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saintshigaraki · 3 years

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HERE, IN THE MORNING LIGHT, IS WHERE WE’LL BARE OUR SOULS

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

words: 3.2k

excerpt: Really, how many times can you blame Ushijima for breaking your heart when you’re the one who can’t seem to stop handing it to him -- on a silver fucking platter no less.

a/n: this is...a bit too similar to my bakugou drabble i’ll admit. but i could see a relationship with ushijima having some of the same problems. he’s not purposely cruel, but god, doesn’t that just make it so much worse?

tags: angst, mentions of alcohol, implied sex, reader is full of rage, ambiguous/open ending

in case you want to read it on ao3!

You greet Toshi at the door, as you’ve made a habit of doing when he manages to come home before you’ve fallen asleep.

(Like a well-trained dog, you think, with only the most bitter sort of amusement.)

When you lift your hand up to cup his face, a sweet hello, love, how was your day? on your lips, he sweeps it aside (gently, of course. He's always so sickeningly gentle when he brushes you aside. You think that might just make the hollow sting of his nonchalant rejection that much worse.)

“Have you made anything for dinner?” he asks, already walking away before you have a chance to pull him down for a kiss. Your arm falls unceremoniously at your side. A deadweight, swinging.

I think I might hate you, you want to say, so, so badly. The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue as you stand frozen in the darkened entryway, his shadow stretches, eclipsing you, as he walks further and further away.

But these moments of sweet burning-hot rage pass as quickly as they come and soon -- too soon, maybe, or not soon enough -- you find yourself turning on your heels and shining a too-bright smile, the one that shows too many teeth and leaves an ache in your cheeks.

“Not yet, love, but I can whip up something real quick.”

The words taste like lead in your mouth.

(Or maybe that's just the blood from biting your tongue.)

Who knows, you muse, bitterly, bitingly. What does it matter anyway?

You make your way towards the kitchen.

Later that night, after he’s finished fucking you into the mattress, he grunts out an I love you, before rolling over and promptly falling asleep.

His cum is sticky and uncomfortable as it cools on your burning thighs.

You stare at the lights sweeping across the ceiling from the passing cars and try to remember days when you didn’t feel as though someone had hollowed out everything that made you and filled in the empty space with barely contained rage.

Rationally, you know you weren’t always so unhappy with Ushijima. You loved him -- you still do -- you have for years. You could barely contain your tears of joy when he asked you to marry him and you didn’t manage to contain them at all the day you officially tied the knot.

You were so happy then. So, so, happy.

What happened?

(You know exactly what happened.)

You’ve made sacrifice after sacrifice for him. Moved from country to country. Left your family and friends behind more times than you can count. Because you love Toshi. Because you love him more than anything. And because he loves you, though you know he doesn’t love you more than anything. It’s a selfish gripe to have. A rather dumb one too. Of course he doesn’t love you more than volleyball. Why should he? He’s dedicated his whole life to the sport. Countless hours, countless injuries, and setbacks, and he’s persevered through it all because that's what he does. Because that sport, that court, that stupid fucking ball, is what he loves above all else.

It’s not as if you jumped into this marriage wholly and totally blind. You’re not dumb. You knew volleyball was going to be a priority in his life, the priority. And you thought you could handle that. You did handle it. For 5 years you’ve handled it, the constant moving, the last minute canceled plans, the weeks of him traveling that have left you all alone for near months at a time in a cold home with a cold bed. You’ve handled it all with a too-wide smile plastered painfully across your face.

But things have -- shifted, recently. Maybe it’s the pressure of what could very well be his last Olympics coming up in these next few years, maybe it’s the fear of someone younger, better, stronger than him taking his place, or maybe, he simply doesn’t give all that much of a fuck about you anymore.

(You know that’s not true. Wakatoshi loves you. You know that. Which is what makes this all so much worse.)

I love you, isn’t that enough? he’d said bluntly, and maybe a bit confused, last time you brought up your concerns after the third canceled date in a row.

His words had made you pause. Was it enough? Why isn’t it enough? Shouldn’t it be enough?

At the time, you’d thought, maybe. Maybe I can make it enough.

A year later and you’ve come to the realization that it simply -- isn’t enough. Maybe if you were a different person, a slightly better person, it’d be enough. But you’re not. You’re you, a strange, toxic concoction of hollow fury and selfish desires (for comfort, for love, for anything more than whatever this is).

You roll over on your side to face your husband. He’s on his back, like he always is when he sleeps, completely dead to the world.

He’s statuesque, unmovable, untouchable, even now.

You gently brush your finger over his brow, sweeping his hair to the side, and tracing his strong jawline. You’ve done this a thousand times. You’ve memorized every curve, every freckle, every scar. You’ve mapped countless constellations across his skin.

You don’t hate him, you realize, in the dark suffocating silence of the night. Not yet, at least. There’s still too much love for him in your heart. Still too many memories of brighter days. Sweeter days. Gentler days.

He’s been good to you. As good as a man like him is capable of being. And you love him so, so dearly for it.

He has tomorrow off, maybe -- maybe you should talk to him. There’s still time to salvage this. There’s still so much love for him in your heart, enough to drive out the hate. You know it.

He has tomorrow off, you repeat to yourself. The first full day he’s taken off in a month.

You’ll talk to him then.

You have to.

The morning light is what wakes you. The gentle rays kiss your cheeks so sweetly.

Without fully opening your eyes, you reach towards Ushi only to be met with -- cool sheets.

Your stomach drops painfully and it's as though he’s taken your heart in his hands and just squeezed.

You open your eyes, wearily, tiredly, and the morning light no longer seems so sweet. It’s mocking. A cruel, bitter reminder of better days and broken promises.

You crawl out of bed, trying to stay optimistic -- maybe he just went for a morning jog -- even though you know that on days he has off he likes to sleep in. You try desperately to give him the benefit of the doubt, because he promised and you want so badly to still be able to believe him, even after everything.

He used to have every Saturday and Sunday free, then around three years ago it turned into every Sunday, then a year and a half ago it turned into every other Sunday, and recently -- well, it’s been a while. A long, long while.

But he promised he’d stay home today.

He promised, you repeat as you stumble around the apartment only to find it painfully silent, empty, and so, so cold.

You collapse on the couch, hunched over, your head hanging pitifully into your hands. You take a deep, pathetically shaky breath.

And then you laugh.

You laugh so hard you nearly heave.

Two years ago, you would’ve cried. A year ago, you would’ve screamed.

But now? Who do you really have to blame, but yourself? How can you not laugh? How can you not laugh at just how stupid and gullible you are?

Really, how many times can you blame Ushijima for breaking your heart when you’re the one who can’t seem to stop handing it to him -- on a silver fucking platter no less.

This is your fault. And it has been for a long while now.

It’s time to move on.

You book a one-way flight home -- you haven’t been back in so long. Too long, you know. You stuff as much as you can into your single suitcase and pitiful carry-on bag. It’s all strangely methodical and robotic. You’re calmer than you’ve been in months.

This is how it was always going to end. Honestly, you don’t think there was really supposed to be another option, any other way out. You don’t think this mess was ever going to be fixed. It was stupid of you to ever believe otherwise.

By the time you’ve managed to compose yourself, get your affairs in order, and meticulously pack away as much as you can, the sun has started to dip below the horizon.

The clock reads 9:18 PM. Your flight is in a few hours. You’ll have to get going soon.

You pick out the nicest, most expensive bottle of red wine in your home. You were going to save it for when Ushi made the national team again but, as you’ve learned rather painfully, sometimes plans change.

You pour yourself a glass, but in the end, can’t bring yourself to take a single sip.

That’s how Ushi finds you, sitting at the kitchen table, toying with a glass of wine. There’s only the lone kitchen light lit in the apartment. The shadows dance around him, dark and monstrous, ready to swallow you both whole.

Wakatoshi has never been particularly skilled at reading social cues but you can tell from the slight tilt of his head that he knows somethings wrong. You wonder if he knows exactly how wrong.

(Not that it would really change anything if he did.)

The thud of his gym bag hitting the floor echoes too loudly in the silent apartment.

He steps into the kitchen like he does all other things -- with purpose, with confidence. It will never not leave you in awe, even now, how sure he always is of himself. He’s a blunt force weapon, he always has been, and you can’t imagine a time where he’ll be anything but.

He stops at the opposite end of the table. It’s the beginning of the same song and dance you two have done time and time again when he breaks his little promises.

His big ones too.

(You think of when he had missed your five-year anniversary dinner for a last-minute practice. He hadn’t forgotten about the reservation, he’d told you after he’d returned home to you sitting alone at the kitchen table, half-drunk and livid, but people were relying on him, is what he’d said, and there’s always next year.)

This routine is comforting, if only in the cruelest way.

We can put on a show, just this last time, you think. For old time’s sake.

Your eyes fall back down to your glass as you speak. “You said you’d stay home today.”

You look back up just in time to see him opening his mouth. No doubt getting ready to cycle through the same set of excuses he’s been using for the past four years.

A teammate called.

I needed the extra practice.

There’s a skill I need to perfect.

The Olympics are 4 years away...3 years away...2 years away....you know that, love.

And, of course, no matter his reason, his excuse, he always makes sure to add, I’ll stay home next Sunday, I promise.

He doesn’t intend for that last part to be cruel, you’re sure of it, but God, if that doesn’t make it so much worse.

You cut him off before he can even start. “You promised.”

His brows furrow at your exhausted, weary tone. “There was a team meeting today, I’m sorry I forgot to mention it to you. It went on longer than I expected it would. We can still go out to dinner if you’d like.”

You give him a sad sort of smile. You’re too tired to give him any other. “I don’t think I’ll have time for that, love.”

Ushijima’s left brow twitches, as it always does when he doesn’t quite understand what’s going on.

He takes a step forward, around the table. “What do you mean? Are you going out tonight?”

You shake your head softly. “No, Toshi.”

You can’t help but wish more than anything, that it didn’t have to come to this, because you have loved him so much, so deeply, and you think that for it to end like this is a disservice to you both.

His jaw clenches, no doubt already trying to contain his frustration. He’s probably tired after his long day. An argument over something like this is probably the last thing he wants. A good wife would care more. A good wife might’ve persevered, smiled through her husband's little lies and shattered promises. A good wife might’ve tried harder. A good wife might’ve dug her heels in, instead of letting go completely.

But you’re not a good wife. Not now, at least. For all you know, you never were. You’ve always been just a bit too bitter, too selfish, too flawed. Not willing enough to throw yourself on the metaphorical altar for him.

He’s close enough now that he can see the suitcase at your side. It stops him dead in his tracks.

“What’s going on?” His tone is hard, demanding, but you know him too well to miss the fear that pulls at the corner of his eyes.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a lot of things. But he’s certainly not dumb. He has to know what’s going on. He has to have known that, eventually, this was what was going to happen.

You stand up slowly, bracing your palms against the rough wood of the tabletop.

“I-” you let out a harsh, mean breath. You hate that you’re doing this. But you’d hate yourself more if you didn’t. And you know you’d grow to hate him too, eventually, if you stay. You’re burning up here in this home, each broken promise and cold night add fuel to the already raging fire. You’ll be nothing but ashes soon enough. “I can’t do this anymore, Wakatoshi.”

His pretty olive eyes narrow. The look he gives you is practically glacial. His fury has always been so, so cold. A stark contrast to your burning rage.

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t understand.” His words are slow, methodical, and too even.

They crack open something violent inside your chest, something with teeth. Something mean and ugly and so, so sad.

Too many years of biting your tongue have culminated into this moment. It’s time to strip yourself to the bone, to the ugly marrow. No matter how painful or awful.

Don’t you two deserve that, at least? Don’t you two deserve to part ways having seen the worst of each other?

“Of course you don’t understand, Ushijima,” you spit out, caustic and cruel. “How can you?” The laugh you let out is ripped from the very bottom of your heart, mean and poisonous. “Or more accurately, why would you? Why would you even bother understanding? It’s not like my unhappiness has ever really meant anything to you before-”

He cuts in sharply. “You know that’s not true.”

“No,” you hiss. “I don’t. How can I? I’ve been miserable for years now, left to beg for scraps of your attention like a fucking dog. I’ve reduced myself to this pathetic creature. I-” tears cloud your vision, far faster than you can blink them away. “I don’t even recognize myself anymore, Ushijima. I’m so--I’m so angry all the time and if I stay here that’s going to be all that’s left of me.”

It’s silent after your outburst and in the air is something awful and too great. You’re both teetering on the edge of something terrifying.

“If you stay with me, you mean,” he says, finally, and far too soft for a man like him. All signs of his previous fury have fled and in his eyes is a painful sort of vulnerability.

Your anger dissipates with his, mostly because you’re so fucking tired of being angry.

Is it really his fault, anyway? What exactly were you expecting of him, when you took his last name? Were you really wanting him to change something so fundamental, so ingrained in his soul, just for you? How unfair of you, you realize now, how cruel.

“Toshi.” You’re exhausted. And so sick of being second best. “This is more my fault than it is yours. I thought I could handle what being married to you would entail but I was,” -- you laugh, far less biting than before-- “very wrong.” You close your eyes, unable to look at him. “And now I suppose we’re both paying the price for it.”

“I love you,” he says, bluntly. “And you love me.”

You’re finally able to meet his eyes again. You take in the planes of his face, the subtle pain etched into every corner, a brutal, beautiful reflection of the years you’ve spent by his side.

“I do love you, Ushijima. More than anything.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

You swallow hard. “Sometimes, that just isn’t enough, Toshi. Relationships require more than love. They require work, and compromise, and some semblance of care and dedication, and you just-- you just don’t have the time for that right now, and I understand that. But I can’t keep doing this to myself. I deserve-” you stop and give yourself a moment to choose your words carefully, lovingly because you’re desperate for him to just understand. “We deserve better, don’t you think?”

He shakes his head, his hair falls in his eyes. You sweep it aside, a force of habit after all these years, something you’ve done a million and one times. Before you can jerk your arm back he grips it in his large hand. His fingers wrap around your wrist, unyielding.

“I need you,” Toshi says, uncharacteristically desperate. You can feel the heat radiating off his chest. It's a twisted sort of comfort. Knowing this may very well be the last time you’ll be in this position.

You smile, sweetly and a bit sadly. “No, you don’t, Ushi. You need volleyball. You need the thrill of the game and the taste of victory but you don’t need me. You’ve never needed me. And that’s okay.” You lift your other hand up to brush the stray tear that’s fallen from his eye. He nuzzles into your palm before you can move it, clinging to you like some sort of lifeline. “It’ll be okay, Toshi, we’ve just reached the end of our road. That’s all.”

He raises a shaky hand to trace the dried tracks of tears on your cheek, it’s startling to see him so uncomposed. “Please,” he nearly begs, “don’t do this.”

In your heart, there’s an odd brew of grief and rage and pain and love so mean you know you’ll feel the ache of it for years to come.

You think of all the shattered promises he’s left at your feet, you think of the gentle way he’s held you through the years, you think of his string of nonchalant rejection, you think of yourself, bright and burning.

Your mind spins from it and all you can do is rest your head against his chest and close your eyes.

a/n pt 2: there is some untapped potential in the fed up housewife genre and i am determined to unearth it. also i love ushi i promise i think he’d be a great husband under most circumstances

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu angst #hq #hq x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenarios #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #vicwrites #vicwriteshq

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oitommothetease · 3 years

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Invisible String (15/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 3.2k words

Warning : fluff, smut, Steve being nice for once, mention of assault, healthy communication, drinking, Bec is Bucky’s sister - Rebecca, talk about therapy, fucking on a dressing table, I added the link for the dressing table so it could be easier to imagine lol

Both of you were far from okay, Bucky knew that. You needed time and energy to put in this relationship, and Bucky would patiently wait and giddily put in the work required.

Just like last time all those months ago, Bucky prepared a plate of fruits with juice for you. If you'd let him in your life, then one thing was sure — you were never having that damn coffee for breakfast. How did you even survive? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and Bucky was baffled when he found out you functioned on nothing but caffeine.

“Good Morning!” he greeted, you were awake and seated on the couch. “I got you breakfast that isn't caffeine.”

You didn't meet his eyes, but smiled timidly nevertheless. You cringed at your immaturity. Getting drunk instead of having a proper conversation like adults was not your wisest decision. Your last conversation was horrid. What was worse was that he was still being so nice to you when all you wanted was for the ground to open and swallow you whole. It was embarrassing.

You avoided his gaze, and Bucky didn't press the matter any further.

You exhaled loudly and requested, “We need to talk.”

Here it was, Bucky thought. He hoped you both could at least have breakfast blissfully, ignoring the elephant in the room. But he assumed the sooner, the better. Bucky took a seat beside you on the office couch.

“I’m sorry.”

Both of you apologized at the same time. Bucky continued, “What I did was a fucked up thing to do. I had no right to decide for you. I'm sorry for hurting you.”

“I’m sorry for handling the situation immaturely. It was dumb to get drunk and act like that.”

Bucky nodded, he didn't need your apology. He was the one who was at fault here. Although, he would never acknowledge this, but he was glad you got drunk and came to him. He wasn’t smart enough to realize his mistake and if he continued with his stubbornness, then he would have lost you.

Instinctively, he took your palm in his, lacing your fingers with his and placing the entwined hands on his lap. “I — The incident with Rumlow and the kidnapping affected me a lot. More than I would like to admit,” you acknowledged, “And I don't think I’m dealing with everything healthily.”

“What do you need me to do?”

You sighed and propped your head on his shoulder. “Just be there for me.”

Bucky raised your intertwined hands, pressing a kiss on your knuckles, “Always.”

“I don't want our bakery to be just a dream,” he sounded so unsure that you raised your head to look at him. “I want to get out of this life — of the club.”

“Can you even do that?” You weren’t very knowledgeable about his business, but from what you've gathered getting out wasn't an option.

“I talked with Sam and Steve, and it would take a while, but it's not impossible. I’d have to put in a lot of money, and it will take time, maybe even years, but it can be done.”

For the millionth time, Bucky left you speechless. You didn't want him to change his entire life because of you. You loved Bucky and you would take him just the way he was. With his good and bad, albeit there wasn't anything bad. “Do you want that?”

He looked at you in offense. To him, you sounded insane. Of course, he wanted that. All he ever wanted was a serene life, and now he could have that life with you in it, you were double guessing your worth. Maybe he didn't think this through, but there was no need to question his choice. Bucky was sure of one thing in his life. “I want you. I want you in my life and I want my ma and Bec. And I can't have the most important people in my life if I don’t leave this behind. So yes, this is what I want.”

You smiled at him, and he would kill to make that smile a permanent residence on your face, you didn’t want him to make this crucial decision in his life because of you.

“Plus, maybe some chocolate essence would finally break you out of your writer's block,” Bucky teased, quoting the words you said to him all those days ago and you giggled.

The rest of the morning was spent in comfortable silence as you both ate breakfast.

Bucky wanted to tell his friends about his decision, and he wanted you there beside him. You were terrified, you finally made friends with someone, and now they were going to hate you because you were taking their friend away from him. And Steve already hated you, that wasn't the impression you were planning on forming on his best friend.

To your dismay, everyone looked pleased with the verdict. Turns out, all of them hated hiding their families too. You should have known — worrying every second about your loved ones could make one very restless.

It was finally decided that the club would just be that — a club. No more side businesses or illegal deals or enemies like Rumlow — it would just be a normal club. The club would go to Sam and Steve, and Wanda would take Clint’s place as the manager. It was also collectively decided that Peter had to go. He was just a kid who wanted to make money for his college tuition. Which now would be paid fully by Bucky. Peter could still work at the club as a part-time job, but he had to go to college too.

It was satisfying to see all of them so content with this decision. You expected at least Steve to interject, but he looked pleased too. What you did not expect was for Steve to approach you and start a conversation with you. You were just standing on the balcony while everyone was celebrating. You told Bucky you needed some air when he asked you what was wrong.

“He really likes you, you know.”

“I hope so,” you joked, and you saw a smile forming on Steve's lips. Progress, you thought to yourself.

“I haven't been the nicest person to you and I’m sorry for that.”

You looked at Steve in disbelief. Okay, you weren't expecting that. “I don’t know why you hate me. I mean, we barely know each other,” you replied, honestly.

Steve inhaled sharply as he said, “I knew Buck since we were kids. He never hid anything from me until a few months ago.”

What has that to do with you? You looked at him puzzled and he continued, “He attacked Rumlow. Around 3 months ago, he attacked him and we never attack first — always retaliate. That's why Rumlow came after you because Bucky started the fight. I knew it had something to do with you, but he just wouldn't tell me.”

And just like that, you knew exactly what he was talking about. The timing matched with Rumlow’s attempt to inappropriately touch you without consent.

“I — Rumlow came here during my shift,” you stammered, you didn't know how to tell him. You wanted to heal, you wanted people to know on your accord with your permission. And you wanted Steve to know. “I told him no - several times, but he just wouldn’t stop touching.”

You wanted to be able to talk about this without breaking down every time. And that was a good enough start, you knew Bucky would be proud of you.

Steve's expression morphed into one of guilt immediately. He was smart enough to join the dots, and he felt like an idiot for blaming you and Bucky. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don't be,” you smiled at him, “You didn't know.”

Steve didn’t know how to react. He felt like a dick — he was a dick for not even considering your point of view. Bucky kept saying that he couldn't tell and Steve should have understood or taken the hint, but he was so mad at you that it blinded his judgement.

The conversation turned uneasy, so you quickly changed the topic and retorted to a joke. “Did you know that Bucky owns a customized t-shirt that says ‘I heart Y/N’?”

Steve chortled a laugh and said, “Now that I do, I’m never gonna stop teasing him about it.”

“It was cute, okay?” you defended.

“Sure it was,” he huffed, “Would you and Bucky like to come for dinner this weekend? Sarah misses her Uncle Bucky and to date Bucky for real you would definitely need her approval.”

***

You examined yourself in the mirror as you straightened the outfit you decided to wear for dinner. You wondered whether it would impress a four-year-old.

Bucky stood behind you, fixing the collar of his shirt.

“I’m kinda nervous,” you confessed.

He furrowed his brows in bewilderment, snaking his arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest. He whispered in your ears, sending a chill down your spine. “You look gorgeous, doll.”

You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder. He gently rubbed his thumbs along your clothed stomach, and you felt calmer. His touch had that effect on you. His touch and presence was enough to make you feel content and for the first time in your life, you weren’t scared. You weren't running away from your vulnerabilities — no, you were swimming into it. And you weren't scared of drowning because you knew Bucky was holding you.

“I love you,” you breathed, “I love you so much, Buck.”

Bucky extended one of his hands towards your face and gently held your chin between his fingers. Lightly, he rubbed his thumb across your lower lip before lifting your face sideways, claiming your lips with his in a tender and slow kiss. “I love you so much, doll. More than humanly possible.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears and you kissed him again reverently, “Do we have time to spare?”

“We always have time,” Bucky mumbled against your lips, turning you in his arms to face him.

Both of you were so eager to feel each other that you didn't even get rid of your clothes completely — just enough to feel the other. He held your hips and lifted you on the dressing table, and you facilitated by spreading your legs open.

Bucky didn't waste a second before diving his tongue inside your mouth, making you feel dizzy with just the intensity of the kiss. One hand in your hair, the other running up your back to hold your neck, craning your skull to give him better access to your mouth. He devoured you like you were a delicious meal that he was starving to taste.

The hand in your hair hastened towards your breast, squeezing your covered nipple enough to make you gasp into his mouth and get your core wet. He did the same with the other before his hand continued its journey towards your cunt.

Bucky didn't waste any time — quickly, he pushed your dripped panties out of his way and his fingers teased your slit before one digit made its way inside you. His mouth left yours, and he nibbled your jaw and reached the lobe of your ear before whispering, “I’ve barely touched you and you're already so wet for me, pretty girl.”

Before you could react to his lewd words, another finger entered your willing cunt and you clenched around him. “Bucky,” you breathed, your voice barely audible with the intensity of your oncoming orgasm. “Want you now, baby.”

Suddenly, his digits retreated, leaving you empty, whimpering and clenching around nothing. He gave a few quick strokes to his already hard cock before plunging inside you and muffling your cries by crashing his lips with yours.

He gave you time to adjust to his length and when you nodded, he started thrusting in an enticing speed that had you grasping him around your cunt. Every push of his cock had you seeing stars. All that pent-up anticipation and sexual frustration had you coming in no time, but Bucky didn't relent. “Give me one more, sweet girl.”

His hand reached in between your bodies, instantly locating your clit, and you moaned loudly against his shoulder. Bucky toyed with your ear lobe, gently biting then moving downwards to the spot between your neck and clavicle. He licked before sucking harshly and then licking again to soothe the pain. You held his back so tightly that you were sure it must be hurting him, but he didn't complain, instead he growled in your ear as you tried to hold him inside you — tighter than before.

His hand was running calculated circles on your clit combined with his ruthless pace, and you were reaching your second orgasm faster than you imagined. “Bucky, I’m gonna —”

“I know, baby,” he groaned in your ear, increasing his pace, and a moment ago you didn't think that was possible.

You both reached your high together as he released his seed inside you, and that solely had you nearing your third orgasm. Bucky noticed and smirked before his still hand started running circles on your bundle of nerves again and gave you a few languid thrusts that made you reach the euphoria where you hadn't been before.

He held you, brushing your hair off your face, rubbing his thumb across your forehead to rid you of the sweat, praising you for being such a good girl for him. Once you were back from the land of bliss, he cleaned you both up before straightening your dress out — making you appear like he didn't fuck your brains out on a dressing table.

***

“Traffic,” you lied while Bucky smirked as he placed his hand on the small of your back.

Sam looked at you - both of you with a playful look in his eyes and Steve bought your lie without a second question.

As you entered the living room, you were met with a kid that reminded you a lot of Alec and Izzy. “Uncle Bucky,” she squealed before jumping in the arms of a bent down Bucky.

She stretched a hand towards you and said, “Sarah.”

You smiled at her and took her hand in yours before giving her your name. She looked at you with so much delight in her eyes that had you melting in a second. Oh, that reminded you, “Babe, the cake.”

“Oh, right,” Bucky scrambled to his feet and made his way towards the car to bring the gift you two brought for the family.

“Did you make it, Uncle Bucky,” Sarah asked as Bucky handed her the cake. She grinned when he nodded, “I’m gonna eat all of this myself.”

Bucky smiled, “It's all for you, sweetie.”

She held the cake in one hand and your hand in another before rushing into the kitchen with you.

Sam handed Bucky a glass of a drink that he didn't even notice because his gaze was fixed on you helping Steve and Sarah. You said something to Steve and he laughed loudly. When did you and Steve become friends? He wondered.

“Traffic, huh?” Sam teased Bucky once his daughter was out of their hearing range. Bucky nearly choked on the drink and coughed in embarrassment.

Sam eyed Bucky mischievously and told him to take a seat on the table. Bucky didn't listen and if he did then he pretended to ignore Sam’s words and made his way to the kitchen - to you.

You yelped when you felt two strong hands engulf you from behind, calming down only when Bucky chuckled and whispered in your ear, “Hey, it's only me, doll.”

Eventually, everyone made their way to the dinner table. The food was amazing, some of it was made by Sam - some of it by Steve. Sam’s cooking was clearly better, but Bucky told you not to tell him that because then Sam would get all smug about it. Bucky’s hand rested on your upper thigh for the entirety of the meal.

It brought you back to the time when you both were at your parents’ place and even then the gesture was so welcomed by your body and you. Although you always told him about how inappropriate a relationship with him would be, you secretly hoped that he would call you out on your bullshit. Anyone with eyes could see that you wanted him since the very beginning. Well, anyone except Bucky.

After dinner, Sarah went to bed and it was just you, Bucky, Sam and Steve situated in their living room with a drink in everyone’s hand.

“The cake was amazing,” you told Bucky when he took a seat beside you on the sofa. Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and held your outer thighs with his other before placing you on his lap. You wrapped your hands around his shoulder and awkwardly looked around at Sam and Steve, exhaling in relief when you found them busy in their own conversation, oblivious to their friend’s antics.

“I can make cakes forever for you, doll.”

“Well, you'd have to make cakes forever if you wanna open a bakery,” you sassed and he laughed before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You beamed at him, placing your head against his shoulder, “I’ve been thinking. With everything that has happened with Rumlow and my family. I think I’ve not dealt with all of it and it still bothers me.”

Nervously, you looked at him and found him already gazing at you with a look so patient and intense. You could see his adoration for you swirl around his eyes and you hoped he could see that same emotion reflecting in your eyes.

“And I don’t want to burden you with my shit, I think I’m gonna start therapy.”

He cupped your face in his palms and you looked at him anxiously. It was a big step - your relationship with him - finally acknowledging that you carried trauma that is affecting your life in more ways that you would like to admit. “Whatever you need, honey. I will be there for you.”

You leaned into his touch, craning your neck before pressing a kiss on his palm. “Did you think you'd be crazy for me when I walked in for the bartender's job?”

He laughed at your teasing words, holding your chin between his fingers and dipped his head down to kiss you. “I love you,” he mumbled against your lips, “And I have a feeling that we’ll be alright.”

“We’ll be alright,” you repeated his words. It was a promise of a happy and hopeful future - a future you were going to have with him. ”I love you.” You sealed the promise with your lips on his.

⁓

TAGS: @bananapipedreams @akkinda10 @rivers-rambles21 @emmabarnes @valsworldofcreativity @boofy1998 @marvel-3407 @mybuck @priii @coffeebooksandfandom @ladydmalfoy @shaking-a-jar-of-bees @elizamalfoyy @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @sabrinathesimp @realgaytrash

Taglist for future stuff.

A/N - I had an epilogue planned but idk - this feels very complete to me and I'm scared that if I add anything then it'll ruin the end. I think I'll take a day, think it through, try writing the epilogue and if I ended up liking it. Then of course, you'll get it. Bye Take care!!

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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calif0rnia-lovers · 3 years

Text

#1: the proposal | plan b.

pairing: angel reyes x black!reader | chapter rating: 💙

total # of parts in series: 10

join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

I keep falling for boys and mistaking them for men

series sum: After several failed relationships, you decide that you’re over waiting for Mr. Right to come around and help start a family. In a drunken ramble, you ask your best friend if he’ll be your donor. You didn’t expect him to say yes. As you and Angel enter uncharted waters, you both realize neither of you fully thought the initial proposal through.

words: 1.8 K

What is it they say…hope breeds eternal misery.

Or, as Angel Reyes likes to say, “I don’t know why you’re wasting time on that asshole.”

Asshole is the nicest term you can dub your boyfriend--correction, your ex-boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

It’s strange how quickly two letters--a simple prefix--can change your life.

One minute, you’re joining your boyfriend and his family on a getaway to the beach. The next, you’re being kindly escorted out of a restaurant for tossing a drink in his face.

When you’d left Santo Padre Friday afternoon, you had a single thought in your mind. He’s finally going to propose. The nervous behavior, the talks about moving to a bigger apartment, him inviting you to a weekend getaway with his family.

How else would a rational person explain this behavior?

Well, according to Michael, all of those things do not add up to a proposal. They add up to “softening the blow."

As you sit on the curb waiting for your uber, with Michael's big splurge of the evening in hand--a bottle of Cabernet, you realize his explanation was complete bullshit. How is dragging you to Santa Monica for the weekend "softening the blow?" If he was going to break up with you, he could have done it in Santo Padre.

As you double-check the ETA on your uber, you remember.

Michael didn't drag you to Santa Monica to break up with you. He dragged you to Santa Monica to ask you to "take a break."

Apparently, there's a difference.

As Michael put it, with his birthday fast approaching, he'd had an epiphany. He needed time to "get out there" and "explore" his options.

"We're in our thirties," he'd explained. "We only have a few years left before we're expected to settle down, have kids. I think we should take this time to get everything out of our system, so by the time we come back together, we're ready to start that family you're always talking about."

The nervousness you'd seen the past two weeks? Had nothing to do with hiding a ring, or trying to find the perfect opportunity to pop the question. The nervousness was Michael trying to find the right time to ask you not to renew the lease of the apartment, you share, at the end of the month.

The talk about upgrading to a bigger apartment? Had nothing to do with having an extra room for the kid you've both talked about having. It was so that he could move in with his two best friends.

Michael’s epiphany left you in shock. You were caught between realizing the entire revelation wasn’t a complete joke and realizing you were expected to ride home with his family in the morning. The drink tossing didn’t come until Michael rubbed his hands together, a knowing smile sliding onto his face.

Taking your shocked silence as a lack of protest to his idea, Michael nodded over his shoulder. “You wanna head back up to the room...have some fun our last night together?”

The weight of Samantha--wait. No. Savanna...Sabrina? No, Salena.

The weight of Salena’s body presses Angel into the mattress. Her body is nearly directly on top of his, her face nuzzled into the warmth of his neck.

He’s not used to women sleeping over. Angel has one rule. He wants to sleep alone. Translation, be gone when he wakes in the morning.

That’s why, when he wakes to the sound of a slamming door, Angel is pissed.

His initial thought is that Salena let the door slam on her way out. The only problem is, Salena is still in bed with him--sleeping soundly. If she wasn’t, he would have been up able to react quicker. Because if it’s not Salena leaving, it means that someone is coming in.

“You need to go,” Angel mumbles as he manages to escape her grip.

Salena responds by rolling over and ignoring his request.

When he leaves his bedroom, Angel finds his entire house in darkness. His hand runs down his face as your voice fills the air.

"Ow--shit!" Your keys and purse fall to the floor as you bump into the coffee table.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

“What are you doing?” You counter the slurring of your speech causing Angel’s head to shake. “...standing in the dark like a fucking creep.”

“Are you drunk?”

Your head shakes. Even if half-asleep, Angel knows you’re not drunk. You’re hammered, at least by your standards. He’s known you long enough to realize you’re a lightweight. A two and a half-hour ride with a bottle of Cabernet meant you were well past your limit.

“And why are you back early--did you drive here?”

“No,” you scoff. “I took an uber obviously--”

A second trip into the coffee table silences the rest of your response.

“Alright, come on--” Angel takes your hand in his, preventing you from falling forward.

“I don’t need your help.” Yanking your hand free of his grip--with more force than necessary--you stumble backward. Between the late hour and his body still attempting to shake off its grogginess, the action is too fast for Angel to predict. “Or any man’s help for that matter...fucking men--always thinking they need to save me--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you--and fucking...fucking Michael--that piece of shit...” Despite your previous attempt to escape him, you turn on your heels causing Angel to bump into you. Instinctively, his hands find your waist. An innocent attempt to help maintain your balance. “--I said I don’t need help walking, Angel--”

“Clearly.” The smirk on his lips narrows your eyes.

The pathetic attempt of a shove you apply to his chest is enough to tip your already unsteady balance.

In his defense, Angel isn’t used to “rescuing” you from a drunk faceplant. Usually, the roles are reversed.

It may not be the smartest move, but it’s the quickest way to prevent another one of your escape attempts. Angel tightens his grip on your waist, pulling a small yelp from your lips as he lifts you off the ground throwing you over his shoulder.

The sudden shift in your posture blurs your vision--sending the room spinning. The rush of blood to your head causes your palm to come down hard in frustration against Angel’s back.

“Put me down…” Angel’s head shakes as your slurred speech trails off for a moment. Seizing the break in your resistance, he carries you across the darkened room towards the security of the sofa. “...what the hell are you doing in my house anyway?”

“This is my house.” Angel huffs as he lowers you onto the sofa. “If you get up, I’m not stopping you. I'm serious, I'll let you bust your ass this time.”

But moving from the sofa has already left your mind. Instead, your focus has drifted. Scanning the living room as Angel disappears. Despite his words, you're still not sure why you've ended up at his house and not yours.

“Here drink this,” Angel sighs as he returns. He hopes the glass of water will miraculously sober you up. Between failing to kick Salena out, and you showing up drunk at 3 in the morning, Angel is considering giving up women. At least for a few hours.

Angel’s steps come to a slow halt as he rounds the sofa to find you gone. Somehow, in the time it took him to fill a glass with water, you have slid down to the floor. Your back against the sofa, you’ve given up the impossible task of unfastening your heels. Instead, you’re tugging at them. Groans of frustration fill the air once the heels remain in place.

The shaky breaths and trembling of your fingers widen Angel’s eyes.

“Shit--are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” The shaking of your head only seems to push the tears out faster. The blurring of your vision makes the task at hand impossible. “I’m not crying.”

“My bad, you’re not crying,” Angel repeats, hopeful it’ll make the crying stop. Handling a crying woman is not his strongest suit. In fact, he tries to avoid crying women at all costs. He focuses on the easier task of removing your heels. He offers you an encouraging smile once he’s done. “See, you’re all good.”

“No, I’m not.” Reaching forward, you grab the nearest heel, launching it as hard as you can. “Michael got me these.”

You manage to grab the second heel before Angel can. You launch it in the same direction as the first.

“I’ve always hated those ugly fucking shoes.”

The second heel doesn’t land in the middle of the floor like its predecessor. Instead, it flies straight into Salena’s arm as she rounds the corner.

“Ow--what the fuck? Angel!”

The overhead light cuts on, temporarily blinding both you and Angel. When you open your eyes, you find a half-dressed Salena standing over you. Your discarded heel in her left hand, her narrowed eyes focused on you.

"So, this is why you wanted me to leave? Your girlfriend is home?"

"Neither of us is his girlfriend, sweetheart." you correct.

“I’m not sleeping in your bed ever again,” you clarify, your voice muffled against your palms. “Not until you wash your sheets.”

In the time it took to get Salena out of the house you’ve found that your body has begun to crash. The idea of laying down the only thought of your mind. That’s why the moment he’s settled alongside you on the floor, Angel’s shoulder becomes your pillow.

“Please don’t say I told you so.”

Passing up the opportunity to be right, is not in Angel’s nature. But one look at you, he’s biting his tongue.

“I never liked him.”

“You've never liked anyone I’ve dated,” you laugh quietly.

“That’s because you only date assholes.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Exactly.”

Angel's arm drapes around you, the gentle squeeze he gives bringing a weak smile to your lips.

“That’s it,” you sigh. “I’m done dating. Forever.”

“Dating is overrated,” Angel notes.

It’s a phrase Angel has told you nearly a million times over the years. Typically, after you’ve watched him ensnare yet another naive woman with his smile. You typically roll your eyes at Angel's mantra, but right now, you don’t even bother.

“I’m serious, if you see me even blinking at the same guy twice grab me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Angel chuckles.

He knows there's no point in taking the promise any further. If Angel is a cynic when it comes to dating, you’re the poster child for hopeless romantics.

When you fall in love, you fall hard. When you get heartbroken, the fallout hits the hardest.

“I can’t wait until my forties to have a kid.”

“What?”

“I’ll be in my sixties when they graduate high school--my sixties!”

“That’s what this is about?”

“...he doesn’t want kids...at least not right now...he wants time to explore other options before being shackled to me forever.”

“I’m going to kick his fucking ass.”

“When you do, can I watch?”

“Fuck that, you’re getting in a few hits.”

“I can’t believe I wasted three years on him, thinking he was going to help me start a family,” you groan. “When I could’ve just asked you.”

Angel laughs, his smile growing as you giggle.

“I’m serious. Definitely would’ve happened faster.”

“If you want to have sex with me, there are much easier ways--”

“Shut up, it is not about sex,” you assure him as your eyes drift shut. “I actually pride myself in being one of the few women in this town you haven’t slept with. Being immune to your charm is a superpower.”

“You still ended up here tonight,” Angel grins.

You softly smile.

“That’s because you’re my best friend, and you always give the best hugs when I feel like shit.”

series taglist: @youlovetkay @mochachocolatteyaya @chaneajoyyy @sesamepancakes

angel + all mayans tags: @turn-thy-paige @finalgirlhales @jadesid @poetically-0riginal @diaryofkali @babaohhhriley @katastrophic04 @partypoison00 @rose-bliss @mayansxlover @joannasteez @headrushxreeta @brwnlikefoxy @nemesis729 @destiny-tsukino @inyourbackpocketisbutterflies @straightestgay-voice

all stories: @rosieposie0624 @amberritonicole @agoldin @est1887@toni9 @chaneajoyyy @relaxing-najee @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @seize-the-droid @glimmerglittergirl @cutiebubbleboo @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @sincerelykas @brattyfics @ladyofsoa@browneyes912 @beiroviski @sadeyesgf @mrsmarvelous1995 @everyhowlmarksthedead @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @demonquartz @appropriate-writers-name @ughdontbeboring @cocotheclown @thesandbeneathmytoes @queenbeered @starrynite7114 @wiccanmetallicrose @tomhardydallasstarsgirl

#may the queue be with you #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes imagine #mayans imagines

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all-things-fic · 3 years

Text

Somewhere Only We Know

A/N - Hello, you lovely lot! Hope you are all keeping well in these utterly shit Covid times. Who would’ve thought that we would still be here in December?! Please see my offering for @goldenbluesuit‘s Christmas Fic Challenge. Hope I’ve done a bit of justice with this piece.

I can remember Katie texting me telling me about the challenge, and I’ll admit I was given first dibs and now I’m absolutely shitting myself because I’ve seen all the brillaint entries so far and I’m not sure I really cut the mustard with this piece but I’m proud of myself for being able to put a solid 70% of this together in just one day (that one day being today).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Katie has done a brilliant job and I know how grateful she is towards anyone who has joined the challenge or supported by reading/sharing etc.... I need to stop rambling... Okay, thank you for sticking with me as always and happy reading! .x

***

The last thing you remembered actually reading in the group chat was “make sure you have your wellies”. You were glad that you remembered that part at the very least.

Winds whipped around you as you buried your face further into your cream roll neck cable knit jumper, all but hidden underneath your tobacco borg teddy coat that someone had already likened to Macklemore.

Nothing like being back home with your closest and oldest friends.

Mud squelched under your feet as you walked in line with two of your oldest girl friends, eyes looking over the four males in front of you as they led the way over the grassy hills.

There had been zero planning on what today’s events would bring. It was quite clear that the seven of you just wanted to be reunited with the country air and wind bitten cheeks.

It was nice. How simple it was. On the surface at the very least. That was until you zoned in on the little things.

Like his laugh. The same laugh that always carried somehow and it seemed like the wind was making it that much more prominent than usual today.

There was no denying, he had this glow about him. Even from the back of him. You felt silly for thinking it, but it was true. It was in the way he held himself as he attacked the grassy hills with his feet clad wellies and brown trousers.

Life had changed a lot in over a decade. Christ, had it been that long? You’d all gone from baby teenagers to fully fledged adults. The age range of your friendship differing slightly, the odd person here and there slightly older than a couple of people in the group.

Nonetheless, many of the experiences had been the same. The big job offers, and the even bigger promotions. The heartbreaks, regardless of their prominence or lack of, had been the felt the same. The flirtation between some of you sparked probably a bit more so now with a finesse that didn’t have you rolling your eyes but rather leaning into it.

Four out of seven of you were single. Jack and Jonny were virtually married off, however neither of them were with their partners this year with both deciding to spend Christmas at home and New Years with their significant others. Alice was still loved up and going strong with her fella, as was Grace who you hadn’t heard a peep from as she constantly checked her phone to see when the person she was besotted with finally arrived up North thanks to West Midlands Trains pulling into Crewe.

So that left Will, you and Harry. Harry who had quite publicly made it known that he was single. Well, according to your Mum he had, in several interviews. Including the one that she had described as an ‘incredibly relaxing watch and nice background noise to my Sunday evening brew and ironing session’.

That was a strange one for you, his honesty. In earlier years of friendship, he always seemed quite aloof. Like he was keeping his options open. Guarded in a way that frustrated at least 75% of the friendship group, in the nicest way possible. You knew that was a contradiction but any annoyance came from a good place.

You remembered one night in 2014 when he wouldn’t quite give you a straight answer over tequila shots whether he was shagging someone or not. You also remember the way he’d been pulled away from you tactfully by Alice that night when she sensed how you were about to blow up at his lackadaisical attitude.

The same had been felt in 2016. Not so much in 2018, but you weren’t single then so maybe you just didn’t care.

2019 was significantly different though.

See the thing was, you knew him now. Like, knew knew him.

Some would think it was a lapse of judgment, a reading that you would agree upon given what had happened two days prior if ever prodded about it publicly.

Others would vehemently disagree. Stating how long any sort of energy between the two of you had been bubbling for a number of years.

Looking back you couldn’t even understand why you’d attended his show. You lived in Camden and it made sense, but that’s where the sense stopped. Even the ways he had reached out had been one of the most random messages you’d received from him

There was no context, just a simple ‘I’m playing the Electric Ballroom and there’s tickets waiting for you if you want ‘em.’

And the thing was, you loved that venue. The grungy-ness of it all. The way you had stuck to the floor while trying to dance along to the likes of The Hives and Kings of Leon when seeing them playing there, basking in your sweaty happiness.

But the stickiness of the floor and sweatiness of the room didn’t compare to the stickiness and sweatiness you later found yourself partaking in as Harry took you from behind over the side of his couch.

A shiver rolled through you at the thought, one that you would blame on the December bitter chill because it was a secret. One that neither of you had mentioned since it happened on Thursday night, or to be technically correct the early hours of Friday morning.

He’d been good. Of course he had been.

He had that way about him that night that pulled you under a false sense of endeared security. From his dimpled smile to gleaming eyes. He was happy.

And the way he had shone as he found you on the balcony had warmed you like nothing you had known in the longest time.

It caused you to forget about the worry that had laden you limbs as you turned up at 9.13pm to the wooden doors of the building, wondering how many songs he was in to the set as you convinced yourself he would start at 9.00pm.

As you’d been ushered over to a clear box window and uttered your name to a dorky looking man wearing a tracksuit pull over and watched him handover a white envelope through the circle hatch.

You stood in the dark, next to two much younger girls who enjoyed the way his glances lingered over at their side. Eyes had found Gemma in the opposite corner of the balcony, her dancing and singing with some recognisable faces mainly more so because you had seen them on social media.

You, however, kept yourself to yourself. Until you were anchored in the tightest hug from Gemma that you had ever felt from her and swayed from side to side as she made it known how pleased she was to see you once the concert was over.

That familiarity had been nice. The vibrancy of nostalgia consuming you in your entirety.

Watching him work a room when he finally entered the after party was a sight to behold, in his navy blue pinstripe suit and yellow ‘I’m gonna die lonely’ t-shirt.

He wasn’t. Gonna die lonely, that is.

He glided so smoothly from one person to the next, spilling a drink down himself in the process you’d seen (and later felt when your hand clung to the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed), making time for everyone in his own unique way.

Big eyes followed you over Gemma’s shoulder when he had finally found himself within your circle and hugged his sister once more that evening. They were hard to read but also openly filled with a glimmer of hope as he dropped his gaze to see what you were wearing.

And when he approached you, he hugged you in a way that managed to pull you into the darkened corner of the dingy space. Spinning your body to keep your face concealed from any prying eyes.

He revealed to you how he didn’t think you were going to turn up, scanning you with his gaze as he spoke. You did the same, a bit taken aback by just how attractive you were finding him. He had always been handsome but the aura he gave off, made your fingers itch to have him closer to you.

Words ran away from you that night as he begged and pleaded with you to tell him what your favourite song had been. Based on first impressions, which the show has been, then Canyon Moon and Watermelon Sugar had smothered you and given you no other option but to pick them.

If he were to ask you now you’d probably say To Be So Lonely, thanks to the drive home being longer than originally thought and said album being your choice of road trip music.

Forget Driving Home For Christmas, nothing slapped more than one of your closest friends admitting to being an arrogant son of a bitch.

After your chat, he mingled some more but Harry was always tactile and that night had been no different. He veered conversations with people you had never seen before to take place by the zone that you all occupied.

He actively kept his back against yours, allowing the faintest of touches and brushing of arms - sometimes hands too if he dropped them down heavily enough with his arms as he spoke - to entice and create a spark.

You were kept late enough to miss the last tube. Battery dangerously low on your phone that you didn’t know if a transaction with Uber would be worth a try.

Jumping into the same car as him had been easy. His soft and tired eyes findings yours in the cab as he leant his head back against the headrest in the back seat and let his lips tip upwards in an expression of tenderness that had you melting in your seat.

“‘S been a while since we’ve both been a bit pissed in the back of a taxi,” he mused, pushing his fallen locks out of his eyes to ensure his view of you wasn’t obscured. “Come an’ cuddle me like you used to do when we went out a’ home and were worse for wear.”

Falling into his side was almost second nature, eyes closing as you let your forehead rest against his jawline and let his worn in cologne fill you senses and scatter your judgment.

You don’t even remember how you ended up kissing that night. A mixture of confessions about missing each other and praise of how good you both were in your own ways. The sound of his whispered, “are you coming home wi’me?” against your lips an offer too good for you to refuse as you sat pressed into his side and half in his lap.

The giggles that night, around dramatic shushes as you tripped and shuffled from the car to his front door were almost haunting in your memory as he tried to chastise you around spluttered laughter about being respectful of his neighbours.

Getting the key in the lock proved unchallenging - one of the better analogies aligned to your memories and latter sexual endeavours - as you slipped into the house. He enjoyed watching the way you walked ahead of him into his home, not realising how much he needed that visual of seeing how well you fit in.

While time seemed to slow in that moment, movements desperately sought the opposite. Hands gripped and clawed like their lives depended upon it.

Looking back now, both he and you wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. Skirt lifted and over the side of his couch. Teeth clashing and hips knocking.

It had been every inch a drunken fumble. A first meeting slightly cheapened but wanted nonetheless. Only made even cheaper by the hush-hush concealing of it ever occurring.

But a secret it was and a secret it would remain.

And oh how you wished you had a pillow you could press you face into right now and scream, this time for an entirely different reason. Unlike that night.

“Not seen a sign of any deer yet, mate,” you heard a voice break you out of your indulgence of recollecting past events. Harry was the worst at wanting to get a reaction.

“Christ, have a bit of patience would yer?”

You smiled at the bickering, just like it always was as the River Dane could be heard in the distance somewhere as you walked. If you listened really close, that is.

Lifting your eyes, your smile lingered as you watched Harry spin his body around and let his hands get lost in the massive pockets of his parka. He walked backwards holding your gaze softly with his eyes twinkling before he gently rolled them at the overreaction and impatience of your friends.

He seemed pleased that you’d enjoyed his teasing as you once again hid you smile into your jumper.

You’d be alright.

***

You heard giggles and screams ahead of you as your friends stumbled in the dark and messed about as you got closer to the viaduct. This place or the people didn’t change, and at times while it filled you with a warm nostalgia, it could be heavily jarring.

A soft and lazy smile pulled at your lips as you felt his heavy forearm lightly tug you closer to him, his lips finding your hair. And then there was Harry.

“Think we should go this way m’self,” Harry mumbled, the nudge of his hips against yours had you stumbling slightly in your heels away from the direction of your friends and somewhere completely different.

“And why’s that?” You turned your face slightly, cheeks warm and flushed thanks to the mixture of alcoholic beverages; eyes glazed as they lifted up to look at him.

“Cause you never would’ve let me when I was sixteen,” he admitted.

“You didn’t ask.”

“‘M askin’ now.”

With slow blinking eyes, you looked at his own unfocused vision. A soft shine to his skin, hair blowing gently against his forehead. The softest of smiles tilted at your lips.

“On yer go,” he nudged you forward, this time more so with his crotch and his hands, which wrapped around your hips to help steer you. Harry was met with only a small amount of resistance from you as you split off from your friends and turned in the different direction.

You bit back your laugh, dropping your head slightly as you felt your heels started to sink into the grass as you walked. Harry was level with you when you sunk down noticing the way you legs slightly gave way, a soft chuckle omitting from his throat as he asked, “You alrigh’?”

“I’m sinking in these bloody things,” you grumbled, pulling your heel from the grass and trying to place the sole of your shoe onto the ground beneath you first.

“So much for no’ being able to take the country out o’ the girl. London’s changed yer, swear it.”

Shaking your head, you cut your eyes to give him a harsh stare for his wind up. His amused expression lit a fire in you like no other. He really wasn’t one to talk though, was he?

“Gi’me your hand ‘ere,” he held his out to you, quickly cupping it when you handed it over and pulled it under his bent elbow. “Remind me again who’s idea this was, eh?”

He didn’t need reminding, he had been one of the keen instigators for the whole jaunt down Twemlow Viaduct. It usually was him, or Jack. The two of them often reminiscing on times they had both raided their parents' alcohol cupboards and managed to sneak out with some dusty bottle that held a liquor that tasted out of date and stale, and if not that then, cheap.

“‘S still fucking freezing down ‘ere, in’it?” He asked, lifting his left hand up to his mouth and blowing against it to try and get some feeling back into his fingers.

“We’re so close to the river, I don’t know why you’d expect anything different?”

“Is this why everyone was always so insistent on necking anything with over 11% alcohol in it when we came down ‘ere as kids?”

“Probably,” you softly laughed.

“‘S a bit different now though innit?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” you started to correct him, shrugging your hand out from under his elbow and reaching for your bag. Quickly fumbling with the clasp, you lifted up the quilted flap and managed to pull out the stainless steel hip flask.

Harry cackled a harsh laugh, his eyes crinkling as he slowly let his laughter die down and softly let his joy wash over his features. “Impressive. Gone all proper on me.”

“You know I haven’t,” you held his eyes watching as he nervously cupped at the back of his neck for a short while, a gentle bite down of his bottom lip, as you quickly uncapped the item and held it out to him. He looked like he needed the courage. You continued, “We’re just a bit more refined, that and we earn a good living. Some more than others, and by some I mean you.”

He held his hand up towards you with an amused grin at your comment. “You first, ‘s yours after all.”

Lifting the item and knocking back your head, you swallowed the whiskey with a small grimace, before offering it to Harry once more. This time he accepted, his right hand making light work of taking the item from your hands and sipping at the contents.

His face wasn’t as contorted as your’s when he swallowed, a fan of the chosen beverage if needs must. “‘S the proper stuff, tha’ is,” he commented with a quick lick of his lips before continuing, “Come a long way from sneaking the bottles of dusty Blossom Hill from the back of the cupboard.”

“Don’t know about that,” you smiled, taking the item and pushing it back into your bag. “I’d still drink if, if it were on offer.”

“‘M sure Mum’s got a bottle or two going at home?”

“Is that your way of asking me to go home with you?” You paused. “Again.”

Harry remained silent at your words. Both you and he knew it was going to happen. A mixture of sparks and lovelorn, lingering glances was enough to make anyone both want to give up, while also giving a burning confidence usually unknown.

Neither of you expected it would be you who started the conversation, however.

“It is, ‘f it’s gonna work. ‘M not sure I could wait any longer t’be’onest wi’yer.“

Laughing, you reached up to push at his shoulder. He always knew exactly what to say, but no way was he going to make a laughing stock of the whole thing. “Oh, give over,” you spoke, harshly swallowing when he kept your hand against the thick cable knit black jumper he had on. “You’ve made it this far, thus far just fine.”

“‘M not playin’,” he whispered, hand gently curling around your own and lifting it up to press against his face. His cheeks were warm underneath the cooler hands, despite the cold night whipping around you both and your mind quickly wondered if he was just as embarrassed for his lack of acknowledgment as you had been. “Homes nice, you’re nicer.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” you let your soft voice get taken by the wind.

“An’ what gave you tha’ impression?”

He did. He gave you that impression. By not mentioning it. By treating you how he always did.

“You.”

“Me?” Harry responded, indignantly, blowing out a sigh that had his cheeks puffing out underneath your hand. “‘M not doing a very good job then am I? I can’t keep m’eyes off o’you. ‘S not my fault you don’t bloody notice ‘em.”

But you had noticed them.

His eyes, gaze following your every move, near enough. Stupid little touches. Glances of approval. Not just now, but from years before.

Treating you how he always did.

Oh, treating you how he always did.

Bringing your eyes back to his figure, you saw the way his gaze darted and nervousness dragged at his features. A frown began to set itself between his eyebrows from worry.

“Changes everything.”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Harry pursed his lips. “Everythin’ has changed, changed a long time ago an’all.”

You dropped your hand down, it now massaging against the back of his neck and shoulder as you felt the tension of his body radiating through his clothes. Under the dim moonlight and the odd spotlight that had been added to the viaduct with each passing year for safety, Harry exhumed everything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was soft, and so bloody gorgeous. Not just because he was personification of an almost six foot tall string of handsomeness, but his character did the talking for him.

He knocked the door before he walked into a room, for example. Who really did that kind of thing anymore?

But you could also still see the heartbreak that lingered, albeit not as strong as it once was, it was still there. And that was problematic and scary. To be on the receiving end of it. Not that you would hold it against him, because you had been him at one point too. At many points in fact.

When the two of you had shagged, because let’s face it that is exactly what it had been, while a sense of familiarity in the person was prevalent it was definitely overruled by the desire to just hit a euphoric high that if hit right could not be topped.

Familiar overruled in other aspects, and it wasn’t to be brushed away. But was familiarity a mask that would slip sooner rather than later? Was it the start and the end?

The both of you experienced similarities in your life that could not be matched by the friends in your friendship group. London had chewed you up and spat you out, ruthlessly so. While rewarding you with long hours but fat pay cheques, careers that catapulted you to new heights and enabled you to see parts of the world that two country kids (which in one way you were) could never have imagined.

Sure Harry’s had been on a much, much larger scale - you would not ever deny that - but you no longer fit in.

And neither did he.

This was a place that only the two of you knew. A place where you watched those around you fall in love and have the time to do so. A place where your friend's happiness was created a lot easier than it wasn’t and allowed a sense of success to weave its way in, through the most unexpected of happenings.

Not a place where you found happiness in your work because there was less of a space for happiness to blossom elsewhere. Not really. Not like you; both of you.

Understanding was vital.

This had been a place you knew like the back of your hand. A place that had you feeling the earth beneath your feet, fresh air in your lungs and had at times made it so you found yourself sitting by a river and finding yourself feeling complete.

Yet looking over at the almost 26 year old, that just wasn’t the case anymore.

And for once you didn’t feel alone.

The sound of the odd piece of cobbled pavement underneath Harry shoes, buried beneath overgrown grass and plants, broke you from your thoughts, as you watched him kick at the ground and scuff his shoes.

He sighed, head tilted back before he knocked it to the side and caught your eyes. A small scoffed laugh left his lips as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“‘S it fucked?”

You hummed, a small frown lacing your features.

“Fucked it, haven’t I? Fuckin’- idiot-“ he breathed out a noise as he clenched his teeth, one that wasn’t quite a growl but enough to let you know he was agitated. Only strengthened by how tight his jaw became.

Before you could even think, the back of your hand gently brushed against the pulsing hinge of his jaw. Muscles taut as you tried to soothe him in a way that your mind was screaming was far too intimate.

You didn’t want him having any internal battle about right and wrong. Not when you had both taken the same steps to get here.

“Thought it was just meant as a one time thing,” you admitted. “Like you needed it, and I needed it. Was what it needed to be at the time. Bit rough, bit sloppy-“

You cringed are the use of the word. Wanting the ground to swallow you in a weird fashion. You should be able to talk open and honestly with someone who you had known longer than hadn’t.

“Rough?“ Harry swallowed audibly, his face fallen. “That’s not-“

His eyes held an emotion similar to sorrow at the mention of the word. “That’s not the impression I wanted to give you.”

“We were both drunk, it happens.”

“Not with me it doesn’t. Not when it’s me, wanting to be wi’you.”

“I mean I was into it if that helps anything?”

“Were yer?”

You looked at him from the corner of your vision, watching his lips try to fight a smile as you rolled yours into your mouth to not give yourself away. You knew what you were trying to do by speaking those words aloud but you wished you hadn’t. Awkward breathy laughs were shared by the two of you as you held his eyes.

“Was I?”

You hummed in agreement to answer his question, letting your smile dance along your lips now and watching as Harry’s dimples started to show. His expression was youthful, slightly smug.

“Good t’know.”

***

Finishing saying your goodbyes to your friends and ignoring their suggestive expression because ‘Harry was stopping as an extra pair of hands’, you shut the heavy wooden door and reached up to close the deadbolt lock at the top. Shortly after, you let your feet drop as you stopped standing on your tiptoes and pressed your forehead against the door.

The silence of the pub was always a strange one to you. A place that was usually thriving, whether it was just your friends, or your parents friends. When the lights were turned out, it was actually quite a lonely place. Regardless of growing up around this sort of industry your entire life and having parents as publicans nothing was more depressing than an empty bar, lifeless and nothing like it was intended.

A suggested lock-in from Jack, who managed to interrupt both yours and Harry’s conversation earlier had not been a bad shout after all. You knew it meant that you would have to deal with the fallout with it being Christmas Eve, but it wasn’t very often that you found yourself in the setting.

Turning to move from the door, you almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the opening of a familiar Lily Allen song start to play over the speakers.

Harry emerged from the corner of the pub that housed the jukebox, slowly rubbing his hands together before he wordlessly picked up the scattered pint glasses that had remained on one of the tables that had been missed by the staff on the evening shift. His eyes glanced over at you, as you stood with a hand to your chest.

This wicked smile and gleam washed over his face as he paused his movement. “Did I scare yer?”

“Do you not think it’s a bit loud?”

He wrinkled his nose at you, a soft shake of his head no, to answer your question.

“‘S your fave innit?” He asked, head nudging to where the jukebox was now hidden.

With a small smile you nodded, “Prefer the Keane version in all honesty.”

“Don’t have it in the bloody jukebox though, d’yer? Can’t like it that much.”

Your smile deepened at his exclaim and how prominent his accent sounded as he spoke, the small clink of the glasses he was holding only heard if you really zoned in.

“Where d’yer want these?” He asked, holding up the five pint glasses he had collected. “Behind t’bar?”

Humming, you nodded and watched as he weaved his way through the tables to you. You frowned as he got closer, not understanding why he hadn’t bypassed you completely.

Once he was close enough to you, you watched as he reached for what you knew to be your own glass of wine that was almost finished.

“Fancy the rest of this or can it go too?”

Looking at him and down to the glass, you gently wrapped your hand around it and brought the lip to your mouth. You knocked the item back quickly, swallowing the rest of your wine, before handing over the now empty glass back to Harry.

“Good girl,” he joked, light laughter lacing each word. “Sit yourself down.”

Wearing an amused and quizzical expression, you let yourself sink down into the wooden chair. Resting your chin on your hand, you spun slightly in your seat to keep your eyes on Harry as he placed the glasses down and lifted the hatch so he could step behind the bar.

With your free hand, you started to tap the worn beer coaster labelled with the Cheshire Brewhouse logo against the table. Part of you hated how Harry had a knack for anything, including knowing his way around a bar.

He busied himself with collating the glasses once more as you let your eyes take in the surroundings you had known, loved and even grown out of.

Your parent’s pub was cosy and friendly. A truly

classic and quintessential British village pub, featuring open fires, bookcases found in the very far corner or the jukebox in the other, lots of old oak and a really pleasant garden with benches for the summat and heaters for the winter. You know the kind that had its regulars that had kids who had seen each other grow up.

The bar was the centre of the pubs house, with an extensive array of whiskies amongst many other delights. A nice range of local ales and a well-balanced, great quality list of wines on offer designed (which you would be taste testing if the service hadn’t decided to take a break) to complement the food menus designed daily by a team of chefs who all have a passion for great cooking using fresh, seasonal and local ingredients.

It looked as Christmassy as Christmas could get, with a real tree which was locally sourced from one of the many surrounding farms and traditionally decorated with golds and reds. Twinkly lights shone, not only on the trees but as part of the garland that was hung above the bar each year, much to the annoyance of your Dad and the delight of your Mum.

Slowly dragging your eyes back to the bar, you watched Harry as he poured you another glass of white wine and started to recap the bottle. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately.

“Service is a bit slow,” you jibed, once you knew he was with you. “Going to ruin the reputation of a fine establishment.”

His chuckle was breathy in response, but warmed you through as he turned his back and pushed his tumbler glass up against the device at the bottom of the Glenfiddich distilled malt whiskey, not once but twice going for a double.

“Helping yourself to the stock now, as well.”

“‘M sure your Dad won’t mind,” he responded, twisting his body back around to reach for your own glass and place it onto a tray that sat along the bar top. “In fact he’d probably make a comment about how it’d put hairs on m’chest.”

You laughed, unrestrained, knowing just how right he had been with that comment.

Over the otherside of the room, Harry smiled and shushed you as he walked closer, easily holding the tray with your drinks upon it. “Being a bit loud,” he taunted as he slid the tray down to the oak table.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about the noise.”

With his hand against the back of the chair which was currently housing your outstretched legs, you felt him start to wobble the seat to give you a warning.

“Hang on,” you said, “Plenty of other chairs.”

“This one’s mine,” he responded.

Wanting to roll your eyes but deciding not to, you let your legs drop down and gave the seat back to Harry. Once he was comfortable and he’d taken your drink off the tray, he gestured with his right hand.

Not entirely focused, he had to do the ‘come hither’ motion a couple of times before you finally cottoned on. He was willing to let you put your legs on his lap instead, while he may have taken the seat it didn’t mean he wanted to take away your comfort.

No sooner had your legs been raised to rest against his tan washed velvet corduroy trousers, was he fiddling with the buckle of your stiletto sandals.

“Got mud everywhere,” you commented, wiggling your toes that were painted a festive red and inspecting the little dots of dirt that were splattered against your skin, as Harry dropped the first shoe to the floor and quickly worked on the second. “Dread to think what they smell like.”

“Smell alrigh’ from ‘ere,” he mused, smirk faint but glaring obvious in his tone of voice as he threw a quick and mischievous glance at you. As you elongated your foot against his thighs, the tips of your toes were just about able to press into his thick jumper to try and jab at him for his comment.

Before you were able to put any sort of force behind your action, Harry’s hand clamped down around the top of your foot causing your eyes to snap up away from his hand and up to his eyes.

There he sat watching you, top two teeth pressed into his bottom lip keep his smile at bay. Releasing his lips slowly, his whispered threat left his throat, “I will tickle.”

You tried to fidget away but to no avail. With a whined laugh, you frowned as Harry goaded you by slowly raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You had tried him.

Truth be told you wanted to again.

If he wanted to.

Reaching for your wine, you took a hefty sip and let the silence swallow you both. Harry, who kept his hand on your foot and his fingers dancing gently against the top, let his head fall back awkwardly against the hardwood. His head dropped to the side taking in his surroundings and their familiarity.

“Do you ever get tired of coming back?”

You hummed, sure you had misheard due to the way the blood was rushing around your ears. He turned to look at you, all double chin and puffy cheeks.

“Of everything being the same, but different?”

His whispers captivated you, hushed confessions not quite meant for anyone else but his own mind yet spilling from him with such an ease that he did nothing to fight them.

“I’ll admit, I come home for other people. Not for me.”

“People?”

“Mum, Dad,” you paused. “You.”

His smile deepened. His chin knocking down to his chest, his eyes looking up at you from underneath his curling hair from being caught in the moist winter evening just hours before.

“You can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you did three nights ago.”

Harry breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring and his chest expanding. A lick of his lips, before his mouth dropped to sit slightly agape.

“What if I don’t wan’to? What if I want t’look at yer like this all the time?”

You found yourself unable to respond, nose burying itself into your wine glass as you pressed your lips against the cool outside to try and hide your burning smile.

His lips curled lightly, before he breathed a laugh once and gently shook your foot with his hand. “Eh? Come ‘ere-“

“Harry,” you breathed.

“C’mon, c’mere. ‘S room for more than just your feet.”

If it wasn’t for the creak of your chair as you slowly started to push yourself out of it, you wouldn’t have consciously been aware of how you were making your way to him.

His body relaxed, somehow managing to become closer to horizontal than sitting upright in his seat, as he peered as you walking the short distance over to him.

With his legs widened, he pressed his face into your side now that you were close enough. His nose inhaled the familiar scent of your perfume which was only faint now due to the other senses and scents it had mixed with throughout the evening.

Rolling his face out of your body, he knocked his head back and pressed his chin where his face had been. The face you showed him was worn with worry, an expression he did not want to meet.

“‘S wrong?”

His ask was lazy. Not wanting to dig deep and know. What if he didn��t like what he found?

“We know how this is going to end.”

“Do we?” He prodded. His eyes moved over your features quickly before they partly disappeared to him, thanks to your curtain of hair which slowly fell down.

His hand reached up, desperately brushing it away and cupping at the back of your head as best as he could while he remained seated.

“How’s that? Tell me.”

“Same, but different.”

You knew you shouldn’t use his words, not in a way that could be considered against him, but they - in the most ambiguous of ways - described everything perfectly.

“Not if I have my way.”

His words were almost lost against your stomach as he pressed his face against you once more and wrapped his hands around you; sweaty, nervous palms pressing to the backs of your thighs.

“Same, but better.”

Harry guided you down to his lap, his lips somehow managing to remain pressed into stomach, or your chest, or your clavicle, as your face became level with his.

“Different, but better.”

He kissed against your cheek slowly, nose nudging at your skin as he willed for you to relax against him. “I don’t know how you like it, like this,” he whispered in confession. “Show me?”

A puff of air left your lips as you turned to look at him with hooded eyes. His mouth was closer to yours than you originally thought, corners of lips brushing as you slightly pulled away.

When your lips met, it was in the softest of pecks that trembled under your nerves. Both sets of eyes looking back at each other as you innocently engaged.

If you were to take your eyes away from him in any way, you would notice those fluffy curls of his falling over his forehead and the lightest dusting of red blush making itself known against his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He felt like a school boy, lost and clumsy. The kid who was once again flicking paper at you in science class just so he could pull a face at you over something your teacher was saying to get you to laugh.

Mouths hovering over each other, your breathing mixed, as Harry nodded to you slightly. You pressed your lips to his once more, feeling the way he gradually opened up to you, warmed and softened underneath the puckering of your mouth against his.

His hands, that slightly trembled, smoothed over your hips trying to pull your body so that it was more so flush against his. You moaned softly, your hands running over his jumper covered shoulders, fingers digging and pulling at the material just below the nape of his neck.

The chair beneath you moved lightly against the floor, not quite a scrape but a dull drag. Neither of you broke the kiss, but his hands against you allowed fingers to dig in to hold you steady to him so if you were to fall from where you were sitting, he still had you.

His lips slowed, moving to press against your cheeks again as he panted and his warmth breath bounced off your skin. “Think I got it,” he heaved.

“Do you?”

Harry hummed his ‘yea’, before pressing his lips so tenderly to your chin and the underside of your jaw. He felt how you swallowed heavily, throat dry from the way your mouth hung open and your neck further exposed itself as you lolled your head back.

You were falling further and further back, finding it hard to stay upright as he devoured you and made you weaker with each pulling kiss. His groans were needy, muffled and making your ache. While yours were silent and making his desperate to pull something from you. To build is confidence in that he was doing something right, you liked it this way too.

Hands fumbled and dragged upwards at your skirt, faintly aware now how it was similar - if not the same one - to the garment you wore to his show.

“Gonna take this off properly,” he mumbled, feeling the way your hips moved slightly from his hands to roll over him.

“You don’t have to-“

“No?”

Your voices were rushed as you spoke to each other, barely audible but loud enough all the same. His head was knocked back slightly as you hovered over him and you found yourself admiring his blissed out face even only in the lead up.

This was a sight that you hadn’t received last time, and if you had your way it was one you were going to greedily enjoy in all its glory.

Like watching the way his eyes closed and he softly grinned, the left side of his teeth started to show as the one side of his face reacted first while your hands blindly moved to lift up his jumper and the white tee he had on underneath, to allow you to find the button of his corduroys.

“What ya doing?”

“Nothing,” you mused.

He pulled a face, the kind that down turned his lips, eyebrows raised and head slightly tilted to the side. The kind that had you smiling.

“Not trying to get m’trousers around m’ankles for a second time within a week then?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Please do.”

A low moan left you as you pressed your forehead to his jaw and dropped your eyes. Your hands slowly started to pull at the brass button and pop it open before seeking out the zip thanks to his desperate plea, encouraging you to continue.

Hands quickly sought out the waistband of the trousers and gently pulled at the item. From the way that you were sat, you knew there was no way you were doing to make them budge.

“Stand up fo’ me,” he mumbled, quickly helping you get off his lap so that he could make light work of his clothing and pull down his trousers and underwear.

His bare bum made easy contact with the cushion leather beneath him, eyes carefully watching you as your hands moved to underneath your skirt.

The fabric of your underwear slipped so easily down your legs, his eyes just about caught the sight of them as they pooled against your ankles and you kicked them away.

Legs pressed together, you slowly untucked the v-necked blouse you had chosen and pulled it over your head. Wearing nothing but a fancy black bra, and a tight little skirt you hastily snatched for your wine and took a hefty gulp.

You could feel his eyes on you, a gruff groan catching in the back of his throat and when you finally turned your eyes from where they had been looking down at your heaving chest and how great this bra made your boobs look, causing him to move his hand down to start playing with himself.

His name left your lips in a breathy gasp, causing you to look up quite surprised at the find of his right hand gently tugging at his hard length.

“Keepin’ me waitin’,” he groaned, his left hand sloppily reached for the back of the collar of his jumper and tee, pulling the item roughly over his head.

“Fuck sake,” he mumbled under his breath, agitated that he was unable to get both items of in one go.

“Smooth.”

Harry stared up at you with a playful squint, before he gently fell back and moved the chair as he did so, the dull scrape heard once more.

And if you didn’t know he was flushed before, when you first kissed, you were definitely aware now. His eyes were blown out and hungry as they devoured you. Hair wildly haphazard before he let go of himself with a soft slap of his skin and harshly pushed his fingers through it.

“‘S it still a couple of quid for a strip of three,” his words brought you back to him. This smugness radiated off of him as he groaned and leaned forward to push his trousers down all of the way. Over his vans and socked feet, before he toed them off as well be harshly pulled at his white sport socks.

You didn’t even need for him to explain what he meant, staying silent as you watched his hands tug at his corduroys from the floor and retrieve his wallet. As his fingers moved around to find a couple of quid, the jangle of the coins was taunting.

One leg crossed over the other, you swayed and found yourself blushing when he looked up at you once he’d managed to find enough money and then some. With his wallet thrown on the table, he stood proudly from the seat and closed the short gap between your both.

Leaning forward he easily took your lips with his own before pulling away. With his face still close to yours he whispered, “Promise not to look at my arse.”

He didn’t hang around long enough for your reply, instead turning away and brazenly giving you all the time you would ever need to admire him, his fantastic bum and his hairy legs before he opted for a jog-walk type of thing, suddenly conscious that he was absolutely walking around naked from the waist down in a pub owned by your parents.

While you waited you took a quick pull from his whiskey, needing the heftier burn for Dutch courage. Nervousness returned when you heard the endings of what you believed to be Harry whistling.

“Machine ate all m’fuckin’ change,” he grumbled, regardless of the twinkle in his eye at the strip of overpriced condoms he had managed to score from the men’s bathroom. “‘S Durex. Business must be booming, your Dad’s definitely gone up in the world.”

“Please don’t talk about my Dad.”

He smiled brightly before he reached for your face with one hand and pulled you towards him mumbling his ‘sorry’s’ against your lips as he gave you several kisses in quick succession.

His other arm loosely wrapped around your back and pulled you with him as he walked backwards and slowly lowered himself back onto his previous seat. The chair creaked as you joined him, slipping into his lap and feeling the way he was smiling now.

Pulling away from your kiss, he quickly tore away one of the condoms allowing the others to fall without much care to the floor. Teeth took a hold of the foil-like packaging and he tore it not so elegantly with his eagerness.

With his cock nestled in the crease of his own thigh now, the heat radiating from it matched your own agonising yearning. Scooting back to give him space, you heard him groan as he gently rolled the condom down onto himself. Eyes looking up just in time to see him knocking his head back and breathing deeply through nose. The foil-like packaging was back in between his teeth once more as his hands were otherwise preoccupied.

Slowly your hand reached up to take it from his mouth, feeling some playful resistance as Harry continued to hold it in his teeth. His eyes were open and boyishly sincere, as you tugged at the item and he finally released it when you lightly laughed.

“Gi’me a kiss.”

Obliging him, you leant forward and slotted your mouths together a lot easier than you had done at the start of the night. A heat built easily between the two of you, as Harry gave you his tongue and you felt the flex of his jaw under your hand as he worked your mouths together.

He was eager, his hands tightening on your waist before he growled when he understood he had to grab handfuls of skirt before he could cup your backside. But when his skin met yours and you ground down onto his lap, the groan that left him was the most animalistic sound imaginable.

The frown your face fell into showed your desire to whimper, as he kept you atop him and marvelled in the way you writhed, both from satisfaction and keenness at the pressure of his cock against you.

“Can I have you again?” He asked, the startings of sweaty hair being pushed off your face. His eyes peered at you, searching for his answer as you seemed to be able to do nothing but pant and look back at him yearningly. “Are you letting me?”

You dragged your fingers down his t-shirt covered torso and lifted it slightly just to see the quiver of his stomach as pulled you onto him once more.

“Like this?” you voiced, meekly.

“‘F this is what you like then, yea’”, he breathed into your mouth, hands shifting your pliant body. “Is this what you want?”

You wordlessly nod, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp when he managed to move you so he sat so enticingly at your entrance. He was teasing both yourself and him, wanting to keep you both on the edge.

Harry blinked a few times as he looked at you, and you revelled in the way he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His hands held your flesh tightly, fingertips dipping into the skin of your bum cheeks as he gently guided you down.

An unattractive and dull, quite strangled noise, left your throat as you let your forehead fall against his temple. Eyes falling down you see the cups of your bra fall slack, you felt his hands softly gliding over your shoulder blades and shoulders.

He rid you of your bra, hands moving to your chest to squeeze your breasts. His jaw fell slack when you found yourself sitting snugly on his lap - on him - settled and already feeling spent.

This was so different compared to the last time; if not overwhelming so because of the way you both appeared to be so present. Each movement of your hips, and the way they rolled and grinded and dragged felt too much. So much so that you had become nothing more than a mess of short, quick breathing and blushing, sweaty cheeks.

Slack-jaw, you were unable to find it in you to return Harry’s kisses, and his joyful, breathy chuckle seemed to lead you to believe he was fine with it. In fact he was happy to keep going as you were.

Your movements were frantic, and despite the build up, not entirely driven by lust either. Harry continued to encourage you to move as you were; slow, grinding motions on his lap that caused the filthiest of groans and dirtiest of laughs from the two of you. Laughter that was only made stronger as the chair that held you both started to creak too.

You couldn’t do much about it though other than to breathe into each other’s mouth, and rock your hips together with more fervour each time.

“Yea’,” he breathed against your lips, left hand at the back of your head holding you to him, while his right rested just above your bum. “‘S better. That’s better.”

It was better. Better than last time. Better than anything before.

And while it hadn’t been frantic before, it was now as your legs that were hanging down either side of the chair started to tremble and your toes started to dig into the worn carpet beneath them. Hips knocking and your clit dragging heavenly against his public bone, you grasped his name as you buried your face into his neck and dug your nails into his nape.

Harry hissed his approval which fell to a groan as your nails pushed up into his hair and lightly pulled as you sought leverage. There were so many things you were learning this time around and his penchant for liking his hair pulled from time to time, was one of those things.

“God, ‘m gonna come soon,” he admitted, gruntly as he forced your hips down as he anchored his legs and widened his seating position. “Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you whined. “Yes. Like this-“

And as you pressed your face to his once more, he was everywhere. Soft but hard, loving but commanding. Smelled like clean washing detergent but of country air. Inviting and alluring, allowing you your lingering kisses between grounding breaths that became staccato in unison with the movement of your hips.

You aren’t ashamed of the whines that escaped your throat as you squeezed down on his cock, praised by indecipherable works that left Harry but were nothing more to you than lips moving against your rough and dry ones. Word that made the burning feeling of your pending orgasm spread through your entire body, warming you and setting you alight.

It was long and deep, with your toes curling into the carpet they were pressed against now. Barely able to catch your breath, sucking in harshly and shaking.

And when you came to, thoroughly exhausted, you noticed that he was waiting for your say so. That he could let go and enjoy the pleasure brought about by your shared labour.

“Coming-“ was all the warning that you got and was enough to encourage you to watch him as he came, his face completely void of anything other than pure pleasure. Wrinkles and frowns fade, his mouth falling open with his pink lips glinting prettily under the dim Christmas lights around you.

His forehead gleamed with sweat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and his hips bucked up one, two and three times for good measure. “Fuck me,” he heaved gruffly.

You were suddenly desperate to feel his lips on yours despite the way you both continued to fight to get your breath back, but settled for resting them against the skin of his cheek, which was hot to the touch.

When you felt Harry start to go soft, you reluctantly pulled away and let him slip out of you. He wasn’t so keen to let you get too far, holding you just that bit higher than before with his hand cupping gently but firmly at your hip. “Where’d you think you’re going,” he hummed, eyes still closed as he continued to heavily inhale and exhale.

You softly smiled, taking in his soft face and responded by nuzzling close to him again.

Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere with him.

A place where only the two of you knew, like the back of your hand. The same way you knew each other. Now and possibly forever.

#gbsxmaschallenge #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles christmas #harry christmas

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persephone-is-here-omg · 3 years

Text

In Nomine Patris.

Pairing: Priest!Bucky Barnes/Reader.

Warnings: Smut. This fic features explicit sexual content involving a catholic priest, if that isn’t your thing or it offens you skip this one. If you know this offends you and you still read it, whatever feelings you experience after are your problem, not mine. Otherwise, enjoy. Slight chocking.

Word Count: 5530.

Rating: 18+.

Masterlist.

Father Barnes has your panties in his pocket.

_____________

You brush your hands nervously down your dress as you step into the church and locate the few family members that have made it out today to your youngest cousin’s First Communion. Truth be told you haven’t been near a church in almost three years, struggling with your faith and the relationship with your family has left you nearly isolated. You scurry to a place beside your aunt and greet her with a smile and a kiss as she points out to your cousin, seated on one of the very first benches on the dress that has become somewhat of a family relic, you wave at her and blow a kiss in her direction as she smiles and sits back down.

Your eyes move around the church from the back to the front slowly, landing on some familiar faces. When your gaze falls on the priest your heart skips a beat, he looks at you intently, his blue eyes fixed on you and you can’t look away. His lips curl slightly upwards, he looks away, you don’t know what his expression means and your aunt looks at you “I see you’ve discovered the new priest”

You look at her and blink in confusion, you had been away so long that the priest had been changed and you had no knowledge about it, you look at him again and notice the glove in his left hand, your curiosity picking up.

“When did he arrive?” You ask her, trying to not sound as affected as you feel.

“Monday. Antonia wouldn’t stop talking about him until I reminded her that he is a man of God and talking that way about him was wrong”

You nod, your eyes finding him again as he directs the altar boys in preparing everything for Mass.

Soon enough mass starts and everyone is listening intently to what Father Barnes has to say, you think about how much you’d rather be anywhere but here. Mass advances and the kids at the front are lining up to take the Communion for the first time, Father Barnes instructs everyone else to wait until they are done, then the adults will be able to take theirs. Your cousin waves as she heads back towards her seat, a serene smile on her lips.

Slowly everyone else starts to file into the queue, you included using your hands to smooth down your dress, your nerves grow as you come closer and closer to the front and face to face with Father Barnes. You consider going back to your seat, but if you do you probably won’t hear the end of it.

The person in front of you walks away and you look at him, his eyes are a bright blue and deep, his lips are full and he has a beard framing them. The short hair is styled carefully, but classically. You open your mouth as he raises his hand to it.

“The body of Christ” He says, his fingers press the Sacramental Bread against your tongue, his fingers applying some pressure on it, something no priest has ever done before. You look at him wide eyed, as your lips close around the tips of his fingers, something you have never done to a priest before. Your heart beats fast as you step away and lower your eyes trying to push what just happened away from your mind.

That night you fall prey to a fitful sleep, tossing and turning, unable to get any real rest.

Monday morning you’re surprised when your aunt knocks on your door as you are having your morning coffee, she walks in and looks at you “There’s a part time job at the church. It could help you” She says.

You look at her over the rim of your mug “What’s the job?”

“Father Barnes needs someone to help him organize things in the church, buy supplies, just run errands for him in general” she explains “Will you take it?”

“Well… I haven’t even met Father Barnes yet” You say “But I’ll go and see” You’re not excited at the prospect of working in a church, but you don’t have many options available, and your savings are suffering from it.

Your aunt looks at you and nods “I have to leave, I’ll see you later”

You nod “Ok. See you around”

You look around in case you see Father Barnes or any of his acolytes. You find him standing in front of the Altar, his hands in his pocket and his back to you. You clear your throat to make your presence behind him known “F- Father Barnes?” You ask and can’t help but notice that he is taller than he seems, his back is wide and his shoulders look strong.

He turns around, for a moment you could swear he smirks, but he smiles at you “Yes, and you are? I saw you yesterday during the First Communion mass”

You give him your name and offer him your hand. His handshake is firm, the warmth of it is almost too much, but you smile back at him “I heard you’re looking for someone to help part time here at the church”

“Yes! Yes, I am. Don’t get me wrong, the boys are good, but they’re kids. They’re better off playing and having fun than spending time cooped up in here”

“Probably shouldn’t say that to their parents, though” You laugh and nod in agreement “I don’t… Well, I don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for”

Father Barnes looks at you with a weird intensity in his eyes “You are” He says and then adds “If you’re free part time. You’re the only person that’s come up until now”

“I didn’t know. I understand if you want to keep your options open”

Father Barnes shakes his head “No, no. You’re perfect. More than perfect”

Your face heats up, unable to stop the feeling that he means more than being perfect for the job “Thank you” You pull out pen and paper from your bag and write down your name and phone number “Just in case you decide I’m the right person for the job”

“I’ve already decided” He says “When can you start?”

You are taken by surprise “Tomorrow, if you need me to”

“See? You’re perfect” Father Barnes repeats “I’ll keep this” He takes the piece of paper with your name and number on it “We’ll need to keep in contact. Please, could you take the advert off when you leave?”

You swallow and nod “Of course. Have a good evening, Father Barnes”

“You too”

You leave the church and follow his instructions about taking the ad down, then head to the grocery store, you browse the aisles slowly, taking your time in picking up everything you need to buy.

You collide against a wall of solid muscle and gasp as you look up, coming face to face with Father Barnes "I'm… Father… I'm sorry" You say, avoiding his eyes. But noticing that he is wearing normal clothes.

"Is ok. Just an accident" He says searching your eyes "Are you ok?"

"Yes, I was just distracted. Didn't see you"

"No problem" He says and takes your basket "I'll help you with this" Father Barnes starts walking in the same direction you were going before "Do you have a car?" He asks, observing you intently.

"No, I'll just… I just take the bus"

"Is a bit late" Father Barnes points out "I can drive you"

You look at him and nod "Ok. Thank you" You say with a smile as you pick a box of rose tea and put it on your basket. The silence spreads between you two as you walk through the aisles, picking up different products to take with you.

The two of you walk out of the grocery store a few minutes later and go toward his car. The car is nothing flashy, a small, black sedan, that you wonder for a second how does he fit inside. Father Barnes opens the back door for you and lets you put your bags in there, you feel his eyes on you as you do so, never leaving you and when you tip too far forward and almost fall inside the car his arm wraps around your waist and holds you up "Careful there, doll" His voice rumbles in your ears and you breathe slowly to calm your nerves as he helps you stand up.

"I'm so sorry about that" You say and step away as you turn around looking at him "I lost my balance"

"No need to worry" Father Barnes says, a smile on his lips, as he grabs the car door and corners you between the open door and his body.

Your eyes find his and he steps back, letting you move away and then closing the car door.

Father Barnes opens the passenger side door for you and you get in, his eyes fix on your legs as your wrap dress opens, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs, your eyes lock for a brief moment and then he closes the door and runs to the other side, you fix your dress and your coat, making sure you’re covered.

He gets in on the driver's side and starts the car, steering it out of the parking lot. His eyes are fixed on the road and you try not to look at him, but your eyes keep straying towards his face.

"Thank you for driving me… you really didn't have to"

Father Barnes turns toward you for a second, then looks back to the road "Is nothing really. And your place is on my way back to the church. I'll drive you home any time you have to stay late, so transportation shouldn't be a problem"

"Oh, no. You don't have to do that, really. And people would talk, if you did"

"That doesn't concern me" The way he says it leaves no room for arguing. So you just nod and look ahead.

"Thank you for the opportunity, Father Barnes. I'm between jobs, so this will give me something to do"

"Call me James or Bucky, please" He says "Father Barnes is too formal"

"But… You… I…" You babble and Father Barnes, James, shakes his head a friendly smile on his lips.

"I insist, please. At least while there's no one but us around"

You take a deep breath and nod "Sure, then… James" You say softly.

A while later Father Barnes, James, stops in front of your small apartment building. He looks at it out the window and smiles at you "Is it a nice place?" He asks.

"The nicest I can afford" You say "Is a good place, not too big, but I live alone, so that is not a problem"

“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow” James says looking at you “Can you be there at noon?”

You nod “Of course”

“Another thing, I know the fliers said part time, but… If you’re at all available for full time, I’d appreciate the help”

You think for a moment “Yes! I do need the job so, the more hours I can get, the better. I’ll see you tomorrow, then”

“Yes” He says and just as you open the door and turn to get out of the car he grips your wrist firmly and makes you turn to look back “Thank you”

You swallow and smile again then, after he lets go of your wrist, you get out of the car, take your bags from the back and rush inside.

Your heart races as you close the door behind you and set the bags on the kitchen counter, and you shake your head as you try to clear your thoughts “Of course none of this means anything. He’s a priest” You say out loud, more to convince yourself and try to calm your racing heart than anything, really. Your hands tremble slightly as you put the groceries away.

The hot water helps you relax. Soon enough you’re wearing your pajamas and getting into bed. The long day soon taking its toll on you as you fall asleep almost as soon as you are under the covers, your dreams are hazy and heady and you can’t quite remember them as you wake up, your hips rocking into your pillow slowly but desperately.

You’re not sure of where you are exactly as you wake up, but your eyes land on your clock and, you realize, is still too early for you to start getting ready for work, so you end up laying back down and trying to get some more sleep. But, after whatever dream you had you can barely think straight. You sit up and decide to start your day early, going for an elaborate breakfast and an even more difficult lunch that you pack neatly in an effort to waste the free time at your disposal and trying to keep your mind from straying into whatever happened last night in Father Barnes car. Nothing happened, anyway. So why are you so nervous about going in today?

You hope this new job is something temporary, you have been questioning your faith for a long time now and spending time in a church with an admittedly attractive priest is something that won’t help you in the least. If it was in your hands you’d stay as far away from the church as possible, but you need the money and James, as he insists you call him, is paying very good money for such a position.

You step inside the church smoothing your dress down and making sure nothing that would be considered inappropriate is visible. He is already waiting for you by the Altar, for a moment you wonder if he should use a shirt like that. Your curiosity about his gloved hand pikes up again, but you refrain from asking or even setting your eyes on his arm, not sure how he would take that question or the scrutiny.

You smile at him as you stop in front of Father Barnes, James, you remind yourself “Father” Stopping you correct yourself “James”

James smiles at you “Welcome” He starts walking and you follow him out into the inner yard of the church and toward his office “This will be where we’ll spend most of our time together. I will mostly need you to help me organize schedules, do you remember the previous priest’s one?” He asks.

You shake your head “I… I’ve been… I haven’t been coming to church regularly”

“Questioning your faith?” He says inquisitively, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m not…” You trail off, realizing that it is probably quite obvious for James that you have been struggling with your faith for a very long time, your relationship with your family already complicated before you stopped attending Church, suffering even more about it. They didn’t appreciate your positions on a variety of subjects and made certain you knew about it.

James smiles at you “That’s ok. It won’t be a problem. Everyone goes through that” He takes your hand between his “Right now, the most important thing is that you can help me organize the mess in here” He chuckles and let’s go of your hand.

“That shouldn’t be a problem” You say, looking around and trying not to think about your hand in his “We could get a couple more filing cabinets, to start”

“I’ll have to see what I can do. But that shouldn’t be so hard to get” James says.

The filing cabinets arrive a few days later and you delve into the task of ordering all the files, especially the ones concerning the church’s finances starting by the oldest ones available. You focus entirely on the work at hand, the time going by as you go through folder after folder of disorganized paperwork. You jump, startled when there is a knock on the door and look over your shoulder, smiling when you see James standing at the door.

“How are you?” He asks, his voice low and deep traveling through the small space.

“I’m ok… I think I lost track of time” You admit “But I have gone through a good amount of folders now, so I think this will be ready sooner than I thought”

“That’s great to hear” James says stepping inside “I was wondering if you’d like some pizza? Is late and I don’t think you’ve eaten”

You look at him “That’s very nice of you, James, but you really don’t have to do it. I don’t want to impose”

“You are not imposing in any way… Just a few slices, then I’ll drive you home” He insists and offers you his gloved hand, which you take. It feels strangely hard, almost like some kind of prosthetic, he uses it to help you stand up from the floor.

“Thank you” James lets go of your hand and you smooth your dress down, follow him down the hall towards the small apartment in the back of the church’s grounds.

James opens the door and lets you step in “Over here” He says walking towards the kitchen “Sit down” James points you towards the stools, sits down beside you and tugs the pizza box over, flipping the lid “Ladies first”

You smile at him and take a slice “Thank you” The bite of pizza you take tastes amazing and you hum, smiling “This is amazing”

“Is from that place down the road from here” James explains.

You laugh “Oh, I used to go there all the time back when I was still in school” You take another bite “With the girls that used to be my friends”

“Not your friends anymore?” He asks and you shake your head, swallowing the pizza.

“Not anymore… We just drifted apart, probably the fact that they all are married with kids already and I’m not doesn’t really help”

“And that you are not coming to church?”

“Not a nice addition to the mix” You admit and look at him “Do you ever… Think about what would your life be if you weren’t a priest?”

James smiles and takes a sip of water “Sometimes”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that”

He chuckles “Is just a question, doll” The word doll slips out casually and your face heats up “I do think about it. Everyone wonders about the what ifs, don’t they?”

“I guess so” You follow the movement of his gloved hand as it moves and takes yours, you notice the hardness of his hand again, you almost open your mouth to ask, but his strength caughts you by surprise as he pulls you into a bruising kiss.

He lets go of your hand and both his arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against his firm chest. James’ lips feel unyielding and soft against yours, his tongue licks your bottom lip and you open your mouth in response to his actions, giving him the chance to deepen the kiss, your hands move from his shoulders into his hair, fingers knotting on the silky brown strands. You whimper when he bites your lower lip and pull your face away, breathing hard.

“What… Why did you do that?” Is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

James licks his lips, but doesn’t answer your question.

“I think I should go” You say standing up and James takes your hand, stopping you.

“Is late, I should drive you” James stands in front of you and lets go of your hand “Let’s go”

You stare at James for a few seconds and start walking behind him, unsure of what to do now.

James opens the door to his car and lets you get in, as he closes the door and walks to, jogs really, to the driver’s side your mind goes back to his arms around your waist, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, jumping as James closes the door.

“Are you ok?” His voice is low and he sounds concerned.

“I… I’m ok. I just didn’t expect that” You say.

The silence extends as James drives and you wonder if you should even go back to the church, you’d have to come up with an excuse to explain why you left the job so soon, but you can come up with something. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.

James parks the car and turns to look at you, but doesn’t say anything until you turn to look at him, his hand clasps on the back of your neck and his lips are on yours again, demanding. You whimper and he takes the chance, pulling you closer, your arms are around his neck, one of your hands on his hair before you can stop yourself.

“This is not ok” Your voice trembles and so do your hands, placing them on his chest to distance yourself from him “We have… We have to stop” You turn around and open the door of the car and get out.

Your heels click on the pavement as you walk towards the door of your building, you think James will come after you, but he doesn’t. A part of you genuinely wishes he did, it makes you feel like you’re not good enough to chase after. The other part of you is relieved. You don’t have the best track record, people still look at you and whisper under their breath when they see you in church, rumors of you and the new priest? That would not help.

You run up the stairs to your floor and then open your door, close it behind you and throw your bag and jacket on the couch, then start pacing. Mind racing as you go over what happened. You should have seen this coming, you should have. The way he looked at you that night he drove you home. How you were never sure if he was talking about your work or you. Do you have to quit? The anxiety starts to eat at you because how are you going to explain that you had to quit a comfortable, well paid job. You know how your family would react, you have seen it before. But the thing is, and this is the real issue, that you are not sure you want to leave.

You know you won’t be able to sleep tonight. Not when every time you close your eyes all you can think about is his hands on you, his arms around your waist, his lips. You shake your head and start pacing again. You know you didn’t start it. You would have never acted on it, not on your own. Would you? You walk over to the window and look out of it, you can see his car is still there. The temptation to go back out is strong, so much so that you turn around and walk back to your door, take your jacket, your keys and head back down.

The car is still there and you stop, should you go back? James notices you standing there and gets out of the car, walks decisively towards you and cups your face again, his lips crashing against yours as he kisses you one more time “Why did you come back down?”

“I…” You start but stop again “I saw your car still here, I don’t know…”

James takes a deep breath “You should go back up… We can’t do this. Not in public”

“We shouldn’t. Not in public and not in private” You counter.

“I will see you tomorrow” The way he says it, is almost as if he is certain you will show up the next day.

Will he see you tomorrow? You don’t know, you rest your forehead on your hands and think back on the way his lips feel on you. Almost like being branded by him. A shiver runs down your spine and you stand up, go to the fridge and get the vodka bottle out, open it and take a swig off of it, your face scrunches and you sit back down, closing your eyes. The decision is only yours, but not showing will have your family asking questions, they always ask questions. Just not the ones they should ask. Never those ones.

You step into the church and look around as the few people present start to walk out, you can’t see him and take a deep breath. You are not sure what you’ll do. Not yet, at least. James walks into the church and waits until every other person inside it, except you, has left to close the doors. All of them.

His steps are fast when he starts walking towards you. James stops in front of you 2I wasn’t sure you’d come today”

You shrug “I wasn’t sure either. I’m not really sure what I am doing here” The admission slips out of you and you can not stop it. It feels almost like getting rid of a heavy weight over your shoulders.

“Why did you close the church?”

“I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks”

“Risks? This is already risky enough” You counter and shake your head slowly “What… Whatever…” You stop and take a deep breath “What happened last night it shouldn’t have happened. You could… You don’t understand. We can’t”

James grips your chin in his hand and wraps his left arm around your waist, pulling you close, so close there’s no space between the two of you and he kisses you.

His kiss is intense, bruising, the beard framing his face scratches at your skin, you feel the burn on it and moan. You push on his chest for a moment and then wrap your arms around his neck, stand on your tiptoes and push your body closer to his muscular one.

James lets go of your chin, hand moving down your arm slowly, lets go of your hand and grips your hip, squeezes for a moment and then moves it around, to squeeze your ass.

You jump and gasp, opening your eyes and looking at him, eyes wide and hands trembling. This is wrong. The voice in your head says. Is your mother’s voice. It says it is your fault. Everything is your fault.

You shake your head to try and silence it. Let the feeling of James’ hands on you drown everything else. It feels good and you want it. You want it. Your fingers play with the collar on James’ shirt and he takes your other hand, brings it to his mouth and kisses the tips of your fingers.

You look down, at your fingers over his collar “Are you sure… This could end badly” You say.

“I am. I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever since I saw you that day” He admits, kissing each of your fingers again “I can’t”

You’re the one who starts the kiss now, fingers closing around the fabric of his shirt. You bite his lower lip when his hand squeezes your ass again, moaning his name.

James lifts you up with one arm and, by instinct, you wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him as he starts to walk. You’re not sure where he’s going until he places you on top of the table and you stare at him in shock “Here? We… Here?”

“Yes, here” He says in that voice that makes you think that arguing is pointless.

James just sets you down on the Altar and you swallow hard, you’d think a priest would be more concerned about this, but his eyes have turned dark, only a thin ring of blue around them. It makes a shiver run down your spine. James steps between your legs and kisses your lips again, big hands cupping your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks. His hands move down to the sides of your neck, your shoulders, your waist “I can’t stop thinking about this” He repeats.

“Me either. You’re in my head all the time” You admit, playing again with his collar, it comes loose and you look at it between your fingers. James takes the collar from you and places it beside you on the altar, then his hands are tugging your skirt up, fingers skimming over your boots, he looks down when his fingers change from suede to smooth skin. He licks his lips and that affects you, it makes you whimper. His hands on you make your skin feel like it is on fire, like you will burst into flames and be turned to ashes and dust right there. Maybe is what you deserve for what you’re doing now. Maybe is what will happen.

You lift your hips so he can tug your panties down, but instead he takes his glove off and you see a metal hand he rips your panties and stuffs them in his pocket. You swallow and move your hands down his chest and further down his stomach, reach his belt and unbuckle it, tugging at his shirt after and following with the button and zipper on his pants. Your hand is inside his pants before you can really think about it and you squeeze his cock over his underwear.

James groans, licking his lips and crashing them against yours again, tugging you closer to him as you push his pants down his legs, you look down between the two of you, and take a deep breath to steady yourself. He wraps his left hand over yours, firmly, lips ghosting over yours. James takes your hand away and, finally, you feel him tease your slit with the tip of his cock. You nod, opening your mouth and closing it again. You can’t talk, you want to, but you can’t find the words. He thrusts in, a slow, fluid motion that leaves you entirely breathless, mouth hanging open as you throw your head back, something that James reads as an opening to go for your neck, his kisses are fervent and his teeth scrape against your skin, leaving a delicious sting in their wake.

You wrap your arms around his neck just as he pulls almost out and thrusts back in, the same slow and fluid motion as before, making you shiver and moan his name in his ear, your walls tightening around his cock, your eyes closed, hands buried in his hair as you tug and arch your back. Throwing your head back.

James’s left hand grips your jaw and makes you look at him, his intense blue eyes fixed on you as your legs tighten on his sides. He kisses your lips again, swallowing your moans, your groans, your whines. Claiming every sound you make as his. The hand on your jaw moves slowly down to your neck, tightening around just a little bit. Just enough for your nails to dig on the small of James’ back as you gasp after a deep thrust. James looks at you again, his gaze consumes you, takes hold inside you.

“Fuck” You groan, clamping around James when his pelvic bone drags against your clit.

“I want to cum inside you, make you mine” James whispers in your ear, the arm around your back tightening and holding you in place.

You nod, slowly. Kiss him and nod again “Do it” You say “Please”

James pushes you to lay back, his left hand on your chest as you go down, his hands wrap themselves around your thighs and tug you closer to the edge of the altar, flush against his hips. James’ cock buried deep inside you, so deep you feel like you have trouble breathing. His left gloved hand moves to where your bodies join and circles your clit, it feels so good you almost try to flinch away. But James holds you in place as you bite your lip and look at him, wide eyed and pleading for him to keep going. He doesn’t stop circling your clit until you cry out his name, breathless, as you cum around his cock. Your vision goes white as the orgasm stretches through your body, it makes you tighten up and then relax almost completely as you fist the cloth over the altar.

“That’s it” James encourages, his own hips starting to stutter in their pace, he licks his lips as you push on your elbows to watch him, eyes moving down his torso, to his cock thrusting in and out of you. He growls low in his throat, hips grinding into you as he cums “Fuck” He mutters, grinding again into you.

You sit up and cup his face, kiss his lips. He wraps his arms around your middle again and rests his forehead against yours “Are you ok?”

You nod, slowly “I am… I just…”

“We’ll be careful” James says “No one can know”

“Yes, I know… The people here, they wouldn’t…”

James looks at you “I know they don’t like you being around, but I have your back. I’m here”

You take a deep breath and decide to put your trust in him. Whatever happens.

#priest!bucky barnes x reader #priest!bucky #priest!james bucky barnes x reader #priest!james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu fic #marvel imagine #marvel fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #james bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes fic

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daydreamingoftomorrow-blog · 3 years

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Single Dad AU

I for some reason really like single dad AUs so here is something I wrote. No clue what do for a title or if I want to make this into a full fic.

Asahi and his five year old daughter, Yuki got off the plane entering the busy airport. He carried her on his hip for fear of losing her in the big crowd. Asahi made the way to baggage claim to receive their suitcases. It was the middle of winter and extremely cold. Some of his friends back home thought he was crazy for moving to the US, much less to the midwest where the winters were harsh. Asahi wanted a new place for him and Yuki. Japan brought too many challenges for his clothing business. He wanted to raise his daughter in a small town where the community was strong and not much went on. They exited the airport and went to the parking garage where his new car was parked and unlocked it, he put Yuki in the carseat and buckled her in. She was severely jet lagged so she passed out as soon as he sat her in the seat. He hopped into the drivers side and started driving to their new home or actually apartment since he hasn’t been here in person to look at any houses. Asahi had the heat blasting in his car and could still feel the cold in his bones. He glanced back at Yuki in the rear view mirror, she was still fast asleep curled up in her coat. After about an hour of driving they made it to their new town. It only had about 10,000 people and driving through it only took about ten minutes. Their apartment complex was near the north end of town, he tried to pick the nicest apartment complex he could. He parked in his assigned space and went around back to wake Yuki before picking her up and walking up the stairs to their new home. It wasn't a big apartment with small bedrooms, a kitchen/ dining room combo, and a small living room barely big enough for a decent size couch and TV. He will get something bigger soon he thought, setting Yuki on the floor, she was barely awake now. Asahi heard the furniture store truck pull up in the parking lot.

“Yuki please stay here while I go get our furniture.” He says trying to find a place for her to be while they unload all the stuff. The coach and love seat of course arrived put together however nothing else did. As soon as the living room furniture was put into the place and the rest of the boxes unloaded outside the truck the store employees left. Asahi sighed to himself thinking how he was going to get all that stuff upstairs. He pushed all of it to the sidewalk so at least it was out of the way of the parking lot. Just as he pushed the last box onto the sidewalk a silver Charger pulled into a spot next to his car and a you got out in scrubs and a hoodie looking tired, but stopped to look at the new car next to yours. You noticed all the boxes on the sidewalk and an out of breath Asahi.

“Sir? Are you by yourself moving all this?” You asked, walking up to the row of boxes. He nodded too out of breath and tried to form any english words right now. “Do you want some help?” You asked. This time he shook his head and finally had enough breath to form a sentence.

“No thank you, I don’t want to bother anyone.” He said with a thick japanese accent. You found it cute, but cleared her head before speaking.

“Okay well I assume you're my new neighbor on the second floor? I am right next door if you change your mind.” you say walking up the stairs to your apartment. It was Asahi’s choice to move here so he figures it’s no one else's responsibility to help. He starts with the box that has Yuki’s bed fully intending on getting her bedroom put together today. He started by pulling the box with him as he walked backwards up the stairs. Just as he was about fully up them he let go to adjust his grip to turn the box on the flat floor and the box went tumbling down the stairs loudly. Asahi sighed in frustration and started his way back down the stairs to try again. Just then you open your apartment door now wearing green athletic leggings and the same hoodie. Hearing the ruckus outside and decided you are helping now. You walked down the stairs and got on the opposite side of the box as Asahi.

“I am sorry! I know that was loud.” He said bowing. You waved your hands in front of you. Being an American not used to bowing made her flush a little.

“Don’t worry, but you need help so please let me. You don’t have to pay me or anything.” you say starting to push the box up the stairs while Asahi pulls. He is going to do something to pay you back, he thought. As soon as they entered his apartment you noticed a little girl sitting on the floor playing on a phone. She is very cute with long brown almost black hair braided down her back and a fluffy pink coat that almost looks too big on her.

“This is my daughter Yuki.” Asahi says walking behind and crouching down and putting his hand on her head to get her attention to look up. She did and gave a shy wave and looked back at the phone. You did the same back and Asahi realized he never introduced himself. “Oh and I am Azumane Asahi.” He says nervously, you liked his name.

“I am Y/n” you say, holding out your hand. “Nice to meet you Azumane.” Asahi took your hand and shook it and for a brief moment he liked the way you said his name. You knew quite a bit about asain culture and knew that Azumane was a last name. You held yourself back from adding the san at the end, you were sure he was older than you. Asahi and you spent the rest of the afternoon getting all the boxes at least up into the apartment so that they could shut the door and keep the heat in. The apartment was a cluttered mess so Y/n helped move the respected boxes to their rooms. Just as they opened the box for Yuki’s bed she ran to her dad.

“Papa onaka ga suita!” She said. Little did Asahi know that you knew exactly what she said. She’s hungry.

“I could whip something up at my place or order something for us if you want.” You offered to pull out her phone to look at the restaurants that deliver which aren’t a lot around here.

“You have done enough for us.” Asahi paused. “You understood her?” He asked, shocked. You were not about to tell him you were an Otaku and you learned Japanese so that you didn’t have to read subtitles to watch anime.

“I took a class.” You lied not wanting to look weird. It was kinda the truth though. It was an online class.

“Well that’s good that one person can understand us. I know English pretty well, but Yuki is not so good yet.” He says with a shy smile.

“Daddy!” Yuki whines to remind Asahi she is hungry.

“Let me treat you as a thank you for helping us.” Asahi says not to give you time to protest getting his phone from Yuki. “What would be the easiest to eat without plates or silverware?” He asked

“Um pizza. Order Pizza Hut, it’s the best.” You say continuing to open the box while he downloads the app to order. Everyone decided cheese would be the best option. As you and Asahi waited the two of you slowly put the bed together since the instructions were hard to understand in both English and Japanese. You guys got it together just as the pizza arrived you did go back to your apartment to grab some cups for the pop he ordered. You all sat on the floor and ate your pizza in comfortable silence. You stayed and helped put the rest of Yuki’s bedroom together. All that was left was to decorate it. It glanced at your phone and noticed it was almost ten o’clock. You have work the next morning.

“Azumane, can I come help you tomorrow? I have to get up early for work.” You say politely.

“No problem, it’s late and I need to get Yuki to bed anyway..” He trailed off not really sure what else to say other than thank you which has probably said a thousand times by now. You gave him a smile that automatically relaxed him. He hasn’t been around many women other than Yuki’s mom. You made your way to the front door and put your shoes on. He just realized you did that out of respect for him and blushed a little. You said good night to Asahi and went to say good night to Yuki, but she passed out on the couch with Asahi's dead phone on her chest. You smiled at the cute girl and left their apartment and went next door to yours.

#asahi x reader #azumane asahi #single dad au #haikyu x reader #haikyuu

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

Text

The Lies ~ JJK [Request]

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

GENRE: Fluffy, angst, established-relationship, ex girlfriend, fluffy ending

PAIRING: Jungkook x Pregnant!Reader

The rain was beginning to pour down from outside of your car, you figured if you waited a little longer it would have passed but evidently, you were wrong. It had been raining on and off all day since you went to your ultrasound appointment and finally came to the BigHit Studios. When you first got to the parking lot you figured you could sit in the car until the rain passed, you didn't have to walk into the building from the rain. But the longer you waisted the heavier the rain began to come down.

"Fuck it, come on little one," You whispered to your bump, running your hand over it as you stared out of the window. Jungkook was supposed to be meeting you to go to lunch together before you went to see the boys with your newest scan photos. They'd all been so invested from the moment you told them you were expecting. All of them ready and raring to be uncles again since Namjoon had two sons already and a daughter on the way. Bracing yourself you opened the car door and sprinted towards the front of the building, well as fast as you could run since you were seven months pregnant.

"Evening Miss Y/l/n," The security guard - Kim Jae - greeted as you waddled through the door as fast as your legs could carry you. He grabbed one of the towels he kept from behind the reception desk and gave it to you. You thanked him for the towel and began drying your hair off while you looked at him,

"Afternoon Mr Kim, any idea where Jungkook is?" You questioned while you took off your coat and scarf not wanting to stay too warm while you were in the building.

"I think he's down with the stylists, would you like me to walk you?" Jae questioned as he began signing you into the visitor's notepad that was behind his desk. At this point you should have just had a worker's pass since you were there almost every day, Jungkook almost never wanted to let you out of his sight since you got pregnant. You kindly declined his offer, he'd always been one of the nicest guards in the building but right now you wanted to go down alone. If Jungkook was with the stylists that meant he would be down there with his ex-girlfriend and you knew what that meant which didn't sit right at all. All week he'd been coming home to tell you the stories of Jihyo and her desperate attempts of trying to get him back in her life. They'd broken up years ago before she started working for BigHit. She'd only just gotten a job here and since then she'd done nothing but ask him to go back to her. Bringing him gifts, locking them both in a room together to try and convince him to go back. Not wanting to have any secrets between you both Jungkook told you every detail of everything she'd been doing, he was your fiancé after all.

"Here, you'll need your visitor's pass," The guard called out as he rushed up behind you to give you a small badge attached to a lanyard, something every visitor in the building had to wear so that they could be identified in case of an accident.

"Thank you! I'll see you later!" You would have stayed to talk to him, show him the ultrasound photo but right now you wanted to get to Jungkook as quickly as possible.

On the bottom floor, you could already hear Jungkook talking loudly to who you presumed was Jihyo. You continued walking down the hallway of doors until you reached the only open on, Jungkook was backed up against a wall by the long blonde who had her hands on her hips.

"I told you, I'm not interested. I have a fiancé-" Jungkook stopped talking when he noticed you out of the corner of his eye, it took everything inside of you not to rush in there and pull him out of the corner. The plan had been to ignore Jihyo's desperate pleas since it was nothing more than that desperate pleas to save something that wasn't worth saving and hadn't been for years.

"I know that but Jungkook, please. I'm pregnant and the baby is yours!" The whole world seemed to stop spinning when you heard the words fall from her lips. There was no possible way for her to be pregnant with Jungkook's kid but that wasn't stopping your racing thoughts.

"It's not mine, we haven't spent a night together since we broke up Jiyho you're insane-"

"Since 4 months ago, you came to me when Y/n came out as pregnant remember! You complained about how she never let you fuck her anymore and I let you use me..." You felt your heart get pierced again at her words, Jungkook stared at you wanting you to believe that none of it had been true. It was all lies.

"You loved how tight I was for you, you did nothing but tell me how much better I am than her-" You tried to block out her voice but it was hard to do that when she kept whining on about it all.

"Baby it's not true, you know I would never do that to you..." But all of the hormones in your body began to turn against you telling you that it all had to be true, giving you every reason to not believe him and to believe Jihyo instead. Jungkook had been working late a lot there were always the chances that he could run off to be with someone else even though he never would.

"Guky I'm pregnant, I have tests to prove it." Not wanting to hear it anymore you backed out of the room excusing yourself when you bumped into someone behind you. Rushing back towards the elevator as Jungkook sprinted after you calling out for you to stop running and he would explain it all. Not that there was anything to explain since nothing was going on behind your back.

"Y/n, please! It's not true, she could be pregnant but it isn't mine, you trust me right!?" The doors to the elevator closed as he reached you and all you could do was lean back against the wall and cry to yourself about the thought of it all. You trusted Jungkook with your life there was no doubt about it but somehow your pregnancy mind-fog was making it cloud your good judgement. The elevator climbed the floors while you silently cried into your hands, ignoring the dirty looks you were getting from the man beside you.

Reaching the floor where the studios were you got out to go and visit one of the boys, leaving wasn't an option since it was raining cats and dogs out there. Crying, rain and driving was never a good combination to go together.

"Y/n? You okay?!" Namjoon asked as he came out of the bathroom opposite the elevators his eyes widening as soon as he saw you standing there crying. The moment you looked up at him the tears only began to run harder down your cheeks, he opened his arms for you to go into them,

"Here, come on." He cooed as he pulled you out of the way of the lifts and towards his studio ignoring the looks he was getting from those around him. He'd been through all of this when his wife had been pregnant so he knew all about the extra hormones racing around inside of your body. He also knew how to take care of an overemotional woman who was crying over something that wasn't probably a problem. Last week Jimin had found you crying over the fact that Hoseok had taken your sugar-free jelly so Namjoon just thought this was a repeat of that.

"What happened?" He questioned as he set you down on the sofa in his studio all you could manage to get out were small broken sobs nothing that was useful for Namjoon.

"I need words Y/n," He chuckled softly to you trying to cheer you up but he could see it wasn't working. He reached over into the small mini-fridge in his studio for a drink for you.

"Jungkook. Jiyho...S-She says she's pregnant but I know Jungkook wouldn't but I'm- I'm scared he did..." Namjoon frowned trying to make sense of the words that you said to him. None of them making sense just yet but the longer he tried to put them together the more they did.

"Jihyo says she's pregnant with Jungkook's kid...You know he wouldn't cheat on you, is that what you're trying to say?" He questioned to make sure he was right and you nodded at him wiping your eyes on the sleeve of your jumper as you stared up at him,

"Pregnancy hormones making it hard for you to see clearly?" You nodded again, not finding the strength you needed to talk you were too afraid you were burst into tears in front of him once again.

"You're engaged...Jungkook talks about you all of the time, you know that right?" You sighed hearing Namjoon say all of this but it didn't help your racing thoughts.

"She has tests Namjoon...She's-" You tried to speak but Namjoon cut you off. As nice as he tried to be to everyone one he met there was only one word that could be used, to sum up, Jiyho.

"She's delusional, do you know how many times a day she tries to get with Tae and Jimin? She's desperate to get back into life like ours...She wants money and fame, that's all she's doing this for."

You stayed there for another hour with Namjoon, talking about how much Jungkook loved you and would never do something like that to you but now someone was pounding on his door.

"Hyung! Tell me she's in there with you!" Namjoon glanced at you to check it was okay before answering the door to your fiancé who sounded as though he was about to burst into tears, you nodded.

"She's right here," Namjoon opened the door carefully and Jungkook came bounding into the room rushing over to you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

"I thought you'd gone home so I went after you but your car wasn't there. Then you didn't answer your phone-"

"It's in my coat with Jae." You whimpered as you looked at him, he was crying heavily as he kissed all over your face.

"I'll give you a moment," Namjoon whispered as he quietly left the room going to find something else to do while you and Jungkook talked all of this out between you.

"Sorry, I bumped into Namjoon when I came up here to get away." You whispered to Jungkook who was staring into your eyes, his were bloodshot as he stared back at you.

"You know I would never cheat on you...I love you far too me...I mean look at what we're creating together." He whispered to you as he ran his hand over your bump, you giggled at the small touch he was giving to you and the baby kicked.

"Even the little one agrees with me," He chuckled when he felt the baby kick, both of you had agreed not to find out the gender of your child wanting it to be a surprise on the day.

"I know but my hormones were just working in overdrive," You mumbled sitting back against the chair as you looked at Jungkook,

"She's not going to be a problem anymore." He admitted as he looked at you, reaching out to cup your face in his hands while he ran his thumb over your cheek.

"What do you mean?" You snuggled your face against his hand and smiled weakly.

"I couldn't have her fired but she's being moved to a different department, she won't be allowed near us anymore." He told you as he smiled at you,

"I'll even take a DNA test if it'll get her off my back...I promise you that baby isn't mine." You shook your head at him as you reached out to cup his face this time,

"I know it's not, I-I was just-"

"Pregnant. Hormones, I know. I know." He whispered to you before leaning forward to kiss your lips,

"Let's go get lunch, then show everyone our little one." He spoke as he ran his hand over your bump once more.

"Hopefully the rain would have stopped by then and I can drive us both home, where we can snuggle in front of the fire and watch whatever movie you want." He whispered to you as he kissed your cheek this time then kissing your nose and finally your lips.

"Sounds like the perfect night to be Guky." You mocked the nickname that Jiyho had given him and he grunted at you,

"If you weren't so heavily pregnant I would have tickled you to death by now." He warned you as you got up from the sofa and began to make your way out of the studio.

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @fan-ati--c @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie @bisexualmess007 @sw33tnight @innersooya @sweeneyblue1 @jin-from-the-block

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foolzstar · 2 years

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fuck it, i said i would do it so here: why free range farms aren’t nearly as ethical as you think.

keep in mind that i am not an expert, however family rescued a bunch of chickens and have been keeping them for years, plus ive done research on what corperations do, as well as done research from the charity who we rescued these birds from, its not loads, but its definetly enough to compile a bunch of facts into a post just so that people can be more aware, but anyways:

1) free range hens only get to live around 18 months. this is because all farms care about is productivity, and a hens peak egg laying time is between 6-18 months in the standard conditions. some can lay every other day well into being three years old, but for the most part with the average hen, it starts to slow down around 18 months, and so unless the chickens are rescued, theyre killed on mass, usually by being gassed.

2) despite being free range, the conditions theyre kept in are still incredibly poor. hens are kept on mass, with anywhere from 50-200 hens per coop (or in the uk, barn, as due to the risk of avian flu, all free range hens have had to be kept in barns) the conditions, whilst not as bad as battery farms, are still not cleaned regularly enough, and due to the large flock sizes, many of the hens are forced to fight for food, leaving many of them malnurished, almost all of the hens that we rescued a few weeks ago were underweight, with one of them dying recently due to this.

As well as this, in order to lessen the chances of any of the hens escaping, almost all the hens have thier wings clipped so theyre unable to properly fly, and in some cases, the birds beaks also get clipped, and due to being kept in such large masses, many medical issues the birds my face go unnoticed, things like potential infections, deformities that could affect their wellbeing, or any illness are either ignored or have them killed for it because, same with the reasons their lifespans tend to be so short, it lessens productivity.

3) flock sizes, whiilst i did mention them in the previous pont, flock sizes are technically be a whole factor on its own because of how it impacts the chickens behavior.

hens have this thing called a pecking order, a heriarchy that basically decided between the hens, whos number one depending on how strong they are. this determinds things like who gets to eat food first, who gets the nicest bedding, as well as who gets to be quite literally, pecked at the least. the pecking order is decided through a physical fight, the lower down on the pecking order a hen is, the more theyre picked on, feathers plucked out, open wounds, you name it. in smaller, more tame flocks, this tends to be alright, feather plucking is kept to a minimum because the fight for who gets the nicest thing is less dire.

in the case of farmed hens, where hundreds of hens are fighting over who gets the most food, the fighting can get brutal, most of our hens came to us with missing festhers around their butts, necks, heads, even our healthiest bird, peach, still came with many of her feathers missing that we are trying to help grow back.

...

i understand that they may only be a few points, but theyre very major points that do affect chickens wellbeings on a large scale.

in no way am i saying to never eat an egg again, my family eats eggs almost every day (we’ve had to with the 3-4 eggs a day we have piling up in our kitchen) and being vegan isnt an option for most people, in most cases is actually more detrimental to the planet if you measure it by water consumption and food miles with how far things like soy beans, almonds and coconuts have, but i feel as though its important to be aware of the conditions that your food comes from, not to guilt you out of wanting to eat them, but to make you think of little things that you can do to make the demand for eggs from mass productions slightly less.

not everyone has the privalige to do so, i know that im incredibly lucky that the flat my family lives in has such open rules about pets and has such a large garden in the suburbs where conditions are great for raising hens, but if it is a possiblilty i really do recomend trying to do anything you can, no matter how small.

buy from local farms or from farmers markets, where the people selling their produce tend to do it on a much smaller scale than most corperations. adopt hens, chickens are actually amazing pets, that when raised properly make amazing companions, i could probably make an entire post for a guide to raising chickens going through all the different breeds, how much space they need, eggs, life spans, the works, i may be a ninjago fan account but i could definetly be a chicken blog if given the oppertunity.

the saying peta likes to shove down our throats that theres “no such thing as an ethical egg” is bullshit, and, corperations are to blame for most of climate change and the harm that is done to animals, but small acts done by everyone can still make a difference

#chickens #sustainability #tw animal abuse #mentioned #ngl this thing didnt really have a point but chickens being looked after properly is so important to me #but yeah #be aware of where your buying stuff guys #also corperations have only recently started being open about free range hens being barn hens in the uk #due to avian flu #but the need to have them indoors has been out since 2020 #so yeah #friendly reminder that corps are lying scumbags in every corner of the world #peace out

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dothwrites · 4 years

Note

worried Dean @ Cas: “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

---

It’s a widely accepted tenet in the art department that Castiel Novak is a genius.

Dean first hears rumors of Novak’s skills when he’s a freshman. He doesn’t believe them at first. He suspects they’re overblown by groupies who are too interested in trying to get into Novak’s pants (not that Dean can blame them: with his shock of dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and delicate scrollwork of tattoos spiraling up his arms to disappear under the sleeves of his very tight t-shirts, Novak is a walking wet dream). Then, at the end of his freshman year, he’s busy setting up the annual art show when a piece catches his attention.

At first glance, the painting is deceptively simple. A shadowed figure stands in the center of the canvas, his arms raised up to the sky. Around him are swirls of red, black, and gold, somehow blending into one color in the background. The more Dean looks, the more ambiguity he finds in the painting. Are the swirls of gold lifting the figure up or restraining him? Is the figure fading into the black or breaking free? Is the red coming from him or is he drawing it in? Are his hands raised in supplication or defiance?

Dean loses track of how many minutes he spends staring at the painting, admiring the shading, the color, the symbolism. Transfixed, he reaches out to touch at the rough surface of the painting before he recalls himself and snaps his hand back to his side.

“You can touch it if you want.”

Dean whirls around at the deep voice, his eyes widening when he sees Castiel Novak standing behind him, hands tucked deep into his pockets. Castiel raises a pierced eyebrow at him.

“Seriously. Go ahead.”

Dean shakes his head, aware of Castiel’s reputation. “I can’t...we’re not allowed to disturb the artwork--”

Castiel’s mouth twists and Dean doesn’t know whether he’s angry or deprecatory. “Well, I’m the artist, and I say you can.”

Castiel’s eyes rest heavily on him. Dean swallows, his heart picking up a rhythm that seems attached to the flick of Castiel’s tongue over his lower lip. Hand shaking, he reaches out to brush his fingers over the textured canvas.

“It’s rough,” Castiel says from right behind him (when the hell did he get that close?), “because becoming is always rough.”

And that’s how Dean Winchester decided Castiel Novak was a genius.

---

As school and life continues, Dean admires Castiel Novak from afar.

From what he can tell, Castiel doesn’t have many friends. He has admirers, which he ignores, and he has a few people who hang onto his fame, which he disdains, but actual friends? The only thing keeping Dean from volunteering is the thought that Castiel will turn the same withering look on him.

Castiel haunts the art building and, as Dean continues delving into the Art program at Carver Edlund University, he does the same. Sometimes he’ll pass Castiel on his way to his studio. Castiel always nods at him, but it’s a companionable gesture, the same that you might give to someone at the grocery store. He never stops to chat, doesn’t even remove his earbuds.

And that’s fine. So Dean’s harboring a crush that’s as much intellectual as it is physical. Plenty of people have crushes. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s obsessed. Not like he lurks around just so he can leave at the same time Castiel does. Not like he skulks through the dark halls so he can get a look at Castiel’s new project. That would make him creepy and pathetic, and those are two adjectives which certainly don’t describe Dean Winchester.

After a while, denial doesn’t even taste bad, just a little bitter.

By the end of his sophomore year, Dean’s accustomed to the status quo. He notices the light in the private studio allotted to Castiel (all senior Art majors get their own studios, but Castiel got the nicest of them), but he doesn’t stop on his way to his own (shared) studio. When he arrives, however, he screeches to a halt.

His studio is filled to the brim with snotty freshmen. His personal workplace has been completely commandeered by a freshman with a (barf) man bun. “What the hell?” Dean sputters. He can feel his face turning red with rage. “This is my time.”

Man-Bun pops his gum as he looks at Dean. His eyes are so hazy Dean’s surprised that he’s not deep-throating a bong at that very moment. “Um, guess again? We totally booked the studio for tonight?”

Seething, Dean storms to the schedule and checks. Sure enough, there’s a long list of names on the door for the studio space. “I always have Thursday,” he protests, but it’s an empty sort of rage. “I’m always here for Thursdays.”

Man-Bun shrugs, turning back to his psychedelic smattering of colors. “Not this Thursday, dude.”

Dismissed, Dean gathers his remaining dignity, and leaves. Standing out in the hallway, he reviews his options. He’s kicked out of his regular studio, and he needs to work tonight, otherwise he’ll never get his final project for figure drawing done. Every studio he passes is booked to capacity; clearly the art program is full of procrastinators. In fact, the only studio that has any sort of room...

“No. No. Shit.” Dean weighs the consequences of failing his class versus metaphorically throwing himself into a volcano. Finally, his fear of failure takes over, and he knocks on the door of his last remaining option.

The door swings open, revealing a Castiel who looks significantly more disheveled than normal (though normal Castiel usually looks like he was rode hard and put away wet). A smear of blue paint decorates one cheek while his earbuds dangle from his neck. Dean tries to ignore the spirals of Castiel’s tattoos, especially where they disappear under his shirt (he especially tries to ignore the thoughts of what those tattoos look like underneath Castiel’s shirt). Castiel blinks in surprise.

“Dean. What are you doing here?”

(The fact that Castiel knows Dean’s name comes as a shock. Dean assumed that he was one of the thousands of nameless faces Castiel passes every day.)

“Um, first let me say, it’s totally awesome if you say no, I don’t expect you to say yes, it’s a huge imposition--”

“Dean, you’re rambling.”

“Can i use your studio? Or share it? I wouldn’t ask, but a bunch of douchebags took mine and there are no other spaces open, and I really need to finish this project--”

“Sure. Come on.”

And with that, Castiel steps back and beckons Dean into his studio.

Dean crosses the threshold with something resembling awe. He never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he would be allowed into Castiel’s inner sanctum. He tries not to gape too obviously as his eyes dart from corner to corner of the room. It looks...like a studio for the most part. Several canvases are hung around the room; if they’re discarded attempts or inspiration, Dean doesn’t know. They could easily function as either. Castiel finally steps in front of him, directing Dean’s attention to one corner of the room.

“Would there be good?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s good.” He pauses, eyes darting nervously around the studio. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Castiel frowns, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No, of course not. If you were, I wouldn’t have opened up the door.” With that, he seems to consider the topic of conversation closed, and retreats back a few steps.

He sets up his work and tries to ignore the fact that Castiel Novak is watching him. It’s almost impossible not to feel his eyes; the skin on the back of Dean’s neck prickles in awareness, but he perseveres.

He sets his sketch on the easel before casting a critical eye upon it. He frowns as he notices every imperfection. it’s based off a series of sketches he jotted down in class earlier that day. Dean remembers the careless grace of the model, the way that the fabric had draped artlessly over his waist and shoulders, but he can’t recapture the specific atmosphere of the room, which was what made that particular model striking. Every time he tries to put onto the paper how the room felt, his figures end up wooden and two-dimensional.

“You’re paying too much attention to the form.”

Dean jumps, his charcoal pencil scrawling an ungainly line across the page. Not a huge loss, he was already going to toss this one anyway. He turns around to find Castiel standing directly behind him.

Castiel nods towards his sketchpad. “In your drawings. You’re paying too much attention to the form. That’s why it’s coming out wrong.”

“The form is all there is,” Dean replies, a little peevishly. He knows the sketch sucks, but that doesn’t mean he wants Castiel freaking Novak pointing it out to him.

“The form is one part. But you have the lighting and shading and you have the intention. The intention is...the feel of the room. It’s what remains unsaid and unseen to those who weren’t there. It’s what you’re trying to capture by paying so much attention to the form. Of course, by concentrating too much on the technical, you lose the abstract.”

Castiel flicks over to a new page with a deft flick of his wrist. He plucks the pencil from Dean’s grasp with one hand. With the other, he poses Dean’s hand close to his face. Castiel stares at Dean for a few excruciating seconds before he turns his attention to the empty page.

Dean hardly dares to breathe as Castiel sketches. He’s not sure how he’s going to return to real life, knowing now the tiny crease that knits between Castiel’s brows or how the tip of Castiel’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. How is he supposed to live, knowing Castiel hums tunelessly as his hand works?

“There.” Castiel flips the sketch to face Dean. In it, Dean finds his own face, rendered in a few lines. It’s rough, certainly, but it’s a close enough likeness. More than that, Castiel’s managed to capture...

“Do I look that scared?” Dean blurts out, before he can stop himself.

Castiel actually laughs, deep and rumbling, from the diaphragm. It’s a lovely sound, one that fills the studio, and one Dean would gladly hear again and again. “You don’t look scared.” He sets the pencil down on the easel and turns fully to face Dean. “Anxious maybe. Hovering on the edge of anticipation.” He steps closer. His chest almost brushes Dean’s, which could be misinterpreted as Castiel not understanding the concept of personal space.

What can’t be misinterpreted is the unsubtle drop of Castiel’s eyes to Dean’s lips.

“I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I’ve really wanted to kiss you for almost a year,” Castiel says, his voice scraped rough around the edges. His eyes drag up to Dean’s, and Dean’s taken aback at the wild glint in them. Castiel steps closer and his clever fingers slip into the spaces between Dean’s fingers. “Please Dean,” Castiel breathes, raw and needy, “please, can I kiss you?”

“Fuck yes,” Dean murmurs, which is all he gets to say before Castiel’s hand cups the back of his head and his lips descend upon Dean’s.

Not that Dean’s bragging, but he’s had quite a few good kisses in his life (and been told that he gives quite a few good kisses). Castiel blows them all out of the water. Dean’s never been kissed so thoroughly before, like Castiel wants to own him, like Castiel’s interested in finding exactly what makes Dean tick. His teeth nip at the swell of Dean’s lower lip while his tongue delicately traces the seam of Dean’s lips. Dean eagerly opens his mouth, moaning into Castiel’s mouth as Castiel’s tongue slips in along his.

Hours or days later, when they part, Dean realizes that while one of his hands is cupping the spur of Castiel’s hip (holy fuck, those hips feel like handles for his hands), his other hand is still holding Castiel’s. It’s certainly the sweetest kiss that’s ever given him a boner.

Castiel laughs, a little breathless. It’s only then Dean realizes he’s a little taller than Castiel. “You do live up to expectations,” he murmurs, and Dean’s not sure whether Castiel’s talking to himself or not.

The words spark a recent memory in Dean, and suddenly nothing is more important than finding out the truth. “You said you wanted to do that for a year?” Castiel nods, his eyes suddenly shifting to the side. “Why?”

“Everyone always goes on about my art. How groundbreaking it is, how I’m a ‘once in a generation talent’.” Castiel uses finger-quotes, which should not be as endearing as Dean finds it. “And it’s nice, but none of them even bother to see my art for what it is. They just see my name attached to it and they lose their shit. But last year...You saw that painting. It didn’t matter to you who made it. You saw it and appreciated it for what it was. And I...I saw you.”

Castiel swallows. For all his suave confidence earlier, he looks oddly vulnerable now. “So, anyway. Yeah. For a year now. Um...” He glances at Dean’s easel. “I guess I’ll leave you alone now. Or if you want privacy, I can go.”

“Or,” Dean says, the pink flush on Castiel’s cheeks giving him all the bravery he’ll ever need. “You could stay.” Castiel’s eyes slice to him, their blue intense and jaw-dropping. Dean grins, a little predatory, like they’re on even ground.

“After all, I’m going to need a model for this sketch.”

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #college au #art school au #artist!cas #artist!dean #nervous!dean #meet cute #dothwrites

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kpop-cakepops · 4 years

Text

So... We Love Each Other? // Vernon Chwe

Friends to Lovers au.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,878

Warnings: None.

"The rule to remember is that opposites attract. Every magnet has both a north and a south pole. When you place the north pole of one magnet near the south pole of another magnet, they are attracted to one anothe-"

You switched the television off whatever kid's show had been on. It was an early Friday morning and you had accidentally fallen asleep with the TV on the night before.

The night before.

If only you could you would erase the entire night from your memory and just live your life as if it had never happened. Too bad you didn't have the power to do that, nor did you know anyone that could.

With a distraught sigh, you push yourself from your bed and drag your feet in the direction of your kitchen only to be startled by your best friend and roommate Vernon, who was standing with his back pressed against the counter.

"Holy crap. You scared me!" You exclaimed holding at your chest to alleviate the rapid beating of your heart.

"You're one to talk. Mingyu is now officially terrified of you and wants you to pretend not to know him. He stated, and I quote, 'I've never seen someone get so upset over turtles.' He is also making me pay him back for the date." The younger boy glares at you and chugs down the rest of his chocolate milk. "Care to explain how you managed to ruin a blind date with Mingyu? Kim Mingyu?! The epitome of tolerance and acceptance?!"

You winced at every word he spoke until you finally broke and dropped to the floor. "Animal life preservation" you mumbled. "He brought up my favorite books and then he started talking about animals and I got excited, and may have spoken a little too much about saving the turtles"

"Y/N, I'm running out of friends to set you up with. Seungcheol joined the army as an excuse to not see you, Jeonghan moved to the dormitories on the other side of the campus, Soonyoung said he'll never date again... are you cursed? Should we see a shaman?"

You grunted from your spot on the ground before standing. "Just stop setting me up with people. I don't think I'm cut out for this dating thing... maybe I should join a convent and become a nun?” You asked him as you grabbed a bowl to pour cereal into it. “Maybe it’s a sign from the heavens, I should learn the ways of God and become the next Mother Teresa."

Vernon’s face softened slightly at the sight of you defeatedly picking at your fingernails but instead rolled his eyes and moved you out of his way when you turned to face him. "Move. You're hopeless and I have class. I swear if I come back to find out you've called the local church I will send Seungcheol all your embarrassing love letters, and before you ask, yes, they are under my custody."

"Excuse me?! Hey come back here! You little- I'm older than you!”

“It’s just a year” he retorted.

"Yeah?! Well, blackmailing is illegal you know!”

He was gone.

Seeing that you had already missed your first class of the day, you decided to take the entire day off as a day to self reflect and find your zen. (You also didn't want to see Kim Mingyu again, so staying home would probably be the best option for you.) Promptly you grabbed your favorite book and flopped onto the only couch in the apartment throwing your legs up against the wall and pretending to read when in reality you were contemplating dropping out of your ethics class to entirely avoid Mingyu... and Jeonghan...

After about 2 hours the front door of your apartment swung open and in walked Vernon’s girlfriend Minji. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw you, her already red face became even redder as she muffled a scream into her hands and stomped in direction of your roommate’s bedroom.

“Uhhhh...” You rolled yourself off the couch and instantly scattered for your phone, dialing Vernon’s number quickly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, um just a real quick question. By any chance did you and Minji fight again?” you asked as you heard things tumbling around inside Vernon’s room.

“Damn it. I told her not to show up at the apartment. I’ll be there in 5 minutes. Please protect my shoe collection with your life, Y/N. It’s all I ask of you.”

The line was cut before you could muster up a response. A loud crash rumbled down the hall and you found yourself sighing. It was time for you to step in as usual, which was probably the thing you most hated to do, especially since your best friend’s girlfriend wasn’t exactly fond of you.

With careful steps, you moved in direction of Vernon’s bedroom and knocked lightly. “Hey, Minji... you in there?” After a few seconds of receiving no response you called out again, “Minji? I’m gonna come in okay?” slowly you opened the door only for your mouth to fall agape.

A crying Minji was sitting on the floor surrounded by Vernon’s clothes, his drawers pulled open and emptied while his closet doors remained open with yet another mess made up of his clothes, some with hangers still in. “Jesus Christ, Minji, what is this mess?! You haven’t even been here 5 minutes!” you exclaimed walking further inside to try and salvage the room.

“What do you care?! These aren’t your things, Vernon isn’t your boyfriend! So what do you care?!” She yelled standing up from her spot on the ground.

“I care because this is my house, and these are Vernon’s things. Being his pissed off girlfriend does not give you the right to just storm in here and start ripping his bedroom apart! We’re hoping to get the deposit for this apartment back when we move out!” you fought back as you picked up your friend’s clothes off the floor and placed them on the bed.

“... stop referring to Vernon as part of your ‘we.’ Do you have any idea how fucking annoying you are? Do you have any idea how much I hate you?!”

You stopped in your tracks and looked over at her in disbelief. “Don’t you think you’re being unfair right now? I’m having as much a rough day as you are and you break into my house to make a ruckus? Do you really think I like you? All you’ve done since you started dating Vernon is push me away from him as his friend, it was like you decided I was the enemy before you even met me. You’ve been nothing but a bitch to me, so do you think I like you?!” You didn’t know where all the resentment was coming from, maybe the words had a cutting edge on them because of the amount of stress you were under what with the failed Mingyu date and your upcoming exams... whatever the reason, you wanted to hurt her feelings.

She looked shocked by your words. Understandably so, you hadn’t ever really talked back to her when she threw a tantrum, usually Vernon would take her away before anything could escalate.

“You must be really happy. Look at you getting brave, you must be really happy to be the reason Vernon won’t marry me. You must be really happy to know he wants to break up with me over you. You’re dead wrong if you think I’m going to allow you both to date peacefully. I’d rather DIE than see you both together, you hear me?! I’ll make both your lives a living hell” Her erratic words felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped on you.

"Minji... what do think you’re doing?” Vernon was finally home. You looked over at him to find that his eyes were trained on you as he walked up. “Are you okay?” he asked grabbing you by the shoulders and looking for any signs of a fight.

You nodded your head and pushed the shirt that was in your hand into his chest. “Get her the hell out of this house before I have an aneurism,” you told him quietly before walking out of his room and straight into yours.

With your back pressed to your bedroom door, you heard Minji go into another yelling fit while your best friend calmly tried to deescalate the situation. You rolled your eyes at the sound of him being the nicest while Minji continued to vociferate. It was always like that, you wondered why he always put up with her when she obviously only ever used him as a trophy boyfriend.

You plopped down on your bed putting in your earbuds in an attempt to drown out the outside noise. Only then were you able to process what had just happened. You knew you’d been wrong to vent your frustrations out on Minji who wasn’t really at fault for your failed love life... but it’s not like you were at fault for her failed love life either, right?

“ you must be really happy to know he wants to break up with me over you.”

What had she even meant by that? Was Vernon really thinking about breaking up with her? Even if he were thinking about doing it, how would that be your fault? Everything was starting to become too much for you, the gold medalist of the overthinking Olympics, so you decided to block everything out and do the one thing you were best at: sleep.

---

It had been 2 weeks since your disaster Mingyu date and the epic Minji and Vernon showdown. Minji had not stepped foot in your apartment since and Vernon, who had kept quiet about the entire situation, was rarely home. The number of times you’d seen him in the last 2 weeks were so small that you could probably count them in one hand.

Truth be told, you hadn’t exactly made an effort to talk to him either. You knew if you talked to him you’d ask about Minji and that would lead to a conversation about his fight, which would lead to you asking why Minji blamed you for it. God forbid he say something like ‘I like you’ right? Or were you more worried about him saying he didn’t?

A soft groan left your lips as you allowed your head to drop onto your desk. You were overthinking again. You were almost sure your head was going to burst suddenly.

“Y/N?”

You looked up to find Mingyu standing next to your table with his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?” you asked as you grabbed your bag and shoved your laptop inside.

Mingyu looked at you with raised eyebrows and handed you a shopping bag with what looked like clothes. “These are Vernon’s can you give them to him?” he asked.

You took the bag from him and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll get it to him.” With that, you walked around him and started to leave the lecture hall not really having anything else to say.

“Um... hey, wait.” his hand was around your arm and you looked at him expectantly. He dropped his grip embarrassed before he scratched at the back of his neck. “Aren’t you gonna... ask why I didn’t call you?”

You frowned a little, “Call me? why would you...oh! The date!” you chuckled. Funny how only 2 weeks ago avoiding Mingyu was all you could think about.

The tall boy blinked confused, “Y-you forgot we went on a date?”

“What? no... kind of... but it’s okay! I understand you’re not about that ‘SAVE THE TURTLES’ life”

“Save the turtles?” He questioned.

“Vernon told me what you said, and I’ll be the first to admit that I can get pretty scary when I talk about animal life conservation. You can act like I don’t exist if I make you uncomfortable, I regret my actions, but it’s not that important.”

“it’s not?” he asked.

You hummed in response. “By the way, has Vernon been staying at your place? Truth is he hasn’t been coming home for the past 2 weeks. I heard him and Minji broke up...and I guess I was a little worried”

Mingyu smiled to himself, “Hold on, do you seriously think I didn’t call you because you got excited over saving the turtles?” the tall boy couldn’t help but laugh. “You guys are seriously so stupid.”

“Excuse me?” you queried unsure as to why you were suddenly being called stupid.

He patted your head, “You’re a beautiful and smart girl, Y/N. Getting excited over the turtles was actually kind of hot. Jeonghan thinks so too...”

You couldn’t help but choke out a soft “He does?”

“Of course he does. It’s the Vernon part that pushes a man away.” Mingyu told you. “He was staying at my place after Minji dumped him for not wanting to get more serious about her... but I kicked him out last night. His wallet is in the bag and so are his keys to your place... you should probably go check on him”

You couldn’t help but stare at Mingyu as he left. “It’s the Vernon part that pushes a man away? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” there was a part of you that was offended for your friend. He had been nothing but sweet and caring...

Before he could leave, you ran after Mingyu and cut him off by stomping your foot in front of him. “You... I take back what I said. I don’t regret my actions on that night. In fact, I’m glad you didn’t call me back because I would never date a man that doesn’t like Vernon. Do you have any idea how much he has helped me? He listens to me, he takes care of me when I feel down, he makes me laugh even though he’s possibly the least funny person I have ever met, he left a comfortable dorm life with his best friends so that I could afford living close campus, he pretends to not care that I use his body wash when mine runs out even though I know he hates it, he puts up with my crazy ideas even if they fail... which they do 90% of the time-”

“Only 90%?” asks Mingyu with a raised eyebrow.

“OKAY MAYBE 99%, but that’s not the point! Vernon is the best friend anyone could ask for and if the guy I’m dating doesn’t like him, then I don’t want it. ALSO, YOU’RE A FAKE FRIEND. BAD MOUTHING HIM BEHIND HIS BACK. You ought to be embarrassed!” You could feel your face redden as you ranted away only for Mingyu’s face to light up in a soft smile.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asked. “It’s not that the men in your life don’t like Vernon... it’s that none of us can compete with him.”

“What?”

“It was pretty intimidating to sit through my first date with you and hear you say all these wonderful things about Vernon... it made me realize you are both idiots that don’t realize what’s right in front of you even if it hits you in the face...” you opened your mouth to speak but were stopped by Mingyu’s large hand pressing over your lips. “...so let me help you out a little. You’re in love with Vernon and that Idiot is very much in love with you too. All you ever talk about is Vernon and all Vernon does is date dumb stuck up girls because apparently, that is easier than telling you how he really feels. So how about you do all of us a favor and go back home and talk your feelings out? You know, like two grown adults.”

Your face went slack unable to say anything back to that. You weren’t sure if you were in agreeance or absolutely baffled by everything Mingyu had just said, but you had the whole walk back home to figure it all judging by the fact that Mingyu had already walked away from you.

After what seemed like an eternity you decided to take the 15-minute walk home and face your best friend... or crush... or possibly the love of your life, as you had eventually concluded after sitting in your empty lecture hall for 30 minutes. You were ready...

Or so you thought.

The moment the elevator doors slid open to reveal your floor, your eyes landed on Vernon’s slumped form against the door of your apartment dressed in his favorite pink pajama pants. That sight alone was enough for you to freeze in your spot with your finger deeply pressing the ‘door open’ button, but your feet unable to take the ONE step needed to get out of the elevator.

“Y/N?”

There it was, the little push you needed. Vernon was staring at you from his spot on the ground, hair tousled and dark circles framing his pretty eyes.

“Hey” you mustered raising the shopping bag in your hand. “I have your stuff,” you told him as you watched him stand up.

“Cool... why are you standing inside the elevator?” he questioned nodding over at you.

You looked around you realizing then that you had not left the safety of the elevator. With a forced out cough, you stepped out and over to him. “You want to come in?” You asked gesturing to the door of your apartment only to wish you could melt into the ground below you.

“Yeah, I live here” he stated the obvious.

You stopped yourself from saying anything else and simply opened the door for both of you. Vernon, as expected, beelined for his bedroom leaving you behind with his things. Things were very obviously awkward... maybe subconsciously you’d known it’d be like this if you ever faced your feelings for Vernon... but it seemed there was no turning back anymore.

You knocked on Vernon’s bedroom door but were greeted by the sound of the shower running instead. With a small sigh, you walked back to your own room to wait for him to finish up before finally starting the conversation you’d been preparing yourself for since your talk with Mingyu.

After minutes of sitting on your bed feeling antsy and nervous, you decided to go check on Vernon again. With a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock on his bedroom door, but before you could react, his door had swung open and instead of the door, you knocked him on the face. “Oh shit!”

“Dude, what the hell?”

“Vernon, I am so sorry!” you scrambled over to his doubled over form and grabbed at his arms trying to get a better view of his face. “I didn’t mean to hit you!”

“It’s fine, don’t worry, you still can’t pack a punch, I’m fine,” he assured you as he grabbed at your shoulders, a soft smile gracing his lips as he looked into your eyes for the first time since you had left the elevator.

Unknowingly, tears began to fill your eyes. Not only had you missed him for the past two weeks, but now being face to face, looking at him as he smiled at you, made you realize how right Mingyu was.

“Are you crying?” he asked, the smile dropping from his face.

“Vernon...” you looked straight at him as you spoke, you had to get it done now or never. “why did you break up with Minji?”

Almost instantly, Vernon moved his eyes away from yours. “Don’t worry about it. Whatever she said, don’t let it bother you.”

You slowly trailed behind him as he made his way to the kitchen. “So it wasn’t because of me?”

He stopped and turned around, “Because of you? Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty about my failed love life.” he teased as he ruffled your hair.

You grabbed his hand and shook your head, “I’m not. I’m trying to figure out if I’m in love with my best friend all by myself or if he’s in love with me too.”

Vernon’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to find words to your very sudden confession. “In- in love?”

Oh god... You were starting to hyperventilate. Was Mingyu an idiot? Did Vernon not like you like you liked him?

“Oh my god...” heat was starting to crawl up your neck. “Did I read it all wrong? Oh my god... Oh my god, I’m going to actually kill him. Why did I let him talk me into saying this?”

“I do.”

“What?”

“Love you.” He said. His face was as red as you imagined yours to be. The room became silent suddenly. You had been so adamant on finally confessing your feelings to Vernon that you hadn’t managed to think what would happen after that.

“So... we love each other?” you asked like an idiot still avoiding his eyes.

“I mean, I guess so.” he chuckled nervously, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so used to going on blind dates and never getting past the first date that like... what now?” You asked.

Vernon cleared his throat and took a step forward, his hip bumping against yours. “Well, for starters... can I kiss you?”

You squealed. “Why did you ask me, now I’m embarrassed!” you smacked his arm making him laugh.

“Fine, we don’t have to” he shrugged his shoulders and started for the kitchen once again.

Before you could help it your hand grabbed at the end of his t-shirt stopping him, “Wait... I said I’m embarrassed, not that you shouldn’t kiss me.” You mumbled.

“Well shit... now I’m embarrassed” He laughed.

With a surge of bravery, you grabbed his face and pressed your lips against his. You could feel his breath catch in his throat as you did which made you internally panic. Did he not like it? Yet almost as if he’d read your mind he wrapped his arms around your waist almost as if holding you in place, reassuring you that it was fine.

It was more than fine, really. Your heart was racing and tummy fluttering like it’d never done before. You never would have imagined Vernon’s lips were that soft and sweet... or maybe you had, you’d just never admit it to yourself.

Not wanting to, but rather having to, you pulled away from the kiss. “If I’d know you were this good a kisser, I probably would’ve admitted my feelings a long time ago” you joked.

“Is it normal that I’m so happy I could cry?” he asked as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I wouldn’t say normal, but judging by the fact that I could also cry, I’d say it’s understandable”

“Does this mean I can start sleeping in the master bedroom with you now?” he asked.

“Wine and dine me first, sweetheart. I’m a woman of dignity.”

“If I wine and dine you tonight, do I get to sleep on your king-sized bed?” he walked you towards the kitchen counter until he had you trapped.

“Maybe... If you agree to be my boyfriend, I would positively consider it.”

#hansol vernon chwe #vernon chwe #vernon fanfic #vernon au #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen vernon #seventeen hip hop unit #svt hansol #hansol chwe #kpop au #Vernon fluff #Vernon Chwe fluff #vernon oneshot #Vernon Chwe oneshot

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heart-of-gold-outlaw · 4 years

Text

Welcome Home | Chapter Seven: Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

Wattpad

Ao3

Summary: The Reader and Arthur head into Valentine; Reader has a sobering realization.

Thankfully, Hosea doesn't mention anything about your encounter with Micah to anyone else. The last thing you need is to cause trouble within the gang. It seems like they have enough of that already. In the short time you've been running with them, you've realized that there's a constant threat looming over, well, everyone. It goes beyond getting captured by the law. These people are running for their lives, lives that society has deemed aren't worth living.

You might be crazy, but you empathize. How many times has society deemed your life unlivable in your modern day?

You help out with some of the camp chores for a while. The hay bales are too heavy, and you almost drop the feed sacks on Uncle as he's trying to take a nap, so you settle for hauling water to top off the wash basins. It's simple work, but it keeps you occupied. Really, that's all you need.

As you're pouring the last of the water out, you find your mind drifting. It's strange, to say the least, how quickly you've adjusted to life in the past. You find yourself thinking back to something your friend once told you, about how if you were dropped in a foreign country, you would learn enough to get around within a month. It's not the same thing; time travel definitely isn't the same as speaking a foreign language. But they're similar, at least.

"You still got water in the bucket, ya know."

A shriek escapes you, quick and sharp, and you throw the bucket up in the air. Water sloshes all over your head. Whirling around, you see Arthur standing just a few short feet away. He's watching you, and you can tell he doesn't know whether to apologize or laugh. He shoves his hands into his pockets and whistles.

"Why're you always so jumpy?" He asks as he finds the bucket and picks it up.

Years' worth of anxiety issues, you think, but say: "It's a talent."

Arthur snorts and sets the bucket aside. "Some talent."

Your face burns, but you try to act as nonchalant as possible. There's no doubt that he sees right through you, but you keep it up anyways.

"Did you need something?" You question innocently. You're looking anywhere but his eyes.

"Was thinking of heading into Valentine." Arthur smiles a little and puts his hands back in his pockets. "Was wondering if you'd want to join me."

For a second, your brain stops. Arthur... inviting you to Valentine. Arthur. Valentine. Arthur and Valentine. Valentine and Arthur. It's enough to make your head spin, even though it shouldn't. And then knowledge hits you, unmistakable and strong:

You've got one hell of a crush.

"Sure," you say, desperately hoping you sound casual. You try to lean against a nearby table, misjudge the distance, and almost topple over. "Valentine sounds great."

Arthur grins and shakes his head a little. There's something in his eyes, something you can't quite place, and your cheeks burn again.

"Go ahead and ask Charles if you can borrow Taima again," he says, reaching out and righting you as you try to regain your balance. "I'll meet you outside of camp."

His hand is warm against your shoulder and lingers just a little longer than normal. Arthur smiles at you again, then leaves with a low chuckle. You watch him go, just barely managing not to sink to the ground.

Yep. You're screwed.

You find Charles sitting at one of the tables. He's whittling something, and the closer you get, the more you realize it's a beautiful deer. He looks up at you as you approach. Smiling warmly, he sets his knife aside and shifts so he looks more open to a conversation. You feel your heart swell. It's not every day someone would be so considerate. Charles, you've decided, is one of the nicest people in the gang.

"Hey there, Y/N," he greets once you're close enough. His tone is gentle. "Hope you're adjusting to us alright."

You nod. "I guess so. There's not really a guide on this sort of thing."

"You're right about that." Charles laughs a little and leans back against the table. "What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering if I could borrow Taima for a bit," you say. "Arthur wants to head into Valentine, and I don't think he wants to deal with my stupid ass falling off the back of Florence."

Charles looks thoughtful for a moment, then glances toward where Arthur is carrying his saddle. You follow his gaze. You can't help but smile when you see Arthur gently stroking his horse's mane. It's amazing, really, how hands so rough and calloused can be so careful.

By the time you turn back to Charles, he's watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. For the millionth time that day, your face turns red.

"He likes you, you know," he eventually says. "We all do."

For a moment, you can only stand there. You don't like the way your eyes suddenly sting, don't want to contradict anything, tell Charles that people in your time don't really care for you by default. But judging by the sudden look of understanding on his face, something tells you he already knows.

"It takes some getting used to," he murmurs. "I know what it's like."

You blink away your tears and nod. "Thank you."

Charles smiles at you, then motions with his hand toward the horses. "Of course you can borrow Taima. Have fun in Valentine."

The "with Arthur" lingers in the air, even though he doesn't say it. You blush again, turn away, and start heading to where Arthur's already done saddling Florence.

Taima is an absolute beauty. Arthur is adjusting the stirrups by the time you walk over, making sure everything's fit for an easy ride. When he's done, he gives you a leg-up into the saddle. You're a little unsteady, still more than slightly unsure, but it's getting better every day. Arthur gives you a nod of approval. You grin at him and grip the reins the way he's showed you in the past.

"Feelin' more comfortable?" He asks as he effortlessly swings into his own saddle.

You try your best not to stare. No matter how many times he does it, how Arthur Morgan handles horseback will never cease to amaze you.

"Ye-ah," you eventually manage, shaking yourself out of your reverie. "Guess it just takes some practice."

He sets a steady trot toward Valentine. Taima keeps up with Florence well, gait smooth and sure. Briefly, you wonder if Dutch (or anyone for that matter) will let you get a horse of your own. Not that you mind Taima, but borrowing her every now and then has to be a hassle for Charles. The last thing you want is to be a burden.

"What're you thinking about?"

Arthur's voice once again brings you back to reality, and before you can stop yourself, you say: "Just wondering if I were to fall from the camp's cliff, would it be enough to kill me?"

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you know you should've come up with something better. Arthur glances at you, that sideways glance you've come to realize he only gives when he's trying to process something. You give him a tight-lipped smile. It's too late to back down now. Might as well stick to your guns.

After a while, Arthur shakes his head and sighs. You can tell he's trying to figure out what to say... not that there's really much he can say to that.

"You know," he eventually murmurs, "Hosea told me about that kind of talk from you."

"Traitor," you mutter.

Arthur sighs again, exasperated. "Does everybody want to die in the future?"

"Uh..." You think about Global Warming, the plummeting economy, and sky-high rent prices with a low minimum wage. "No?"

You don't sound convincing, even to yourself. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Glad to see things stay the same," he mutters.

Taima wanders a little closer to Florence, close enough that your leg brushes against Arthur's. He's warm. And strong. And... Actually? You need to stop.

"If it makes you feel any better," you say as a distraction, "I'm just pretty vocal about the whole 'death' thing. Most people keep it to themselves."

Arthur considers this for a moment, eyeing you with that same level look that makes you wonder if you should've just kept your mouth shut.

"That's worse," he tells you. "You do know that's worse, right?"

You shrug. "Easy come, easy go."

He shakes his head again with another eyeroll. "Just don't go an' die on me, ya hear?"

"...No promises."

The Valentine Saloon doesn't look like much, but with the sudden chill in the air as the sun dips beneath the horizon, it's warm and inviting to you.

Arthur guides you toward the hitching post, then helps you out of the saddle. You long for the day you can hop down without any assistance. Not that you mind him doing it, but still. You want to be able to fend for yourself should the need arise.

He shows you how to properly hitch Taima, then hitches Florence, murmuring a quick "you're alright, boy" into his ear before gently steering you toward the saloon. You try not to think about the weight of his hand on your shoulder. Honestly, you try not to think about a lot of the things that rush through your mind. Acting ridiculous is one thing; acting ridiculously thirsty is another entirely.

Arthur pushes the doors open to the saloon just like a classic spaghetti western cowboy. You follow him a little blindly. The room is noisy, filled with the chatter of a decent-sized crowd. Eyeing people warily, you stick close to Arthur as he makes his way to the bar. You're suddenly reminded of something that bothers you in your own time: drunken morons.

"Whiskey," Arthur tells the bartender. "And..." He looks at you expectantly.

"Uh," you stammer for a second. You've never really been a drinker, and a lot of the options you would have in the future either don't exist or are a complete rarity in the wild west. "Beer?"

Much to your relief, the bartender nods, produces a couple glasses, and pours you and Arthur your drinks. Arthur tips his in thanks, then downs the whiskey in one go. You sniff at your glass. It smells like... well, it smells like piss, but you don't want to look like a square in front of everyone. So you chug it.

Somehow, you manage not to make a face, even though the beer leaves an awful aftertaste. It feels warm in your chest, though, and while it's not a great feeling, it's not terrible, either. You look over at Arthur and grin. It's likely you won't be able to hold your liquor. You make a mental note not to go beyond your limit.

"So," you say as you signal for the bartender to fill your glass again. This one, you're going to sip... or so you tell yourself. "Why the need to get out of camp?"

Arthur also motions for another round. "Just don't like feelin' cooped up," he admits, "and there's somethin' I've been meaning to run by you."

You watch him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"Got a lead from an old friend about one of our boys." Arthur swirls his whiskey. "Name's Sean. We thought he was dead, but looks like some bounty hunters got ahold of him."

"Okay..." You're not sure what this has to do with you.

"Dutch is plannin' on having a few of us see if we can grab him before... well, you know." Arthur takes a deep breath. "Was wondering if you wanted to come along."

For a moment, your brain doesn't register what he's saying. Bounty hunters, rescue mission, that part, you get. But... the way he's acting... so nervous, so unsure... It almost feels like--

Nah. You shut the thought down before you can finish it. No sense in getting your hopes up.

"Sure," you say, realizing he's waiting for an answer. "Sounds like a good time."

You want to kick yourself for that one. Yeah, it makes you sound more confident than you feel, but rescuing someone from certain death definitely doesn't call for a casual tone.

Luckily, Arthur either doesn't notice, or doesn't care, and he smiles at you. You smile back, then lift your drink toward him. He raises his in response, and the two of you drink until there's nothing left.

So much for sipping it, you think as your face starts to feel a little warm and numb. Oh well.

The next few hours pass by quickly. You stop after three drinks, and so does Arthur. Apparently, you're both on the same page, i.e. not getting wasted (and, consequently, hungover the next morning). The saloon gets a little more crowded as the night progresses, and you have to bite down hard on your growing discomfort. You don't want to ruin this. And besides: Arthur seems to be having a good time. You can put up with everything for a little while longer.

It's another hour before you feel like you're going to explode. Thankfully, Arthur doesn't bat an eye when you tell him you're going to step outside for some air, just gives you a nod with "be careful" undertones. You can't help but smile at him. How a rough and tough outlaw can be so caring... it never ceases to amaze you.

Outside, the air is crisp and clean and does wonders for your anxiety. You breathe it in like you'll never have it again. It's also dark, so you stick by the lights of the saloon. Instinct doesn't change, even when you travel through time, apparently. For a moment, you're struck with wonder at how things can be so different, but so much the same, too, in the future. People are still fundamentally people. They're all alive as well.

It's that last thought that suddenly sobers you. These people... they're all dead in your time. Dead and... well, dead and mostly forgotten. All anybody in the future will have are photographs. They won't know what these people sound like. They won't know how they laugh, how warm they are, how lovely it is when they smile. In the future, people just won't know. It'll all be lost to time.

You try not to think about what that means for Arthur and others.

You try not to think about what that means for you.

A/N: Existential crisis? For MY Reader? It’s more likely than you think!

Accompanying Music: Hamilton | Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x modern!reader #modern!reader #fic #my fic #rdr2 fic #welcome home

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