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straighttohellbuddy · 3 years ago

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but you're talking in your sleep {Wilbur Soot} // 2

two. and she told me that she fucking hates you

Summary: Two years ago, you'd met Will Gold in a pub shortly after moving to London, and had a six-week fling with him, but ended up falling out of contact when it turned out your ex-boyfriend moved to try and make things work... But now you're back in contact, back to being friends, and have made arrangements to finally hang out face to face. And any latent, traitorous feelings Wilbur may or may not have aren't anything he wants to bother you with.

Need to Know: She/Her, implied early 20s, Sister-Innit!Reader. it is never stated or even implied whether Tommy & the reader are related by blood or otherwise, so that's up to you, and while there are mentions of reader celebrating christmas, it's more because Tommy's family celebrates it. reader is said to be studying literature at university. please heed the warnings.

A/N: 11,707 words. unedited as all fuck, i have so much love in my heart for this part, but please heed the warnings. PLEASE Tell me how you're liking it so far!! :)

Warnings: recreational drinking, implied emotional & verbal manipulation/abuse, emotional & physical cheating, heavily implied intimacy but never explicit.

{ masterpost : 2 / 3 }

{ p l a y l i s t }

Taglist: @marvelsmurphy @automaticcomputerpaper @kattenprinsen @parkerpeanuts @bumblebea-xo @lovehatewhateveritis @rainyaheysoe @tcphat @smol-flower-kiddo @pogface @luluwinchester @captainpuffyrp @dreamerwasfound @pepe-lepe @njhrecord @auralol @moonlightaura03 @the-friendly-ghostwrite @blaisey-bee @kingudon @friendwasfound @ahsteriawrites @eeyore-onthefloor @30-minutes-into-the-future @rexgoesrawrrrrrr @arielting @laneunderwave @axeofwars @hoezeeor @lightninginab0ttle @irwinkitten @gyneve @stoop18 @franaby @ozdramaqueen @moriiartist @ticcisimon @randokku

Taglist is always open!!

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In less than a week, after only a few texts to confirm times and [just stay with me I have a couch] sent without hesitation after you’d asked for hotel recommendations, and now he’s been sitting in his car for twenty minutes at the train station, kicking himself for being so early. Berating himself is easier than dealing with his nerves, so he turns up his music and texts you while waiting for your train to pull into the station.

Your texts are vibrant and excited since you’d gotten on the train, in a way they hadn’t been in the few days lead up to your trip, but he doesn’t think much of it, too busy trying to convince himself that he’s got his nerves under control. Really he’s doing quite a good job, right up until you message that the next stop’s Brighton, in all capitals. He tells you he’s going to wait inside the terminal, and when you send [SEE YOU SOON!!!!!] he’s left alone with his music and his thoughts and his goddamn erratic heartbeat.

There’s a moment of terror, amidst the lively crush of people inside the terminal near peak hour, that someone might recognise him. It’s kind of the nightmare scenario; neither you nor he needed that right now, and he hadn’t even brought some sort of hat or glasses. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear to be a problem, however, as he makes it to the exit for your train’s platform with little stress.

And your smile is even brighter than he’d imagined it would be.

Like something ripped straight out of a movie, you stop at the top of the platform’s steps you’d just ascended, the other passengers parting in streams left and right behind you, continuing on their way, but giving you this moment. You seem to pick him out of the crowd instantly, meeting his gaze with a hundred-watt smile. Though you’re too far away to hear, but he can read it on your lips when you say his name, like a confirmation.

The moment only last a seconds and then you’re both moving, stepping forward to meet in the middle, and you don’t even hesitate to wrap him up in a hug. There’s relief and warmth as you fist your hands in his sweater, as your shoulders relax with your breathless laugh.

“It’s so good to see you!” You tell him, stepping back holding him at arm’s length for a moment as you look him over.

“It’s been –“ a long time coming, something we both seem to need, something I didn’t realise I’d been waiting two years for, “too long; good to have you here,” he tells you, simply letting himself enjoy this moment. For a beat, you seem like you’re about to say something else, but when you see the way he’s grinning, matching your energy, he thinks he can see your breath catch. Wishful thinking? Maybe, but you look up to the roof, then around, step back, bouncing on the balls of your feet as your next words are something of an excited, only half coherent babble.

It's endearing, but Wilbur has just realised how absolutely stupid and terrible this idea was.

You’re Tommy’s sister.

You’re in a relationship.

You and he had a fling for six weeks, two years ago.

So it’s easy to tell himself when you’re in another city, that he doesn’t have feelings for you. Again… But he can only delude himself for so long when you’re by his side.

Offering your arm, you ask him if there’s any restaurants he’d recommend.

“What?” Surfacing from his thoughts, he tries and fails to process what you’d asked. He loops his arm through yours, and thankfully, you don’t seem to think much of his momentary lapse, apart from it being amusing.

“I’m bloody starving,” you reiterate, and he takes the hint, leading you both to the exit closest to his car, “and I’d be happy to get junk I’m familiar with, but if you had any recommendations for not-junk restaurants,” you laugh a little at your own phrasing, “I’d love to hear them.”

He takes you to a hole-in-the-wall, family-run restaurant a block from his apartment, and you buy him dinner as thanks. In some strange way, it’s as if you’ve picked up right from where you’d left, just as easy to talk to as he remembered, just as earnest. You hum along to the songs on his playlist and compliment his taste in music and seem genuinely excited and interested when you ask if he’s been working on anything recently.

For a moment, he’s quiet, expression twisting as his mind flashes to the lyrics he’s been trying to grasp for the melody he keeps humming to distract himself whenever his mind remembers you’re wilfully dating a guy your brother hates. It’s petty, and one of the things the two of you don’t talk about, so he keeps that to himself. Instead, he talks about another song on the EP he’s been working on. The light in your eyes as you listen to him talk about his music – he’d forgotten how you could make him feel elated simply by listening to him. It makes him want to work on the EP, just so he can have something to show you.

At his door, however, you grow quiet, one hand reaching up to grasp at your backpack strap as you watch him unlock his door. As he turns, tries to ask if everything’s alright, you’re already thanking him for giving you a place to stay. His voice dies in his throat, and all he can do is give a smile.

“Of course,” he offers, “any time.” He’s not sure if he was meant to see the relief in your eyes as he turns back to open the door.

In his flat, you sit tentatively on the sofa, graciously accepting his offer of a drink as he heads to his kitchen. Still, you’re quieter than you were earlier. When he comes back with your drink of choice, you’re surprised for a moment. He puts his own drink on the coffee table and picks up the TV remote, anticipating your question.

“We spent a lot of time in pubs together,” he points out, not looking at you as he tries to pick a streaming service, “least I could do is remember your favourite drink.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you duck your head quickly.

“And you call me a simp,” you mutter, but your tone betrays just how touched you are that he’d remembered. He feels justified in the smug smile he wears as he asks if there’s anything you want to watch.

The night grows late as the mood grows warm and comfortable, both you and Wilbur tipsy watching trashy movies and making up drinking games with vaguely incomprehensible rules, and you ask if you can send a photo of him to Tommy. Of course he agrees with delight. For a moment, you deliberate, squinting at your screen with your camera pointed at him, before you gesture for him to move closer to you.

“I gotta be in the photo,” you tell him, as seriously as you can manage. Wilbur, seeing no flaw in that logic, shifts to sit beside you, throwing his arm around your shoulders. Both of you are positively beaming, your head on his shoulder, his cheek against your head, a little blurry from your unsteady hands. You caption it [our friend tall will ☭] and send it without a second thought.

Until, a moment later, Wilbur’s phone starts vibrating.

“It’s a discord call from Tommy,” he says with a half-giggle, and you smack your hand to your mouth, before you scramble to mute the TV, and the movie you’d stopped caring about before it had even started.

“Tommy, hello, you’re calling at a strange hour,” Wilbur tries and fails to sound sober, missing the mark atrociously.

“I’m streaming,” comes Tommy’s response. You double over, dropping the remote and pressing your other hand to your mouth in an attempt to keep quiet. Wilbur’s free hand gently rests on your back as he can’t help his own mischievous grin.

“Am I on speaker? Hello, Tommy’s stream!”

“Are you drunk?” Tommy asks, faintly disbelieving.

“I’m not sober,” is how Wilbur chooses to phrase it.

“’s very late,” you stage whisper, straightening up again, looking from the phone to Wilbur, unable to fight off your smile, “why’s he still streaming –?“

“Wilbur!” Tommy, insistent this time, interrupts you.

“Tombles go to sleep, it’s a school night,” you say, louder this time, and Wilbur breaks, laughing loud and bright.

“Hey, Mother Innit’s fully aware I’m still up and streaming, take it up with her,” Tommy counters, before seemingly remembering the situation at hand, “and Sister -” he says pointedly, only to be interrupted by Wilbur.

“Ooh~ listen to that tone, you’re in trouble!” He teases, and your delighted, mischievous laughter rings out loud in the little apartment. After a moment, however, your own phone buzzes with a text from Tommy [glad you arrived safe]; on the phone, however, he clears his throat.

“Yeah, she’s in trouble! She’s stealing my friends! I don’t think I like you and Wilbur being friends anymore –“

“You don’t have the authority to revoke my Wilbur privileges,” you take the phone from Wilbur, nose in the air, while he’s wheezing with laughter beside you, “I’m revoking your Wilbur privileges!”

“You can’t do that!” Tommy spluttered.

“I just did!” You crowed, triumphant, “be nice or I’ll revoke your Tubbo privileges too.”

“You wouldn’t dare –“

“It’s part of my master plan, Tombles,” you tell him, spouting absolute bullshit with ease, “next stop; America. You got to hang out with Dream’s sister, so me, your sister, will hang out with Dream,” you squinted for a moment, considering, before you amended, “that’s a threat.”

“Can you believe this, chat?” Tommy gasped gently, playing the victim.

“Where is all this coming from?” Wilbur says, confused and delighted by your sudden conviction and apparent foresight.

“’s the Cain Instinct,” you said with an air of fondness, before settling back against the sofa, leaning your head against Wilbur’s shoulder, “you can retain Wilbur privileges because I love you,” you tell your brother, “and he’s a good sort –“

“’Okay bet’ says Dream!” Squawks Tommy in mock horror, setting off both yourself and Wilbur all over again, “Christ, man- Dream’s trying to call me-“ as soon as Tommy announced that, both you and Wilbur excited requested that Dream be added to the call, much to Tommy’s exasperation. However, once he’d conceded, you realised –

“I feel like I shouldn’t meet Dream for the first time while I’m drunk,” you stage whispered to Wilbur.

“That’s how we met,” Wilbur points out, which only serves to confuse you.

“You and Dream?”

“You and me,” and as he says it, you finally understand what he’s saying, your initial worry already forgotten. For a moment, you’re giggling as you look at him, and he’s ninety percent sure you’re remembering how the two of you had met –

“This is great –“ you hadn’t even heard Dream join the call, but the moment he does, your laughter stops, eyes going wide, “- I’m so okay with us becoming friends to spite Tommy, that’s funny as fuck.”

“Dream you can’t bully me on my own stream,” you knew from Tommy’s tone alone that he was rolling his eyes, but smiling gently. Despite Dream lazily offering to start streaming, delighted that it again would be out of spite, Wilbur watched you with concern as you levelled an intense gaze at his phone.

“You okay?” He asks quietly, and you lean closer to his phone.

“Dream Minecraft-YouTube, I’m so drunk, I’m so sorry,” you whisper with great concern, and the tension breaks as everyone else on the call bursts out laughing. But then you gasp sharply, “oh fuck, Tommy’s live! I’m live! Oh no, I promise I’m less drunk usually, Tommy’s chat! This is a joke, mostly, I love Tombles very much, but also if I haven’t embarrassed myself too much I would actually like to be friends with Tommy’s cool streaming friends; Dream –“ you say suddenly, taking a deep breath, squeezing your eyes closed as you tried to focus, “Dream I mean you, you seem very cool.”

“Hey, what about me?” Wilbur asked, still grinning, before Dream even had a chance to respond.

“Unfortunately we are already best friends,” you told him without missing a beat, taking the phone from him and leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees.

And you continue to chat with your brother and Dream, but something about what you’d said had overwhelmed Wilbur’s heart, and as you lean forward to chatter away, he half drapes himself on you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his face against your shoulder blade. The moment, illuminated only by the light of the muted TV and the street lights out the window, fills him with an indescribable contentment. Did you used to fit so easily into the space by his side?

When the call is long forgotten, and the hour has gotten unreasonably late, and he realises you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, he thinks about how easy you are to love. Tomorrow-Wilbur can regret that sentiment, but for now he’ll stand by it, especially since the moment he goes to move, you wrap an arm around him. Carefully, well as carefully as he can manage, he frees himself, gently insisting that you stretch out properly on the sofa. He’s gone for all of two minutes, getting you a blanket and a glass of water, but you’re clutching one of the sofa pillows beneath your head, curled up, by the time he’s back.

“Thanks Will,” you mumble with a contented little smile as he drapes the blanket over him, which, okay, a little spooky considering he thought you were properly asleep. What’s more terrifying, however, are the two words you manage next; “love you,” which you follow with a gentle sigh, as if you hadn’t just uttered two of the most confusing words in the English language.

The rest of his night is spent staring at his ceiling, the silence of the flat as deafening externally as the racket of his conflict was internally. It’s nothing, he’s sure it’s absolutely nothing; he tells his friends that he loves them all the time, it’s not like he’s pinning for any of them. You’d been travelling and drunk and tired and it had been a nice night, a perfectly platonic declaration mumble of love wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

But, his traitorous mind sees fit to remind him, this isn’t actually the first time something like this had happened. Last time, he’d kept it to himself, and you’d ended up with Mark, so he thought he’d made the right call. Maybe it was a coincidence, but –

“Okay, what are the most important things I should know about London?” You’re half giggling in the dim, golden light of the pub. The cover band that’s been playing is between sets, but you’re still leaning across the table the way you’d been just so he could hear you earlier, “apart from the location of the most underappreciated flat in a ten kilometre radius.”

“I never said underappreciated,” Wilbur can feel himself flush, but is doing a very good job of keeping his somewhat aloof demeanour intact, “I said I think a girl like you would appreciate the contents of the flat as much as you’d appreciate any other tourist trap –“

“So your flat’s a tourist trap?” Your smile is sharp and teasing, but there’s nothing malicious in it. He takes the bait happily, playing along.

“It has its moments,” he says loftily, “we’ve been known to host a party or two, but no-one’s thought to leave a review on Trip Advisor, so it’s still trendy. No lines.” For a moment, his expression wrinkles as he thinks about what he’s saying, but you seem thoroughly pleased by the bit.

“Nothing on Yelp?”

“I haven’t checked recently, but if you’d like to, be my guest,” he answers without even really thinking, though when he does, he’s fighting back a smile, “still got my fingers crossed for a good Google Review soon.”

“Is it like an Uber driver asking you to rate them five stars at the end of a trip?” You asked, light dancing in your eyes, “’broke my phone but that’s on me; would get smashed here again, five stars’?”

“Absolutely; we’re wonderful hosts, of course we’d get five stars,” he says with absolute confidence. For a moment, his words hang amid the warm, golden air. Looking to you, he’s surprised by the way you’re regarding him, watching him with quiet delight, or perhaps even amusement, completely comfortable in this moment.

“Well then now I have to go there,” you say softly, sounding almost nervous and trying to hide it behind your amusement, “see for myself if the hype is worth it.”

Wilbur, who’d been caught up in enjoying the convoluted joke, and had momentarily forgotten that he had been rather boldly hitting on you, had not expected that to work. The band was making their way back to the stage, he’d almost finished his pint, and your whole demeanour has turned electric despite you not moving a muscle.

There’s the click, hum of the amp being turned back on, and the patter of drumsticks as the band gets themselves back into gear, and the sigh you give is so carefully casual as you tilt your head to watch them. Remarking that they’re good, you follow it with an offhand mention that you’d be happy to head out at any point. No rush, but all anticipation.

And in the cool night air, he finds himself going back to your earlier question, half-jokingly asking what the most important thing would be to know about you.

“It’s not the most important in general,” you start with a sly little smile, “it’s not really important in any other situation.” He makes a noise of confused intrigue, not quite sure where this could be going, but you wet your lips as you look at him properly, meeting his gaze with an expression that could only be described as coy, “I talk in my sleep.”

The morning light is infiltrating his room through the cracks of his blinds as he desperately wished he could remember your first meeting with less clarity. But alas, it’s all he can think of until he finally manages to shut his mind up enough to sleep.

Of course when he wakes around eleven, not only does he regret getting to sleep so late, but is worried for a moment that you’d been stuck waiting for him for hours.

Which, while technically you had, you hadn’t seemed to mind. You’d spent the morning catching up with his flatmates, well the one who’d accompanied him to Brighton who’d been overjoyed to see you again, and the others who were more than happy to meet you and help you nurse your hang over. They’d given you a towel so you could shower, and you’d helped cooked breakfast, and he’s spilling from his room, all pyjamas and apologies, but you’re sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, looking up from your phone.

There’s that smile again, the one you’d worn yesterday at the train station when you’d first spotted him, just as bright to see him for the first time, mid-morning in his apartment. It’s like just being around him brightens you up; he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that. He’s not sure he wants to. His panic eases. He takes a moment. You ask if he wants tea, and then, with a smile, to remind you how he likes his tea.

He's still half waking up so you're more than happy to lead the conversation, the fallout from the call with Tommy and Dream, looking back on your own antics with faint embarrassment, thankfully, rather than regret.

"It could have been so much worse," you laugh lightly, "my saving grace is that Mark doesn't watch Tommy's streams," you don't leave time for him to even properly process that thought before you're fondly rolling your eyes at your brother's antics. Tommy's still trying to talk you into getting Twitter, but he's been trying for months now.

A moment comes as the two of you are weaving around the kitchen, chattering away about plans for the afternoon, your asides asking about where the tea and sugar are kept not even breaking the flow, it feels familiar in a way he knows it shouldn’t. But then he goes to reach for a cupboard just above your head as you’re adding sugar, part of him knowing that he should ask you to watch out but it’s muscle memory, faster than he can process, and you’re in the middle of speaking -

You’ve ducked, anticipating him, without even missing a beat, or a falter in your words.

He’s still moving on autopilot, searching for the marmalade, and you weave around him, heading to the fridge to get milk. Physically, he’s making himself toast, mentally, he’s beating the part of himself that’s a hopeless romantic with a broomstick as it’s desperately trying to ascribe meaning when there probably isn’t any. Except once you’ve finished with the milk he takes the carton without even thinking, putting it back while he’s enthusing about the unique nature of the DreamSMP as a storytelling device, and you take the marmalade he’d just capped and was about to put back, putting it in the cupboard above you, and somewhere in the back of his mind, the words Drift Compatible light up in neon.

It's almost midday and you’re in his kitchen, dissecting the story he’s now largely responsible for, with the same enthusiasm and detail as you do any of the other literary classics you’d dedicated your life to. There’s a light in your eyes that’s captivating as you scrutinise the story with delight, lavishing praise on he and his friends, and the world they’d helped build. It’s a dialogue, he’s swept up in it, matching your enthusiasm as he adds nuance and clarification, right up until –

“- in the end, I think my main thought is,” you took a long sip of your tea, unable to meet his gaze; when you put your cup down there’s a smile twitching at the edge of your lips, “this Breaking Bad roleplay got really out of hand.”

“But for a Hamilton role play…?” He prompts, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, very on brand;” you assured him with mock seriousness, “exactly what American founding father Alexander Hamilton would want for his legacy in the modern day,” you nodded adamantly, and Wilbur sat tall, throwing out his arms in triumph.

“See, you get me, thank you,” he announced, barking a heaty laugh as if relieved to finally have someone seeing his perspective. It dissolves into laughter for you both, before lapsing into comfortable silence.

The few days that you’re here seem to fly by, a blur of joy and easy companionship. You’re less impulsive than he remembers, but there’s still a glint in your eye when you spot a tree with sturdy branches, or look longingly at a high-rise, like you’d still quietly like to lie on the roof and gaze at the sky. On the second night of your stay, he’d woken at three in the morning to get himself a glass of water, and you’d sat bolt upright on the sofa, scaring him half to death, telling him seriously that his flat was ‘sturdy and safe’ as if it was of vital importance. So yes, you still talked in your sleep it seemed. It alleviated some of his worry about the previous night.

Friday, your third day in Brighton, he had intended to stream, but was fully prepared to take a rain check, but you get all wide-eyed, and tell him not to put things off on your behalf. Which is how you both end up in his office, with him on camera, and you sitting on the floor a few feet away, your back against the wall, assuring him that you don’t want to be seen.

“I feel like Tommy told me you wanted to do YouTube too,” he says, browsing through his Twitter for some last minute suggestions for games to play. He hadn’t exactly anticipated doing this stream at all, so it was going to be rather off-the-cuff. You respond with a faint, nondescript huff. Looking over his shoulder, you’re frowning slightly as you look down at your phone.

“Yeah, I-“ you say, distractedly, before you look up and fully process what he’d said, “yeah, I mean, doesn’t everyone our age,” you say, faintly dismissive, expression drawn as you hold your phone close to your chest. Pressing your back flatter against the wall, you crane your neck up to look at his set up.

“I mean, I guess,” he shrugs a little awkwardly, “but I feel like he wouldn’t have mentioned it if there wasn’t, like intent, like he mentioned you wanting to still be a professor.” Your nose wrinkles just a little at that.

“He’s probably remembering me talking about that when I was younger,” though your tone is a little uneasy for reasons Wilbur can’t quite place, you give a small smile, “I think I’m just trying to focus on something realistic and stable for myself now. Even a uni professor needs a Masters; high school teacher only needs a Bachelor,” but you still can’t meet his gaze, “’d you think I’d be good at it?”

“At what?” There’s several different options there, and he’s not quite sure which would matter to you most.

“The high school teacher thing,” finally, you looked back at him, smile widening, mood lifting. He considers for a long moment, leaning back in his desk chair, looking back until he’s gazing at the roof as he makes thoughtful noises.

“I thought you were set on being a uni professor,” he says carefully, dropping his cheek to his shoulder to look at you, expression carefully neutral. You tried to shrug casually, but your shoulders were tense.

“Just answer the question,” you rolled your eyes, trying to hide your sudden discomfort behind your fond tone, “me, attempting to teach high schoolers literary analysis; you think I’m up to it?”

“If it’s the kind of thing you want to do, yeah,” he says with a half-smile, “I’ve heard you talk about the books I hated in high school; if you’d been my teacher I probably wouldn’t have hated them half as much.” His smile stretches wide and as innocent as he can manage as your eyes narrow, trying to decipher exactly what he means by that. But the answer was satisfactory enough for you that you let it drop, changing the subject as you ask what he’ll be playing.

He refers to you as ‘the cryptid crashing on my couch’ smiling bright as the sun as he does so, identifying you early as to not confuse his audience if he talks to you during the stream. He asks again, a final time, if you’d like to join him, that you were more than welcome to. All his audience sees is your hand, holding out your phone to him where you’ve written out ‘only if you distort my voice and blur my face like im in witness protection’. At that, he barks a laugh, and reads your statement to his audience. That’s how you’re known for the rest of the stream, as the hand that pops up whenever you have an aside you think is pertinent to add.

Every other question chat asks is demanding to know who you are. Whenever Wilbur mentions it but keeps his mouth shut on the truth, his gaze flicks to you, because he knows you’ll be smiling. One of his off-hand jokes, however, has you making a noise in the back of your throat which draws his attention. When he looks back at you, there’s something amusing in your eyes, mouth pressed into a thin, frustrated line. Your nose wrinkles, further showing off your frustration at your own self-imposed silence, when you meet his gaze. Of course he knows why; he’d made a blatantly wrong statement with far more confidence than the statement warranted. It was exactly the kind of bullshit you couldn’t help but play along with.

“If you’ve got something to say,” insufferably smug, he watches you puff out your cheeks. Averting your gaze, you flip him off, hand in frame for the camera to see, “sook,” he teases, “just say what’s on your mind.” For a moment, your mouth drops open as if you’re about to say something, to call his bluff, but your gaze flicks to his webcam.

What’s on my mind, you mouth pointedly when you look back to him; something about your expression has turned bashful for reasons he can’t quite fathom. You glance quickly at the camera again before shaking your head, you wish, you mouth, but can’t quite look him in the eye. There’s a serious moment where he considers ending the stream, because this feels like it could be a moment, a chance. He’s a hypocrite, he can’t begin to say what’s on his mind, won’t give himself the chance, getting back to his stream after another brief moment and a deep breath.

By the time the stream ends, chat is eighty percent sure it’s a fellow YouTuber trying to keep a low profile, but Wilbur simply shrugs, stretching back in his chair with a Cheshire-esque smile.

“There’s only seven billion people in the world, eventually one of you’ll guess right,” his smile is toothy, and you’re grinning at him, watching him finish up his stream with your knees drawn up to your chest. After it ends, there’s sincerity in your voice as the two of you head to the pub to meet up with his housemates for drinks.

Just as you had with Wilbur, your friendship with the housemate you remember had picked up as if there wasn’t a two year break in the middle, and the others were bantering with you as if they’d known you just as long. You match them all drink for drink, playing along with stupid jokes and shenanigans. As the night continues and you slide gracefully from tipsy to drunk, you begin to hum to yourself between thoughts and words without even being aware of it. It’s familiar, but you’re not humming consistently enough for Wilbur to pick it.

There’s more flashes of who you used to be, impulsive ideas and an inherent need to climb anything and everything as the pack of you head back to the flat in the early hours of the morning. Wilbur’s perception of the world is blurry in it’s own right, and he barely has enough forethought to keep you from attempting to climb a street-sign like Mulan with your jacket that you’d just shed. He grabs your hand while you’re eyeing up the pole, tugging you along to keep up with the others, and you seem to be deciding whether or not to be put out by it, but when you look down to see him still holding your hand, you grin. Giving a little skip, you behave for the final block to the flat, humming louder now, chattering away whenever you felt your input was required.

You all make it about an hour through the first Lord of the Rings movie, and the terrible, convoluted drinking game you’d made up, before one of his housemates is throwing up, and you all decide to retire for the night instead of trying to keep going; you’d have tomorrow night as well. Like long forgotten habit, when Wilbur stands and stretches out, he offers you his hand, and you take it.

“Don’t have to call this time,” you giggle, sitting on the edge of his bed as he comes back from getting two glasses of water.

“Call?” He puts the glasses on his bedside table, and when he looks at you, déjà vu hits like a truck.

“Like that song,” and you hum the same melody you’ve been humming all night; he recognises it now, “I think they were playing it in the pub,” Wilbur’s pretty sure he would have remembered if they’d played Do I Wanna Know? at the pub; he would be humming it too.

“Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few, ‘cos I always do~” your memory of the melody is a bit all over the place, but you’re grinning widely, “to see if you’re real,” you explain, then look around, “I can’t believe I keep asking that,” you laughed, “you’re so patient, dude, I can’t believe you keep indulging me, or, well, that’s not the right word but you know what I mean,” you give a gentle, endeared sigh, focus back on him, on where he’s watching you, still wearing his jacket and shoes.

“’s kind of funny, kind of a self fulfilling prophecy,” you say after a moment.

“What is?” He’s afraid of moving, of breaking this moment, the moment he thought he’d never get to experience again.

“The song,” smile widening, you lean back languidly, looking at his roof, “there’s this tune I’ve found that makes me think of you somehow~”

“And you play it on repeat?” Wilbur can’t help but smile in response.

“And I play it on repeat,” you echo quietly, grinning, hands behind your head, “of course you’re real,” you muse with an adoring sigh, “I could never imagine you.”

“Being around you again has kind of made me feel more real than I have in a while,” he finds himself saying, pulling off his shoes. He’s desperately, internally trying to convince himself to not do what he knows he’s going to do. But you agree with the sentiment, and he has to pretend like the rest of the song isn’t playing in his head, chipping away at his reservations bit by bit. You say it’s all felt very familiar as you’re pushing yourself back up to a sitting position, head tilted just a little as you watch him. There’s something in your eyes that’s dangerous and enticing; he’s doomed. Pulling off his jacket, he finds himself unable to look at you despite the way he's steeling his nerves, “would you forgive me for being selfish for a moment?”

“Depends,” your voice is a murmur, something unidentifiable in your tone. When you stand, he catches the movement out of the corner of his eyes, “depending on what you mean,” you give the faintest huff of laughter, “I might even encourage it.”

“Encourage it,” he echoes softly, and your smile turns to something coy. Anything he’d wanted to say is lost in that moment, and he crosses the space to you, taking your face in his hands. For a moment, he pauses, gaze searching yours. It’s time enough for you to break away, to back out.

“Familiar?” He murmurs with the faintest smile, trying to memorise the way you’re looking at him, almost starry-eyed, voice catching in your throat.

“Wil, please -” suddenly breathless, you’re almost pleading and it’s all the encouragement he needs, crashing his lips to yours. It’s sweet triumph, just a kiss for all of three seconds before he finds his arms winding around your neck, pulling you closer, pulling a pleased noise from you as you deepen the kiss to something messy and insistent.

All his hesitations and reservations and doubts are quickly disappearing, just as the back of your legs hit his bedframe and the moment break as you both find yourself falling; Wilbur catches himself before he lands directly on top of you. In the few seconds that follow, shock reads on both of your faces like a neon sign, as he’s braced over you, blinking rapidly. You recover first, beaming as laughter erupts from you. Of course he’d almost accidentally body slam you when he finally gets to kiss you again. Groaning with faux embarrassment, he flops onto the bed beside you, unable to keep his own laughter in as he hears yours.

“Pretty familiar,” you giggled, looking up at the ceiling as your laughter died down.

“Would another reminder help?” Looking to you, he reaches out to trace his fingertips along your jaw, and you lean into his touch for a moment before giving your coy but enthusiastic response.

Making out with you in his bed after a night at the pub turns out to still be one of his favourite experiences, all he needed really was a reminder. Both of you agree it wouldn’t be right to go any further in your current, drunken states, but considering he hadn’t expected any of this, he’s thrilled as you kiss down the column of his throat. Your nails are a welcome sting, and the noises that escape your with each gentle bite he gives is like music to his ears.

The guilt, however, starts to settle in when you both agree to try and get some sleep. Which is… difficult. If he falls asleep, the night ends, and you’re a day closer to leaving, to going back home to your boyfriend. Neither of you is innocent in this, but something about the idea of knowingly, deliberately, being a side-piece curdles and sours in his chest. You’re laying on your side, while he’s looking up at the ceiling, gaze glassy as he’s stuck in his own mind.

This should feel worse than it does, morally speaking, he thinks. But it feels almost sickening peaceful, this moment soothing an ache in his soul that he’d successfully repressed right up until you video called right back into his life a few months ago.

He’s awoken from his surprisingly restful sleep at around five in the morning as you jostle him. Only half-aware, he can feel the way you’re tapping his torso, then his shoulder, moving down his arm, chanting the word ‘hand’ in a way that’s more than a little ominous. But he’s seen this before.

“Y’ okay?” He asks blearily, and you go dead silent. For one, unsettling moment, you’re frozen, before he feels your fingertips press gently against his wrist by his side, before sliding against his palm, fingers lacing with his. Then, carefully, you rest your head back on the pillow by his. “Better?” He mumbles, yawning, and giving your hand a squeeze.

“Need hand,” you say with absolute sincerity. He knows, even in his half asleep state, that he’s more conscious than you.

“Need hand?”

“Don’t let go it’s illegal,” you tell him, as if stressing the severity of the situation, but he’s already almost back to sleep. This too feels familiar, he finds himself reminiscing before he passes out again.

“I’m gonna get you a roof,” is the first thing you’d ever said to Wilbur in your sleep. It was the week after you’d first met, and your second time spending the night in his flat. You’d woken him up to tell him this, all while being completely unaware that you were still asleep.

“I have a roof?” He rubs at his eyes, confused and concerned given the intensity with which you were speaking.

“You deserve so many rooves,” you tell him, one hand on his shoulder, eyes wide and glassy, but sincere in your absurdity, “I’ll get you so many rooves.”

“What?”

“A whole city of rooves, Wilbur,” you’d insisted, “for you, and for me, and for the stars.”

“What do you mean? Are you okay?” He’d asked, yawning a little, propping himself up. Your hand was still on his shoulder. It seemed, however, that your urgent thought was over, as you simply stared at him blankly, expression vacant, evidentially not hearing anything he said. He does try again, says your name gently; you blink at him.

“Go back to sleep,” he says, thankful when you comply and flop back down, seemingly content. At least now he could be sure you weren’t joking about sleep talking, especially when he brings it up the next day and you scrunch up your whole face with embarrassment, having no memory of anything you’d said.

So it became habit for him, to make note of the things you said to him on the nights he awoke to you talking in your sleep. You always seemed to be suitably mortified whenever he brought them up, but you never asked him to stop, as if simply embarrassed by how sweet and sincere you were despite not making any sense most of the time. It’s not every night, of course because you’re not at his flat every night; you’ve really only known each other for a few weeks, that would be strange. Except then it becomes a month, and it’s every night you are at his flat, and he finds himself looking forward to hearing whatever it is your unconscious mind deems important for him to know. The page in his notes app is barely more comprehensible than you are.

“bad interior decorator but its okay because you’re a good guitar”

Very worried about my circulation in the winter

Good flat

Offered to punch a police officer for me since she kept telling me I’d been arrested

Said she’d float away if I didn’t hold her hand. Also said she’s very bad at being a balloon animal because she keeps opening her mouth to breath and letting the air out.

Im the best half of a spider :)

Took my hand, told me to wait here, and immediately fell back to sleep

“love a long boy” asked if that was me and she just said “gangly bitch” :)

Rats told her they have orgies in the walls because they’re full of love too. she thought it was important that i know

Really tried hard to get up and climb out of my window insisting that we needed to climb a tree. Back in bed she claimed that I was good for her and told me that she loved me.

When he wakes up the next morning, wakes up properly, for the first time in years, he adds to the list he’d curated, both from last night, and the two nights before. You’re still asleep beside him, curled up on your side away from him. He feels a little strange, a little nostalgic and guilty in equal measure, both for the warm sense of contentment that settle in his chest, and acknowledging that he never deleted those notes from his phone, that they sat idle at the bottom of the list of notes he’s taken in the past few years.

So he gets up, removes himself from the moment and gets breakfast, because it’s almost ten in the morning and he really should be starting his day, and not being a creep. He takes the time as he waits for the kettle to boil to remind himself that last night was absolutely the wrong way to go about shooting his shot, and that you still had a boyfriend. Did he regret kissing you last night? Absolutely not. Would he let it happen again? Well, probably not; if he had any good sense he wouldn’t.

And tomorrow you were heading back to London.

And…

And where’s his good sense gone? Probably where he left it last night, in a pile on his floor beside your jacket, because after getting food delivered, the two of you last all of one episode of a nature documentary he’s only half following, before you somehow end up in his lap.

“Christ, didn’t miss this,” one of his housemates remarks when he gets home, punctuating it by throwing a balled up, empty chip packet at the pair of you.

“Not our fault you’re home early,” Wilbur grins as you hide your embarrassment against his collar.

“Were you raised in a barn?” His housemate counters from the kitchen, “we just bought this lounge, don’t be feral –“

“We weren’t being feral!” Wilbur crows, just as you raise your head and call out.

“But I’m always a bit feral,” and Wilbur feels like he should have anticipated that, scrunching up his face with defeated amusement. He concedes, mentioning that you can watch the show in his room, his hands resting on your hips.

“Yeah,” your lips twitch into a smirk, “that was the important part in all of this.” You quirk a challenging eyebrow at him, and Wilbur’s pretty sure he made some kind of resolve this morning, but can’t even begin to remember it.

“I was deeply invested in it,” he tries to be earnest, tries not to smile to wide.

“Was truly fascinating,” you nodded, matching his energy, still in his lap, arms around his neck, “riveting plot.”

“It was a documentary,” his resolve is crumbling, and your smile grows wider.

“I must have been distracted,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again, though this time Wilbur’s housemate throws his keys at you two, hitting Wilbur in the back of the head. It’s incentive enough to finally move. There’s a bounciness to the way you move, picking up your leftovers from lunch, putting the scraps in the bin, swanning through the flat to Wilbur’s room as he follows, endeared by your whimsical nature.

You’re spinning idly in his desk chair, waiting for him, one leg tucked up beneath the other. Closing the door behind himself carefully, he watches for a moment, leaning on his wall, arms crossed. Each time you spin, you make eye contact with him, expression bright.

“So, documentary?” Finally, you grin mischievously and keep spinning. That smile could inspire him to move mountains, or something else sickeningly saccharine; his stupid heart is bordering on embarrassing itself at this point. So before he can say something embarrassing and far too honest for this light mood, he closes the distance between the two of you, taking your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours.

Later, the guilt will settle in his bones.

Later, he’ll ask the question that’s been plaguing him, ask if you even like your boyfriend.

Later, you’ll be wrapped up in his sheets, stretched out on his bed as your whole face scrunches like you’ve bitten a lemon, and he’ll have no idea what you mean when you tell him that that hasn’t mattered in a very long time. It feels like an answer bigger than whatever’s happening between the two of you, but it doesn’t make him feel better.

Later, he’ll be wearing pyjama pants and you’ll be wearing his sheet like a toga, and you’ll try to absolve his guilt. You’ll take his hands once he puts down his glass of water, and tell him that he doesn’t owe Mark shit, and you’d made your choice happily; Wilbur isn’t the guilty party here.

Later, he’ll ask why.

And you’ll let go of his hands. In the moment before you turn away, your expression falls, but he’s not sure he was meant to see that, as when you sit on his bed, wearing a coy smile, there’s something faintly guarded beneath your teasing tone as you tell him that he’s funny and pretty; what’s not to like?

“You play along, people are so afraid to play along, you know? And you start your own bits, good bits,” you’d told him over lunch, having only known him for a month at that point, “you’re a weird bitch, Gold, I like that in a person,” you grinned, before taking a bite of your food to emphasise your point.

“Glowing review,” Wilbur smirked, only half-sarcastic, as he watches you over the lip of his cup before taking a sip, “you should add it to your Google review of the flat.” It had become something of a running joke, and Wilbur has come to love the endearingly mischievous glint in your eyes every time it’s referenced.

“Weird bitch, five stars?”

“Feel like it would draw in the hipster crowd,” Wilbur’s smile grows wider as he clarifies.

“You and your flatmates are the hipster crowd, you don’t need my help with that,” you point out, instead immediately offering the alternative of, “you should slap it in the corner of your first album.” The assuredness of your words, even amidst this joke, catch him by surprise. First album, as if you knew there’s be more than one. But you’re still talking; “you know I do mean weird bitch as a compliment, right?”

“Y/N, you’re a weird bitch,” Wilbur says it fondly, say it like he means obviously. You beam.

“See that’s what I like, you know? People are afraid to be weird bitches but weird bitches make the world go round.”

And he gets these flashes, these memories that he’s never read too much into before; there’s always something there, always something you can’t say just beneath the surface –

“What about you?” Your words break through his thoughts, curious if guarded, and he takes a deep breath, pondering for a moment, “is it just nostalgia?” You huff a laugh but there’s no humour in it; you can’t quite look him in the eyes. But you’ve given him an easy out, if he wanted to take it.

“Nostalgia’s a pretty way of putting it,” he chooses his words after only a faint hesitation, because he’s not going to fuck this up and take the nonsense you say in your sleep to heart, he’s not going to emotionally overstep. So he smiles, and the tense set of your shoulders relaxes.

“I needed… this,” you admit carefully, something grateful in your voice despite your obvious hesitation. He still takes it as a win.

“And you know I’m always happy to help a friend in a time of need,” Wilbur’s tone is faintly amused as he steps forward and leans down, into your space, though you’re giggling at the not-quite-truth of his words, picking and choosing which parts you believe. Still, you tilt your face so your lips meet his, and Wilbur won’t allow himself to dwell and ruin this moment. Or the several that follow.

That night, the two of you make dinner together in his little kitchen and take it up to the roof of his flat. He’ll give a half-hearted apology about it not being as tall as his London flat, or even your dorm building, but you’re uncharacteristically quiet as you look at the stars. When you look at him, there’s so much in your eyes that he can’t even begin to understand; mouth open but wordless, you look like you’re on the verge of a half-dozen different things, but unsure where to start.

“We should eat before the pasta gets cold,” you drop your gaze, finally speaking, but you don’t seem able to stop smiling. A little quieter you add, “hell, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a roof.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Wilbur can’t help his confused little half-smile, “do you mean, like, you’ve stopped trespassing on rooves or-“

“No, just altogether,” you carefully mix the sauce in with your pasta, not taking your eyes off of it, “even ones I’m allowed to be on; didn’t realise I missed it this much,” finally, you meet his gaze. He’s surprised by the forlorn look in your eyes; despite this, you’re smiling, thanking him.

The moment passes when you look away, without even giving him a chance to let you know that you didn’t need to thank him for anything, but your tone has brightened as you announce that you’ve been reading the fanfic named Heat Waves purely because you think telling Tommy that you had would causes him psychic damage, but it turned out to be well written. Wilbur suggests telling him while he’s streaming with Dream; the idea has you incapacitated with laughter.

His chest feels lighter somehow, but there’s an impending sense of dread in the back of his mind knowing that he may very well start spiralling the moment you head back to London. If he doesn’t dive into a new project, he’s not going to be able to stop himself thinking about all the things you’ve said and not said, and what it all means.

He’s not awoken by any tremendous movement that night, instead he gets up to go to the bathroom, and when he gets back into bed beside you, you don’t even open your eyes as you drape an arm over him.

“Love you, Will,” you sigh, cheek half pressed against his shoulder. He tries not to take your sleep talking to heart, but it still makes him smile.

During the drive to the train station the next day, Wilbur mentions that you’re always welcome to stay a few more days. While you thank him for the offer, you joke that you don’t want Mark getting suspicious, and it leaves a sour aftertaste in the back of his mouth. But as he agrees to walk you to the train, it disappears.

“Have you ever heard of the poem You Are Jeff?” You ask as you hoist your bag from the boot, and Wilbur makes a noise in the back of his throat indicating that it hasn’t. But he should have. You’re quiet; he asks if you recommend it. After a noncommittal noise of your own, you shrug, “I was thinking about it in the car, it’s kind of long, but the last stanza…” trailing off, you shut the boot and take a deep breath. Grinning with faint nervous energy, you change the topic to your own imminent departure. Wilbur tries to make a note of the poem, but it doesn’t really stick.

It feels sappy, but like the done thing, to watch the train leave, and it doesn’t have long to go as he finds himself leaning on a pole, watching you through the window packing your bag into the luggage compartment above your seat. You catch him watching through the window and you grin impishly for a moment before darting through the cart to the door as the voice on the speaker announces the train’s stops; it’ll be leaving very soon. But you weave through the thinning crowd for a moment until you find him, and he’s already hugged you goodbye so he’s not sure what else there is to say. You glance surreptitiously around for a moment before beckoning him close. He obliges, confused for all of three seconds before you kiss him quickly.

“Okay, I should…” you seem a bit flustered, like you can’t quite believe your own courage, gesturing to the train. But Wilbur sees your hesitation, and if he gets a kiss goodbye, he’s going to get the big, movie kiss, so he pulls you back in with a grin.

If it’s the last thing you remember of the trip, he wants to leave you breathless, and he succeeds, murmuring for you to come back soon, arms still around each other in the few moments that follow. You nod, a little speechless, a little giddy, stealing a final, quick kiss before boarding the train for good.

The doors close. You wave through the window. The train departs.

[okay I’ll bite] he messages Tommy from his car, still in the parking lot of the train station half an hour after you’d left, having been working on the song he’d been trying to ignore in the back of his mind the whole time you’d been in town; [what is mark’s deal? Y/N doesn’t even like him and neither do you. what’s up with that?]

[he’s a bitch and im going to roundhouse him into an active volcano] Tommy sends back with very little hesitation.

[i’m serious]

[so am i] Tommy responds, and Wilbur scrunches up his whole face in exasperation. But then his phone is ringing.

“Is she still there?” Is the first thing Tommy asks, frowning over the video call, and Wilbur, expression still mostly pained, shakes his head, “she get on the train okay?”

“Half an hour ago,” Wilbur sighs deeply, finally relaxing his face, looking at the uncharacteristically serious kid on call, “I’ve just spent five days with her, and I don’t mean to pry, but I have to, man I have to.”

“She really, actually told you she doesn’t like Mark?” Tommy’s tone is hard, and Wilbur hesitates for a moment.

“Implied as much,” he deliberates before adding, “said it didn’t matter if she liked him or not,” and he tries not to think too much about the situation in which you’d said it, at least not while on call with your little brother.

“And you believe her?” The question is unexpected, and feels rather like a test.

“I mean, yeah, I- uh, yeah,” seeing as you’d happily cheated on him with Wilbur, he was inclined to believe you. Looking at his little phone screen, however, he sees some of the tension ease in Tommy.

“Okay, good,” he says, mostly to himself, “it’s good she’s saying it to more people, people who believe her,” he specifies, which doesn’t sit quite right with Wilbur. He files that away for the time being, “it used to be just when she was drunk she’d call and rant and wouldn’t get mad at me for calling him a bitch, but,” Tommy makes a face, like he knows he shouldn’t be saying this much, but he doesn’t stop himself, “it’s been happening more.”

“The bitching about him?”

Tommy’s quiet for a very long time.

“Yeah,” one word says so much; yeah the bitching is happening more, but so’s the drinking. But Wilbur won’t pull on that thread, that’s not his business. Well, none of this is his business really, but he feels like he’s been left out of the loop a little too much regarding that boyfriend of yours.

“So what’s the deal with Mark? Is he… is he magic or something?” Wilbur fumes, “because she- she- Tommy she doesn’t seem happy with him, so I don’t –“

“She’s not,” Tommy groans, “and I don’t get it either, I just know-“ and finally his mouth snaps shut, scowling. Wilbur wants to apologise, wants to acknowledge that he shouldn’t be asking about this, that he knows he’s prying, but Tommy exhales loudly through his nose, “Mark was like a knight in shining armour back when they were in high school, bit of a dork, but nice enough and didn’t seem as much of a Tory as his dad, so I thought he was pretty alright.”

“What?”

“Mark’s dad’s been chief of police in our town for as long as I can remember,” Tommy says with a sigh. Wilbur watches quietly, patiently, as Tommy puts down his phone at his desk and runs his hands through his hair, “and Y/N’s kind of always been seen as a wild card by our parents; I don’t know if she was like that when you met her, but that would have been the only time she hasn’t been with Mark since she was seventeen, I don’t know if she –“

“Climbing things, enjoys being on rooves,” Wilbur nods, and for the briefest moment, Tommy smiles, though it’s tight, “impulsive things like that?”

“Yeah,” Tommy’s got both his hands resting on his head, leaning back in his desk chair, gazing off into the distance, “it got her in a lot of trouble when she was about my age, but I think Mark ended up offering to talk to his dad –“

“The policeman?” Wilbur interrupts, and Tommy pauses, gaze flicking to his phone, expression drawn. For a moment, he sees the family resemblance between you and your little brother around his eyes in this moment of seriousness, of unspoken truth. His silence speaks volumes. “I just never knew is all,” Wilbur says quietly. Tommy looks away again.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like she was ever charged with anything, Mark made sure of that,” things quickly start clicking into place bit by terrible bit. Finally, Tommy sighed, almost deflating in his seat as he doubles over, forehead coming to rest at the edge of his desk, “I don’t know- man, I don’t know why she stays with him,” he admits, “I’ve- I’ve got theories, but she never- I don’t know for sure, you know?” When he looks up, there’s pain in his eyes; his heart was obviously aching for his sister.

“Man, she called me bloody well crying the day she found out he’d moved to London after her,” he murmurs, dejected at the very memory. However, before Wilbur can even ask why Tommy’s telling him all of this, the boy in question sits back up, tone far lighter, “she used to tell me about you, you know, back before we knew each other.”

“What’d she say?” Both confusion and affection course through Wilbur at this piece of information, and Tommy shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You and your flatmates were the best thing to happen to her in a long time, she couldn’t wait to tell me about you lot,” his tone is so affectionately teasing it’s almost sickening. But it practically confirms something Wilbur had been concerned about for a long while; you hadn’t revealed how close you and Wilbur actually were, either when you’d first met, or now. Thank god, that was future-Wilbur’s problem.

“I think that’s still true,” Tommy says after a moment, “but maybe I’m biased. Would be a bit hard if my sister and one of my best mates didn’t get along,” Wilbur feels his heart grow warm at the sentiment, listening to Tommy ramble on, “and it’s good for her to have someone else- I mean, someone who she can admit that stuff about not liking Mark to. He’s so Milquetoast and that’s the problem, everyone thinks he’s incapable of sin, and ‘calmed Y/N down’ or whatever the fuck… I hate him.” Tommy groaned, rolling his eyes, before pivoting without a second thought, “are we still streaming Lore tonight?”

Wilbur sighs and it feels like the tension in his whole body eases.

“Yeah.”

But it doesn’t last.

It’s a weird stream, a weird night overall, only half focused on the content. Thankfully he wasn’t the focus of the lore, so he could get away with being a little vacant as Ghostbur. The moment he signs off, he’s humming the now-established melody that’s been frankly plaguing him, and piecing together lyrics on the drive home.

The days pass by, turn to weeks, and you’re still messaging each other like nothing ever happened. Sometimes friends shag friends and its not a big deal; usually those friends aren’t actively in other meant-to-be monogamous relationships with people they don’t actually like, but that’s more your problem than his, so he tries not to let it get to him.

But it does.

Every text feels strangely sanitised, like words and meaning can’t quite align, with the freedom of honesty only being granted in the sporadic calls the two of you still keep up. He likes habit, likes tradition, likes the sound of your voice. So maybe he’s weak, he’s not the one playing along while seeing someone else.

"Hey," he can hear your smile in your voice, and can't help his own, feeling tipsy and warm as he struggles with the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey," he giggles, and you don't even ask if he's drunk; its usually the only time you call each other.

"Good night?" You ask, and he gives a long, contented sigh, pausing where he's losing against his shirt.

"Such a good night," he hums contentedly, and decides to leave his shirt for the moment, focusing instead on his shoes, which seem like the next most worthy opponent, "you gotta come to Brighton again, we only saw, like, the third most best pub, this one- this tonight one has the best beer battered chips, I can't believe I didn't think to bring you here -"

"Is that Pandora?" Across the line, Mark speaks around a yawn, "is she okay, it's late -"

"Who?" Wilbur asks, and it takes him a few moments and falling on his ass to put the pieces together as you seem to be telling Mark that everything's okay, "is my name in your phone Pandora?" He's met with muffled sounds of movement, and then the closing of a door, and you huff a faint laugh.

"Sorry about that -"

"Is my name in your phone Pandora?" Wilbur asks, feeling far more sober than he'd felt several minutes ago. But you're silent; it's answer enough, "does Mark still not know we're friends?"

"Are you home safe?" You sound suddenly very tired.

"Do you want me to stop calling?" Wilbur asks seriously; it's not accusatory, it's genuine. Something about knowing how thoroughly you've been lying about him to your boyfriend, it makes him feel ill. In his current state he can't say what he wants to, well he can, but he knew he's put his foot in it, sound like he was blaming you, and that's the last thing he wants, "I can stop- if it- it's more trouble than I'm worth -"

"Wil," you laugh softly, warmly, endeared, "it's okay, it's- Mark's friends- it's okay. It's like putting a goldfish in a new tank, gotta acclimatise him to the idea of us being friends before he knows you're a dude."

"Is that why you don't text or call Tommy? Because Mark gets weird seeing a man's name on your phone?" Falls from Wilbur's lips as he gives in and lays back on his floor. It takes him a moment to realise what he's said, right around the time you start spluttering - "fuck, sorry." He groans, scrunching his whole face up with regret, "don't hold that against me, I'm sorry -"

"That's... not exactly the reason," your voice at the other end of the line is so small, "or, well, no it's not exactly applicable, since I don't really message anyone..." you stall for a moment, before admitting, as if through clenched teeth, determined to finish the thought despite realising it might be a mistake, "apart from you."

"What if he hears its me when you pick up?"

Immediately, and much to his surprise, your tone shifts very suddenly.

"I'll risk it if it means I get to hear you like this," there's something about the way you say that, the way you're grinning and amused at that, that has his heart in his throat.

"Why?"

The silence is fucking deafening. He's half worried you've hung up, and he has to check, but no, you're just quiet on the other end.

"You're not gonna remember this, are you?" And he's not even sure of his own answer, but you don't give him time for one, "enrichment?" Though it sounds like a question, like your trying to make it sound light but it’s not quite working, like you're not even sure yourself. The word, however, has the air Wilbur breathes turning sour.

"You're not a zoo animal," he responds flatly.

"I shouldn't have said that," you laugh awkwardly, trying to keep your tone bright, but its clear your heart's not in it.

"Did you lie to him when you came to Brighton?"

Silence. Again. Always silence when you both know the truth and know it will hurt.

"You're drunk, Wil."

“You know talking to the people who love you shouldn’t feel like enrichment, right?” He asks, all sharp and mean and bitter in the moment as he found himself fixated on how thoroughly he loathed your boyfriend, how you could barely speak to your brother, or seemingly have friends because of him. It’s misplaced, the anger spilling out at you, but he’s not in any sort of shape to think critically about it. Over the phone, you’re spluttering, confused and defensive, but he’s so caught in his own head that he barely hears it. Angry and half-dressed and cross-legged on his bedroom floor, Wilbur scowls with sudden clarity.

“Is that all I am to you?”

“This is entrapment,” he can hear you’re crying at the other end of the line.

“It’s not entrapment, it’s a yes-no question,” he snaps, “am I just enrichment in your little life? Something a little bit brighter than your reality? A holiday; am I just a holiday to you –?!”

“This is so much bigger than you, Wilbur!” Explodes from you tearfully, “and I’m sorry, okay? You don’t deserve this, I know that –“

“Go back to bed,” Wilbur flopped back onto his floor, looking up at his ceiling.

“Wilbur –“

“Go,” he says, “I’m sorry I called.”

The conversation weighs on him even after a full night of rest, and all he knows is that he has to get into the studio before this song eludes him.

The content, the idea isn't new to him or his music, but this… this one’s the most telling; he’d had plausible deniability with the others, fabricated things to make it not immediately obvious to… well to anyone who isn’t you. He’s pretty sure you’ll get half a verse in and know, because sometimes it feels like you know him well enough that it's almost an accident. Because yes, he’s written for songs for girls he’s loved before you, and girls he’s loved in the two years of radio silence, but considering the situation he found himself in, he desperately needed some plausible deniability with that one.

This one, however, had no structure until he saw you again, until he left and your absence felt raw. It’s half finished when he brings it to the band. He’s immensely grateful when Joe takes an interest and offers to help him finish writing it.

But in the end, he knows he’s already swallowed his doubts and agreed to put Sex Sells on the EP. This one they’re tentatively calling Perfume, and already he’s conflicted. Maybe it’ll go on their album.

#wilbur x reader #wilbur imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur x you #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x y/n #wilbur soot x y/n #cc!wilbur #cc!wilbur soot #cc!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur imagine #cc!wilbur soot x reader #cc!wilbur soot imagine #cyltlanp #shut ur pretty mouth

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ggukkiereads · 4 years ago

Note

Hello!! Just a few days ago I stumble upon your blog and I'm wondering if you have some recommendations for Hybrid AUs, much appreciated if it is an OT7 and completed, but if so I will still be so thankful. (I just need some cure from the stress that modules brings) Thank You in Advance (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

🌷 Hello! welcome to my mini fic-reading land. I’ve actually received asks for Hybrid AUs (I pinned the requests in the navi) but I just have a very messy draft.

But to help you with your stress, I think I can share a few of my ongoing reads (sorry they won’t be complete but they’re OT7). But, I added completed ones I could remember too (●'◡'●)

*note: will edit this later and organize this per member - maybe add other fics I’ll remember*

Fic Recs | BTS Hybrid AUs

→ A Place Called Home @agustdakasuga - OT7 x Reader

series [27/27] | 88k | Hybrid AU, Poly AU, Soulmate AU, Romance Humor | Fluff

Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

→ If I Can Never Give You Peace @candlewaxandp0lar0ids - Jungkook x Reader

series [3/?] | 17.6k+ | Mafia AU, Enemies to Lovers | A (so far)

It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and her father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

🌷ggukkienote: I am so hooked on this (because I am a sucker for Mafia AUs too). This is such a great story and the OC is really different from the usual OCs. Very interesting.

→ Eunoia @wishesunderthestars - OT7 x Reader

series [15/?] | 100k+ (I just assumed this, masterpost doesn’t have wc but it’s 6k per chapter or more?) | Director!Reader, hurt/comfort | fluff, eventual smut

You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job. You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness ins’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

→ Restitution @cloudteawrites - OT7 x Reader

series [7/?] | 48k+ | slow burn, poly, mystery, romance

when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is.

→ Lacuna @barbika1508 - Jungkook x Reader

series [42/42] | 324.3k | Hybrid AU, check for TW | Fluff, Angst, Smut

Lacuna - (n.) a blank space, a missing part

Y/N just wanted to go back home, to enjoy her peace and quiet away from problems and people. But typically, her luck strikes as she stumbles upon a horrific scene of two guys mistreating an already beaten down hybrid. Will she take matters into her own hands and help him? Or let someone else help along the way???

🌷 This is on AO3 and I got a recent ask about author’s tumblr. So if you prefer AO3 you can check their profile

→ A Hundred Percent Human by wrienne- OT7 x Reader

series [12/?] | 88k+ | Hybrid AU, fluff, angst, smut |

In which you (reader) are forced to take care of seven hybrids in a twist of fate. Drunk and down on life, you finally decide to deal with the house and the unsavory business your mother left behind. However, to your shock, you find that seven very different hybrids are included with both the house - and the business. Seven hybrids you never even met before - even less agreed to take care of.

🌷 This is on AO3. I don’t normally reco AO3 since my blog is focused on tumblr fics but someone sent an ask about this so I’m including it

→ Inferiority Complex @starlightauroras-writes - Jimin x Reader

series [10/?] | 88k+ | political themes, themes of abuse (hybrids) | A, S

You had never liked hybrids. You disagreed with their very existence, and you never wanted to have anything to do with them. And then one day, you discovered a hybrid who was more scared of you than you were of him, and everything changed as you realised you were the only hope he had…

→ Sanctuary @chimchimsauce - Jimin x Reader

series [16/16] | 20k | Wolf Hybrid!Jimin, Barista!OC, feat sanctuary staff Taehyung, hurt/comfort | F, A

YN is a young girl, bright and ambitious, but due to her busy schedule, she's been unable to make any real friends. When an ad for Saint Mary's Sanctuary catches her attention, she never expected her life to be changed by a certain hybrid named Jimin.

→ Summer Nights @marginalmadness - Jungkook x Reader

series [4/4] | 23k | Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance | F, S

A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long...will it?

→ Risk it All @/httpjeon - Jungkook x Reader

series [5/5] | 8.3k | hybrid au, alpha wolf!jungkook | A, F, S

ripped from your family, you find yourself in a warehouse filled with predators. just your luck, you’re right across from a caged alpha wolf.

🌷 (I linked Chapter 5 because for some reason others couldn’t find this chapter so they thought it’s still incomplete)

→ Outro Love is Not Over @kiirokero - Hoseok x Reader

series [12/?] | Daycare Teacher!Hoseok x Single Mom!Reader

You are the single mother of a beautiful 6-year-old golden retriever hybrid who you named Yunho. But you’re a human. You can’t show him the ropes of being a hybrid, and you can’t teach him things the other moms can. So, when a handsome German Shepard hybrid comes into your life, helping you and guiding Yunho in a way you can’t, you can’t help the cozy home he sets up in your heart.

→ It Takes Two To Make A Thing Go Right @imaginethisbts - TaeKook x Reader

two shot [2/2] | 11k | dom/sub themes, heat cycles | S

What’s better than one dogboy lover? Two dogboy lovers. But when Tae and Jungkook seem unusually clingy, it can only mean one thing. That time of the month has snuck up on you and your dogboy lovers do not want to share.

🌷 Also try their other Jungkook hybrid series Out of the Blue

→ Peculiar Park @daydreamindollie - OT7 x Reader

series [9/?] | 38k+ | imagines, slice of life | Writer!Reader, Psychologist!Reader, imagines | fluff

you’re a successful hybrid writer and psychologist who takes in seven hybrids on one stormy night after finding one of their pack stealing from your garden

→ Yeouiju @nomseok - Namjoon x Reader

one shot | 33.7k | Mythical AU, Hybrid AU (if you squint), suspense | A, F, S

you find an ancient stone in the middle of the mountains and bring it home with you, oblivious to the consequences of taking a dragon’s yeouiju.

→ Beautiful Stranger @/nomseok - Taehyung x Reader

one shot | 19k | circus AU | A, S, F

your dream is to take care of animals for the rest of your life in the big city, making sure that they’re cared for. but you stumble upon a malnourished, rare tiger in your local circus, and you can’t help but want to take care of him.

→ Evolution of You and I @readyplayerhobi - Jimin x Reader

one shot | 10.2k | kind of epistolary (letters), chat, childhood friends | F

For 15 years, Park Jimin has been in your life in some form. From childhood penpal’s to the closest of friends now, you can’t imagine your life without him even if you’ve never actually met him in person. It doesn’t help that you’ve fallen for him, even across the distance that separates you. But what happens when you finally meet up and you discover he’s been keeping something secret?

→ Fish are Friends @httpjeon - Taehyung x Reader

one shot | 10.2k | seahorse hybrid!taehyung | A, S, F

after moving to the seaside, there is a dreadful storm. when all is clear, a man washes up on shore…only he isn’t quite human.

🌷 you know seahorses mate for life and it’s the male that gets pregnant? Interesting huh

→ Pink Panther @gimmesumsuga - Seokjin x Reader

one shot | 13k | boss-employee | F, S

The one where your boss, Kim Seokjin, tries to show you how beautiful you are.

→ Ragdoll @ausblack - Jimin x Reader

series [17/17] | Hybrid AU, College AU | F, A

As you were studying to obtain your medical & veterinary degree, your professor came up with the idea of organizing an internship - where you found yourself side by side with a sick hybrid that needed nothing other that complete care.

→ Jagged + Catnap @opaljm - Jimin x Reader

one shot + sequel | 18k | jaguar/black panther!jimin, sand dune cat!reader, mutual pining, friends to lovers, established relationship (sequel)| S, F, slight A

The pretty little sand cat hybrid Jimin has been in love with for the past year experiences her first heat and Jimin would love nothing more than to be the one to guide her through it and breed her with his kittens.

🌷 there’s also a possible spin-off for Taehyung (Eye of the Tiger)

→ Owner @jessikahathaway - Jungkook x Reader

series [6/?] | 17.4k | Fake Dating AU, Hybrid AU, based on Kimi Wa Petto (Japanese anime) | F, S, A

With your mother hounding on you (no pun intended), you decided to get a little help from a hybrid, who was also in need of assistance.

→ Loving Him Was Red + Somewhere Only We Know @userseok - Jungkook x Reader

series [3/?] | 12.8k+ | enemies to lovers, childhood friends (sorta), college au, jock!jungkook, unrequited love (for OC) | S, F, A

you’ve been chasing after jungkook for years. after a harsh verbal altercation between both of you, you decide to leave him alone and pursue a relationship with someone who seems genuinely interested in you, thinking he would never return your feelings.

I would like to recommend the catalog of these writers:

@ditttiii - so I realize I’m following them on AO3 when I realized the fics looked familiar 🤭. They have an ongoing series called Enchanted to Meet You which you might want to check out if you like Soulmate AUs too! I recently reblogged a Jungkook two-shot comfort fic (hybrid au too) so I recommend going through their masterlist!

@aroseforyoongi - who I discovered because of Gossamer (KTH). It was completed but I think it’s up for re-write/re-post? You can try the others:

Navy Blue - Jungkook [completed]

Forever Yours - Yoongi [one shot, prequel to Navy Blue]

Let Me Love You- Jungkook [one shot]

@magicalsalamander - another favorite author of mine I just feel like I’m reading a great tale every time I start on a series or one shot. They have great fics with supernatural themes too

Rabbit on the Moon - Jungkook | if you’re in the mood for police officer Jungkook [6/6]

The Act of Persuasion - Seokjin | if you are in the mood for Single Dad AU x Arranged Marriage too [one shot]

Firefly that Guards the Fox - Taehyung | if you are in the mood for mystery [11/12 - just epilogue left]

Kitten’s Little Flame - Yoongi | if you like BF to Lovers between dragon and a cat [6/6]

There’s more so please check their Masterlist

@hollyhomburg - I just love Of Fire and Love (hello dragon!yoongi and baby!jungkook? 🥺) But you can check:

their masterlist of all their hybrid fics

Dance to This series which I’ve added to fic recs based on an ask about stories that include members/readers with disability.

Don’t care if it Hurts - Jimin | this is probably my favorite (again I’m a sucker for Mafia AUs) , guard dog hybrid!jimin [12/13, just epilogue]

@angelicyoongie - I got hooked after reading their stories on AO3 but they have tumblr too! Check their masterlist for ongoing hybrid fic (Abundance - OT7) but these are completed ones:

Desolate - Yoongi, grumypy cat hybrid [14/14]

Out of the Woods - Namjoon, wolf hybrid, strangers to lovers [3/3]

@worldwidebt7 - if you like webtoons! I read parts of Jungkook’s webtoon and I think currently we’re on Yoongi’s story. Access it here

@jincherie - One of the first hybrid fics I remember encountering is Inheritance (MYG). Other fics:

Perihelion - Hoseok, college, roommate, enemies [2/?]

Butterfingers - Namjoon, teacher au, this is cuuuute READ IT if you’re looking for something fluffy [one shot]

4 o’ clock - Taehyung, single dad au (I included this in the singel dad fic recs too) [3/?]

Under the Bridge - Jungkook, found jungkook under the bridge [one shot]

@whitesparrows97 - a writer I discovered because of a Yoongi soulmate fic but I found that they also have other hybrid fics:

Cat’s Cradle - Yoongi, bestfriend [5/5]

Underdog - Taehyung, shifter, brought home what she thought a stray dog [5/5]

@foxymoxynoona - and what would my reco be without foxymoxy? So they have tumblr but their works are on AO3. I’ve listed their current works here but I didn’t include their completed works which are must-reads:

Sugar Fairy - Jungkook, mating, adopted hybrids [48/48]

A Sea of Indigo - Jungkook, ex-fighter [48/48] ⭐⭐⭐

@therealmintedmango - They have a whole masterlist of their hybrid!au fics. I recently finished Kingdom Come and I always remember Jimin from King (for some reason)

@joonbird - check their Zodiac Hybrid Masterlist of one shot per member

There are more (usually one shot per member) but I’ll probably put them in another Fic Rec List for Hybrid AUs. Sorry this list is kind of all over the place (not even organized per member 🤭). But good luck with your modules and I hope these help!

(❁´◡`❁)

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guruan · 3 years ago

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Triple Frontier

For some reason some of you reaaally wanted a commentary of this 😆

Sorry if I get too superficial, I got distracted 🙈🙈🙈

It was nice hearing so much spanish even from the start of the movie. From Santiago, it helped me imagining how would Jake sound 😆😆 Though I wonder if he's going to change his pitch for Jake. I tried to mentally compare the post credit scene with Santiago's pitch and I think it's slightly different.

(Here between the two Santiago's scenes, in Colombia and US, I said to my friend "He shaved... not that I'm paying attention to that"

To which my friend answered "I am" 🤣🤣🤣 and that "he looks better with stubble")

It was kinda sad how they presented their lifes, struggling so much to live after years serving. But it was funny seeing Pope trying to convince them all like "but we deserve this tho 👀"

(When they were back in Colombia Pope had a stubble again and I pointed it out to my friend 👁️ "it grows fast" he said)

I thought the movie was going to be a lot about the planning phase, so when they changed scene and were already there talking about the plan, only 30 min into the movie I was like "uuuuh, alright, something's going to go wrong".

When they didnt find the man nor the money I thought it was going to be about escaping, then trying again.

Then they found the money.

And the man.

So welp 😅😆, it's going to be about the money then, I thought.

At this point I was still calm, but from here everything started to stress and annoy me.

When Redfly got so excited about the money that he wanted to keep getting more of it, both my friend and I sent a message at the same time saying the same words: "Nooooo, greed!" (it was kinda funny😆)

Considering how much of a great mind for planning they considered him to be, he fell pretty hard. It wasnt just about the time to get it out, but how 😩 and I was so mad that they listened to him and decided to change the plan.

There's no point of grabbing a lot if there's only so much you can take with you 🤡

And yeah, through the movie we can see how that was just a terrible idea, and that anyway they need to get rid of bits and bits of it.

I don't understand the way Redfly goes through some kind of corruption? First not wanting to get involved, then only wanting to be there with the minimum, then wanting to participate but following his plan, then fuck his plan, then killing people but with a weird double shooting...

Like, it feels out of nowhere, I don't know, maybe it was justified but I got distracted by "someone's" cheeks 😔😒

As we expected, there's a lot of money and even before riding the helicopter Fish warns Redfly that it's going to be a problem to fly above the mountains with that much. But he listened to him? NOoooo

Them listening of what he says I don't know if it's blind trust because "he's so good at his job", or plain stupidity/greed

Then the crash, then again Redfly being weird about killing people, then getting out of the village with the mules.

Then they're found and Redfly dies. First I was sad, because I was thinking about his family and the scene with the daughter earlier in the movie. Then I was mad because it all was the consequences of his actions 😡😒 Both wanting to bring too much money, and then killing that people

So anyway, RIP. Now they have to drag his body too 😩

And they can't reach the boat with that much money anyway, so YEET money, and only bring as much as each one of them can pack. Godammit, all of this only to have even less of what they planned because they wanted to bring more than they planned 😩 And the man with of that brilliant idea is dead, ok

(Here one of my friends had to leave because it was late, he had already watched the movie and said "I just have to say: this is the 4th one, you'll see what I mean"

To which I was "You're joking☠️"- because we've been counting how often Oscar dies in everything we've watched. Fortunately he said he was actually joking, but I didn't like the joke 🤣 You don't play with my feelings like that)

So, the scared kid in the jungle finds them (and sorry, but I was 👁️👄👁️ at how Santiago was talking there. Can't explain). Then they get to the boat not before having a "meaningful" scene of how they didn't want to kill more people 😔👊

So then the end of the movie

Tbh I was really mad at it

Even with the few money they could bring with them, and what they spent washing it, they had 1 million each, even Redfly

When Will ripped the paper, I was confused for a second thinking what he was ripping was Redfly's agreement to send money to his family. So I was angry for a second, and then I was, oh ok.

But then everyone stared at each other and I was like "Pls don't" but they did

I was ok with Will donating his part to Redfly, his goldenheart and all

But the other ones felt like just plain moral and social pressure

And in restrospective, what is money compared with the life of a loved one. If only they had followed the plan. Now it doesn't feel like a difference if the family gets 1 million or 5 million.

I said to my friend, they ended the same way they started. But wait no, Santiago is even worse, because he spent 100K to start the mission 😩

Then Benny gave Santi the coords for later and I was EVEN ANGRIER

Like, if AT LEAST Santiago OR Benny kept their part, they would have had the money to try to find the rest later. AND THEN they could be all benevolent and give the family even more than 5 million, if they really felt that bad 😒 but no

Now they are all with no money and hoping "some day" the coords will be useful

Fck u aaaaaaaall

So yeah, anyway, this movie is very frustrating, and I dont think they really learned anything from it LOL

But excellent OI content, a lot of spanish and butt frames 👌

#guruan #just thinking #guruan is watching oi's movies

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

Text

harmless (i)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, nonsense writing

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: listen i just needed something to keep my mind busy and a perry the platypus!bucky and dr. doofenshmirtz!reader was the only thing i could think of. dont have any high expectations from this series, you will be sorely disappointed.

If you have any ideas for this series, lemme know!! it’d be cute to write!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Series Masterlist

Bucky Barnes, for all intents and purposes, is edgy.

His SHIELD salary is definitely enough to afford him a simple beanie, gloves even if he’s that eager. His long hair, though a spectacle in itself, isn’t as good at keeping away the cold as he claims it to be.

It’s a personal choice, a fashion statement even, to be roaming the streets in a long flimsy t-shirt that does nothing to accentuate his broad shoulders, and tactical pants that look a little too comfortable.

It’s cold. He says he likes it, to appease his blond haired best friend who insisted that he wear a cardigan at least. He won’t like it in a while, but he would never admit it.

The bike ride to the other side of town for a minor mission takes longer than he expected. The wind rushing by gets his adrenaline racing.

Official missions are long and gruelling, and oftentimes not fun. But it gives him a purpose.

It’s easy, therefore, to find him brooding when he’s not on one.

No one wants their room to be on the receiving end of Bucky’s stress-cleaning sessions. His baking is more appreciated.

So when there’s news of a small time villain creating havoc again, it made sense that he volunteered to go sort it out. No one else wanted the job. They’d all been at it before.

SHIELD didn’t seem particularly bothered either.

“It’s not that serious, Barnes.”

“I’m going.”

“Just stop her from doing whatever dumb plan she has today. She seems to have a new one every week.”

“Can I-”

“This is not an assassination mission.”

“Fine. Can I-”

“No.”

“Fine.”

He didn’t know what to expect. He had an idea of how they should be. Smaller villains tended to be more aggressive, vicious to prove their point. They were here to stay.

He wears his regular gear. Enough knives to make a butcher look away in shame, and guns including, but not limited to, his biceps.

He finally pulls the bike to a stop a few metres away, leaving it out of reach in case things got too out of hand. He didn’t want to have to walk back to the Tower, and his friends, as much as they loved him, would never go out of their way to pick him up. Little shits.

The address is a dingy, plain concrete house near an old construction site. It was flat and felt more like an afterthought than an actual building. It looked more like an abandoned Walmart than an actual villain lair.

The only entrance is the door in the front. He counts to three, lifting his leg to kick it down.

It falls down ungracefully, loud and creaky like it was bound to the doorframe by rust.

The only light source inside is a green light. All the way at the other end on an elevated platform is a desk and a chair facing away from him. He can’t see much other than that.

Someone’s laughter comes back loud and booming. He raises his gun, feet apart in a defensive stance.

“I’ve been expecti-” the voice pauses mid-sentence- “Did you just kick down my door?”

He looks behind him to where the wooden piece is on the floor. He certainly did.

He can finally see you as you stand up, green light illuminating your face. You reach over to the side, pressing a few switches.

He squints when all the lights turn on, pulling the both of you from darkness.

“Dude!” you cry out, face twisting into what only could be described as a mix of horror and disdain. “What’d you do that for?”

He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t lower his gun either.

“You’re an Avenger, just fuckin’ pick the lock or something. This is expensive!”

He only watches as you whine, looking beyond him at your now demolished entrance. You take a few steps closer, jumping down from the elevated platform.

“Insurance isn’t going to cover this.” You drag your palm across your fist before extending it towards him. “Pay up.”

He wasn’t sure if he heard you right.

“What?” he finally asked, voice gruff.

“All you superheroes go around, destroying walls and cars in the name of world peace like you own the damn thing. Not today, bitch boy. Pay up.”

He doesn’t have his wallet with him. He didn’t expect to need it.

“I’m supposed to be stopping you.”

“You can do that once you pay for my door.”

You sound resolute, unshaken. A little annoyed. There’s what appears to be a gun in your hand, although it’s unlike any weapon he’s seen before.

“What’s your plan?” Bucky looks at your hand. Your stare follows his. You lift the thing up and he tenses.

“I was going to freeze some jerk but now my plan is to get you cancelled on Twitter.”

“Why?” his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Local superhero destroys property of tax paying citizen for no good reason.”

“I mean-” he shakes his head, discarding what you’re saying, “-why were you going to freeze someone?”

“Because I wanted to. But you’ve ruined the mood now, so that won’t happen.”

He blinks, lowering his weapon when he realises you weren’t making any attempt to move. “What’s your ulterior motive?”

“Nothing! I just wanted to mildly inconvenience that stupid fuck for being such a prick.”

He doesn’t know what to say.

“Is that the freeze ray?” Bucky asks instead, raising his gun when he realises there’s a very real chance he could end up like his best friend.

“You got a problem with it?” You hold it up carelessly.

“I can’t let you use that.”

“That’s all you’re going to do?” you huff, “Is this what you call an intervention? This is so boring.”

“Give me the freeze ray and no one has to get hurt.”

“No one was going to get hurt in the first place, genius. All this does is slow him down for 5 minutes so he misses the subway.”

There’s nothing technically that evil about what you’re doing. He doesn’t even know how you ended up on SHIELD’s radar. He gets why no one was particularly driven to take this seriously.

“And for fuck’s sake put that gun away. You’re not scaring me.”

He doesn’t oblige, even though something tugs at him, telling him that you’re speaking the truth.

“Here, take the stupid thing.” You don’t bother waiting for his response, bending over and sliding the gun towards his feet. “I’ll find another way to get back at that dickhead.”

It hits his boot with a small thud. He looks down. Its design is ridiculously comical, like you ripped it straight out of a kid’s TV show.

“Next time, bring some drama. Wear a cape or something.” You wave him off. “Now get out of my lair. I need to fix the door.”

“You don’t have another one of these lying around, do you?”

“Why, do your friends want one too?” The glare you give him is dangerous. He doesn’t react to it. “No, it’s limited edition. I don’t build the same thing twice.”

“You have others?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” A smile grows on your face, dropping as quickly as it arrives. “SHIELD will tell you if I do. Now leave.”

Bucky looks at the freeze ray in his hand. He supposes his job is done. He was told to stop you, but you didn’t seem to have any inclination to go on with your plan.

“You can ask them if you want, they know about me.” You roll your eyes. “Go ahead, call them.”

He doesn’t want to take a chance. As odd as the situation is, it’s still novel and he isn’t quite sure how to deal with it.

He tucks your weapon under his arm, pressing his phone to his ear.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” Maria’s voice is crisp as ever.

“I confiscated a... freeze ray.” He feels ridiculous even saying it. “But I’m going to bring her in to SHIELD headquarter-”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But we can’t trust-”

“We’ve been keeping tabs on her for a while. She’s more or less harmless. You can take the rest of the night off, Sergeant.”

He cuts the call, not entirely at ease with the smug, expectant look on your face.

Still, he couldn’t disobey direct orders.

“I’m gonna... go.” He mentions towards the gaping hole in the wall.

“That would be ideal, yes.” You nod, crossing your arm over your chest.

“Okay.” He hesitates, but finally takes a step backwards. He peeks over his shoulder as he leaves, but finds you swivelled away from him again.

He steps back outside. The cold greets him again like an old friend. The weight of his weapons feels stupidly embarrassing now.

It’s a long drive back to the Tower. He keeps replaying the entire story in his mind. He’s unsure of whether he made the right call, but no one else really seemed to care.

He had seen weirder things. It came with the gig.

He leaves it at that.

“How’d it go?” Steve asks him when he walks into the living room.

“T’was fine,” he answers, toying with the stupid device he took from you. Maybe he would test it on Clint. He had been getting annoying lately. Breathing too much in Bucky’s general direction.

A part of him feels guilty for his carelessness towards your building. The other part is just bewildered.

That night he looks up the cost it takes to replace a door, making a mental note to draw some money from the ATM soon.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

2K notes · View notes

raggaraddy · 4 years ago

Note

Idk of I/someone else has already asked this but how would the yanderes react to having a mute s/o

Mute

A/N: Hi Hi. Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy it! 💜💜💜

Trigger warning: Yandere themes, violence, abuse, unhealthy relationships, blood drinking, descriptions of medical care.

Line: Mini-Rap Line (Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin)

Alpha! Namjoon

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Namjoon asks, trying to mask the genuine irritation in his voice.

It's been 8 days and you haven't said a word to him. Now, if you weren't talking at all that would be one thing, but you were specifically not talking to him, and would talk to other people with no problem. Trying to make it as pointedly obvious as possible that you were avoiding him and him alone.

The blatant disrespect of this was driving him mad. But he had never set a rule that directly stated that you have to talk to him or reply to him, and he knew that you would only fight it further if he instituted the edict now.

For you though, you were having the time of your life making him suffer. It was rare for you to have so much control between the two of you, and you were abusing it to the fullest. Especially given the reason this all started.

A week ago you were whining because he wouldn't let you go to the town fair without him. An unreasonable decision he made. Because as you tried to point out, you were going to be surrounded by the pack anyhow, and the excuse he gave for not going was a very unnecessary border run that anyone else could do in his place. While he wants to deny it, you know the real cause for his refusal though. It's because you sounded too excited about seeing your new friend at the fate and he was jealous. Even though she was another girl, for whom you had no romantic feelings, he was still jealous. And petty. You could see it in the way he mentioned her name or his face when you spoke about her.

But even with all that, it was his injustice that really made you snap. The exact words he said to you as you tried to reason your point, were; If you're going pout I don't want to hear another word from you. Basically, he told you to shut up just because he couldn't come up with any valid rebuttals and he didn't want to lose. So fine, if he wanted to be a dick, you were going to simply take his own instruction and hyperbolize it.

And his frustration was worth every moment of silence.

While he was hoping not to further blow this out of proportion, Namjoon was trying to break your silence by being strict towards all your other undesirable behaviour. Disciplining you for each and every rule you broke. Hoping to wear you down, or at the very least provoke you into another argument so that he could claim victory.

He was giving you time outs, taking away your electronics, making you hold quarters to the wall, refusing you junk food and sweets, making you stay by his side the entire day and so on. Fully running through all of his most infuriating and childish punishments. But no matter what he did, you remained defiant. And he was at the end of his rope.

Sitting in the kitchen, you were talking with the Gamma and two other wolves during a patrol break. As Namjoon was putting lunch together, you were happily observing his clenched jaw. However, the aggravation their Alpha was exuding was putting the wolves on edge and they were trying to include him in any way they could. Asking his opinion on topics as trivial as shoes, in the hopes to offset the irreverence you were showing.

When they asked him which of two brands he prefered, you interrupted, sick of their transparent attempts.

"No one cares what he has to say." You snip turning your back to him. For the first time in days, you were referring to him, and all the attitude you had stored up was pouring out in those words. You didn't take a second to think about what you were really saying though.

With an almighty crash, Namjoon smacks his hand into the benchtop, catching the side of the plate causing it to shatter. All three wolves and you jump. Quickly the words replay in your head as you see their wide-eyed gawking. Then the realization hits, you were safe being underspokenly disrespectful, but being outrightly so... he had rules set about that, and now you'd just given him the right to punish you in the way he had been itching to.

Grabbing your arm before you can protest he drags you upstairs to your shared bedroom. With weak shoves and refusals, you stay determined not to utter a single word. But as Namjoon pulls onto the bed, dragging you over his lap, as he lifts up your dress and tears down your underwear, you recognise that it's not time to play anymore.

Ignoring your shouts, your foul language, and eventually your cries for him to stop, he holds you down and smacks your ass raw. After about 20 minutes and once he's reduced you to tears, he finally lets up.

"Apologize," he demands. Still crying, you're too out of breath to reply at once, and that pause costs you. His hand comes down on your bruised ass again making you scream. Your cries turning into whimpered hiccuped apologies as you cling to the tear-soaked duvet.

Satisfied with your change in attitude, Namjoon at last stops. Not letting you run away like you want though, instead he has you straddle his lap, his legs carefully spread so your bruised butt doesn't have to sit on anything.

"Do you understand why I did that Y/n?" He asks softly pulling you into his chest. His hand running over your back.

You know why he did it, but you're too bitter to answer him and can only muster a grunt.

"Still not speaking to me, huh?" He smiles knowing he has already won whether you wanted to admit it or not, "Because if you're going to continue being disrespectful, I don't care if your ass is still glowing, I will bring you back up here."

You can only grunt again. Hating him, while you nevertheless cuddle in closer not wanting him to stop comforting you. He chuckles feeling your energy. Fiddling with your clothes and hair to realign and neaten them.

"Beautiful," he purrs in your ear, "If it really means that much to you, I will have someone cover me this Friday so I can take you to the fair." He consigns, kissing your forehead. You finally look up to him, head tilted and mouth slightly open. "Do you want that?"

Looking down and away, you're pouting a little but you push the word out. "Yes,"

"Okay, I will. But you have to be on your best behaviour from now until then." Namjoon winks.

You lost, but you still got what you wanted in the end. So maybe you can chalk this up to a draw. And at the very least you've found a way to get what you want in the future. So maybe that can be considered a win.

Assassin! Yoongi

Because of your disrespectful outburst, Yoongi had told you that you were not allowed to speak until he says. So far you were 4 weeks into your 5 week deadline.

Initially, it was an unyielding torment to have to be silent. A few times you had slipped up and spoken. Each and every time, Yoongi was quick to respond. He would lock you downstairs for as many days as words you spoke. Luckily, the most you said at one time was 5 words. And he still fed you while you were down there. So while it was horrible, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

Steadily though, you found it became easier. While you weren't allowed to speak, you still needed to be able to communicate with Yoongi, so he allowed you to nod and shake your head, and smile. It was restrictive, but strangely enough, you found it becoming comfortable. Because you couldn't speak Yoongi expected less from you. You didn't have to search for words when he spoke to you in an attempt to make him happy and overall, it made your interactions less stressful.

With you not speaking, he was speaking less also. So for the past few days, you have been enjoying a wordless dialogue that you and Yoongi were having. And at this point, you were feeling more relaxed and not missing talking at all.

Although waking up this morning you came downstairs to a horrible sight, that made you wish you could scream.

Yoongi was collapsed on the floor. Stretched out on the kitchen tiles in a puddle of his own blood. Covered in bruises and cuts. His torn up T-shirt soaked in blood.

3 nights ago he had left for a job. With the ease between the two of you, Yoongi didn't lock you up when he left, although he didn't downrightly state that as the reason. He must have come home sometime last night, but clearly, you didn't hear him.

Rushing to his side, you're looking down his unconscious battered form with no idea what to do. This is nothing you know how to deal with.

With how long you have been without speaking it feels wrong, unnatural even when you think about doing it now. And you can't bring yourself to release a single word. So you do what you can to try and get his attention, and to wake him up. You shove him, clap over his head. Lastly and desperately smacking his face a few times, sighing in relief as it pulls him back to consciousness.

Groaning, his eyes look to be spinning from light-headedness. Stiffly he tries to get himself upright against the wall. Seeing his intent you help him. Pulling him, you slip a little in the puddle of blood. Your hands and feet are already covered in it. Your limbs trembling as you hold your hands away from your body. Looking down at him with pleading eyes, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

"Medic kit," he breathes, each puff heavy and wheezed.

You nod, spreading a trail of blood through the house to his bedroom. Collecting the duffle bag in his closet that is filled with a surgeries worth of supplies and running back downstairs, you drop the bag at his side, unzipping it for him.

While you were gone he's torn his ripped shirt off. Among the cuts and scars that already litter his pale chest, he has a deep long cut that runs diagonally down his torso. It looks like basic first aid was already applied, blood-drenched gauze stuck on the worst and deepest parts of it.

"I'm gonna talk you through this," he pants, with a struggled smirk, "Maybe wash your hands first, cause if I die of infection, I'll be pissed." His playful banter feels so out of place, not just for the scene but for him. Although, you're not going to question how he wants to deal with a life-threatening injury, and the ridiculousness of you being the one that needs to help him. If he wants to joke to cope, fine.

Nodding and wide-eyed through the whole run-down, it takes everything you have, but you stay calm and stop yourself from crying.

Thankfully time has seemed to stop the bleeding. As you remove the bandages the lacerations have somewhat clotted. Going step by step, you follow Yoongi's every word. First, you clean the area with a bucket of water and a cloth. Then apply an antibiotic ointment, that smells really gross. Washing your hands once again, you lower beside him, and realize you've only just gotten to the worst of it.

While the bleeding has stopped the cuts above his belly button and his hip are deep enough, the fat is exposed.

"You gonna be able to do this?" Yoongi asks as you hold the needle and thread with a tremble in your hands that is painfully obvious.

You nod, taking a deep breath. But even after 3 more of them, your exhales are still coming out shaky. You are in desperate need to calm down and your sure he can't get mad at you in this circumstance, so you're going to try what you've seen on T.V. Standing, you rummage through the cupboards and pull down a bottle of whisky from the top shelf. Watching Yoongi closely as you open the cork, giving him the chance to stop you. But he doesn't so you gulp down a few mouthfuls, shivering as the taste flows down your chest.

You're not sure if it helped your hands, but you feel a little better. So that's enough.

Returning to his side, slowly Yoongi talks you through suturing the openings. A traumatic experience you hope to never repeat. The sensation of the needing pushing through the layers of skin will surely never leave your head though.

During the stitching, you were surprised that Yoongi didn't flinch or react in any way. You're unsure if it was because the area was numb or because he was restraining himself to not freak you out. But in any case, you were grateful.

After everything and nearly 2 hours, you finally move onto bandaging.

Both of you are now able to slump back, thoroughly exhausted. For the longest time after the final step, neither of you move. You're still horrified, leaning against the wall looking over the armature medical aid you've given Yoongi's chest. Almost feeling a sense of pride through the unrelenting urge to vomit.

"You know," Yoongi grunts, shuffling back, lifting only his head to rest against the same wall. "If you wanna finish early and talk now, I think you've earned it." He chortles dryly, with a straight line smile.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist, you laugh uncomfortably. Honestly, after this, you'll be happy to have the next week without speaking.

Vampire! Hoseok

You couldn't take much more of this.

It was endless and he was ruthless.

Night after night Hoseok was coming to you. Drinking from you, hurting you in so many ways, and leaving you. If you were lucky, he'd remember to feed you his blood before he left. If not, he'd let you remain broken, making you suffer through the day.

With everything that you had to endure, you were tired of being tired. Exhausted of being exhausted. Scared and sad all the time, and hating a life from which you had no means of escape. But even with all of this, you were still holding out hope that there had to be some way to lessen your suffering. You had to believe that if you wanted to keep your sanity. You just had to figure out what he wanted.

So far you had seen no depth to him. All you had learnt was that he enjoyed your misery too much. It was like a game to him. Every sound you made, every cry, every time you begged or screamed at him, or fought him, it would only encourage him. He was trying to coax a reaction, to draw out your fear. And with no other form of control, you wanted to see what would happen if you took that away from him.

You theorized that if you did he would get more vicious, but then he would get bored. Best case scenario; he would let you go. Worst case; he would kill you. And somewhere in the middle; he would keep you only for your blood. But any of these were better than the hell you were living in now.

So partly with a plan in mind, and partly out of sheer exhausted terror, you stopped speaking. It was going to be impossible to stop all sounds. There was no way you could stop yourself from screaming or crying or reacting, but you could control the words that came out of your mouth.

And for over 2 weeks now, you haven't uttered a single word.

With the sun high in the sky and being ready to sleep, you come back to your room, jolting as you open the door. Seeing Hoseok sitting on the bed.

In an unnatural flash, he's behind you, goosebumps prickling on the back of your neck. Grabbing a chunk of your hair he jerks and twists you, moving you to face him. His other hand comes up pressing his fingers into your cheeks harshly enough to make your mouth open. Keeping your jaw spread, he moves and tugs your head inspecting inside at all angles.

"Hmm, I was just checking if I cut your tongue out and forgot. But it's there." he uses his hold on your face to throw you back. Crashing you to the floor. "So you're choosing not to speak to me." He chuckles eerily.

As soon as you hit the floor, you scramble to your feet. Struggling to do so with an injured leg, but knowing it's safer to not let yourself remain on the ground or he'll most likely stomp on you.

You croak quickly silence yourself, forcing yourself to not speak and maintain your desperate strategy. Bracing yourself instead like you're facing a wild animal.

He marches forward, grabbing the arm you hold out. You'd rather he break your limbs than your organs. But he uses the arm to yank you forward, his right fist hooking broadly, your head snapping to the side, blood flying from your mouth. "Still not going to speak baby?" He yanks you back, hitting you in the exact same way. And a third time, your mouth gushing blood inside and out. "Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" He laughs switching his target, this time aiming at your torso. Each time dragging you back into place so he can properly hit you again.

Smacking the back of his hand into your head, he lets your fly into the floor this time. Clicking his tongue as he squats, hovering over you. "Baby, it's not as fun when you're not begging me to stop," he says icily. "Maybe I'm not hurting you enough."

Finally, he's giving you the assurance that you were right. Which means just like you thought, he's threatening to become more vicious. So you can endure that, or you can try something extra and see what happens when you outrightly give him everything he already takes.

Gently and so very carefully you lift your arm to his chest, gradually and painfully getting yourself onto your knees. Watching you do so with such difficulty and while you're trying to maintain eye contact with him, Hoseok is too amused to interrupt you.

With the taste of blood flowing from your mouth, you lean in nervously, expecting at any moment to have your body broken in two. Your heart thumps enough to hurt as you lightly kiss him. Leaving a stamp of your blood on his lips. Too scared to even blink as you monitor him. With a curious expression in his eye, he licks lips clean, a trace of a smile raising the corners of his mouth.

Not receiving a negative reaction you continue. Hoisting yourself up again you begin to kiss him slowly, your tongue flicking his lips encouraging him to open his mouth. Deepening the kiss the moment he does. Kissing your blood between the two of you.

Your hands are shaking, your legs are trembling, and you feel sick with fear, but he seems to be stable. And it seems to be working. As tenderly as you kiss him, he is kissing you back the same.

After several minutes and as the pain of holding yourself up gets to be too much, you lower down, terrified that any movement could evoke a change in his response. Keeping your eyes fixed on him, you tie your hair back into a messy bun.

The smirk on Hoseok's face is fully grown as he watches you with complete intrigue. You've never been the one to initiate anything and he is beguiled by your actions.

Coming back to the same height you don't return to kissing him, instead you press your chest to his, clinging one hand into his shirt to keep you balanced, and the other wrapping around his neck to bring his mouth down to your shoulder. It's a wordless invitation that he accepts eagerly, sinking his fangs into the slope of your neck. Too sore and tired to cry out, you can only pant through the bite.

As he drinks, your hands drop and his tighten around you to keep you up. But the second he's done, he releases you and lets you fall to the carpet.

Your eyes open as you hear the bedroom door. However, you see Hoseok stall. Pursing his lips while looking over his shoulder at you. To your surprise, he turns back and in a delicate manner you did not think possible from him, he lifts you up, carrying you to your bed.

Tilting your head up, he presses his lips to yours and your first thought is one of dread. Assuming that he's not finished and he only came back to have sex with you, thinking how much it's going to hurt in your condition.

Pushing his tongue into your mouth you can feel right away that the blood pouring into your mouth is not yours but his. His tongue lapping yours, feeding you his blood the same way you did to him. Healing you in a way he never has before.

Steadily you can feel all your cuts and breaks startling to heal. Clarity returning to your sight and your breath again flowing easily. As your energy returns you begin to reciprocate the kiss. Both out of a feeling of success and clinging on to the taste of his blood, which has come to trigger a feeling of relief within you. Having attached the flavour with the sensation of having your pain taken away.

Abruptly, Hoseok pulls away, getting up without another word or look. Leaving you alone, laying in shock.

It was a reaction unlike any you had expected, but for the very first time, he was damn near humane. So you would have to try that again and see if lightning strikes twice.

Playboy! Jimin

"Ta-da" Jimin bursts into the bedroom with a small black paper bag in his hand and a massive smile on his face. He jumps on the corner of the bed snatching the remote from you and turning the tv off with a click over his shoulder. "Look, Angel." He hands it over, putting the gift in your lap.

Looking down at it, you sigh internally, leaning back you choose to pointedly ignore it. Resting your head against the headboard, you close your eyes.

Lifting the bag by the handles Jimin swings it between his fingers over your head trying to place it in your eye line. "Look, your favourite." He shakes the brand in your face, the joy in his eyes gently fading into guilt.

For 5 days now, you had been stuck in bed. During an argument about your job, Jimin was once again trying to convince you to quit. His points were the same as always. That you didn't need a job because he could pay for you. That you lived with him, and he would buy you heaven and earth. He meant it in a sweet romantic way, but you couldn't help but take it in a 1910 housewife kind of way. You knew that mostly the reason he wanted you out of work was that he was very greedy with you and hated you being around other people. He didn't like that you weren't there to keep him company and entertain him at all times.

Honestly, those 8 hours out of the house, even though you were down to 3 days a week, were so revitalizing. Jimin could be a lot of work. And he was getting more and more controlling about who you saw and when you could see them. Apart from work, it had been 3 months since he last let you go out or see any of your friends by yourself. And you were fighting to hold onto this last little bit of freedom.

However, you will admit in the attempt at making your point solid, you said something incredibly stupid. He said he paid for everything, and you said you needed your own money in case you ever wanted to leave him. And he took that about as well as you'd expect.

"Come on, this isn't fair." Jimin pouts. "I said I'm sorry."

What really wasn't fair was that he hit you, kicked you, and screamed at you. Demanding you apologize and promise to never leave him. But you were coughing up blood, too dazed to even comprehend his words at the time. And when you didn't answer he growled you can't leave if you can't walk as he threw you down the stairs.

It's only by a miracle that you weren't injured as permanently as he intended, but still, he had done plenty of harm. Your ribs and stomach were black and purple. Your face was cut up with your lips split and your jaw swollen. Your arm and hip were also deeply bruised and sore. But with all of this, you truly have no idea the full extent of the damage because Jimin refuses to let you go to the hospital.

So, due to your injuries and your own principles, you hadn't spoken to Jimin since you woke up.

The first day he was remorseful and apologetic. He pleaded and begged for you to forgive him. He tried to hold you and love you and take care of you, but despite the pain and the fact that you really couldn't take care of yourself, you refused him at every turn. On the second day, he was already becoming annoyed that you wouldn't let him near you and kept ignoring him, and on the third day, he yelled at you for being difficult, trying to put the blame for his reaction on you. Yesterday, when he saw that gaslighting you wasn't getting him what he wanted, he went back to being sweet and doting, having had better luck with guilting you in the past.

This means today when his presents don't earn him your forgiveness, he should be right on track to getting pissy again.

He pulls a small box out of the bag, flicking it open. "Ta-da," he smiles. Only to be met once more with your active avoidance. "Look," he whines holding the ring box up but your eyes are closed. "Y/n look!" He barks.

You're not going to, though. He always does this. Buys you something to resolve his guilt. And if for even a moment you express gratitude or pleasure in it, he takes it as complete forgiveness. Then when you haven't actually absolved him, he accuses you of being difficult or a spoiled bitch. Even ignoring him you know he's going to make a problem of that too, but at least this way he will have to keep suffering in his shame.

During the last few days, you've been thinking hard about why you're with Jimin. For a moment, you even thought about packing your things in the middle of the night and leaving him. Moving back in with your old housemate, returning to full-time work and picking up your life where you left it. But thinking that, even with everything bad Jimin can do, it hurt your heart.

He's yours. And out of all of the people in the world, you're his.

Really there weren't too many times that he freaked. And he only did it because he loved you too much, or because you said something cruel like you did this time. No, most of the time he was so sweet. He listened to you, and he really cared about everything you had to say. Even the smallest problems he wanted to help with. He was normally so kind and gentle and he treated you like a princess.

No matter how hard you looked you would never find anyone who treated you like Jimin did.

So even when he lost his temper, you knew you just needed to hold out, because soon everything would return to regular.

This time he just overdid it. And that's why you were punishing him by not speaking to him. Because you knew it was important to stand up for yourself.

There's a flurry of sudden movement and a hefty bang across the room. Your eyes jumping open, Jimin has thrown the ring and the box into the wall. His frustration exploding in a rampage as he attacks your makeup table. Sweeping everything off it, stomping on anything fragile that hits the floor. Throwing the table over he hurls it into the wall, finishing it off by booting his shoe into the mirror over and over until it cracks.

Turning back to you, his hands curled up by his side, it's unnervingly apparent that he is fighting to restrain himself. Even now, as you lay in bed broken, in his rage he is still considering hitting you again.

But you're pretty sure he won't.

Jimin has just never been good at dealing with consequences and he is worse at dealing with the guilt that comes because of his actions. Without you pardoning him, he's going mental. Which is good, because that means he's learning.

"Whatever," he yells, "just fucking forget it." Barging out of the room he slams the door ferociously behind him.

He may be acting harsh, but you know that more than likely he will be going out to replace everything he just damaged. And he'll buy you something even better than a ring to say he's sorry.

And as long as he doesn't hit you again, you'll know that he really is sorry and in a couple more days when your mouth is healed, you will be able to forgive him. Then the two of you can move on from this and it will be as perfect as it can be.

302 notes · View notes

hoe-doroki · 5 years ago

Text

ana’s bnha x reader masterlist

first updated 11.17.20 last updated 07.13.21 desktop version found here bkdk masterlist: desktop | mobile

fics [38] drabbles [13]

Thanks for dropping by! I want to note that I no longer write x reader and instead am writing bakudeku shipfic. So! By all means, read, like, comment on my fics here! But I can't recommend that you follow me unless you like bakudeku. Hope you enjoy your time here regardless! <3

legend:

character x character

Title w/ link | [rating] | word count | genre

Synopsis

ratings are bracketed: e.g. [g], [t], [m], [e]

[g] - appropriate for general audiences [t] - appropriate for audiences 13+ [m] - contains non-graphic adult themes [e] - explicit, 18+ readers only

🌸 = personal faves

characters x reader: no ship (1), aizawa (2), bakugou (12), endeavor (1), iida (2), kaminari (1), kirishima (4), midoriya (7), shinsou (2), todoroki (19)

Everything is in alphabetical order <3

no ship

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort

The results are in and your class is all with you as you process the results

aizawa x reader

Stress Relief | [e] | 3k | smut

There's a new regulation that forces you to take an extra class before you can graduate college. When you learn that Eraserhead is teaching the class, you’re a little more interested.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort

Aizawa reminds that you were prepared for this and, together, you can handle it.

bakugou x reader

Can’t Find My Breath | [e] | 4.2k | smut 🌸

At the beginning of the day, Ground Zero was just another hero you wrote articles about. Now it’s nighttime and you’ve just left a bar together. Companion to The Rest with No Sound

Christmas Cold | [g] | 1k | fluff

You and Katsuki manage to make it to your parents' house for the holidays, but you've come down with a little cold.

Doing Something Right | [e] | 1.8k | smut

You’re pregnant and happily enjoying domestic bliss when Katsuki comes in, unable to resist you.

Frustration | [e] | 3.1k | smut

request. After a long day of work, Katsuki comes home frustrated and you, suffering from a different kind of frustration yourself, know exactly what will help you both.

Gorgeous | [e] | 1.5k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask. When you have a negative response to Katsuki touching you in a moment of insecurity, he intends to do whatever he can to alleviate your fears.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

Magic | [e] | 2.2k | smut

request. Katsuki comes home early and catches you...taking care of yourself.

Miniskirts | [e] | 0.8k | smut 🌸

After a long day, Katsuki takes a shower and his thoughts turn to you.

On the Job | [e] | 4.5k | smut 🌸

Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just of porn and fantasy--they’re common and too often fall into the wrong hands. When heroes get hit, someone has to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be?

You.

The Rest with No Sound | [t] | 8.5k | slow burn, fluff 🌸

Bakugou thinks that people who wake up not remembering where they are are idiots. This is confirmed when it happens to him, head aching from a night of drinking. Idiot. But when he looks over, and sees you there, he realizes he doesn’t remember anything. So he has to gather the scattered pieces from the day before to figure out exactly how he ended up with you. Companion to Can’t Find My Breath

Stay | [g] | 2.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

ask. The last thing you want to do on a rough day is worry Bakugou with your problems. So you try to hide it. You should have known better.

Steamy | [e] | 2.7k | smut

request. You're a pro hero, rising in the ranks and, happy though he is for you, Katsuki's old jealousy begins to roil. After you've been paraded around all evening as one of Japan's finest, Katsuki finds himself feeling more than a little possessive, and can't help himself from taking you as his.

Steel and Lace | [e] | 3.8k | smut

The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

endeavor x reader

When the Smoke Clears | [e] | 17.4k | slow burn, smut

Soulmate AU. After his battle with Hawks against Hood, Endeavor wakes up in the hospital to find that a young doctor saved his life, their quirk being able to counteract the negative effects of his own. His first thought is that he has to talk to you–you might be able to fix the drawbacks of his quirk. His second thought is oh no, not again.

iida x reader

Broken Glass | [g] | 1.8k | fluff, mild comfort

request. In a quirk-related accident you find yourself surrounded by shattered glass. Worst of all, most of that glass is from every single pair of your boyfriend’s glasses.

Flotsam, Jetsam, Lagan, and Derelict | [g] | 1.5k | hurt/comfort

ask. Trying to hide a panic attack from your boyfriend isn’t easy when he’s right next to you. But you’re determined to suffer alone.

kaminari x reader

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

You share your unsteady hope with Kaminari.

kirishima x reader

Silhouette | [e] | 1.8k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask. Before a gala, you’re stuck in the mirror, caught on all your old body insecurities. Kiri comes in and loves you regardless.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

We’ll See | [g] | 6.3k | gen, light romance 🌸

demisexual!Reader. After a fateful meeting, you and Kirishima keep running into each other. And although he’s so nice, you fear the fact that he might be interested in you. Even though all you want is, for once, to let yourself be happy and maybe fall in love, you can’t seem to be able to.

What We Look For | [t] | 15.5 | slow burn

Last time, you and Kirishima became friends—nothing more, nothing less. The idea of being something more sounds nice. But you can’t. You just can’t. So you won’t. Whatever happens will be on your own terms. Sequel to We'll See

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Kirishima freaks out while you experience a numb calm. You meet in the middle.

midoriya x reader

Bad Days | [g] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

Izuku helps you get out of bed.

Sunlight | [e] | 2.1k | smut 🌸

request. An early afternoon in bed with your husband, Izuku.

Surprised, Just Once | [e] | 5k | smut

request. You were planning on just another predictable night out with the girls. What you got was much, much more.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.3k | hurt/comfort

Izuku holds you close while you watch the results.

Multiple unrelated oneshots with Deku with an s/o with an eating disorder | ask

Gratitude | [t] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

After having been with Izuku a while, you’re suffering a relapse and he helps you through with some gratitude practices on date night.

Picnic | [t] | 1.8k | hurt/comfort

Izuku surprises you with a picnic on your second date, much to your horror.

A Start | [t] | 1.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

You ask Izuku for help when you realize you need it.

Trust Yourself | [t] | 2.3k | hurt/comfort

Shortly after moving in together, Izuku learns of your struggles and tries his best to comfort and encourage you.

shinsou x reader

Passing the Night Stars | [g] | 3.2k | hurt/comfort

The party was neon and you needed darkness.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Shinsou helps you prioritize yourself.

todoroki x reader

All Dressed Up | [e] | 4.6k | smut 🌸

quarantine fic. It’s been months since you’ve dressed up, felt pretty, and felt seen by anyone. Your husband’s birthday is a perfect excuse to get all dressed up. And then take it right off.

All the Wasted Time | [e] | 3.2k | smut, fluff

Three months ago, you’d been ripped from Shouto’s side with something less than a love confession, something more than a show of feelings. Now that you’re back, you’re eager to make up for lost time. Siberia sequel, First Snow prequel

Bad Days | [g] | 0.9k | hurt/comfort 🌸

Shouto comforts you when your demons arrive unexpectedly.

First Snow | [g] | 2.2k | fluff

A year after the events in Siberia, you and Shouto are happily together, and it’s the first snow of the year. Siberia and All the Wasted Time sequel

On the Job | [e] | 3.4k | smut 🌸

You. Sequel to On the Job (Bakugou); can be read alone

Siberia | [e] | 13.8k | pining/angst, smut, fluff 🌸

On the field, you and Todoroki are rising stars amongst hero pairings. Off the field…you’re kind of in love with him. After a successful capture, you’re boss brings you in to let you know you’re being sent on assignment in foreign country…alone. Before you leave, you have to act. You’re not partners anymore, after all. And with a little liquid courage you do. Then, the next morning, you still have to leave. All the Wasted Time and First Snow prequel.

Worth it | [t] | 0.3k | gen

The morning after with your boyfriend, Shouto.

2021 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.5k | hurt/comfort

The stress of election day comes back swiftly during the Georgia runoff and Todoroki’s quick to notice.

all works below are within the world of the a spare heart series:

A series about a fem, American reader who had to transfer to U.A. partway through second year. You’re there to become a hero, that much is obvious, but why else did you come? And, more importantly, what—or who—makes you stay?

timeline

may, year two:

- reader finishes junior year of American high school early

- reader transfers to u.a. from the united states

The Meeting | [g] | 0.1k | gen

Reader meets Tokoyami for the first time. Sequel to first impressions from my wip list

Hollow Victory | [g] | 9.6k | gen, action

chapter 1 | chapter 2

You transferred to U.A. from America two weeks ago. No one has found out your quirk yet. Today, they’re going be meeting it head on and you have the advantage: surprise.

june, year two:

Illiterate | [g] | 2.1k | fluff, comfort

Being unable to read Japanese makes you feel so stupid. And who comes into the common room after midnight just as you’re about to cry? The boy who hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks.

sequels

The Offering | [g] | 0.4k | fluff, gen.

The Mission (Shouto POV) | [g] | 0.3k | fluff, gen., silly

september, year two:

Impetus | [g] | 2.1k | friendship

Ever since Shinsou found out what your quirk was, the two of you have been each other’s best friends and confidantes. But when he turns a casual training session into a tease over your supposed crush on someone in your class, that trust might just break.

january, year two:

This Clock Never Seemed So Alive | [g] | 1.2k | fluff, comfort

You and your boyfriend, Shouto, always walk to class together, but today you haven’t yet left your dorm. When he checks on you, he finds you awake, but curled on your side, suffering from period cramps.

sequels

The Questions (drabble) | [g] | 0.1k | gen.

The Sweetness (double drabble) | [g] | 0.2k | fluff, comfort

february, year three:

Between Fear and Guilt | [t] | 2.5k | light angst, comfort

You and Shouto only started being intimate a couple months back, but you’re already experiencing a dry spell. Today you’re going to figure out what’s up with your boyfriend once and for all.

fifteen years after graduation

Something Perfect | [e] | 3.7k | smut, fluff

After years of questioning if Shouto would ever want children, he’s finally decided that he really does. Overjoyed, the two of you decide to get started.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #deku x reader #iida x reader #ida x reader #kirishima x reader #aizawa x reader #shinsou x reader #endeavor x reader

831 notes · View notes

post-it-notes7 · 4 years ago

Note

(SPOILERS AHOY!!!) Alrighty, then. So you did a great job on making us think Galacta's teetering on the edge of corruption due to his past betrayal and typical attitude throughout the story. But what many of us readers weren't aware of is that it was actually somebody else. (By the way, I can't wait what'll happen next!)

(rambles about Ch23 below)

Aha, so is the nature of a plot twist >:)

I have very little experience writing them, but dearly wanted to make this a good one xD (the struggle always comes down to making something happen that's not only surprising, but actually believable) Galacta Knight's building fear of corruption was a major red herring plot-wise, but it doesn't discount how terrifying it is for him, and it still stays true to where his character stands in IYD—he is exactly the kind of being to be a risk for something like this after all, and he's aware that he's a bit of a mess still trying to recover and adjust to a new kind of life. He knows the most about soul corruption, and he almost gave into it once before, too. It's not hard for him to envision it happening, and it's common knowledge to him that manipulating souls takes magic, so he never thinks to worry about MK, nor warn the other about potential warning signs.

Despite readily claiming otherwise, he feels emotions pretty strongly too, and that's what drives magic in the H&S series. He learned very drastically that he had to get his sentiments straightened out fast when it comes to what he'll do for MK, since the other's tendencies to make reckless decisions (most often under stress) make it that GK only has a split second to decide if he's going to help him, or stay out of it. Given the gravity of the situation, he's finally pushed to accepting that he cares about MK and his well-being, and he's resolved to throw himself full force into enforcing that. He's currently struggling with his own values related to how he sees himself (ex: as seen, he berates himself over acting "pathetic" in his head) and he's started down the treacherous path of thinking that maybe he never really deserved something like friendship in the first place, and that leaving to keep everyone safe would be just be better all around. It would be a lot better if he could freely talk about it and explain everything to MK, but he's panicked and stressed, stuck in unfamiliar territory when it comes to friendship, and terrified that he's running out of time. That he'll be too late, and the choice will be ripped out of his hands. He’s never dealt with the stress of actually caring about someone else before.

MK, on the other hand, has been trying to juggle about a thousand different things (half of which don't even need juggling) with only Galaxia, who of course doesn't understand emotions, privy to his thoughts and offering advice. He was rankled by GK's initial arrival and all it brought up, and he nearly died from the dimensional rift (which as it stands, was an incident that happened less than a week ago), however—he shoved it all aside and convinced himself that since he survived it, secrets intact, it’s fine. Why should he talk about it or any of the worries he's facing while adjusting to having someone who could potentially become a close friend again? They're his problems after all, and they're better left hidden until he can effectively figure out how to handle them on his own. He's trying settle by convincing himself that he has everything under control, and that it will all go back to normal with time. Basically, he's stressing himself out to no end, making it hard to focus as well as he usually does when making decisions, and Galaxia's "helpful" warnings that if he messes up the galaxy will suffer the costs, is not doing anything great. Neither is the discovery that the rest of cast has been looking for Nova, stacked on top of the threat that they could know of his wings, and of course, also the sudden arrival of the GSA.

In the past, he used to rely on Jecra and Garlude to share his worries, but after losing them he was afraid of becoming dependent on someone like that again (and in turn getting hurt if he lost them), one of the factors to why he closed off. GK however, being GK, will bluntly crash though the door of his false calm, look around at all the things lying around like MK's self-consciousness and hints of past traumas, and go "Wow. You live like this?" Before tearing down all the walls, for better or for worse, and offering what is basically his own version of unconditional (and often convoluted or angry) support. MK's proved his strength and intentions once before, and that's all GK needs to respect him (even though he still acts like a menace).

I know I haven't ever talked much about past GK, but back before the betrayal and being trained to fight, he actually had quite a large capacity for compassion. (Once again, he feels emotions very strongly, its why he'll strive for apathy when he's distressed.) Unfortunately, he only aimed it at one thing, which was serving The Ancients (who he whole-heartedly trusted and looked up to, having wanted to prove he was worth being chosen to be mentored by them) and they only wanted him as an indestructible weapon. So, he became that—and then they betrayed him when he surpasses their expectations and control, and it lead to a whole storm of hurt for him to deal with.

It was suppressed, but he was also incredibly lonely growing up (since he was separated and trained to be the Greatest) and he'll become extremely protective of what he cares about (as showcased in Ch23). MK's shown him the most understanding he’s gotten in practically his whole life, and finally, GK's warmer, caring side can start to creep back out after having been beaten down and shoved aside in favor of anger for so long. He can be very affectionate, even if a lot of it starts with "you complete idiot, you are the absolute worst" and he can be fiercely supportive, though it takes a lot of digging to get there. Basically, deep down, he’s capable of being a good friend. He’s working on himself.

MK is now finally putting trust in that. He's opened up a little here and there, but he's finally resigned to the fact that maybe, just maybe, everything will be a little easier if he leans some weight on GK. That maybe its okay to start being a little dependent again, and he doesn't have to carry everything by himself. That it's healthier for himself, even.

And then GK falls apart in front of him apologizing for this mess (that MK is convinced he alone created) of all things, claiming he has to leave and giving only half a rushed explanation as to why, which MK doesn't understand (soul corruption? the only other time GK has mentioned it to him, he said to not even worry about, and now he's leaving because of it?) and that tentative trust he just started to rely on is ripped out from under him as he watches GK fly off into the night. MK figures he can only blame himself, convinced that he made the situation bad enough that it forced the other away. If only he was stronger to keep it from getting out of hand. If only he had more control.

Due to his overwhelming conviction, alongside this utter mess of emotional turmoil, he's in the exact state of mind that’s been warned to potentially lead to a drastic outcome like soul corruption. It’s a similar situation that GK has found himself running in circles over, but MK's missing one, extremely important thing. Magic.

And so, the Heart Spear comes in. He knows it’s supposed to soothe worry, and it immediately seeks to banish all of this disastrous negativity swarming him, but because MK helped create it (giving him a kind of backdoor only he, or GK could use) and the magic within finds itself latching onto his frantic emotions and responding to that instead. His willpower wins out. Suddenly, he's been given the means to unknowingly weaponize it against himself.

If he corrupts his soul (though he doesn't realize that's what he's about to do) he'll have the strength he so badly wishes for. What does the cost to himself matter, so long as he gains the power to fix this and make sure everyone else is okay in the end?

So, that desperate resolve in mind, he willing takes the last step, unaware of just what it means he’ll lose in the process. GK is too far away. Everyone else is back in the throne room. No one is there to break him out of this spell, and Galaxia doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late.

Crack!

Whoops, definitely rambled there xD. Let me tell ya, it was ridiculously tedious to spread out the build up over all the previous chapters, but it’s successfully shattered both hearts and expectations :’)

We’ll be seeing the consequences soon enough...

#post's rambles #spoilers #spoiler warning

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seijorhi · 5 years ago

Text

Acts of Devotion

👀 i um 👉 👈 i hope this is okay...

Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

TW blood, gore, violence, murder, dub con, nsfw

Akaashi loves you.

He’s known that for a long time now, probably from the very first moment he laid eyes on you, back when you were both just wide eyed first year uni students, wildly out of your depths.

A lot’s changed since then. For one, he now gets to call you his, and it’s his arms that you return to at the end of a long day, his house that you both live in. It’d be a lie to say that it doesn’t bother him that he wasn’t your first love, but he’s contented himself with the knowledge that he’ll be your last. Your only great love.

The only one that matters.

But it hasn’t been without its challenges. He’s learned a lot about love since those early days, about what it means to truly devote yourself to somebody, to give everything you have for them.

Love essentially boils down to two things, Akaashi’s come to realise - sacrifice, and forgiveness.

You always look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. Of course, Akaashi thinks you’re beautiful all the time; when you’re smiling and laughing, when your face is screwed up in petulant anger, when those pretty eyes of yours well with tears and they glimmer and shine - but there’s something about the peaceful expression, so soft and unguarded when you’re asleep that inexplicably draws him in.

There’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to stay, to reach out and brush away the hair that’s fallen across your face, pull you closer and let sleep drag him under, but he can’t.

Not tonight.

Instead he cranes his neck to press a kiss against your lips, a small smile tugging at his lips when you let out a quiet mewl in response. He loves you so, so much… that’s why he has to do this.

He’d forgive you anything. You know that, don’t you?

Sure, it hurt him when he found the messages. Scrolling back through your text history, it was like somebody had grabbed him by the throat and plunged a knife into his gut, twisting it for good measure.

Kaito i don’t know what to do

i love him but lately it feels like idk he’s being a little controlling i guess?

… but maybe i’m just being paranoid?

He knows it’s not entirely your fault. For all the amazing qualities you possess, you are remarkably naive and so very, very impressionable - which worked to his favour in the beginning, he’ll be the first to admit, but now…

Now it’s becoming a problem.

You haven’t realised yet that everything Akaashi’s doing - it’s all for your own good.

Your family wanted you under their thumb. They always asked too much of you, guilt tripped you whenever you tried to stand up for yourself or set boundaries. They’d never be happy for you, not truly. It hurts, he knows that, but some people don’t deserve to be in your life, especially when they treat you like that.

Your job was causing you stress, and your boss was an arrogant, nasty piece of work. His salary is more than enough to support you both, why put yourself through that if you don’t need to? Aren’t you happier now that you don’t have to trudge into that office every day and pretend that it isn’t making you miserable?

Your friends were bad influences. Jealous of your relationship for one, but they were also petty, self absorbed and vapid, always trying to drag you down to their level so you wouldn’t ever outshine them. You’re better off without them, why can’t you see that?

Akaashi’s the only one you’ll ever need.

And he really thought that he’d solved that little problem, but apparently not. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that out of all of them, Kaito’s the one who’s been the hardest to shake. An old friend of yours from high school, Akaashi had known within five minutes of meeting him that he was head over heels in love with you and had been for a long, long time.

He can’t blame him for that. You’re beautiful. Perfect. Entirely his. It’s painfully obvious that even before he came into the picture to sweep you off your feet, you’d never so much as looked twice at the guy. So Akaashi was more or less content to let his somewhat pitiful one sided crush on you slide. Considering that he had absolutely no intentions of letting him or any of your other friends remain part of your life for much longer, it was hardly worth wasting energy thinking about.

Until, that is, he read the messages that Kaito’s been sending you.

Leave him

I’m serious.

My sister had a friend who was with a guy like that. She had to get a restraining order because he wouldn’t let her go - it got scary… You can come stay with me. I don’t want you getting hurt :(

It’s that last one that bothers him. Not the attempts to lure you away from him under the guise of being a safe haven from your ‘dangerous’ boyfriend, painting himself as your knight in shining armour - mildly irritating if not a little amusing - but for putting the idea in your head that Akaashi would ever hurt you.

That he can’t forgive.

He won’t have you look at him with fear in your eyes.

Akaashi’s never tried to deny that side of himself, but he’s kept it from you, locked it away and buried it deep. The things he does… you’re too pure for that. He loves you, loves the way that your eyes still soften when you catch sight of him, the warm, trusting naivety that bleeds out of your every pore. If you knew what the hands that caressed you so gently had done, would you still beg for his touch?

You wouldn’t, he knows that just as he knows that even if you were to uncover the truth, he wouldn’t let you go. He can’t, you’re his.

Is it really so selfish of him to want to preserve that innocent naivety?

But it seems like now he’ll have to indulge once again, and Akaashi, really, truly can’t say that it bothers him. Killing other people has always thrilled him, made the blood in his veins race… Killing other people for you, oh, that’s going to be a whole other level of pleasure he can’t wait to explore.

The pads of his fingers trace the curve of your jaw for just a moment. “Back soon,” he whispers, gracing your cheek with a feather light kiss.

You’ve never asked why the door to the basement locks from both sides, he doesn’t even think you realise that the walls are soundproofed. Tonight he’s grateful. You won’t wake up, he’s almost positive of that, but Akaashi has no desire to be gone from your side for any longer than absolutely necessary.

He usually prefers to take his time.

His first kill was more of an accident than anything else, there was too much blood, he panicked and it was over in the blink of an eye. There wasn’t time to savour it, to really enjoy the sight of the light leaving their eyes, the weak, desperate struggles and whimpers, the tantalising fear that inevitably bleeds into the air, growing more potent by the second - even the strongest break eventually. He’s learned since then how to draw it out, how to have fun with his work.

But he doesn’t have that luxury tonight, and, as he keeps having to remind himself, this isn’t about his pleasure.

Guns are quick. Messy. Akaashi’s never really taken a liking to the crude, graceless weapon. He prefers his knives.

Waving a gun in somebody’s face gives them the idea that they’re going to die, and there are only so many times that you can shoot somebody before they just… bleed out. It’s not nearly as satisfying a death. A knife, on the other hand, brings with it more opportunities. It isn’t death that his victim becomes worried about, at least not initially, but pain. And as his hand glides over his collection, Akaashi decides that Kaito is due for a little pain.

I love him, you’d texted. I love him. I love him. I love him.

That’s what he’s trying to protect.

Long, pale fingers wrap around the handle of his chef’s knife, (eight inches, sharp - a familiar, comforting weight in his hand) and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

Kaito’s mouth is taped shut. Akaashi doesn’t want to hear a filthy word out of those lips. His hands are bound behind his back, his ankles tied to the old, wooden chair. He’s good with his knots, the more Kaito struggles, the tighter they pull. And judging from the ugly, purpling shade of his hands and the tears leaking from bloodshot eyes, he’s been struggling for a while.

Good.

Akaashi smiles as he strolls towards his captive audience, fingering the straight edge of the knife. Kaito doesn’t try to speak, but the muffled whines and sobs grow louder with every step closed between them. The fear and tension in the air is palpable.

His breath is little more than a frantic wheezing by the time Akaashi stops in front of him and drops into a crouch. Cool, gunmetal blue eyes meet Kaito’s deep brown ones, blown wide with terror.

“I’m not the monster you think I am,” he admits quietly.

Looking up at him from beneath long, dark lashes, a faint smile on his lips, Akaashi could almost pass for an angel if not for the gleaming kitchen knife in his hand. Kaito pales, his entire body going taut as his gaze slides from Akaashi’s face to the gleaming blade in his hand. He shakes his head in desperation, another muffled scream escaping his gag-

Akaashi strikes fast, like a viper. The blade plunges into the meat of Kaito’s thigh and without an ounce of mercy, Akaashi yanks it back towards his knee.

The scream that rips through the air sends a pleasurable shiver of warmth down his spine, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he feels the muscles beneath him convulse. The gash isn’t too long, maybe a few inches, but it’s deep and Akaashi’s smirk only grows as warm blood gushes from the wound, coating his hand in slick vermilion.

He tugs the knife free, rewarded with another choked howl from his captive as more blood sprays. Bound to the chair, there’s not a whole lot of room for Kaito to move, but it’s somewhat amusing to watch him try to thrash, escape the white hot agony radiating from his thigh through his entire body. It’s hard for the human body to comprehend that level of pain, and from experience, Akaashi’s well aware that it won’t take long for his body to go into shock and simply shut down from the blood loss, and once that happens, he won’t be of much use to anyone.

Kaito’s trembling, face pale, his skin clammy. Impossibly black pupils swallow his irises whole, erratically tracking his captor’s every movement as Akaashi pushes himself to his feet and takes a moment to study him. Tears and bubbles of snot leak in a disgusting mix down his jaw, dripping onto his lap as he sobs against his bindings. It’s pitiful, seeing a man reduced to a whimpering, terrified wreck, but as the hand still holding his knife grips at his chin and yanks his face closer, Akaashi can’t help but gleefully drink it all in.

Your would be knight in shining armour doesn’t look quite so strong and capable now, does he?

Akaashi doesn’t have much time left to make him suffer, but he can’t seem to resist trailing his fingers along Kaito’s injured leg, digging them deep into the ruined muscle - grinning wildly when he convulses and screams, arching up off the chair.

There’s still so much that he’d like to do. He toys with the idea of taking his tongue, of carving his knife deep into his skin just to watch him whimper and bleed… but no. This isn’t about indulgence. This is about you. He has to have more discipline than that.

Dangling on the edge of consciousness, Kaito meets his gaze one last time. Maybe he senses that his death is close, or maybe he’s just searching for a last minute reprieve, mercy from the cold blooded killer before him. Terrified, agonised, delirious from the blood loss, he tries to speak - a plea, he thinks, or maybe just incomprehensible babbling, but his eyes burn into Akaashi’s, desperate and hollow.

Akaashi’s never been one for theatrics. He won’t waste more time monologuing while your friend clings to the last vestiges of life. If Kaito hasn’t guessed by now the reasons he’s ended up here, at Akaashi’s mercy, he’s far less intelligent than he gave him credit for, but he supposes that he owes him something, at least.

“I love her,” he says with a small shrug, as if it explains everything.

And maybe it does.

It hardly matters though, as Akaashi decides to finally end it with a vicious slice across his throat. Blood sprays like a fountain, splattering across the room and drenching him, Kaito’s body slumps in his seat, the last flicker of life slowly snuffing out, and Akaashi revels in the pure, sweet euphoria that floods his system.

He’s never killed anybody while you were home with him before. Normally he’s methodical, quick to clean up whatever mess is left behind. Tonight though, Akaashi doesn’t have the patience for all that.

He should at least take a shower, rid himself of the blood that soaked him to the skin, but the call of your arms, the sweet, soft floral scent he longs to drown himself in beckoning is too hard to resist. He sheds his clothes, casting them aside haphazardly along with the bloody knife as he stalks down the hallway to the bedroom. His heart is still racing, excitement drumming through his veins as he crawls onto the bed and slides the covers off of you.

Dimly, he registers that this is a monumentally bad idea, but all he can think about is the vivid memory of the light leaving Kaito’s eyes and you. Tonight, he killed for you, and it was exhilarating.

He doesn’t think he could stop himself even if he wanted to, and why would he want to?

You’re perfect, beautiful - his. Nothing and nobody will ever be able to separate the two of you, he’ll kill anybody who tries.

You stir a little as Akaashi’s lips graze along your skin, his fingers sliding the silk of your nightgown up over your hips.

“‘Kaashi?” you sleepily murmur, trying to blink heavy eyelids open.

He wonders if you can feel the way his bloodstained hands are trembling as they ease your supple thighs apart. “Shh, baby,” he presses a kiss against your leg as he manoeuvres himself between them, “It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

Let me take care of you.

He needs this.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere akaashi x reader #yandere akaashi #yandere akaashi keiji #yandere akaashi keiji x reader #tw blood #tw violence #tw murder #slasher-ish vibes #tw dub con #just a little #not super proof read because it's 3:30 in the morning

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lavendertales · 4 years ago

Text

What goes around, comes around (Javier Peña x f!reader)

Part 12 of Lay It On Me series**

summary: while Steve tries to be serviceable to both you and Javier when you become estranged, an unexpected meeting turns out to be just the stress relief you needed.

word count: 4.3k

WARNINGS: f x f relationship. Cunnilingus, fingering, squirting, face sitting, mentions of alcohol.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @pedroispunk

series masterlist | AO3 | playlist

You had been ignored plenty and have ignored back throughout your many years of life, but that right there was on an entirely new level.

You were at the office mostly during the night; since Horacio had co-opted Javier as his right hand to locate Limón and Pablo—and since you heard that Javier was mostly living in the conference room, earphones over his ears and eyes in the screen in his attempts to locate the two—you carried your activities during nighttime, in peace. At least apparently. Steve had offered to assist you just so you wouldn’t be alone and, despite your insistence and protests, he stayed.

At least he did.

You didn’t even see Javier in the following few weeks. You caught brief glimpses of his silhouette and heard him once in a while when he was talking to Horacio, but that was it. Truth be told, you were glad. You ripped off the band aid, quick, and the worst part was over. You had one less worry in your life, an aggravation you did not need.

The job came first, but—

But.

The atmosphere was still tense at the office. Everyone was mourning Trujillo’s loss, held a toast to his memory and set up a little shrine where colleagues could place little cards, flowers, candles, whatever they wanted to. One late night, you lit a candle and simply stared at the picture in the center of the shrine, exhaling loudly. You regretted not being there, not joining the team in their various efforts to aid each other, and you felt a huge wave of sadness taking over you the more you stared at the picture. You were more than acquainted with loss and pain, but lately, there was just more and more of it.

You quietly returned to your desk just as Steve returned with two cups of coffee, handing one to you.

“Not to pour salt on the open cut, but how long are you and Javi gonna ignore each other?” Steve asked you.

You blankly stared at him. “We can set a pretty high record, I assume. Does that impact your life in any way?”

“Kind of. The whole atmosphere here is already tense with Trujillo’s death, and now you two—”

“Us what? We’re both doing our job.”

“Even Carrillo noticed.”

“You’re making it sound like he’s the last person to realize anything, ever.”

“That’s not what I—okay, whatever’s happening or happened—”

“Nothing did.”

“I’ve seen him and he’s… not doing well. At all. He’s been in shitty moods before, but this one takes the cake. I’ve seen him come in the morning a couple of times, still drunk from the night before. Even he had some boundaries set before, but now, there’s none.”

“That’s his problem, not mine.”

Steve had one hand on his hip, examining you carefully. “Look, I just… I care about you, both, as stubborn and idiotic as you may be. Let’s face it, only a blind guy wouldn’t see the insane chemistry you two have.”

You laughed out loud, making it your mission to sound as mocking and sarcastic as possible, making no attempt to hide it.

“You didn’t think anything of it until recently,” you reminded him.

“So you admit it.”

“It’s hatred, Steve. That’s all there is.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

Suddenly it wasn’t amusing anymore. In fact, you were pissed. “What is this, the Spanish inquisition?”

“It’s a friend trying to help another friend.”

“I don’t need any help! Okay? Nothing happened, nothing will happen, so just—stop it. Stop assuming things.”

You didn’t mean to sound so affected and angry, but the sentiments came out of you regardless. Hell, if you were Steve, even you would not have believed yourself right now.

“The sooner I relocate in the States, the better,” you said, focusing again on the files in front of you.

You heard him sigh and yes, surely you understood where he came from, but you were feeling much too on the edge of insanity to pretend otherwise.

“Do you really want to go?” Steve asked you.

“Yes, Steve. I really do.”

Good riddance.

“I cannot wait to start a new chapter where I won’t have to come in to work every day and basically hurt. I am… tired.”

I hope you find whatever the hell it is that you’re looking for.

“What if you meet someone else there, at your new office in the States? Are you gonna deny tooth and nail what you’re feeling then? Are you gonna keep doing it for the rest of your life? Are you gonna run away from having something good in your life because you’re afraid?”

Good riddance.

Just go already. Leave.

“I don’t know! I don’t know, okay?! I just—I just want to be able to breathe, for one fucking minute! I just want… to breathe normally, to not suffocate whenever I come here, lying to myself that I don’t feel anything because... I do, okay?! I’m not the ice queen you all make me out to be. I feel… angry and exhausted and—and sad, frustrated and hurt, all at once, and I can’t… breathe.”

Steve called out to you, but you were too far gone into your spiral of exhaustion and frustration to notice it.

“I can’t show any decent or normal amount of emotions because I’m ‘overreacting’, and when I don’t, I’m an ice queen. I am tired, Steve. I am so fucking tired.”

He pulled you in a tight hug that you didn’t want to reciprocate at first, but when you felt his arms wrapped around you, warm and sincere, friendly, hot tears stream down your face. It was a rare moment of weakness that you almost never allowed yourself. But now, you let the hurt and insecurity run through you, rupture your heart in more tiny pieces, ones that you somehow just knew for a fact you would not recuperate.

“You wanna run that whole ‘nothing happened between us’ bit by me again?”

You might’ve actually chuckled if you wouldn’t have sunken onto the comfort of Steve’s arms, overwhelmed by your own emotions. When he finally let you go, you quickly wiped the tears off of your face as if you hadn’t just been sobbing in the man’s arms mere seconds ago.

“I’m gonna ask you again. Do you really wanna leave?”

You huffed, hesitant.

What was another rule to be broken when it all seemed to be coming to an end anyway?

“I applied for that transfer when I was… in a bad place, fed up with all the fighting and bickering and… all of it. And the job comes first, so.”

“But why would you be in such a rush to leave?”

“I’ve done my job here. There’s nothing more I have to offer. I need a fresh start, somewhere where it won’t hurt to come into the office. But… the main reason why I’m in a rush… is the same reason that now I’m hesitating to.”

“So you do have feelings for him.”

The statement, though simple in essence, traveled through you at the speed of light, barely catching up with your thoughts. It was difficult to try and make something out of it when you weren’t sure about the dynamic of said situationship in the first place. Yes, something had changed, and yes, you cared about him, like you cared about Steve—

No. Not like that.

Steve didn’t make you feel the most alive and burned you to the ground when he looked at you. Steve didn’t send shivers down your spine when he touched you. Steve didn’t seem to contain the whole sky with its shiny stars in his eyes when he smiled.

“You know what? Fine,” you conceded. “I did sleep with him. We’ve been sleeping around for almost a year, months in a row—”

“A year?”

“—and despite it being morally wrong and questionable, it worked. We worked, we could function as colleagues.”

“Don’t you know friends with benefits arrangements never works out?”

“This one did. Because we were not friends to begin with. Or at least it was supposed to.”

“What changed then?”

You remembered instantaneously what it was. It was a soft as soft and gentle as the touch of a petal on your skin, warm and caring unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It was the most concerned look you had ever seen someone wear on their face as you were being carried towards your aid.

Good riddance.

“I did what was right. I was honest with him,” you replied instead. “I told him I’m leaving.”

Steve frowned. “Why would you say that?”

You frowned as well. “Because it’s… true?”

“Then don’t leave. Cancel the transfer.”

“It’s been approved already by both Messina and Wysession.”

“Un-approve it.”

“I’m leaving, Steve! That’s it. It’s final. I told him, he told me good riddance—”

“What?!”

“Yeah, so I am gonna go.”

“This has got to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Excuse me, what the—”

“It’s a fucking warzone out there, with people dying and women being raped and traded for money and drugs and here you both are, being all ridiculous...”

“Exactly! There are far more important things going on!”

“What I’m trying to say is—”

“Trujillo is dead, Steve! One of our colleagues just died. He’s… gone. He died doing his job, protecting the innocent, fighting the good fight… he’s gone. And Cali is rising to power, Escobar is still out there somewhere… it’s all a fucking mess that we have to clean.”

“Do you expect to clean that mess when you refuse to clean your own?”

Go, Steve.

It was evident that he was finally beginning to move on from the divorce and was getting bolder, more brazen with his words especially, and for that sole reason, you couldn’t get mad at him.

“We’re gonna catch Pablo. It’s just a matter of time now.”

“I know. It could end any day.”

“Yeah.”

Any minute now, it will all be over.

“We’re gonna catch that son of a bitch, and things will—”

“Don’t fucking say it’s all miraculously gonna get better and all will end well. We have lost… so much in this war. There’s so much pain and trauma… this isn’t a fairytale, this isn’t… this is a real thing, real people getting killed, innocent people. Children dying. And here we are, talking about… Peña. Javier fucking Peña, Colombia’s insatiable and heartless womanizer. That’s not really fair, is it?”

Steve responded with silence. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the real reason behind your rather impulsive decision to walk away. And he understood that, truly. Ever since that night at the bar when everyone gathered to pretend not to celebrate your birthday, he saw things in a better light. He suddenly saw the sneaky glances Javier stole at you, the intensity with which you responded to it, all of it. He knew that you and Javier were constantly bickering, but he hadn’t had real suspicions regarding the real situation between the two of you until that night.

Sometimes Javier went over his head to ignore you, and other times, the way he stared at you, utterly mesmerized and taken aback, spoke volumes. The embrace he sought from you after he announced Trujillo’s death didn’t go unnoticed by him, and he watched amazed how his first choice after a devastating experience such as that one was you. Of course he never told Javier any of that. He waited and hoped that his friend would wake up and take responsibility for what he was apparently feeling.

But he never did.

And just like Steve feared, seeing you struggle like that was an aftermath beyond the worst case scenario he could’ve envisioned.

“I need a drink,” you blurted out.

You arranged your clothes and swung your bag over your shoulder, leaving in a rush. You didn’t hear Steve offering to buy you a drink, somewhere in the background. You didn’t hear him huff behind you, wanting to help.

But there was nothing he can do. There was nothing anyone could do.

The bar became busier with each passing hour. You were unsure as to how much time you had spent already there, chugging whiskeys and gin tonics, but alas, there you were, quietly observing everyone around you. You wondered how many of the people present chose to drink their problems away, how many were drinking simply because they wanted to celebrate something or they had something to be happy about.

Sure you were at fault with what happened. It was your defense mechanism. One of them, at least. Pushing people away when you felt they got too close because it spared you pain in the long-term. You did the same in the past with any potential partner you could’ve had. It was simply easier that way. You chose your career, time and time again, and you chose yourself, to protect your heart from any impending breakage. And you knew that Javier’s reaction was coming from the same place. He had the same self-preservation instincts as you did.

He was your shadow self, after all.

He casted you away, choosing to not even look at you in his attempt to make it easier. You were no fool. Neither was he. Both of you were pushing each other apart to make things easier.

So then why did it feel much worse?

There you were, several mixed drinks in, wondering if your decision was really worth it. Your vision and coherency might have been getting blurrier due to the alcohol now infiltrated in your system, but your ability to overthink remained intact.

Maybe it would be easier if I’d allow just—just one brick to fall out of this wall.

Just one.

But I already let one fall.

And it wasn’t so bad, was it? He was kind about it, and gentle…

God, he was so gentle and… soft…

Get your shit together. You’re leaving. It’s final.

People were crowding on the floor, eager to dance, rubbing their aroused and sweaty bodies against each other. You watched the filthy spectacle go down and ordered another gin and tonic. You fleetingly noticed the time. 3:11 a.m. You were officially drunk, and feeling much better than you did about two hours ago. You took comfort and pleasure in the solitude, but especially the drinks. All you wanted right now is to relax, to enjoy the moment—

The silhouette next to you that gently touched your forearm took you out of your drunken paradise. You might’ve snapped or flinched, but it was not the case. It was a beautiful silhouette, hair down to the waist, curly and rich, skin smooth and olive-tainted, and body shapely and tempting.

“Disculpe, usted es Vanessa, ¿no?”

Excuse me, you’re Vanessa, aren’t you?

The woman turned to you and smiles widely, eyeing you up and down. Even her smile was marvelous.

No wonder he preferred her.

“Sí, soy yo. ¿Nos conocemos?”

Yes, it’s me. Do we know each other?

“Eres el favorita de Javier Peña.”

You’re Javier Peña’s favorite.

Vanessa chuckled, seemingly disappointed and bitter about it, much to your curiosity. “Solía serlo. No nos hemos visto en meses.”

I used to be. We haven’t seen each other in months.

In your immense drunkenness, you sincerely thought you haven’t heard her right. It couldn’t have been right. Javier giving up his favorite toy? For what, pray tell?

No, don’t you fucking finish your thought.

“¿De verdad?” you asked.

Really?

Your slurred words didn’t do a good job at containing how stunned you were at the revelation, and Vanessa could tell as much. She smiled fondly at you, her perfect, white teeth impairing your vision for a brief moment.

“De verdad,” she nodded. “La última vez que nos vimos... fue como si no estuviera allí. Estaba distraído, me follaba mecánicamente, no como antes.”

Really. Last time we met, it was like he wasn’t even there. He was distracted, he was fucking me mechanically, not like he used to.

“Bien, gracias por esa imagen.”

Great, thanks for that image.

Vanessa giggled. It was a sound unlike any other you’ve heard in a woman, and naturally, you understood the appeal. You understood why Javier loved to keep her around, to fuck her… and suddenly, you wondered yourself what it would’ve been like.

“¿Tú y Javi están…?”

“No, no, absolutamente no. Yo—trabajamos juntos.”

Are you and Javi…?

No, absolutely not. I—we work together.

We’re co-workers. That’s the extent of it.

“Javi tiene un gusto excelente, y por lo que parece… yo hubiera pensado que tú también estás en su lista.”

Javi has excellent taste, and by the looks of it… I would’ve thought you’re on his list, too.

Why was every word out of her pretty mouth so cling-worthy? It sounded exactly how you envisioned honey dripping on gold would, and it nearly made your mouth water.

“No. Es un colega,” you replied.

He’s a colleague. Just a colleague.

“Si yo fuera él, me hubiera gustado ser más que eso.”

If I were him, I would’ve liked to be more than that.

Jesus fucking Christ, Vanessa, don’t do this to me. I am drunk and it’s the middle of the night and I don’t need this right now.

Or maybe that was exactly what you needed.

You just wanted to relax.

“Por muy halagador que sea, dudo que eso sea lo que él quiera. No nos soportamos el uno al otro.”

As flattering as that is, I doubt that’s what he would ever want. We can’t stand each other.

Vanessa stared at you, bewildered. Her features were even more attractive in the dimmed, colorful lights of the bar, and you gulped, a breath getting stuck in your trachea.

“Donde hay ese odio apasionado, también hay algo más,” she said, dangerously close to your face.

Where there’s that passionate hatred, there’s something else, too.

Or it’s just hatred.

“O simplemente es odio,” you said.

“Javi es un hombre muy atractivo. Sabe exactamente qué dar y cómo. Y supongo que tú también sabes qué y cómo. Eres una mujer preciosa.”

Javi’s a very attractive man. He knows exactly what to give and how. And I’m guessing you know what and how just as much. You’re a gorgeous woman.

Gorgeous.

Fucking hell, Vanessa, you’re killing me here.

It’s like he’s haunting me through you.

“Pero, por desgracia, el sexo es la mayor forma de adulación que puedes recibir de él. No es el tipo de hombre que se compromete.”

But unfortunately, sex is the highest form of flattery you can receive from him. He’s not the type of guy who commits.

“Lo sé. Lo dejó muy claro.”

I know that. He made it very clear.

“Sin embargo, él se lo pierde. Apuesto a que no se da cuenta de lo que se está perdiendo,” she added with a smirk.

It’s his loss, though. I bet he doesn’t realize what he’s missing out on.

The realization that she was flirting with you shocked you, but luckily the alcohol didn’t allow you to betray that visually. Your skin was tingly, heart racing like crazy and when Vanessa grazed her fingers against your hand, you trembled.

It’s been a while since you’ve been with a woman and she was just too damn fine to pass.

She probably wanted your money. That’s fine, you had plenty to give. What you didn’t have enough of were fucks. You didn’t give a flying fuck about the fact that she was the one who used to sleep around the most with Javier, or that she used to do it for money. You were too smitten and too needy to convince yourself of the contrary.

You just wanted to relax and de-stress.

You finished your drink and fully turned towards her, struggling to not slur your words. It was tough though. Vanessa was simply radiant and oh, so appealing.

“No quiero ser grosero o maleducado, pero… ¿cuánto esperas por… tú y yo?”

I don’t mean to be crude or rude, but… how much do you expect for… you and me?

“Para ti, sin cargo,” she smiled.

For you, no charge.

Something in the way she said that, regardless if it sounded real or not, made your body clench. Your lower half was afire, and your breaths were slow, yet ragged. You were fueled by some mad desire, anger and frustration all at once, and if that was not a perfect opportunity to get it out, then you had no clue what else could be.

“¿Por qué no?” you dared challenge her.

Why not?

Good job, it sounds like you’re begging to pay her. She probably feels uncomfortable too.

But if she did feel that way, she displays nothing of the sort on her face. She wore the same radiant smile, the same gentle hold over your hand. She was a professional, after all, and she surely knew all the way to go around her clients.

“Porque parece que podrías necesitar compañía. Y porque creo que eres una de las mujeres más hermosas que he visto.”

Because it looks like you could need some company. And because I think you’re one of the most gorgeous women I have ever seen.

I’ll be damned. Vanessa swings both ways. Huh.

Gorgeous.

Good riddance.

No. Fuck off. Not tonight. At least not tonight.

Your mind began to spin, shooting random, incoherent thoughts at you, when all you wanted to do was to be with her. You bought her a drink and engaged in further conversations that had nothing to do with the common denominator which tied the two of you.

You managed to find the way back to your apartment somehow. You realized mid-way that you didn’t give Vanessa your name, but she didn’t ask for it either. You were somewhat thankful for that. You bothered with no more pleasantries and you proceeded to smash your lips against hers in a furious, trembling kiss.

God, even her scent is marvelous.

No wonder he preferred her.

She was his favorite.

She still is, even if he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Then why did he stop seeing her?

Your mind was spiraling out of control, but your body knew its whereabouts, its moves. Your hands slid down Vanessa’s clothes, exposing more and more of her skin, her beautiful and perky breasts, luscious legs—she was a wonder in itself. Your vision might have been slightly impaired, as much as your brain, but that much you were certain of.

When you buried your head in her pussy, her legs thrown over your shoulders, you pleasantly remarked how wet she was. Her moans were not shy, not one bit, and when you licked against her folds, your thumb playing with her slit, teasing her sensitive bud, her hand found its way to your hair, fingers entangling in it, tugging harshly. She seemed to be used to roughness, much like you, and you couldn’t possibly want or need anything else but that.

You added a finger to your ecstatic treatment and the moans ensued, turning into throated sounds, messy and inconclusive. You smiled to yourself, feeling yourself getting wetter by the minute. The whole view was simply too much to be felt so raw, so unfiltered, especially in your intoxicated state. Vanessa moved her hips against your mouth, and you felt her walls tightening around your – now – two fingers, clamping up and grunting as she came, smearing your lips with her juices. When your mouth left her pussy, she smiled in ecstasy as she kept coming, like a delayed reaction to you eating her out. She clenched around nothing, legs twitching on your shoulders, and you watched, mesmerized and oddly proud of yourself.

When Vanessa finally came down from her high, she reached to you and pulled you in for a deep kiss, tasting herself on your sinful mouth.

“Siéntate en mi cara, cariño.”

Sit on my face, baby.

Cariño. Fuck. Not this again.

You listened to her nonetheless and spread your legs as wide as you could while she laid flat on the couch. When her mouth met your pussy, you gasped out loud, hands over your breasts, teasing them as you began to rock yourself against her tongue. Her hands grabbed your thighs to keep you in place and to support her as well, and she ate you out like she had been starving the whole day. It’s been a while since you felt that, and you realized, even as drunk as you were, that you were hypersensitive about that.

You rocked your hips faster, muttering some undistinguished cuss words out loud. Vanessa didn’t leave anything out: she treated your clit, bud, labia all the same, sucking up as much as she could from you. It felt wildly good, vexing and sharp, but it was different.

Don’t fucking say it.

Don’t even think it.

You came loudly, body frozen from the shock of the climax, and Vanessa did not stop. She kept eating and eating you out, and you bit down on your lip to prevent yourself from screaming.

Screaming the wrong thing.

The wrong name.

Why was that the first name you thought of? Why was he always your first thought? Morning, noon and night, he was like a constant and painful tumor in your brain, throbbing, not letting you live your life the way you wanted to.

Fucking Christ, you sleep with someone once and you catch feelings.

Feelings. Fuck.

I don’t hate you, you filthy womanizer. I don’t think I ever truly did.

You locked away the things you could no longer say to him, in a tiny box buried in the back of your mind, and returned to feeling Vanessa’s smooth skin over yours, letting her ride your face in return for the remainder of the night, rubbing your pussy on hers, kissing each other and simply feeling each other without the weight of engaging into anything more than that the following day.

You have nothing else to offer.

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