.

Thank you everyone. For everything. May you all successfully defeat your own windmills <3

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d0llylove · 2 years ago

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♡furry feline [3]

♡pairing: saiki kusuo x f!reader

♡synopsis: saiki notices that you had a bad day, getting annoyed by your whining about how much you longed to see the neighbourhood cat, he decided to take matters into his own hands to shut you up.

♡t/w: saiki turns into a cat lol, srsly slow burn like really slow I'm warning u LOL, implied that reader cries from stress at job, sorry I forgot the colour of saiki's eyes 💀

♡link to pt1 , pt2

"please, please, please, let me see that cat again, just one pat, just one!"

yet again, it was your annoying voice ringing in kusuo's ears again. summer break is usually saiki's favourite time of the year, a break from all the people who loves to bother him so much.

however, recently, his neighbour (you) has gotten a part-time job. constantly coming home whining about how tired you were, and the worst of all, insistently praying to see the stray cats that roamed around the neighbourhood.

your feet dragged against the pavement, awfully loud against saiki's ears, you kept letting out continuous sighs as if the winds weren't loud enough. it was almost ten pm, the moonlight that shined against your skin almost made you look breath-taking. (even though saiki can't see lol and even if he did he probably would never admit it)

this wasn't the first time you came home letting out such loud complaints. even though you were the one who signed up for the job, he could tell you were tired from all the customers that you dealt with. he almost finds it humorous how you would rant to yourself excessively, retelling the story of how a customer was rude to you in an over-exaggerated manner.

today was particularly different, even though you often ranted to yourself, you would usually just laugh it off. but this time, your voice was filled with a hint of sadness. perhaps it was the accumulation of unlucky things that occurred.

you were almost reaching home passing by saiki's residence when your eyes landed on a pearl white feline that stood in the middle of the pavement. it's head adorned with two odd pink balls and emerald green glasses that sat above it's nose.

you froze in place.

'are the gods finally answering to my prayers?'

'no you idiot, its just your neighbour,' saiki thinks to himself sarcastically.

it's violet eyes that sparkled behind it glasses that seemed to stare into your soul, you stood for a moment, contemplating whether to approach the cat or not.

getting into a squatting position, you slowly waddled towards the furry feline.

'good grief, what is wrong with you..'

"can I pet you?" you whispered, waddling towards it.

'you have 5 minutes.' saiki thought to himself, yet again with his sarcastic remarks.

saiki's senses have heightened even more in his cat form, he could easily take in your subtle sweet scent of perfume as you crouched in front of him. if he were to be honest, he was curious about how you would look under the moonlight, obviously without his x-ray vision.

you reached out, letting the cat sniff your hand. it's soft fur that rubbed against your hand, your heart fluttered as you revelled in the sight of the cat pushing its furry head into your hand.

wet? he feels something wet hitting his head. the cat looks up at you, watching in shock as tears ran down your cheeks. stroking the cat gently, giving it one last pet before getting up.

you whispered a gentle thank you, before turning away, hands wiping your tears away, a stupid smile that was plastered on your face as you walked towards your house.

saiki waited a little, watching as you went through your gate. you glanced back, seeing as the cat stayed in its place. letting out a little squeal you walked into your house, steps bouncing a little.

finally, he transformed back to his human form.

'good grief, aren't you emotional..' saiki let out a scoff, walking back to his house.

"what the hell?!" it was your voice? it was you? he thought you went into your house already.

'shit.'

#kusuo saiki #kusuo x reader #saiki k #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki no psi nan #saiki x reader

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profoundbondfanfic · 2 months ago

Note

Hello there! Your blog has become a daily addition to my life. I look forward to your recommendations everyday. Thank you for the work that you do.

I was wondering if you could recommend some Historical AUs. If there's pining an it's slow burn then great!

Thank you so much!

Hey! That means a lot, thank you for the kind words💜

A Ghost Story by emmbrancsxx0 (Explicit, 261k words)

On a dare, Dean spends the night in an old house supposedly haunted by the ghost of a man awaiting the return of his lost love. Once inside, the place - and one certain dark-haired man in a 19th-century photograph - seem awfully familiar. But that’s impossible, right?

A Novel Affair by EllenOfOz, MalMuses (Explicit, 77k words)

Castiel Novak is the new proprietor of a tea room in Cheltenham—a business he inherited from his Great-Uncle Balthazar. His uncle expressly wished for the tea room to continue to offer a modest reading room to its customers, complete with a shelf of popular novels that people often mark with their favourite passages, or tuck notes between the pages for others to find. But there are some in the town who do not approve of the corrupting influence of novels. Dean Winchester, newly arrived in the country for the summer, is not about to let the handsome gentleman with the pretty blue eyes lose his business—especially not now that he's corresponding with a charming, well-read stranger through the pages of one of the novels on his shelves.

All Things In Succession by everandanon (Explicit, 331k words)

When thirteen-year-old Castiel unexpectedly presents as an omega, everything changes. Worst of all, his older brother is sending him away — to be married. Still, though everyone insists Cas can’t be a knight anymore, maybe his new husband will feel differently. As for Dean, the last thing he’s expecting his mysterious husband-to-be is a child. Though he’s furious with his dad and Cas’s older brother, Dean goes through with the marriage, anyway. If he doesn’t, they’ll give the poor kid to someone else, and who knows what will happen to him? Nah, Dean’ll just stash the kid in the barracks to train to his heart’s content, and life will go on. Of course, Cas can’t stay a kid forever, but as the years pass, Dean seems more and more determined to pretend otherwise . . .

Angel in the Iron Mask by MalicMalic (Explicit, 58k words)

Finally free of his actual shackles, Castiel finds himself in a situation a lot worse than being locked in the dungeon with an iron mask to conceal his face. The intrigues of the court will make his head ache, but it would all be worth it if he could just find a way to save the omega that had been enslaved to him.

Captive of the Viking by jhoom (Mature, 19k words)

Dean the Ruthless is consumed by his need for vengeance. He takes his enemy’s widowed nephew, Castiel, as his slave… His captive might fight him at first, but Dean knows he’ll soon tempt Castiel into his bed. Castiel’s marriage only ever bought him fear and pain, but powerful Viking Dean is nothing like his cruel wife. And the longer he stays with his captor, the more he wants to give in to the new sensations the ferocious warrior evokes in him. Will he give in to this ferocious warrior’s seduction?

Dear Father by Salamitsunami1 (Explicit, 68k words)

It’s 1973, and it’s the middle of spring, and each passing day is warmer than the one before it. The troops are returning from Vietnam in droves, and the American shores they stumble upon are just a little more accepting of homosexuality than the ones they left all those years ago. But Father Castiel Novak has never even stepped foot out of Salvation, let alone out of the Midwest, and as the only priest in this very small town, he’s determined to remain in the closet until his very last breath. Things take a turn when Salvation’s newest resident confesses to having urges for other men. Dean Winchester wastes no time in asserting himself as both intolerably arrogant and an ungodly temptation, and Castiel’s only defense is to keep his distance. Despite his best efforts, a friendship still ensues, and it’s a very slippery slope then, with things going from bad to worse when Dean offers his self-proclaimed good hands to help bring Castiel’s family home back to life.

His Imperial Guardian by Briston (Explicit, 41k words)

Mr. Dean Winchester would do anything so that his brother might become a successful barrister. After years of personal compromise threatens to bring them both to ruin, Dean is left with but one option to save his brother. His Serenity the Count Castiel Novak is the recently installed Russian Ambassador to St. James’s Court in London. The cold brutality the English display toward those who share his preferences leaves him incensed and wanting to lash out. Looking for a wrong to set right, he ventures into a dangerous part of London to find a way to dispense with some of his anger and frustration. What he finds instead, is a man close to death and in need of his protection. A man he very much suspects shares his natural proclivities. How will Castiel convince the mysterious man that he is safe under his protection?

Ninety One Whiskey by komodobits (Explicit, 401k words)

In the spring of 1944, the 104th Medical Battalion of the United States Army is disbanded, and its men reassigned to various infantry companies in preparation for their invasion of occupied France. For First Lieutenant Novak, this is less than helpful, as he has so far met his platoon’s designated medic a grand total of twice, and has both times found Sergeant Winchester to be the optimum combination of reckless, arrogant, and downright insufferable so as to make cohesive platoon function near impossible. When the time comes to move out, however, Castiel has to reconcile himself to the fact that men are going to go down and trust that Dean Winchester may well be the only person who can put them back together again. WW2 ETO infantry AU.

o weary traveler by dothraki_shieldmaiden (Explicit, 107k words)

Still reeling from the death of his father, Dean Winchester has one goal: make it home to Lawrence, where his kingdom and the rest of his life are waiting for him. His task is made infinitely more difficult when he shipwrecks on a mysterious island. When his crew and then his brother disappears, Dean enters into a deal with the island's mysterious inhabitant, Castiel, to keep them safe. The catch? He can never leave. Bound by his deal, Dean has no choice but to get to know Castiel, and what he finds is surprising. Castiel is kinder than he originally thought, even though he's harboring his own secrets and guilt. Dean needs to return to Lawrence, but he finds himself reluctant to leave Castiel behind. Meanwhile, Castiel knows that the kindest thing to do for Dean is to let him go, regardless of his own feelings towards him. As their relationship deepens into friendship and then something more, Dean and Castiel face both outside dangers as well as their own doubts. Can Castiel find it within himself to let Dean leave? Can Dean find it within himself to go? Or can these two create their own destiny?

Rapscallions by the_scrubjay (Explicit, 106k words)

Castiel was expected to be the Omega heir to his father’s kingdom. Upon presentation as an Alpha, he was stripped of his title and privileges, now a pawn to be used as his father saw fit. Dean, as his father’s eldest son, was expected to present as an Alpha and eventually assume the throne. When he presented as an Omega, he became just another bargaining chip at his father’s disposal. When the Kings strike a deal for an alliance, Dean and Castiel are expected to mate to join the two nations together. On the night, the two find themselves unable to follow through and instead agree to play along to avoid the wrath of their fathers. Once settled in the joint territory they’re intended to oversee, they find that the world is much different than it is at home. And maybe back home wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Rescue Me Tonight by superhoney (Explicit, 40k words)

In order to secure his chance at a better life, he’ll have to ruin the best man he’s ever known. When Dean first hears the proposal, he fears it’s a joke: he’ll be paid to seduce one of the most well-respected bachelors in London, Lord Castiel Milton, and then break his heart. But Lord Castiel’s enemies are ruthless men, and they’ll stop at nothing to see him humbled, including hiring Dean to play the role of a lifetime. Transforming himself from a lowly prostitute to a well-bred country lord won’t be easy, but if all goes according to plan, Dean will finally be free from the life he despises. He never expected to fall in love along the way.

The Leap by FriendofCarlotta (Explicit 82k words)

1961: Sixteen years after the end of World War II, Berlin remains occupied by the Allied Forces — America, Britain, France and the Soviet Union. Castiel Krushnic is a police officer in Soviet-occupied East Berlin. He is also gay, in a city where that’s a dangerous thing to be. One night, he meets Dean Winchester, a mechanic from the American sector. Their mutual attraction is instant, and a convenient hookup quickly turns into a passionate love affair that defies all rules and expectations. But Cold War Berlin is a troubled place, and as more and more residents flee Soviet-occupied territory for the West, Castiel’s superiors begin to make plans to build a wall. The wall would cut off East Berlin from the rest of the city — and leave Dean and Castiel on opposite sides.

The Omega Classifieds by ValandraWrites (Explicit, 73k words)

Life isn’t easy for a single Omega. Without an Alpha on record, Dean can’t work, can’t mate, and by law, should have been turned over to The Omega Center to be trained and auctioned off for mating. To avoid that fate, Dean resorts to the Omega Classifieds to try and find a mate. The enigmatic and charming Castiel Krushnic catches his eye and maybe his heart, but will he make his claim official before Dean’s luck runs out?

The Sun of Huntra by Inkblooded_Witch, PetraAmia (Explicit, 162k words)

Castiel, firstborn prince to the Enochian crown, has lived his life largely out of public view. His father is a staunch supporter of tradition, and to have an Omega as your firstborn is shameful. Castiel didn’t even inherit the king’s Shifter breed. The first time he’s truly useful in over thirty years is when a strong treaty must be made with their northern neighbors, and to secure it Enochia needs an Omega to mate off to Huntra’s crown prince.

You can check our historical tag if you're interested in more. Also, there's the Noir Bang coming in late fall with excellent 1940s fics.

#asks #group rec #historical

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chasedbyatlantic · 9 months ago

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persimmon, joel miller

masterlist summary: IN WHICH — when you and joel miller are having a relaxing day outside of jackson, you accidentally come across one of his favourite things.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson era!joel, female!era, no use of y/n, relationship-like content from joel and reader, cute bickering and flirting, literally just fluff, mentions of guns/injuries/swearing. lmk if i missed anything!

wordcount: 2.1k

a/n: i am heavily obsessed with the new fruit for flies ep by the army, the navy so i was heavily inspired to write for this. tell me joel wouldnt absolutely love persimmons like ik he would love them. remember to like, comment, reblog, and follow for more!! xoxo

—

Days spent outside the walls meant days spent with him. You were not one to complain about company, not now, not ever. You two started your runs a year ago, by a force of sorts. Tommy, one of your best friends, had assigned you the role of "protecting" his brother while outside. Tommy trusted you with his life, the two of you rolled together before you guys found Jackson, so he knew you very well. To ask such a big thing from you, to keep his brother out of trouble, meant a lot to you.

Though, it also brought on a lot of stress. Joel had none of it at the start, he thought it was stupid to have more people around him then needed. At first, you thought it was stupid that Tommy had wanted this, Joel carried himself well and was very smart when it came to surviving outside the walls. Soon enough, you had realized why. Joel was old, as much as he may have not wanted to admit. He couldn't move as fast as he once could, his reflexes weren't instant, he ran a step slower. You, on the other hand, were young and stealthy- you were the sense of freshness in his life.

Joel didn't like you at the start, he made it crystal clear. For weeks, he would barely talk to you, only to bicker or to give you directions. It was after you helped Ellie recover from a flu that almost wiped her out that he started talking to you. It went from zero to one hundred very quick, but as mentioned earlier, you would never complain about it.

Today was the first day the two of you had gone and done your usual route outside of the walls since spring had started. The winter was long and rough, many people caught some sort of sickness and passed in the town the two of you resided in. It was sad, some people you knew, but that's what happens when you're not able to operate with proper medical care. Anyway, after it had rained for about a week straight, the sun was out today. It's warmth made you think about the nice weather to come, and not the rough time everyone had months prior.

Your hands were gripping onto your backpack straps as though your life depended on it. Your eyes were shut the opposite, gentle and carefree. Joel's presence beside you was enough to shut your eyes for just a moment, and not worry about everything around you. In this moment right now, Joel was protecting you when it should be the other way around. "Careful now, cowgirl," He said so casually, "Don't go'n trip on my watch."

You didn't want to open your eyes, you really didn't, the sun didn't want that either. Your eyes opened, though, and you were left blind for a moment due to having to adjust to the brighter area. As you did this, you could feel Joel's hand linger around the small of your back and lead you past some piece of rusted metal that was on your path. You swatted him away after he did this, shooting him a glare. "Don't baby me, Miller."

He could only laugh as his hand moved off of you. He held his hands up in defence. "Ya' better start watchin' where y'ur goin', then. Tetanus will get ya' before a runner does." You wanted to stay mad after he said that, you really did, but you couldn't help but let a small laugh or two escape from your pissed off expression. Joel would never say it out loud, but he thought it was cute when you did that. When you did anything, really, but that was a topic for another day.

You and Joel had been walking for what felt like forever now, but in reality, only about three hours. As per usual, the two of you were further than deep in conversation. "Y'ur such a country guy. I'm bettin' on Keith Urban." A smile rose to your face, trying to remember other country artists that were popular around the time before hell rose. "Listen, I won't deny it," Joel began, "Rock'n'roll is where it's at, though." You almost stopped dead in your tracks, before you burst out with laughter. Joel? A rock and roll man? There's no way.

Joel stood there, extremely unimpressed, as he waited for your laughs to die down. Once you stood back up and composed yourself, you dramatically wiped a fake tear from under your eye. "I've never laughed so hard." He shook his head, "Ya' piss me off, you know that?" You gave him a pat on the shoulder as you continued down your path, "Love you too!"

The two of you bickered for the next while as you walked down the road. It went from concrete to gravel in a short amount of time, indicating you two were in the remote part of the city. By stepping along this gravel road, it brought back so many memories that you had distanced yourself from. The first time out with him, the day both of you got caught in the rain, the day he kissed you. It was in the heat of the moment, no feelings attached. Some days you wish there were feelings attached, but you had more important things to worry about.

It was strange, the second the two of you stepped on the gravel path, three deer were seen down the street. You went to open your mouth, but you could feel a hand cover the bottom half of your face. It wasn't yours, you were sure of it, the hand felt too rough to be yours. That meant only one thing. You turned to face Joel, your eyes focusing on his. His arm was outstretched (not by much) to cover your lips and chin, his other hand reaching up and placing his pointer finger on his lips, indicating for you to be quiet. You listened.

You both turned your heads back in unity, to face the deer. They seem to have seen you, now turning and carefully running back into the woods. You shoved Joel's hand off of your face as gentle as possible, yelling a quick 'shit!'. Joel had reached back for his hunting rifle that was slung across his back, "Hungry?" Before you could even reply to him, you were taking off. You were sprinting like you were in a race to win a gold medal at the olympics.

Joel was on your tail in no time, he was taller which meant that his strides were longer. The two of you ran for fifteen minutes, following the deer as closely as you could. Though, they were still faster. As they slowly exited the picture, from where the both of you could see, Joel fired a shot. He swore he hit one, but nothing decided to wait around for when you two got closer. A sigh left his lips when he came to the realization that he didn't get one, not so much for him to enjoy, but for you to have.

You noticed this, shoving his arm with your elbow. "Cheer up," You began, "We can set up here for a little bit. If ya' need somethin' to do, I'm out of water." You passed Joel a small smile, sticking out your water bottle for him to grab. He wanted to stay upset, but he couldn't help himself. He nodded and took it, "Stay put'n call if ya' need anythin'." And he was off. Joel didn't question you, or bicker to stay. He knew better when you were looking out for him.

You did anything but stay put, actually. You decided to scavenge the area. If there was anything (or anyone, for that matter), they would've came over when they heard you and Joel. The ground was extremely unreliable, bumps and holes were scattered everywhere so you took your time. You weren't sure how long you walked for, but it was long enough to get to an open field from the secluded forest.

It was so beautiful, the long rows of nothing. The once short bushes that were probably maintained were now grown completely out of control, growing everywhere but in place. You wish you had a camera, to keep more than just a mental image of this beautiful place.

You stood in the same spot for at least ten minutes, just capturing every small detail. Sure, Jackson had a nice garden, but it came nowhere near as unique as this one. Just when your eyes finished the look-around, they laid on the deer you and Joel had tried to get earlier. Your eyes had widened, you had found them.

If they hadn't noticed you before they heard a twig crack, they sure as hell did now. They took one look at you and ran off. You hadn't moved a step, so who made that sound? Your hand fell onto your holster as you spun around faster than you had thought you did. Your eyes landed on the man you knew too well. "Didn't think ya' had it in ya' to shoot me, cowgirl."

For fuck sakes, Joel, you thought to yourself. You buttoned your holster back up and turned back to face where the deer stood just a moment ago, too angry to look at Joel right now. He must've taken the hint, since he didn't bug you anymore. Instead, he decided to walk in front of you and to where the deer were. Joel didn't crouch, but he stuck his hand into the tree's green and brown branches.

You rose your brow, how couldn't you. Joel was channeling his inner garden boy with this, but you didn't break a laugh. A quiet 'ah, there ya' are' had escaped Joel's lips, just loud enough for you to hear. Instead of remaining where you were, you followed his trail and closed up on him. Your gaze fell onto the small orange thing he had in his hand.

Without warning, he just- bit into it. You had a blank stare, your mouth slightly opened. This could've been poisonous for all you knew, for all Joel knew. He took note of your horrific look, "Eat it, it's good." He handed you the small, orange fruit and waited. You had no choice but to take it, and take it hesitantly. You rose it towards your lips, and carefully took a bite.

It was mushy and sour, definitely too ripe for your liking. You handed it back and turned your head, spitting out whatever remained of the fruit in your mouth. You had a grossed-out look to your face as Joel popped the rest of the fruit in his mouth. It was genuinely disgusting, and you didn't know how he could eat it, you thought to yourself.

"It's persimmon." He told you, wiping the juice from his hands off and on his pants. Persimmon, you've never heard of it. "Like the colour?" You had asked him, giving up on your strike from talking to him. He let out a loud laugh, definitely scaring off any animal that might've came to check the two of you out. "Like the fruit, cowgirl."

"Well," You had stood on your tip toes and picked another one of these persimmons off the tree, "you enjoy them then." Your hand moved without thinking, it reached forward and grabbed Joel's, and placed the fruit in it. The fruit was about one fourth of the size of Joel's hand, so it looked a bit silly to you.

His hand closed, almost taking yours with his. "Ya' best believe I will." A small smile rose to your lips as your eyes rolled, he was too cocky for your liking. You thought to yourself for a moment. You had remembered this one story that Maria, Tommy's wife, had told you, about an olive theory. One person absolutely hates olives and refuses to eat them, whereas the second person loves them and will eat them for the first person. This story had reminded you of this moment, reminded you of yourself and Joel with the persimmons.

You two would mingle around the tree for the next while, Joel stuffing his face while you stuffed your bag with the bright orange fruit. Even though you didn't eat them, you smiled as you watched Joel enjoy something he loves. The two of you wouldn't dare tell anyone back home about what you had discovered while out and about. For this, this was yours and Joel's persimmon tree.

—

persimmon, the army, the navy

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