#MOODBOARD. ┊〉❪ hold your breath. make a wish. count to three. ❫

[ditttiii]

KINTSUGI. | 0T7 (M) || 04 |

◈ Hybrid AU || Ot7 x Reader

◈ Summary:  Life is neither fair nor what you had dreamed that it would be, but the hand that fate had dealt them was worse than yours.

When you get a chance to adopt seven hybrids, all a little rough around the edges, do you take it? Will this last-ditch attempt at doing something right end with you buried six feet under the ground or will it finally give you the family that you have always secretly hoped for?

◈ Genre: eventual romance || hurt/comfort || angst (with a happy ending) || eventual smut.

◈ Chapter Four

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: none. (sfw)

◈ Masterlist

Moodboard By: @today-we-will-survive​ ❤   

 you know i didn't want to

have to haunt you,

but what a ghostly scene. 

You feel like a live wire, buzzing and zapping sporadically in all the wrong places. This is a mess; you are a mess. Your feelings are tangled and knotted tight like a pair of old wired headphones, and the more you try to pull them apart, the tighter the tangle grows.

 Sinking deeper into your hoodie, you exhale in an attempt to keep warm, shuffling across the sweeping, empty parking lot to get to your SUV as quickly as you can.

 The wind outside is cold and no less harsh than when you had stepped foot outside hours ago, but somehow for the first time since you got here, you feel warm. The cold outside feels less hostile, less biting, and your inhales no longer make you feel like the air is trying to suffocate you the more you breathe it in.

 It had taken hours for the whole thing to be done. More hours than you were comfortable with inside that place to finally get the seven hybrids registered under your custody, and with a pained sigh, you sink into your seat. Hands-on the steering, you still. Just for a minute.

  I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

 A minute. Just for a minute, you allow yourself to feel weak. Let your walls down alone and feel your heart squeeze inside your chest till it hurts to breathe, till the burn spreads from your thorax to your throat. Hold your breath till your ears pop and you feel enough pain to find just enough self-pity to stop scourging yourself like this.

  I miss you.

 The constant sense of vacuity and inadequateness you feel is now accompanied by the feeling of being undeserving and wholly unprepared for what is to come but shuddering a breath in, you let them settle.

 The minute’s up.

 Turning the gear into reverse, you back out of the parking lot.

 In the time that it had taken you to finish all the formalities, the sun had set. Darkness shrouds the entire place, creating shadows that alter their shape if looked at for a second too long and play games with you. The already eerie place becomes even scarier, and you hasten to pick up the seven awaiting hybrids.

 Coming to a stop in front of the building, you unlock all the doors and unroll the passenger side window.

 “Hey, guys. So there’s enough space in the back for three people, but it would be better if the…um, smaller of you seven take the last seat?” Right off the bat, you hope your poor choice of words doesn’t offend anyone.

 “Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok; in the back.”

 Unlike how it freezes you in place, Naamjoon’s commanding voice stirs his pack into action and wordlessly, the three climb into place; Namjoon takes the passenger seat for himself. The remaining three take the middle-row seats, and with a mute nod, you put the car back into drive.

 “I live some 40 minutes away, so get comfortable. Also, I know it’s a bit of a drive, but we can make a pitstop along the way if someone needs something?”

 “Anyone?” Namjoon reiterates.

 Variations of I’m good, and I’m fine fill the silence in the car before the quiet reigns again, and you try not to think too hard about how they are really answering Namjoon and not you.

 Did you even expect them to?—No—you know it too, but a very tiny part of you, buried deep enough where you refuse to acknowledge its existence, wishes that you all were at least talking to each other.

 Taking the hint that they might not respond to you unless prompted by their leader, you keep quiet and drive back home in silence.

Blinking dry eyes wet, you press your finger into the biometric scanner of the main gate. A second passes as it registers who you are before the heavy main gate slides open electronically, and you drive in. Tall trees line both sides of your driveway. From the corner of your eye, you watch as the men in the back shift in their seats, leaning forward and showing maybe the first signs of genuine interest in something since you first laid your eyes on them. Soft yellow-lit lamps line the right side of the road, grass sprouting around and encompassing the path in stretches of green, interrupted only by the various stone statues you have gathered over the years. Some passed on, some bought by you.

 It’s a consolation because even if nothing works out and you can never fully gain their trust or friendship, you can provide for them well. Do your best to give everything that they ever desire and protect them.

 A soft gasp escapes Jungkook, bunny ears stirring under his pullover hoodie and the reflection of the passing lamps, the yellow and gold glittered clear amidst his large eyes visible even from where you are sitting. The sight of him unguarded for a moment warms your heart for a reason you can’t yet put your finger on.

 Finally, after a lengthy, awkwardly silent ride, the car rests as you pull up in front of the main house gate.

 “I’ll have to park the car in the garage, but you guys can get off here. I’ll come back around in a minute.”

 “I’ll stay.”

 You blink at Namjoon’s response, unsure of what that means for the rest of the hybrids. You weren’t very comfortable leaving them all alone in a foreign space either, but the property was secured, and there was no point in making them all walk back unnecessarily.

 “Okay,” concludes Yoongi, getting out of the car. No one protests after, wordlessly following him and getting out one by one. You put the car into drive again with all of them off but one.

 Waiting for the garage door to open, you sneak a peek at Namjoon. The wolf hybrid sits perfectly straight, his shoulders wide and broader than the seat rest behind him. Does he not trust you to come back? But that’s a ridiculous notion. Even if he didn’t trust you, which you are sure is the case one way or another, he’s smart enough to know you can’t exactly escape from them in your own house. Putting the car into park, you wonder. Is he being…protective?

In the distance, you see the six of them. Yoongi’s long silver hair made it obvious who was leaning a little space away from the rest of the pack against one of the lamp poles. Hoseok and Jimin are standing close to Jungkook’s hunched figure while Taehyung sits on one of the bottom stairs.

 “Do you have any advice for me?”

 There. You’ve said it. Regardless of Namjoon’s response, it’s worth a shot.

 He remains quiet, not a break in his pace, and you turn to look at him fully. Long, black strands rest against a narrow, sharp face and a vain part of you wonders if hybrids are all genetically tailored to look unreal amounts of pretty or if it’s just your pack.

 “Whatever you think is the best mistress.”

 That word again. You shift to hide your grimace. The word leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you  need  to figure out a way to get them to stop saying it.

 “My name’s fine, really. You don’t have to–”

 “Mistress, please.”

 You pause. There’s–

 “Don’t ask us to do that.”

 Namjoon sounds…pained doesn’t feel right to you, but it’s something similar. You don’t know him well enough yet to be sure, but you can’t help but think he sounds resigned. It’s the kind of bone-deep weary resignation that makes you swallow back all of the arguments that you have.

 “Alright,” you concede. You won’t broach the subject with the rest of the pack until you have Namjoon on your side, and if he isn’t ready yet, then you are willing to wait. Slow and steady.

 “Jungkook likes you.”

 Your eyes widen. “Sorry?”

 Piercing hazel eyes turn to you, and you can’t even blink. Something about Namjoon’s presence is vital, he demands respect with every breath, and you unconsciously straighten up, giving him your full attention.

 “He’s the youngest, but he trusts you already. He isn’t the easiest and he has his troubles, but—”

 For the first time, you see a crack in Namjoon’s shell. It’s barely there, a very thin hair crack and you only see it because you are looking, but his eyes soften. Just the barest millimetre, and if you blink, you’ll likely not see it again. The edges curled in on themselves, warmth seeping into that otherwise impaling gaze.

 “He isn’t cold. He still believes in goodness and wants a purpose,” Namjoon searches your gaze again like he had a few hours prior, looking for something you are unsure you possess.

“Mistress, if it isn’t too much trouble, please keep him around you. Let him help you. He’s honest and receptive to your wishes and it’ll be the quickest way for him to acclimatise to the change.”

 You see Jungkook hunched in on himself, scared maybe but still curious as his head turns to look at you, and one of his ears pokes out from under the hoodie, crooked and curious as he sees you two approach.

 “I will.”

Fishing out the house key from your front pocket, you jam it in the lock, twisting it with a little more force than you would if the weather out was a little warmer. You make a mental note to get the lock lubricated.

 The door opens to darkness, and you step in, quickly reaching a few steps ahead to switch on the lights. The inside is blessedly warmer and you shuffle your new housemates in, locking the door shut behind you.

 “This is it. Welcome!” The forced cheer in your voice is slightly awkward, tinged with nervousness and anxiety. You will now have seven housemates who also call you mistress and treat you as one.

  This is going to take some time to get used to.

 “Do you guys want a tour of sorts first, or I can show you your rooms, and you can freshen up?”

 A gurgling stomach is the first one to respond.

 “Right, I’ll get started with the dinner while you guys get cleaned up.”

 “Dinner would be lovely, mistress.” It’s Hobi this time, and your lips curl into a bright, encouraging smile.

 “Perfect. However, I am gonna need some help with cooking. I don’t have much experience cooking for more than two people, so do any of you know your way around the kitchen?”

 “Mistress..” Seokjin steps up, his tall frame appearing from behind the huddle, “I know a few dishes and am decent with recipes for most others that I don’t know.”

 Nodding, you beckon him over to the kitchen while asking the rest of them to wait for you to come back.

 Quickly showing him what’s in the refrigerator, you pull out some vegetables and meat, explaining how you’d like him to cut them before you rush out to the remaining hybrids.

 “Alright, follow me.”

 Climbing the wooden staircase, you lead them to the first floor, where most rooms are. Explaining the basic layout of your house en route and letting them know to explore and figure out the rest. Pointing to the door of your room, you simply tell them it’s yours. Wondering for a second if maybe you should ask them to not go in without asking you but ultimately push back your inhibitions, deciding not to.

 “There are three rooms on this floor besides mine, all large enough for two, but it could be a tight squeeze for three. There are another two rooms on the ground floor if someone would like those.”

 Ultimately, you decide to let them figure out the details of their living quarters on their own and quietly make your escape once you have established they know the directions to the ground floor rooms.

 Coming into the kitchen, you see Seokjin’s tall figure hunched over your granite counter, long thin fingers gripping the knife confidently as he slices in practiced, uniform motions.

 “Need any help?”

  Huh—the bear hybrid jumps, looking at you with a startled gaze and you rush to apologise. Maybe not all of them are equally as aware of their surroundings.

 With another apology, you smile, coming to stand beside him.

 “I have got it, mistress.”

 Nodding, you leave him to finish the preparation as you work on making the broth.

 “Do you want a bathroom break or something? I know I dragged you here first thing as soon as we came in. I can hold down the fort alone for a while if you’d like to get refreshed,” you offer, guilt weighing your stomach down at having to ask for help so soon.

 Seokjin smiles, and it’s a small, soft thing. All full pink lips and gentle warmth and try as you might, you can’t force your gaze away from it. With a shake of his head, he reassures you and nodding you accept his response wordlessly. Still a little awe-struck by the smile.

 It’s quiet as you work alongside each other, but the silence isn’t awkward or oppressive. Unlike Namjoon or Yoongi, despite his broad shoulders and tall height, Seokjin isn’t as intimidating. You have no doubt that if a situation arose that demanded it, the predator, that half of him is, would make an appearance. Sharp, long nails stretched out from the ends of his nailbed, a subtle reminder of his part identity. However, at the same time, in the warm yellow lighting of your kitchen, surrounded by a pile of finely chopped vegetables and meat and wearing your soft pink apron, he feels no part predator and all parts the man himself.

 You exit the kitchen in a rush, handing him the apron hanging off a kitchen chair. It’s apparent you are stressed, worried about making them comfortable and maybe not knowing how to.

 Jin isn’t the leader of the pack, but he is the oldest, and with it comes experience that even Namjoon lacks. He has known what it is like to be a hybrid the longest between them, had the most time to come to terms with it before the uprising, and in some ways, he feels for Jungkook.

Maybe that’s why the others aren’t entirely wrong in their assumption when they accuse him of playing favourites with Jungkook. Because while the youngest isn’t his favourite—he could never choose one of them, they are all his just as much as he is theirs—Jin is the most protective of him. It’s the kind of parental love that a hybrid never really has the privilege to feel, but a stroke of fate and his bleeding heart for those his kind had led Jungkook to experience it. In their own way, they all feel the most for their maknae, wishing to protect the most vulnerable of their group, not wanting him to be as jaded as they are, and he hopes it’s the same for you too.

 He boasts of a past no better than any of his pack, but unlike Namjoon, who functions with cautiosness that stems from the self-alloted weight of his whole pack and then some, or Yoongi, who shields himself under a layer of hostility so thick very rarely has Jin himself seen the Yoongi that breathes underneath all that facade; Jin still trusts humans. He still remembers when things weren’t as bad and knows that not all of humanity is alike. There are vicious hybrids, just as there are kind humans, and denying the existence of either by the other is foolish.

 He hears your voice as you pass him by the kitchen, the rest of his pack tailing behind you quietly while you chat; whether to fill the silence or to help them fill at ease, he doesn’t know.

Jin doesn’t feel comfortable with the unknown and is unaware of plenty.

 Like—you; who you are besides what he has already seen and deduced, the real you. The you who chose to have them. He needs to know your reasons for adopting seven hybrids at the worst time you could have chosen. Jin is no fool; he realises how rare anyone wanting a single hybrid is nowadays, let alone seven. Had he been a human, your actions would have screamed a death wish to him. And yet you still did, choosing to do the unpopular and maybe even unwise.

 He can hear the slam of a door closing as several pairs of feet walk above him, the distinct thump of feet against wood, and he hopes, despite all the unknown and unwise, that he is right for putting his faith in you.

Dinner is an odd affair. You aren’t used to having another person under the same roof as you, let alone half a dozen others. Once Jin and you are done cooking, you ask Jungkook—hanging by the kitchen entrance—to call the others, soon passing on a stack of plates to Hoseok and giving him free rein to set the table. When you come out of the kitchen, at last, it’s to the assumption that everyone else must have already picked a seat and settled down, but the sight that greets you is different. Disturbingly so.

 The seven hybrids stand divided behind the two sides of the table, leaving both ends clear, with their heads bowed and hands folded. It shouldn’t surprise you after today, after everything you have seen and felt, after the almost breakdown you’ve had, realising the extent of their servitude and yet it does. Something about being under the same roof had fooled you into thinking they’d treat you just like they do each other. Something about the domesticity of sharing your kitchen space, cooking with someone and having someone waiting on you at the end had deluded you into a sense of normalcy.

The scene that you walk into quickly shatters that illusion.

 “Sit down please, it’s late and we should all be heading to bed soon anyway,” you force yourself to be casual as you take one head of the table, unsure if the nonchalance is for their benefit or if you are just too cowardly to ask why they don’t feel comfortable sitting until you do.

 Time. You’ll take it one step at a time, and this is a battle you choose to not wage today. 

 The sobs are quiet, muffled, and maybe some other day, you wouldn’t have heard them, but tonight you are careful and the unmistakable sound of crying brings you to a sudden halt. You debate going in, fearing the unknown and fumbling out of your depth as you stand there with sweaty fingers clenched white around the cool metal handle. You pray for resilience—strength you don’t have left after the long day, curse yourself for hesitating and force yourself to turn the handle.

 Curled into himself, hands wrapped around his knees and eyes leaking tears hidden in the space between. You don’t need to remove the cloth over his head to know it’s Jungkook dwarfed in a frayed oversized hoodie. The shudders that were poorly muffled before are quiet now, his breaths seized as he no doubt registers your presence. A voice inside you supplies how he must have heard you even before you had stepped into the hallway with his abilities.

But if so, why hadn’t he quieted down then? Did he not think you would care enough to check?

 Whatever remnants of hesitation were left regarding reaching out faded at the sight of him trying to curl his broad shoulders tighter into each other.

 “Jungkook?” you call, moving closer.

 He doesn’t answer, head lowering further into the gaps of his knees and the hood over his head slides away a little at the moment. One lonesome ear peaking out, down and tucked close, and you ache to gather him in a hug.

 “Hey Koo…,” voice soft as a feather, you get down on your knees, inching closer until there’s less than a metre of space between you two. This close, you hear the barely audible sniffles as he breathes through a wet and, judging by the downturned head—leaking nose.

 Jungkook shivers under your touch as you place a hand over his clothed knee and a semblance of hope bubbles in your heart realising that at least he hadn’t flinched. You think he’s frightened of the unknown too, but maybe he isn’t terrified of you.

 “I won’t force you to talk if you don’t want to, and I don’t want you to explain something you don’t feel comfortable with. I just want to know if you are okay.”

 The lone long ear twitches, rising slowly.

 “Can we start there?”

 Your words are still soft, quiet, so no one outside hears anything, and Jungkook finally stirs. A pair of deep chocolate brown eyes rise to meet yours and you don’t know if it’s the tears or the stark bathroom lighting reflecting back, but for an instant, you swear nothing has shimmered quite as bright.

 “Yeah. okay.” he says, and it’s just as quiet and for a brief moment, you sit there in companionable silence, content to be still except for the small of your hand rubbing comforting circles on his knee.

 Keeping hold of his gaze, you smile a small but encouraging smile. “Are you?”

 “I don’t know.”

 Nodding, you accept the unexpectedly raw confession. “That’s okay. To be honest, I don’t know if I am either but as long as you hold on. I think that’s ultimately what matters the most. Not giving up.”

 Pools of deep molten brown widen, an emotion you can’t identify swimming in them before he averts his gaze, biting his lips nervously.

 “I am sorry, mistress.”

 With a shake of your head, you dismiss his apology. “There is nothing to apologise for. It’s okay to not be okay and to cry,” your fingers tighten around his knee, “Just know you are not alone. There are people who care; you know they care, and I care too. So let us be there for you, okay?”

 His gaze still glistens but he gathers enough to where the shudders stop and you make yourself comfortable on the floor. At this point, there isn’t much you feel like you can do to make him change his mind over whatever it is that’s tormenting him, but at the same time, you know what suffering is like too. You’ve been there, down on your knees at your worst, crying and begging things to change to go back in time. Long for something you never had, for a release and a better next day.

 So, you don’t know what he has been through and don’t see how you can make it better at the moment (if anyone can), but you do know loneliness. The poignant void that your mind can weave that makes you feel alone in a crowded room—thoughts that weigh your core—the only thing keeping you company, and it’s horrible. You hate being lonely but enjoy being alone and it’s that feeling of powerlessness. Being unable to understand where the feelings come from and only knowing how heavy they weigh you down settled around your shoulders, claws digging into your skin, leaving bruises unseen.

 If being here is the only thing you can ever do for him–any of them–you’ll do it. Day after day till your last.

 Moments and minutes blur into each other as you sit pressed with your knee against his, the reassuring warmth of company tugging you two back to the present and in place. Eventually, he nods. Long thin fingers peek out from a large hoodie to wipe away any residual tears.

 “Yes, mistress.”

 Smiling, you lean closer to Jungkook, the barest bit, cautious of his boundaries, and your heart physically warms when he moves to do the same. It’s not an embrace, with your head barely grazing his shoulder, most of its weight still being held up by your neck and one of his ears flopping down to rest against your ear, more a ghost touch than any real contact, but it feels better than any hug you have received in years. You stay there, enveloped in each other’s warmth and hesitant touches, until the tiles under you grow warm and your eyes start to feel heavy. The surprise of being comfortable in another’s presence omitted in your exhausted state of mind. Eventually, Jungkook moves. Or you slip. You aren’t sure which came first but when you finally start coming to, it’s to the feeling of Jungkook’s hands around your forearms, straightening you up as he supports your unsteady, half-asleep body.

 “Oh god I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” a blush cloaks your cheeks and you wish you were wearing an oversized hoodie too, if only so you could hide behind the comforting cloak of said fabric. 

Jungkook shakes his head, both ears now on display as he smiles. It’s small and timid and he can barely meet your gaze for more than a second but it’s more than what you had expected to gain by the end of the day and certainly far more than anything you could have even hoped for. 

 Fragile and new it may be, but you two now have a bond. 

 It’s not onesided. You know you are not just fooling yourself when the same fingers lightly grab the back of your tee as you move through the hallway, intending to leave Jungkook at his bedroom door, preferably with one of his hyungs.

 Slightly embarrassed, you realise you don’t exactly know which room he is in or with whom. “Which room did you pick, Jungkook?”

 Shuffling a little closer to you, his fingers pinch your tee tighter and you slow your pace, leaning back to catch his gaze. “I mean, I know this sounds stupid, considering it’s my house but mind directing me to your room?”

 His eyes visibly soften, and he nods, leading without another word. Jungkook lets go of the back of your tee only to grab your full sleeve from the side a second later.

 You furiously squash the voice inside your head urging you to pinch his cheeks.

 “I was planning on doing a grocery run tomorrow morning, so if there’s anything you want, just let me know.”

 “Can I come?”

 Surprised, you look at him. “Ofcourse you can, but you really don’t have to. I will probably leave early, and well, it’s just a grocery run. I will take you guys out to get some stuff later in the day. Today’s been long; if you want to sleep in, you should.”

 He shuffles shyly, one hand in his pocket and one grabbing your sleeve. “I want to.”

 Something in your chest constricts, too tight and too full as the rest of you feels slightly weightless. This boy is going to be the death of you.  

 Namjoon opens the door to the room Jungkook leads you, and the youngest wishes you night with a bow and a soft thank you before shuffling in. The straight, quivering ears give away the excitement and joy the rest of him so desperately tries to hide in favour of being poised. 

 It makes and breaks your heart. You are happy—beyond thankful—that he has started to consider you as more than just his owner, maybe not yet a friend, but at least someone he trusts. However, the way his responses, ingrained and trained, all have an underlying hint of servitude; it makes you want to protect him from yourself, lest you do something to encourage that sense of captivity that comes so naturally to him. 

 “Goodnight, mistress.” 

 Namjoon’s voice is all gravel and stone as he drops you off at your bedroom door despite all your protests. 

 There’s a thankyou somewhere lodged in your chest, pushing against the confines of your ribs and wanting to escape through the hollows in between, words that tickle the back of your throat, begging to come out and tell him how you think Jungkook trusts you now. Ask him shamefully if he thinks you are doing good, if he trusts you to take care of him and his family. 

 But the words never come, and with the greeting returned, you step inside your room, shutting the door on the longest day of your life. 

  a/n: i am alive. i am back and my apology comes in the form of this nearly 5k word chapter. this has been a long time coming and i have no excuse. i am scum. life just got away from me and it took all of me and then some to get it back on track. if you wanna talk to me, shoot me an ask. i am always beyond happy when i get the chance to talk to any of you so yes! i m here and i hope you are here too. 

Lemme know what you thought of the chapter in the comments please! it's as always the support and comments that bring me back to some of my stories with the drive to give them the ending that they and you all deserve. We have got a long road ahead of us but i promise to make it worth it 💕 Thankyou so much for reading my story! i love you ❣️ i hope you have an amazing day/night ahead 🫶

[goldticket]

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

[sunshinebuckybarnes]

enjoy the show

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x sex worker!female!reader

Summary: There’s never any time to let your guard down on the run. That is until Steve stumbles upon your show.

Warnings: sex worker reader, peep show, smut; male and female masterbation, voyerism. This blog is 18+ only. MINORS DNI.

Author's note: this was inspired by the lovely @maroonsunrise83’s gorgeous moodboard and fits perfectly as an entry to the Aphrodite's Manor Challenge hosted by the lovely @geminixevans, @fineanddandy, @jamalflanagan, @cocobutterqwueen, @syntheticavenger, @sunshinexsin and @boxofbonesfic. I went to a peep show in Amsterdam once so this setup is loosely based on that! (word count: 1.5k)

It had been quiet recently. A bit too quiet. Steve wasn’t at the point to drop his defences, knowing that being a fugitive after going against 117 countries put quite the target on his back. But it had been two months since their last close call. Himself, Sam and Natasha had barely made it out.

Shaking the memory from his head, Steve tilted his cap further down as he passed a rowdy drunk group, hollering and shouting, clearly enjoying the sights of Amsterdam’s red-light district.

“Alright Steve, the bar should be one the next block,” he hears Sam’s voice over the comms in his ear, “just plant the tracker and leave. We just need eyes and ears on him for- shit, Steve,” the change in his tone has alarm bells ringing in Steve’s head.

“Sam, what is it?”

“You’re being followed, about 20 yards back, there’s three of them.”

Steve stole a subtle glance back and spotted the men Sam had noticed.

“Got any exits for me, Sam?”

“There’s a big crowd heading your way. They’ll pass you at the same time you pass an alley opening. Slip into that and find a building to hide in. I’ll see what I can do.”

Steve clocked the group heading towards him. Slowly edging closer to the alley. Keeping his head down, he lowered himself slightly to match their height before slipping into the alley and through the first door he could see.

Closing the door quietly behind him he snuck through the dimly lit room until he saw a light. Steve edged closer, noticing people coming in and out of curtain shielded booths. He ducks into the closest one, pulling the curtain shut and letting out the breath he’d been holding.

“Sam,” he whispers, waiting for a response but getting nothing, the signal was notoriously bad.

Steve looks around the small cubicle he’s found himself in. It’s dimly lit, stains littering the floor and walls, fogged-up glass not allowing him to see what’s beyond.

The glass unfogs suddenly, letting more light into the space, and that’s when he sees you.

He can't take his eyes off you. The way your body moves as you step up onto the platform, the shape of your curves, the colour of your lingerie - he doesn't know how but it makes you glow, makes you ethereal and covers just enough to tease him.

Looks like he made the start of the show.

The platform you're on begins to rotate slowly, giving him the chance to admire your full form. The glass in front of him mists up slightly with his breath. He's about to take a step back, shaking his head at his sudden eagerness when he swears you lock eyes with him and shoot him a wink.

Steve’s throat runs dry. He watches you intently as you twirl in your heels, your small hands running over your body and Steve can’t help but wish it was his hands on you. He can feel a stirring deep in his gut as you bend at the hips, running your hands slowly up the length of your legs, timing it just right so Steve gets the perfect view of your ass.

He feels his cock twitch in the confines of his jeans and bites his lip to stifle a groan.

Once you’ve straightened up, your hands settle on the waistband of your panties, your thumbs hooking under the elastic. Teasing as you sway your hips and bend your legs slightly.

Steve’s breath gets caught in his throat when you stare directly at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you push your panties down your legs. Stepping out of one leg before kicking them up into the air with your other and catching them.

Steve can hear the muted sounds of the other patrons in the booths around the platform. A mixture of drunken laughter, leery cheers and the telltale sound of skin on skin. But Steve manages to tune all that out when he hears a delicate laugh.

The platform rotates and you're once again staring at him, giggling as you bring your panties up, aiming them in Steve’s direction and flicking them towards him.

It takes every part of Steve’s restraint not to break the glass and take you there and then. He doesn’t know if it’s just coincidence or if you can even see him, but whatever it is you have him in your hold. He hasn’t even realised that he has begun to undo his belt and jeans until you drop to your knees and spread your thighs.

Steve can’t stop the whispered fuck that falls from his lips at the sight of your glistening pussy. He watches, entrapped, as your nimble fingers glide up your thighs, parting your lower lips to display everything you have to offer.

He delights in the small hum he hears slipping from your plush lips. Steve’s never been more grateful for his advanced hearing, being able to focus solely on you, knowing he’s getting more of a show than anyone else.

The moment you swirl a finger around your wetness and circle your clit, it’s game over for Steve. The sight of you touching yourself so intimately has him pulling his hard cock free from the confines of his jeans. Spitting in his hand he grips himself tightly and begins to torturously stroke himself, wanting to savour every bit of your show.

You lean forward slightly, balancing on one hand as you sink one finger inside of you. Steve grips himself tighter at the sound of the gasp escaping your lips. Your new position lets him see everything as the platform rotates. When your back is to him he can see the gorgeous shape of your ass, your wet lips glistening around the finger that is curling in and out of you. When you’re facing him, he can see the blissed outlook in your eyes, the way you bite your lip and the way your breasts threaten to spill out of your tiny bra.

Steve can hear your slight whimper as you remove your finger, sitting back on your ass and uncurling your legs from underneath you. You spread your legs as far as you can, bending your knees and planting your feet on the floor.

Licking his lips at the image of you sprawled out, Steve quickens his pace slightly. Imagining how you would feel below him, how you would feel at his mercy. Would you like it soft and slow or rough and hard?

Steve chuckles to himself, no, a dirty girl like you would need it rough, desperate. He’d have you begging for him to touch you, to give you what you need. Maybe he’d tie you to the bed, keep you still as he takes you apart piece by piece. Maybe he’d stuff you over and over again until you were begging, crying for him to give you some reprieve.

Shit, Steve’s hips stutter slightly and he has to take a deep breath to compose himself, to stop his thoughts from running away.

Your moans are getting louder now. Two fingers stuffed as deep as you can get them in your slick pussy. Your other hand plays with your clit as you bring yourself closer and closer to the edge.

Steve’s fist matchs the pace of your fingers, mumbling praises under his breath.

Fuck, that’s it. Look so good spread out for me. Be a good girl and make yourself cum. Cum for all these people you dirty little slut.

The noises you’re making are like a symphony to his ears and all he wants is to be the one to be pulling those noises from you.

The platform comes to a stop, your body directly facing Steve’s window.

He can tell you’re close. You’re panting, your moans becoming more high pitched, your thighs trembling. He can hear you chanting, a stream of yes punctuating the wet sounds coming from your pussy.

Steve can feel his end approaching. A warmth blooms across his chest as his breathing becomes heavier.

You whimpered I’m cuming, followed by a silent scream, it’s the most gorgeous thing Steve has ever seen and it has him cuming with you. His hips stutter as he milks his cock, adding to the pattern of stains on the wall in front of him.

He watches you as you come down from your high, a blissed out smile on your face. You pull your fingers out of your abused hole and trail them up your body before licking the evidence of your release with a satisfied hum.

You move slowly, an almost weightlessness to your body and Steve wants nothing more than to throw you over his shoulder and take him with you. You flash an unbelievably sweet smile to the other patrons as you stand on wobbly legs. Steve almost convinced himself that all the eye contact and the flirty winks were just for show, that you couldn’t possibly have seen him. But the salute you give him just before you leave has Steve’s cock stirring again. Oh, he’s definitely taking you with him.

Steve’s out the booth as quick as he can, eying up the door you went through, sticking to the shadows as he starts to follow you.

“Steve, you there?” comes Sam’s voice from the comms, the signal back up.

“I’m here,” Steve whispers, slipping through the door you went through, “in pursuit of a new target.”

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this 🥰 as always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ❤️

[sweetkingdomstarlight-blog]

do it so well - part seven

Pairings - Librarian AU Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count - 1189

Warnings - oral (f receiving), sex, breeding kink

A/N - Happy Birthday Eyre @buckyownsmylife I wish I could be there to have cocktails and go dancing but this is the next best thing for now. One day we'll meet and have the best time. I couldn't have created this series without the help of @bestofbucky and @whisperlullaby. The moodboard below was made by the very talented @book-dragon-13. Thanks for reading if you've made it this far, I appreciate every comment, like and reblog.

Series Masterlist

You both walk into the room and look around, Bucky was in here a lot but the sheer amount of books in the law library always made him smile. He took a quick look around while you looked at the shelves, taking in the long titles that you would never read.

Just as you were about to pick something off the shelf Bucky grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder carrying you to the corner of the room where there was a break out zone. Sitting down and pulling you into his lap he began to kiss along your neck and jaw, zoning in on the spots that always have you making his favourite little noises.

“Bucky what are we doing in here?” you manage to say, struggling to find the words as he nibbles on the patch of skin just below your ear. He doesn’t reply, instead choosing to turn your face towards his, kissing you deeply and running his hands up your back and over your shoulders. You feel like you’re melting into him, it's not fair just how good he can make you feel with most of your clothes on and in the middle of the library.

You push on his chest to get him to stop for a second so you can collect your thoughts, resting your forehead against his and slowing your breath down. “Tell me what you’re thinking doll, I really want to know what's going on in your head”. You smile and lean back to look at him, grabbing his head in both your hands and running your thumbs over his cheekbones, just staring at him for what feels like a lifetime.

“Yes” you say. The simple three worded letter is the only thing he’s wanted to hear all night, well actually he's wanted to hear it ever since you went on your first date to that paintballing place then out for possibly the worst tacos ever created, if he’s being totally honest with himself. He searches your face checking to see if you’re messing with him, seeing only happiness and a bit of nerves. A tear rolls down his cheek and he pulls you into his chest whispering declarations of love to you and promising to do 2am ice cream runs whenever you need it.

“Are you sure? You really want to do this, i’ll book an appointment to go look at the house and” you cut him off before his mad ramblings take his head away into that special little land you always called his ‘mad cave of ideas’. Kissing him firmly you grab one of his hands and push it between your legs “now Bucky, put a baby in me”, he looks at you shocked for a moment before smirking and pushing two fingers deep inside you, watching your face as you bite your lip but smile at the feel of him.

“Fuck you’re going to look so good carrying my baby doll, all round and glowing. Carrying the most precious thing in the world”. Grinding your hips down on his hand you can already feel that familiar feeling building up, he carries on getting you get closer before stopping and pulling away “ah ah, I read last week that making your girl cum is the most successful way to help them get pregnant so I want it to be the strongest one yet doll”. You whine at him trying to push his hand back between your legs but he just smiles and shakes his head before switching positions and sitting you on the chair.

You watch as he strips down, leaving his underwear on and pouting because you need to see him, need to feel him. He kneels in front of you and pushes the skirt of your dress up, licking his lips at just how wet and needy you are for him, before grabbing your ass and pulling you to him leaning down and sucking your clit into his mouth. You almost scream at how overstimulated you feel already, your back arches off the chair and he has to hold you in place, gripping your hips.

Pushing a single finger into you he can feel you throbbing already so close, so he pulls back and smirks as you whine and grab for him yet again. “I just want you to feel so good when you finally do cum baby, think of how hard I've been for you all night” he says before repeating his assault on your clit. He continues this three more times before taking pity on you and pulling back. You pulled your dress down not long after his first edge and had been pinching and rubbing your nipples ever since, he kisses up your body and latches on to one of them sucking and licking while pushing his shorts down.

“I read in the kama sutra the best position for making babies is on your back with your legs over my shoulders” he practically growls as you rub his cock, swiping your thumb over the tip. He moves you into position and pushes in slowly, kissing your ankle as he bottoms out inside you. Thrusting into you firmly, the pleasure is too much and you almost want to push him away from you but he holds on tight “I can feel you squeezing me, just let go baby. Cum for me, fuck I can’t hold on much longer” that was it, thats all it took before you were gushing around him, almost screaming his name, you must have told the whole library at that moment just who was making you feel so good.

You hugged each other and lay still, getting into a comfortable position when you heard him whisper something, something you weren’t expecting. Especially not at this very moment while he was still inside you, keeping you plugged. You pull at his hair to lift his head “say that again” tears brimming in your eyes as you look at his face, glowing and happy, waiting expectantly for him to repeat himself.

Three months later

“We were in the law library, lay across some of the chairs in the breakout zone” you stand talking to Sam who has a look of pure disgust on his face. Your friends had all made it at the last minute, you were surrounded by your favourite people, Dora had managed to walk all the way down the aisle holding onto Natasha's hand and was the cutest flower girl that ever existed. You were absolutely glowing with love and happiness, looking for Bucky across the room and seeing him talking with Steve.

You didn't have much of a bump yet but as soon as you started to turn down your favourite champagne it didn't take your friends too long to realise why the wedding was planned so quick. You don’t actually know if it was the law library or the campus bathroom an hour later, all you know was that everything was perfect and the man you can’t take your eyes off for even a moment was your whole world, well for another six months or so.

[zayneternal]

《 Halloween in June 》

summary ↠ It’s been 6 months since you and Taehyung have made it official, and it’s been nothing but sarcastic roast sessions and the occasional binge of Criminal Minds on Netflix, but for the last of those glorious months, a rather strange arrival has made himself known to the closing baristas at your place of work. Which brings you to the newly normalized routine of your closing shifts: the weird guy (who wears demon horns?) is seen stalking the outside of the shop again, Taehyung specifically asks you not to work the shift alone, and you do exactly what you always do...work the shift alone. 

genre ↠ angsty angst ooO

member ↠ kim taehyung

warnings ↠  physical violence | stalking

word count ↠ 5.1k

moodboard credit to @jiminspjm

~

"Don’t close by yourself tonight,Y/N. I mean it.”

The words of your boyfriend, Taehyung, sternly imparted by soft lips against your temple while you’d prepared to leave for work earlier today, are still ringing painfully around between your ears as you directly disobey him. You watch the new barista, whom you’ve just excused from the gruesomely slow shift, gather her belongings, clock out, and disappear into the caramelized evening with a resounding jangle of the door chimes.

Arching away the guilty prickles that slowly inch up your spine at the knowledge of what you’ve just done, you sigh inwardly, pursing your lips as you traipse back behind the bar to finish up the last of the menial cleaning tasks. Taehyung is fully aware of your nasty habit to send home the newer baristas a little early on particularly slow nights like this one which is exactly why he’s been blowing up your phone since you arrived, making calls every hour that you’ve been declining in the name of “busyness”, but really, you know that hearing his voice will only make you feel worse about sending Jess home when he specifically told you not to. If it weren’t so furiously endearing and didn’t make you feel a kind of protected that you’d never let him know you felt, you might think Taehyung was being a little more overbearing than he is. 

Despite Taehyung’s wishes, there’s really no point to having two people on the clock when there have only been three customers in the last hour--one of which being the regular that resides in the back corner working on the next great American novel that he’s had half finished for about two years now. You and Jess, even with her distracted habits and scatterbrained nature, got miles ahead on the closing list, leaving you very little to do besides counting the money drawer, cleaning out the espresso ports, and locking up at the end of the night.

You regret these bulleted thoughts when a sharp buzz begins smarting against the glass at the top of the pastry case, your phone screen lighting up to reveal a candid frame of Taehyung’s squinted smile, his name shining like a beacon across the top. Even after half a year of that picture present in your phone, the reminder that the man whose image it bears is the one calling you still sends your nerves blazing--a fact you’ve had to endure Taehyung teasing you about on numerous occasions (though he would admit to the same). 

Gripping your phone in your palm to cease the outright noise, you clench your jaw in preparation, letting your thumb hover over the green phone icon so long you have to rush to press down before the call times out.

“Hello?” you breathe into the receiver, the muffled sound of a Seinfeld rerun playing on the mounted TV above the coffee bar.

“Y/N! Hey,” Taehyung’s rasped resonance hurries back, slightly airy as if he’d been holding his breath before you answered. “How are things going? Is everything good there? I haven’t been able to get a hold of you all night.”

You sigh again, running a hand through the haphazardness of your hair as you lean against the pastry case, holding the phone closer to your ear. “I know, I’m sorry. Me and Jess were swamped trying to get ahead on the cleaning while we had time.” There is only a small bit of solace you find knowing it’s more of an omission than a lie. 

“Swamped?” he repeats, voice almost unreadable. “Huh, well that’s nice. Every shift I worked last week totaled maybe 10 customers.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, shifting your weight. “Yeah, business isn’t the same in the summer,” you sigh, deftly avoiding the truth of your customer count. 

“Quite the bummer,” Taehyung speaks in that way he does when he’s waiting for a laugh. One you can’t help but give if for no other reason than how stupid it was. 

“Lame,” you chuckle, finding the feeling of the smile tugging against your lips rejuvenating. 

“How’s Jess doing?” Taehyung’s next question sends your grin running back to its hiding place with its tail between its legs. You’d have to tread carefully.

“She’s...” you begin, trying your hardest to sound casual. “Ya know, good.” 

Nailed it.

“Good? Hasn’t run the espresso machine without the espresso yet? Dropped any open milk jugs?” 

You’re trying to read his tone, but he sounds naive to your “omissions” so far. “Nope, no messes, broken machinery, or third degree burns to speak of yet.”

He huffs idly. “It’s only a matter of time. I’ll make sure to warn her about the christening the espresso machine likes to give newcomers when I work with her next week.”

You manage to quirk a grin as you settle into the conversation. “I’m sure she’d be grateful to hear that from you.” It was no secret that Jess had a certain affinity for Tae and his boyish charm, always dropping soapy dishes and fumbling with change when he would walk into the shop. It was somewhat endearing. 

“Hmm,” he hums idly before saying something that shoots an arrow into your stomach. “Why don’t you just give her the phone for a sec, and I’ll tell her now? No time like the present.” 

Your muscles tense and eyes close, slowly recognizing the familiar color to his voice. He also dons it when he’s asking if you ate the leftovers that no one else but you and he have access to. 

“How’d you know?” you breathe, defeated, lifting a hand to your face.  

“You didn’t brag about how much more tip money you’re bringing home with all this ‘business’ you have,” he responds casually, and you can’t tell if you’re in trouble yet or not. “You never miss a chance to be the breadwinner.” 

You chuckle lightly, cautiously, breath tense for the moments that follow. “I thought you might be...ya know, mad if I told you I was closing alone.” 

“Again,” he corrects. “Closing alone again.”

“Again...” you amend, feeling like a child on the other side of a pointed finger. You might’ve been upset, annoyed, that Taehyung is parenting you if you hadn’t been the instigator, knowing exactly how to avoid his gentle wrath and still choosing to step in its way. 

You hear an exasperated sigh seep through the phone, and you can almost see him, eyes closed, locks shaking back and forth, nose bridge pinched between his pointer and thumb. “Y/N,” he breathes. “Are you actively trying to make my hair fall out? Cause it sure feels that way. You can’t see, but I’m holding a few shiny, very luxuriously conditioned locks in my hand right now. They should not be in my hand right now.” 

You know he’s scolding you, but his personality washes through the receiver and makes you smile--something you try to hide in your tone lest he turn into more of your father. “I promise your balding is the farthest thing from a priority, Tae.” 

“Then why, why, do you insist on blatantly ignoring me every single time?” In the background of the call, you hear the soft click of a door being shut. The jangle of keys.   

“Taehyung, please tell me you are not leaving the apartment right now.” You say instead of answering him, your own eyes closing. 

“My hair is falling out, and you’re upset that I’m coming to see you? Your priorities really are out of whack.” 

You sigh and laugh in tandem, your neck almost hurting as it tries to decide which side to commit to. Annoyed or humored. “Of course I’m not upset that you’re coming to see me. I just wish it wasn’t because you think I can’t handle myself by myself.” You begin idly tracing the frame of the register next to you, twisting the key in the cash drawer back and forth. 

Another creak as Taehyung pushes through the front door of your apartment building, the sounds of passing cars whooshing through the background as he begins the trek further downtown. “Y/N, I promise I believe you are fully capable of handling yourself. It’s just with everything that’s been happening there lately...that maniac...” He trails off, breath tight. “Just humor me. I’m protective.”

You breathe slowly before answering with half a mind to roll your eyes at the fact that you almost did want to humor him. The maverick inside you fights lazily with your secret desire to be sheltered. Instead of giving in outright, you glance at the clock and make your escape for the time being with a curt, “I’ve gotta lock up. See you soon.” 

You end the call and replace your phone on the counter, moving to inform the great American author in the back that it was closing time. He gathers his things quickly, looking slightly deflated at whatever progress he had or hadn’t made during his time here, and disappears into the blackening night. With an empty store and slight prickle of annoyance rumbling in your stomach, you flip the locks closed on the front door, swiftly turn up the chairs onto the tables, and clean the final espresso port before clocking out. 

Taehyung still isn’t here, but you aren’t surprised. Your apartment is a twenty minute walk from the shop and you’ve spent all of ten finishing up the quick close. 

You gather your things in your arms and stand by the front window, taking only a moment to decide that you will meet Taehyung halfway home instead of sitting like a duck in the dark and empty space, knowing that your maverick is winning the fight now and you want to leave if for no other reason than to show Taehyung you really could handle yourself by yourself. 

You take a step, backing away from the window with pursed lips. It isn’t even the length of an inhale after you turn your back, however, before a loud and raucous slam resounds throughout the shop. You freeze mid-step, shoulders tensing immediately and eyes wide as you slowly shift your gaze behind you, already knowing what you will find when it arrives. 

There he is. 

Party City devil horns pointed high. Halloween makeup smudged and unnerving across his wild face. Palms planted flat and tense against the thick glass of the window. 

No one knows where he came from or why, only that a few weeks ago he made a claim on main street. A demon in human form hellbent on terrorizing the small businesses littering the downtown area in the dead of night. Somehow he was in perfect sync with the closing schedules, choosing the nights when you least expected him to appear without a warning to make himself very known and frighten the living fuck out of the witnesses. 

He hasn’t hurt anyone...yet...mostly because everyone so far has been smart enough to stay out of his way. Make it home before he showed up, if you were lucky, or stay in a pair or group which he tended to keep his distance from for whatever reason. Everyone so far except for you. Of course. 

Realizing you are still frozen and freaked, you turn your eyes to the basement door that you had been heading for in the first place--a less conspicuous way to exit and the way you had been hoping to take to avoid him altogether. He hasn’t shown up at all the last few closes you’ve done alone, and most of his appearances--besides the first time almost a month ago--you’ve only heard about from coworkers. Maybe that’s why the healthy dose of fear you are supposed to have was nowhere to be found tonight. 

It sure as hell is here now. Too little too late. 

All of a second has passed since you glanced away, but with a swift look back, your eyes come up empty of all things frightening which somehow frightens you all the more. Your breath quickens. Your saliva dries, sticking as you attempt to swallow without success.

“Ok, Y/N,” you self soothe, the weak sound you hear squeak from you not in the least bit convincing. “No need to freak out. You’re gonna be just fine. Composure. Composure.” 

You swallow thickly once more and stand up straight. Maybe he’s gone? Maybe your presence is of no interest to him tonight? You try to assure yourself of these things as you slide to the basement door, glancing over your shoulder every other beat because of course you aren’t convinced. Is the basement the safest way? What if he’s waiting down there? What if that’s what he wants you think so you’ll walk right out the front door instead? Is it better to just stay put? Can he get inside?

Deciding it’s less likely he knows about the back exit and feeling too frazzled to stay, you hurry on. The sweat lacing your palm as it clamps around the brass door handle is thick, sliding somewhat as you turn and tug it open, closing it just as swiftly behind you. In the dimly light stairwell, you feel only slightly consoled.

It’s with haste now that you descend the rickety old wood and stumble across the dank room towards the hidden alley door, grappling with the key in your purse all the while in preparation for your speedy retreat. Taehyung has to be close -- and then a spike of fear because Taehyung is outside with him. 

The basement door is opened and then closed, ushering you outside within the same moment, and as you shove the key into the lock, you fumble with your phone in your free hand, your nerves making it doubly hard to unlock it and redial your most recent contact. 

“Hey, I’m almost there,” he answers immediately, sounding annoyingly clueless to the danger he so adamantly warned against. You feel almost hypocritical as you interrupt his, “Just another minute or-”

“Tae, turn around, please,” you hiss intensely, your eyes wild around you as you creep down the narrow alleyway, not sure if you should feel protected or trapped yet.

“Turn around? But I’m almost--” He pauses, confused. “Y/N what’s going on? Did you leave? Please tell me you’re still inside.” 

“I-I-” you stutter, questioning if you want to explain your reasoning in this current moment. You are almost to the end of the ally and then it would be brightly lit streets and witnesses. Almost there.

“I’ll defend myself later,” you urge, realizing you are whispering. “Just turn around, please. I’ll meet you at the apartment.” You shake your head at yourself, upset for a random moment that you are so affected just by the sight of this human apparition. He hasn’t hurt anyone, you remind yourself. 

And then suddenly you are on the ground, your phone scattering a few feet away from you. The muffled electronic questions of Taehyung are thin and blurry in the background. You realize your vision is swimming and lift a hand to your forehead where it comes away red and sticky, shining in your fuzzy view. The asphalt had hit you hard. Confusion quickly gives way to concern and then terror as you roll to your side, head pounding. The first clear thing that enters your vision is the double point of a pair of horns leering over you. 

You think you scream, but can’t be sure. The sound melts into the night, as if it never happened, leaving you even more petrified than you thought possible. Voiceless.

You feel so helpless, bleary and bleeding, underneath the shadow of this terror, his face illuminated in the most horrifying of ways as the moonlight stripes over his dark and dreary makeup, lighting up half of his sickeningly joyed smile with flashes of silver fire. 

Another silent scream.

He’s standing over your lower half, nothing in his hands to indicate he’d been the one to cause your stumble. Maybe one clumsy moment of fear has fated you to this. No one to blame but yourself. 

He leans down, and your heart stops for a moment making breathing impossible. You try to discern if the liquid you feel on your cheek is a stream of thick tears or the blood from your forehead streaking down. Neither bring you any form of comfort or distraction from the hell spawn closing in on you. He speaks no words with the part of his sinister smile, just a ravenous snarl followed by a hyena-like chortle that tells you, “I’m having fun. Are you?”

You feel yourself attempt to move away from him, your palms scratching desperately against the black pavement beneath you, cutting and clawing your skin with a welcome pain that tries to convince you you have a chance. Only you don’t and he is on top of you again, this time reaching out, his grin deepening as his ink stained hands spread around your forearm, tugging hard.

You yelp, audibly this time, gathering just enough breath to plead, “No,” as the grimy feeling of his fingers spreads along your arm like poison. This only seems to please him further as he grips harder, pain igniting beneath his touch. 

And in that moment, a moment that feels like eternity in slow motion, you want nothing more than to apologize to Taehyung. To tell him he was right and you’re sorry and you miss him and need him and want to be protected and will tell your maverick to move out for good if it means this second of pure terror will end. You close your eyes, certain now that the liquid on your cheeks is both blood and tears. Please let it end. 

And it does.

The pain blooming along your arm subsides. The searing presence of him overtop of you is removed. You can breathe. You can move. You grasp at your chest, sucking in air like you’ve never drank a breath in your life. It’s only after multiple deep gulps of oxygen that the blurry noise in the background races to the forefront, clear and alarming.

“You fucking bastard! You sick fuck, don’t touch her!” Taehyung’s voice echos sharp and furious in your ears, and your eyes fly open to drink in the scene. He’s grappling with the demon, rolling him over as the devil fights with the growls and snarls of a wild animal, biting and gnashing his fangless teeth at Taehyung’s face before his hands are pinned on either side of him. The control only lasts a moment, though, as Tae’s anger gets the best of him and he releases one of his hands to throw a few heavy fisted punches against his target’s jaw. 

The horned man’s head thrashes to the side with the force of the impact, and you know you should feel assuaged somewhat by the karma being dealt, but the way the man laughs through the pain puts your nerves on ice. You scrabble away in a moment of clarity and urgency towards your discarded phone, a slim crack racing along the screen. You fumble once more to unlock the device.

“911, what’s your emergency?” A calm voice questions in response to your dial, the juxtaposition almost enraging against the scene you’re helplessly witnessing. 

“My boyfriend!” you cry. “He’s--the other man jumped me and--please help, I don’t know how long he can keep him down!” 

“Please slow down, ma’am,” the voice urges, only a fraction more concerned than before. You have to remind yourself that it’s their job to stay calm when the other end of their line is anything but. “Where are you now?”

“Alley!” you answer desperately. “The alley behind the shops on main street! Please hurry!”

In front of you, where your eyes are still glued, Taehyung is flung to the side with a zealous convulsion from the demon beneath him. He smacks into the brick wall next to their writhing tussle with an oof before the man is clambering onto him like a beast, his face bruised and bloodied by Taehyung’s fists. Vengeful.

A shriek rips through you and the phone drops to the ground just as the 911 operator is mollifying, “Help is on the--”

“Taehyung!” you wrack, your head empty of anything but the sight of him bracing futilely against the claws the man is using to slash across Taehyung’s forearms and face. He is trying with everything in him to buck the devil from his chest, but he has him pinned good and shows no signs of relenting, practically foaming at the mouth with unfettered hate. And that face...the evil. The rage. 

You don’t think. You don’t question your next move. You’re suddenly casting yourself from where you’d been crumpled on the asphalt, a shout that could’ve come from anyone but you tearing through your throat as you launch across the space between you and your attacker. Your hands feel the tattered fabric of the demon’s jacket before your brain catches up to you, nails digging into the flesh beneath it and you yank. 

A confused grunt escapes who is now your victim as he topples backwards and away from Taehyung. “Get OFF!” you seethe, furious, terrified, and aflame with adrenaline as you tug with the strength of ten of you and slam the unaware man into the pavement. You give him no moment of respite before you’re the one in control, pinning his arms down with the weight of your knees and laying into him with all you’ve got. Your nails are just as effective as his were against Tae, if not more-so. Blood is slick in the gashes you leave against his cheeks, neck, collarbones, blazing red against his ruined makeup. The facade of the maniac is crumbling beneath you.

You see the wild anger give way to what resembles fear as he slowly realizes the mistake he has made. At least he’s sane enough for that.

Deep moans of anguish and pleading are flowing from him now, still no words, but you don’t need them to know you’re inflicting pain. Well deserved. 

“Y/N! Y/N that’s enough!” Taehyung’s voice seeps into your red rage fueled tunnel, a light at the end that you’re not ready to reach. You feel the weight of his arms wrap themselves around your midsection, pulling with a force you can’t combat before you’re unfastened from the devil. He remains grounded. He doesn’t move to run or escape, instead rolling over with another moan as he covers his bleeding face with his hands. One of his horns has detached beside him. In the near distance, you register the sound of sirens. 

“You got him, Y/N, you got him,” Tae hushes into your ear, still holding you tight against him. It’s not until he speaks that you realize you are still struggling to free yourself and return to your karmic retribution. “Relax, Y/N, we’re ok. You got him.”

It’s then that you hear yourself crying, your cheeks now completely doused in the sweat and tears of the passed moment. You’re shaking against Tae’s chest, and as he finally sets your feet back on the ground, you crumple in his arms, all the adrenaline rushing out of you quicker than you can adjust to. He catches you deftly, holding you upright as he turns you into him, hiding your face in the joint of his neck and shoulder as he sways back and forth, ushering a calming pattern against your back. 

“The cops are here, Y/N,” he whispers, alerting you to the red and blue lights swimming a few yards away and the sound of car doors popping open. Questions shout their way down the alley towards you, but you don’t hear anything but noise. You breathe Taehyung’s scent in for all it’s worth. 

“He’s right here, officer!” Tae speaks for you both, calling towards the coming aid. The sound of clattering footsteps rushes past you, and you hear the echoed moans of the man become more desperate as he’s lifted off the ground and cuffed with a comforting click before the horrid sound disappears away down the alley and into the back of a car. It’s not until that car has pulled away and sped off, your nightmare with it, that Taehyung gently pulls back, his hands coming to cup your trembling jaw. He lowers himself to look into your eyes with intense concern, searching you. The red and blue lights of the remaining cop car flash methodically behind him, and you can feel the lingering presence of another officer nearby, waiting to question you, you’re certain.

“You okay?” Tae softens. His thumb brushes your cheek.

“I will be,” you assure him with some semblance of a smile. “You?” With a sense of normalcy returning to you, you bring your own hand to ghost against the scratch marks left in the perfect skin of his face. Taehyung tries not to flinch against the sting. You’re only pacified knowing you did much worse. “Look what he did to you...”

He mirrors your soft smile of reassurance. “I’ll be okay. It beats going bald.”

You’re surprised that you laugh, given the circumstances, but you’re grateful for it. The sound feels like a weight rolling away. You lift your hand further to tousle his very thick and secure locks. Taehyung sighs against your fingers. “Can we go home now?”

____________

“Ow.”

“Oh, sorry,” you smile apologetically as you dab the cotton ball softer against Taehyung’s skin. His eyes are closed, palms resting against your thighs as you both sit criss-cross-apple-sauce on the floor of your apartment bathroom. You’ve been tending to each other’s wounds for the past half hour after arriving home, but with every pat pat pat of rubbing alcohol and Neosporin across marred skin, you’re hit with a wash of guilt that began bubbling in your stomach the moment that cop car drove away.

You clear your throat and the lump in it. “Um, Tae...thanks again for dealing with the police afterwards.” You’ve thanked him five times already, but you can’t seem to satiate the guilty conscience living it up in your gut. “I don’t think I would’ve spoken coherently if I’d tried.”

He doesn’t call you out on the fifth repeat. He just sighs softly and smiles against your gentle cotton touch. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. I’m just glad you’re ok. Seeing you in that alley when I got there...” He trails and his smile tenses before he shakes it off, not wanting to add anymore weight to the night. “Well...it could’ve been a lot worse.” His hand tightens around the flesh of your thigh.

Your careful trail across his face slows to a stop. Taehyung opens his eyes to question you only to find your gaze fixed over a spot on the floor, eyes clouded.

“Y/N...” he whispers, reaching for your face.

“I’m sorry,” you rush, pushing his hand away. He stares at you, confused, hand frozen in midair. “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” The lump in your throat won’t be swallowed away this time.

“Y/N, don’t--”

“No, Taehyung, it is,” You urge, your voice tightening as the prickle of heat ignites behind your eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong.” The warmth wells the more you try to contain it behind the brazen tone of your voice. “If I had just fucking listened to you, we wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor wiping blood off of each other’s faces. If I wasn’t so goddamn stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to cut into a lunatic in a middle of an alleyway. Tell me that’s not my fault, Taehyung.” There is no hope of hiding the tears now as they bubble and boil over and down your cheeks, stinging all over again. You’ve had enough crying for a lifetime tonight. “You can’t. You can’t tell me it’s not my fault because every time I look at your face--” You clasp his jaw between shaking hands. “--I know it is.” 

You bite your trembling lower lip and let go of him, pressing the heel of your palms against your burning eyes. You want to hide, disappear, get swallowed up in this moment, almost ashamed to be sitting in front of him so freely. You want him to at least get mad at you. You deserve something. 

Instead of any of that, though, you feel the warm and soothing trace of Taehyung’s fingers bloom around your wrists, peeling them away with gentle force until your rash red face, swollen with cuts and tears and splotches, is revealed to him. He takes both of your hands into one of his, his free palm coming to wipe away the waterfall streaming across your skin, and you can do nothing but squeeze the warmth of him like any second it’s going to disappear. Maybe that’s exactly what you deserve after what you caused tonight. The thought of it shreds you.

“Y/N,” he calls, and you meet his eyes for the first time, a fresh flow of waterworks exploding when you see the utterly pure sincerity he wears in his gaze. “Listen to me very carefully.” He leans forward, tugging you along until your foreheads rest gently together, his hand trailing to the back of your neck where he holds you secure. It’s still not close enough. 

“Was a single decision tonight made with any intention of purposefully putting someone in danger?” 

The question gives you pause. You weren’t expecting it. “...No.”

“Then nothing--not a single thing--that happened to either of us was anyone’s fault. Do you hear me? You did nothing wrong.” His voice is like honey in your ears, his soft conviction so mesmerizing, you want to believe him. “Even had I known what would happen...I would’ve done it all over again for you. Never question that.”

You cry softly as you stare at him, utterly speechless as to how you deserved someone so full of kindness and goodwill. You don’t know if you’ll ever figure that one out.

He tips his head forward and attaches his lips to yours in a slow kiss, the feeling of it sending a wave of total calm and reassurance through you. When he pulls away, he pulls you with him until you are cradled against his chest, his legs walled around your form as you rock back and forth on the bathroom floor, surrounded by discarded cotton and open tubes of Neosporin.

“I love you,” you hear yourself whisper against him.

A content sigh from above you precedes lingering lips atop your head. “I love you,” he agrees. “More than you know.”

Through the fading sting of tears and freshly healing wounds, you really do believe him. And no amount of worry-fueled balding or strong-willed stubbornness will change that.

___________

ok, before you say, “devil horned man? really?” which many of you MAY HAVE already done I PROMISE YOU this plot was inspired by very true events at a very real job i had a while back, LEGIT someone like this exists, and i just ran with what I was given, ok thank yew.

[donutloverxo]

Two is better than one

Note- Also my contribution to our weekly challenge based on the moodboard above.

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are welcome.

Summary- All this shit just because you wanted some of that russian pussy or/ how you navigate a relationship with your new girlfriend and your fiancé.

Warnings- smut, mff threesome, over stimulation, dom/sub dynamics, poly relationship, no romanrogers, angst

Pairing- Steve Rogers x reader x Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers x reader

Word count-6.5k

Masterlist

You had been hanging out with your fiancé’s friends at a bar. It was sort of a post-mission party, a way for everyone to relax and wind down. Steve Sam and Tony had just gotten back from a three week long mission. You had missed Steve terribly. Even though you talked daily it was still hard to not have him be there for you when you got back from work. Steve being the overprotective, sweet, perfect boyfriend that he is asked Nat to look after you while he was gone.

Normally you would've been mad. You’re a grown woman who can take care of herself. You didn’t need a bodyguard or caretaker. But it all worked out amazingly as you got to spend more time with Nat and somehow ended up becoming even better friends. You didn’t even notice when the three weeks were up.

“I bet I’m a better kisser than you” Nat cheekily smiling at Steve.

Everyone else had went home or to another bar. Right now it was just you and Nat in front of Steve in a booth. Somehow you had started talking about his ‘golden boy’ persona and his old school values.

“Yeah?” He returned her smile draping his arm over the back of his seat “I’m willing to bet you’re not”

“There’s only one way to find out” She giggled turning her head to her right to look at you biting her lower lip. You both had had one too many tequila shots.

“It’s only fair. She has already kissed you” You said to Steve referring to the time Nat had kissed him so they wouldn’t blow their cover. He was so sweet fessing up to you as soon as he got back, expecting you to be mad.

Before he could say anything Nat grabbed your chin crashing her lips onto yours. She felt warm and soft. You pressed your fingertips against the curve of her cheekbones. Her lips were just as plump as Steve’s albeit a bit smaller. She slipped her tongue into your mouth as you sighed into the kiss. She pulled away as you both tried to catch your breaths.

You were all silent for a while, Steve staring at the both of you, his lips pressed in a firm line. You couldn’t read his expression, which was strange. Usually you could easily tell what was going on in his mind. You knew how much men were obsessed with lesbians or girl-on-girl things but Steve wasn’t that kind of guy. “So?” he asked you.

“Who’s the better kisser?” Nat gave you a cocky smirk as she assumed she had already won.

“You’re both good...” You paused thinking about the right words to choose “in your own way”

“She’s just trying to spare your feelings Rogers” Nat scoffed.

“She obviously likes me better”

You changed the subject before the situation could escalate anymore. You had to resist the urge to ask Steve who was a better kisser between you and Nat. But you knew he would choose you. Nat sure had left you wanting more. You wished you could pull her in for another breathtaking kiss. You avoided looking at her for the rest of the night so you wouldn’t be tempted.

“Look at that ass” You giggled hanging off of Steve’s shoulder. You were too drunk to walk or to even comprehend what was going on around you. You felt so giddy and high as if you were weightless and on cloud nine. “Such a bubble butt” you tried to give it a nice smack but couldn’t from the awkward angle.

“Bubble butt?” He repeated and chuckled “it’s all yours baby” He said fondly. He punched in the code for your apartment heading straight for the bedroom and gently placing you on the bed.

He kissed your forehead to which you giggled some more. You plopped down on the bed staring at the ceiling which seemed to be spinning at the moment. He returned with your makeup wipes taking your make-up off your face. He always said you didn’t need it but helped you out whenever you wanted to try a new eye shadow. He did work well with colors and brushes.

“Ooh my head hurts” You scrunched your nose at the artificial lemony smell from the wipes.

He opened his mouth as if to say ‘I told you so' but then knew better and closed it running another clean wipe across your face he was done. “All done. You wanna slip into something comfortable?” He asked looking at your tight dress which pushed your breasts up together, giving you a much more prominent cleavage.

He threw the used wipes in the dustbin in your bathroom. You looked at him as he went about his nightly routine. Brushing his teeth washing his face. You reached back struggling to unzip your dress after some attempts you get a hold of the zip pulling it down. The straps fall off of your shoulders as you got rid of your strapless bra kneeling on your bed in just your panties. You started to fondle your breasts to entice Steve, give him a nice show. It had been weeks since you made love. You had to make do with your pink vibrator which wasn’t half as good as the real thing.

His jaw dropped as he looked at you squeezing your breasts together, gasping as you pinched your nipples. “Wanna fuck me daddy?” You moaned slipping your fingers in your panties to play with your clit. Before you could even reach it his hand stopped you holding onto your wrist.

“I don’t think so” He said holding your gaze “I’m not fucking you when you’re this drunk. It’s time for bed come on” he pulled your hand out of your panties and handed you his t-shirt which you often used as a sleep shirt.

“I can do it myself then” You huffed laying down on your side of the bed slipping your fingers between your thighs lightly grazing over your clit. You couldn’t concentrate not with Steve staring at you with his intense blue eyes. You whined pathetically pulling your hand out of your panties and giving up. You’ll get that dick soon enough, you were too tired anyway.

You didn’t need to look him to know he was smirking. You closed your eyes trying hard to sleep. If you aren’t hung over in the morning, which you probably will be, you can sneak in some morning loving from Steve before he goes to work. You felt the heat of his thumb on your hipbone, lingering there for a few seconds before he pulled your panties down. He knew you never liked to sleep with your underwear on.

“You wanna put on the shirt?” He asked to which you whined shaking your head. The silk sheets felt smooth and nicer against your naked skin. He covered you with the comforter switching off the lights, he pulled you into him, draping his arm across your stomach.

After a few minutes you opened your eyes and looked at him to see if he was asleep. You couldn’t really tell in the dark. You softly called out his name to which he gave no answer. “Would you hate me if I loved women like I love you?” you whispered in the dead of the night so lowly you weren’t even sure if you actually said it.

You felt tears streaming down your cheeks. Something you had hid from him since you started dating. You weren’t even sure why. You told yourself it didn’t really matter. You were never going to look at anyone else or think about anyone like that. You had committed your heart to him when you agreed to marry him. You heart now belonged to him.

“I could never hate you sweetheart” He admitted pressing a kiss to your forehead drying your tears off of your cheeks.

Of course he wouldn’t. You were so stupid to think something like this could ever change his feelings for you. Especially since he showed you everyday in so many ways just how much he loved and adored you. You hugged him nuzzling his neck.

“Do you – “ He paused clearing his throat “do you love Nat like that?” He asked speaking into your hair.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I mean I am sort of attracted to her and love her as a friend...” You trailed off.

You always had amazing chemistry with Nat. Well not always. She was kind of standoffish in the beginning. Almost mean to you when she gave you the shovel talk about not hurting Steve or else. Although you understood where she was coming from you decided it would be best to avoid her.

A simple florist like you didn’t have much in common with someone like Nat anyway. But then as you spent more time together you got to know her. A side of her she didn’t show to everyone. Now she was one of the most caring and kind person you know. A stark contrast to her first impression. You would go as far as to say she was your best friend. You did sometimes stared a bit too long at her for it to be considered proper. She was beautiful and graceful in everything she did, almost like a ballerina. But you never thought about those feelings or even let yourself think of her in anyway other than platonically. You would never do that to Steve.

“But I love you. I’ll never let anything come between us” You continued looking up at look at his face.

He was quiet for a while you thought he didn’t want to speak of it anymore ready to go back to sleep you tucked your head under his chin. “Would being with Nat make you happy?”

“I am happy” You spouted instantly. You were on the verge of panicking. This was the last thing you wanted, for Steve to doubt himself and your relationship.

“Would you be happier if you were with Nat?” He wondered.

“All I know is I would be miserable if I’m not with you” You said and left it at that untangling yourself from his arms to sleep on your back.

He hummed at that. “Have you ever been with a woman?”

You resisted the urge to groan. You really were tired. “No. If I had I would’ve told you” You and Steve were each other’s first. You didn’t have any experience with men or women so when Steve when told you he didn’t as well, you were happy, there would be no pressure, no expectations to live up to.

“Would being with a woman – or Nat be different?”

“I don’t know probably” You could think of a million ways it would be different and amazing.

“If it’s something that will make you happy then I want that for you” He explained drawing patterns on your stomach.

You snorted “You?” you had come to know over the course of your relationship that Steve was jealous if anything. He absolutely hated it if another man even looked at you. There was that time when he pulled you into him by firmly gripping your waist, flexing his muscles and trying to act all ‘alpha' to scare the poor guy who was just trying to make small talk.

You would have been mad at him if you didn’t notice the slightest hint of vulnerability in his eyes. He did apologize to you. Confessing that he didn’t feel good enough for you which was beyond ridiculous. Steve was your best guy. Sure his tall and burly physic is what first caught your eye, but even if he didn’t have all that he has now, you’d still love him just as much. He still needed to get that through his thick skull.

He often sulked or pouted for a while when you’d go out with your friends leaving him alone to his own devices. He wasn’t overbearing enough for it to be annoying, but he was possessive enough for it to be almost cute. “You don’t know how to share”

“That’s not true. My Ma always said that sharing is important and made sure to teach me that” He said defensively.

“Sure”

“look I don’t like it when random men flirt with you. They don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you – “ you opened your mouth to interrupt him but he didn’t give you the opportunity “I trust Nat. She would take as good care of you like I do”

As much as you would’ve liked to say that you don’t need or like to be taken care of, you actually did like it when Steve did it for you. You weren’t sure how you would feel if Nat were to do so.

“Are you sure?” You asked propping yourself up on your elbow. He nodded running his hand up and down the side of your waist. “What if it changes things between us?”

“then we end it” He said gravely which nearly frightened you.

You don’t remember when you dozed off. The next morning you asked Steve if he was still serious about it. Part of you was afraid it was some sort of test to see how loyal you were. Part of you was excited to get to explore a relationship with your crush. He said he'd be willing to give it a shot as long as you were honest with each other.

It was strange of Steve to act so... progressive? If that’s the right word for it. He was stubborn, often not willing to change. But it wasn’t too hard for you to believe that he’d make an exception just for you.

The moment Natasha laid her eyes on you, she knew she was a goner. She wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, or even love at times. But she knew she felt an instant attraction towards you. Just how sweet and naive you were. So soft, innocent, untainted by the world. She knew you had some sort of feelings for her, she could tell by just how nervous you got when you were around her.

She told herself she would only admire you from far. She had a habit of falling for unavailable people. She had managed to develop some sort of friendship with Steve and she wasn’t willing to jeopardise that.

She was more than surprised when you asked her out. Telling her that Steve was okay with it. And it took a lot to surprise her. She had seen everything. She never pegged Rogers to be someone who would share. She was for the first time at a loss for words. She wished she could see your face while you did it. Just how embarrassed you would be. But you did it over text. She agreed to it. Of course she did she would never say no to such an opportunity.

There you were so shy and nervous as if you were meeting her for the first time. You gave her a single stem of rose. “It reminds me of your fiery red hair” You said looking at the ground.

She was about to make a quip to ask if Rogers told you to say that, considering just how romantic he could be. But she decided to just accept the compliment and the rose. While eating dinner there were some awkward silences but for the most part it was quite pleasant. Nat never really dated. She didn’t have the time or space for it. She never felt the need to anyway. She told herself to not get her hopes up. She was still trying to figure out Steve’s intentions. She knew for a fact he wasn’t a cuckold. He couldn’t be. Although nothings impossible. Nat dropped you off at your apartment door, which was just one floor above hers. She pecked your lips for a quick kiss thanking you for your time and the rose.

Next order of business was to talk to Steve. He had a hard time lying or hiding his emotions, even if he wanted to. Which most of the times he didn’t. He was straightforward, direct, a no nonsense guy. Which was a blatant conflict to how he acted around you. He was still honest, but a lovestruck fool. She supposed that’s what loving someone like you does to a person. She was lucky to catch him while he was on a break. Sparing with a few recruits they were borrowing from the FBI for the time being.

He nodded at her to acknowledge her presence as if urging her to speak. Her curiousity ate away at her. What were his intentions? She knew him enough to know they couldn’t possibly be malicious.

She told him about what a good time she had with you. “how are you okay with this?” She asked.

“I think her hearts big enough for two people” He admitted. There was something about the way he said it, a wistful look in his eyes, how he seemed to try so hard to hide his sadness.

She didn’t really believe him. But she knew he would come around if he had any doubts.

For the next month you and Nat went on date quite often.

You were nervous if anything. Steve was your first partner. You had some experience before him but nothing too significant. You didn’t know much. He didn’t ask for much in bed either, other than making you keep up with his super solider stamina, which was a hard task in itself.

You knew Nat had plenty of experience. Word travels fast around here. You had also heard gossip about her sleeping with people on missions, which was very plausible now that you thought about it. You didn’t want her to find you lacking in any way. You thought the wine would calm your nerves but you only felt yourself becoming more and more nervous.

As things got heated after a movie night you had both moved to your bedroom, making out with teeth and tongue like horny teenagers.

Nat must have felt you tense under her as she broke the kiss to cup your face. “What’s wrong chernub?” she gave you a smile that made your heart melt. Her eyes so sincere, with such pure love in them, all for you.

“I just... well have you ever been with a girl?” You still weren’t sure what the status of Nat’s sexuality was. You didn’t ever ask her because it didn’t matter. All that matter to you was that she liked you.

“I have. But never with anyone I was in love with” She said giving your lips a quick peck, smirking at your dumbfounded expression.

“I – I love you too” You gulp down taking a few deep breaths, that was unexpected “You caught me off guard” You smiled back at her, leaning into her touch “I’ve never been with anyone but Stevie”

“Then I’m happy to be your first” she purred palming your breasts through your dress. She pulled it up by the hem leaving you in your bra and panties. You almost felt self conscious as she eyed your cleavage hungrily, unhooking and tossing your bra away. She quickly took off her blouse and jeans. Even in her haste she was so elegant, her movements so smooth as her maroon lacy bra slipped off of her arms.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her breasts. They looked so smooth, her dark pink hard nubs perfectly complimented by her pale porcelain skin. You awkwardly held each in your palm, lifting them up as if to weigh them. They were just the right size and filled your hands perfectly. She let you explore her breasts, trace your fingers over her body, dipping them in her belly button, before she harshly pushed you onto your back, your head hitting the pillow.

“There’s no way I can be patientl with you” She said training quick butterfly kissing down your body.

“Wait! I want to go down on you” You requested. You had spent hours researching on how to please a woman. Even if you were nervous, you were excited to explore her body.

“That’s alright baby. I’m a giver” She winked at you. She stared at your pussy in awe, her lips so close to it that you felt her hot breaths against your warm folds. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at her. You gasped loudly as you felt her lick a strip against it, wrapping her lips around your clit, harshly sucking on it. She wasn’t kidding when she said she wouldn’t be patient with you. You held onto the headboard trying your best to muffle your moans and screams.

You could feel yourself on the edge of it heaven. It was all too good. But then she stopped. You whined at the loss of what could’ve been an amazing orgasm. You looked down at her about to complain to do something to make her continue. You followed her gaze to your door and stared in horror at Steve standing there staring at Nat’s head buried in your pussy. What was more shocking was the very evident dent in Steve’s crotch, which almost looked painful.

You weren’t sure what you could say. Do you apologize? He gave you permission to date her. He never said anything about being intimate. You were about to explain, that it was spontaneous, that you weren’t thinking, you’d stop then and there if he asked you to.

But then “Would you like to join us?” Nat asked tracing your folds with her fingers. You shivered under her, being too sensitive and overwhelmed.

“Yeah I think I will” He said unbuckling his dark leather belt, his dress pants falling to his ankles. He stripped down to his underwear staring you down. “I’m going to have to punish you, after all” he took off his boxers his cock slapping against his abdomen.

“Wh – punish me?” You stammered panicking. Any other day you would act out purposely just so you could get punished. You loved this dark, unhinged side of him he only showed to you behind closed doors. How he bent you over his knee and make you count the smacks he delivered to your bum.

But right now, you were still mourning your ruined orgasm. You absolutely could not take any kind of edging, you have to come.

“He’s right” She smirked looking back at you.

“How do you wanna do this?” He asked Nat stroking his cock. Which did mildly infuriated you. They were ignoring you.

“I might have an idea” She pulled you up as Steve laid down on the bed. She guided him inside you as you straddled his hips and she crouched down with his thighs between her legs, drawing slow intricate circles on your clit.

You weren’t use to this position. Steve only ever liked making love while looking at you, he clearly wasn’t pleased with only being about to see your back. He grabbed at your hips angrily thrusting up into you. Where did your sweet innocent lover go? Seems like Natasha was a bad influence on you both.

You gasped into Nat’s mouth as you felt him filling you up. You vaguely heard her mockingly asking Steve to take it easy on you. You couldn’t think about that right now. All you could focus on was her fingers on your clit and Steve’s cock brushing up against your g-spot. It was all too good and too much.

“It’s all... It’s too much” You whimpered leaning away from Nat, pressing your palm on Steve’s stomach.

Steve abruptly stopped his thrusts “Are you alright princess” He petted he back of your head and smoothened your hair. You felt his back against yours as he got up wiping the sweat off of your forehead, pushing the hair that was sticking to it back. “You’re such a good girl. My sweet girl. ” He murmured as he kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

You calmed down as you tried to focus on your breathing. You didn’t know if you should be frustrated or relieved that they both just stopped. His hot and hard length was still buried deep inside you. You couldn’t take it anymore. You rolled your hips as his breath hitched.

Nat snorted “You have no idea how this game works, do you?” She pushed Steve back onto the bed instructing him to keep rutting up into you. You could do nothing but whimper.

Steve was a bit apprehensive. There was this one time he accidentally elbowed you in your ribs. He’s guilty about that to this day. He once told you his worst nightmare would be hurting you. That he wanted nothing else in this world but to make you happy and treat you like the princess you are. You smiled at the memory, he sure did have a way with words.

You cried as Nat rolled your clit between her fingers. She kissed the side of your mouth urging you to come. “Come on my fingers” She ordered.

Steve didn’t like that. He plunged up into you. You don’t think you have ever felt him this deep inside you. “Go ahead baby girl. Let go” He rasped. You could feel his muscles tightening beneath your palm. He wasn’t too far behind you.

You screamed in pure bliss as the coil building in your belly snapped, putting an end to your agony. You felt Steve’s grip on your hips stiffen as the pace of his thrusts escalated. “Fuck – shit” he cursed and groaned as you felt him come inside you.

You hugged Nat as you stayed like that for a while. His cock softening inside you. You clenched around him just for fun, which earned you a slap to your bum.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” Nat helped you up, Steve’s cock slipping out of you, you hissed at the empty feeling. His come oozed out of you. Steve hummed at the sight, playing with your folds before pushing his come back into you. You whimpered as you felt his fingers enter your overworked pussy.

“I’m sorry doll” He drawled out.

Nat carefully cleaned your thighs and your heat with a warm washcloth then tossed it to Steve. He cleaned himself up and asked if you wanted a bath.

“No I’m too tired” You murmured as you fell asleep sandwiched between them. It felt nice to be surrounded by soft comfortable warmth.

It was quite easy for you to fall into a routine with your two lovers. You had been dating Nat for months now; if you could call it that. No one from the team suspected a thing. Both Steve and Nat, unlike you, were private people. They didn’t broadcast their private lives for everyone to see.

You also found that they were similar yet different in so many ways. Nat was more of a friend to you then Steve was, he was the man out of time after all. Nat liked the same movies and songs as you did. You could go shopping with her and go to concerts with her, share so many things together.

You also found that Steve was a lot more jealous and possessive than Nat. While Nat was grateful to be in your life and that she got to spend time with you. Steve often wanted monopoly over you. Nat would tease him about how your unorthodox relationship is a nice exercise for him to humble himself.

Which is why you were surprised when you found out just how dominant and controlling Nat could be in bed. She had to have things go her way. There wasn’t room to argue with her even Steve followed her orders, the few times he did join you both. He would say he likes to concentrate on pleasing you and doesn’t care too much about Nat interrupting his process. Nat was happy with just you or you and Steve.

It was strange to be with them both together. Mostly in a good way. They gave you such intense earth-shattering orgasms. You were afraid you were truly ruined for anyone else. When laying down boundaries you asked them to not kiss, but you were okay with them doing everything else. Steve did find it strange. How would you be okay with them being intimate and object to them kissing? Nat however understood why kisses somehow felt more intimate to you.

They both didn’t really want to do anything together. Steve was adamantly against it. Which was unsurprising to you. Sex was a big deal to him. He probably didn’t plan on doing it with anyone but you for the rest of his life.

They were both amazing kissers. But Steve did it much more often than Nat. He had no qualms about showing you just how much he loved you everyday. Nat sadly did. She was generally more distant. You tried your best to not take it personally, to let her move at her own pace. But you couldn’t help but want her to be closed to you, to tell you things she wouldn’t to anyone else, to trust you, she did claim you were the love of her life.

“Baby” you breathed out as you looked up at her. You were laying on her lap while scrolling through your Instagram. Steve had been gone for over a week on a mission. This could be the perfect moment. You did hear that communication is important in any relationship.

“What’s up?” She asked. You were always amazed at how smooth and sultry her voice was even when she was trying to be casual.

“Tell me a secret” You put your chin on top of your hands on her stomach. Batting your lashes at her, though that trick only works with Steve.

“What kind of secret?” She asked squinting at you, ltickling your armpit as your squirmed.

“Something you’ve never told anyone else” She hummed. You felt an ache in your heart at that. A part of her will always be beyond reach for you. You could never comprehend what she had been through, still you would like to at least try. “Well why don’t you just tell me what you want more than anything?”

“Some ice cream with whiskey sounds really good right now” she deadpanned.

You rolled your eyes at that. Sitting up straight to let her know you meant business. “No. I meant, if you could have anything what would it be?”

You waited several long minutes. She looked like she was contemplating what she wanted to say. “More than anything? I guess I’d want a family. I have one right now. But kids and a white picket fence sounds like a dream” She looked at your confused face, her eyes had never looked so empty and sad “I can’t, you know? They do a procedure which makes you sterile forever. But I’m happy right now. I don’t need that. I guess you only want what you can’t have” she shrugged. Moving into the kitchen to look for some ice cream.

You weren’t sure how you should react. There wasn’t anything you could do to better the situation. The fact that the procedure would most likely have been done with out her consent made your heart ache. “You know there are more than one way to become a parent”

She came back with two bowls of ice cream, handing one to you. “This job doesn’t really leave room for that kind of luxury. What about you? Do you and cap have plan on having kids? I’m sure he’d love to have the American Dream”

“Not really” You said looking at your melting ice cream. You had an inkling of a doubt till now but you could confirm it. She didn’t really consider herself part of your throuple. She didn’t see a future with you and Steve. She had always had one foot out the door. “I’ve never wanted kids. And Steve well... you know his job...” you mumbled playing the harsh edges of the sparking diamond on your engagement ring.

”There’s no point in thinking so ahead. Things are always changing” she said wistfully.

“Do you see a future with me? With me and Steve?” You hopefully looked up at her.

“What kind of future do you expect?” she asked in a tone that scared you, she hasn’t spoken to you like that since your first meeting.

“I don’t know. What we have now is perfect” You confessed.

“What we have now, is that you’re going to have your fairytale wedding to Steve” She rolled her eyes. You had never seen her be jealous of him. “And then who knows what happens to us. Let’s not do this. Things are good as they are” She declared in a tone that didn’t leave room for negotiation.

“No” you said firmly “I don’t want a casual relationship. There’s nothing casual about how I feel. You can’t just be like that. Like you’ll leave whenever you want!” you threw your hands up exasperated with her.

She furrowed her brows staring you down, as if that would intimidate you. “You have treated me like a sidepiece from the beginning. How many times have you brushed me off to spend time with Steve? How many people know about us?” She asked gesturing her hand between both of you. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too”

“I’ll tell everyone then. Whatever it takes to be with you” you pleaded. You weren’t ashamed to beg. It was clear to you now that you had always treated Nat as if she was less important than Steve. It wasn’t because you loved her less than him, it was because Steve had a tendency to be jealous and insecure. Apparently she was really good at hiding her feelings, better than Steve anyway.

“You can’t do that” She said flatly. “He’s captain America. We’re the Avengers. We have a reputation to maintain. We’re controversial enough. We don’t need any more scandals” She said shaking her head.

“Then we’ll figure something out” You hugged her side, seeking her comfort, you didn’t like the direction this conversation was heading in.

“No” She shook you off getting up from your sofa, placing her bowl on the coffee table. “this whole thing was a mistake from the start. I should’ve known better than do this with someone like you” She said as you looked at her with watery eyes and quivering lips “I’m sorry dove. We just want different things” She swiped your tears before averting her gaze and leaving.

You hugged your knees sobbing like you never had before. Your dream, your fantasy was ripped from you. One minute you felt as if you were on cloud nine, you had two wonderful people who cared so much for you, who loved you for you.

And now you were drowning, in your sorrow, in guilt and in pain. Knowing that you only caused them both pain. You failed to make them as happy as they made you. You didn’t deserve either of them.

Steve was more than excited to see his girl after over two weeks. Before Nat he was always worried to leave you alone. He knew how much you liked having company around, how you would get lonely and lost in your intrusive thoughts and worry about him.

Initially it was hard to share you. Not being the love of your life, like you are to him, was disappointing to say the least. Then he saw just how happy Nat made you. He understood that just because you loved Nat, didn’t mean you loved him any less. He still had his moments of jealously here and there, but at times like these, he’s thankful for you both.

He punched in the code to your apartment, opening the door, expecting to run to you, hug you and cradle your soft form in his arms. But as soon as he step his foot in, he knew something was wrong.

He called out your name looking for you. He saw you laying on the sofa in a fetal position making yourself small, a blanket covering you, you were surrounded by chocolate wrappers and what looked like cheeto dust. He walked owards you, stepping on the wine spilt from your glass. He straightened the glass putting it away from the edge of the coffee table, crouching down to look at your face.

Tears left your eyes as soon as you saw him blocking the tv. You sat up hugging him, pushing your face into his chest. He could hear you little sniffles as he ran his fingers through your hair to sooth you. Your hair, which is usually silky and smells like vanilla, was greasy and smelt of chinese take out and wine. He could tell you hadn’t showered in a while.

After a while of holding you to him he cradled your face in his hands. “Hey” he said softly taking you in. You looked miserable. Your eyes and nose red, your face completely defeated. “What happened?”

“Nat broke up with me” you whimpered as if you couldn’t believe your own words. “Said she wanted kids and we’re not compatible. I don’t know” You whimpered again, so overwhelmed and exhausted.

“It's okay calm down” He never would’ve expected this. Though in hindsight he should've seen this coming. He deemed Nat worthy of you because she was passionate and loving. But she didn’t have the best romantic track record. That paired with your unusual situation, this was bound to happen. “It’s okay” He said again cuddling with you on the sofa. He whispered sweet nothings in your hair. He would’ve almost been glad if this had happened a few months ago. But now when he had come to slightly like the dynamic the three of you shared and seeing just how heartbroken you were. He wasn’t sure he could ever forgive Nat.

“You have me. You’ll always have me” He whispered in your hair and meant it. When he said he loved you for the first time, over a year ago, he had decided that you would be together forever, that he’ll be there for you, protect you no matter what. His love for you was unconditional and knew no bounds. It could survive anything.

“You promise?” You asked him shyly. Your voice so weak and trembling. He wished he could wrap you up and hide you from the whole world.

“Yes I promise” he kissed your forehead.

“You still love me?” You looked up at him with your sweet innocent eyes.

“I’ll always love you. Nothing will ever come between us” He swore holding onto you as you cried yourself to sleep. You’ll be okay, eventually. He knew that but it was hard to see you this broken.

@patzammit @onetwo3000 @peaceinourtime82 @stargazingfangirl18 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​@sweater-daddiesdumbdork @navybrat817 @what-just-happened-bro @thehumanistsdiary @cheeseburgersstuff @queen-kass-the-writer @anika-ann @captain-a-rogerss

Want a tag? Just ask.

Beautiful rose divider by @writeyourmindaway

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[ineloqueent]

my wife

John Deacon x Fem!Reader

synopsis: John loves his wife. but the press doesn’t, so he’s forced to pretend he barely even knows her.

warnings: swearing, drinking, steaminess (not 18+), attempted assault (not quite, but there’s a slimy bastard involved in this)

word count: 3k

see the moodboard here!

⭒

1984

To you, John was your husband. But to everyone else, he was not yours at all.

Of course, Freddie and Roger and Brian and Gerry knew— hell, any roadie or tech with half a brain knew— but under no circumstances were you to disclose this information to anyone outside of the Queen circle, lest the news of your matrimony should reach the ever-hungry press.

It was bad publicity, in the music world, to be married, because the label feared that a certain demographic of fans would be lost when the boys were no longer available for romantic entanglement. As Brian had always been with Chrissie, and both Roger and Freddie seemed never to stay tied down, John was more or less obligated to follow suit with the two latter.

It wasn’t an easy charade, though. Especially when you’d been invited to the same label function as John.

The first time you’d encountered John in public and had been forced to pretend not to know him was really quite funny.

As one of Britain’s top directors, you’d been hired to direct the music video for “It’s A Hard Life,” and your assistant had maintained that your latest project should be a surprise to you, up until the second you arrived to meet everyone on set.

She’d thought you’d be delighted to be shooting for none other than her majesty, Queen, and as it happened, she was right. But little did she know that you were married to one of the boys, and that the other three were as good as part of your family.

Still. It hurt to be in such proximity to your husband, and having to pretend not to be utterly, utterly in love with him. Thus, you had avoided John as much as possible.

Out of the four, Brian had been the most adept at pretending not to know you, which would have said something about his character, had it not been for the fact that he was this inherently polite to everyone he knew. Freddie simply pretended that the two of you were fast friends, and so with him, you were able to keep your usual dynamic. Roger, the cheeky bastard, decided to play up his flirtatious side, and whenever you caught his eye, he’d wink or stick his tongue out at you. After a particularly successful take, he’d walked straight up to you and planted a fat kiss on your cheek.

You hadn’t minded, because it was Roger and you knew he would’ve stopped if you’d asked him to, but John had glowered in the background. You’d been sure that he was going to pull Roger aside at any moment and throw the first punch.

But instead, John settled for waiting until you and he arrived home in each your car, and as soon as you were indoors, he pushed you against the kitchen wall and kissed you dizzy. You barely made it to the bedroom before your clothes were on the floor.

The shoot for the music video had lasted for a few weeks, and the game of pretending not to be John’s wife grew dull. John and Roger in particular were in disagreement with Freddie’s stylistic choices for the video, and you teased John relentlessly about his costume during the hours you were on set, until Gerry gave you a warning look and you backed off; the press were frequently attempting to infiltrate the sets of Queen projects, and you were not safe flirting with your husband so obviously.

And now you had been invited to the album release party for The Works, and were dreading the evening immensely.

Presently, fixing John’s collar before the two of you headed out the door, all was well. You could pretend that tonight, just like any other doting wife, you would be in proud attendance of your husband’s celebration, beaming with pride for what he and his bandmates had accomplished, your heart brimming with happiness because you’d played an integral part in this project in particular.

You were good at pretending. But you wished it wasn’t necessary.

You had finished with John’s collar a while ago, but you still had yet to move. Running your fingers over the soft fabric of his shirt, you relished the warmth which radiated from his chest, the soft aroma of soap and sandalwood which permeated the air around him.

Silently, he slid his fingers into your hair and combed his gentle touch along your scalp. With a sigh, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his middle. His other hand came to rest on the small of your back, and you laid your head on his chest as he kissed your hair.

A few precious moments longer you stayed enveloped in each other’s arms, before John murmured,

“We have to go, beautiful.”

You nodded, your cheek still resting against his chest.

“Go,” he repeated, and made so as to move away from you. But you wouldn’t let him. “Go, love, do you know what that means?” There was amusement in his voice now, and he laughed as you refused to budge at his attempts to detangle himself.

You only relented when he peppered your face in kisses, his touch light and tingling, making you giggle because his hair kept tickling your skin.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, pushing him back from you, “we’ll go. If only to get this over with.”

Albeit reluctantly, you turned and collected your high heels from their place by the door, your trainers padding quietly along the hallway rug— you had to drive to the venue, and refused to do so in platforms.

“Wait,” John’s fingers brushed your wrist. You stopped, and spared him a wistful gaze, wishing more than anything that the two of you could just behave as a normal married couple. He lifted your wrist to his lips and kissed the underside of it. “I love you.” His words hummed over your skin, his eyes never left yours.

“I love you too, John,” you sighed. “Now let’s go so we can come back.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, and followed you out the door, before you entered your separate cars.

He blew you a kiss as you shut the driver’s door, and you caught it behind the tinted window.

⭒

You arrived ten minutes after John, having taken the long way around, as planned.

The entrance to the party exuded opulence, with a velvety red carpet leading up to the door, while the door itself was hung with glass stars, which caught the city lights and magnified them as their own, and glinted in the incessant flash of cameras.

Having parked far from the venue in an effort to avoid press, and walked a significant distance in high heels, you looked upon the red carpet with relief, and even more so upon Tunbridge, the man appointed as Queen’s personal security for this album and its next tour.

Spotting you, Tunbridge waved you forward, and was quick to dispel the crowd of publicity which had bombarded you upon first sighting.

“Good?” he asked, as you crossed the threshold to the party, and beheld your surroundings.

“Good,” you affirmed with a nod. “Thanks for the help.”

“It’s my job,” he said with a friendly smile, before disappearing back into the flood of arriving guests and press.

Inside, you greeted familiar-looking crew members politely, and, after narrowly escaping a conversation with someone who wanted to gossip about the recent departure of Paul Prenter, happened upon Ratty and Freddie, the latter of whom supplied you with a glass of champagne.

“How are you tonight, darling?” said Freddie, taking a sip of his own drink. “You’re looking a bit lonely.”

It was Freddie-code for asking how you were holding up with yours and John’s charade.

But Brian appeared at your side, and spared you from answering with the same unhappy look you always did.

“As lonely as cold and quiet space with shining stars,” he quoted, and Freddie rolled his eyes.

“Do you ever shut up, Brian?”

“Just because you don’t read,” Brian muttered. He turned to you. “Holding up?” he asked the more direct question.

“No,” you muttered, as Chrissie too arrived on the scene. You smiled at her tightly, because her presence only amplified your awareness of John’s absence. Not that he was absent, though; you could see him talking to Roger in your peripheral vision.

Your heart ached.

Just then, someone cleared their throat behind you.

You spun to find a high-cheekboned man dressed in a crisp-looking suit holding his hand out to you.

“Jackaby Goddard,” said the man.

“Never heard of him,” you responded dryly, repulsed by the self-assurity with which he presented himself.

“Ah, you’re a little comedian, aren’t you?”

You chose not to respond to his remark.

“Would you spare me an interview, Miss L/N? The readers of NME would love to know more about your involvement in the music video for the new Queen record.”

You narrowed your eyes, and felt Freddie and the others watching you closely.

The journalist himself was distasteful, but as a director, publicity was hard to come by, and thus, any publicity was good publicity.

“Sure,” you said, shoving your preconceived opinion of Goddard to the back of your mind, so as to prepare yourself for the interview you’d just agreed to.

“Excellent!” said Goddard, already pulling out pen and paper. “Somewhere a bit quieter, maybe?” He looked at the others expectantly, as though expecting someone to answer him.

Freddie cleverly looked away, and Brian folded his arms. Chrissie squared her shoulders alongside her husband.

“Right…” Goddard mumbled, and peered about the room of his own accord. “Over there, then,” he indicated a table and pair of chairs off to the far side of the room.

“Yeah, no problem.”

You raised your glass to your friends prior to your departure.

But Freddie called you back. “Y/N,” he said, and beckoned. You approached him with raised eyebrows. “Wouldn’t trust that man with state secrets, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll be careful,” you assured Freddie, and he nodded his approval.

You followed after Goddard, after narrowly avoiding photobombing a woman you thought must have been Debbie Harry.

“Here we are,” said Goddard, pulling out a chair for you.

You thanked him and took a seat.

He sat down across from you and flipped open his notepad. “So,” he began in a low rumble, pressing a button on the recorder in his hand, “what was it like working with Queen?”

You thought a moment, swirling the champagne which still remained in your glass. “Oh, very surreal,” you responded. “All four of them are perfectionists, and wonderful musicians, and you hear so much about them in the news that it’s hard to not view them as sort of royalty—” you laughed “— and treat them as such when you first meet them. But they’re thoroughly decent people, as much as they are perfectionists and wonderful musicians, so the shoot was a lot of fun.”

“Uh-huh. And you’ve never worked with the band before?”

“No,” you said, “but I’d love to work with them again.”

Goddard scribbled something on his notepad, then glanced up again. The man had a strange look about him, with a squint and a crooked nose, and a high brow and cheekbones. It was hard to tell his age, but you thought he must be about ten or so years your senior.

“But it’s very unusual for a woman to be a director, isn’t it?” he went on.

You narrowed your eyes at his tone.

“And certainly strange for one so attractive to be sitting behind the camera, instead of in front of it. Don’t you think?”

His smile unsettled you. It was greasy, like his forehead.

You sipped your drink. “No, I don’t think so. I understand there aren’t many of us, but I hope that my involvement with Queen will inspire more women to consider the field of work. It’s a certain form of artistry, to direct.”

“I’m sure,” Goddard said patronisingly, and his eyes raked over you.

You shifted in your seat, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. Your dress shimmered and was backless, and a fine slit ran up one side, reaching your thigh. It was a lovely dress, and you did not regret wearing it, but you regretted agreeing to this interview.

Surreptitiously, you threw a glance over your shoulder. But you could no longer see the others.

Just get it done, you thought, and returned your attention to the journalist.

Goddard licked his froglike lips. “What if I told you I could get you an ever better gig?”

You settled for ignoring his body language. “What?” you snorted. “A better gig than Queen? I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“I dunno,” Goddard shrugged. “Rumour has it Pink Floyd are looking for a director.”

“Are they?” you said, not really caring for the answer. You were perfectly capable of arranging your own business.

“Yeah. And I’m sure they’d love you.”

When had he moved his chair to your side of the table? You hadn’t noticed.

“Well, I’ll have to give them a call, then.”

“Or,” cold fingers met with the inside of your thigh, “you could do me a little favour, and I’ll call them for you.”

You stood, and shoved Goddard away. He staggered. “Get the hell off me,” you spat, having had enough of this bastard. “I won’t be finishing this interview, and if you print any of our conversation at all, I’ll be taking legal action.”

But he didn’t seem to get the message, and grasped your wrist.

You tried to shake your hand free, but Goddard was stronger than he looked.

“Let. Go.”

“No,” he hissed, and took a step toward you. You threw out your foot to catch him in the groin, but he dodged. “You listen to me, you little whore—”

Your heart beat in a wild panic, but Goddard was suddenly thrown backward, his tie pulled taut at his throat so that his face turned quite purple.

“Get your fucking hands off of my wife.”

John stood seething before you, with one hand at the scruff of Goddard’s neck, the other fisting his tie, and he looked ready to murder the fellow on the spot.

Goddard coughed, croaked, “Your what?”

Tightening his grip, John glared. “My wife, you absolute bastard.”

Heads had begun to turn, and sweat prickled on the back of your neck.

This would be your ruin. You and John both.

“Your wife?” Goddard had the audacity to laugh. A foolish mistake, given his current position. John threw the journalist to the ground, but kept ahold of his tie.

“Yes, my wife. She’s my wife, and I don’t care what that makes me.” John met your eyes with an apologetic look. “A liar, and a coward? Probably. In trouble with EMI? Also probably. But she’s my wife, so I should start behaving like a husband.” He turned back to Goddard, who lay sputtering on the ground. “With my first order of business being getting you fired from NME. They won’t be well pleased when Queen threaten never to give your magazine another interview, so you’ll be out of a job by the end of the month. And now,” John took a shuddering breath, trembling with rage, “get out of this place, or I’ll have you escorted out.”

He released Goddard’s tie, and promptly crushed the audio recorder beneath the heel of his shoe. Then he stared down the journalist, until the man scrambled to his feet, and out the nearest door.

People were staring openly now, and whispering over their glasses of alcohol.

But John didn’t seem to notice anyone but you. He rushed over, and took your hands loosely in his, so that you could have pulled away if you had wanted to. But you didn’t want to; you loved this man.

“Are you alright?” John murmured, lifting a hand to brush your hair from your eyes.

“Fine,” you said honestly. “A little shaken, but fine.”

He canted his head slightly, watching your eyes closely. You stared into stormy blue-grey as your husband asked you, “Are you sure?”

You had nothing to hide, and nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay.” He took your hand properly, and turned toward the door. “Then let’s go home.”

“Home—” you started to ask, but then a more pressing question challenged you. “John—”

You stood your ground, and he turned when he felt your inertia.

“What does this mean for us?” you said. “We’ve just broken a legal agreement.” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “With EMI. They’ll be angry.”

John shrugged, and replied recklessly, “Let them be angry. I don’t care.”

There was something thrilling about that recklessness, about John being reckless.

It was like being teenagers in love, without a care in the world for anything but one other.

Come hell or high water.

You let him lead you from the room, and you could not keep from smiling as he held your hand proudly, as you had always wanted him to.

“Deacy darling!” cried Freddie. “Where are you going?! The party’s only just begun!”

John didn’t stop walking. “I’m going home,” he said. “With my wife.”

Jaws dropped around you, and silence ensued, but John didn’t react.

“Well, good fucking congratulations to you!” Freddie shouted, laughing. “Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Deacon.”

The whispers turned to talk following Freddie’s announcement, but John kept walking.

As soon as the two of you were outside and shrouded in shadows once more, you pulled him to a halt.

“John.”

“Mmyes, dear?”

You didn’t answer, just dragged him to you and kissed him soundly, easing your fingers through his hair as his lips grew slack beneath your own. He groaned lowly, drawing you closer and biting at your lower lip as his arms wound around your frame, his hands running down your sides and settling amorously on your hips. Your heart soared at the fact that neither of you had looked over your shoulder before sinking into the embrace of the other, and you lost yourself in him, in his touch.

You would have drowned had he not anchored you, with the words he pulled back from you to whisper.

“My wife,” he said, and kissed tenderly beneath your ear.

You smiled, and wondered if in fact it was possible for one’s heart to burst with happiness.

But in the arms of John, with no pretense left to maintain, you would happily have died.

[hollanderfangirl]

Let me go |Harry Holland|

Pairing: Harry Holland x Therapist! Reader

A/N: so I'm not a therapist and I've never been to therapy, well if you don't consider the sessions with my psychology teacher. All of what I've written comes from what I've learnt in psychology class, reading books and listening to other people's experiences.

Warnings: talk about death, panic attack and it's just really sad

Word count: 3.3k, this is my longest fic yet :)

(Sorry for the shitty moodboard I just had to post this fic or I would have lost my mind)

Harry Holland walked through the halls of the clinic, not really sure why he was here. Well he knew why he had come to see a therapist but he wondered how he put himself in this situation. He had been locking himself inside a glass cave built out of hopelessness for months, his friends and family were greatly concerned about him but he refused to take any help. He had always been stubborn, he never asked for anybody's help. He hated the look of pity on people's faces. He hated people showing him sympathy. He was more than this. He didn't need anybody. He can pull himself together, he just needed time.

But it wasn't helping. Burying your feelings in has never helped anybody. Putting on a smile everyday in front of people and crying himself to sleep, Harry found it more and more difficult. His mum had sensed it and told him to go and see a doctor. He had resisted it at first. 

"Please do it for me, Harry. I cannot see you like this, at least for my satisfaction," Nikki had said. "Just go for a trial session and if you like it then you can continue," but of course he wasn't going to continue. 

Now as he stood in front of the receptionist, he was reconsidering his decision. 

"Yes, do you have an appointment, sir?" 

"Huh?" he seemed lost. "Yeah..yeah" 

"Just wait here, I'll inform Dr Y/l/n" 

"Your know what, cancel the appointment. I- I don't need help" 

"Oh but this is just a trial, Mr Holland" 

"Yeah but I don't-" the receptionist was already at the door, muttering something to the woman inside. 

You step outside to see a curly headed man, he looked pleasant but his eyes looked sad. Those were the eyes of a person who had seen immense grief, someone who had been miserable for a long long time. 

"I'm sorry but I don't need therapy… I didn't realise this before, I -I shouldn't have come here" 

"Oh Mr Holland, this is just a trial right? Let's just have some coffee. This isn't therapy yet" you smile at him. 

"No I really-" 

"Okay then, give me half an hour. If you still feel the same way, then you can leave. Half an hour is all I want from you, Mr Holland" 

"Alright" 

You lead him into your chamber, closing the door behind you. He sits down on a couch across from you, your desk separating you both. The first step of therapy- resistance. People always resist therapy at first, they feel like they don't need the help or maybe seeking help makes them weak. They don't feel like opening up to a complete stranger. How can they? How can they open up their most vulnerable state to a person who they barely know? But slowly and steadily, a rapport is made. A therapist has to be very careful and empathetic. They have to be trusting. Someone who people can turn to. Someone who they can relate to. Someone who understands them. Someone who would just listen. 

"So, your mother sent you here. Right, Mr Holland?" 

"Just- just call me Harry" 

"Okay then Harry, tell me" 

"What do you want me to tell you?" 

"Everything. Start from the beginning" 

"Well I- do you… do you really think I would-" he hesitates. "Who do you think you are? Why do you think I should pay you to listen to my goddamn life story here?" 

"You're not here to tell me your life story," you say politely. "I'm here to help you and I can do that only if you would let me" 

"Well guess what? You cannot help me, I knew I was wasting my time," he gets up and starts to walk away. 

"I asked for half an hour of your time, Harry" 

"Well I don't fucking care" 

"Harry, please listen to me. All I ask is half an hour" 

Little did he know, this half an hour was going to change his life. 

Something about your tone made him stay. He sat back down on the couch, turning away from you. 

"Okay, so if you're not going to talk, I will," you sigh. "So, you have suffered a great loss, someone you loved dearly?" 

"Yes," he still didn't look you in the eye. 

"Who was it?" 

"My…my friend. Girlfriend" 

"And when did this happen?" 

"A year ago" 

"How have you been holding up?" 

He thought of giving another vague answer. How the fuck do you think I'm holding up? I'm fucking dying every single day. 

"Uh- it's been a little better, I guess. It's not as bad as it used to be" 

"Well that's a start. And do you still think about her?" 

Every goddamn minute, lady. What do you want from me? "Yeah sometimes" 

"And how have you been sleeping?" 

I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly for months. If I sleep I see her coming back to me. "Alright I guess" 

This wasn't going anywhere. You thought of recommending him another doctor but something about him charmed you. He was a man who should have been living a great life but his grief was tearing him apart. You had to help him. You felt a strong connection to him, you felt determined. No, I have to help him. I just have to.

"Harry, do you feel like you're responsible for your girlfriend's death?" it was a straightforward question, you had been trying to get something out of him but he wasn't ready to. 

He looked at you dead in the eye, yet could not get any words out. You could sense the anger building up inside him but it wasn't projected at you, he was angry with himself. 

"I….. " he took a few deep breaths, clenching his hands into fists. "Yes" 

"Why is that so?" 

"Fucking hell! Are you for real? She died, okay? And I wasn't there… I wasn't there.. " he was tearing up. "I should have been the one to die! Not her! Not anybody! Everyone just leaves me in the end!" he was full on shouting, letting out everything he had been holding inside himself for a whole year. He had tears in his eyes.

You handed him a box of tissues and he was gasping for breath. When he had calmed down, you both sat in silence for a few minutes. 

"You know, Harry, my friend died the day we had a fight. She was my best friend. I knew her ever since we were three. It was a silly argument. We should not have fought about it. But we did and I told her I wished she would just go away… and then she did" it was painful for you to remember this, but time does heal everything. 

"I'm sorry," his voice was low. "And I'm sorry for all those things I said" 

"No it's alright, that's what you're here for. And besides, it's nothing compared to your loss, Harry" 

"No. It- it's not a competition. Suffering is not a competition. It must've been really hard for you, Dr y/l/n," this was the first time he had addressed you. 

"Call me y/n," you smile at him. "And yeah that's very true. We often blame ourselves, you know, it's very common. We cannot be angry at them so we get angry with ourselves. Even though we know deep in our hearts that there was nothing we could have done" 

There was a long silence. 

"She went out for a drive, that bastard drunk driver," he spoke up. "And I was just resting. She asked me so many times to join her but I wanted to sleep" 

You nod at him and he continued. "That's…the reason I'm not able to sleep. Every night I close my eyes, I think I'll wake up to that phone call" 

"Well yes I don't blame you, our brains sometimes don't process things that come as a shock. And then it just keeps on haunting us forever. Do you believe in life after death, Harry?" 

"Well I don't know what to believe" 

"Have you- felt her? After she was gone?" 

"You'll think I'm crazy" 

"I'm a therapist, it'll take you much more than that to convince me you're crazy" 

"I sometimes talk to her. Like what would she think about this particular situation. Or just that I miss her so much. I don't get any responses but I just try to think like her?" 

"Yeah, that's quite normal actually. People think they need to 'get over' someone's death. But that's not true. You can never really get over something like death" 

"And what does getting over even mean? Like you just forget them? Moving on with your life just means that you think they were never a part of it" 

"Well you're both right and wrong. Yes we must remember our loved ones who are not with us anymore but at the same time, we have to let them go" 

"How? It's too painful" 

"I know. But do you believe in the concept of souls, Harry?" 

"Yeah I mean," he shrugs. 

"The soul is considered to be immortal. And groups of souls tend to travel together. Even if you don't know it, some way, somehow, they're always with us" 

He says nothing but his eyes looked softer now. 

"And just think about it, think of her seeing you like this. Do you think she could have handled you being so miserable?" 

"She would have been heartbroken" 

"Exactly. So do it for her, for yourself. For both of you to feel peace again" 

"Yeah" 

You look at your watch. Half an hour was up. 

"So, Harry. Your half an hour is up. Is there anything else?" 

"Yes, um we can talk about it in our next session?" 

You smile at him. "Of course" 

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

After that one half an hour session, Harry was a changed man. He was still mourning, he was still miserable but he had hope. For the first time in a long time, he thought he could actually go on with his life, he could finally feel peace.

The week went by smoothly. Harry tried to make himself busy, by surrounding himself with people and always working. He was still getting nightmares but he was determined to sleep. He was sleeping light, afraid of what deep sleep might show him.

Meanwhile your life was exactly the same, you went on with your day treating people, talking, helping them. You loved your job, you loved the sense of satisfaction you got after patients they told you they were finally better. Every person was a challenge, and you knew there was a gem hidden inside every one of them. All of them had immense potential but life hadn't been kind to them. You felt disturbed and it broke your heart to see people hurting. And you would do anything to make it better for them. To help them.

You couldn’t keep Harry out of your mind. You were thinking about him all day long, awaiting your next session with him. What if he cancels? What can I do if he does? Why am I thinking about him? He had this air around him, a magnetic pull, which was pulling your closer and closer towards him. And why is he so damn attractive? No I should not think about him that way. It was the first and foremost rule of your profession. Never get emotionally attached with your clients. It was a professional relationship and must remain that way.

When he came into your office the following week, you could sense the change in him. You felt proud that a single session made such a difference. There was no arrogance in him, he didn’t seem angry anymore. He was calm and better.

“So, Harry. How was your week?”

“It was good, I’ve been shooting my new short film and it’s coming out to be okay so far”

“Alright and how have you been sleeping?”

“Not that good to be honest. I still get dreams, uh bad dreams”

“What do you see in these dreams?”

“I see the accident scene….again and again, it’s the same dream. Sometimes I see her, she talks to me and all that”

“Hmm and have you talked to your family? Your friends?”

“Yeah I talked to my mum…and my brother”

“What did they say?”

“They said they are here for me and will always love me”

“Yes and I don’t doubt that, Harry. You have a lot of people in your life who love and support you. Embrace that”

The session went by smoothly, he opened up to you about his life, everything about the girl he loved so much. About his family, his career. You found yourself staring at him, taking glances at his hands which he constantly moved while he talked. You noticed he was shaking his leg the whole time. Stop staring, y/n.

Wow she’s so beautiful. And thoughtful. And funny and understanding. What am I doing? She’s my therapist….but…why couldn’t I have met her before? Why didn’t I meet her when I was normal? Would things have been different? But then again, I would have never met her if I was normal.

Things seemed to get better, as the weeks progressed, Harry was becoming more and more like his old self again. But there was a feeling of regret, he thought this was wrong as if he were forgetting her. But you were there to guide him, to tell him that this is what life is. It never stops. No matter what happens, you will heal. Someday, sometime. And each day we progress towards it.

And then it happened. The call came at 1 am in the morning. You were sleeping and you were tired, you had been working all day and just needed some rest. You wouldn't have picked the call up but something told you it was important. That you should pick it up.

“Hello?” you yawn.

You just hear muffled breathing for a few seconds.

“Hello? Who is it?”

“It…it’s me…Harry”

“Harry, what’s wrong?” you thought what could have happened at this time of the night.

“I just- can you-” he sounded like he was choking.

“Harry what’s wrong, you’re scaring me”

“I… can’t… breathe,” you hear him sobbing. ”I had… that… dream, I feel like I’m…going to…die”

“Harry, listen to me. You will be okay. Yeah? Just take deep breaths and sit tight. I’m coming to you”

You search through his file to look for his address. When you find it, you rush through the front door and drive to his house. You were on the phone with him the whole drive.

“Just keep breathing, Harry. Deep breaths, okay?”

To your surprise, the front door was unlocked. It looked like he had gone out into the street in the middle of the night. You search through rooms to find him, and you see him curled into a ball at the corner of a king size bed. You touch his shoulder and he flinches.

“Hey, hey it’s just me. It’s alright”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,” he was crying, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes looked small and they looked red from the lack of sleep and of tears.

“It’s alright, Harry. Just come here, it’ll be alright,” you pull him towards yourself him and he buries his face into your chest and you held him, stroking his hair and telling him it will be alright.

“That’s it. Let it out, Harry. It’s okay to cry”

You both stayed like that for another 15 minutes. He couldn’t stop crying and you knew he needed that. He had been holding everything in for so long and it just came out like an explosion tonight. You wiped his tears and made him meditate for a few minutes.

He fell asleep and you stayed up all night, looking at him. He looked so innocent while he slept, and cute too, you thought hiding a blush, even though nobody was there to look at you.

That night, Harry finally felt at peace. He was finally able to sleep. He had no nightmares, just a peaceful dream. He saw his girlfriend, running away from him in a white dress with her hair flowing in the wind.

Please don’t leave me, darling. I love you.

I know you do Harry, but you must let me go. I will always be with you. I will always love you. It is time you start caring about yourself, you must let me go. It is time.

No! don’t leave me!

And he woke up. Something about this dream told him that she was right. It was time. He was finally ready to let her go. For both of their sakes.

He went down to find you sleeping on the couch. He was hesitant at his thoughts but deep down he knew he was falling for you. Am I just using her to cope with my loss? Or do I really love her?

You opened your eyes, looking at Harry sitting on the ground, pushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Good morning, how did you sleep?”

“Better. Really really better. I- I don’t know how to thank you, y/n and I’m so sorry”

“Hey it’s alright, and I’m glad I could help,” you smile. “I should go now, I have to get to work”

“Let me make breakfast and let me drive you to your house”

“Oh no it’s okay I can-”

“I owe this much to you, y/n. Let me”

“Okay”

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

It wasn’t until another week when Harry had his next session. You had been thinking about him all the time, you were confused, it wasn’t supposed to go this way. But he….who am I kidding I’m in love with him.

When he walked through the door on a Thursday morning next week, he looked healthy and happier than ever. You felt a sense of happiness yourself, therapy is always beneficial to both the patient and the therapist. Every person is a deep universe, their thoughts, experiences, pain, joy, everything. Empathising with clients is a great learning experience, it becomes a part your personality. It becomes a part of you.

“Hey y/n”

“Hi Harry”

“So my week as been as it’s always and I’ve been feeling a lot better ever since that day…and that dream” he had told you about the dream he had the night you watched him sleep. He seemed to completely change after that, he let go of the intense emotions he had been carrying around.

“That’s very good and you’ve made a lot of progress since our first meeting”

“Yeah…I have”

The session went on as usual, he talked about everything that happened, he started fighting with his brothers again, which he hadn’t done in a long time and even though they were pissed off at him, they were happy to have him back.

“Um Harry,” you say at the end of the session. “I think-” you try to choose your words correctly. “I think it’s about time you start seeing another therapist, yeah?”

You see his face drop. “wh-why? I’m doing so much better, is..is it because of that night? I’m so sorry y/n”

“No it’s not that. You and I both know what’s happening between us, it’s wrong for a therapist to get emotionally attached with her patient. I’m sorry, Harry”

“So you’re saying that you’re becoming emotionally attached with me?”

“I..I’m-“

“It’s alright. I understand y/n”

“Yes, thank you. This has been great”

“So… now that you’re not my therapist, can I meet you for coffee this evening?”

“Harry-“

“Half an hour, Dr y/l/n. Just give me half an hour of your time, if you still feel the same way, I’ll never bother you again”

“Uh-" you hesitate. You knew you should have said no. You were going to say no. Yet the words which came out of your mouth were “Okay then, it’s a date”

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

Taglist:

@mischiefmanaged011 @notsosmexy @perspectiveparker @justanothermarvelmaniac @amorhollands @thisetaernallove @halfblood-princess-505 @spidey-reids-2003 @peterspideysstuff @musicalkeys @theliterarymess @ilarbu @hollands-weasley @tombob2005 @tommysparker @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @parkerpeter24 @more-like-reyna @hollandbroz-n-haz @aqiise

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Big Decisions | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey my lovelies! I know, right, another story in the same week as my other one?? What has the universe come to! I had this idea the other night and I kind of just rolled with the punches. I'm not sure how good it will be, I haven't written in a while and I had an idea of where I wanted this to go and, as usual, it wrote itself and ended up somewhere else. I'm not sure how much I like it but regardless here it is. I tried to make it as fluffy as I could because that's what I need right now lol. Anyway's I hope you like it! Sorry in advance for how long it is!! All my love until next time <3

Description: Y/n is from an influential family like, but not as powerful, as the Mikaelson's and her father is running for the governor of Virginia. In order to increase voting in favour of her father both families decide to merge. In order to do so Y/n agrees to marry one of the Mikaelson boys. The only problem is that she loves all three of them and can't possibly choose between them.

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, seriously, don't be afraid of having all three at once, that doesn't need a warning

Word count: 5032

Tags: Fluff (or at least attempted fluff)

(Pics aren't mine but the moodboard is :) )

Your footsteps echo softly down the hallway of the Mikaelson’s mansion. Your heels click the beat of a song you haven’t yet learned the words to into the hardwood. It’s a miracle you can even hear it over the rumble of the party below. A thousand voices reach your ears in a crescendo of “good evening” and “my don’t you look lovely” but it stands as little more than white noise in your mind. Your heartbeat rages with it all, mingling with the greetings of strangers and the song your feet are creating at the same time.

The only thing you can truly think about is last night in the garden. It had been Kol’s idea, actually, to have one last night together. It was a beautiful notion, too, if not one that left four souls aching as though they were only one soul being forced into four different fragmented pieces.

There you sat, four fragmented pieces of one soul, tangled so elegantly that anyone looking in would have to squint to see the separate beings. Your back moulded so perfectly into Elijah’s front that it was as if you were made to never be apart in the first place. Though Klaus’ head fit so perfectly in your lap that it would be madness to think anything but the same. However, both such things ignore the delicate trace of Kol’s lips against your neck and mouth and fingertips in such a way that the night sky hadn’t shone half as bright as the stars he left you seeing. How could you even begin to make a decision.

None of you feel quite right about the arrangement. Your families have been close for a few years now, you having met the Mikaelsons at a founders party in your first year of college. Both of your households are founding families with a lot of influence in many parts of the south-eastern United States. While the Mikaelson’s are renowned, your own family, the Lancaster’s, are less well known. With your father running for governor of Virginia it was decided, quite suddenly, that your two families are to combine in order to gain the needed momentum to win at the polls. You, the only daughter to Mary-Anne and Johnathan Lancaster, are to marry any Mikaelson son of your choosing.

To any other woman in Virginia that offer would be a dream come true. The Mikaelson’s are akin to royalty in the United States. However, every other woman in Virginia hasn’t spent the last two years completely consumed by all three brothers. There are only a handful of moments that you can recall that don’t include even one Mikaelson. Every night you fall asleep wrapped around one of your boys. Each of their scents are permanently ingrained in your memory. How can you choose when no matter who you pick the other two will still be there.

You pace back and forth at the top of the winding staircase, silently dreading the descent. You gather the pilling fabric of your gown into your hands and let the silk cool your fiery skin for a few moments longer. You try to hold on to a few pieces of comfort with it. The way Kol had smelled of honey this morning and the feel of Elijah’s arms around you and the little marks Klaus left that are still fading beneath your bodice. You breathe in each of them before you take the first step.

You don’t want to go down the stairs but the first step only brings you to the second that much faster. You take them one at a time, letting your feet even out before every push forward. At this moment you wish that the stairs would never end. You would rather wind for years as your dress turned to dust around you than face the unrelenting truth that waits at the bottom. You would rather turn to dust than choose.

You come too quickly to the bend in the stairs that will reveal you to the party. The murmurs that were previously dulled are now at their peak, crashing over you with a harsh fury of cheerful nothings. You wish you could immerse yourself in the chatter like any other party however tonight isn’t just another party. It’s the party and families from across the country have gathered in the halls below to hear you make your decision.

With a quick breath in, you bring yourself into the glittering light cast by the chandelier hanging above the sweeping foyer. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust from the dark hallway. When they focus once more the air is sucked from your lungs in a startled gasp that turns every eye in the vicinity towards you. As if a switch has been flicked, every sound in the room dies out until all that is left is the slightest tinkling of the glass above your head and muffled sounds of awe.

You will give them that, the dress Rebekah Mikaelson had picked out for you is stunning. A rose coloured, silk gown that would make any Victorian princess green with envy. It’s strapless in the sense that it has silk that hangs off your shoulders, leaving your skin exposed and dusted with gold. Your hair has been curled and pinned up, allowing for some tendrils to frame your face. Bekah dusted the same gold she used on your shoulders on your eyes, bringing a finishing touch to your look. She truly does work miracles.

Your hand stalls on the railing for a moment, your eyes searching the sea of faces below you. It’s surreal to have all the attention on you. You’re used to being around important people, you yourself are one to most people, but you’ve never felt like you fit in with them. You’re just an ordinary girl after all. An ordinary girl who just happens to have the hearts of three Mikaelson’s in her palm. Now, if you could only spot them amongst the crowd.

As if they can hear their names flowing through your mind, they appear at the base of the steps. You shouldn’t be surprised at how dashing they all look but you’re still left open-mouthed at the sight of them. They're each clad head to toe in all black, the perfect contrast to your dress. The dark to your light and vice versa. They never disappoint.

Your feet begin moving of their own accord to meet them at the bottom of the staircase, the clicking of your heels ricocheting like bullets through the still silent foyer. You can feel their stares like flames on every inch of your exposed skin. The crowd is holding their breath in anticipation of the interaction to come, waiting ready for the moment you make your decision. It feels positively medieval, as if as soon as you choose you will be forced to rip off your clothes and mate for the court to see and deem your bond official. It’s too bad if that’s what they're expecting. They would be in for quite a shock if they saw the distinct markings of not one but three Mikaelson’s already on your skin.

Three mouthwatering scents swirl around you, encouraging you to move faster. Before you clear the last fifteen or so steps, however, the unthinkable happens. You trip. Your heel catches the loose fabric of your dress and rips your feet out from under you, a riptide of events that should have been foreseen. Your eyes slam shut the minute you go into freefall, not wanting to see the mess your body will create when you hit the marble. The fall feels like hours rather than seconds, waiting for an impact that will shatter life as you know it but the end never comes.

“Baby,” it takes you a moment to register the arms around your waist and the pine tree scent enveloping you, “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Another pair of hands grip on to your arm, sending waves of familiar warmth and nutmeg rushing through your chest, “my clumsy darling, what was our dear sister thinking when she put you in those heels.”

“She clearly wasn’t or else she would have remembered that she tripped three times just this morning,” you’re pulled easily into a new pair of strong arms, “isn’t that right, love?”

You can’t help but let the smile fall on your lips, your eyes tugging open to meet the ocean ones already looking at you, “you know me too well, Klaus.”

The smile is already on his lips, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “of course love, that’s my job.”

He leans down to place a quick kiss on your forehead before steadying you. You turn to face the remaining brothers, both of whom look ready to pull you once more into their arms. They’re circled around you, blocking the crowd from seeing you until they have had their moment with you. It warms your heart immensely. Up close they look even more ravishing. When you take your time inspecting them, though, you see the circles under their eyes.

Elijah’s are the most prominent, his skin tinged a plum colour that in no way mars the beauty of his face. If anything it adds an ethereal glow. He’s always been the one to worry the most. He is the oldest after all, most of the stress falls on his shoulders. His deliciously sculpted shoulders. It’s his job to hold his family together, tonight is no exception. You waste no time pulling him towards you and wrapping your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his chocolate hair.

“You look like you need a nap, Eli,” you tug softly at the strands between your fingers, “it’ll all be okay.”

You can feel the deep breath he takes, as if the air is going into your lungs instead of his, “I know, baby.”

He squeezes his arms around you a little tighter than usual before releasing you. It takes Kol no time to scoop you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. You grip his back with shaking fingers, admiring the muscles through his jacket as a moment of peace before the storm to come. You don’t want to let him go. You don’t want to leave the little bubble the four of you have created.

“No matter what happens out there tonight, I'm yours darling. Until the sun doesn’t rise in the east, I’m yours,” he places a soft kiss to your throat and tears sting at your eyes but you refuse to let them fall.

He pulls back, a small smile on his lips. You look up to the other two one last time, feeling the crowd grow impatient at your hidden actions. You know that tonight isn't about you but you can’t help but let the seconds tick by freely. This could very well be the last moment the four of you share publicly.

Klaus nods his head carefully, squeezing one of his hands into a fist at his side, “until the sun doesn’t set in the west, I am yours, love.”

You pull your lip between your teeth to bite back the trembling, steeling yourself as you turn in finality to Elijah. His chocolate eyes are already on you. The determination in them lights something hot and not at all unfamiliar in the pit of your stomach. He takes another deep breath, your eyes drawn to the rise and fall of his chest.

“And every moment after I will be yours, baby, that is my promise.”

When the words leave his lips you revel in the fleeting moment of calm that rushes over you.

The strength in your voice startles you a little bit, “I am yours before, during, and after. That is my promise. Let’s do this.”

The boys stand taller when you say the words, completing a promise you made to each other over a year ago. They part, allowing you to walk into the crowd of statues. No one moves, every eye glued to you once more. You can’t help but feel small under their gaze but you don’t back down, choosing instead to smile and stare back.

“Sweetheart, there you are!”

And just like that all the activity in the room restarts, all the chatter and music and tinkling restored like a fire under the floor. Your mother, Mary-Anne, appears from the crowd in a stunning blue gown. It accentuates her delicate features. She was a southern belle in her youth and it still shows, especially in her accent. You could get lost in the honey that is your mother’s voice.

“Hello, mama,” you fall into her embrace easily, breathing in her lilac lotion, “I’m sorry I took so long, Bekah wanted everything to be perfect.”

Your mother giggles, music to your aching soul, “except the shoes I see.”

You pull away with a blush, meeting her cheerful eyes with mild embarrassment, “oh my, you saw that?”

“Darling, all of Virginia saw it,” she takes your arm, leading you towards the ballroom where guests are steadily flowing to designated tables, “you gave those boys quite a startle. Your father too. He dropped his drink.”

She giggles again as she directs you to a table at the front of the room, elegantly decorated with an array of flowers and candles. There are enough seats to allow for both of your families and a few other important people to enjoy a nice meal. Your stomach tumbles in a way that makes you doubt the amount of food you will be enjoying tonight.

Your mother hands you a glass of champagne which you take gratefully, “will he be here soon?”

“I’m sure he will be,” she smiles gently at you, pushing a fallen curl behind your ear, “how are you feeling, darling? You look a little rattled.”

“It’s a lot to take in, mama. I’m alright,” you take a sip of your champagne to punctuate your words, letting the sweet bubbles cool your throat.

She places her hand on your own, pulling your attention back to her, “you’re allowed to not be. You’re doing a lot for this family, you know. Your father and I appreciate you very much. It can’t be easy.”

“The hard part isn’t getting married,” you meet her kind eyes and almost crumble, “It’s almost too easy to spend a lifetime with any one of them. They each mean the world to me. Mama, how am I supposed to choose?”

She shakes her head gently, her own curls bouncing lightly, “you just have to trust yourself, darling.”

The ballroom fills steadily, flowing conversation and music through the open space. You quickly spot the Mikaelson's, Bekah now in tow, as well as your father, who looks locked in a serious conversation with Elijah and Klaus. He’s nodding along to whatever they’re saying, clearly absorbing whatever notion they’re pushing. Kol, on the other hand however, remains silent, gazing around the space before locking eyes with you. Even from across the floor you can see his shoulders loosen slightly. Bekah tries to say something to him but he just brushes her off before moving towards you. You feel a touch guilty but you'll apologize later. Right now you need him.

You pass your glass back to your mother, accepting another knowing smile before all but running towards Kol. He clears the space quicker than you can, meeting you just in front of the table.

“You know, I don’t recall having told you how breathtaking you look yet this evening,” his words pour over you as he takes the final steps towards you, “and that should be a punishable crime. You look absolutely stunning, darling.”

He laces his arms once more around your waist, drawing you into his chest, “we’re all a little flustered tonight, I think I can pardon you just this once. Besides, I haven’t told you how marvellous you look yet either.”

You whisper the words into his chest, closing your eyes for a brief moment. His touch brings you some clarity. You wish you were curled up watching a movie instead of in a ball gown.

He pulls back slightly, lifting your chin to meet his warm eyes, “I meant what I said earlier, no matter who you choose I’m not going anywhere. None of us are.”

“I don’t think I can do it, Kol,” you look towards your father sitting next to your mother, both laughing with another couple, “I can’t hurt any of you.”

“Love,” you're pulled from Kol’s grasp and into a different but no less familiar hold, “we know this isn’t what you want. It’s not what any of us want. You need to trust us. Follow your instincts. Now come on, we’ll miss dinner.”

Klaus leads you to the table and a plate filled with what would normally be your favourite foods. Elijah is already waiting with your chair pulled out, sitting you between your mother and father.

He leans down before you can sit, his lips grazing your ear as he speaks, “just relax, baby. I love you.”

He presses a kiss to your ear before tucking you in and taking his own seat across from you. The ballroom soon fills with the sharp sounds of forks and knives scraping against porcelain and even more happy chatter than before. Your own table becomes a flurry of excited words and talk of the upcoming elections and wedding ideas. You’re bombed with many sneaky attempts to hear your decision early but you brush every one of them off, nervously taking bites of food every few minutes.

“So, honey,” your father turns to you with a grin, lowering his voice and drawing you into your own little bubble, “how’s my star doing?”

You focus on his nose, not wanting to meet his eyes quite yet, “I’m great, dad. This dinner is wonderful.”

He chuckles quietly and you can feel his gaze trying to pull your focus to him, “you would know, right, with all the food you've eaten?’

He isn’t wrong, you’ve barely cleared half your plate, “I’m not hungry is all.”

“You? Not hungry? Now I know something is really wrong here,” his hand grasps yours lightly, “look at me, what’s going on in that noggin of yours?”

You don’t mean to sigh but it happens anyway, “It’s just a lot to digest. It’s a really big decision.”

“You’re right it is, honey,” he squeezes your hand gently, “but I know you’ve got what it takes. You can’t disappoint me. Never have and you never will.” He looks in front of you, “besides, I think those boys know what they're doing. I trust them to help you figure this out.”

Like your mother, he always seems to know what to say. You have a strong family, one that holds each other up in the hardest of choices. You look across the table to meet the eyes of three men already looking at you. They each smile at you in their own way. Elijah’s is with his eyes, the rest of his face remaining stone. Klaus smirks at you, the blue of his eyes sparkling mischievously. Kol tilts his head to the side, a soft grin on his lips.

Soon the music becomes louder and guests start pouring onto the dance floor, swaying to an elegant piece made up of violins and flutes. Your own table clears with the rest, leaving the four of you alone. Elijah, as per usual, is the first one out of his seat.

“Would you do me the immense honour of sharing this dance?”

The formality in his words brings you a bubbling sense of warmth and you, of course, rise to meet his outstretched hand. He leads you to the middle of the floor, twirling you under another chandelier before pulling you tight against his chest. You’re once again wrapped in his forest scent and you lay your head against him, trusting him to keep you from falling. The music swirls around you, drowning out the noise of the others around you. They're no doubt speculating that you’ve made your decision but, in reality, this is just yours and Elijah’s thing: dancing.

He moves you beautifully across the floor, pulling you slightly to where it feels like you’re gliding on ice. The rest of the couples move back, allowing for the two of you to take as much space as you need. You feel like you dance for an eternity, giggling as he spins you endlessly across the polished wood floor. He eventually lifts you, turning you in what you assume is a final twirl, only to pass you into another pair of ocean breeze arms.

Klaus takes over effortlessly, falling into the same pattern that Elijah had created, “sorry to cut in, love, I couldn’t help myself.”

You move the hand that lays on his shoulder and wrap it around the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and drawing as close to him as you can. He takes his time dancing with you the same as his brother had. By now all the other dancers have stopped and cleared completely off the floor. Each eye is trained on the pair of you like lasers to a target. You will yourself to remain completely focused on Klaus’ movements.

It takes both an eternity and mere seconds for you to land in Kol’s arms, who twirls you one last time, perfectly stopping with the music. When the last violin dies out, a clock chimes through the room. Your shoulders tense on their own, the rest of your body following suit. Ten O’clock. Choosing time.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome,” your father’s voice pours through speakers placed around the hall but you can barely register the words being said, “I know many of you have travelled great lengths to be here today and for that our families are incredibly grateful. Tonight is a momentous occasion. It marks the engagement of my girl, Y/n, to one of these fine men.”

Your father motions across the room to where you stand, now with all three brothers stood in front of you, “each one of them have expressed their interest in my daughter and now, with all of you to witness such a grand step in her life, she will choose which of them she would like to marry.”

Whatever head that wasn't already turned now faces you, each holding their breath in anticipation. You aren't looking at them though. Instead, you’re facing the three men that you would do anything in the world for. You can almost see your aching heart already in your hands, ready to rip it into three even pieces and hand it to them with little bows.

You look at Klaus first. Your creative spirit who could fill an entire museum with paintings of your face alone. His hands twitch slightly at his sides and he closes them into fists when you notice. He offers you a small smile and you remember the other night when he fell asleep on your lap while watching a movie in the den. He hasn't been sleeping properly with all the arrangements for tonight being settled and you running your hands through his hair had been the final push he needed to collapse. You make sure he’s looking at your lips when you mouth I love you across the room.

You turn quickly to Elijah from there, locking eyes with him immediately. Your warrior who looks especially undone in comparison to his usual put together self. He looks like he has to stop himself from closing the distance between the two of you and that it’s taking most of his remaining energy to do so. That’s Eli for you though, he never can stay away from you for too long. When you mouth I love you to him he stands a little straighter.

You find Kol’s eyes easily from there. Your rebellious, hell-raiser with a glint in his face that you would be able to see from all the way across the room. His hand is in his hair, tugging the strands between his fingers in a way that only he could make look elegant. He’s got a look in his eyes that begs you to do something entirely untraditional. He mouths I love you before you can even open your mouth.

You stand there for an eternity, your feet stuck as though rooted through the floor. Every moment from the past two years rushes through your head. You aren't dying; this isn't a life flashing before your eyes type moment but it may as well be. These three have been your entire life since you were introduced. Not one of them alone could have brought you here. Every moment for two years has been leading to you standing here, with them, at this very second.

It hits you quite suddenly that if you were to remove two of them, the equation that makes up who you are wouldn't be correct anymore. You’ve been juggling with the idea that your soul is four parts rather than two for quite some time now. It wouldn't be right to give three parts to one person, not when each of them have taken the time to so delicately etch their names onto their own separate parts.

You can’t pick just one of them. You’ve known that from the beginning, you just didn’t know what you were going to do about it until now. Your hands tremble now that you know your decision, a chill running up your spine at the thought of sharing it with the crowd. It’s not exactly conventional what you’re about to say.

“I choose Klaus.”

The crowd releases the breath it had been holding for hours. Too bad they're going to be sucking it back in soon. Klaus’ eyes are wide, his mouth open as though he didn't expect to be your choice. Your heart breaks for him and you remind yourself to spend more time with him when this is all over. Your other two boys look devastated, the smiles on their lips looking more like pained grimaces. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“And I choose Elijah.”

Just like that there is once again no air left in the room. You begin walking towards them, ignoring the buzz of whispers growing in the room. You peer over their shoulders at you parents who don’t look nearly as stunned as they should. In fact your mother is beaming at you. You can feel the pride radiating off her from thirty feet away. You can’t tell if your father mouths I told you so or if you imagine it.

The boys begin moving towards you as well, ready to cover you from the storm raging around you. You can tell there are a thousand things they want to say but you’re not done speaking yet.

You look to the last Mikaelson, willing a smile to take over the frown on his gorgeous face, “and, of course, I choose Kol.”

The crowd roars around you but you’re surrounded with a wall of Mikaelson, blocking you from the prying eyes. You look at each of them, trying to gauge their reactions. You know they said that they're yours but you never discussed marrying all of them. You don’t even know if you can do that. It’s now entirely overwhelming in a completely new way. All three of them stare at you with a mix of shock and awe. Like this is the first time they’re seeing you. You wring your hands together waiting for one of them to say something.

None of them do, though. Instead Elijah closes the space between your bodies and crashes his lips onto yours, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard. His hands grasp your waist with strong fingers, leveling you against his tall frame. It sends shocks through your entire system and you revel in the outright display he’s putting on. He’s the last one you would have expected to lose it in a crowd.

Kol is the next one to close in on you, wrapping his arms around you as well and gently kissing your shoulder. The fire Elijah started in your stomach only increases when Kol bites down. You gasp into Elijah’s mouth but it’s quickly swallowed by the man himself. Kol’s lips feel heavenly against your exposed skin.

Klaus finally steps towards you, tangling his arms in the mess of your bodies and completing your circle. His lips meet the side of your throat in a way only he can, biting down deliciously. When Elijah finally pulls away from you, the rest of them follow. You know your skin is most definitely bruised and your lips swollen. Your curls have most definitely fallen from their pins. You would be worried but each of them still hold you, caged around your body for no one but themselves to see.

The rush of the evening hits you all at once, a strong fatigue laying across your bones. You let your eyes close as you lean further into Elijah. Sensing the finality of your movements, he scoops you up, careful to keep your dress in it’s beautiful condition. He starts walking out of the room, ignoring the protests around him. On cue Kol and Klaus join him on either side.

“Eli, we can’t leave, they’re expecting us,” you can’t hide the yawn in your voice.

“We can, and we are leaving, baby,” he tightens his arms around you, “you need to sleep.”

You shake your head unconvincingly, “I’m fine, Eli.”

The other Mikaelson brothers just laugh.

The smile in Kol’s voice is audible, “yes you are, darling, but humor us won’t you?”

“They’ll be mad at me,” your voice trails off at the end, blackness creeping in around the edges of your mind despite your protests.

“You’ve done more than enough, love, we can take it from here.”

Klaus’ voice is the last you hear, not even making it back up the stairs before you drift out of consciousness.

[jonah-aesthetic]

Jingle Bells I Daniel Seavey

Daniel X Reader 

Plot:  Your best friend since childhood takes you on a sleigh ride. one you’ve only mentioned once to him. With the entire Christmas vibe he brings to life it’s hard for you to keep your feelings at bay for him.

Word count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: unedited I feel like this piece flopped for me. I didn’t want it too long, but it also dragged on a little. Yet I didn’t think I put enough detail in this one. 

Rating: 16+ (I’m 20 so I’d like my readers to be some what around there.)

MoodBoard

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Your vision was blocked by a folded bandanna tied around your head with a secured knot or two. Hand tightly locked with Daniel’s, feeling his thumb rub a top yours for comfort. Snow crunched under your Dr. Martens with ease, slightly soft from the snow fall a few days prior. Slow steps as He guided you keeping your location a surprise.

 Your senses felt heightened with your eyes looking into the dark oblivion. The vague bitter smell of horse manure and the rather oddly pleasant hay scent Reached your nose. You wouldn’t have noticed it before, almost feeling like a damn blood hound. Yet it gave a hint on where he was taking you. 

Two hours previous he woke you up, you’re nothing close to a morning person. So you cussed his ass out of your apartment so you could enjoy the fantasy dreams about him. Ones you could never endure in reality, Daniel’s your best friend who you were insufferably in love with. 

Yet he came again, using the spare you forgot you gave him. But this time he came bearing an Eggnog Latte and gingerbread cookie. Slaying the ferocious dragon into silence, the way he always knew how.  The caffeine and baked good keeping you at bay as he told you he at the day planned for the both of you. Although it was a surprise, all he said was dress appropriate for the chilly winter weather and grab a blanket. 

Analyzing everything in your head for a quick second. You realized he was bringing you on that sleigh ride you mentioned once before. Thinking it’d be fun to do during the winter months, you didn’t think he’d actually book an entire day for it. Making it a big thing, you wish he didn’t. Cause it only made butterflies flutter, tempting you to wreck your friendship. 

“Watch your step..” Daniel’s voice is more projected against the snow over ground. Heart slamming upon your rib cage and you swear you can hear it.

“Actually just bend your knees, It’s a stairwell and I’d rather not risk you eating shit. Or breaking a nose in the winter.” At his words you probably figured they were slippery or he didn’t trust you not to slip, you were no doubt clumsy as Bambi, and the man knew it. 

Bending your knees a little, which you curious on why he asked you in the first place. Yet you trusted him with your life, there’s no going back on years of friendship now Seavey. his arms scooped you under your legs and against your back. Bringing you closer to his chest, the motion fast and unexpected as you let of a small whimper. Daniel groaned as he hopped getting a more sturdy hold on you. 

“God you’re heavy.” He breathes, the air from his lungs hitting your cheeks. 

“Then put me down Asshole.” You scold him, slapping his chest, feeling a deep chuckle rumble within. 

“I was joking, you’re not heavy, you’re fine. It was a bad joke anyways. Now hold on I might drop you.” 

“Daniel That’ll be the last thing you’ll do before you end up in hell.” You threaten playfully. You instantly wrapped your arms around his neck after feeling him climb up the stairs. It was a small rocking motion almost like you were on a ride especially with the blindfold on. 

“Was that a death threat?” 

“If you drop me, yes, yes it is.” 

Gasping you felt Daniel fake drop you, it was a slower motion that you thought it would be to actually drop you. Nonetheless it still scared you, clawing on tighter to him. Whitening your knuckles as angry wasps scattered in your stomach. 

“I hate you, I hate you, I have you Seavey.” You yelled still preparing for the fall the would never come. 

Again you could feel the glorious deep chuckle of his erupt from his chest. Vibrating against you, turning angry wasps into love-sick butterflies. “We’re hear anyways.” 

“Than you can put me down and take this damn blindfold off.” You speak trying to reach for it. Daniel’s hand caught your wrist like a reflex. “Not yet, just a few more minutes.”

Opening a door and being engulfed my warmed, you shivered from the drastic temperature change. Bells rang above warning the receptionist that customers have arrived. It was around an hour, or what felt like an hour to you later. Of going over everything for the surprise, from the time to the pricing. Which you weren’t to happy about, yet after all of it nobody confirmed your theory. You knew what it was, but you wanted it to be heard. Though nothing about it was said. 

Nada. Zilp. Zitch. Nothing. Not even a damn crumb. 

Going from warm to cold wasn't as drastic of a change. Daniel still held you bridal style, scared you eat shit. Which you most likely would have, if he let you climb down the steps. You felt very natural in his arms anyways, like to pieces of a puzzle. 

Daniel began to lower you softly letting you go before your feet were on the ground again. Silently thanking him for being on your two feet again. His presence coming behind you, raising his fingers to the knots and began to pick at them. 

“Are you ready?” 

Yes I’ve been waiting all damn day for this. Take it off Seavey.” Hearing him chuckle behind a smile spread across your face. Feeling the bandanna drop, hands flying to your mouth as you gasped. You knew it, yet you were still shocked by the sight of it. 

In front of you was bright red sleigh with gold detailing all around it. Had a massive resemblance to the famous Santa Klaus one. instead of nine reindeer, a beautiful black Clydesdale stood in their place.  On of the bands resting upon his butt had a line of huge bells. Ringing every time he moved, bringing the whole Christmas vibe alive. 

whirling around gazing at him a gentle smile rested on his lips. His blonde hair half tucked under a black beaning. Light stubble dancing along his jaw, making him look older. His icy blue eyes watching you, fighting the urge to tell him you wanted him. Maybe he knew it already, that’s why he took you here, and maybe he didn’t.

“You didn’t have to.” You said shaking your head, 

“I know, I wanted to, I had the money for it.” He shrugged stuffing his hands into his pockets. Why couldn’t Daniel be less attractive! it wasn’t fair. perfect silence emerged over both of you, genuine smiles with adoration for one another hidden behind your eyes. 

“If you Two love birds are ready, I love to show you what this gorgeous winter has to offer.” The Driver spoke, sitting upon the front seat that was two or three feet higher then the main seats in the center of the sleigh. 

With giddy giggles Daniel escorted you towards it, his hand resting on the smallest part of your back. Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear you could’ve felt his hand reach and squeeze your hip. 

Sitting down it was a tight and cozy fit, the bench and the back rest was cushioned with a black leather material. Smooth to the touch and soft as ever, with a clicker of the chauffeur’s tongue, the sleigh bolted to life, cause you and Daniel to fall back into each other. Soon enough the jingle bells rhythm came into ear shot. Making this whole experience feel like you woke up in a fucking Christmas. Unbelievable real.

“Are you okay?” Daniel’s laugh fans your cheeks as he helps you to sit up right. 

“Never better.” You say with an undying happiness you possessed inside. Not feeling the way the cold nipped at your nose making you look like and off brand Rudolph. 

“Here.” He speaks as you watch him unfold a black blanket, a little dumbfound, the thing was massive and surprised you hadn't noticed it before. Handing you one of the corners of the blanket, and instantly wrapped it around you as Daniel did the same. Pulling you two closer together, trying to engulf your body in it as much as you. 

“Thanks” you whisper under your breathe, watching it form into an icy cloud. Glancing at the gold letters embroidered into the corner of the blanket tight. it was a gift from Daniel’s mother giving to you on the day you both graduated. Remembering the words she said to you like it was yesterday. 

“You know I wasn't to ecstatic about new neighbors moving in. But as soon as I saw this sweet little girl playing with my boy. I was glad that your parents’ pick the that house. I Watched you two laughing and giggling in the yards, I just knew you two would be in separable. It’s a shame that boy of mind doesn't see the love that you have for him...”

It shocked you to know that she knew that you were in love with him. You covered your tracks pretty well back then. Controlling yourself around him was child’s play compared to now. She never interfered with the way you felt about him, You were grateful at the time. Now not so much, but it could’ve wrecked the friendship you had-

“Y/N look.” Daniel’s voice cut your thoughts short, His attention of the right. You follow his gaze, spotting nine caribou in scattered in the woods. Or rather nine reindeer, you guessed they weren’t replaced after all. You could feel the sleigh come to a gentle stop, the jingle bells’ song vanished into the air. 

“Oh shit! Reindeer.” No filter with pure shock, 

Curiously watching them from a far, you admired each and every one. Noticing a chunky bell lacing around their necks, like they were Santa's famous reindeer's’ out of the movies. 

“And watch this.” He speaks glancing up at the driver, as if on cue he places his fingers in mouth and releases a high pitch whistle. “Keep an eye out for him,” 

“Keep an out of who?-” 

A  reindeer further into the forest walks towards us, elegant and gentle. Stalking through the snow as if he held pride, significantly larger than all the other reindeer, he must of been the alpha, the leader. 

Amazed at the whole thing you couldn't think of words to say and if you manged something. It’d definitely come out as word vomit. Reaching closer and closer to the sleigh you could her the bell jingle against his chest. Black scribble appeared on the red ribbon clasped around his neck. Soon being able to read the name ‘Rudolph’  on both side on his throat. 

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Daniel asks looking back at you expecting you to say words you couldn’t fathom at the moment. You gulped and nodded your head vigorously. He was more then beautiful he was stunningly gorgeous and massive. You’ve never seen a wild animal in person not to mention this close to one. 

Daniel held a chuckle at your reaction to this entire encounter with Rudolph. Finding your dumbfound shock, adorably cute. In moments like these he dreaded the knowledge of being your best friend and not your boyfriend. Where he could just grab the back of your neck and smash his lips hungrily to yours. 

The adrenaline high was retreating in your veins, causing your mind to process again. The cage of anxiety breaking open as the glance of Daniel’s ocean eyes calmed you down.  

He’s fucking perfect. Look at those dopy eyes, various shades of blues swirled inside them. causing your heart to melt into the bottom of your stomach. All thoughts of common sense started to leave, glancing at his lips. looking pink and soft as ever, god they must taste like heaven, or at least the closest thing to it. 

Best friend. Best friend. Best friend. 

Looking forward you could’ve swore you breathed the same air as Rudolph. Still he was more beautiful up close. White creamy chest that reached to his legs, chocolate brown body. adorable nose that had the softest resemblance to a cow. Antlers sprouting from a top his head, developing towards the sky. A small white box was tethered to his left antler by a black ribbon. Throwing your best friend a suspicious glance, he nodded letting you reach for it.

Clasping the velvet box in your hand, feeling your heart pound repeatedly. Breath caught, anxious of what’s in the box. Feeling your gut tell you this was it and whatever this box contained was going to change everything. Distracting yourself you focused on Rudolph, seeing the way he looked at you. As if he knew what it was somehow. 

taking your glove off with your teeth you reached for him, pausing three inches before his nose. If you learned anything from Draco’s encounter with Buckbeck, was to be patient and let the animal come to you. Although at the end of the day it was just a fucking movie. 

Warmth exploded from your palm to your elbow, smiling you trailed your hand to rest under his chin. His fur softer than you were expecting it to be, yet you didn’t know what you were expecting. “Thank you Rudolph.” You whisper to him soon retracting your hand. Backing away he retreated to his herd, quite as if the encounter with him never happened.

Taking up your spot next to Daniel you glance up at him, “What is this?” You asked breathlessly. 

“Open it.” He says, voice a tremble and couldn’t help but think that he knows. Was this what a best friend break up was like? Staring at it you forced the top open, but you let it go. Snapping shut without a glimpse. You shake your head, gulping feeling the bile rise. “I can’t Daniel” 

His hand comes into view, twice the size of yours. Veins scattered along his knuckles, red from the cold. Taking the box from you grip you stared at your fingers, missing the feeling of his hands on yours. 

“I’m in love with you.” He blurts in out like it was nothing new to you. Your head whipped so fast you got dizzy. His eyes were genuine, you always knew he was lying. The way he would glance up and down then to side. Tongue poking out with a fiddling of handing, but he didn’t show any signs. He was a good actor though. 

“She told you.” You accuses like a defensive mechanism. You guessed Keri thought you moved on with your feelings for Daniel. There was no other reason you could think  of. 

“She did.’ He confirms, Nodding his head. Was this was this a joke to him? Cause it wasn’t fucking funny. You shook your head feeling the fire burning in your blood. 

‘I can’t do this.” You speak, removing yourself from the seat and jumping out of the sleigh. Starting to head back in the direction you think the farm was located. The cold weather bite at your body, but you hugged yourself too furious to care. 

“Y/N!” 

“Leave me alone Daniel.” You could here him chase after you, with the ay he was breathing. 

“Mom told me you wouldn’t believe me.” His voice getting louder. 

“Maybe you should’ve kept it to yourself Seavey, better yet you should’ve let me sleep in.” You were hurt, and you didn’t know how to comprehend any of this. 

“I love when you talk about things you’re passionate about. Like the colors on your paint palette, how you mixed blue and purple for the perfect shade of magenta.” 

That was two months ago and you remembered the excitement you felt. After hours of mixing you finally made the exact shade you wanted. Daniel was the first one you came to, as he was at your apartment. 

“Daniel stop.” using his name the way you were was like a sting each time. 

“Or the time you hit that sparrow, you pulled over as so soon as you felt the bird hit the grill. You dug him a grave with a used spoon in the truck of my car. Gave him a funeral and forced me to speak at it like it was lost friend. It was the day I finally realized I love you with every fiber of my being.” You could hear the strain in his voice. 

That happened two fucking years ago. 

“It’s not fair.” You speak stopping in your tracks, a good distance away from the sleigh. Feeling his presence behind you, you let him reach out for you. His hand turning you to face him yet you faced the ground feeling like you lost a damn war, defeated and drained. 

“I know it’s not and I’m so incredibly sorry.” He sounded like he was begging for you. 

“Okay.”  you didn't know exactly what it was for, but you felt like it was needed. 

His hand came to rest on your cheek wiping a tear you didn’t know slip. His touch delicate against your face, tilting your head up he caught your lips against his. His lips were soft as you fell into sync. Tasting like cinnamon and peppermint. Pulling him closer you lost yourself within him, the feel, the smell, and the touch of him. 

Kissing him was like finally finding the last piece of your puzzle, the way both of you fit perfectly together amazed you. He tasted like heaven and heaven tasted like home. 

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

Felt like I could’ve added more, but its already long.

I hope you enjoyed this piece.

Also if ya made it to the end comment which Why Don’t We guy I should do next. 

[goldticket]

So shines a good deed in a weary world.

[movedto-erodasghosts]

the moment | timothée chalamet

moved blogs - @erodasghosts

practically a spinoff thing for perfidy by @peeterparkr and reading perfidy would help make this better. To read as a stand alone fic, just picture “Tom” as someone y/n used to like but he hurt her.

Description: where we get to see a little bit of y/n’s relationship with timmy

Word count: ~4,600

Warnings: none

A/N: the rain part is heavily inspired by chapter 8 of perfidy where y/n describes when she knew she loved timmy. Also heavily inspired by Nancy’s moodboard of dates with Timmy. I loved writing this so much, I hope you enjoy!

masterlist

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“Okay, okay,” you rested your hands on the table, “tell the story again?”

Timmy let out a soft chuckle, “Really? Didn’t you save the video?”

“I just… need to hear you say it in person.” You smiled widely, “It’s too cute.”

He couldn’t help but smile with you. Something told him you just wanted to hear the story again just to tease him, no harm to come of it though. He couldn’t blame you, he had even teased himself about it and found it rather silly.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically. “So, I found this toad the other day, right? And it was missing a leg. So… I watched it for a bit before going back inside and going to bed.”

Timmy was a dramatic story teller, it was rather entertaining. The theatrics of it didn’t always come from the words he used to describe stories but the amount of time he spent telling it. To end it short would only leave people with questions. To draw it out longer would give people more to consider. He made stories last regardless, giving people opportunities for questions and any random thoughts. It seemed to be a way of letting everyone feel more involved so it wasn’t so one sided. He didn’t like to focus on himself too much, he was much too interested in everyone else.

“Oh, that’s it?” You raised a brow, “ It didn’t happen to be two in the morning? And you didn’t happen to cry because the toad was missing a leg?”

“Well,” Timmy pursed his lips as if to consider your words, “now that you mention it… I might’ve been a little tired when I found it, and possibly a small bit upset when I found it was missing a leg.”

“Small bit? Tim, you cried.” You brushed some hair behind your ear, “Like, actually cried. I saved the video!”

Quickly, you pulled out your phone to watch the video of a teary eyed Timotheé. Everything about the video was chaotic, it only made the story better.

“Okay, I— this is so bright— I just found this toad,” he held it to the camera, “I was like, ‘Oh! Neat! A little toad!’ But then, then I picked it up and…” He nearly choked on his words, the camera moving sloppily and never focusing on just one thing. “It only has three legs! Y/n, y/n it only has three legs. Are you seeing this?” He held it to the camera again, “Imagine how much harder traveling must be for him. The poor thing.”

“Do we have to finish watching this?” Timmy was grinning boyishly, “I mean, you’ve already seen it and I lived it.”

You gently hushed him before looking back to your phone screen, “Shh, shh, it’s getting to the best part.”

He gave a melodramatic frown to the toad before looking at the camera again, “I just, hmph… I had to show him to you, I love him so much. Okay, say goodbye to him, wish him the best.” He stroked it with his thumb, showing the camera one last time before setting it down and waving goodbye. “I know you’ll live a good life. I’ll miss you, visit anytime.” The camera turned back to Timmy who now had tears swelling, “Can you believe it? Such a darling boy… I hope he gets to be happy.” With a sniffle, he dried his eyes. “Okay, that’s all… you just had to see him. I’m sorry, it’s late and I’m crying…” he laughed and shook his head. “I hope he lives a happy life… well, goodnight… or morning?”

The video ended with Timmy lazily struggling to stop the recording, his eyes red and his hair a complete mess. You couldn’t help but hold the biggest smile and he did his best to hide behind his curls. His fingers curled into his palm, resting his hand on his chin and elbow on the table. Part of him was slightly embarrassed, only because the video was played in public. He couldn’t care less about the fact that you saw him practically breaking down over a toad, he only cared that strangers heard him breaking down over a toad.

“I think…” you began, “Well, you know how you asked me when I knew I loved you? I think that when I first saw that video… I just, I knew, you know?”

He held back a laugh, “Ah, that’s the moment, hmm?”

“Yes! Absolutely, one thousand times yes! It was just mind blowing,” you exaggerated with your hands. “I had never seen you like that before and, honestly, it just really pushed me to my realization.”

“It’s fair, really. I mean, had you sent a similar video I have no doubts that it would be the moment I knew I loved you.” He took a sip of his tea, keeping his eyes on you.

Timmy was playing along with your game, it was back and forth teasing. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, when had you fallen in love with him? He had asked before but you seemed to avoid the question and he didn’t push. Maybe you hadn’t yet, and that was okay. It did make him worry no matter how much he reminded himself it wasn’t like you would fall in love in the exact same moment as if your lives were a book. But still, at times his mind would wander.

“When was it?” He licked his lips and placed his cup back down.

“Hmm?” You fiddled with your pastry, avoiding eye contact.

He rephrased, “When was it you actually fell in love with me?”

Crumbs fell to your plate, it gave you something else to look at rather than him. He never intended to make you nervous, so he soon regretted ever asking. The thing was, there didn’t seem to be a defining moment yet. There were so many things about Timmy that made you stop and think about how amazing of a person he is. From his gentle words to his grand gestures. You could say that to him, but it didn’t sound real. If you were going to answer him you wanted it to be something more concrete.

Part of him craved an answer. He wanted you to take your time, for your relationship to take its time too. And Timmy wasn’t someone that needed constant validation but he couldn’t help himself at times. He knew you cared for him, that’s what mattered most. Really, he wasn’t sure why he was so insistent about knowing. Well, maybe…

He tried his hardest not to be the jealous type, and normally he wasn’t. He trusted you and the two of you were always able to openly talk about things, but… something about your relationship with Tom made him second guess himself. He couldn’t even figure out why, other than it was painfully obvious that Tom liked you and you couldn’t even see it. The issue was, Timmy knew that the “enemies” thing was an act, even if it was just one sided. He knew that you didn’t like Tom, at least not anymore, but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if you did.

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted his own thoughts. “You don’t have to answer that.”

You awkwardly kept your eyes on the crumbs now scattered around your plate. If only he knew, and if only you could tell him.

“If you keep doing that you’ll hardly have any left.” He smoothly took the pastry from your hands and bit into it. “Hmm, it’s delicious.”

Letting out a small laugh you straighten your posture, “You’ve got a little filling on you.”

“Oh?” He sat it back on your plate, “Could you get it for me?”

You nodded, sitting on the edge of your chair to get closer. Slowly, you reached across and lightly wiped the filling off with your thumb. Timmy’s smile never seemed to fade away. He was always so warm and gentle, even in the toad video from two in the morning. It was like with him any moment could be put on pause to just sit back and admire it for what it was. With him it was like you could breathe. Like, even if it was temporary, the air around him wasn’t so stuffy and thick, but it was clear.

Your hand seemed to linger, not that he minded. He simply took your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to your palm before resting both of your hands on the table. His thumb faintly skimmed over your knuckles as he watched the wheels turning your head.

He tilted his head slightly, “Something on your mind?”

“I always have something on my mind, you know.” You timidly pulled your hand away to put your phone back in your bag, “We should probably get going so we can beat the rain.”

Tim cleared his throat and began gathering his things. “I wouldn’t mind getting stuck in it, sometimes the rain is nice to just step into.”

His words brought another tender smile to your face. Most people would be canceling the day’s plans because of a chance of rain later that evening, Timmy just pushed through and even hoped the rain may come earlier than planned. You liked the rain too and didn’t mind going out in it from time to time, it was relaxing in ways.

“I’d rather be home when it starts, I think.” You held his hand as you both started your way home.

He nodded, “I can understand that. But, would it be so bad if it started before then? It would be like a movie scene.”

The thought made you grin, he was right. One of the biggest clichés in the book and you nearly forgot. Part of you longed for a movie moment like that, you had them all the time with Timmy though. It was nice, you wouldn’t lie. At the same time, a huge part of you just wanted to smoothly make it home, no movie moment.

“I guess that part of it would be sweet. Almost like a frozen moment in time.” You moved closer to him, “I’d take any chance to be frozen in time with you.”

His lips curled into a smile at your cheesy words before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Maybe we’ll get the chance again.”

“Hmm, I wish. I’m not exactly dressed for a downpour though, especially not with my camera out,” you held it up.

Timmy took a quick glance, you were right. Your sneakers would be soaked within moments and your jacket wouldn’t keep you warm for long. Timmy wasn’t dressed much better though, having on sneakers as well, and jeans that would easily stick to him when wet. He could stand it though, it wasn’t a bother, and he would gladly help to keep you warm with his own body heat.

He recalled that you loved walks in the rain, no matter how soaking wet you may get. But lately something was off, he could tell. He kept brushing it off, chalking it up to overthinking. Of course you didn’t want to get caught in the rain that day, it would be freezing and your camera could get ruined. Normally, though, you still wouldn’t mind. It was like you were running from something.

“We can put the camera in your purse, it should help keep it dry. As for the rest, well,” he let your hand go before wrapping an arm around your waist, “I’ll help keep you warm as we make our way home.”

You chuckled, leaning into his side. “In that case, I look forward to the rain,” you half joked.

“See?” He smiled, “Simple solutions. I’m glad to be of assistance.”

Once again, he let go of you to give a dramatic bow. You laughed, watching as his hair fell in front of his face. He even tucked one foot behind the other, adding to the drama of it. He did what he could to make the relationship feel the same, to help you find the beauty in small moments like that again rather than pain.

“Ah, thank you for your kindness,” you gently bowed back towards him.

“Of course, of course. Anytime, you know.” He took your hand in his, gently swinging it as you continued the walk.

You walked in silence for a few moments, just taking in the busy sounds from around you. There were fewer people out that day, due to the expected rain, which gave plenty of new picture opportunities. You loved pictures full of life, whether it was crowds of people or a field of flowers. But, you loved pictures that seemed empty, or even more serene in a way, too. Overall, you just enjoyed taking pictures of life. From the most crazy and crowded moments to the most calm and seemingly boring moments.

“Let’s get a picture here really quick?” You stopped at a shop window, gently tugging Timmy’s sleeve to get his attention.

He stepped back and stood beside you, “Of course, it’s a nice opportunity.”

You held the camera up, ready for the picture. Timmy put one hand in his pocket, the other rested on the small of your back. He placed a kiss on the top of your head, freezing there for a moment as you took the picture. Instinctively his eyes shut too, allowing him to easily slip into his thoughts for a moment.

He loved that you took pictures of moments like this, he knew it meant a lot to you. To be able to hold a memory in such a way was incredible and it helped to better remember. It wasn’t just a picture, it was a memory. Even if it was only a memory of going for tea that morning, it was a memory. One he knew that you’d both find yourselves dwelling on.

You both seemed to find such pleasure in the smallest of things. The rain, tea, toads, anything. Unlike Tom, who seemed to have to make everything into some huge attention grabber for it to be even slightly memorable. Timmy couldn’t stand that, it was like it was a show for everyone else. Timmy didn’t need to prove to anyone that he loved you with grand schemes, what mattered to him was the little things that you shared between the two of you.

“Alright, got it,” you smiled.

His eyes opened back up, snapping himself out of his mind. “You’ve gotten a lot of good pictures today.”

“With most of them having you as the subject, I’d agree,” you grinned up at him.

“It’s your talent with photography that makes them so good,” he chuckled.

“Maybe, but you definitely add to it’s perfection.” You kissed his cheek, “Even if I know you cried about a frog at two in the morning.”

“A toad,” he corrected. “And what kind of monster wouldn’t cry about a toad at two in the morning?”

“It’s just a toad,” you began walking again with a small smile on your lips.

“Just a toad?” He joined your side again, “I don’t think so! He was special, not just like any other toad.”

You teased, “You’re actually defending a toad?”

“Maybe I am. You were attacking him.” He played along, lightly nudging your shoulder.

Your hands went into the air in a mock defense, “My greatest apologies for attacking him. I hope I didn’t offend too greatly?”

“Hmm,” he raised a brow and stroked his chin as if he was deeply thinking. “No, nothing you can’t make up for.”

“Make up for? In what way?” You were already grinning as you looked up at him.

His arm made its way back around your waist, his fingers landing on your hip. Your pace slowed a bit, only slightly, as you synced your steps.

“Dance with me when it rains,” he said simply. “It would make up for it a thousand times over.”

You chuckled, “I’d dance with you anytime, Tim.”

He inhaled, holding his breath for a moment before saying, “I know, but I’ll take every chance I get.”

“I would too, plus it’s a simple enough way to pay you back for the frog insult.”

“Toad.”

“Right,” you laughed, “toad.”

He hoped it would rain. Before he simply looked forward to the rain because he was expecting it anyway, now he was waiting for the rain as if he relied on it. He needed the chance to be with you closer, longer. He needed a reason for the day to be memorable for more than just tea. Timmy knew you’d adore that day for the rest of time, even if it ended in this very moment, but it was like he needed to be sure of it.

Lord, he was becoming Tom. Couldn’t the day be lovable enough as it was? It already was. There wasn’t a moment through the day with you where he didn’t seem to have butterflies in his stomach, other than moments like this where he couldn't help but think of Tom.

No. No more Tom. Timmy was still far from Tom. His gestures, like wanting to dance in the rain, was for just the two of you, not anyone else. Tom needed everyone else’s approval, Timmy was only focused about the happiness between the two of you.

“Guess you should get ready to dance,” you spoke up, quickly tucking your camera into your purse.

Timmy glanced at your movements before looking up to the sky, seeing how dark it had suddenly gotten. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw the rain approaching.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he held both of your hands and pulled you to a wider section of sidewalk.

He wasted no time, beginning to dance with you the moment a raindrop fell. You wouldn’t deny it, even though you were previously dreading the coming rain you were happy it was there now. You had forgotten how much you missed it. You missed that moment in time where it was truly like nothing else mattered. It was just you and Timmy, frozen in your own movie moment.

It was clear that the wheels in his head were finally taking a pause, he too was just enjoying that moment. Normally, Timmy wasn’t one to get lost in his thoughts so frequently. He spoke openly, sharing his thoughts so he could talk through them with someone. You understood, even admired it, but there was a part of you that wanted to hold certain things to yourself. There were some things you wanted to process on your own before even thinking about sharing with anyone else, and there were other things that you just wanted to ignore forever. Timmy knew this and he never wanted to make you feel pressured to talk but he just couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to share, to just talk through your pain and memories. But, he respected it.

You wanted to share, truly, but you weren’t even sure where to begin, and, you didn’t even know if you actually could bring yourself to talk. Timmy swore that there were things between you and Tom that were unsettled that you needed to talk about, and maybe he was right, but you couldn’t see it. You felt like you were stuck in a spot that had no way out. It felt like you had no words to share, and, while no one was trying to make you feel that way, you felt pressured to talk. It felt like Timmy deserved more. Like he should have an explanation, like he should get to know his moment, the one where you knew you loved him.

You had no answers to offer anyone though, not even yourself. You didn’t know why people were expecting you to explain so much. Why did people need you to explain why you never liked Tom? Why it didn’t matter if Tom ever liked you or still did-- though you would assure people he didn’t-- because you were over him. Or were you even over that?

Tom was cruel. He was careless, inconsiderate. And, sure, you had a crush on him for a while, but that’s all it was. That’s all it could be. He hurt you, how could you possibly still like him? And, you loved Timmy so none of that even mattered anymore.

Timmy.

You knew you loved him, with or without that defining moment. Maybe this could be it. The rain, his fingers intertwined with yours as you danced and laughed. No, this wasn’t it. It couldn’t be, not when you had let your mind wander so far. So much for staying frozen in the moment.

Still, you danced with him and acted as if you were still focused on only that. His mind may have stopped for a break but it seemed yours had just kept going. He noticed, you were like an open book at times with him. But, you were both deciding to push it aside.

“When was the last time we even got to do this?” You laughed as he dramatically spun you.

He smiled, “Too long, I guess we’ve just been waiting for the rain.”

“I’m glad it’s finally here, even if I’m freezing cold.” You waddled closer to him, wrapping your arms around him and continuing to sway inplace together.

“Hmm,” he rested his chin atop your head and curled his arms around you, “I did say I’d keep you warm.”

You closed your eyes, resting a cheek on his chest and breathing in. The metallic and earthy smell of him brought an instant peace. You could feel and hear his heart beating slowly, calmly. Heat was somehow radiating off of him still, even through his cold and wet clothing. It was nice, just his presence and being was calming and felt nice to be around. It was now that you were really being pulled into the movie moment, your mind now filled with nothing but thoughts of how being around Timmy was like going out after a storm.

It was like walking out, feeling the sun hit your skin as it was slowly beginning to warm everything up again after a downpour. Like inhaling that musty yet sweet smell of the ground as it was soaking up the rain, reclaiming it after it’s fall and working with it to help return to earth. The smell wasn’t just coming from the rain either, it was just how Timmy was, and you couldn’t get enough of it. It was the serenity after the storm that people so rarely talk about.

“Can’t we stay this way forever?” His words were muffled, mixing with the sounds of raindrops seemingly falling harder.

You were still slightly swaying together, earning looks from those rushing by you in a hurry to escape the rain. Neither of you could be bothered by it though, you were in your own world. Admittedly, it probably wasn’t such a good idea to be staying out in the cold rain. The two of you couldn’t care less in the moment, though you’d probably regret it later, because it was like you had only been standing there for a minute, but at the same time it was as if it had been an hour even if it was only about ten minutes.

The rain was coming down harder and harder, preventing you from being able to stay out much longer.

“I think it’s time to stop dancing,” you smiled, looking around for any form of shelter you could find. “Look, that shop has a shade we can use.”

Without hesitation you ran off, ready to get out of the downpour. You hadn’t noticed at first but he hadn’t followed, only a few steps away from where you were both standing just a second before. He was slowly making his way over, not seeming too focused on actually making it though.

“Timmy,” you called out, “what’re you doing? C’mon, it’s too heavy.”

And then you heard, music playing from someone’s balcony. It was gentle and steady, sounding almost like a recording but it was clear that it wasn’t. Timmy’s eyes were locked onto that balcony, right above the shop you were using for coverage. His shoulders were relaxed, his head slightly tilted as he listened. He was too focused on the music to care about how hard the rain was or how cool the air was turning. You were focused on watching him, slightly taken aback by his actions.

“Come see,” he beamed, “it’s so peaceful.”

You were grinning, watching as he smiled ear to ear, being so happy watching them. His gaze went back to them, eyes twinkling in the light shining from their apartment. His curls were dripping, messily scattered about and some sticking to his face. He looked like he was in a state of tranquility, completely free of all the worries he had been dealing with. It was soothing enough on its own just to see him so, it was like he was able to share with you how it made him feel simply through one look.

Taking your camera out, you took a picture of him as he looked up to the balcony, wanting to keep that moment with you forever because that was it. A few weeks ago when Timmy had asked you when you fell in love with him you gave some silly response, too anxious to think about it. He brought it up again earlier that day, and you still couldn’t give an answer. Now the answer was standing right infront of you, finally it was something worthy of sharing, not just something random and laughable.

You put the camera back in your back, quickly joining his side. “It sounds beautiful.”

“Doesn’t it?” He leaned into your shoulder, “The rain just adds to it all.”

“It does,” you agreed, wrapping around his arm. “But, we should go before we get sick.”

Timmy laughed as he slowly pulled himself out of his trance, “That sounds like a good idea.”

With looped arms you began your walk home once more, feeling somewhat more lifted by what had happened. All it took was that one moment, that moment of proof and reassurance. You were reminded of what a kind and gentle person Timmy was, not that you had ever forgotten. He did his best to enjoy life for what it was, cherishing every moment he could no matter how small. You tried your best to do the same but found yourself slipping at times, it was a reminder to enjoy things more. To take that step back and make yourself the main character of a story, even if it was temporary. Timmy helped you to do that.

He loved to see you so relaxed again, free from your mind. You were both too wrapped up in too many what-ifs and were worrying about things that were out of your control. The rain was what you needed, to help pull you back to earth. It was that moment, where he was able to put life on pause and you were able to come back into that serenity.

The awkward tension from the cafe was gone, truly gone, not just shoved aside. Timmy wasn’t craving to know the exact moment you knew you loved him because all that mattered to him was that you did. You didn’t feel like you owe anyone an explanation for anything anymore, whatever you had with Tom was in the past now and you knew Timmy’s moment. It really wasn’t a permanent solution, these feelings, at least the untouched one’s about Tom, would likely arise again. But, at least for that moment, you could go without confronting them.

[threeminutesoflife]

Manifest Destiny

Pairings: Dark!Stucky x Dark!Reader Warnings:  18+, non/con, sex pollen, lab experiments, kidnapping, stucky bj, female masturbation, minor mention of death. Summary: Reader invents sex pollen, selfish relationship issues w/ her boyfriends, breaking up is hard to do Word Count: 8.2k a/n: This was written for the ever-sweet and incredibly welcoming @imanuglywombat​   The Ugliest Wombat Challenge. She’s an amazing writer- Congrats on your 1.7k! Thank you for hosting!

Prompts: Desert and Mountain Moodboards-

It’s odd, the revelations and ideas you come up with when your mouth’s filled with cock.

“Take it.”

“B-Bucky, wait-”

“Don’t whine, you’re ready,” Bucky panted above you, “you feel good enough to me.”

Bucky's hips connected painfully into yours as your back dug into the table, “Be good- take Steve in your little mouth, baby girl.”

His hands cemented around your waist while you lay haphazardly across the small kitchen table; the back of your neck hit the table’s edge with every sharp snap of Bucky’s hips.

Steve murmured your name drawing your attention to him. Looking up, Steve loomed over you stroking himself, balls knocking against his fist as he slid his hand down his shaft. Standing with his legs apart, Steve’s figure jarred in and out of your vision as Bucky used your body.

“Open.” Steve was in your vision.

“Now.” Steve was out of your vision.

Bucky pushed in and out of you greedily; vision jerking, neck snapping.

“Hurry up,” Steve tsked impatiently, annoyed you didn’t automatically know what he wanted. Guilt fell down upon you when your compliance wasn’t fast enough. “Convince me you’re not selfish. Show me how grateful you are for us, sweetheart.”

The table scrapped against the floor as Bucky ground into you deeper and harshly twisted your leg higher on his shoulder. You yelped when your neck snapped against the table’s corner.

“Good girl, keep that mouth open for me,” Steve dipped his knees and moved himself closer to your lips. “Drop your head. More. More goddammit. Now- relax that throat, sweetheart. Yeah. Just like that. Fuck- feel so good. Wanna see my dick fill up that smooth throat of yours.” He laid his large hand down along the column of your neck as Bucky’s deep thrusts caused your body to rock up and meet against Steve’s open palm. Steve tightened his hold around your expanding neck, smirking when he felt himself slide deeper in you beneath his palm, “You owe us for being ungrateful. Don’t ever keep us waiting, sweetheart.”

They left for a mission the next morning, a year later you were gone.

Twelve months ago / first day away: The flash hit your eyes before the sound erupted in your ears. Shock delayed your reaction time. Your arms shot out in front of your face but you were too late to duck away from the table top’s explosion. The ceiling extinguishers released, followed by the air duct vacuums removing any traces of smoke and fog in the lab. Pulling yourself together, you recited the chemicals and amounts mixed shortly before the mini-detonation. The corners were singed on the formula’s trial and error notebook, one notebook of many that helped track your successful and unsuccessful runs. When you shakily flipped over a sheet to write down the amounts that wouldn’t be combined again, you saw it. In the reflection of a container, you were missing an eyebrow. The boys left before dawn this morning, departing for an estimated seven-month deep mission. There would be no communication with their handler unless an extreme emergency arose, meaning death. An absolute rule of no messages or check-ins to outside parties, meaning you. At least under the forced silent conditions, you wouldn’t have to find a way to hide your missing eyebrow. You wouldn’t have to listen to them bemoan and force you to stay out of a dangerous lab. Their “reluctance” to go was felt by everyone in the building but thankfully for you, Fury said there was no other option. Their storm of distaste for leaving you unattended, and free to roam out from under their thumb, had everyone counting down the days to their departure. You were used to their anger and shortness, but this long absence would be a blessing. Your time would be yours and you’d be able to work freely on your experiments. You wouldn’t have to convince the boys that they were your number one priority, while missing an eyebrow.

Eleven months ago / first month away: You rolled over and stretched, legs twisting out and around the soft comforter- flaying your limbs across the wide bed, claiming any and all space. A giggle escaped you as you rolled your body over to the far left side of the bed, only to roll yourself back over to the opposite side. Laughing harder when you realized there were no consequences if you accidentally woke up a sleeping super soldier. You rolled over once more just because you could. You fixed the bed the night before, a small act of deviance when you tucked the corner of the newly purchased sheets under the mattress. The same set of sheets you were outnumbered on buying earlier. Grabbing a pillow, you flipped yourself over to the foot of the bed and turned on the television you put in the bedroom last month. Resting your chin on the pillow, you wiggled your toes under the throw pillows at the head of the bed. You inhaled deeply and enjoyed the pleasant detergent fragrance, you could hardly register their scent anymore. A late morning of watching tasteless shows of your own choosing; you couldn’t wait to bring in leftovers and eat them in bed between the new covers.

Ten months ago / second month away: The tower floors were quiet, peacefully so. Even the inanimate objects seemed to breathe easier without super soldiers dictating about. You came and went at all hours to the lab or outside to grab food. Sometimes you went for short walks when you needed time for your ideas to ferment. The freedom and fewer restrictions were new at first, leaving you hesitant and feeling guilty for enjoying them. But slowly, it became easier to indulge. It was a treat to only having to be concerned about yourself and your wants and desires. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about Bucky and Steve, they gave what they could. Or rather more accurately, they gave what they wanted. But it was a relationship built on their terms. Their needs and wishes- those came first. The boys provided what they thought was needed in a relationship, but it was restricted to what you felt was essential. They’d give you the shirt off their backs, but then tell you how to wear it. Bruce noticed your newfound sense of self first, the looseness in your shoulders and no more worry-filled glances at clocks. He didn’t want to say you smiled more when your boyfriends were away, but he noticed more enjoyment and excitement in you.

Nine months ago / third month away: Staring at the computer screen in disbelief, a laugh stuttered out of you. It was coming together, the formula. You were meant to create this. The idea that once formed in your head as a fleeting sarcastic notion- how to make sex more enjoyable and ready your body quicker for intercourse- lead you here. However, it became a bit more sinister with Steve and Bucky’s influence. In the beginning, the idea was only to assist you in finding more pleasure and to be ready for whenever they wanted it. Now the idea grew into something that would drive the subject into a state of painful, distracting lust until one was able to achieve an euphoric release. Something that would fully consume the users and allow another a window of opportunity in that chaotic distraction. And it was slowly coming together.

Seven months ago / fifth month away: Trials with subjects, successful: the rabbits were going at it like rabbits.

Six months ago / sixth month away: You accepted the offer. The chance at a taste of freedom and a sense of accomplishment made you agree immediately. The minor detail about temporarily relocating to the desert wasn’t a concern. You were looking forward to testing the formula further out west. SHIELD wanted more extensive experiments on your sex pollen idea, or as you called it, Dionysian. You would conduct more trails here and then proceed out to Groom Lake for more immersed testing in the SHIELD designated areas. Now you just needed to find a way to inform Bucky and Steve. But this, this was your destiny.

Five months ago / seventh month away: The boys were never a thought when you accepted the testing opportunity. But with their return approaching, you couldn't stop thinking about their reaction. You needed to rehearse your words when you’d sit them down to talk. You tried convincing yourself that they would hear you out. You tried convincing yourself that they’d understand this opportunity meant a great deal to you. They’d agree and encourage you to go, right? That’s what people offered each other in healthy relationships- encouragement, support. You, however, were not in a healthy relationship. And the thought of seeing them only made you uneasy and sick. You would be lying if you said they were missed. Depending on how you treated each other these next upcoming months, you might blaze your own trail without them. As the elevator climbed to your living quarters, your stomach twisted at the thought of telling them you’d be away; twisting at the thought of their anger. As the elevator doors opened to your floor, you decided you wouldn’t tell the boys that you already accepted the offer. Instead, you’d talk to them about a possibility of one, and then present it in a way that it’d seem as if they were giving you permission to go. Stepping into the hallway, you noticed utility bags thrown to the side. Shit. You didn’t realize they were back already. Seven months away and you were in a meeting instead of greeting them when they landed. How long have they been here? You walked into the bedroom and saw both men freshly showered, towels wrapped low around their waists. The three of you stood awkwardly in the silent bedroom. Scanning the room, you noticed the television missing and your new sheets ripped off the bed, crumpled on the floor.

Four months ago: The boys left for a three week mission and before they left again, things around the apartment were less than ideal. During an argument last month, you suggested about getting your own bedroom in the Tower. The boys didn’t appreciate that thought, edging you for a full night until you apologized for being inconsiderate. You sobbed during your climax, your body wrecked and colored with embarrassment. A lie and a promise passed your lips to them- you were sorry and you’d treat them how they deserved to be treated. Pulling out your notebook, you set up the timer and recorder and hooked up the body monitors. You nervously brought over a glass of water and pulled out the dropper for the liquid Dionysian. You’ve been trying to convince yourself to test it out, unwisely on yourself. Closing the notebook, you shook your head at your would-be actions. Don’t do this. But then glancing at your phone, the screen filled with missed texts from Steve and Bucky. Each bubble angrier than the last. “Where are you?” “Why are you keeping me waiting?” “You better answer Steve, baby girl.” “Text Bucky back right now, sweetheart.” “Do you need to learn your lesson again?” You threw your phone aside and turned on the recorder. One drop of Dionysian in the water, you drank and waited for a reaction. This was a last resort, but you needed to be prepared just in case. You decided that before taking your leave out west, you’d try your hardest to work with them and determine if it was possible to miss them. For now, you’d try to be how they wanted you to be and see if this was the future you’d actually want for yourself. You'd try to be their good girl. Maybe there was something salvageable for you three. But if nothing could be saved, you’d be prepared. Your next three weeks would be filled with testing and orgasms while the boys were away.

Three months ago: “There’s talk of an opportunity,” you started shyly across the table. “No.” A set of deep voices cut off any further discussion, silverware crashing against the plates. “But it would only be for a few months away, and I’d get to further my research. You should hear all the new breakthroughs we’re having with this formula. It’s beyond impressive. It’d really be a great tool out in the field. The fact alone that it would keep the target so incapacitated, too preoccupied to achieve relief, one could escape easily and put several hours of distance between them and other operatives,” you pleaded for them to listen. Why couldn’t they just listen? You listened to them- helped them achieve their goals. When did this relationship turn into something less for you? Why did you allow it to turn that way? “Buck said no-” “Steve said no-” Simultaneously conjoined sentences of dismissiveness sailed across the table at you. That hurt, but you weren’t about to give up easily. You excelled too far in your career, achieved too much in the lab for your boyfriends to shut you up. “With more testing, we could really extend the release time and keep the subjects immobilized, maybe up to 12 hours, hell, maybe even longer. I mean, just depending on the concentrated amounts of what would be administered. Wait, I need to write this down,” you excitedly pushed the chair away from the table with the intention to get your notepad. “You better be only getting up to bring us back a slice of the apple pie you baked earlier, sweetheart.” You shut your eyes at Steve’s warning, your shoulders tensed at his commanding tone as you tried memorizing your ideas to record later. “I’ll take an extra slice tonight, baby girl,” Bucky handed his plate over with a wink. Collecting Steve’s dish also, you reminded yourself to remain calm. They’re not selfish, they love you. They do care about you, they’re just reluctant to share you. You would try another time.

Two months ago: Sweaty bodies on either side of you, tired and loose from the orgasms given and received. Panting breaths slowed as lazy hands drew circles on your hips. “There’s a chance for a promotion…” “Keep talking and I’ll stick my dick back in your mouth,” Bucky grumbled. “Quiet, sweetheart.” Steve chided and slapped the side of you thigh, “Stop trying to ruin the moment, it’s not polite,” Another time then.

One month ago: “There’s interviews being held in the next couple days for-” “Not this again,” Steve cursed. “Why aren’t you happy? What could it possibly be that causes you to be so fucking miserable here with us?” “We thought you were happy. Are you lying to us?” questioned Bucky. You couldn’t be sure if there was menace in his words. His eyes were sharper though, you couldn’t deny the warning slowly brewing in them. You picked your next words carefully, but a part of you knew they’d never be the right ones said, “…I am happy. I care for you both, so much. But it’d be only five months at the most and only three away for certain. I mean, you both had a mission that lasted seven months with no communication. And with me there, we could still talk everyday. It’s only a temporary relocation. I’d be by area51, so it’s well-guarded. Maria said I’d be able to talk and skype when I’m away from the labs, I could call you in the evenings. Plus, SHIELD has their own designated areas there- I’d be with our people. Please. Let me do this for my research. Please, Steve. Please, Bucky. It’d mean so much to be able to test out there with more free range-” “-You care for both of us?!” Bucky cut in, cold impatience in his voice as he said your name. It was as if he never heard you say anything else after that line. “What the fuck is that suppose to mean, baby girl?” “Now, Bucky- easy,” Steve lazily placated him. Steve thought a little fear supplied by Bucky would do you good, maybe you needed help to reevaluate what was important in your life. Them. “I’m sure our girl didn’t mean it like that. I’m certain she didn’t want it to come across as awful and hurtful as it did. Am I right, sweetheart?” “Do you not fucking love us like we love you?” Bucky stepped closer with his accusation. “Of course, she loves us. Our little sweetheart wouldn’t dare hurt us like that. Would you?” Steve cupped your cheek and ran his thumb across your cheekbone. “She knows how much it’d physically hurt us, if she was away from us again. She knows how physically ill it made us- not being able to talk to her when we were gone all those months. The daily pain we were in for leaving her behind on that mission. That mission she brought up so casually, as if it was nothing.” Your lip trembled under Steve’s thumb but you kept your back straight. You created this formula from the ground up. You worked for this achievement. You needed them to be on your side, or out of your way. You were tired of being their cheerleader when they didn’t reciprocate. You wanted the chance to develop your own personal mission of success. “I remember,” you stilled your lip from trembling as Steve ran his thumb over your chin. I remember how much I do for you both, and how little you allow me to do for myself. “You better fucking prove how much you love us,” Bucky challenged as he unzipped his pants. Good cop, bad cop. You were running out of time.

---

The kitchen timer sounded, startling you as you hid the suitcases in the back of the closet. The scent of cinnamon and apples hung thickly in the air from the pie you pulled out the oven. Looking between the closest and homemade pie, spiced special for tonight, you were ready to leave for good.

---

“Would you like to know what’s going on with your bodies?” You watched the two men double over from the cramping, gripping the edge of the nearest piece of furniture. “Your bodies truly are superior, I’ve been fucked over enough times by you both to know. But still... I hope I administered enough for you, Steve. And I hope you didn’t get too much, Bucky,” you winked at them as Bucky grunted through another painful muscle contraction.

“What,” Steve panted as his stomach squeezed, “did you do?”

“Broke one of your rules, sweetest. Brought my work home with me. Gonna break a couple more, too. But at least you’ll have each other to help you through it. Because Steve... Bucky’s going to need your help.”

Bucky and Steve shot you glares between sucking in their breaths and squeezing their eyes shut through the increasing punch of stomach cramps.

A fake pout across your lips, you crossed your arms and leaned back against the chair, “What. No questions? No sharp words?”

The room filled with wheezing and coughing, the scent of their sweat started climbing in the air.

“I tell you, boy- I wasn’t expecting the silent treatment.”

Painful grunts and twisted moans echoed out of them.

“You two are boring. How’s this, blink twice if you need help,” you snickered louder when the boys growled out their anger. “Oh relax, babies,” you cooed with contempt. “The more you fight it, the more it’ll hurt. I made sure.”

“Fuck this,” Bucky rasped, “I’m burning up. Even my arm feels hot.”

Sweat beaded across Steve’s brow as he watched Bucky curl in around himself. Steve was miserable, but Bucky looked like shit.

“Let me see,” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s forehead. “Jesus, Buck. You’re on fire. What did you give him?” 

Steve tried to spin around at you, but Bucky caught Steve’s hand and pulled it back on his forehead. “Hurts less when you touch me.”

“What?” Steve questioned, looking at Bucky’s sickly complexion.

“Just keep your hands on me, Steve. It hurts less.”

Steve cupped Bucky’s face before turning to you in horror, “What did you give him, y/n?!”

“Relax. I gave him the same thing I gave you, but porker here just ate more pie than you. Which by my estimations, your next heat wave should start kicking in soon. If not, there’s a chance tonight will get more interesting- and messy.”

Steve was about to scream out more questions when a fresh wave of pain hit him. He gritted through another contraction. It helped to touch, just like Bucky said, but he could still feel the pain slowly getting stronger. He also started feeling his dick getting harder. 

Steve risked a glance away from you to see Bucky’s pants painfully tented, “Steve, touch me more. I need you.”

“Better listen to him, Steve,” you sat down in a chair that was far enough away to enjoy the show.

“You’re in so much trouble when this shit wears off,” Steve gritted out, holding onto Bucky. He was torn between helping Bucky and locking you up.

“I’m taking the job, boys. I’m leaving shortly.”

“What? You can’t leave,” Bucky whirled his slumped over body to look at you. Hair wet against his forehead, sweat stained his shirt. “Fuck. Help me out.”

“I can take it and I am. You two are better for each other. I don’t want this anymore.”

Bucky howled, a painful mixture of trying to fight the sex pollen and realizing they were losing you.

“Goddammit,” Steve ground out in anger, his hand tightened on Bucky’s shoulder. He tried keeping himself upright, still attempting to touch Bucky and ease them both through another contraction. “You’re not fucking going anywhere. You’re mad, we get that. But right now- you better fucking help us out!”

“Help yourself!” you shouted back, rising up from the seat. “Fuck each other. That’s the secret. I can already see the precum on Bucky’s pants. Give each other a hand, literally. You’ll be helping one another for most of the night while I fly out.”

Bucky took a deep breath and lunged his body in your direction. He didn’t make it far. You only shook your head at them. Steve was in too much pain to grab Bucky, but at least Bucky managed to pathetically pull himself up to sit. This wasn’t playing out as gleefully as you thought it would. Instead, you were angry. Angry at them, angry at yourself.

Both men commanded, then pleaded for you two stay with them again, “Baby girl.” “Sweetheart.”

For a moment you thought you should, but then you saw your notebook next to your bag and you knew you were leaving. A wave of resentment hit you when you thought of what led you here. “God. Must I do everything for you, little boys?”

Bucky grunted when he fell on all fours from the push you delivered between his shoulder blades.

Tangling your fist in his hair you pulled Bucky by his locks across the room. You dog walked the Winter Soldier, crawling his way like an animal in heat, before Steve’s feet. Grabbing Bucky by the nape of his neck, you forced his face closer to Steve’s cock.

With your free hand you pinched your fingers around the bottom of Bucky’s cheeks, squeezing harshly. His mouth parted and lips puckered out as you bent down to his ear, “Open and enjoy.”

Steve stood immobile, taking in Bucky’s weakness and your strength. His tip weeping with arousal at the drastic change in dynamics.

Steve quickly undid his pants eager for pleasure, “Maybe I should get you first, but this will help us quicker. Suck me dry, Bucky. Then I can help you better.”

You scoffed at Steve, even now he portrayed himself as selfless when he was actually selfish.

Your actions were harsh and voice mocking as Bucky’s lips wrapped around Steve’s dick. Both moaning in pleasure with the contact.

“No, no little bear. I know you can get the honey out better than that. Put some effort into it,” with a swift shove of your foot, you pressed your shoe into Bucky’s firm ass cheek. 

Suddenly and ungracefully, Bucky lurched forward and impaled his mouth further down on Steve’s dick.

A deep growl from Steve’s chest vibrated out down along his torso and into Bucky’s mouth. Pressing Bucky harder into Steve’s crotch with your foot, your eyes connected with Steve’s. He couldn’t look away from you. Bucky coughed and choked on Steve’s length as you pressed him harder into Steve with a devious smile. 

Steve lost it. Instead of trying to pull Bucky off him to allow him to breathe, Steve grabbed Bucky by his hair and pulled his face in closer. 

Bucky’s nose to Steve’s pelvis, you bit your lip and undid the button on your jeans. Slipping your hand under your panties, you felt your wetness as Steve kept his eyes locked on you. You licked your lips, spurring Steve on. The whimpers you let out when teasing yourself made Bucky suck harder. You found your release at the sight of Steve’s hard thrusts and Bucky slipping his hand down his own pants.

---

“Thanks again for the ride,” you said, nestling the grocery bags between your legs.

“No problem, needed a few snacks too. Seemed like a good idea when you mentioned it.”

“You’re just gonna miss me, partner. What will you do now that we’re not shadowing each other 24-7?”

“Hey! There’s only so much junk food on base. You know I need variety. Besides, a drive into town seemed like a nice way to break up the evening. How else am I supposed to keep you out of trouble?” Aaron teasingly quirked an eyebrow, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

“Yeah, yeah- chaperon, my chaperon. Thanks again for the extra time you put in with the project. Shaved off a month from the schedule, couldn’t have done it without you staying around those extra nights.”

“I’m looking forward to us getting back to New York.”

“Hmm,” you rolled the window down halfway, trying to keep yourself busy to avoid commenting.

Aaron looked over at you, “Hey. It’ll be nice to go back home to New York, right?”

You shrugged, “It’ll be nice to leave tomorrow. With us already submitting the results the other day, all we have to do is clean and pack up. It’s quiet with only us being there in the SHIELD section now.”

“New York bound it is then!” Aaron tapped your thigh and gave your knee a friendly squeeze. “I can’t wait to get back, who’d of thought I’d miss the wife’s cooking?” Aaron mused, slowing down at the yellow light.

“I’m just happy to have some time off. Take in some sights and then venture into a new contract at my own leisure.” You flipped the radio’s volume up a few clicks higher, resting your head back against the seat.

“It’s amazing how much we accomplished in that time frame. It’s your estimates that allowed us to finish earlier than expected. Your calculations were in the zone, only needing minimal tweaking. Some days it was like you already tested the product out, especially with how close we were with each ingredient’s measurements,” Aaron shot you an amused smile but it slowly dropped when you didn’t smile back. “Oh, hey. Hey, you okay?”

Clearing your throat, you sat up straighter. “Um, yeah. I’m good,” turning your head to look out the passenger window, “now.”

Nodding his head at your words, he easily mistook your reaction, “What I’m trying to say is- if you ever need help with another project, think of me.”

“…Thanks. I will,” your mumble of gratitude seemed like modesty but it was guilt.

You shifted in the seat, putting more room between you and Aaron. Almost like you were giving your emotions more space to sit comfortably in the car also. You knew why your calculations were so close to being correct with making the sex pollen viable. You recorded and studied the muted video you made of Steve and Bucky’s reaction times to those test doses. But some nights, when you couldn’t sleep, you slipped your hand between your thighs and watched it with the sound on low.

Aaron straightened the car out of the turn, “Can’t wait till agents are able to use this in the field. There’ll definitely be some interesting stories. Get ready, I’m sure an offer will come to stay on permanently with SHIELD. You’d want that, right? It’d be nice to be back in that lab with Banner.”

You sighed at the New York reminder. These last several months had been wonderful. You enjoyed all the research tasks guilt-free instead of juggling them with two demanding Avengers. When they were away, you got to decide how to fill your days and nights. You got to immerse yourself in your own research missions of experiments and notes. You enjoyed organizing the videos and recording, typing the trial and errors, outlining notes on coffee-stained scribbled books.

But you weren’t ready to give your freedom up, you were in no rush to return to New York or Banner’s lab. It was a hard call you made to Bruce the other day. You didn’t want to burn any bridges with him, not when he was a mentor. But you weren’t ready to return. You didn’t want to be in close proximity with Steve and Bucky anymore. So when you spoke to Bruce earlier, you told him you’d be taking more time for yourself and wouldn’t be returning to New York...

“What do you mean you’re not coming back?”

“Bruce, this is essential.”

“Essential to your career or essential in avoiding your relationship status?”

That cold splash of verbal water made you pause. A heavy silence was met on both ends of the phone. A few seconds past as neither you or Bruce said anything. Finally, Bruce broke the standoff by sighing in agreement of your request to take a break before signing a new contract. But not before he gave scientific advice, “You’d feel better if you talked to them. They miss you, you know. This avoidance and stress,  it’ll just make you sick.”

“No, I’d feel better if I had more time alone. Space, lots of space to decide what I want to do. Somewhere-”

“Listen, Jailbreak,” Tony queued up your call over the speakers causing Banner to send him a sour perturbed look.

You moved your jaw back and forth, trying to tamper down the annoyance of hearing Tony’s voice cut in on your private call, “..Yes?”

“It’s time.”

“No, actually Tony, it’s not. Nor will it be.”

“Yeah super, I hear ya small fry and that’s really great you think that. But now hear what I’m saying, it’s time.”

“Stop, Tony. I’m taking time for myself.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Don’t call me that!”

Tony cringed at your tone, mildly forgetting Steve’s nickname for you. Bruce rolled his eyes at Tony’s less than accidental slip-up. “Okay, okay. What I mean is and I repeat, it’s time. You can find that inner peace bullshit back here. You need to come home.”

“That’s not my home anymore. I’m doing what I want and going to figure-”

“Then what? I have two out of control super a-holes on back to back missions because they’re pissed their girlfriend left them.”

‘In compromising positions,’ you thought. “It’s ex-girlfriend now, Tony.”

Tony’s laugh was dry and crisp, “Hardly an ex.”

“I am. I have no claim on them, they have no claim on me. Hence, the ex part.”

“They’re taking back to back missions so they can kill- legally, sweetheart.”

“Well, they’re doing it together so it’s an Avenger date night. They have each other, that’s enough.”

“Quit fooling yourself, spit out the kool-aid. There’s no getting out of this. You aren’t an ex to them and you will never be an ex to them. Realize it, quickly. For your own sake. And more importantly, for the sake of my cleaning bills. Ring your energy bell, light your candles- then come home.”

“I called to say thank you to Dr. Banner, not to get into an argument with you, Mr. Stark. My contract has been completed,” you gritted through your teeth. You were over all this, especially Tony putting his nose into everything. After this, you planned on finding something else with a different company. Another life.

Tony tapped the mute button on the screen and leaned away from the desk. A look of disbelief on his face as he waved his hand over the table to Bruce. “What kind of attitude are you teaching her in here? Am I handing out bonuses to be cashed in for disrespect? Is it not registering with her that I sign everyone’s payroll?”

Bruce looked at Tony over his glasses, mumbled an apology on your behalf and turned back to his project.

Tony flipped the mute button off, “Funny, thought I owned the company. Thought I owned a multitude of companies. Remember that, lil'miss girlfriend to Steve and Bucky.”

“Tony,” closing your eyes, you took a moment to gather yourself. The man was exhausting, “Please stop, I didn’t call to fight. I only called to say goodbye to Bruce, and now, it seems to you also.”

“Look, deserter. Bruce agrees you should have some time away,” Tony pointedly looked at him causing Bruce to nod quickly in agreement. “I’ll set you up in a cabin. It’s a nice place. Mountains, woods, big ponds, Bambi bullshit. It’s far enough away from noise and people. Town’s about an hour’s drive, so you’ll get to concentrate on what matters there. I’m sending over the location now, it’ll be stocked when you get there. Get your priorities sorted. Get this out of your system, you had your streak of rebellion. There’s new projects you’re needed on here. Reevaluate what matters and then head back. This is where your home is.” 

Tony ended the call without giving you a chance to agree or protest and smirked at Bruce.

“Oh no, no. Don’t do that to her, Tony.” Bruce frantically shook his head causing his glasses to fall further down his nose.

“They’re coming back soon anyways, a reason to head back a few day earlier will be fine. I’m not dealing with them and their fucking destruction anymore. They’re out of fucking control without her. Their missions are the only things keeping my building intact here.”

“Tony, you can’t do that to her- she wanted out. They just need more time. They’ll eventually come to terms with this,” Bruce tasted the lie as soon as it was out.

“She made her bed- sandwiched right in between a jagged tin-can and captain popsicle. They’re her problem to deal with and no time like the present,” Tony scrolled through the screen again. “Besides, you know I’d find you if you ever tried to leave me. That’s one thing I actually get where they’re coming from. You’ve learned your spot is with me. Lil'miss escapee will learn her spot is with them.”

“And if she has to learn it the hard way?”

“Well, that’s between them.”

--

The noon sun beat down on Steve as the com crackled with an incoming call, “Speak, Stark.”

“How much of a favor do you and Manchurian want to owe me?”...

--

Aaron patted your knee and called your attention back, “What do you think?”

“Sorry. What?”

“New York. When we get back, you want to start in the lab right away or take a week off?”

“Um,” you shifted in your seat, “I’m not going back, Aaron.”

“…So you’re staying out here for a bit longer but then heading back?” Aaron’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as his eyes darted from the empty road to you when you didn’t answer. “You’re coming back with me, right?”

“No. I spoke to Bruce earlier and said goodbye. I’m taking some time off. I’ll figure out a new place to work later.”

“You’re not serious.”

“It’ll be for the best for-”

“You can’t do that,” he spat acidly.

“What do you mean, I can’t do that?”

“I need to call the wife.” Aaron angled the car over to the side of the road. A pair of unnoticed headlights shut off in the distance as you were too preoccupied with Aaron’s outburst.

“…Can’t you call her back at base?”

“No. I definitely can’t,” he said bitterly as he whirled his body to face yours. “When the hell did you even decide this? How could you keep this from me?”

“I- what. I’m sorry, but what does that matter? I appreciate your help on this project but you don’t need me, Aaron. You’re great, you’ll get picked up for a new contract with Stark. Or, maybe even think about going to a different place like I am-”

“That’s not the fucking point! FUCK! I need my phone.”

“What’s wrong? You’re freaking me out.”

Aaron ignored you while he frantically patted himself down, “Fuck. Gonna be pissed, accuse me of doing this on purpose or some shit. Goddammit, I don’t have my phone. Give me yours.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Give me your phone. Now.”

“I left it at base,” you lied and pressed the back of your heel against your purse on the floor.

“Give. Me. Your. Phone.”

“I don’t have it!”

“You’re as selfish as they said. FINE,” Aaron punched the steering wheel and started the car up. “We’re going to the base. I’m calling the fucking wife. Then you and I are going back to the Tower.”

You stared at your friend who literally morphed into a complete stranger right before your eyes. Your heart sped up as he looked at you with contempt.

“I want out,” you reached down to grab your purse, but Aaron took a hold of your thigh and squeezed painfully making you yelp.

“No! You’re fucking staying rig-”

Before he could finish, Aaron’s window was violently smashed in.

The force rocked the car for a moment; glass confetti flying, little shards landing on his lap and chest. Screaming, you pressed your back into the car door as a silver arm flew through the shattered window and delivered a punch into Aaron’s chest.

Bucky. “Oh my god-”

TAP, TAP, TAP.

Your fearful whisper was cut off as you jolted away from the passenger window and the tapping by your ear.

A tear ran down your cheek when you saw Steve lean against your car door, smiling. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Aaron groaned beside you. His face bloodied from the broken glass and Bucky’s metal hand pressured against his sternum.

“Good to see you, baby girl.”

Before your brain could catch up to your fear, Aaron coughed and wheezed in his seat, “I didn’t know. I swear.”

Bucky tsked and pressed his fist into Aaron’s chest harder.

“When did you find out, Aaron?” Steve asked as he moved his hand through your open window and gently caressed your cheek. “Think he’ll lie to us, sweetheart?”

“Just now,” Aaron struggled for a full breath against Bucky’s weighted arm, “I swear.”

“You swear a lot, don’t you Aaron?” Steve tapped your nose. “We heard you swearing at our girl. We didn’t like that very much.”

“Baby girl.” Your eyes cut to Bucky’s as you pressed your back further against the seat. “Is he a liar?” Bucky slightly lifted the pressure off of Aaron’s chest.

Wetting your dry lips, your brain was muddled by the confusion of seeing them here. “Lying, about what?”

Aaron hatefully hissed your name before shouting out, “Goddammit! Fucking tell them I didn’t know you weren’t coming back.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Bucky warned steelily.

Your eyes darted between Steve and Bucky, your mind still whirling, “He didn’t- I didn’t-”

“Tell'em I just found out, you bitch!”

The plates in Bucky’s arm shifted as he knocked Aaron against the seat, “Mind your fucking manners.”

“Is that true, sweetheart? You just told him?”

Before you could answer, Aaron squeezed your thigh, “Tell them!”

You hissed under his grip, Bucky and Steve’s eyes zeroed in on Aaron’s hand covering your thigh.

Before you could yell no, Bucky reached in and grabbed Aaron’s hand off you.

A metal fist over flesh, he squeezed until bones crunched. “Don’t touch what isn’t yours.”

Bucky dropped Aaron’s mangled hand and looked straight at you, “Get out of the car, baby girl.”

The car door creaked open, Steve’s palm rested on the frame with his other extended for you. With shaky fingers, you unbuckled your seat belt and reached for Steve’s offered hand.

“You did this,” Aaron bit out over the pain, “you selfish, bitc-”

Bucky ripped the door open and grabbed Aaron by the back of his neck. In one swift move, Bucky drilled Aaron’s face forward into the steering wheel. You jumped at the sound of the horn blasting as Steve walked you away.

“Careful, sweetheart. Don’t worry, we got you,” Steve pulled you in closer to his side before opening his car’s backdoor.

“Steve, please he has a wife,” you pleaded, your brain now clearer on what was about to happen to Aaron. “He didn’t know I wasn’t coming back until just now. I swear. I only told Bruce and then Tony found out. But- but Aaron didn’t know.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve cupped your face, his touch deceptively tender as he reached behind his back. “There’s no wife. Aaron was calling us, keeping track of our soon-to-be wife. But his hand on your thigh, the way he spoke to you? We can’t allow that. He did this to himself. Get in the car, we have a cabin to get it to.”

The last thing you felt was a pinch on your skin. The last thing you heard was a gunshot.

---

Before you even opened your eyes, you felt the headache knock against your skull. You gingerly rolled over enjoying the feeling of a warm, comfortable bed. But who’s bed? The question shook you, making you sit up with a jeering head rush. Sandwiching your hands to your forehead, you took in your surroundings. Expensive rustic furniture lined a cabin wall, exposed logs and chinking ran the entire room. A vaulted ceiling showcased wooden beams, and a partially open door showed an attached bathroom.

Was this Tony’s cabin? Crawling up to the windowsill above the bed, you peered out to see the rich, green scenery. A thick forest and mountains in the background, if it were under different circumstances you might have enjoyed the mockingly peaceful scenery. But instead, it reminded you of a gaudy oil painting and Tony’s words of Bambi-bullshit. You continued to scan the grounds when you noticed you weren’t on the ground level.

“Glad to see you’re up. Bet you’re thirsty,” Steve casually entered the room, water bottle in hand.

You silently turned around on the bed to watch him.

“Plotting takes a lot out of a person,” he placed the water bottle on the desk and leaned against the mahogany design.

“Want to go over what’s expected of you, or would you like to test this drink first?”

“Is Aaron dead?” You were back to being a pawn on Steve and Bucky’s chessboard, but you risked the question. You knew the answer but you wanted him to confirm it. Pushing your luck further you asked again, “He is dead, Steve?”

“Guess we’ll talk about what’s expected of you first,” he gruffly replied.

“You can’t keep me here, Steve. People will be looking for me, they’ll be looking for Aaron.”

With a smirk, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, “I can and we are, sweetheart. No one’s looking for you.”

His confidence alarmed you. “They will be looking for me, Steve. My stuff’s still at the base.”

“No, baby girl,” Bucky entered the room, setting down your suitcase and a large brown paper bag. “Tony offered a little digital help. If anyone looks, there’s cameras showing you packing up and leaving much earlier. But who’d even look? Not us, you broke up with us. Not anyone at SHIELD, your contract’s fulfilled. Plus, you told Banner you weren’t coming back to the Tower.”

“…No,” the cabin’s walls were closing in on you.

Steve got up and stood with Bucky at the foot of bed, “You should’ve appreciated what you had, sweetheart. You hurt us. If you talked, we would have listened. You can always come to us.”

Your eyes narrowed at Steve’s delusion.

“You say please and thank you, but you’re not really grateful for how good you had it. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You stared past their shoulders, finding a knot on the wooden wall behind them. Afraid a wrong word would set them off further, you didn’t trust your voice with the fear and anger swimming in you.

Steve chuckled, “Well, look who’s giving who the silent treatment now.”

“Look at us, baby girl. I said, look.”

With your lip between your teeth, you slowly made eye contact with Bucky. He grabbed the water bottle off the desk and tossed it by your feet, a soft thump sounded when it landed in the blankets. “Drink it.”

With a scratchy voice, you lied- “I’m not thirsty.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn, can’t wait to bend you over and break you,” Bucky laughed at your discomfort. “What’s wrong? Can’t trust what we give you?”

Steve nodded toward Bucky and the bag before speaking, “It’s simple, sweetheart. You’re staying in here until you can’t take it anymore. The water’s off in the bathroom, so rethink that. You get the water we give, and we’ll see how you react. ”

Beep. Bucky set his watch causing Steve to smirk at your worried expression.

Putting his hands down on the mattress, Steve leaned in, “If you get desperate enough, we’ll help you out- if you ask nice enough.”

“Better ask really fucking nicely, baby girl. Better make my dick fucking blush at how well you beg.”

“Sweetheart.”

Your watery eyes found Steve.

“If you don’t ask nicely, we can’t help.” Steve stood up and crossed his chest again, “And if you continue to be stubborn, but those fingers aren’t doing enough…” Steve trailed off as Bucky opened the brown bag.

Your chest burned with fear when Bucky pulled a gun out of the bag and dropped it down on the mattress. “Maybe you’ll find relief with this, baby girl.”

You would die here. With the tears pooling in your eyes, Steve and Bucky’s figures blurred. Finally, the dam in your throat broke. A sob of spittle and fear ran over your lips. Wiping the tears away, you saw the boys exchange looks.

“Why are you crying, sweetheart?” Steve cooed venomously, large shoulders rolling back. “Aren’t you pleased with our offer to help?”

With a tilt of his head, Bucky twisted your fear further, “Why the tears? Just offering you help to find an ultimate release, baby girl.”

“Y-you’re going to kill me because I left? You’re going to kill me like Aaron?” You’re self-preservation crumbled knowing you were always their thing to play with.

Bucky and Steve looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

“Why are you being so dramatic, baby girl?”

“Sweetheart, what gave you the idea that we’d kill you?”

Your lungs squeezed as you glanced at the weapon. Bucky picked up the gun and began wiping it, “No baby girl. The gun’s mine. This is yours.” Bucky gestured his head to Steve.

On cue, Steve reopened the bag and pulled out an apple pie. “We’re gifting you pie and water. Let’s see how long you hold out until you need to drink or eat.”

“Then we’ll see what happens next, baby girl.”

“Our own little experiment,” Steve connived. “Looking forward you see who’s hypothesis is successful.”

“I was always a fan of science, baby girl.”

You moved to your knees, the mattress soft beneath you, “I don’t want this, please. Just let me go, I’m sorry. Bucky- please. Steve?”

“Listen sweetheart, take your punishment like a good girl and give us some entertainment. It’s the least you can do for us, since we’re protecting a possible murder suspect.”

A vile taste hit the back of your throat again, “Murder suspect?”

“Baby girl.”

Before your mind registered your actions, you caught the gun Bucky tossed you. A drowning sensation hit your body when a misery-filled tsunami crashed against you. Your vision tunneled, your lungs burned- you fell for it.

“Oh baby girl, don’t worry. It’s not loaded, this time. Now, eat your pie and drink your water. We’ll come back to check on you.”

“At some point,” Steve sneered.

“If the urges get to be too much, put the gun between those nice thighs,” Bucky winked at you.

Steve shook his head in amusement, “Bucky…”

“Ah, alright,” Bucky leaned forward and took the gun from you with his left hand. “I’ll let you fuck a different gun, get that barrel nice and clean for me. Sound good, baby girl? But Steve’s right, gotta save this one- fingerprints, leverage. Silly details.” Bucky dropped the gun in the paper bag and tucked it under his arm.

“Why can’t you let me just let me go? You could have anyone else-”

“Sweetheart, we’re getting married. You’re it for us. We’re doing this for you.”

“We’re protecting you. You should be thanking us, baby girl.”

“How are you protecting me?!”

Steve sent Bucky a smile before facing you, “If we’re married, we won’t have to testify against you.”

[freddiesaysalright]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 2

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change.

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish​, @queen-paladin​, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @namelesslosers​, @headl0ng​, @captvianswaan, @xviiarez​, @baltimoresweethearts​, @killer-queen-87​, @haileymoreolikestupid, @itsametaphorgwil​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Once again, I apologize this update took so long. As y’all know, I’ve been going through it with my break up and sad. But! My motivation has returned enough for me to continue and I hope y’all enjoy!

Warning(s): None!

Moodboard

Prologue  Chapter 1

Chapter 2 here we go!!!

No one else seemed to notice him walk in, but to you, it was as if time had stopped. He started toward a table, moving in slow motion, followed by two other men apparently in his class, and he took a seat at a corner table. You were frozen to the spot as you watched him. 

“Earth to Y/N,” Zelda snapped. “Are you going to just stand there or go greet our customers?”

“Right, sorry,” you said, shaking your head to pull yourself out of the reverie.

“And turn on the charm,” she instructed under her breath. “Those men have clearly got money.” 

You straightened yourself and headed over. You began to hear their conversation as you approached. 

“So, your father didn’t say what it is he has?” questioned the blonde one to Gwilym’s left. 

“No,” Gwilym said with a shake of his head. “Just that he’s ill. He really didn’t talk about it.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the dark-haired one across from Gwilym. “Your father is a good man. You’re lucky you still have him to guide you.”

“I’m more than ready to take on my role,” Gwilym said. “It’s just all this marriage talk that’s got me worried. Say I do marry and start a family, what then? Will he think it’s okay to just give up?”

“Believe me, once he has grandchildren, he’ll have all the more reason to fight,” the blonde one said. “My parents can’t get enough of the twins.”

“It’s still hard to believe you’re the father of twins, Ben,” Gwilym said with a smirk. 

Gwilym’s back was to you when you reached the table. 

“Good evening,” you began shakily, but then cleared your throat. “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”

The blonde one, Ben, addressed you first. 

“A pitcher of ale is fine,” he said. “I’ve got this round, and Rami will get the next. We’re treating the birthday boy.”

He clapped Gwilym on the shoulder. 

“That’s not for another two days!” Gwilym insisted. “You’re the guests, I should treat.”

“Yes, but we’re guests to your birthday ball,” Rami replied, as Ben was already handing you some coins. 

“How exciting,” you said, trying to contain your curiosity. 

A ball? With rich out of town guests? Gwilym must really be somebody. 

“Aren’t you going to wish him a happy birthday?” Rami asked. 

You shook your head. “Sorry, but it’s bad luck to say it before the day.”

Gwilym finally looked at you. You saw his brow crease as he searched your eyes for recognition, but you quickly cut your gaze away. You didn’t want him to know you. Not truly. 

“Well, you can’t argue with superstitions,” Ben said.

“You just say that because you’re friends with pirates,” Rami teased. 

You smiled, and allowed yourself to look at Gwilym once more. He was paying no mind to his friends, and was still gazing at you. His eyes were so clear and blue. 

“I will wish you good luck,” you said sweetly. 

Gwilym felt his heart skip a beat. “I...well, thank you.”

You looked away and at his friends. “I’ll be right back with that ale.”

You turned on your heel and swept away from the table, taking deep breaths to steady yourself. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage. 

“Y/N, are you alright?” Zelda asked as you came into the back, her face drawn with concern. “You look pale, child.”

“I...I think you should take that table, Zelda,” you said. 

“Why?” she demanded. “Were they being disrespectful? Because I don’t care how rich they are, I’ll kick every one of their sorry -”

“No, nothing like that,” you cut across her with a small laugh. “They’re perfectly polite, I just am a bit intimidated.”

“Intimidated?” she questioned. 

You couldn’t really make her understand. There was something about Gwilym that made you want him to see you as elegant and refined. Not a helpless orphan and waitress.  

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said. “But as your friend, I’ve got to make you face your fears.”

“But, Zelda, I -” 

“No buts,” she cut across you, handing you a pitcher on a tray with three pints. “You’ll be just fine.”

She gave you a little push and you stumbled out of the kitchen. Zelda watched you make your way back to the table with a sigh. The truth was, she saw how lovely and charming you were, and she hoped that one of those men was your ticket out of this life. 

“Here we are,” you said cheerfully, donning the mask you usually wore, and placing the drinks down in front of each of the men. “Anything else for you gentlemen just now?”

“We’re alright, thank you,” Rami told you. 

“Perfect, just shout if you need anything,” you said quickly.

Again, you scurried away, but still felt Gwilym’s eyes on your back.

“Did she give us her name?” Ben asked. 

Gwilym didn’t answer. He was watching the door you’d disappeared behind. 

“Hello?” Ben said to his friend, exchanging a concerned look with Rami.

“Gwil!” Rami barked.

Gwilym started and looked at his friends, straightening his shirt. “Sorry. What?”

“What’s got you so hung up on her?” Ben asked, jerking his chin toward the kitchen door.

“I swear I saw that girl earlier today,” Gwilym answered. “While Father and I were out riding. She looks different, but something about her face, I just…”

“Oh, no,” Ben said grimly.

Gwilym’s brows came together. “What?”

“He’s got it,” Rami added.

“Got what?” Gwilym demanded. 

“The love stare,” Ben answered.

“I beg your pardon?” Gwilym questioned. “Love? I don’t even know her name.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve got the stare,” Ben said. “I’ve had it, Rami’s had it, and once you’ve got it, it’s the end of your life as you know it.”

Gwilym frowned. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“The first time I saw my wife - well, the second time actually since the first time I was barely conscious - I looked at her and nothing else mattered,” Ben said. “I couldn’t stop looking at her. Tell him, Rami.”

“It’s true,” Rami agreed. “With my wife, it only took our first meeting for me to become sort of obsessed with her. All I wanted was to be close to her.”

Gwilym rolled his eyes. “You’re both being absurd. I was just trying to place her from earlier, nothing more.”

“And I was just trying to find the girl who rescued me,” Ben said. “You tell yourself whatever you want.”

A beat passed as Gwilym considered this. He did find you rather attractive earlier. Your pretty eyes - so sad, but so beautiful - shining in the sunlight. The way your cloak framed your delicate face. Sure, you were pretty, but that didn’t mean he was in love, did it?

“Do you want to see her again?” Rami asked. 

“I don’t know,” Gwilym said. “She’s probably a perfectly lovely girl, I just -”

“Invite her to the ball,” Ben said. 

“My father is planning on introducing me to dozens of ladies that night, I can’t show up with a date,” Gwilym said. 

“Then invite everyone,” Rami suggested. “The whole town. That way, she’ll turn up if she’s available, and you can be introduced to her as well.”

“I’m not sure my father would approve,” Gwilym said. 

“Listen, mate,” Ben replied. “If there’s anything Rami and I have learned, it’s that you’ve got to bend the rules a little to get what you want. And let’s say that’s not the girl of your dreams, some other girl might be. But you can’t know that if your only options are other nobility.”

“I did tell Father I wanted to give everyone a chance,” Gwilym conceded. “I think that’s a brilliant idea. The castle should not be off limits to the townspeople. Everyone will be invited to my ball.”

The three princes grinned and clinked glasses.

Meanwhile, you were busy running food and more drinks. You found yourself constantly glancing over at Gwilym and his friends, and they eventually waved you over to order another round, which you handled just as briefly as the first time. Although they were so pleasant, a large part of you wanted nothing more than to sit down and join them. 

They left after about two hours, and you watched them go, feeling heavier somehow. You sighed as the door began to close, casting one last glance Gwilym’s way. The night wore on, you continued in your work, and then closing time came, and you and Zelda began to clean up. It was well after midnight. 

You were wiping some clean mugs when Zelda approached you. She put all the earnings for the night into the safe and then she stretched backward and groaned. 

“Better take it easy soon, Y/N, or you’ll end up with a back as bad as mine,” she joked.

You half smiled. “I’m afraid Frank allows me no time for taking it easy.”

Zelda paused, looking long and hard at you. You stopped your cleaning and met her eyes.

“What?” you asked.

“Y/N, don’t you think it’s about time you got away from Frank?” she wondered earnestly.

“Of course I do, but I haven’t any money,” you replied. “Or a place to go.”

She bit her lip and looked at the ground, hesitating on what she wanted to say. You wrinkled your nose and fixed your gaze on her face. 

“Zelda, what is it?” you pressed.

She looked at you again. “You’d have those things if you got married.”

You blinked, as shocked as if she’d slapped you. 

“Married?” you questioned. 

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, goodness knows, you’ve gathered the heart of almost every single man who comes into this place. Any of them would make a fine and loyal husband.”

Your heart sank at the mere thought. True, the men you served here were sweet and fun, but you had no real attraction to them. At least, nothing beyond a friendship. You had your heart set on falling in love, and being as passionate as your parents were. What else made a marriage worth having?

“I don’t love them,” you replied plainly. 

Zelda struggled not to roll her eyes. “Romantic as the notion is, most people are not as lucky as your parents were. Most people find a good person and settle down, and make it enough.”

“I’m not most people,” you returned. “I could never promise myself to just anybody to get out from under Frank.”

She heaved a sigh. “I’m asking you to be realistic, Y/N. It might be the only way out.”

“But that’s a horrible foundation for a marriage!” you argued. “Besides, if the whole point is for me to get my freedom, then what good would it do to go from my stepfather to a husband?”

“Y/N, think!” she cried. “Any of the men here would be much kinder to you! It’s true, you wouldn’t have complete independence, but at least you would no longer suffer this abuse!”

You paused, heart cracking at the idea. She wasn’t wrong. Your life would be fairly pleasant as the wife of a farmer or a merchant. But love…

“I can’t, Zelda,” you said levelly. “I just can’t. I’ve clung to the hope of love for too long. If I give up on it now, I...I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed each day. I can’t compromise.”

She sighed again. “At least think about it, Y/N. Please.”

You gave her a curt nod. She walked away and you watched her go, mind reeling with her suggestion. 

***

The next day, Gwilym sat at the breakfast table with his father. As he spread some butter on a fresh piece of toast, the prince looked at the king, debating how to tell him of his idea to invite the townspeople.

“Father,” he began. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, here we go,” the king grumbled. “What is it?”

“I’d like to invite the whole town to my birthday ball,” Gwilym said, pushing down the urge to snap at the insult. “And I mean everyone, from the gentry to the servants.”

The king shot a glare down the table at Rami and Ben, who were looking pointedly at their own plates.

“Is that so?” the king questioned. “You do realize how much more work we’ll have to do in order to accommodate that amount of guests?”

“You’re the king, surely you can make it happen,” Gwilym said. “It would mean a lot to me, Father. Please?”

He held Gwilym’s gaze, and he softened. As gruff as he was, the king lived to make his son happy. And if the prince wanted it, he was almost always granted it.

“Very well,” he sighed. “We will send out the invitations this afternoon.” 

“Thank you, Father!” Gwilym exclaimed, standing up to hug the king. “You are a most gracious monarch.”

The king squirmed away from his son’s grasp and mumbled irritably under his breath. Gwilym chuckled and looked at his friends. 

“Shall we head out?” he asked. 

“Absolutely,” they agreed. 

The three of them were going hunting today to get out of the palace while the ball was being put together. Ben clapped Gwilym on the back as they exited the palace and walked toward the stables.

“Well done, mate,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“He did agree surprisingly quickly,” Gwilym remarked.

“Well, it is your birthday,” Rami joked. “You should have whoever you want at your party. I invited the whole village to my wedding, and it was great!”

“I do want to be more involved with my people,” Gwilym agreed. “And who knows? This may be my best birthday yet!”

They laughed together as a footman brought them their horses.

***

You spent the morning cooking with Elise before going up to get your step sisters dressed. Part of you hoped they’d soon get married. That way they could have breakfast in bed and give you some reprieve in the mornings. Your step sisters were okay enough women, and you were certain Frank was plotting some advantageous marriage for them as soon as possible. And it seemed they were also eager to be away from their father.

You walked with Eleanor down the stairs, but parted ways to go to the kitchen. You brought them fresh tea and poured it into their cups.

“Y/N, I need you to mend my coat that’s hanging in my room today,” Frank said as he took a sip.

You were on edge this morning, especially after the events of the previous day. And you were nervous about your conversation with Zelda. You felt that somehow Frank knew how badly you desired to leave now.

“Yes, sir,” you said quietly. 

“And I won’t be going into town,” he said. “I’ve got to update the books of the estate today, so I’ll be in my office all day.”

You nodded. It was always a disappointment when Frank had to stay home during the day. He seemed to find random, pointless tasks for you, lest you find yourself with time to read or eat. But, if it was to balance the books, then he likely would be cooped up in his office.

“Would you like me to bring you your lunch when it’s ready?” you asked. 

“Yes,” he said. “The girls have their music teacher coming so take theirs to the music room. Other than that, we are not to be disturbed.”

The only exceptions to the “do not disturb” rule were fires and injury. You nodded again, understanding.

After breakfast, you cleaned up and did the dishes. Then you headed to the fireplace in the parlor. It was in desperate need of cleaning, so you agreed to take it on. Elsie’s knees just wouldn’t be able to bear it. Before you began, you looked at the chair that your father used to use. When you were a little girl, and your parents hosted parties, the men gathered in this parlor after dinner for brandy and cigars. But your father always told you goodnight before you went to sleep, so you’d slip into the room, to find him in that chair every time. He’d smile, scoop you up, and put you on his knee to give you a big good night kiss. You could still feel the little scratches from his facial hair. 

With a sad smile, you got to work. 

The fireplace turned out to be a bear of a project. It had not been cleaned in years, apparently, and the soot had really built up. After hours of sweeping and scrubbing, you finally got to your feet and admired the clean brick. You were covered in ashes now, and smeared a little on your forehead when you wiped your sweat away. You decided you’d better change and rinse off before mending Frank’s coat. 

You walked out into the entrance hall with surprising timing. Just then, there was a knock at the door. You glanced around, but Robert wasn’t close by. With a shrug, you went to answer it.

The door creaked open when you turned the knob. There stood a young man in a handsome suit, with a huge bag slung over his shoulder. In it, appeared to be hundreds of matching envelopes. 

“How can I help you?” you asked politely.

“Good afternoon, madam,” the man replied, grabbing a letter and holding it out to you. “An invitation from the king.”

You gasped. “The king?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “The whole town has been invited.”

“Invited to what?” you wondered, taking the letter.

The man offered a short bow, which you returned, and then walked back to his horse. You closed the door and looked at the envelope. It was addressed only to “Residents” and then the address, so it wasn’t technically wrong for you to open it. On the other hand, Frank was particular about things like this. You had no desire to set him off again. 

In another remarkable moment, Elsie was coming with Frank’s lunch tray. She offered to take it since you’d taken on the fireplace. 

“Elsie,” you said as you approached. “This letter arrived from the palace. I’m sure Frank will want to open it.”

“Right you are, Y/N,” she agreed.

You placed the letter next to his plate and offered her a little smile. Whatever it was - if it was royal business - likely had nothing to do with you. Still, you were a little curious.

You forgot about the letter while you changed your dress and washed your face. When you came back down from your room and opened the door to Frank’s chambers, he burst out of his office so suddenly, it startled you. His eyes were crazed, a strange burning behind his irises. 

“Y/N, fetch my daughters!” he demanded. “This instant!”

You didn’t hesitate to hurry down the stairs to the music room. You opened the door without knocking.

“Y/N!” Eleanor cried, hands on her hips. “We’re in the middle of a lesson!”

“Your father says to come quick!” you urged her.

The two of them picked up their skirts and ran with you all the way back up to Frank’s office, leaving their music teacher stricken at the piano. Your heart was thumping with excitement. What could this be?

“Father?” Miranda questioned as the three of you entered the study. “What’s the matter?”

He held up the letter. 

“There is a ball at the palace tomorrow night,” he said slowly. “And we’ve received an invitation.” 

[mellifluoushood]

Today, I Saw The Whole World, And It Was Right In Front Of Me - C.H.

Inspired by @ammwritings​ custom moodboard

A/N: So, I was inspired by Anne’s moodboard that she made for me about getting stoned with Calum and listening to records, so I thought I would write a fic about it. As always, let me know what you think and send requests if you have any! I’ll be finishing ships tonight. xx Genre: angst / fluff / smut Type: blurb / imagine / series Warning: heavy mentions of drug use (smoking weed), some sexual content (not sex, but very close) Word Count: 6k (I got so unbelievably carried away. I wish I could say I was sorry. But I’m not.) Taglist: @gigglyirwin​ @loveroflrh​ @ammwritings​ @calumscalm​ Playlist: Weed Music

Red eyes watch as she throws her head back, laughing at some meaningless joke thrown around the room. Her laugh echoes with others, bouncing off the painted white walls surrounding them. Her head swims back around when someone elbows her gently and hands her the joint. She smiles, bringing it to her lips and inhaling hard. She feels the toke sit in her mouth before filling her lungs with another breath. She holds it, gently opening her mouth and allowing the smoke to spill out of her mouth. She sits, shivering slightly, focusing on the joint and sparing a glance around the room.

Her friends sit, smiling amongst their newly formed conversations. She watches languidly, lazily repeating her motions a few more times before passing it to the person on her right. She feels her body begin to melt into the sofa underneath her, slowly relaxing. She can feel the way her muscles welcome the plush couch, the black, soft fabric brushing against her bare thighs and warming up her body even farther. Her mind eases into its far corner, letting the high slowly crawl its way into her system.

She hears the end of a conversation before starting a new one with Crystal, sitting to her left. She smiles and asks about her day, listening to the accent drip around her slowly. She watches as her friend talks with her hands, her thick American accent capturing her attention. She listens to the pronunciations and lilts in her tone. She sits and listens and listens.

The anxiety that had made a home in her shoulders slowly rests, her neck tilting to the right and letting out a satisfying crack. She repeats thoughtlessly with the other side, feeling the way that her body is responding to her high. Her toes begin to tingle lightly whilst the warmth bubbling in her chest spreads through her bloodstream, occupying the tips of her fingers and her lower tummy. She still concentrates on her friend, responding only when needed.

She hears the start of a song, another one of her friends, Ashton, connecting his phone to her Bluetooth speaker that had fallen silent a few moments before, letting the song play out. Her focus turns to the music when her friend receives another joint and stops talking. She can feel her head tilting back against the cushion behind her head, resting as her blood pumps at its own pace. She soaks it in.

Her eyes switch between the people in front of her, observing mannerisms in the way they sit and express themselves that she was always aware of when sober, but particularly aware of as she sits high.

“You okay over there?” Ashton asks her and she chuckles at his question.

“I’m fine,” her voice is smooth, low and raspy from the smoke that had been brushing her airways a few moments before then. The friend on her left passes her the joint and she smiles at her with thanks, “Do you guys know how much I smoke?”

Ashton shakes his head and she looks over at Calum, “Have you not told them?”

“No,” Calum shrugs from her right side, “Didn’t want to air your dirty laundry.”

“Dirty laundry, my arse,” she chuckles again. Her motions are languid as she brings the roach to her mouth, over and over, sucking down the smoke with ease, “I’m not ashamed. I mean, c’mon, I wear marijuana socks and post pictures and videos to my private story.”

“Guess we’re not on your private story then,” Michael jokes and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Didn’t think you wanted to see what a pothead I am,” she comments before passing her joint to Calum. She slowly stands up from her spot on the couch, stretching slightly, her long sleeve shirt riding up, exposing her belly button piercing and tattoo on her left hip. She leisures over to her purse sitting on the dining room table in the other room, rustling through to find her bag, tobacco, grinder and papers. She returns to her spot on the couch, opening her bag and lifting it to her nose. She inhales, noting the strong hints of pineapple and she smiles,

“God, I love my dealer,” she shakes her head, taking another puff before picking out a few nuggets and placing them in the grinder. The boys and their girlfriends watch with intrigue, surprised at her mannerisms.

“I feel like I’m really getting to know you right now,” Ashton mutters, looking at a girl he didn’t expect to be such an avid smoker, rolling a joint like a professional. She looks up at him and shakes her head with a small smile, grinding the weed down to small pieces. She puts the grinder on the living room table before taking a paper out of its packet and a piece of cardboard from the same packet, rolling the cardboard to form a roach. She places it in the paper on the far left side. She opens the pack of tobacco sitting in her lap and begins to sprinkle strands along the paper.

“You use tobacco?” Luke asks.

“Yeah. It helps it burn better and slower. It also makes the high go straight to your brain. You Americans don’t know how to smoke,” she chuckles, “Blunts without tobacco or a roach. A disgrace,” she criticises and Ashton’s eyebrows raise, realising that she’s much more experienced than any of them would have guessed. Calum sits to her right, watching her hands move for the grinder and fill the paper with the weed. She sprinkles a fair amount before beginning to smooth it down by rubbing the ends of the paper together. He watches as she tucks the edge into the joint, rolling the paper over itself until it formed a cylindrical cone. He swallows slightly, the own high seeping through every centimetre of his brain when her tongue pokes past her lips licking the adhesive of the paper and secures the glue against the joint. She smooths it out, running her fingers up and down, making Calum look away before a tent formed in his sweats at the thought of her fingers elsewhere.

She taps the bottom of the joint against the hardwood surface of the table before taking the base of a pen and packing the weed firmly. She sticks the joint in her mouth and lights it up when she’s finished. She sparks the paper and it burns quickly, the emptiness allowing the flame to consume it before it hits the packed weed and tobacco. She inhales then, taking three tokes straight off the bat. She lets the smoke linger out of her mouth before she sucks it in through her nose, exhaling again after.

“Also, you don’t puff-puff pass. You take your time, you enjoy yourself. You end up with the same amount of weed in your system, but you’re not in a rush and you enjoy smoking,” she comments, smiling around the roach in her mouth, pinching the spliff in between her thumb and forefinger. She takes a strong toke, letting it sit her lungs for a few moments, taking the joint from her lips and admiring her handiwork, “God, this is some good green. Pineapple express. It tastes so good,” she brings the joint back to her lips.

“How often do you smoke?” Luke asks the question on everyone’s mind. She thinks to herself, sitting back against the couch again after grabbing the ashtray off the table and resting it on her knees that she’s resting against her chest.

“I smoke every day. I have at least one joint... bare minimum. But, usually, I smoke about 2 or 3... if I meet up with my other group of friends,” she inhales again, “I can smoke upwards of 5 or 6.”

“Jesus Christ,” Michael mutters as she takes her last toke and hands it over to Calum.

“Don’t rush, enjoy it. Feel the music, feel the buzz,” she comments. Calum takes her advice, reclining just like she was and balances the joint in between his forefinger and middle finger like a cigarette. He inhales, admiring the taste of the green she had gotten from her dealer. He exhales, tasting the fruity, light aftertaste that lingers along his tongue and on his inner cheeks. He likes the heaviness of tobacco in the joint.

He throws his free arm around the girl to his left, pulling her to him. She rolls her eyes playfully, the high staining the whites of her eyes a deep red, her irises glassy. Calum’s own reflect similarly. When he looks down at her, she notices he’s a bit more stoned than her, his tolerance not quite as high. His pupils have dilated slightly and his body feels especially warm. She tucks her shoulder underneath his and leans her head on his chest. The people around the circle watch with a knowing smile at their affections. Not quite a couple, but not quite just good friends.

“Where’d you get this stuff?” Calum asks, exhaling the second toke he had taken. She shrugs,

“My dealer usually has a couple of different strains to choose from. If I bat my eyelashes at him, he usually will give me the best of the three and for less than what he charges other people.” Calum chuckles at her antics, ignoring the small twinge of jealousy that bubbles in the bottom of his stomach. He doesn’t want to picture the girl cuddled up to his chest fluttering her eyelashes at another man, a coy smile playing on her lips as she charms her way into good quality weed. He reasons with himself that he’d probably do the same if he was a girl.

“How often do you pick up?” Luke asks, watching Calum take his slow drags before passing it to him. Luke nods in gratitude before taking a drag himself and rolls the smoke around in his mouth before inhaling further and holding it. He exhales out of his nose, jutting out his bottom lip and raising his eyebrows, looking at the joint in his fingers, “This is some good shit.”

“Right?” She chuckles before paying attention to the question he had asked before, “Once or twice a week. Depends who I’m with that week and how much I charm him when I pick up.” Her eyes are hazy, looking around the circle at the boys and their girlfriends. Sierra’s legs are resting over Luke’s lap as she sits in between him and Ashton, Ashton’s back is pressed against the television stand and Michael and Crystal are cuddled up to his left. She notes Ashton didn’t bring his girl around and she makes a mental note to ask him about it later. He doesn’t seem to mind the couples around him, as the conversations tend to be open to everyone.

The joint gets passed around to everyone, reaching the owner. She takes another few drags before putting it out and rolling another one with the green left in the grinder. Conversations around her have bubbled up, gently humming over the distant lull of music in the background. She feels how relaxed the muscles in her cheeks are and the heaviness of her eyelids, but she basks in the relaxation and sensation the THC gives her.

Calum watches every single move she makes with hazy eyes and a small smirk on his face. His arm rests on the back of the sofa as he reclines into the cushions, spreading his legs covered in grey sweatpants. He kicks his feet up onto the living room table, his black socks matching the black tabletop. He pulls his hood up, over his platinum blond hair, the black hoodie blending in with the black cushions of the sofa. His eyes linger along the smooth skin of her bare arms, her breasts peeking out from the top of her tank top. Her legs are covered at the very top with shorts, black with white lining. Her socks have marijuana leaves on them as the hems tickle her upper calves. She looks relaxed. Her hair is down, cascading along her back and over her left shoulder.

He wants to push the admiration out of his mind, afraid of the rejection he was sure he would receive. He had heard her complain about a boy earlier to Sierra when she and Luke had arrived. He had peered around the corner of the kitchen entryway, her elbow against the kitchen counter and her face buried in her palm as she complained at his mixed signals and inability to not flirt with her, even after being rejected. He remembers the words she ended the conversation with: If only he would actually do something. He assumes there was a second guy involved, as she had explained to Sierra that she didn’t want to be with the mixed-signals guy. Sierra just chuckled and ran her hands through her hair to comfort her, who just sighed, I’m sure he’ll figure it out soon. He watched as she rolled her eyes, shaking her head, As fucking if. He remembers the feeling of his chest burning at her admission of having her eyes on a guy that wasn’t him. But, he pushed it away, focusing on the fact her right thigh was pressed tightly against his left.

When she finishes rolling her joint, she returns to her spot underneath Calum’s arm, relaxing against the couch and sparking the other joint. She bobs her head to the music in the background, closing her eyes and inhaling again and again and again. He’s addicted to watching her. He doesn’t try and hide the fact that he’s admiring every piece of her and every way she moves. When he looks away, he makes eye contact with Sierra, who had been watching the scene in front of her. Sierra sends him a nod, encouraging him. He shakes his head before turning his attention back to the woman underneath his arm.

Crystal and Michael strike up a conversation with Ashton when he sees Sierra lean over to whisper in Luke’s ear out of the corner of his eye. She says something to him and nods over to her. Luke’s eyes seem to make a connection with what she was talking about before he stands up and grabs his girlfriend’s hand,

“I think Sierra and I are gonna head up to bed,” he motions to the stairs that lead up to the guest rooms upstairs.

“Alright,” she smiles, “Night, babes,” she calls Sierra, her nickname for Sierra and her only. Sierra manoeuvres around the table to hug the girl on the couch. When Sierra leans down for a hug, admiring the blissed expression on her friend’s face, Calum watches as her lips move against her ear, unable to hear what she was saying to the woman under his arm. Calum turns his attention to Luke, who has a smirk resting on his lips as he quirks his eyebrows at him. Luke’s eyes are hazy, blurred with glassiness from the several joints passed around by numerous people. Calum slowly rolls his eyes and turns back to look at the woman next to him. Her attention is already on him as she hands him the second joint she had rolled, her own eyes complete glazed over as she looks at him. He smiles down at her, shaking his head and blowing air out of his nose as his way of laughing.

He listens as Sierra and Luke’s feet pad up the stairs and into the guest room they frequently stay in. Crystal follows Sierra’s actions from earlier, whispering something to both Ashton and Michael who don’t even question her. They repeat Luke and Sierra’s motions, sending Calum a look suggesting that he really should just make a fucking move. He has to resist the temptation of audibly telling them to ‘fuck off’, but he knows it would attract unnecessary attention from the girl next to him.

Once they’re alone after the last three have said their goodnights, Calum passes the joint back to the woman next to him. She hasn’t moved from her spot underneath his arm and he enjoys her proximity. He can smell the weed on her lips and the mix of her lavender shampoo. Her skin is tinted with a woodsy, pine smile, a musky perfume lingering on her pulse points as she rests her head even more on his chest. He smiles to himself, leaning his head against the back of the sofa and listening to the music on the speaker before Ashton cuts it off.

“Ah, fuck,” she mutters, sitting up, removing the warmth of her skin from his. Part of her is relieved she’s no longer touching Calum, but she feels the way his thigh burns against hers. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out her chest, the small tingles he shoots up her spine sending her chest into an electric shock. She bites at her lip, her eyesight slightly blurry as she fumbles for her phone on the table. She switches on her own, smooth playlist and leaves the volume low enough that they can talk, but loud enough for it to not be awkward if they don’t.

She leans back again, not as close to Calum, afraid her heart might burst at the same proximity again, but Calum doesn’t seem to appreciate it. He pulls her to him again, murmuring, “Trying to run away from me, honey?”

Her breath wants to hitch, but she doesn’t let it. She simply rolls her neck from side to side, letting out a satisfying crack and settling into his frame. She inhales from her joint, just so she can exhale the nerves crawling up her neck and into her dry mouth, “No, just trying to be comfortable,” she hums. He can hear the teasing in her voice and he bites the inside of his lip, trying to keep himself in check because he’s not sure he can handle not saying anything or the rejection he’s positive will come after.

“Oh, am I not comfortable?” He teases in return and she turns her head up to look at him. Her lips are parted as she takes drag after drag from her joint, absentmindedly letting the smoke spill from the gap. He watches the trail of smoke fall from her cheeks and the way her eyes scan his face. She mentally memorises the place of his three birthmarks on his cheeks. She traces the five o’clock shadow along his jaw with her eyes and admires the slope of his nose. She notices the way his skin glows in the low light of the living room lamp. His platinum hair peeks out from underneath the hood of his jumper and her eyes trail down to his neck.

“You’re too comfortable,” she admits breathlessly, trying to hide the desperation in her voice. She quickly takes another drag off her joint, trying to cover up the tone of her voice. Calum doesn’t miss it, but he wonders if he imagines it when she passes the joint to him to finish. He takes it from her,

“Thank you, gorgeous.” He swallows once he finishes his sentence, bringing the joint to his lips, annoyed his filter failed him. He knows his guard falls when he’s stoned, but he didn’t expect it to fall around her. He hopes silently she won’t bring it up. But, he wasn’t that lucky,

“Gorgeous, huh?” She chuckles, looking up at him. He looks down at her, the plumpness of her cheeks and the glaze in her eyes. He traces the slope of her nose and curvature of her lips thoughtlessly, his pupils dilating at what they’re admiring. The weed lowers his inhibitions and he decides to just bite the bullet. If it goes badly, he can blame it on the green.

“You heard me,” he raises his eyebrows.

“I did?” She smiles lazily, sitting up a bit, turning to look at him. She’s scanning his body language, a languid movement of her eyes to see if she’s reading him right. If he wants what she wants. If he wants to pull her into his lap and have his way with her. He nods, taking the few last tokes in one go before leaning forward and putting the joint out in the ashtray. He surprises himself by grabbing the curves of her hips and pulling her into his lap. She rests her ass against his thighs, hers capturing his sides in between them. She bites at her lip and quirks her eyebrows,

“Whatcha doing there?” She teases, moving her hands up his chest and to the back of his neck, using the back of her hands to push the hood off his head. She exposes his platinum, glistening blond hair to the glow of the living room lamp. Her eyes admire the sides of his hair growing out, his roots a deep brown colour, contrasting against the bleached tips.

“Getting a better look,” he says thoughtlessly. Any inhibitions he had disappeared, the weed burying them deep in a part of his brain he can’t access in his high. He’s admiring the way she fits against his body. He runs his hands up and down the dip of her waist and the plumpness of her thighs.

“Didn’t think it was as good as a view as mine,” she responds, leaning forward slightly. Her hands began to brush along the back of his neck, her bare skin against his making Calum shiver.

“Oh, honey,” he chuckles, “Today, I saw the whole world. And it was right in front of me.”

She bites at her bottom lip to keep from her smile widening, but he watches as the corner of her lips. It causes Calum’s lips to quirk into a smile as well. Her eyes are stained red, just like his. She uses the tip of her fingers to run up and down his spine before he sits up a little more. His hands find themselves resting on her upper thighs, his fingertips digging just slightly into the flesh.

She has no response and he knows she wants him to make the first move. He removes one hand from her thighs, using it to brush her hair behind her ear,

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, licking his bottom lip and looking down at her lips. She repeats his actions before he hears a small, breathless, ‘Yes’ escape her lips. He leans forward, his lips just brushing hers, barely pressed. She pushes hers against him, harder. His lips are hot against hers and her mouth tastes like weed and tobacco to him. There’s an underlying sweetness to her skin and he loves it. He uses his hand to grip the side of her face, pulling her even closer to him. He runs the hand on her thigh up to her lower back, pushing her even further into his chest.

Their lips pull apart for a moment before slotting against each other again, her hands running from his neck to his hair, threading their way through his strands. Her heart is pounding out of her chest and her limbs feel like they’re vibrating. Calum’s heart is soaring as high as he is, his hands desperate to hold her as close to him as possible, not willing to ever let her go. She leans further into him, pressing her lips against his over and over, her movements becoming more forceful as he exhales every piece of his consciousness into her. Her chest burns with happiness and Calum’s lips can’t help but smile against hers.

With their heads swimming, they press closer and closer, lips slotting over and over, Calum’s grip on her never letting up. He’s the first to lick his tongue along her bottom lip. She parts them, welcoming the heat of his tongue into her mouth. She presses her tongue along his, their lips meeting time and time again. Their breathing starts to become laboured, desperate for the air the other is releasing, their bodies pressed together. They feel so warm against the other, their feelings bubbling to the surface at finally having their release of emotion.

Her hands move from his hair to the bottom of his jumper, tugging at the hem. His hands move to hold hers for a moment before breaking apart, just a second, to tug the jumper over his head and throw it onto the couch next to them. They’re panting and she grabs his face in between her hands, desperate to have her lips touch his again. They slot their lips over and over, tongues lingering within each kiss, familiarising with the taste of the other. Calum uses his hands to run up the soft skin of her stomach underneath her shirt. She shivers at the gentleness of his touch, memorising the way her ribs heave with each desperate breath she takes against her lips. He grabs at the hem of her shirt, tugging the way she had. She breaks apart from him, allowing him to pull the tank top over her shoulders. When the shirt is discarded, Calum leans back slightly, admiring the way her breasts are pushed up by her royal blue bra.

His lips meet hers, once, and then twice, before moving down to her jaw, running his lips along the bone. She tilts her head back, feeling the way his hands have imprinted themselves into her lower back, her hair tickling the back of his hands. His large hands take up so much surface on her back, feeling his warm skin against hers. Her hands grip at Calum’s neck, her nails dig into his shoulders as his lips move lower and lower, along the expanse of her goosebump ridden neck. She sighs, his plush, swollen lips leaving small wet, open-mouthed kisses. She rolls her lips between her teeth, moving her head to the side, her red eyes opening to look at the man who’s gently kissing down her neck.

“Cal,” she sighs and she feels the way his lips curl up into a cheshire grin. At the base of her throat, he wraps his lips around her skin, gently pulling and sucking, licking over the area. She rolls her hips against his without thinking and a deep groan rumbles underneath his chest. She rolls her hips again, satisfying the burning erupting between her legs as she feels how firm he is. He groans again, sucking harder against her neck and her throat rasps out a whimper. Every single movement is heightened, intensified as her high lingers in her veins, alighting her nerves, allowing Calum’s touch to cause explosions in her blood.

His hands run up from their space along her back, over her ribs and to cup her breasts through her bra. She lets out a small moan as he gently applies pressure, testing just how far she wants him to go. After suckling against her neck, he removes his lips, moves them a little higher along her neck and suckling, nipping and licking again. He wants to see the way the blood raises to the surface, bruising and marking up her pretty neck. He’s never seen that before and god, he thinks she’ll look beautiful with his marks all over her. Calum’s heart and stomach flutter at her touch, her fingertips pressing into him, the way that her body responds to his touches. He’s doing this to her. He’s pleasing her.

“Oh,” she moans quietly when he suckles particularly hardly and Calum applies more pressure to her chest. His hands move from the cups of her bra to just underneath the band of it, to ask if he can.

“Please take it off, Calum,” she asks breathlessly. He complies, hands wandering to her back to unclasp the bra. The straps loosen on her shoulders and shrugs it off. Calum removes his lips from her neck and leans back, staring at the perkiness of her breasts. He runs his hands along the underside, watching the way they move with the movement of his hands.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, admiring their shape. Her nipples are hard, poking against his palms as he runs the full expanse of his hand over her breasts. She takes his distraction as a chance to plant her lips to his neck. He sighs through his nose as she traces her tongue, gently, from the base of his neck to the space where his jaw and neck meet. She traces his pulse point with the tip of her tongue before sinking her teeth gently into the flesh. A groan rumbles from between his lips and he can’t help but knead the tender flesh with his hands, trying to focus on the way her body reacts to his touch. She suckles along his pulse point, feeling the way his body radiates heat against her face. She leaves mark after mark, scattering them along the expanse of her neck as Calum leans back and lets her have her way with him.

When she pulls away, their chests are heaving, bare and glowing in the light of the living room. The music in the background switches and Calum’s lips find hers again. Their lips are tender, swollen and red with friction, slotting over and over again. Calum uses his hands to press her to him as close as possible, their bare chests touching. Her hands wander along his shoulders, up to his neck and his hair, down again and repeating her motions, slowly as their tongues brush again and again.

Their highs are pushed to the back of their minds as they bask in the feeling of their kisses, their touches, their movements. She rolls her hips against his again, his cock straining against his grey sweatpants. The firmness sends tingles up her spine as she rolls her hips over and over again. Calum’s hands move from her back and to her lips, guiding her against him as his eyebrows furrow together. Warmth spreads in his stomach at the friction and she breaks away from him, letting out sigh after sigh with each roll of her hips against him.

“Cal-” she whines quietly, pressing her forehead against his, bare chest heaving with each laboured breath, her eyes pressed shut. He watches her with butterflies in his stomach, violently fluttering and fanning the flames in his lower tummy. She looks so beautiful, her eyebrows furrowed as her mouth drops open, feeling the way the friction of their hips moving both satisfying and aggravating the bubbling of lust in her belly. She opens her eyes, meeting Calum’s, who’s focused eyes and parted lips are hung on his face. He looks incredible with his glazed brown irises, plush limps plumped even more, red with blood linger at the surface. She leans forward and captures his bottom lip between her teeth without breaking eye contact and he lets out a small moan.

“I’m going to,” he sighs, guiding her hips faster and harder against his. She encourages him, smiling down with hooded eyes and her lips parted,

“C’mon, baby,” she sighs. Calum’s eyebrows furrow as the heat in his stomach intensifies tenfold, the friction sending sparks and fireworks off in his lower tummy. Her words, her voice, her sighs send him over the edge, his toes curling and throwing his head back. His orgasm is prolonged by the weed in his system, his brain swimming with nothing and everything. His limbs vibrate, tingles rolling up his spine as he releases in his briefs. He’s clutching her hips so hard as she continues to move with purpose. His eyes flutter open, the aftershocks of her movements tweaking every nerve in his body.

Her lips are rolled between her teeth as she bites down. She looks down at him with determination and he starts moving his hands again, guiding her over and over against his still hard cock.

“You going to come for me, doll?” Her eyebrows furrow as she nods, resting her chin against her chest as she feels the beginning of her climax rolling in waves between her legs. He presses a kiss to her lips, gently coaxing the orgasm that was so obviously ready to tip her over the edge, “I know you want to, doll. Cum for me the way I came for you.”

His words make her insides twist and release, dropping her orgasm on her like a bomb, “Oh, shit, Calum.”

Her jaw drops as he gently rocks her against himself, letting her bask in every single electric spark in her nerves like he did. Her shoulders tense and relax, her stomach muscles flexing against his torso as she finishes, her body spasming with each movement of her hips.

She presses her hands to Calum’s chest when she’s finished, feeling his pounding heartbeat under her palm. She looks at him in the eyes, blurry from her high and her orgasm. Adoration is woven in her pupils as they adjust to the light of him in front of her.

“Hi,” he sighs and she lets out a blissed-out giggle.

“Hi,” she repeats, resting her head on his bare shoulder. She curls up against his chest. Calum’s hands find their way up to her back, stroking the skin and rubbing her back as she evens out her breathing. He’s sitting there, in disbelief of what happened, with no complaints at all.

“I enjoyed that,” she mutters, sitting upright again, looking Calum in the eyes.

“I too enjoyed that,” his voice is raspy and he grasps her face in his hands, “I want that again. And again, and again, and again...” he trails off and she smiles down at him.

“How about a date first?”

“Deal.”

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 10

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held The best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

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Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

A very special thank you to Michaela for providing a perfect moodboard!

Chapter 10

“Mama?” 

Her eyes drifted open from sleep by the sound of Faith’s voice, soft and baby-like. Claire grunted tiredly, but nevertheless drank in the sight of the baby girl sitting up in bed by her pillow. “What are you doing here?” She asked. A smile bloomed on Claire’s face as she took in the sleep-tousled curls and Faith’s flushed cheeks, one marked with a deep red line from where she’d slept on it.   

Faith didn’t answer her question ‒ Claire didn’t expect her to ‒ but she did respond with a soft smile of her own, slow and languid. Claire rolled from her side to her back as Faith leaned forward and gathered the girl up on top of her chest. Her head rested just above Claire’s nightgown, her cheek pillowed against her mother’s skin. She yawned then and seemed to melt into her on the exhale, her eyes drifting shut. 

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” Claire turned to kiss the girl’s forehead. “Since the day you were born.” How many times had they laid like this, and felt all was right with the world in that moment? Too numerous to count. 

Faith’s fingers curled around the edge of Claire’s nightgown and she looked up to catch Claire’s gaze. “Hello, lovey,” she murmured. Her fingers gently teased Faith’s wild curls away from her face. 

“‘llo, Mama,” Faith echoed and then hummed as Claire continued to play with her hair, never breaking eye contact, though her eyes crinkled with joy. 

My whole heart. 

“Faith, I lov‒”      

Her breath came in a stuttering gasp, eyes flying open in the dark. She reached over and found only the edge of her hospital bed. 

She was alone.  

Her body curled in on itself while she clutched a pillow to her chest and smothered her sobs there. 

The weight of her grief settled in around her as the last vestiges of her dream fell away, and her new reality became starkly clear. 

She was alone in 1948 ‒ a time in which everyone she loved was undoubtedly dead. And without Jamie, Faith, and Fergus… without Murtagh and the Murrays… with only dreams and memories to haunt her, she wished she could curl up and die right there in that bed. 

She wanted it ‒ wanted death to come swift and easy, to bring her at once to whatever came next, where Jamie promised he would be waiting for her. Where he would find her.

But there was no impulse to act on this wish and in some rational corner of her mind still functioning, she knew there was only one thing standing in her way, keeping her tethered to this world. 

The baby. 

Part of all that would be left of Jamie. Of their life together.  

But even while she would live for the baby, she couldn’t think of it growing inside her without the sharp twist of a knife in her gut. 

Her arm muscles ached from the hour she had carried Faith. Had that only just happened that morning? Her mind felt foggy from the drug-induced sleep but her body wouldn’t let her forget. One hour after eight months apart and then… 

She clutched the pillow tighter, and the howl that tore from her throat didn’t even sound human.

One hour after eight months apart and then never again would she hold Faith in her arms.

Only in her dreams…   

On her second day in the hospital, Frank arrived. Seeing his face again was jarring, both in how it grounded her in this time, and made her blood run cold at its uncanny resemblance to another face that still haunted her. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Frank said in a tight whisper. He reached for her hand and eased himself carefully into the seat at her bedside. She was dumbstruck at seeing him and could hardly manage to look him in the eye, but when she did, there was no anger or hurt staring back at her. Only his love, his broken heart over the missing years, and his widespread relief to find her once more ‒ though these feelings were likely to change when she told him the truth.

“I’m pregnant.” The words slipped out into the space between them and Claire studied his face, watching for any hint of the quiet anger she knew he could possess. Better to rip the bandaid off than try to hide her condition. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I spoke with your doctors.” His gaze dropped to where he still held her hand and he squeezed it gently, collecting himself. He was rattled by the news, she could see, even as he tried to present a calm front. “Darling, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I’m here now. We’ll get through this.” 

His meaning snapped into place with stunning clarity and Claire’s breath left her in a rush. “I‒ I wasn’t attacked or… or held captive.” Her hand withdrew from his grasp and settled protectively over her still-flat stomach. “This baby isn’t‒” 

“It’s alright. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” he cut in quickly to quiet her and gave her a stiff smile. But she saw the flash of doubt in his eyes all the same. He didn’t believe her. “We don’t have to talk about the particulars just now. None of that matters, anyhow. I won’t leave you.”

She recognized the old habit in him of skirting around the uncomfortable ‒ and this was certainly uncomfortable ‒ but his assumption sat like molten hot lead in her stomach and her face suddenly felt flushed. 

“Really, I’m sorry to have upset you, Claire,” he said quickly before she could broach any sort of explanation. “God, I’m just so relieved to see you.” He cleared his throat, glassy-eyed. “I’ve been in contact with Reverend Wakefield. He was thrilled to hear about you and he’s prepared some rooms for us to stay there while you convalesce.”

She let the matter of her pregnancy go for now. It would take hours to tell him the truth of it, and even then he might find her to be insane by the end. And the mention of Reverend Wakefield lit a spark in her ‒ he had a library’s worth of resources and also‒ 

“Is Mrs. Graham still in his employ?” 

“Mrs. Graham?” Frank looked mildly perplexed. “I didn’t ask, but I would assume so...” 

  He could see the change in her right away ‒ like a light had gone out from within. She kept to herself that first week, spoke only in an exchange of pleasantries. Even though she was there ‒ she was actually physically there with him after three years  ‒  she seemed a different person entirely. 

At first, Frank thought it must be the shock of returning, but as the days passed at the Wakefield residence and Claire remained distant, it seemed whatever she experienced while she was gone had altered her forever. 

Beyond the mention of her pregnancy, he had no notion of where she’d been or what had happened to her, but a picture was beginning to build in his mind’s eye. She hadn’t been physically harmed, according to her doctors, but she had been malnourished, perhaps from neglect. And someone had gotten his wife with child. Frank breathed in sharply. He thought that bit of news would sink in, but a knot was still in his stomach. With signs pointing towards her mistreatment, he couldn’t imagine that Claire had run off with someone, that she would’ve chosen to leave him, but… 

But there had been that moment when he told her he knew about the baby. Something in her eyes had flashed before him and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had encountered the very edges of a mother’s protective fury for her child. It had stunned him and truthfully unnerved him a little. Not that she would already care for the little thing ‒ they had both longed for a child for years ‒ but that he should be the one on the outside. If she’d been attacked… what would cause her to want to shield the baby from him? He’d already assured her that he would stand by her, but somehow that statement felt like it had done more damage with Claire.   

Frank turned toward the windows in Reverend Wakefield’s study and watched for a moment as Claire sat out in the garden, her head bent over a book. 

The Battle of Culloden. Somehow that had become an obsession of hers since her return and he couldn’t make sense of it if he tried. 

…What the hell had happened to her?    

Claire registered Mrs. Graham’s presence as the afternoon tea was brought out to her, but she didn’t look up from the pages of her book to greet her. As the kindly housekeeper set a cup of tea on the table, Mrs. Graham suddenly broke the silence. 

“Och, lass, you’ll only create nightmares for yourself poring over those accounts.” 

Claire finally met her gaze and swallowed thickly. “There might be clues in here, or even an account of the two of them if I’m lucky. I’d rather know what happened to them. It’s not knowing that keeps me up at night.” 

Mrs. Graham smiled pityingly at her. “Aye…”

“There were wanted posters for him put up all over England and Scotland during the rising, you know. Not just for him ‒ all famous traitors to the crown who were involved in the rising ‒ but… he’s the only one I can’t seem to find any mention of after Culloden. If the British cared enough to make him a traitor, to… to vilify him as they did, you’d think they would’ve looked for him. You’d think someone would’ve bothered to write that down. It’s not like ‘Butcher Cumberland’ to let grievances go.” 

Mrs. Graham took a seat next to Claire. “Ye told me that ye didn’t think Faith traveled at all‒” 

“I mean, I don’t know for sure and I’ve never traveled with someone before, but… I can’t describe it, but there was a moment in the in-between and I was alone. I don’t think she traveled at all, but I can’t even know that for sure.” 

“Still,” Mrs. Graham patted her hand. “Ye would ken better than I. And if she didn’t travel, then she was with Jamie. Maybe the two of them got away safely.” 

“I want that to be what happened,” she rasped, her eyes burning with tears. “God, I want them to have survived it. But I begged him to run with us and he wouldn’t. He said he was doomed to die one way or another and he wouldn’t risk us. I know he would give his life to protect her. I know he would do everything to keep her safe. But these men?” She waved the book in her hands ‒ an account of Cumberland and his troops in The Rising and immediately afterwards. “Pages and pages of how they slaughtered the Jacobites and destroyed the Highland way of life. I don’t need to read every account to know what little disregard they would have for my daughter’s life if she and Jamie encountered them.” 

Hot tears were spilling down her face, and when Mrs. Graham sniffled softly beside her, she found the older woman softly crying as well. “I canna imagine what it’s like for ye. But I worry that this is consuming ye, my dear. And what’ll that do to the bairn ye’re carrying?”  

Claire swallowed roughly and her tear-clouded vision dropped to the book in her lap. How could she not be consumed by this?        

“You have children, don’t you, Mrs. Graham?” Her voice wobbled as she asked the question. 

“Och, aye,” Mrs. Graham replied awkwardly. “My husband and I had three bairns together.” 

“And if you lost one… if you were separated from one and you had no idea what became of them, could you just put that to bed? Would it be enough for you to love the next child as though you’d never known the first?” 

Her words were spoken softly but they had a scalding effect and Mrs. Graham drew in a deep breath. “No,” she said at last. “No, I dinna think I could let it go.” 

“I know they’re both long dead by now. I know. But I need to know if they were killed that day or shortly after or if… if Faith was able to grow up… if Jamie lived and was able to raise her.” Claire’s arm folded tightly across her chest, holding herself together. “I didn’t… didn’t tell her goodbye,” she admitted in a hoarse whisper and Mrs. Graham made a soft sound at that. Her hand suddenly brushed back Claire’s curls in the first display of motherly tenderness Claire could recall receiving from someone in a long time. “I… I only told her it would be alright. Those were my last words to her. Even when we left her at Lallybroch, I… Jamie said his goodbye to her but I never thought I’d lose her forever. I heard him promise her that he would make sure we were reunited someday and…” She shrugged one shoulder helplessly. “It was Jamie so I believed him. I told her…” Her chin quivered before her face disappeared behind her hands. “I told her it was only goodbye for now, not forever. I lied to her. I left her.” 

Since she’d arrived here, she’d kept her crying confined to her room at night, but here with Mrs. Graham, her resolve crumbled and a sob broke free. 

“Oh, my dear.” Claire was pulled rather gently by the shoulders and gathered against Mrs. Graham, who stroked her hair and murmured softly. 

“I’m her mother and I never said goodbye or told her again how much I loved her,” she cried. “The least I can do is find out what happened to her and‒ and make sure she isn’t forgotten. Maybe in some way, she’ll know. That I looked for her and that I loved her.”

“My poor dear,” Mrs. Graham murmured above her, seemingly at a loss for what else to say. Claire held her arms tight about her, the only physical comfort she’d known in days. 

“I know it’s hard now and I don’t pretend to know what ye’ve been through.” She gave Claire a small, fortifying squeeze. “But in time… I’m glad ye’ll have this bairn. It doesn’t mean ye won’t miss them, but ye won’t be alone. And ye’ll have a piece of them with ye. This new bairn won’t be exactly like yer Faith, nor will he or she replace her in yer heart, but ye’ll notice things about yer second born ‒ how she’s different from Faith, how she’s alike ‒ and that will keep Faith alive, too. Hold onto that, aye? When the days are hard, hold onto that.”   

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted in a choked whisper, and felt Mrs. Graham stiffen. 

“What do ye mean, dear?” 

She pulled away slightly, still sniffling, and Mrs. Graham held her hand, as if knowing she still needed a soothing touch. “I can’t‒” Claire shook her head slightly. “I can’t move on from them. I can’t stop looking until I know. But…” she breathed in deep and exhaled shakily. “I‒ I haven’t figured out what comes after that. I can’t think about the baby just yet. I wish…God, I wish everything else would just hold until I knew. That time would just hold for me.” 

Mrs. Graham smiled sadly and patted her hand, seeming to digest her words. “Ye don’t have to figure anything out just yet,” she said at last. 

“Thank you,” Claire murmured. “For everything.”      

  “Reverend?” 

Reggie Wakefield looked up from his letter to find Claire Randall before him with a small stack of his own books clutched to her chest. He made a sound of startled joy at the sight of her and motioned for her to join him at the table. “I haven’t seen anyone so interested in my collection in such a long time, Mrs. Randall. Does my heart good to see ye enjoying them.” 

In truth, he had spoken with Frank at length about her curious obsession, but as odd as it was, he wouldn’t dream of voicing any of those concerns to such a kindly and elusive woman as Claire Randall.  

“Have ye found everything ye needed, then?” 

“Actually, I…” She stopped herself suddenly and smiled politely at him, hesitant. “Well, first, thank you for being so kind to allow me to go through your collection. I did wonder if you had any other books that perhaps I hadn’t looked at yet.”

“Well…” He scratched at his jaw absentmindedly as he thought about it. “I believe I gave ye every book on the subject of the Battle of Culloden and its aftermath. The rest would focus on the earlier risings and what preceded the ‘45, ye ken.”  

“I see,” she said softly, sounding very sad to him. 

“But I’ll have another look, just to be sure. Perhaps I missed one or two books that could be of use to ye.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, full of relief, and a stunning smile followed shortly. She was an odd sort since she’d returned, but it was plain to see that she was hurting and even if he didn’t understand it, Reggie felt inclined to help the poor young woman however he could. There were rumors ‒ nasty rumors ‒ flying about town since she turned up last week, including scandalous speculation around her condition. He’d done what he could to put those to bed, to address his opinion on the matter by opening his home to the Randalls. And while he hadn’t a single clue as to her whereabouts for three years, the more time he spent with Mrs. Randall, the more indignant he grew over the gossip that swirled around her. It was all so uncalled for. 

He was so caught up in this reflection that he didn’t register what Mrs. Randall had said to him. “Sorry, my dear. What did you say?” 

Oddly, her face flushed and she looked as though she might not repeat it. But she surprised him by blurting out, “Did the British kill any children after Culloden?”

His brows reached his hairline and he struggled to answer.

“I know they showed little mercy to those who fought on the Jacobite side,” she added quickly. “But I’m wondering if there’s anything about how they would’ve treated family members of known Jacobites… like perhaps their children?” 

He drew in a slow breath and prepared his answer, but his gaze caught hers at the last moment, and he saw something there that stopped him in his tracks: a deep pain and desperate hope mingled together. “Why don’t I help you look into this, hmm? We can work on this together.”

She seemed taken aback by this offer at first, but smiled again. “Thank you, Reverend. That’s very kind of you.” She looked down, her fingers tracing the corner of one of the books. “Can I… can I actually ask for your help in trying to find someone who lived during that time?” 

“Oh, of course, of course,” he chuckled. That was something he could do for her. 

“I’ve been trying to find some record of her. Her name is‒ was…” She hesitated for a moment, needing to collect herself. Something about her reaction had his hairs standing on end. “Her name was Faith Fraser. She may have been called Faith Murray, if... well, I don’t know for sure if they would’ve raised her. Or…” She straightened suddenly. “Or if she married… I wouldn’t know her name at all.” She seemed to sink under the weight of this realization and Reggie took pity on her. 

“We’ll start with what you know,” he added kindly, patting her hand. “Even a marriage record should have her maiden name.” 

“Yes,” Claire said rather distantly. “Yes, good.” 

“Do you know whenabouts she would’ve been born?” He prodded gently, trying to engage her as a distant look had crossed her face since the mention of marriage. She drew in a deep breath and began to answer him.  

“May 12, 1744. She was born in Paris but her family moved back to Scotland before the end of the year. She lived on the family’s estate called Broch Turach for a time, though it was sometimes referred to as Lallybroch.”

“Yes, I know the one‒”

“Ownership of Lallybroch was changed over to her cousin, James Murray, dated in 1745, but his parents would’ve managed it until he came of age. That’s Ian and Janet Murray,” she rattled off easily. “The Murrays also‒” She swallowed roughly, struggling to get the rest of it out. “If her father died or was taken away, I believe the Murrays would’ve raised Faith. Her father was James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser and he was a known Jacobite...” She glanced out the window suddenly, focusing on the trio of birds flitting about a nearby tree. “He didn’t fight in Culloden, but he would’ve been near there at the time of the battle and I’d… well, I’d like to find out about both of them, you see, but James Fraser is quite a common name then and I’ve been struggling in my research to find him. I’m hoping if we can find Faith… we can find Jamie, too.” Mrs. Randall looked back suddenly to catch his curious gaze. “Is that enough to start?” 

“Oh. Oh, yes, my dear. That should do,” he said swiftly. “Tell me,” he began cautiously, measuring his next words. “Why are we looking into Faith Fraser? Who is she to you?” 

A strange expression crossed her face, making the well-intentioned Reverend regret his mere curiosity. 

“Who is she to me?” She echoed his question in a hoarse whisper. “She’s everything.” Her eyes were glistening with tears and he couldn’t begin to explain how odd this whole conversation was. “So I need everything that you can find about her and Jamie. Please.”

“Aye, Mrs. Randall. I’ll do my best.” He smiled weakly to ease the tension but she never caught his eye.  

Frank thought that with time, the Claire he once knew would return to him, even in just small glimmers. But days passed and she remained committed to the routine she’d developed here early on; she kept to herself, taking breakfast in her own room, and when she did appear in the sitting room or garden or the study, it was always still with those damn books. 

She pored over them constantly and prowled the bookshelves for titles she may have missed. She avoided conversations at meals, her eyes downcast at her plate, though the Reverend carried on cheerfully with him at every supper as if none of this was strange. 

Claire had taken Mrs. Graham into her confidence early on, sequestering the housekeeper into Claire’s room for hours that first day they arrived. Since then, she was the only person Claire really talked to. 

Until recently, at least. 

Somehow, Frank was on the outside from his own wife while Reverend Wakefield and Mrs. Graham ‒ two people who had been strangers to Claire a few years ago ‒ were brought into her circle of trust. 

Worst of all, the Reverend wouldn’t discuss with him what it was that he was working on with Claire, skirting his questions and assuring him it was only a little history project, not unlike their own when Frank had first visited him. 

 She wouldn’t even talk to him outside of pleasantries when they saw each other, and he was torn between wanting to wait for her to initiate, and wanting to look beyond this time at the Wakefield house and live their lives again.

Because whatever the hell was happening here, it wasn’t really living. 

“Claire?” He rapped lightly on her door and waited for a response. “It’s Frank.” 

After supper, he’d had a dram with Reggie, which had turned into two drams and then three, and now his head swirled a little even as he rested his forehead against the door jam. 

This was the antithesis of Reggie’s advice ‒ give her time, man, it hasn’t even been two weeks ‒ but his feet seemed to lead him to her door of their own volition. 

When he heard Claire’s soft “come in?”, his heart leapt to his throat and he hesitated. He wasn’t even sure what he meant to say to her; he only knew he wanted her to tell him something.  

He pushed in and found her in one of the two chairs by the fireplace in her room, and she was tucking loose sheets of paper into a book and setting it aside. For some reason, the fact that she was still studying up on Culloden into the night made him inexplicably annoyed. 

She looked up at him curiously, no doubt wondering why he was here.

Why was he here? 

He had composed this conversation so many times in his head over the last several days, wanting to initiate it more with each passing day… needing to know but also wanting to be delicate with this new Claire, as everyone had been telling him. And then there was some small part of him that didn’t want to know at all. 

But the whisky had loosened his tongue and he found himself blurting out the words without much tact to them at all. “Where the hell have you been, Claire?”

She felt her stomach drop at his question ‒ though really, she shouldn’t have been surprised. At some point, she would need to tell him, but the very thought of telling him the truth sent her heart rate skyrocketing. Mrs. Graham had been someone Claire could trust, but to almost anyone else, she knew her story sounded insane. If she hadn’t lived it herself, she might not have believed it to be true. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank said quickly when she froze, waving his arm a little too wildly. So he was tipsy, then… “I‒ I don’t want to pressure you to talk if you’re not ready. I‒”

“Have a seat, Frank.” 

He shuffled over to the chair opposite her and sat with folded hands in front of his face, elbows propped on his knees. “I really didn’t mean to… the truth is, Claire, I don’t care where you were or what happened. I’m just so relieved to have you back. But… I feel like there’s this wall between us now and I just want you back. I want our life back.” 

She breathed in slowly and dropped her gaze, a little ashamed that her own desire didn’t echo his. Maybe it would be better if he knew, even if he judged her. Even if he didn’t believe her. At least then there would be nothing to hide and she could accept whatever his feelings were once the truth was out in the open

“I’ll tell you,” she said softly. “I’ll tell you everything but please let me tell it all at once and have it over with before you ask any questions.” 

She slid her gaze back to his and found his expression to be unreadable, but he swallowed roughly and agreed. 

  She talked for hours, pausing every now and then to drink so her throat wouldn’t dry out, and when she finished, the sky outside her room was streaked with the first soft pink lines of daybreak. 

She had stuttered over the last moments of her time in 1746… of her goodbye with Jamie and waking up alone without Faith. 

While she talked, Frank kept his promise and only listened, sometimes in the chair with his gaze on the fire, which he tended to all through the night, and other times he paced the short length of her bedroom. He was pacing at the time that she finished her story and a heavy silence fell between them like the drop of a curtain. 

 Having said the words out loud again for the second time, Claire suddenly wished she could be alone, feeling the grief tsunami on the periphery, about to sweep through her again. God, she ached for them in a way she didn’t know was possible. 

But Frank was still in the room with her, quiet in a way that meant he was still sifting through his thoughts. At last, he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. 

“So that’s what you’ve been doing with your history books and Reverend Wakefield… You’ve been looking for him.” 

“And for Faith. For both of them, yes.” 

“What happens if you find a record of them?” 

“Then I’ll… I’ll know what happened to them.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Yes,” she said hotly. “I just want to know what happened to them.” 

“You won’t try to go back?” 

Oh. 

She breathed in sharply. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she lied, feeling the color rise to her cheeks. The whole point of this had been to tell him the truth. “I don’t know if I can travel again,” she added, which was the honest truth. “It’s… it’s hard to describe. But it feels like it takes something from you each time and the screaming‒” 

“Screaming?” Frank looked curious now, his interest in this unknown finally piqued. 

But the remembrance of it had a shiver running through Claire. “I can hear the voices of those who haven’t made it through and were lost to the stones.” Even with all that they’d talked about overnight, that statement might have been the strangest thing she’d uttered yet. 

His expression turned equal parts horrified and fascinated and then faded all together with a short nod of his head. “Hmm,” was all he had to say to that. He strode over to his chair and seated himself across from her. She got the distinct impression that he was entertained by the idea but wouldn’t put any stock in what she had just described. 

“And what if… you don’t find any record of them?” He asked carefully. 

“Are you asking that because you don’t believe any of this or because‒”

“Claire, I’m asking…” He cut her off and then took a deep breath, choosing his next words. “I’m asking because someone needs to. You spend every waking moment with your head bent over one of these books or writing your notes or discussing with the Reverend where to look next. How long will you keep going if nothing turns up? How long will you make me wait before we can actually start our life together again?” He had started off cool and collected, but had turned frantic with his pleading by the end. “I just got you back,” he added. “Have you any idea what it’s been like for me, Claire? Having you ripped away without a trace and never knowing what happened to you? And all the while, everyone was telling me that you’d up and run off with another man!” 

Stunned by his outburst, it took her a moment to speak. “I’m sorry, Frank. Truly. I didn’t intend for it to happen and I wish there was some way I could’ve told you I was alright while I was gone. That I was safe.”

“But you didn’t wish to come back to me,” he said bitterly. It was petty, even for Frank, but neither of them had slept yet, she reminded herself. 

“I had a child.” She was patient but unapologetic in pointing that out. Frank wouldn’t meet her eye. “I had a whole family with Jamie. And Jamie was‒”

The love of my life.

She swallowed back those words. There were other ways to phrase it, especially considering her audience. “I loved him very much. I didn’t plan for it and I’m sorry for the ways this has hurt you, Frank, but I can’t change what happened.” 

“But you are here now, Claire, and you’re with me.” He finally met her gaze again. “And I’m grateful for that. For a second chance. I only worry for you with how… how consumed you are with this.”

“Well, at what point did you stop looking for me, Frank? What’s the magical number of days before it’s acceptable to move on?” 

He recoiled as if she’d slapped him in the face, and she felt a small pang of regret for those words. Somehow, he still possessed the ability to provoke something juvenile in the way she responded to him, and she hated that. “I never‒ Claire, that was different, and I never stopped hoping you would return! But I did have to go back to work at some point, and in your case… Christ, you never talk about the baby but it will be here in a matter of months so perhaps we should start.”

The mention of the baby struck a nerve that lately everyone had been poking and prodding ‒ as if this baby existed on its own. As if it wasn’t made by her and Jamie on a cold February night, seeking warmth and solace in each other. And for Claire, any thought of the baby came with thoughts of her first baby. They couldn’t exist separately in her mind. “Until you know what it’s like to bring a child into this world and have her quite literally ripped from your arms, you don’t get to tell me when to stop looking. Faith is this baby’s sister and that doesn’t go away when the baby is born.”

To his credit, Frank looked properly chastised by her words. “Claire,” he began softly and then took her hand gently between his own. “I only mean to say that you might never find them, and I worry what that will do to you if you keep at this pace of searching. And what will you do when the baby is here? Drag him along to the library with you?”

“I’m not sure that’s any of your concern,” she snapped.

His hold on her hand tightened. “Not any of my concern,” he scoffed quietly. “No, why would that concern me? You’re only my wife.” 

She leaned back from him, pulling her hand free with her, but was startled to see tears in his eyes accompanying the bite of his voice. 

“Do you even believe me about any of this?” 

“Does it matter if I do?” He countered. “You’re back with me now and‒” 

“Yes, and pregnant with Jamie’s child.”

“I know. But he isn’t here with you, is he?” If he was intending to hurt her, his words hit their mark. “And besides, I… Look, I know this child isn’t mine, but I want to raise it with you.” 

“You do?” 

“Yes.” He was more adamant than she expected. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since you’ve come back and that’s all I want for us now ‒ to raise a family together.”  

She tried to picture it, this life he was so insistent that he wanted with her. How would Frank handle a baby? How would he handle teething and sleepless nights and‒ 

Instead, what flooded her mind were the images and memories of her life before: Jamie taking turns with her on the rough nights with Faith. Carrying her in the crook of one elbow as he strolled about the grounds of Lallybroch with Ian. Telling her stories at night, during the long winter months and well before she could even comprehend what he was saying. She was enraptured with his voice, though. Claire remembered that so clearly, how Faith would stare up at him while he talked, studying his face with keen interest and cooing softly every now and then. Jamie would pause at every sound she made and smile, making up some interpretation of her noises to add Faith’s opinion of the story. Och, aye, ye’re right. Wasna verra nice, was it? 

She fell more in love with Jamie, seeing him as a father ‒ a role he was born for and something so integral to who he was at his core. 

Could she… have that with Frank? Could she just raise a child with him, all the while being haunted by the memories of Jamie and Faith at every turn? Would Frank even love a child that wasn’t his, after years of insisting he couldn’t? 

To her horror, tears spilled down her cheeks and she wiped at them furiously. “I think it’s too soon to have this conversation. I’m‒ I’m sorry.”

He let out a resigned sigh, as if he expected this, and stood. “Get some rest. We’ll talk more about this another time.” He made for the door and paused, giving her one more look back. “And Claire?” She met his gaze, hoping the fresh wave of grief wasn’t too plainly obvious on her face. “At some point ‒ and soon ‒ you have to start living again.” 

The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed hollowly through the room, and his last words to her hung in the stale air. 

Her hand found its way to her belly, which felt slightly curved now under her palm. For weeks, she’d been living with the knowledge of this baby’s existence but hadn’t allowed herself to think beyond what would happen when it was born ‒ not in the way that she had when she carried Faith and couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to hold her child.

She hadn’t had a thought like that once yet with this baby and the guilt wormed its way in amongst the myriad of emotions she was drowning in. 

“I do love you,” she found herself whispering. “And I promise I will take care of you.” She felt a little silly, talking to the baby… but who else could she share her thoughts with? “It feels like my heart is missing, and I just need a little more time to get used to that. And we have that, don’t we? Despite what everyone wants to tell me, I understand time better than most. When you arrive, I’ll be ready for you. And I’ll love you enough for me and Jamie both.”