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bucky-fricking-barnes · 4 months

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The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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teamatsumu · 7 months

Text

wrong twin? (miya atsumu x reader)

summary: you have a massive crush on miya osamu. so the plan is to get closer to him through his twin brother. it’s genius. it’s bound to work. right?

word count: 3008

warnings: fem!reader, fluff, slight angst, swearing, maybe a dash of humor, atsumu being atsumu, him and reader bicker a lot

tags: @keiva1000

When you handed in your application to join the Inarizaki High School volleyball club as manager, you had a very clear agenda in mind, but nobody needed to know about that. You had a good knowledge of volleyball, you had good organizational skills, and you were responsible. They accepted your application in a heartbeat, and were none the wiser of your true intentions behind joining the team.

It was only when you cornered their blond setter after practice one day that you actually said the words out loud.

“Ya want me to do what?” He raised an eyebrow, shoving his volleyball shoes into his backpack.

“Help me get close to him!” You whispered in a conspiratorial tone, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to you two. Your eyes lingered on Osamu where he was helping Gin clean up. “You’re his twin brother. You’re closest to him. If we hang out more, that would inevitably mean I get to hang out with Osamu more too. And we can become friends. Eventually, I will get him to fall in love with me.”

Atsumu stared at you with a very distinct ‘what the fuck’ look, but you stared right back, determined.

“Yer insane.” He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way to the gym door. You followed behind.

“Please, Atsumu!” You begged, following him out of the gym and down the path leading out of the school.

“No!” He responded, not looking back at you. “Ya wanna get close to him, just go talk to him! Why ya gotta drag me into yer crazy schemes?!”

“I can’t just go talk to him, it would be creepy! I need a way into his circle.”

Atsumu gave you another look. “Oh yeah, what yer saying right now isn’t creepy at all.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

You huffed, scowling at the back of his blond head. Your eyes caught the lights of the corner convenience store, and you felt an idea forming.

“I will buy you an after-practice snack every day for a year.”

Atsumu stopped short, looking back at you. “Yer bein’ serious?”

You gestured to the store up ahead. “We could start right now. I have money on me.”

His answering grin meant you had a deal.

……………………

When you joined the twins for lunch the next day at Atsumu’s desk, Osamu raised an eyebrow.

“It was my idea.” Atsumu explained. “She’s cool so I said we should hang out more.”

Osamu seemed to buy it, shrugging and giving you a welcoming little smile. You felt yourself flush, giddy as you pulled up a chair and sat down next to Atsumu, opposite to his brother.

“Oh sweet, are those pancake rolls?” Osamu asked when you opened your bento. You nodded eagerly.

“I made them myself!” You replied, pushing the box closer to him. “Wanna try?”

You knew Osamu liked food (okay, maybe you had stalked him a little), and even though you sucked at cooking, you had meticulously made your lunch today for this very reason. You couldn’t help your grin when Osamu bit into a roll and moaned at the taste, saying it was delicious. You could feel how hot your face was, even the tips of your ears felt warm. Atsumu rolled his eyes in your periphery but you paid him no mind, striking up a conversation with his brother instead.

“Yer like a different person around him.” Atsumu commented later that evening, when you were sitting on the curb outside the convenience store and he was chowing down on a pork bun you had bought him. The rest of the team had gone ahead, most of them too tired to stop for a snack and just wanting to get to bed as soon as possible.

You sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. He makes me feel things.”

Atsumu chewed for a little bit, watching you stare at the moth circling the streetlight.

“Gross.”

You slapped him hard on the bicep at that, making him let out an ‘ow!’. He pouted at you as he rubbed his arm, while all you did was roll your eyes in return.

……………………………

Lunch became a normal thing with the twins after that. You would wake up at 5am, cook something new that you thought Osamu might appreciate, and you would watch him devour it, praising you for how good it was. One time, Atsumu had gotten curious and tried to reach for a piece of onigiri, making you smack his hand away. He yelped and clutched it.

“What was that for?!”

“You already get a snack out of me every day, Miya. Keep your paws off my lunch.”

Osamu had snickered at that, and your heart had skipped at the sound, effectively forgetting Atsumu even existed as your focus shifted entirely to his brother. Atsumu grumbled but complied, saying something about ‘’s probably not that good anyway’. You paid him no mind.

You got to know Osamu a lot better during your little lunch sessions. He didn’t talk as much as his brother, but he was perceptive, and a great listener. He seemed to balance out Atsumu perfectly, and you could see how close they actually were. You would often giggle at their banter, witnessing the many foul names they would call each other, but knowing they didn’t mean it at the end of the day.

You often went to their house, under the guise of tutoring Atsumu. At first, Atsumu had told you no one would buy it, but you were adamant to try. And you were right. When you told Osamu why you were there, he snorted in response.

“Figures. This dumb fuck needs all the help he can get.”

Atsumu had yelled and tried to swat at his brother, but Osamu expertly dodged him. You had laughed at their antics.

Your study sessions were often spent with you stealing glances at Osamu from the dining table where you and Atsumu were located. He wouldn’t stick around much, preferring to camp out in their shared bedroom, but you still appreciated every glimpse that you got of him when he wandered down to the kitchen for a snack. Atsumu would nudge you with his knee under the table.

“Be a little less obvious, will ya?”

You stuck a middle finger in his face in response. He grabbed your hand and twisted it a bit, just enough to make you yelp and try to push him away.

“Tsumu, you jerk! Let go!”

“Say sorry!”

“Over my dead body!”

Osamu had to break you two apart sometimes, while you glared at each other from either side of him.

At practice, you would stay late when they needed help perfecting their quick attack, throwing balls so Atsumu could set them for Osamu. On the way back, you would buy Atsumu his daily snack and offer to pay for Osamu’s as well, which he always refused.

“Unlike this tool, I’m not shameless enough to let someone else pay fer me.”

“Hey!”

With every passing day, you felt that you were getting closer and closer to Osamu. Where you had barely exchanged words before, you two could hold long conversations now, and you especially loved when you ganged up to shit on Atsumu, who would be overdramatic as hell about the insults and act like he just got shot. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed so much.

Then, Osamu got a girlfriend.

You didn’t learn about it until you saw a girl at the gym on one random Wednesday. You had raised an eyebrow at her, watching as she looked around for something.

“Can I help you?”

She shook her head. “I’m just looking for Osamu. He left some stuff at my place last night.”

Your brain short circuited. Her place? Last night?

Then he ran over to her. Greeted her and thanked her for bringing his stuff. And then he kissed her.

You were mentally tuned out of practice for the rest of the evening.

When Atsumu walked up to you after practice so you could make your usual trip to the convenience store, you had just silently followed him. You had bought him some yakusoba bread, and you sat on the curb, waiting to walk home after he finished eating.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You finally asked.

Atsumu sighed in return. “Didn’t want ya to get hurt.”

You turned to look at him. His attention was on the bread. “Did you expect me to never find out?”

He shook his head. “I was hopin’ to tell ya after practice. Just couldn’t think of the words.”

For some reason, you felt anger boil up inside you. You stood up abruptly. Atsumu paused his chewing to look up at you.

“I don’t need you to coddle me, Tsumu.” You grit out. “That was not the deal.”

Atsumu didn’t seem fazed by your tone. “Sit down.”

You glared at him. “I’m going home.”

When you turned to leave, you were stopped by his hand reaching up to clutch at the hem of your jacket, pulling you back.

“I know yer hurtin’. Just sit.”

You don’t know why that did it. Tears that had been building up all during practice were set free, rolling down your cheeks. Silently, you sat back down next to him. He didn’t talk as you cried, only shuffling closer until his side was pressed to yours. An unexpected comfort came to you with the contact. You leaned on him, resting your head on your knees, shoulders shaking.

When you had calmed down enough, you wiped your face with your sleeves, sitting up straighter. Atsumu extended his bread to you. You raised an eyebrow.

“When have you ever shared with me before?”

He rolled his eyes. “Ya want it or not?”

The bread seemed to melt in your mouth. Food did make you feel a bit better, but your mind was still on Osamu.

“‘M sorry yer scheme didn’t work out.”

You laughed a bit, taking another bite. “When you call it a scheme, it makes me think it was bound to fail from the start.”

Atsumu shook his head. “Nah. Ya made an effort. I respect that.” He stretched his legs in front of him, leaning back on his hands. “Yer a real catch. Yer smart and yer pretty. Samu’s blind ta not see that.”

You giggled, nudging Atsumu a bit. “Careful, Tsum-tsum. I might think you were falling for me.”

If your emotions weren’t so over the place, and if you hadn’t just tired yourself out from crying so much, you would’ve noticed how the older Miya’s eyes softened.

…………………………

Getting over Osamu wasn’t easy. Especially after having chased after him for so many months. It didn’t help that his little girlfriend seemed to come around more often, sometimes joining the team during practice. At times like those, you tried to stay as far away from her and Osamu, and that often meant you would find comfort in Atsumu, the only person who knew about your crush.

“What does he see in her anyway?” You voiced out loud, watching her laugh at something Osamu had said. You were sitting on a bench outside the gym with Atsumu, watching the two interact on the other side of the path. The rest of the team still weren’t done with their run. As usual, the twins were the first ones to reach the school.

Atsumu ran a towel over his neck, setting his water bottle down next to him. “Ya need ta get over him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You’ve never loved anything except volleyball.”

“Damn right. Has volleyball ever betrayed me? No. So suck it.”

You dug your elbow into his side, making him yelp and grab your head, pushing you away. His hand was massive and covered over half your face, and you struggled to get him off, digging your nails into his forearm.

“Tsumu, you asshole-”

You didn’t even notice when Osamu stared at the two of you, too absorbed in your little squabble.

So yeah, getting over Osamu wasn’t easy, but having Atsumu around helped a ton. Everytime he would see your eyes linger on Osamu too long, he would make some sort of comment, or change the subject, just trying to get your attention anywhere else. Too many times, he would physically grab you and turn you away from his twin, saying something along the lines of how you should be looking at the ‘better twin’ instead.

“Sorry but which one of you decided to dye their hair the color of piss?”

“It’s blond!”

“You ever heard of toner, dumbass?”

And you would grab his hair, messing it up and tugging at it a bit, giggling when he whined about you ruining his ‘hairstyle’. You also knew that Atsumu would kill anyone else who dared touch his hair, and the fact made your heart skip a bit. It also made you think, and once the gears in your head started turning, there was no going back.

Now that the fog of your infatuation with Osamu was lifting a bit, you seemed to notice his twin more. You would watch how Atsumu seemed to almost shield you from anything that reminded you of Osamu. How he had made it a habit after that one evening to always share half his snack with you, no matter how small it was. He would often say out of pocket shit, but rather than annoying you, it seemed to endear you more. It was like these little quips were a part of his charm, and you would giggle along instead of telling him to shut up.

He was awfully touchy too. You suppose he had always been, and you had just never thought about it. But now it seemed like none of his moves went unnoticed by you. He had a habit of gripping your head with one hand and turning your face to his when you weren’t paying attention. It used to annoy the crap out of you but now it made you pause and blink, meeting his caramel colored eyes. He would nudge you and poke you, he would drape an arm over your shoulders and whine about how tired he was. And your cheeks would warm up every time. You were forced to admit it.

You had a thing for Atsumu.

Deep down, you cursed at your luck, almost laughing in incredulity. What a joke this was, having a crush on both twins. But you knew that this was different. You knew this wasn’t just a silly crush.

Atsumu was more. He had always been more.

“Tsumu?”

He hummed in response, indicating he was listening, even if he was busy stuffing a chocolate bar into his mouth. You two were in your usual place, sitting on the curb outside the convenience store, lit up only by the light of the store behind you and the lamp post across the street. You watched his profile, the way his jaw moved when he chewed, his eyes trained before him, his undercut, and his dyed hair falling over his forehead slightly.

He was so painfully attractive. And you had never noticed.

He looked at you finally when you didn’t speak, raising an eyebrow.

“Everythin’ okay?”

You nodded hastily, turning away from him. You heard him pause, wrapping up what was left of his chocolate and placing it next to him before shuffling closer to you.

“Yer lyin’. What is it?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You can read me so well.”

He shrugged in response, draping his arm over your shoulder. You closed your eyes, mentally accepting how the action now made you feel.

“I did spend the whole year hearin’ ya whine about yer feelings, so yeah. I can read ya pretty well.”

You sighed, turning your head to look at him. At this proximity, you could see the brown swirling in his eyes, and it reminded you of milk chocolate. You were nearly nose to nose with him, and you weren’t nervous at all. With Osamu, you would always be on edge. Your insides would squirm, your heart would race, and oftentimes, you would stumble over your words.

With Atsumu, you felt every muscle in your body relax when he touched you. Despite his chaotic personality and his crude language, Atsumu was so tuned in when it came to you. When you needed it, he was as calm as they come. There was such unprecedented comfort in his presence. When you were around him, it felt like everything would be okay.

“I love you.”

It came out of you involuntarily at that moment. But you weren’t scared to tell him. You should have been, but one look at him this close and all your fears were melting away. When Atsumu gave you a little smile, you couldn’t help but return it.

“I love ya too, sweets.”

His kiss was expected. Soft, slow, perfect. His lips were plush and warm, and he tasted like the chocolate he had just been eating. His arm around your shoulder tightened, and his other hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your head enough to deepen the kiss. You felt your head buzz, your hands fisting at the front of his shirt and trying to pull him closer, though it was impossible.

You whined in protest when he ended the kiss, making him chuckle slightly. The sound made your lips twitch up a bit, and you ran your eyes all over his face. He hummed in approval.

“There it is.”

You blinked. “What?”

He traced your cheekbone with his thumb. “Ya know how long I’ve wanted ya to look at me like that and not Samu?”

Right. Samu. You had forgotten about him completely the moment Atsumu’s lips touched yours. The thought made you giggle and pull at his jacket collar to tug him close, until his lips were meeting yours again.

#miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu fluff #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #miya atsumu fanfic #miya atsumu imagine #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #friends to lovers #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines

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straylightdream · 11 months

Text

run to you - my sweet savior

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: bang chan x chubby/plus size f.reader

friends to lovers / non idol au

↳ after running away from an abusive ex there is only one person you know you’ll truly feel safe with.

{ “You mean so much to me, and I just want to keep you safe. I’m so sorry he was ever able to hurt you,”

“Chan nobody was able to protect me.”}

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit sexual content (smut warnings below the cut), and mentions/talks of abuse happening (by the mc’s ex) before the story, and mentions of injuries from abuse. This is gonna be a heavier story.

𝐚𝐧: I started to really second guess this story when I was editing if I’m being honest.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected piv, oral (male rec), fingering (fem rec), this is pretty vanilla they’re in love, names such as: baby, and baby girl

You had known each other since your freshman year of college when your dorms were on the same floor. You became friends right away when Chan accidentally ran into you while he was walking to the library. He’ll never admit it to anyone but he did it on purpose. He had seen you talking to your friend and wanted a reason to talk to you. He figured it would be the best way to start up a conversation. From the moment you met you had become instantly friends. No matter what happened in your life you were always able to run to Chan. He would always be there to save you.

It was the middle of the night, and instead of being at home in bed you ran away to the only person you felt safe with. Standing at his door you rapidly knocked on the door trying to get him to come to open it quickly. Pushing the tears off your flushed cheeks that had a large bruise already forming you inhaled deeply trying to stop crying. If he didn’t answer in the next minute you were just going to walk to Changbin’s apartment. You were praying Chan was going to answer the door. You needed him desperately at the moment.

“Who is it?” he asked on the other side of the door.

“It’s (Y/N),” you said through tears as they continued to fall.

Opening the door, he stared at you for a moment. His apartment was dark behind him. You were caught off guard by the fact he was only wearing a pair of sweatpants that sat really low on hips. You could tell that he was asleep before you had woken him up with you pounding on his door. Sniffling, you stood there staring at him. You didn’t even know what you expected from him, but when you left your apartment you knew you needed to go to Chan.

“Why are you crying,” he said with his voice sounding raspy.

“Chan, can I come in?” You asked awkwardly standing in the hallway.

He nodded his head and stepped to the side signaling for you to come in.

You suddenly froze in place and you can’t even fully explain why. He noticed your hesitation and took your hand gently.

Holding his hand, he led you over to the couch that sat in the middle of his dark apartment. He didn’t even bother turning on any lights. The only light on was the one in the bathroom that was giving a dull glow near his bed. You were trying to calm down because you didn’t want to cry anymore. You kept taking deep breaths attempting to stop crying. The weight of the night felt like it was crushing you.

“What time is it?” he asked, sitting down next to you.

“It’s two in the morning,” you sighed knowing you shouldn’t have come to his apartment.

“Is there a reason you came to my apartment at two in the morning crying?” he looked over at you. You were happy the room was so dark so it must have been hard to see the bruises. You paused for a moment because you knew he was probably going to lose his cool when you told him why. “Promise you’ll stay calm,” you reached over and rested your hand on his thigh.

“Why do I know I’m not gonna like what you’re gonna say?”

“I need a restraining order against Jimmy,” you sighed, explaining why you needed a restraining order and was going to have to cause you to re-live the pain. You knew with Chan and Changbin being lawyers they would be able to make the process of you getting one easier.

Jimmy was your boyfriend of three years that you lived with. You thought he was the one you were going to marry until about two weeks ago when things changed between you. He used to be gentle and caring until more recently when things started to change.

Tilting his head to the side he asked, “why do you need a restraining order?”

You swallowed trying to gather the courage to tell him, “he hit me a couple of weeks ago after drinking. I told myself it was a one-time thing that he would never do it again, and then…” Tears quickly brimmed your eyes before you started crying again, reliving that hell of a night.

Chan’s nostrils flared as he tried to stay calm at what you were telling him, “then what?” he asked. He was trying to force himself to stay calm so that he couldn’t just go kill the man who hurt his best friend.

“He came home from drinking with his friends and he tried to kiss me and when I told him he was drunk he slapped me. I tried to fight him off and then he slammed me into a mirror,” tears fell as you looked down at her bare thighs that were covered in cuts. You could already see your legs turning shades or purple and green as the bruises were starting to form.

“What the fuck?” Chan stood up quickly filled with rage. You knew that Chan would have no issue killing Jimmy after what he did to you.

“Chan please stay calm,” you grabbed his hand desperately pleading for him to calm down. You didn’t need him to be mad right now; you just needed him to hold you and let you know you weren’t alone.

“He laid his fucking hands on you,” he gazed off into your direction. He didn’t know what to do at that moment. He wanted to personally go kill the man that touched his best friend.

“Chan, I left him and came here. I don’t need you to hurt him and I sure as hell don’t need you to be freaking out right now. I’m begging you to not do anything,” you sobbed clenching his hand.

He could hear the pain in your voice. Sitting back down on the couch you released his hand and he gently reached up and rested his hand on your bruised cheek.

Not being able to actually see you In the very dark room he asked, “how bad are you hurt?”

“My right cheek is really bruised, and on my left side my body got pretty cut up from the mirror,” you sighed as tears fell.

Gently he reached and wiped away your tears that were staining your cheeks.

“You need to file a police report tomorrow and then we’ll get you that restraining order,” he sighed attempting to calm down.

“Also you’re moving in with me for a while. I’ll take the couch and you can have the bed.”

“I can’t have you sleeping on the couch Chan,” you sighed.“I can sleep on the couch and you can take the bed.”

Silence took over the room for a long moment as you stared at him. He cleared his throat and said, “why didn’t you tell me a couple weeks ago he hit you?”

“Because I was embarrassed it happened and told myself it was a one time thing.”

Closing his eyes he shook his head upset he couldn’t prevent you from getting hurt. This should have never happened a first time let alone a second time.

“Let’s get some sleep,” you stood up. You wanted this hell of a night to be over.

—-

It has been a week since you left Jimmy and this afternoon Chan, Changbin and your friend Molly went over to your place you used to share with Jimmy and got all your stuff. While you were there both Changbin and Chan threatened him within an inch if he ever came near you again.

Laying on Chan’s couch in the middle of the living area of his studio you looked over at Chan who was in bed. You tried your best to fight back tears. You were finally free from Jimmy but that meant you were going to have to restart your life. You had been living with him for the last two years. So that meant you were going to have to find your own place, and your own furniture. You hadn’t ever lived on your own. When you went to college you lived with Molly and then after graduating you moved in together. You lived with her until you foolishly decided to move in with your ex. The sound of you sniffling back your tears had Chan's attention. Sitting up in bed he asked, “why are you crying?”

Pushing the tears off your cheeks you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed you kept crying in front of him. “It’s nothing,” you lied.

“Please come over here and sleep in this bed with me, I can’t have you going to bed crying on the couch,” he sighed getting out of bed.

Sitting up you looked over to where Chan was sitting on the edge of the bed, “I’m fine here. I think tomorrow I need to start looking for a place to live. I’ve never lived on my own and honestly it kind of terrifies me.”

Standing up he slowly started making his way over to the couch where you were sitting. “You can live here as long as you want?”

Before you could say anything Chan was standing in front of you shirtless only wearing a pair of boxers that sat low on his hips. You couldn’t help but stare at his toned body, your mind was lost in thought thinking about how good he looked standing around in just boxers.

“Are you checking me out?” he joked.

“I wasn’t,” you lied again.

Over the last week there had seemed to be quite a bit of sexual tension between you two. Back when you were in college you had slept together after a drunken night, and you had swore you would never talk about it after you woke up the next morning. Since you had been living together for a week you couldn’t help but think about the time you and Chan had slept together. You had fond memories of your night you spent together.

“I don’t want you to sleep on the couch, we're grown adults, we can share the bed,” he held his hand out for you to take.

“Chan are you sure?” You asked, reaching for his hand.

Nodding his head, he led you off to his bed. Slowly you both crawled into bed. Chan moved to one side and you laid on the far side of the bed. You both laid on your sides. Your eyes stayed locked on him as he stared back at you.

“Do you ever think about that night in college?” You knew they agreed to never talk about that night, but after living with him for a week you needed to know. You were curious if he thought about your night together.

He nodded his head, “I do.”

You sighed, “I do too.”

Reaching your hand out you rested it on top of Chan’s hands wondering why he was so good to you. You couldn’t help but wonder why he was your night and shining armor. He seemed to always be there for you, and never asked for anything in return.

“Why did nothing happen between us?” You had been wanting to ask him that question for years but could never gather the courage to actually ask him.

“Changbin was basically in love with you in college and I felt like I betrayed my friend,” he sighed. “Also we slept together right before you started dating that asshole William.”

Chan hated William; he was an asshole jock who cheated on you multiple times. He was one of your exes that did nothing but break your spirit.

“Changbin was in love with me?” You were caught off guard by this information. Back in college when you all met you were basically all best friends. You had a huge crush on Chan, but you didn’t realize Changbin had liked you.

“Yeah he was and if you ever tell him I said that I’ll call you a liar,” he said with a little laugh.

“Is he still in love with me?” You wondered what would have happened if you and Changbin had dated.

“I don’t think so. He hasn’t brought it up in years.”

“Well it’s good to know in college someone other than William wanted to get with a big girl,” you said thinking back to your college years when you struggled with your body image the most. You had zero confidence and went through stages of yo-yo dieting. It wasn’t until after you graduated you learned to love yourself and not care about what people think.

“First of all don’t talk about yourself like that,” he squeezed your hand. “Second of all there were other people who wanted you.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his comments and sarcastically said, “You know I totally had guys lining up to get with me.”

“You know we slept together right, and I was extremely attracted to you then and I sure as hell still am,” he rolled onto his back so he was looking at the ceiling.

Your eyes went wide, completely caught off guard by his words, “excuse me what?” You almost shouted.

“You can’t act like you didn’t know this,” he said coolly.

“Bang Chan you can’t play that comment off like it was nothing,” you sat up on the bed and stared at him still wide eyed.

“You were attracted to me then and you still are?” You were sitting on your knees.

“Why would I have sex with you if I wasn’t attracted to you?” He sat up.

Running your fingers through her messy hair you were trying to take in everything, “I don’t know we were both super freaking drunk.”

“Were you not attracted to me?” he asked, sounding slightly offended.

“Seriously you’re super handsome and funny obviously I was then and I still am.”

“It shouldn’t be shocking that I’m attracted to you.”

“You do realize I’m a bigger girl? I’m not the typical small girl that you normally date, right?”

“You do realize I still think about constantly getting my hands back on your curves right?” he asked, causing your cheeks to burn bright.

“You think about having sex with me again?” You asked completely caught off guard by his comment.

He nodded, not saying anything. He couldn’t believe he was openly giving this information to his best friend who he was sharing a bed with at that moment.

“Did you wanna maybe…” you paused and hesitated for a long moment because you were slightly scared you were going to get rejected.

“Wanna what?” he asked, turning towards you.

“What if we slept together again,” you sighed.

He pushed his eyebrows together processing what you had just asked him. You had just gone through a really nasty break up and this was probably your way of rebounding and no matter how badly he wanted to have sex with you he didn’t wanna be a rebound. If you actually slept together again it couldn’t just be casual sex to either of you.

“Okay you just hesitate so I’m gonna go to sleep and die of embarrassment,” you laid down quickly wanting to crawl off the bed and die.

“Wait,” he grabbed your arm.

“It’s fine Chan, sorry I asked.”

“I want to have sex with you really badly, but I don’t want this to be just rebound sex,” he sighed.

Pushing your eyebrows together you stared at him for a long moment and swallowed trying to figure out what exactly you said to him. “Chan..” you paused.

“It will happen again, don’t worry,” he let go of your arm and was silent for a moment.

“What is happening here?” You asked, confused by everything that was happening.

“We're gonna give you time to get over what happened with Jimmy and soon we’re gonna sleep together again,” he smiled.

You nodded your head

“Alright,” you said before biting your bottom lip.

“We aren’t going to rush this,” he smiled.

[…]

The sound of the rain outside of Chan’s apartment caused you to stir from your sound sleep. The feeling of Chan’s arm laying across your stomach made you to smile. Biting your bottom lip and looking over at Chan who was still sound asleep. Part of you wanted to move over and cuddle into Chan’s warm body. Yesterday the judge had granted you your restraining order against Jimmy. You were hoping that the papers were going to be delivered to Chan’s office today making it official.

The sound of Chan’s phone ringing caused him to pull his arm off of you. You quickly tried to slow your breathing down to attempting to act like you were asleep.

Picking up his phone he rasped, “yeah Changbin?” You loved the way his voice sounded in the morning. When he was still half asleep and groggy his voice had a rasp to it.

“Yeah go ahead and grab some bagels I’m heading in soon. I’ll probably bring (Y/N) with me,” he said.

You couldn’t help but smile at the fact he planned on bringing you with him to work. Slowly you opened your eyes to see Chan setting his phone down on the nightstand.

“Good morning,” you said softly.

“Morning,” he said as he raked his fingers through his messy curls. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and then do you maybe want to go to work with me?” he asked as he started getting out of bed.

“Yeah I’ll go to work with you,” you said, stretching your stiff body.

Chan slowly made his way off towards the bathroom and you couldn’t help but stare at his tone back as he walked away.

Walking over to the rack of clothes you had in Chan’s apartment you attempted to find something to wear. You picked out a nice dress to wear that you could throw a cute coat over the top. Sliding your dress on you walked over and found a pair of black heels that would go nicely with the outfit. Recently since moving in with Chan you had started doing some secretary work for Chan and Changbin at their law office they shared. When you went into their office to help out you liked to look the part.

Walking into the kitchen you worked on making a pot of coffee, and trying to find something small to eat to hold yourself over until you got to the office where Changbin was going to have bagels for you.

The sound of Chan walking out of the bathroom caused you to look up. He walked over to his closet and started looking for something to wear

He pulled out a gray suit that was your favorite suit. As he started getting dressed you quickly looked away and started making yourself a cup of coffee.

As you started pouring the milk into the coffee Chan walked towards you and said, “smells good.”

“I love the smell of coffee,” you said simply as he lightly rested his hand on your lower back as he reached for his travel cup. His touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah me too,” you said smiling. There was something about Chan’s touch that just made you feel safe.

“Can you make me a cup in my travel cup?”

“Yeah of course,” you said, reaching for the cup he was holding.

“Are you okay if we take our coffee to go?” he asked with his hand still resting on your lower back.

“Yeah of course. Why don't you grab your bag and I’ll get your coffee ready?”

“Alright,” he said, walking over towards his night stand where his bag was sitting on the floor.

You finished making your coffee and walked over to Chan who was standing by the door.

“Let’s go,” you said, handing him his cup of coffee.

You walked the short distance to Chan and Changbin’s law firm. You stood right next to Chan the whole way there, you laughed and talked about Changbin’s love of bagels. You talked about how that was his go to food back in college.

Walking into Chan’s office you found Changbin sitting at his desk eating his bagel. You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

The three of you ate your bagels and joked around a little before the boys got to work. Sitting at a table in the boy’s office you typed away on your computer looking at studio apartments in the area.

“How are there still no good apartments around,” you sighed. You had been sleeping in Chan’s bed every night and the sexual tension between you had gotten so thick that you could cut it with a butter knife, or at least it was for you.

“We’ll find you a place,” Chan said, walking over and sitting across from you.

“Why is everything so damn expensive,” you rolled your eyes. “I just want a studio, I shouldn’t have to pay this much.”

“It’s like that all over the city,” Changbin said sitting down next to you.

“I’m in no hurry to kick you out,” Chan reached over and touched your hand.

Looking down at your hand and then looking up at him you smiled.

Changbin looked at both of you extremely confused on what was going on between you.

“Are you two sleeping together?” he questioned, sensing the new tension between you.

Your heart rate picked up and you pulled your hand away from his, while Chan was extremely calm and just simply said, “no Changbin.”

Pushing his eyebrows together, Changbin didn’t believe Chan. Especially since his question seemed to make you so nervous. He could definitely tell something was different between you and Chan since that night you had left Jimmy. He must have noticed Chan’s lingering touches, and your longing looks. Changbin knew that Chan had always been protective of you, and that right now he probably felt like he needed to protect you even more than normal.

“We aren’t,” you said awkwardly. You technically weren’t lying to him, you weren’t actually sleeping together yet. The key word being yet.

“Then why are you acting so weird around each other?” he asked, still pushing his eyebrows together again.

Shrugging your shoulders, you said, “Changbin I have had a really rough few weeks. I’m just acting weird in general.”

Your statement made Changbin go quiet and made Chan smile. The last two weeks had been an emotional roller coaster for you, and you had been so filled with stress working on getting a restraining order against Jimmy. There had also been a lot of sexual tension between the two of you. You hadn’t even kissed, you’ve just shared longing touches and longing looks coming from you. You thought about the feeling of Chan’s lips on yours almost every second of the day. You would find yourself staring at his lips fighting the urge to get up and kiss him.

The boys went back to work and in the middle of the afternoon the sound of a knock on the door caused all of you to look up. You stood up and went over to open the door. You found a post office worker standing on the other side of the door holding a large envelope.

“This is for (Y/N, Y/L/N),” the postal worker said.

“That’s me,” you said as your heart was racing. You knew exactly what this envelope held. You turned around to find both of the boys looking over at you. Changbin looked like he didn’t know what to say to you, and Chan looked like he was trying to focus on the tone in your voice. “I’m free,” your voice was shaky and you were on the verge of tears. You couldn’t even begin to explain how you felt suddenly.

You sat back down at the table and slowly you opened the envelope to find your official restraining order against Jimmy. He wasn’t ever going to be able to hurt you again, and you knew deep down inside if he ever broke this Chan and Changbin would be there to protect you.

“(Y/N) is that what I think it is?” Chan asked, reaching over and resting his hand on top of yours.

“I’m free,” you said as tears slid down your cheek. You didn’t want to cry, but in that moment, you were just relieved and couldn’t help the tears. His thumb rubbed against the top of your hand, the simple gesture made you smile. “He won’t be able to hurt me again.”

“Changbin, why don’t we call it an early day?” Chan asked, standing up. He knew him and Changbin had more work to do but right now he wanted to get you away from the office.

“Yeah that’s a good idea,” Changbin said standing up.

“Let’s head back to the apartment,” Chan said, resting his hand on your shoulder.

Looking up at him you softly said, “okay.”

Chan grabbed his bag and led you out of the office. As you got into the elevator you were joined by a handful of people which caused you to be pressed against each other. Your back was pressed against Chan’s tone torso and he had his free hand that wasn’t holding his bag resting on your curvy waist. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on Chan’s hand that was touching you. You didn’t want to think about Jimmy anymore. You didn’t want him to take up anymore of the space in your mind.

As the elevator doors opened and the people inside poured out you reached down and laced your finger with Chan’s and led him out of the elevator. He glanced down at your hands and then looked back up at you and gave you a smile.

The walk back to his apartment you were sharing was short. As you entered the apartment you let out a heavy sigh. Chan slowly shut the door and walked towards you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, knowing deep down inside you were going to be okay. You had a lot of thoughts going through your mind.

“Yeah I am,” you were okay as you were ever going to be. “Hey Chan?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he asked, sitting down.

“I’m ready,” you whispered. You finally felt free and you wanted nothing more to be held by Chan’s strong hands.

“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, reaching up to loosen his tie.

“Yes,” you said, walking towards him to help him take off his tie. As you removed his tie Chan moved his hands to rest on your round hips. Removing his tie, you lightly placed it on his bed. He moved his hand and rested it gently on your cheek. Lightly he tilted your face towards his. “Thank you for looking after me,” you said softly.

“I would do anything for you,” he moved his face down towards yours and rested his forehead against yours. “You mean so much to me, and I just want to keep you safe. I’m so sorry he was ever able to hurt you,” his voice sounded shaky. You know he’ll never forgive himself for not being able to protect his best friend. You can tell him until you’re blue in the face that there wasn’t anything he could have done and he’ll never believe you.

“Chan, nobody was able to protect me,” you sighed. “I should have left the first time he hit me,” a tear slid down your cheek. You blame yourself for Jimmy hitting you, you knew you should've seen the signs pointing to Jimmy becoming violent, but you were just blind to it. You didn’t even want to think there was a chance the man you loved could hurt you.

“I should have seen the signs this was happening, I saw you countless times after the first time he hit you. I should have noticed something was up,” he slid his thumb across your cheek removing the tear that had slid down.

Slowly he pressed his lips to yours for a slow longing kiss. His lips tasted better than you remembered, you felt as if they were made for yours. Your hands gripped his white dress shirt as your lips started moving together. Pulling your lips away from him, you reached up to push his jacket off.

“Nothing like that will ever happen to you again,” he stated.

The second his jacket was off you stepped away to remove your own coat. You took a second to remove your heels. You stood in front of him watching as he untucked his dress shirt and started unbuttoning it. As he removed his shirt your eyes locked onto his toned stomach. Your eyes traveled up to his face to find him smirking.

“Let’s get your dress off,” he said, stepping towards you. He reached for the hem of your dress and pulled over your head slowly. You stood in front of him in only your bra and panties. You would normally feel exposed but with him you didn’t. Reaching down you worked on removing his belt. You fumbled with it for a moment before he let out a soft laugh and removed your hands to remove his own belt. You stood there watching him as he removed his shoes and socks and pushed his dress pants off. The sight of him in nothing but a tight pair of boxer briefs was absolutely mouth watering.

His hands reached behind you and unhooked your bra. You both stood there in only your underwear with only a couple of inches between you.

“I’ve missed seeing you like this.” His lust hazed eyes traveled up and down your curvy body.

“Believe me I’m nothing special.” You sighed and looked down at your soft stomach. You were still dealing with the fact that you didn’t feel comfortable in your own skin.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that, you are so beautiful,” he sighed before pressing his lips to yours again. Pulling his lips away from you he whispered, “you are the most beautiful person I have ever known.” His lips started kissing their way down your jaw. His touch was a mixture of wet kisses and light nips. You held your eyes closed tightly just enjoying the feeling of his touch.

“How do you know all the right things to say?” You asked with your eyes still held close.

“Because I have wanted to say them for a while,” he said as his lips ghosted your skin. He dropped down onto his knees in front of you and your eyes opened quickly as his fingers hooked into the top of your panties and slowly slid them down your thick thighs. Your breath hitched as he kissed your thighs.

“Chan,” you sighed.

“Yeah baby?” he asked looking up at you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You asked as you signaled for him to stand up. He stood up and he was standing in front of you again.

He pushed his eyebrows together and looked at you completely confused by your question. He just grabbed your hand and put it over his boxer-briefs that were strained against his very hard erection. “You’re the one who did that to me,” he said, smirking. “I don’t want to be with anyone else other than you right now.”

Reaching down for the top of his boxers you slid them down his tone thighs. You didn’t think you would get over the sight of him naked. Back in college he was extremely handsome and in shape, but now he was even more in shape. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered.

“Come here,” he said before crashing his lips into yours. As your lips moved together Chan strong hands moved down towards your round ass and pulled you close to his body. Slowly Chan started walking them backwards until Chan fell back on the bed and brought you down with him. He rolled you onto your sides and you pulled away from him and stared at him for a long moment. He moved to roll onto your back so he’s hovering over you. His lips captured one of your nipples while you moaned his name. Dragging his lips away from your skin he looked up at you and whispered, “spread your legs for me.”

His words made you even wetter at just the anticipation of what was to come. Sitting back on his hunches between her legs he lightly pushed your legs further apart. You tried to steady your breathing and stay calm as you watched him steadily pump his length. Your teeth caught the bottom lip.

His finger slid between your folds as did gentle circles around your sensitive nub, and you couldn’t help but whine wanting more than just his fingers on you. Removing his finger, he held his length and pressed his tip to your entrance. You gasped as he pushed into you. Your hands gripped the cotton sheets below you. His hands gripped your round hips as he rocked his hips into your core. Your head rolled back and you moaned as he pushed fully inside you. He stilled for a moment and rubbed your clit earning another moan from you.

“I need you close,” you moaned.

“Okay,” he rasped as he held himself still inside you as moved his body so he was hovering over you. Connecting his lips to yours he started to roll his hips against yours again. Your hands gripped at his strong back he thrust into you. He couldn’t help but groan at how tight you were.

“You feel so good baby,” he groaned with his lips ghosting your shoulder as he continued to push into you.

“Please don’t stop,” you whined.

Your nails clawed at his back holding him close to you. The sex in college had been fun and sloppy, but this was a whole different thing. This was filled with passion and lust. You couldn’t seem to get enough of each other as his teeth nipped at your shoulder.

“Chan,” you whined. You weren't sure if you knew any other words than Chan’s name at the moment.

You panted and whined as he pushed you over the edge. Your walls pulled at his length as he came inside you. He stilled in you completely as you whined riding out your own high. Removing himself from you he rolled onto his back attempting to catch his own breath.

“I needed that so much,” you sigh.

He reached over to pull you closer to him. You curled up next to him and rested your head on his chest. Silently you laid there just enjoying your post sex bliss.

“That was better than college,” he softly laughed.

“That was way better than college.”

Leaning down he lightly kissed the top of your head. You couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for you. You thought it was obvious that the both of you had feelings for each other, but you weren't sure when you should actually talk about them.

“Maybe we could take a nap and then order some Chinese food,” he said as his hand ran up and down your spine.

“That would be great,” you said as you curled up closer to him.

[…]

The feeling of his lips on your skin drove you mad in the best way possible. Chan laid on the couch with you sitting in between his legs. He wore nothing but his boxers and you in nothing but your bra and panties. Chan’s lips were attached to your neck sending a shiver down your spine. He peppered kisses across your skin, and occasionally nipped at the sensitive skin causing you to giggle.

Pulling away from him you looked at him and just smiled. You had just slept together and you couldn’t wait to have sex with him again. He made you feel like you were the only person on the earth that mattered to him, and it made your heart flutter.

“Why are you smiling at me?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

“How do you know I’m smiling? I’m not even facing you?”

“Because I know you,” he spoke softly as he reached his hand up and rested it on yours and he brushed the pad of his thumb against the corner of your mouth. “Why don’t we go back to bed?” he asked. He couldn’t seem to get enough of you at the moment, and he didn’t think at this point he would ever get enough of you. He wasn’t sure how you had managed to wait so many years since that drunken college night.

“Alright,” you whispered, reaching over and lacing your fingers with his. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, you seemed to make him happy.

Standing up you pulled Chan’s hand and helped him up, you led him over to the bed, and stopped right at the foot of the bed. You placed your hand on his strong chest signaling for him to stop. He didn’t say anything, he just stopped in place curious to what you had planned. Silently you dropped to your knees in front of him. You couldn’t help but bite your bottom lip as your fingers hooked into the top of his boxers.

“What are you doing?” he asked as you slid his boxers down his strong thighs. You didn’t say anything, you just slowly licked his length causing him to groan. He sure didn’t expect you to start going down on him. If he remembered properly from your drunken night together you had confessed to him you hated giving head. As you took him in your mouth he was confused on how some who hated doing this was so good at it. Your hands gripped his base as you slowly bobbed your head against him. He closed his eyes holding back a moan as you dragged your tongue against the underside of his length. It was taking everything in him not to tangle his fingers in your hair and help her movement. You hummed with him in your mouth and he just about came right there. His fingers tangled in your messy locks and lightly tugged trying to signal for you to stop.

“Baby,” he moaned. “I’m gonna cum in your mouth if you don’t stop,” he groaned.

You released him with a pop and looked up at him enjoying the sight of him on the edge. Standing in front of him you reached behind yourself and undid your bra. He was still standing there with the same grin plastered on his face. “Did you enjoy that?” You asked, reaching down and taking his hand.

“Words can’t explain how great that was,” he said, smiling. “I thought you said you hated doing that?” he asked, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

You placed his hand on your breast and said, “I used to hate doing it but remember that frat guy William I dated back in college after we hooked up?”

“Unfortunately, I remember him,” he said as his hand started massaging your breast.

“Well he liked getting head more than having sex, so I got pretty good at it,” you said, remembering back to your time in college. You were really starting to regret not telling Chan how you really felt about him back then.

“I hated that guy,” he groaned.

“I hated him in the end too, but at least got good at doing that,” you said with a little laugh.

“Okay I don’t want to hear about your asshole ex anymore,” he said before closing the distance between you. His lips were intoxicating to you, they were like a drug you couldn’t get enough of. His hands moved from your breast to your round hips. He held you close, as your lips moved together.

Pulling away from him you grinned and took a step back. He wasn’t ready for that kiss to be over and he rasped, “I wasn’t done.”

You worked on removing your panties so Chan wasn’t the only naked one, “patience.”

Chan took this as his cue to crawl onto his unmade bed. Sitting in the middle of the bed he waited for you to join him. “Close your eyes Channie,” you wanted to tease him.

“I hope you’re naked,” he said, causing you to laugh.

“You can find out in a second,” you crawled onto the bed. For some reason being with Chan gave you a sense of confidence you had never actually had before. Crawling on your hands and knees you made your way to Chan who connected his lips to yours for a kiss that was filled with a sense of hunger. He wasted no time rolling you over so he was resting on top of her as their lips moved together.

He opened his eyes and couldn’t help but feel the love behind them. Pulling away from you he settled himself between your legs. “Are you ready?” he rasped.

“Yes,” you sighed.

He thrust into you painfully slowly, he gripped your round hips holding onto you as he rolled his hips. You reached up and gripped his ass attempting to speed up his thrust. “Let’s take it slow baby girl,” he rasped. Just the mention of him calling you baby girl almost sent you over the edge. Chan had always been flirty with you, and quite touchy, but he had never really called her anything other than your name before you moved in with him. Him giving you a pet name in the middle of sex made your heart race.

“Just like that,” you sighed, moving your hand up to his shoulder blade to pull him closer to you. You needed him to put his lips on yours, and you just needed him closer. When you were having sex with him you just wanted him to be as physically close as possible to you. His lips connected to your as your nails scratched his back holding onto him. You couldn’t hold back your moans as you moaned into his kiss.

Chan was a man who knew his way around a woman's body, and it drove you mad. He pulled his lips away from yours and you moaned his name loudly. His pace picked up as you hooked your leg over his hip giving him a new angle.

“I’m close,” you moaned.

His lips attached to your neck as he pushed you over the edge. You held your eyes close tight as you rode out our high. He panted as thrust into you holding off his own high. Your eyes open to find him staring at you with a sense of hunger. The way he was staring at you turned her on so much.

You pushed on his chest signaling for him to stop, his hips still and he panted trying to catch his breath. He was so close to his own high it wasn’t going to take much more.

“Why are we stopping?” he panted, still inside you.

“How do you want to end this?” You asked knowing that the missionary was considered boring, you liked clinging to him as you came, but you wondered what he wanted.

“Baby…” he trailed off as if he was trying to figure out what to say to you. “I’m not trying to fuck you senseless, this isn’t just sex this is different. I want to savor every moment with you.”

You were trying to wrap your mind around what he had just said to you, you weren't sure what was going on with you two. You knew you weren’t together but you were pretty sure you were in love with the man that was still inside of you. His words led you to believe that he had feelings for you too.

“What does that mean?” You reached up and rested her hand on his cheek.

“I would like to finish making love to you and then we can talk,” he said as his hips slowly started moving again.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as thrust into you slowly over and over again. You didn’t want to cry but what he said made you quite emotional for some reason. Chan seemed to care about you more than anyone you had ever been with. It didn’t take much before he finished. He stilled in you for a moment and leaned down and connected his lips to yours for a soft kiss.

He rolled off you and laid on his back with a smile on his face, he didn’t seem to notice that his words seemed to have knocked your world on its side. You laid on your side staring at Chan feeling extremely confused. Part of you want to jump out of bed and just run away. You wanted Chan and you to be together, but suddenly you were terrified of your feelings for him. You had been burned by love so many times, and you knew nobody would ever care for you like Chan did, but you were still scared.

Chan reached his hand over and rested it on your chest as you looked up at the ceiling trying to figure out what you needed to say. “Why does your heart feel like it's about to burst from your chest?” he asked, still trying to catch his own breath.

“Because I’m still coming down from that orgasm,” it wasn’t the full truth, but technically you weren't lying to him.

Chan could tell by your tone something was wrong, he wasn’t sure what caused you to start freaking out but he needed to know.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you said, attempting to escape this conversation. Crawling out of bed you quickly went to the bathroom. You left Chan laying on his bed very confused.

Walking into the bathroom you turned on the water and waited a minute to heat up before stepping in. You were hoping that the warm water was going to wash away anxiety you suddenly had about you and Chan talking about your relationship. You stood under the warm water closing your eyes trying to figure out if you and Chan could even work as a couple. For so long you had thought often about what it would be like to be with Chan.

You opened your eyes at the sound of the sliding glass door opening. You found Chan standing in front of you.

“Why did you just lie to me and then run away from me after we had sex?” he asked.

You swallowed and knew you were going to have to tell him how you actually feel about him. Pushing some of the water from her face you said, “because what you said scared me.”

He pushed his eyebrows together confused, “what scared you?” You could tell he was wondering if you suddenly regretted sleeping together.

“That you said it wasn’t just normal sex,” you whispered as your eyes once again started to brim with tears.

He stepped closer and reached down and took your hand in his, “is that all you thought this was with us?” You knew he was probably afraid to hear your answer. You had waited to have sex because he didn’t want to just be a rebound, and he cared more about you then he had ever cared for anyone.

“I didn’t think you actually saw me as more than a friend,” you whispered.

“(Y/N) you can’t be serious?” he said, taking another step towards you. He was now standing under the water with you and there was only like two inches separating you. You were silent, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I wouldn’t have slept with you just to have casual sex. I value our friendship too much to do that. I care so much for you,” he reached up and placed his hand on your cheek. His words were causing your stomach to twist in knots.

“Chan, I think I love you,” you whispered, afraid to actually say it out loud. “I think I’ve loved you since that night in college.

“You think?” he asked as his thumb gently brushed your cheek as he had his hand still resting on your cheek.

You nodded your head. You knew if you spoke again you were going to break down and cry, suddenly you were so overcome by your emotions.

“I love you too,” he smiled.

You couldn’t help but start to cry, you had been through so much recently with Jimmy hitting you. Between you getting your restraining order and Chan taking care of you. You suddenly felt like an emotional mess, you were crying even though his words made you happy.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, sounding worried.

“Because I was scared you didn’t feel the same way,” you whispered.

He didn’t bother saying anything; he just leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. The sound of the front door opening caused you both to jump apart.

“Did Changbin just come?” You whispered praying this wasn’t how Changbin was going to find out.

“Yeah,” Chan said, nodding his head.

“What the hell do we do?” You asked, praying Changbin wasn’t gonna walk into the bathroom. “I’m gonna go out there and talk to him.”

He slowly opened the sliding door. You reached down and grabbed his hand signaling for him not to leave yet. “Please don’t tell him I’m in here with you. Lie and tell him I’m out and then go to the bar with him. I'll meet you there.”

“(Y/N) are you ashamed of me?” he asked with a little laugh.

You rolled your eyes, “Chan I would prefer he doesn’t find out about us by walking in right after we had sex,” you said sternly letting go of his hand.

“Alright, I’ll see you at the bar in thirty minutes,” He leaned forward and gave you a quick kiss.

He grabbed a towel off the hanger and wrapped it around his waist before walking towards the living area to find Changbin sitting on the couch.

“Hey Changbin,” Chan said, running his finger through his wet hair.

“Where is (Y/N)?” he asked.

“She ran to the store, what’s up?” Chan asked, trying to change the subject.

“I was going to ask if you guys wanted to go to the bar and celebrate the fact that she got her restraining order,” Changbin asked, not bothering to question what you went to the store for. “Why is her bra on the floor?” Changbin asked, looking over at the foot of the bed.

Chan shook his head lightly and wanted to laugh at the fact that you forgot to pick up your bra, but then again, you weren’t exactly expecting company. “She was probably changing before heading out while I took a shower,” he lied.

Changbin shook his head, “telling me why (YN) didn’t come live with me.” He joked, “how is your back not killing you from sleeping on his hard couch?”

Chan shrugged his shoulders knowing damn well he hadn’t slept on the couch, that you and him had been sharing the bed long before you even had sex.

“I’m gonna get dressed and then we’ll head off to the bar, and we can call (Y/N) on the way and tell her to meet us there,” Chan said walking off towards his closet. He grabbed something casual to wear before heading off to the bathroom.

As soon as he walked inside he waited for you to say something. He turned on the bathroom sink attempting to make some noise so they could talk for a second.

“Do you just want to go out there now and tell him or do you want to keep up the lie until the bar?” he asked, reaching out and grabbing her hand.

“He’s gonna freak out,” you whispered knowing that Changbin wasn’t going to take this well.

“Yeah he’s gonna freak out if he finds out another way,” he whispered back as he started getting dressed.

“I’ll meet you at the bar and we’ll work this out there,” you said, sitting down on top of the toilet and watching as Chan got dressed. You couldn’t help but admire his body as he got dressed in front of you. Before leaving he leaned down and gave her a quick kiss goodbye. “I’ll call you in five so hurry and get dressed.”

Chan took off with Changbin towards the bar, and less than five minutes away Chan called you and told you to meet him at the bar. You quickly blow-dried your hair and got dressed so you could meet the boys at the bar.

You found them sitting in a booth with beer sitting in front of them. The second you got to the table Changbin jumped up and pulled you into a tight hug.

“What did you go to the store for?” Changbin asked as you slid into the booth next to Chan.

“I needed more shampoo and conditioner,” you lied.

Chan rested his hand on your thigh causally and gave it a light squeeze. You wanted to look over at him, but you didn’t want Changbin to notice what was happening.

“What did you want to drink?” Changbin asked as the waitress walked towards the table.

“I’ll take a cranberry and vodka,” you said.

“Okay hun,” the waitress said before walking off towards the bar.

“What did you guys do this evening?” Changbin asked casually before taking a drink of his beer.

Chan gave your thigh a squeeze as he said, “we ordered Chinese food and just hung out. Oh, and (YN) took a nap when we first got home,” Chan said it like it was no big deal that he had left out the major detail that you had also had sex a couple times.

“Sounds fun,” Changbin said sarcastically.

“I personally enjoy naps,” you said with a laugh.

Chan slowly rubbed his thumb against the inside of your thigh, it was a simple gesture but his touch was making her stomach fill with butterflies. Not even an hour ago you had admitted you loved each other and suddenly you were trying to act normal.

The waitress came over and sat your drink down in front of you and you gave her a quick thank you. You took a big drink attempting to get a little bit of courage because you knew you needed to tell Changbin that something was going on with Chan because you knew that he was gonna get pissed if you hid it from him any longer.

“So Changbin,” you hesitated. You weren't sure what exactly you should say to him.

“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I’m in love with Chan,” you just blurted it out because you weren't exactly sure what else to say. Changbin’s eyes just went really wide and he looked at you like you had two heads or something. It probably had something to do with the fact that you stated it like Chan had no clue.

Leaning his head forwards trying to process what you said he looked over at Chan who seemed extremely unfazed by your sudden statement.

“Chan, did you hear her?” Changbin asked, still confused.

Chan nodded his head, “yeah I did.”

You felt like you might faint suddenly. You weren't exactly sure why she stated it like that but you felt like you had gotten an adrenaline rush. You just stared at Changbin wondering how much he was going to freak out.

“Are you guys together?” Changbin asked, trying to figure out what was going on.

“We don’t know,” you said, realizing that you and Chan hadn’t exactly talked about that.

Chan squeezed her thigh again and said, “yeah I like to think we are.”

You looked over at him and smiled, your heart couldn’t help but race a little.

“Wait, did you guys lie to me when I asked if you were sleeping together?” Changbin asked, feeling slightly offended that you lied to him.

“No, we didn’t lie to you,” Chan said. “We talked about our feelings today,” he took his hand off your thigh and took your hand and laced his fingers with yours.

“I swear to God Chan if you break her heart, I’ll break your nose,” Changbin said, causing you and Chan to laugh. “Wait, is that why (Y/N’s) bra and underwear were on the floor…” Changbin's face dropped at his realization. “Did I almost walk in on you?” Changbin asked, suddenly feeling gross.

You scrunch your face up at the thought of Changbin walking in on you having sex. “Yeah you came kind of close,” you sighed.

“I would never be able to get that image out of my head,” he said, shaking his head at just the thought.

You and Chan couldn’t help but laugh.

The three of you hung out in the bar for a couple hours before you and Chan headed back up to Chan’s place. You walked inside holding hands, and you couldn’t help but feel happy and safe with Chan.

“Thank you so much for taking care of me,” you smiled, stepping towards him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and just smiled at him. Your lips connected for a soft kiss.

“I hope you don’t plan on moving out anytime soon,” he said with a little laugh.

“I’ll stay until you kick me out,” you laughed.

“I love you so much,” he smiled.

“I love you too Bang Chan,” you said resting your forehead against his.

Regarding taglist:

If you aren’t interacting with my writing outside of liking the new post I’m gonna have to remove your name from the taglist. You will also be removed if I try to tag you and your blog is listed as "invisible". If you've changed your URL and didn't let me know I will also be removing your name. I’m sorry for the inconvenience but my interactions outside or likes feels like it’s nonexistent right now. All of my taglist are still open though. If you request to be added to one via this form, I kindly ask for interactions in the form and feedback and reblogs. To be quite honest, those really encourage my writing.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #stray kids fanfic #bang chan fanfic #my writing #skz #skz fanfiction #skz smut #bang chan imagine #bang chan au #Changbin #Christopher bang #stray kids

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word-wytch · 6 months

Text

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door.

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative.

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning.

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself.

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together.

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates.

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town.

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by.

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge.

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon.

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another.

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check.

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri.

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good!

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations.

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van.

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum.

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint.

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment.

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed.

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling.

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die.

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him.

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten.

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow.

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.”

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied.

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos.

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived.

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself.

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap.

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back.

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street.

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now.

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format.

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title.

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins.

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain.

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.”

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance..

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.”

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness.

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.”

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile.

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t.

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder.

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition.

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now.

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath.

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all.

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern.

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside.

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold.

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?”

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose.

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?”

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.”

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.”

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero.

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm.

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air.

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked.

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals.

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat.

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more.

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.”

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.”

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind.

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail.

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory.

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x teacher!reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson angst #don't stand so close to me #dssctm

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wanderersbell · 1 year

Text

when he lets you wear his hat

wanderer x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: dark humor (just in the beginning)

word count: 1168

a/n: i am a firm believer that scara loves dark humor yes i might be projecting but nobody can change my mind ( ˘ ³˘)♥ enjoy!

your unwavering patience is something you’ve always taken pride in.

there have only been a few instances where you’ve lost your cool in the fleeting years of your life, always feeling a certain kind of superiority in situations where you can hold your own even if it would be reasonable to let go for a moment.

but now, after weeks of nonstop backhanded comments and complaints from your traveling companion, it is through sheer willpower alone that you haven’t turned around and tried to bite his head off every time he opens his mouth.

“you seriously can’t swim?” the wanderer asks from somewhere behind you. “didn’t you ever have fun as a kid?”

you bite the inside of your cheek and keep up your brisk pace while he snickers to himself like it truly is the funniest thing in the world. the unforgiving desert sun is hot against your back and the fine grains of sand that keep finding their way into your shoes feel like they’re rubbing your skin raw, leaving you sweaty and miserable.

the one traveling with you doesn’t share these sentiments, hardly even taking notice to uncomfortable sensations anymore, and thus remains entirely unbothered, much to your annoyance.

he almost seemed understanding at first, suggesting you take a dip in a nearby oasis to cool off before you overheat, but one insignificant mention of your swimming skills, or lack thereof, had turned into him making fun of you for it before you could even begin to regret bringing it up.

the wanderer doesn’t relent even when you keep ignoring him. “surely it’s not because you’re afraid, right? what’s so scary about water?”

“quit it.” you warn him sharply, gritting your teeth so hard your jaw begins to ache. of course, you’re already expecting him to do the opposite.

“wait, don’t tell me.” he starts, jogging a bit to catch up to you. “nobody bothered to teach you? mom just too busy to make time for you?”

this has you freezing in your tracks, coming to a halt beside him, and before you can even process the thought going through your head-

“at least i actually had one.”

the silence that follows is deafening as you snap your head up to stare at him, his expression of shock mirroring your own. guilt starts twisting around in your stomach as soon as the words leave your mouth, but the joyous laughter that erupts out of your traveling companion the next second chases it away as he hunches over and cackles.

“that was incredible,” he gasps out.

you narrow your eyes at the sight but you can’t help the smile that starts tugging at your lips seeing him thrown into such a genuine fit of giggles, the sound melodic and tugging at your heartstrings. “why are you laughing?”

he lifts an arm to wipe the sweat off of his forehead as he starts to calm down, leaving you with a bundle of conflicting emotions tangled together in your chest.

“i never thought you had it in you.” he explains, sounding almost… proud? there’s an undeniable glow of satisfaction on his face, and it’s only then that you realize, this entire time, his goal was to get you to play along.

“looks like you really can teach an old dog new tricks,” the wanderer shrugs, his usual shit-eating smirk returning to his lips.

“i- wha?” you sputter incredulously. “haven’t you been around for centuries? and you’re calling me old?”

he makes a noncommittal sort of hum as you two start walking again. a comfortable silence falls over you both, the man beside you finally silent after getting what he wanted out of you. however, the heat isn’t any less forgiving than it was moments prior so your pace inevitably slows until you’re forced to stop and lean down to rest your hands on your knees, each inhale of hot air offering absolutely no relief.

when he realizes you stopped walking and turns around to send you an unimpressed look it’s quickly replaced by poorly masked concern that shows in the furrow of his brows and the tight line of his lips. it’s only then that he remembers the bottle he watched you pack earlier that morning.

“drink,” he says as he reaches into your bag and pulls out a full flask of water. you grab it from him gratefully and can’t help the sigh you release at the coolness of the liquid from being inside of a metal container.

the wanderer watches you wordlessly as you twist the cap back on and turn to put it back in your bag, and the second you look away the feeling of something being placed on your head as well as suddenly being enveloped in the shade catches you by surprise. when you whip around to meet his gaze he avoids yours and walks a few steps ahead, arms crossed and hat mysteriously missing.

when it clicks, your jaw drops a fraction and you reach up to slide your fingers along the gold metal leaves, finding them hot to the touch from the scorching sun.

the wanderer never lets you touch his hat. not even as his trusted companion. every time you’ve tried in the past, he’s quick to step out of your way or slap your hand back whenever he sees you going for it. there’s a sparkle of joy in your eyes when he peeks out of the corner of his to take in your reaction and scoffs when he sees the awe on your face.

“come on, let’s keep moving.” he huffs, tone sounding irritated.

unused to the weight of the wide hat balanced on your head, you catch up to him on wobbly feet, one hand still holding onto the rim so it won’t tip off. how the wanderer manages to jump around and run without it sliding everywhere is beyond you, because it feels like it could fall off at any moment.

this does not go unnoticed to the man next to you, but you’re too busy trying to stand straight and walk without tilting too much, so you’re not prepared for the gust of wind he flicks at you that tips the hat up and off, saved from falling to the ground only by his hand that shoots out to grab it and put it back the way it was before.

“hey!” you pout indignantly, sending him a look of annoyance. when your meet eyes meet his, his vibrant indigo irises are swimming with mirthful contentment, and a small smile rests easily on his face. it’s not an expression you get see on him that often, but like always, it causes pitiful flutters in your chest.

your frown softens despite yourself and you avert your gaze to the horizon where the sun hangs high in the sky, feeling thankful that you can just blame the flush staining your cheeks on the heat if he points it out.

what a truly insufferable travel companion you have.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #my writing

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 1 month

Note

This might be rather vague, but could I request a Bucky fic based around the sentence “please don’t make me lie to you”?

The Truth » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and Sam Wilson/Falcon

Summary: Bucky tells you the truth about who he really is.

Warnings: mix of Fluff and Angst, language, crying, kissing, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵 also I imagined this took place during Captain America: Civil War.

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

“Can one of you explain what the hell just happened?” You say, looking at Steve and Sam.

Steve and Sam looked at each other before looking back at you. Steve desperately wanted to tell you, but it’s not his place to say. You kept looking at them, waiting for one of them to say something. Your attention was quickly turned to Bucky when he groaned as he started to wake up.

“Bucky, baby.” You immediately went over to him and hugged him.

“Doll…” Bucky wrapped his right arm around your wand held you against him. “Steve…” He looks up at Steve.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah and you used to wear newspaper in your shoes.” Bucky says.

“Can’t read that in a museum.” Steve says.

“Like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam says.

“What did I do?” Bucky asks, looking at Sam.

“You didn’t do anything, baby.” You say, caressing his stubbly cheek.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Steve spoke up.

“Buck, does she know?” Steve asks him.

“Know what?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “What’s he talking about, babe?” You asked, looking at Bucky.

Bucky looked down, feeling ashamed that he never told you the truth about who he really is.

“You never told your girl?” Sam says.

“Sam…” Steve warns. “We’ll give you two some time alone.” He says, walking away with Sam following behind him.

You and Bucky were left in silence. Bucky couldn’t look you in the eye. He was nervous to tell you the truth and he hoped that he didn’t have to tell you, but here you guys are. Bucky kept this from you for a reason and that’s to protect you and cause he loves you so much.

“Bucky, what were your friends talking about?” You asked.

Bucky was quiet for a moment longer before he looked at you.

“Please don’t make me lie to you.” He says, his voice cracking.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” You say.

Bucky took a deep breath before saying anything.

“I’m the Winter Soldier.” He flat out said.

“Who or what is the Winter Soldier?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“Me.” He repeats. “These people called HYDRA found me the Alps in the 40s, gave me a metal arm, and trained me to become an assassin for them.” He explains.

You took a step back, trying to process what Bucky just said.

“Babydoll, say something.” He says, his eyes tearing up.

“All this time, I thought you were someone who showed up on my doorstep injured for almost a year ago when you possibly could’ve killed me.” You say.

“No!” He quickly said. “I would never hurt you. I would never forget myself if I did hurt you. You have to believe me.” He says.

You faced away from him and walked away from him. Bucky managed to get his metal arm free and follow you. He gently grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You shout, yanking your arm out of his grip.

Bucky took a step back, not wanting to make you more mad than you already are.

“You really think I would hurt you?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Bucky.” Your eyes teared up. “We’ve been dating for almost a year and you’re just now telling me the truth about who you really are.” You say.

Tears rolled down your cheeks. You didn’t want to cry and look weak in front of Bucky, but you couldn’t help it. It’s like a dam broke loose. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him as you cried in his arms, your tears soaking his henley.

“I love you more than anything, doll. Please know that.” Bucky says in a whisper.

“I know.” You sniffled, looking up at him. “I love you too.” You say, looking in his beautiful blue eyes.

Bucky’s right hand caressed your cheek, his thumb softly rubbing against your skin. He leaned down and kissed you passionately. Your lips moved in sync with his.

“Please don’t leave me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He says, pulling away from your lips.

“I’m not.” You whispered. “I love you too much to leave you.” You kissed his lips. “Don’t ever keep the truth from me again.” You say.

“I won’t. I promise.” He says against your lips.

Steve and Sam walked in the room at the wrong time.

“Sorry to break up your moment, but if we’re going to do this, we need a plan.” Steve says.

“I know a guy.” Sam says, looking at Steve.

“Count me in.” You say.

From then on out, Bucky told you the truth about everything. No matter how bad his past was, he still told you. He loves you too much to lose you.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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feasibilities · 2 months

Text

Psychosomatic | Jonathan Breech x Inpatient!Reader

Warnings: Public Sex, Dub-Con, Pet Names, Cockwarming, Mutual Masturbation, etc.

Author's Note: Just a refurbished idea I wanted to share. Jonathan Breech is a skank, obviously. Enjoy!

“You’re a pretty one, yeah?” Jonathan said, staring at you from the driver’s side of his stolen convertible. He managed to find an empty parking lot behind a pub. The air was brisk. Your heart was beating out of your chest and his words nearly stopped it. You two just broke out of a mental institution—it was Jonathan’s idea completely. The consequences included solitary confinement and a lifetime membership at the institute. You were happy to see the outside, but you were deathly afraid of being caught.

Sensing your anxiety, he put his hand on your thigh and kneaded it gently. His palm was soft and warm. Jonathan dreamt of caressing your smooth legs every time you wore your pajama shorts. It was hard to ignore his piercing gaze when you removed that frumpy sweater once in a blue moon. You were away from prying eyes. He had you all to himself. To him, this was kismet.

Leaning in closer, he kissed your jawline. You whimpered and turned away. You were attracted to him, but all you could think about was that traumatic incident that landed you in the institution in the first place.

“What’s wrong, love?” Jonathan inquired.

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry for leading you on. I’m not meant for this sort of thing.” You admitted, tearing up.

“We don’t have to fuck if you don’t want to. I just wanted to feel you up a bit, “s all.” He explained.

You remembered that you only went to 3rd base with a guy in Year 5. He was not experienced at all and he was the only one who got to finish. You swore you were getting a pap smear. Would it really hurt to try again with a guy who seemed like he cared?

“Fine. Touching and kissing only, Jon.” You relented.

“Fine with me, doll.” He agreed.

This time, he kissed your lips tenderly. They were as soft as you imagined. You kissed him back hesitantly while he moved his hand to buttons of your pajama shirt. He undid each one without looking as if he planned this. With no bra underneath, the cool air made your nipples harden. His warm hands found one of your breasts. His kissing became more impassioned as his thumb flicked the delicate sprout. You moaned sweetly and touched his crotch. You were stunned to feel a throbbing hard-on. Pulling away, Jonathan stared at you with carnal eyes.

“See what you’ve done to me, darlin’? ” He agonized, rutting against your hand.

You shyly slid your hand in his pants and wrapped your fingers around his shaft. Growing impatient, he pulled his pants down slightly and began moving your hand up and down.

“C’mon, we don’t have all day, love.” Jonathan urged.

You moved his hand and pumped slowly. You made sure to squeeze a bit tighter when you would meet the tip. You saw his plump lips part as an enchanting moan left his throat. You felt wetness gather in between your legs. Feeling a bit courageous, you spit in your hand and continued your movements. His piercing blue eyes fluttered closed.

“Fuck…I’m already close.” Jonathan hissed. You kissed him to hush him up. This time, you nipped at his bottom lip and slipped your tongue in his mouth. Jonathan whimpered in response. Pumping faster, you began nibbling on his earlobe. His hand found your breast once more. You slid your hand into your shorts and began rubbing your clit. He suddenly snatched your hand away and stared at you with dark eyes.

“I’m sick of waitin’, yeah? Get in the back.” He demanded, slapping your thigh lightly. You went to follow his orders and laid on the backseat. Following behind you, he removed what was left of your clothing. You shivered at the cool autumn air. Seemingly unaffected, he teased the tip of his dick against your entrance before sliding in. You moaned loudly and arched your back. Pressing his forehead against yours, he thrusted harshly and held the back of your head. His gorgeous bore into yours.

“I…I can’t take it.” You whimpered.

“Yeah?” He teased, thrusting deeper. The burn from the unfamiliar feeling started to subside. He fucked any remaining defiance out of you.

“I’m all yours, Jon.” You moaned, tears welling up in your eyes.

He kissed you sweetly and dug his fingernails into your hips. Shockwaves of bliss were sent through your body with each movement. Your moans became screams as Jonathan rutted into you desperately. You cycled through countless orgasms before he flipped you over. Entering you once more, he pressed your face into the seat.

“Fuck, stay just like that.” He panted. You cried out at his merciless actions. You suspected he was using you as a way to release his anger. His thrusts staggered as finished inside of you. A loud groan left his throat. His eyes rolled back and his entire body shook. Lying down with you, he pulled you close and held you tightly. He kissed your shoulder lovingly.

#on the edge #jonathan breech #cillian murphy #2000s movies #jonathan breech x reader #psych ward #cillian murphy smut #my writing

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cheriladycl01 · 3 months

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2026 Rewind - Grid x AudiDriver! Reader

Plot: After some devastating deaths within the F1 industry from unmistakable names in 2025, the FIA decide to make a plan to race at all of the old tracks that are iconic but haven’t been on the grid for a while.

A/N: this is racing heavy with only drivers name dropped, but if you want cool Ted and Crofty with Y/N vibes while learning more about some of the FIA Grade 1 Tracks, have a read!

Credit to celestinovietti for the GIF

“So Ted, let’s talk about this years line up. It’s just so iconic that I can’t bear it!” David Croft says as they are in the commentator box at pre-season testing.

“Yeah Crofty, obviously it’s so unfortunate the reason behind what we are calling the 2026 rewind because of some losses we had in the industry and this was the way the FIA decided to pay tribute to those people!" Ted explains before the onscreen for the year comes up.

"So, lets go through the year together and analyze it. We're starting of the season strong in the lovely Kuwait, here at Kuwait Motor Town, this is where we are kick starting off this season. It's a high speed track here just north of where we would typically start in Bahrain. This is a track consisting of 20 turns, and is 5.609km of racing ahead. I'm very excited as no-one in F1 history has raced here in an F1 car. Who do you think's going to do well here Ted?"

"Well, there's some really nice corners, and it's a similar temp to Bahrain so i think it's difficult to tell but I can imagine the Audi with Y/N now having done her rookie season learning all those key values about the F1 car and how it works. McLaren will also be good here, really tightening up the constructors championship this year!" Ted offers looking at all the onboard footage.

"Yes I agree, I think Red Bull tend to be quiet strong a the start of the year naturally and its a game for the other teams to be playing catch up!" Crofty agrees.

"Okay, then after Kuwait, we'll be travelling to and correct me if I'm saying this wrong but the Kyalami Circuit in South Africa near the wonderful capital Johannesburg. It's in replacement of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, we haven't raced in South Africa since 1993 and what a beautiful circuit this is, its got some really high speed corners and yeah, I think the Ferrari will really be great on those long straights." Ted says analysis the data of the cars in testing.

"And now here we have with us, Y/N Y/L/N Audi F1 driver here to talk through the rest of the tracks!" David says and points to the camera for you to smile and wave before he pulls out the microphone in front of you.

"Hello!" you grin and David and Ted both burst out laughing.

"What did I miss, I'm really sorry i was late!" you smile looking between them and they both nod in understanding of how tight the weekend schedule could be, they are shocked they actually have your time right now.

"It's completely okay, we understand! We've only introduced Kuwait and South Africa, we are about to move onto the changed Australia track! Your thoughts?" he exclaims and you smile.

"Yeah, obviously it's going to be exciting with all these new tracks that none of us have driven, so of course there was a lot of testing in the sims... but yeah its great to be here in Kuwait, and I'm excited to go to South Africa as well!" you smile.

"Yes, and how do you feel about Australia being changed from Albert Park in Melbourne to the Adelaide Street Circuit?" Ted asks with a grin on his face knowing how you felt about the Australian races.

"Well, after the spider incident in 2022, I've always been so scared to drive in Australia" you giggle, before Crofty pulls up the video of you in P4 of the Australian Grand Prix in 2022.

Y/N - Theres a fucking tarantula in my car Race Engineer - Copy that Y/N - No i dont think you guys get it, its on me

"And you ended up pitting there was no time to get it out of the car because of where it was, you were crying for the rest of the race and you were going so quick so you could just finish that you actually ended up winning your first race here and overtaking Charles Leclerc in, what back then was an Alfa Romeo." Crofty smiles and you nod.

"Yeah, so where ever that race is in Australia I know ill be on edge the whole time, I'll have my crew do like 6 inspections on my car before each session to make sure. It was traumatizing i tell you!" you admit.

"So after what will hopefully be a spider free stint in Adelaide on their street circuit we move on to south east Asia where we will exchange Suzuka Japan, for the Fuji SpeedWay, a truly iconic track before going back to an old favorite of some of the older driver on the grid like Lewis and Fernando in South Korea at the Korea International Circuit!" Ted says showing the line up for the races after Australia.

"I'm really excited for these, the atmosphere of the fans is always amazing and the tracks here are great I think Audi thrive on these sort of tracks and yeah, I'm excited to see what we can do there!" you smile, looking at the spinning track layout that popped up on screen.

You move on to Miami's replacement being the iconic Californian Long Beach Street Circuit.

"And we've been tipped of, by a certain Cash App driver that he'll be taking you to DisneyLand while out there?" he asks looking at you.

"Yes, Liam has already been once and when I said about wanting to go to radiator springs he and Daniel jumped on the opportunity to go, which then Yuki and Max wanted to come so it's now turned into this whole massive group trip!" you laugh knowing that half the grid would come with you guys.

"And of course much like the UK Italy is another pinnacle of Motorsport and we've had to change out two of the iconic track Monza and Imola. So for the first change of Italy we've changed it to the iconic Mugello track which I just really love, don't you Y/N?" Ted asks looking at you.

"Yeah I think Lando and Osc will be really strong there, I'd like to think me and Carlos are as well with the Audi this year... so yeah I'm excited for Mugello! Obviously they raced here in 2020 so it's the most recent of all the races this year to make a return so its only really me, Oscar, Logan, Fred, Theo and Kimi who haven't raced there" you smile analyzing the twisty track up on the screen.

"Yes, then we'll be moving onto, what was probably one of the toughest decisions of this year which was switching out Monaco and what to switch out such an exciting race with, so they didn't its the only race on the calendar this year that has remained unchanged!" David explains making you nod.

"I think, where this year is to show the history of F1 and what it means to all of us, the teams and the fans. And by keeping Monaco on there where its such a historic track, i think that's actually staying true to a rewind year!" you smile, you'd always loved the vibes in Monaco, from the fans to the track to how your car performed there.

"Yeah i agree i think it was the right choice keeping Monaco!" Ted exclaims also loving the vibes at Monaco.

"Okay, then moving all the way to the west, we'll be in Canada moving from Montreal over to Quebec at the second oldest track, the Mont-Tremblant Circuit!" David shows the new Canadian circuit on screen.

"Then after Canada we've got a really special double header with two Spanish Grand Prix's at different locations. We have the Valencia Street Circuit and Del Jarama Circuit. Both very exciting and it will be a long weekend in Spain!"

"I'm excited to see a street circuit in Spain, obviously we had Madrid for the last two years after Barcelona, so I'm excited for both Valencia as a street circuit and Jarama which is such an iconic track because of those tights turns and yeah I'm really excited for this one!" you smile.

"Obviously next one was another tough one, Silverstone again another iconic track and the UK has so many other iconic tracks that its hard to choose, there was talks of Aintree, Watkins Glen and Donington Park but ultimately they went with Brands Hatch what do you think on this?" Ted asks looking over to you, holding up a page showing all the different UK tracks.

"Yeah, I think there's some really iconic tracks in the UK, its my home so i grew up racing on a lot of those tracks in different motorsport categories, I think there's ones that are arguably better for Formula one, which is why Silverstone is the main circuit as it gives for the most interesting race, however for me it would have been a call between Brands Hatch and Watkins Glen so I'm glad that they chose Brands Hatch, I've got some great memories there at testing and showcasing the car or working with the Top Gear team, so I'm excited to race there!" you explain, the United Kingdom is the like Monaco in being both a founder and royalty when it comes to Motorsport.

"I 100% agree with that, however I just love Aintree so much and am gutted we wont see it!" David Croft admits.

"So after Brands Hatch we move to Monsanta in Portugal which we haven't raced in Portugal since 2021 because of the COVID restrictions but that was in Algarve so it'll be interesting to see the difference!" Ted offers looking at the next circuit floating on their screen as he zoom's in on turn 4.

"Then, again there another track we hate to see go even if its for one year but Spa, its so iconic and its one of the most dangerous circuits we race now and it's being swapped out for Circuit Zolder on the other side of Belgium! Thoughts?" David asks out in the open.

"I" you start.

"Well I think" Ted also starts and you both look at each other in shock before laughing. You let Ted go first to say his piece.

"Well, I think it's no where near interesting as Spa, and especially where its the last race before a break... I think it's going to be way more uneventful than Spa!"

"Y/N?" Crofty asks looking at you.

"I actually think the opposite most of the tracks have been very high risk with lost of turns and chicanes and hairpins that really catch you out, however this reminds me of the simplicity of Monza and everyone, everyone loves Monza. So i think it will really even out the mid field cars" you says observing the track that had nice long straights and minimal turns.

"I agree with you there Y/N! Next after Zolder we head over to the heavily missed Nurburgring in Germany, the last time we saw it was 2019 so again, up until our 2019 rookies would have driven there how'd you feel about this track Y/N?" David asks.

"Well, it's such an iconic track for so many reasons I really wanted to race there after I watched Lando, George and Alex all race there in 2019, I was actually there in the paddock that year with Ferrari as a part of their driver development programme" you nod, explaining to them how excited you were for it.

"Now next in the place of Monza which we just mentioned we have a complete wild card of the Scandinavian Raceway in Sweden! Now this, this is one I'm excited for it's a beautiful track and has the coldest track temps we'll probably get all season! So it'll be a real fight to see who can protect their tyres and manage them well!" Ted explains and you nod, knowing it would be an exciting race.

"Then after that we travel to France where we haven't been for a while, however the Bugatti Au Mans Track in France is iconic, there are so many great tracks in France like Paul-Ricard or the Charade Circuit or Dijon de Prenois, all of them are great but the Bugatti hasn't been done is so long and really means a lot historically to the sport" David offers, showing you one of the only tracks you didn't feel too excited a lean towards.

"Then, we move back across to Aisa, going to an age of favorite of the age old Sepang International Circuit in Malasiya which is one fans have been wanting to see back on the race calendar for a while so i wonder if this will stay into 2027!" Ted takes over, and you nod.

"I'm also very excited for Sepang! After Malaysia we move onto the first ever FIA grade 1 race track the Chang Circuit in Thailand, how to we feel about this?" David asks directly looking at you.

"Not only is it a beautiful track, but it means that Alex now has a chance to race at his home track while racing under his home flag and I think he's really excited for it. He's in a great car, the Williams has come leaps and bounds and are top midfield contenders and definitely will be up there fighting for race wins!" you smile, knowing Alex was so happy to have this opportunity to race in his home country.

"I agree Alex Albon to win in Chang Circuit, I've put my money on it! Our next circuit it one that NASCAR share with us in F1 taking it back to the Indianapolis Speedway, on the lower F1 circuit of course rather than the Oval that the NASCAR drivers use!" Ted explains.

"Yeah, that lower track is great, you got the nice curve and we'll be able to get to those really high speeds. It's an iconic US track just like COTA!" you admit, taking a sip of the water you'd brought with you.

"After Indi, we'll make our way a little further down south to the Rio de Janiro International Track in Brazil, which is instead of Sao Paulo" David explains looking at the second F1 track in Brazil, it was a nice track but Sao Paulo had been on the roster for so long.

"Then, we are back in Las Vegas, but not on the Strp track that was created in 2023, no we are going back to the Ceaser's Palace Track and I know many people complain about these Las Vegas Grand Prix's because of the timings and the drivers not really liking driving at 12pm!"

"Yeah, i agree they are really strenuous just like Qatar for the heat but I love the vibe Las Vegas brings and I like the whole weekend with all the activities in the fan zone and yeah I'm excited they used Ceaser's Palace rather than the Pheonix Street Circuit which i know they were considering.

"I agree. Our last two races, then consist of the Buddah International Circuit in India and rounding off instead of in Yas Marina in the Dubai Autodrome, which will be a really nice round off" David exclaims.

Slowly you end the interview up, needing to go down to the track to get into the car for you leg of pre-season testing.

What a year it would be.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @formula1mount @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #lando norris imagine #lando norris #charles leclerc #charles lecrelc x reader #lewis hamilton #max verstappen x you #oscar piastri f1 #alex albon fluff #alex albon imagine #lance stroll fanfic #lance stroll

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ofaatuu · 1 year

Text

Similar, Tonowari x Poly!reader x Ronal

(not my gif!)

part 1 here, part 2 here !

warnings: none 👍🏽 maybe a little angst

Bold / blue words are spoken in Navi!

summary: you meet the Tsahik and Olo'ekytan of the metkayina clan and have similar features. They found you interesting and watch you from afar.

(Reminder this is Polynesian and polyamorous!)

taglist for similar! @zoexme @ellabellabus07 @yeosxxx @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @manumanulau @belos-simp69 @ratchetprime211 @tojisleftarm @sakuuo

You land in the reef clan and jump into the sand, but today you are in your Avatar. You still have all your tattoos and such. But it feels so weird. You haven’t entered your avatar in awhile. You walk to jake’s marui, bouncing a little on the walkway

You enter and greet them “Hi Jake! Hi Neytiri! Hi kids!” You greet them and sit down “Hey y/n, I can’t believe you’re in your avatar! It’s been years.” Jake says surprised. You nod, you just didn’t want to feel small compared to them anymore. “Yup.. Don’t you still think it’s weird they gave me a reef Navi because I’m Polynesian?” You say still offended because that’s honestly not cool. “I think it’s funny. I’m still trying to figure out what Polynesian is. But hey atleast you fit in with them! You still have your tattoos.” He pokes at your arm and leg as you scoff “typical white man.” You hear someone enter the Marui and feel eyes burning into your head, you then hear a familiar hiss “Who is this?” You hear Ronal hiss at Jake as he explains who i am.

You turn around to face them and see their face soften for a bit then tightens. “Ronal it’s me. Y/n” she gasps “Sky demon?” She reaches up to touch your Navi features. “But you are metkayina?” She looks at you with widen eyes then turns around to tonowari who is already looking at her. They speak through their eyes and say goodbye. You turn around and look at Jake and Neytiri. “Can I just crash here tonight?” You don’t want to go back to lab because they would be pestering you with questions. “Yes. but you reek. You must go to the pond and rinse off. I will get a tweng from the Tsahik.” Neytiri says laughs as you roll your eyes and follow her out.

You reach the pond and strip from your t-shirt and shorts and dive in. You sit there waiting for Neytiri to bring your so called tweng for you to change into.

after your shower you hear some rustling in the bushes and out comes Ronal and Tonowari. “Oh..” you cover yourself and your cheeks flush in dark blue. You then reach out for the tweng and stand up “thank you.. I am going to change now.” They nod but do not move. Well thats new. You end up just moving backwards a bit and changing, you never leaving their site. “Thank you for the clothing.” You sign the I see you and start walking away but tonowari grabs your hand and whispers close to your face, “Come to our marui with your belongings. You are sleeping in our marui.” He looks at you tense. A shiver runs down your spine and you hesitate to answer but you just nod. Rushing you enter Jakes marui and tell him everything. “Holy shit! Do you think they like you? I mean they always had their eye on you but I thought it was because you’re human!” He rambled off as you hurry to grab your shit. “I don’t even know jake, but I trust them.” You say goodbye and walk towards the marui. Tonowari comes out from behind you and slips an arm around your waist. “come.” He says. “I will bring you to our home.” You walk with him tense as fuck because his damn buff ass arm is around your waist. You walk in and see Ronal and smile nervously. She smiles and pats the sleeping mat. “Come. We welcome you.” They seat you down and also give you very pretty Navi jewelry. Isn’t this a way of courting? I’ll ask Jake or norm. Right now I just need to focus on what’s happening in front of me..

god I fell. Hard.

#ronal #jake sully #norm spellman #tonowari x reader #tonowari #tonowari x reader x ronal #avatar #atwow #x reader #jake sully angst #neytiri #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar twow

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [4]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 4,609

A/N: omg i’m back from the dead with an update, lol. thank you all for being patient!! i really hope you all enjoy this next installment. i think it’s pretty safe to say… the shit is hitting the fan. mind the warnings! divider by @firefly-graphics

You sleep so fitfully it wakes both you and Ransom, your husband blinking blearily at you in the dark as he asks if you’re okay.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, turning over onto your side with a frustrated sigh. A quick glance at the digital clock on the bedside table tells you it’s after four in the morning. The last you looked, it had been just after one-thirty, and you aren’t really sure where the time’s gone. You can’t get comfortable, and though the pills normally make you drowsy, you find yourself frustratingly awake. Ransom mumbles something you don’t really catch before settling back down again.

With a huff, you slide out from underneath the covers, and the tile flooring is cool on your feet. If you can’t sleep, you might as well walk. You pull a hoodie out of the dresser, and slip from the room. You squint into the darkened living room, and sigh with relief when you find no one there. On your way past, you sneak a piece of fruit from the refilled bowl on the counter, peeling the banana on your way out the door.

You immediately feel better outside, taking a deep breath. The air is tinged with salt from the sea, and you suck down grateful lungfuls of it, sighing. You don’t know how to explain your drop in mood after dinner, excepting maybe hormones. Either that, or—

No. You shake yourself. You’re not going to think about it. Not going to give that tiny, ridiculous seed any leeway to sprout. Besides, you have more pressing things to be concerned about—like the fact that you’ve already pregnancy’d out of your swimsuit. What you had thought was gas upon packing your bikini a few days ago is now clearly something else. You’re just on the cusp of two months along now, and you supposed—rather foolishly, apparently—that you would not yet be showing.

You glare at the slight protrusion and take another bite of your banana, all while getting the distinct feeling that your belly was glaring right back at you.

“You’re supposed to be working with me here, kid,” you mutter. You know that part of the purpose of this trip is to spring the news, but you don’t want to hop on the train to grandparent-town before you and Ransom are ready. Though it’s just a bump, you rub your belly somewhat absently as you stare down at the ocean.

“Mind if I join you?” Lloyd sounds like Lloyd when he speaks. You turn in the chair to look at him. He raises an eyebrow. You want to say no—and you can tell he knows it too.

“No,” you say after a moment, biting back the put upon sigh that threatens to escape right after it. Try to get along. Try for Ransom. “Go ahead.” He settles himself in one of the other patio chairs, before raising an eyebrow.

“Having trouble sleeping?” He asks, and you nod with a grimace.

“Um, yeah.” You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think it’s, well. You know.” You point at your stomach, and Lloyd laughs.

“Kid keeping you up already? That was fast.” He gestures down at the slight swell, and even though it’s hidden by your t-shirt, you get the feeling he might have noticed it before you did. “I figured they had to be out of the womb for that.” You laugh in spite of yourself, and the sound surprises both of you. You aren’t used to Lloyd being funny. Well, funny to you.

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”

“Have you thought of any names yet?” He asks. You have, privately. Ransom had said he didn’t want to pick a name too early—how can we name a kid we haven’t met, Sweetheart— but you can’t help it, looking up baby name lists in secret, going through each letter section and writing down the ones you like in the notes app on your phone.

“What, did Ransom not tell you?” You say saltily. “We’re waiting.” Lloyd rolls his eyes.

“Yes, but that’s not what I asked. I asked if you thought of any.” Your head snaps up, and you can’t help but look at him, surprised. Lloyd’s observant, you know that’s a quality both he and Ransom share, but you can’t help but be shocked at the depth of said observations.

I didn’t know he knew me so well.

The three of you had known each other since college, of course, but being that you spent most of your time with Ransom—and that hadn’t changed since you’d gotten married—you hadn’t realized Lloyd had had as much time to observe you as he apparently had.

“Well, yes,” you admit after a moment, biting your lip as an embarrassed smile blossoms on your face. “I guess I’ve… thought of a few.” Lloyd smiles and leans in conspiratorially.

“You want to share with the class?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why? So you can run and tell Ransom I didn’t?” Lloyd scoffs, and has the gall to look offended.

“Me? You wound me, Princess. I would never tell tales about something told to me in confidence.” He holds up his right hand and crosses his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You never were a boy scout.” You say flatly, and Lloyd laughs.

“Fine. Agent’s honor, then.” He stares at you imploringly, and with no small amount of hesitance, you fish your phone out of the pocket of your shorts and pull up the tab.

“Well, I… I have them separated, you know. Boy names, girl names, neutral names, I’m sure you get it.”

“Start with the boys.” Lloyd leans back in his chair, his hands behind his head. He reminds of you of Ransom just then, and guilt fills your stomach with cold lead. This is a conversation you should be having with your husband, the father of your child, first and foremost. Not his brother. You swallow thickly.

“Maybe… maybe I should wait for Ransom,” you say guiltily, but Lloyd waves his hand at you, dismissing your concerns.

“Come on, Princess. It’s not like you’re picking now, right?” You nod reluctantly. “Right. We’re family now, aren’t we?” It’s tempting—you’ve been dying to talk names with Ransom. But with him being stuck on waiting until the baby actually comes to discuss it—at least for now—you’ve been shit out of luck.

“He’s my husband Lloyd. It’s a little different.” You reply, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Is it?” He hums, tapping a finger on the wide arm of the chair. His signet rings clack dully against the wood as he cocks his head at you. Your face heats, and you don’t really know why.

“Y-yes,” you say, forcing a laugh. “Very.”

The way he says family makes you shudder, like he wants to say something else entirely—you just don’t know what. Ransom would say you were being ridiculous, looking for something that isn’t there. He did want me to get closer to Lloyd…

“I guess you’re right, though,” You say as you glance back down at the app. “About, um. Family.” Resigned, you scroll down to the first name. “I really like Harlan,” you begin, and Lloyd laughs.

“After the old geezer? God, Ransom’ll love that. Keep going.” You’re pleasantly surprised at how enthused you feel at his approval—perhaps that means Ransom will like them too. Heartened, you continue.

“Oliver, I really like Oliver. And Devin.”

“Devin’s not bad.”

You run through the list, finding it shockingly easy to talk to Lloyd. You reason that it’s because he’s not showing off, or parading something expensive around in front of you with that weird, knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. When you run out of names, the two of you sit in silence for a while, watching the dark water.

“I think Ransom will like your list.” Lloyd says after a lengthy silence. “They’re good names.”

“Thanks.” The sky is just barely beginning to lighten at the edges. How long have I been sitting out here? You stand up hurriedly, stretching. “I should, um. Head inside and try to get some sleep before everyone gets up,” you say, shuffling awkwardly between his chair and yours to get to the door behind you. Lloyd makes an approving noise low in his throat.

“Yeah, you need your baby-sleep,” he says, and when you look back at him, he winks. “You have a good night, Princess.” Again, you feel like he wants to say something else with the nickname, like it has an unspoken connotation you don’t know.

“Um, yeah,” you say, turning to avoid his gaze as you shuffle back inside. “You too.”

—

You wake mid-morning, your stomach churning as you race to the bathroom, a hand clapped tightly over your mouth. Acid burns your throat as you empty your after-midnight snack into the bowl, groaning. You lean back against the tub, the porcelain thankfully cool against your back through your t-shirt. It feels good against your heated skin.

You grimace at the foul taste in your mouth as you get up, leaning hard against the sink as you splash water on your face and rinse the bile from your tongue. You’re glad Ransom’s not there—his doting is becoming exhausting, especially now that Lloyd is doing it too. Their constant overbearing presence is enough to make you glad you’d woken up alone. The shower is still wet from Ransom’s turn in it, the stone flooring in the stand-up shower warm to the touch.

The villa’s bathroom is as luxurious as the rest of it, equipped with a jacuzzi tub in the corner opposite the shower. The water is perfect when you step in, and you stand there, absently enjoying the feel of it. The sound of a knock startles you, and you lean your head around the foggy glass divider that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom.

“Ransom?”

Your husband pokes his head into the bathroom.

“Oh good,” he says, stepping inside. “You’re up. I know you had trouble sleeping last night.” There’s a sympathetic note to his voice. “I’m sorry.” You duck back around the partition, shivering at the cool air that gusts over you with his entrance. He crosses the room with long, purposeful strides to poke his head into the shower. Ransom pays no mind to the water as he kisses your cheek, worried little frown working its way onto his lips.

“Are you okay, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, leaning back into the spray with a sigh. “I’m just tired,” you say, and he nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. You’re half expecting him to make a joke about you being tired on vacation, but he doesn’t, his eyes dropping down to the swelling curve of your belly.

“Well, you’re baking a person in there,” he replies with a smile. “It makes sense that you’d be tired.”

You make a face, and he laughs. “Still.” You run wet hands through your dripping curls, massaging your scalp with the tips of your fingers. “Ugh, what time is it, anyway?”

“Almost time for lunch,” Ransom says, and you can see his silhouette through the frosted glass as he reaches for the sprayable sunscreen on the bathroom counter. “That’s why I came to get you, I figured you might be getting hungry.” It’s true that your stomach is painfully empty. “And, you know, Linda and Richard are here.”

You groan, smacking your palm to your forehead with a wet clap. “Oh my God. I’m sorry, I totally forgot they were getting in today.” Great. You and Linda haven’t exactly been close—her gin-doused toast at your wedding had been more of a lament over the loss of her son than a celebration of your union. In fact, the only person in a worse mood at the reception than Linda was—

Lloyd.

“It’s okay. They’re settling in, getting all unpacked, and besides, I told Linda you weren’t feeling well.” You swallow your retort as you turn off the water and force a smile. You know your mother-in-law well enough to know she had most definitely taken your absence as a personal affront. Despite your attempts to deepen the relationship, she’d remained aloof, barely tolerating your presence at the few family events you were actually invited to before the wedding, and enduring your frequent presence after said nuptials with simmering contempt.

In fact, you were surprised that she was even coming at all, all things considered. Ransom seems to notice the look on your face and he scoffs, reaching forward to tap the tip of your nose with one finger.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what? I didn’t even say anything,” you grumble, grabbing your towel and shimmying past him. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what I’m like, your mother hates me.” Ransom scowls at you as you plant yourself on the counter, rubbing lotion and sunscreen into your dewy, post shower skin.

“She doesn’t hate you.” You fix him with a look, and Ransom holds his hands up placatingly. “She doesn’t. She just… she’s… protective.” You raise an eyebrow as you stare at him, pressing your lips into a firm line. “Look, all of that stuff aside, she’s here now, and I think she’s really trying to meet us halfway. And I know she’s going to be especially excited about…” He trails off as he rests a hand on the swell of your belly. When you don’t respond, he pouts a little, sticking his lower lip out until it trembles.

“I did it for your father,” he reminds you, and you sigh, throwing your hands up.

“Fine,” you relent. You grimace at Ransom in the mirror, and he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your wet hair. “But I’m doing the announcement. You’re riding high on your locket gift, you gotta give me something.” You sigh, and he laughs. It’s infectious, and you can’t help but smile.

“Deal.” Ransom kisses your cheek. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast in you two.”

—

Breakfast—brunch, really—is served on the beach. You’re not sure when the tables had been set up, but they’re laden with fresh fruit, waffles, oatmeal, bacon—too many things to count. The anxiety that grips you at the sight of the small crowd gathered there is almost enough to make you turn around, to tell your husband to shove his deal, and return to the safety of your hotel room, but you swallow the urge. As if he’s privy to your thoughts, Ransom squeezes your hand affectionately.

“Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart.” He whispers, one hand on your back as he helps you down the stairs and into the sand. “It’s gonna be like cuddling a basket full of kittens, you’ll see.” You find your mother-in-law in the crowd, her lips pressed thin and brow furrowed as if she’s already displeased about something, despite the fact that they’d only just arrived.

Maybe, if one of those kittens is a grizzly bear.

You offer your husband a strained smile.

“Thanks, Ran.” You make your way across the warm sand, dreading every step.

“Look who’s up!” Your father is the first to see you, waving as he stands up from the table. He claps Ransom on the back vigorously. “Glad you could join us. This one wouldn’t let us touch a thing till you all got here.” He jerks his thumb at Lloyd. He grins at you over your father’s shoulder.

“I thought Sleeping Beauty would appreciate us waiting.” You don’t know why, but you feel guilty about your midnight conversation with your brother-in-law, like you’d crossed into unfamiliar territory. You offer him a strained smile.

“Thanks.”

You make your rounds, greeting your family as you apologize for your tardiness. Your brother hugs you warmly.

“Look at this spread,” he says, gesturing at the table. “Your in-laws go all out.”

“Lloyd doesn’t do anything halfway,” you laugh dryly. “I’m just happy you’re here.” You’re reminded of how intense he’s been this entire trip, how focused he is on ensuring everything goes well—almost like he’s the one trying impress his in-laws, and not Ransom. You spot Linda, deep in conversation with your mother, and as you grimace as Ransom steers you in her direction. When she sees you, her tight mouth curves into what you assume is meant to be a smile.

“And I—Oh! There you are.” She hugs Ransom, pulling him tightly against her chest. Your husband had told you early on that his mother was not the most… publicly affectionate of people, and as she pulls him but wonder who the show is for—you, or your parents. “I’m so happy to see you both.” She greets you in a more muted fashion, but you are still unprepared for her over-familiar embrace. It’s a far cry from the last time you’d seen her, coldly wishing you a “Merry Christmas” over a pack of wholesale department store socks.

You try to smile anyway, awkwardly fitting your arms around her shoulders.

“Its, um, it’s good to see you too?” You curse inwardly at yourself for making it sound like a question, but Linda either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care as she regards you warmly.

“Lloyd’s told me you all have been having a ball,” Linda laughs, clapping her hands excitedly. “I love that.” You nod stiffly, unsure of what to say.

“Um. Yeah. It’s been lovely.”

“I was just so excited to come, you know family is everything.” She nods sagely, as if dispensing priceless advice, instead of parroting what Lloyd’s been saying to you for four days straight. tWhen it comes down to it, it’s really all we have.”

“I, um. I couldn’t agree more.” You jump a little as Ransom rests his arm around your shoulders, but quickly lean into the reassurance of his touch. “Thanks for coming.”

“We couldn’t be happier,” Ransom replies, leapfrogging effortlessly off of your awkward input. “In fact, we’re so happy all of you could come.” He speaks louder, and you swallow thickly, knowing where he’s leading you. Ransom looks to you pointedly, and suddenly, despite your earlier determination, you find yourself struggling to speak.

“I—um, yes. God, sorry. I’m not good at speeches, you guys know that,” you reply, a self-deprecating little smile worming its way onto your lips. “I’m just, um. I’m really thankful you could all be here. Blending families is never easy.” You look down at your feet. “But I’m so glad we’re all trying. My parents told me that it takes a village to raise a child, so… hopefully I’ve found my village.” You rest a hand on your belly as you peek at your family through your lashes.

Oh no. No, they’re all angry, they—

“Oh my GOD!” Your mother shrieks, before bursting into tears as she charges forward, hugging you tightly. She places her hand over your own, wiping messily at her face with the other. “You think you could have buried the lead any deeper?!” She squats down until she’s face to face with your belly. “Hello in there!”

“Oh my God, Mom—” Your father’s embrace is tighter than ever, and you can feel his happy tears soaking into your hair. “Dad, you’ll kill us both like this,” you wheeze, and he releases you with a cough, wiping nonchalantly at his wet eyes. Linda hugs you again, pressing lipstick-stained kisses to your cheeks as she babbles about how happy she is to be a grandmother, and you bear it with as much patience as you can.

Lloyd clears his throat, holding up both a bottle of champagne and several flutes.

“A toast, maybe?” He asks, before popping the cork. As he’s pouring, he winks at you. “Sorry Princess. None for you.” You return his smile thinly. Lloyd finishes filling the glasses, and your families grab them hurriedly as he lifts his own. Lloyd’s eyes find yours.

“To blending families.”

The words seem to echo in your ears uncomfortably. You mumble your agreement as you look away, twisting your wedding ring with nervous fingers. It lingers in your mind even as you try to dismiss it. Your father clears his throat.

“Now can we eat?”

You’re careful of your queasy stomach, picking at a few slices of toast along with a few mouthfuls of fresh fruit. As the rest of your family socializes, you wander down to the water, standing with your feet in the surf as you eat.

“I just wanted to say congrats again.” Linda repeats herself as she comes to stand next to you. “I really can’t tell you how happy I am.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a stiff nod. “We’re… we’re really excited too.”

“To see my boys be family again… It’s worth anything.”

For a moment you’re confused. “I mean, babies do bring families together,” you say, your brows furrowing. Linda shakes her head.

“You don’t understand. I mean, how could you? You tore them apart without even thinking twice about it. But this is a new chapter for you—for all of us. I think it’s going to be wonderful.”

You scoff disbelievingly. “I didn’t ‘tear your family apart’,” you reply sharply. “You disagreeing with Ransom’s choices—you know what? I really don’t want to argue right now.” You say, smiling tightly. “Thank you for coming. Really.” You ball your hands into tight fists around the rim of your paper plate as you march back toward the table. You toss the plate into the trash with more force than necessary. Ransom rests a worried hand on your shoulder.

“Hey are you—”

“I’m going for a walk.” You grit the words out through your clenched teeth. “I just need a couple of minutes.” Ransom moves to follow you, but you shake your head. “Alone.” You aren’t in the mood to hear him defend his mother, not today. He watches you silently as you about-face, storming off down the beach.

You march steadily until you can no longer hear the sounds of music or conversation, following the shoreline until your family are just vaguely people-shaped specks against the sand. There are more rocks on this side of the little cove, and you pick your way carefully across their slick surfaces as you walk. You bend down to sift through the wet sand for a couple of small stones, and you toss them angrily into the water one by one.

“Family,” you mutter, watching a rock skip across the water’s surface twice before throwing another one. “Maybe that’s where he fucking gets it.” Ransom’s heavy sigh makes you turn, slipping a little on the rocks.

“Careful, don’t want you falling and hurting that pretty head. I need you to tell me where who’s getting what.”

You turn to glare at him sharply. “I told you I needed some space.”

“I gave you some,” he replies, smiling amusedly. “I waited a whole ten minutes before I followed you out here.” You scowl at your husband, before turning back to the water, hurling another stone into the shallow water with a satisfying plop. “Come on, Sweetheart. Talk to me. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

You release an exasperated breath as he makes his way over to you.

“You know what’s up, Ransom.” You fix him with a tired look over your shoulder. “Your mother loves to hate me.”

“I know.” His soft reply takes the wind out of you, leaving you sputtering at his admission.

“I—what?”

“I know. I know she doesn’t like you, Sweetheart. Everything changed after we got married, and… it was hard for her. And for Lloyd.” You roll your eyes at his brother’s mention.

“Lloyd? Please.” You roll your eyes. “So what, he had a little crush on me from before you and I got together. It’s been years.”

“It was more than a little crush.”

“Oh my God, Ran. So what? That makes it okay for her to make me miserable every time I see her?” You moan, throwing your hands up. Ransom catches them, placing them gently back down by your sides before he pulls you to his chest. He smells good—familiar.

“No, no it doesn’t.” He presses a kiss into your hair. “It doesn’t make it okay.” It feels silly to cry over something as minuscule as this, but you can’t help it, frustrated tears filling your eyes as you press your face into your husband’s shirt. He strokes your back quietly as you sob, rubbing soothing circles into your skin until you run out of tears.

“Stupid pregnancy hormones,” you sniff, drawing the back of your hand roughly across your face.

“Is that what we’re blaming for this?” Ransom asks amusedly, and you swat at him, still sniffling even as a small smile plays at the corners of your mouth.

“Yes.” You nod stoutly. “Get ready for that for the next nine months.”

Ransom laughs. “Noted.” He leans down to kiss you, and you let him, sinking gratefully into his arms. He doesn’t stop, though, nipping at your lower lip as he hums with pleasure. You giggle against his mouth as Ransom’s hands find your hips, squeezing them. There are plenty of large boulders sticking out of the sand, and Ransom takes full advantage, walking you backward until you’re pressed against one. You hiss as the cold, wet stone meets your skin, but it’s easy to ignore it as your husband kisses his way down your jaw.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Ransom mumbles, making quick work of the buttons on your shirt. The bikini top you’re wearing underneath is quickly pushed up to allow Ransom to roll your puffy nipples between his eager fingers. He deftly undoes the button on your shorts, and you let him tug them down one leg before he lifts the other, wrapping it around his hip.

You whine as he tugs aside your swimsuit bottoms, his thick fingers stroking gently at your already damp folds.

“Already wet, Princess,” he says with a sultry chuckle. “Gonna blame the pregnancy hormones for that, too?” He drags his thumb through your slick folds, and you stare up at him, your hips twitching as you whine. He grins at you, before popping his wet thumb into his mouth.

Princess. You don’t know why it gives you pause, your cottony thoughts slow to connect the dots as he grinds the heel of his palm against your swelling clit. He’s hard already, his cock pressing hard into the soft meat of your thigh, throbbing.

“Fuck—wait, Ran—” He kisses you again, sweeping your words away with the sweet press of his tongue. Princess.

“Don’t wanna wait,” he growls against your lips, and you feel him fumble between your bodies for a moment before his bare cock slides against you. You can’t help but moan at the feel of it, the thick tip of him pressing enticingly against your entrance. The stretch and burn of his entry is delicious, and for a moment you’re entirely wordless, staring down the line of your own body as he forces you open.

“Fuck, Princess, can’t get over how tight you are—”

Your eyes widen as he bottoms out, the sharp chords of pleasure cut short as fear takes their place. You stare up at him as terror curdles the desire growing in your belly, his name a fearful whisper on your lips.

“Lloyd?”

He grins, pulling out slow before sinking back in to the hilt.

“Aw, Princess,” he says, rolling his hips into yours with heavy, languorous strokes. “What gave it away?”

previous next

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

#chris evans characters #chris evans fanfiction #ransom drysdale imagine #lloyd hansen imagine #ransom drysdale smut #lloyd hansen smut #ransom drysdale x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #ransom drysdale x you #lloyd hansen x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen #ransom drysdale #darkfic #dark au #smut #boxofbonesfic

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rileyslibrary · 10 months

Note

Hello! I just wanted to say that your fics have such a distinct feel that it makes it feel like a cinematic masterpiece so moving as each sentence is full of detail and care it’s INSANE

Could you do one where the 141 as a whole are able to go on leave for a few months but reader doesn’t really have a place to go? Like due to thier participation in the military their family has essentially cut contact with them and the military has been a placeholder for their home-life—how would Ghost react?

Once again I love your works and hope you have an amazing day ‼️

The Log Cabin: Pack Light

A/N: Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words. Here’s the story; enjoy! :)

———————————————————————

You’re at the base’s garage, squatting on the roof of a battle-worn 1994 Land Rover Wolf, welding a rack that had been blown apart during your last mission. It’s quite admirable how these vehicles can withstand anything coming their way and still stand strong after so many years.

How long are you going to stay strong? The sparks dance around you as you manipulate the welding torch, wishing there was a similar way to mend your scars and those you’ve hurt in the past with your decisions.

But these things are far more complex than welding metal; you can’t mend fractured relationships with mere tools. It takes understanding and empathy—qualities that seem foreign to those once close to you.

Or maybe they’re right, and you’re unworthy of their forgiveness…

You close the oxygen and fuel torch valves, lift your welding mask, and wait for the molten metal to cool. You assess the seams and sigh; it needs more work. You put the welding mask back on, reignite the torch, and continue.

As the heat emanates from the torch, glowing around your gloved hands, it suddenly flickers and sputters before its flame eventually dies out. Baffled, you lift the torch in your hands and shake it. You turn towards the valve, only to see Ghost standing beside it, holding the handle. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, though he still wears his mask and carries a rucksack over his shoulder.

“I was calling out for you, but you couldn’t hear me over the...” he trails off, pointing at the torch.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” you say through the mask, “this thing is a pain to fix.”

Ghost looks at the rack, then back at you. “Does it need to be fixed now?” He asks.

“It does.” You insist, not wanting to disclose the actual reason.

“Liar.”

Your eyebrows shoot up from behind the welding mask. “Excuse me?”

“You expect me to believe that while the rest of the team is on leave and doesn’t require that vehicle, you absolutely need to fix it.” He says.

You look at the torch and then back at him. “I must do it so it’s ready when you guys return.”

“When you guys return.” He repeats. “So, you’re not leaving.”

You forcefully turn to face him. “I am leaving.” You assert.

“Oh yeah?” He provokes you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Lt.”

“See?” He says and lifts both hands, “You’re lying.”

You lower your head and throw the torch onto the roof. “What do you want me to say, huh?” You murmur, “What?”

“The truth,” he replies, “and take that bloody mask off while you’re at it.”

“Why should I take it off?” You sneer and point at his mask. “You wear yours all the time.”

“You can see my eyes, though, can’t you?” He explains and points to his face. He gestures with his head towards you. “Let me see yours,” he commands.

You roll your eyes and lift the mask. He removes his balaclava in return.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asks. “What exactly are you trying to fix?”

‘My relationship with my family,’ you think to yourself and feel your face getting warmer than before when the wielding flames were burning around you.

He stands there with one thumb tucked under the rucksack’s strip. He’s waiting for an answer—a proper, truthful answer.

“This is my home.” You whisper, shrugging and lowering your head.

“What about your family?” He asks, and you shake your head, tears start filling your eyes.

“Any friends?” He asks again, this time softer.

You give him another negative shake of the head, which causes the tears to run down your face. You quickly wipe your cheeks with your gloves.

He removes his rucksack from his shoulder, drops it to the ground and puts his hands on his waist.

“Have you tried talking to them?” He asks.

“I did,” you reply, “but they don’t want anything to do with me. I disgust them, and I’m not proud either...”

“Nobody’s proud.” He admits and puts one hand on the roof’s rack, “But somebody has to do what we do.”

You sniff and rub your nose. “See? That’s why I’m here, fixing that damn rack; somebody has to do it.” You explain. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Not necessarily.” He shrugs. “Not all of us will go see family or friends; Price is travelling to the Caribbean alone as we speak, and I’m off to Scotland.”

“With Soap?”

“Fuck no!” He yells, and a chuckle escapes his lips. “He has no idea I’m going there.”

Your lips curl up, and he returns your smile. He knocks on the vehicle’s roof twice and opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates and stops. You decide to break the silence.

“Thank you for listening to me.” You whisper.

He bites his bottom lip and pats the roof once more.

“Wanna come with me?” He asks.

Your face warms up again but for a whole different reason.

“T-to Scotland?!” You ask, surprised.

Ghost scratches his cheek and nods. “Yeah,” he replies, “it’s a small cabin in the woods—it has a single bed, an outdoor toilet, and we’ll have to hunt for food. But it has a beautiful pond for swimming and plenty of hiking trails.”

“Wow, wow, wow, one bed?!” You shout, throwing your hands up, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think, Lt.?”

“Come on!” He smirks, “As if we haven’t experienced that before. We’ll make it work.”

You look at him, and he returns your gaze. You’re grateful for his offer, but doubt still lingers.

“Thank you, Lt.,” you reply, “but I need to finish that rack.”

“Bollocks!” He shouts and smiles. “How long will it take you?”

“That’s not what I mean-”

“How long?” He repeats.

“Simon..”

He drops the smile and looks you straight in the eyes.

“I’m serious,” he whispers.

“You’re just offering out of pity.” You speculate, and he throws his head up, letting out a sharp chuckle.

“Very bold of you to think I’d invite you out of mere pity.” He says. “I thought you also had plans; that’s why I didn’t offer before. I’m doing it because I found the opportunity.”

You look at him, contemplating his words, then shake your head.

“Thanks,” you say, “maybe next time.”

He picks up his rucksack and begins walking towards the garage’s exit.

“We’re leaving in an hour!” he shouts as he walks towards the door.

“Ghost! “

“Pack light!”

———————————————————————

Part 2 this way ->

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x y/n #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic

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under-the-dirt · 7 months

Text

whispers.

HIIIII i just ate dinner #i also showered the other night which was super difficult #doing better but anyways this is a continuation of this and i might turn this into a full series who knows! the whispers series does sound cool asf. anyways, i feel drunk although the last time i drank was new year’s a few years ago (to my knowledge) but wtv

taglist: @mechmoucha @cloudyeventss

pairing: john price x fem!reader (no gendered pronouns, only like names eg. beautiful or lass)

tags: john price is so sexy, fingering, military inaccuracies, cum eating ig? john price smut, forced proximity, i can’t write accents, UNDER 13 DNI RAH

To say the next few weeks were awkward was an understatement. Every time you’d see Price around the base, you’d find yourself blushing and running off to do something else. He must’ve gotten tired of it, because the next time you were on a mission you were paired up with Price.

You guess it was a decent pairing, Gaz and Soap, You and Price. Except for the fact you could barely look at him, let alone have to share a safe house. He stood guard behind you while you worked on getting into the camera system to ensure Gaz and Soap’s safety.

“Soap, how copy?” You ask through the radio, hearing static before Soap’s smooth accent rang through.

“All good down here, same with Gaz. Splitting up now,” He replies, and you smile as you finally get into the camera systems, watching Gaz and Soap split up and go different directions.

“Alright, I’ve got a visual. Gaz, you’re going straight til’ the first right, then to the second door on the left. There will be a couple of hostiles, nothing you can’t handle,” You explain, and the static begins again before Gaz replies quickly.

“Roger that.”

“Good. Soap, you’re going straight until the second left then to the first door on the right. You should only have one man in there. Both of you radio silence unless there’s a problem, let me know when you’re there.”

“Sir yes sir,” Soap chuckles, and you watch both the men traverse the halls.

“What’s next?” Gaz asks, and your eyes widen slightly in surprise before quickly recovering.

“There should be a couple computers in there. Go to the ones in the back, plug in a USB to the 4 on the top row, and let me know once the intel has been fully downloaded. Soap, how copy?”

“Not good,” Is the brief response you get, and on the cameras you can see a group of men swiftly approaching him.

“Broom closet to your right, get in and stay quiet. Gaz, hurry up,” You tried to keep your words steady and calm, but you knew they probably picked up on the little bit of panic in them. When you saw more men marching towards Gaz, you knew you had to get them out of there. “Gaz, about 10 hostiles approaching. Take those USBs and get out of there.”

You shook your leg nervously as you watched Gaz grab the USBs and try and leave, being met with multiple hostiles. You stopped breathing entirely when you heard the gunshots, not daring to look. Price gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Soap, get your ass out of there!” Price yells into the radio, and you can hear the sounds of shuffling feet. It wasn’t until Price began rubbing your shoulder to assure you the men were okay did you open your eyes. They were uninjured, sure, but they were being chased by at least 20 hostiles.

You lost sight of them as they hopped onto the helicopter for exfil. There was no chance of you and Price getting on it, despite how close you were. It had already taken off.

“Shit,” You sigh. You tapped out of the cameras and walked to another room to take a breather.

A couple minutes later, price knocked on the doorway. “Good news ‘s we’re not trapped ‘ere. Bad news ‘s the base ‘s clogged up, and they can’t get a heli out ‘ere til’ tomorrow,” He says, and by his tone you can tell there’s more.

”And the worst news?”

“There’s no tea.”

“Not to quote soap, but Fuckin’ brits,” You laugh softly. “What is it?”

“There’s only one bed.”

“Oh,” You sigh, and shake your head. “I can take the floor.”

Price walks out, and you’re left to your own devices until the sun begins to set and you feel exhaustion begin to settle deep in your bones. Taking this as a sign to get ready for bed, you hop up and walk to the bedroom, where price is sitting on the bed in a t-shirt and his green cargo pants. God, that outfit made him look so good.

“‘S rude to stare, lass,” He purrs, chuckling softly.

“Oh, sorry,” You quickly look away and begin stripping your extra gear, all that which you hadn’t previously. You were now in a tank top and black cargos, and you shivered slightly. You definitely underestimated how cold it got at night here. “Is there any extra blankets?”

“Not that I can find,” He shrugs, tossing you an extra pillow. You fake it and toss it onto the floor beside the bed, curling up to preserve warmth as you close your eyes and try to fall asleep. You hear Price flick the lights off and climbs into the creaky bed. You shiver. “Cold?”

“Very.”

“C’mere, lass,” He coos, pulling the covers away from himself and inviting you into his arms. After a little hesitation, you crawl into his arms and press yourself to his chest. He wraps his arms around you, and his body heat warms you up far better than any amount of blankets could. But still, it’s terribly cold, and not even the living furnace that is John Price can warm you up fully. “Still cold?”

You nod. “It’s alright though, I can manage.”

“No.. Let me help you..” He purrs, running his hand down your side, quickly helping you realize how he means to. He sees no discomfort, so he runs his hand down to tour ass and gives the plump flesh a squeeze.

“Captain..” You sigh, melting into him and his touch, and he hums. His hands caress you gently before sleeping beneath the hem of your pants and panties. He runs a finger through your slick folds, chuckling when he feels the wetness gathered on them.

“Ah, what have we got ‘ere,” He laughs, pressing his thumb to your clit, causing you to let out a hushed moan. “Don’t keep quiet, I wanna hear ya.”

He rubs your clit gently, before pressing a single finger into your wet hole. The stretch of his large finger makes you gasp and rock forward gently, closing your eyes to soak in the pleasure. He hums in approval, gentle thrusting his finger, curling it to rub that spot inside of you that had you arching your back and moaning for more. He obliges, thrusting another thick finger into your desperate cunt.

“Ah- Captain.. God-“ You moan breathlessly, rocking your hips to meet his brutal thrusts. He returns to attacking your g-spot, causing that knot in your stomach you barely noticed to snap and send you toppling over the edge, moaning and gripping his shirt tightly. He rubs your clit gently to let you ride out your orgasm before slowly removing his fingers and sucking your juices off.

“Much better, no?” He chuckles, gently pushing away the hair stuck to your forehead with sweat. Your eyes are already closed as you regain your breath, falling asleep quickly.

The next day you pray that your guilty smile didn’t reveal last nights.. actions. But the odd look flicked at you from Mactavish told you that it hid nothing, and it was written in neon lights exactly what happened. That would be hard to explain.

that was sm fun to write and i can’t wait to see how this series progresses. i’m gonna make a masterlist, comment to be tagged in the next one! <;3 @cloudyeventss

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod #cod mw2 #cod smut #captain john price #captain price #john price #call of duty x reader #john price x reader #john price cod #captain john price x reader #call of duty modern warfare #mw2 #mwii

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whiskeyghoul · 5 months

Text

Green green dress || [Spencer Reid x F!Reader] Pt.2

A/N: Enjoy the longest chapter I have written thus far. I didn’t want to split it up into two parts but this is a long one as you can tell by the word count. I personally love it though, I am so happy with how it turned out and I hope everyone enjoys it. If you do please like and reblog to share.

Read pt.1 here

Tags: Spencer is a munch, this is just smut, plot what plot?, shameless behavior, that boy is whipped, p in v, unprotected p in v.

Wordcount: 3.8K (are we ready to rumble?)

Dinner at David’s had gone over really well, the food was delicious as usual. Pork with lentils, he had explained it as an Italian tradition to ring in good fortune for the new year. You had sat next to Spencer, who so graciously had pulled out your chair for you to sit. Dinner was served and you chatted away the night, interrupted with bites of the wonderful food and sips from the red wine that paired beautifully with everything on the table. You had been in an interesting conversation with JJ who had sat across from you, Will by her side, when you felt a hand on your lower thigh. Slowly slipping up the side slit, under your dress. Your eyes widened slightly as you looked over towards Spencer, who was innocently conversing with Aaron. Quickly clearing your throat, trying to remain calm as you felt him graze his fingernails over your nylon stockings, closer and closer to the upper edge. Further up your dress than you would have deemed proper in any situation, especially with your colleagues around. Looking back to JJ, trying to continue your conversation like before. A flush dared its way onto your neck as Spencer started to trail his hand up and down your inner thigh languidly. His hand meeting where your stocking ended and your skin started. His finger hooking under the edge as he grazed the circumference.

Quickly, your lips found the wine glass, taking a swig of the red wine to hopefully relieve some of the heat starting to swirl its way throughout your body. Your left hand traveled under the table and placed it over Spencer’s to halt his movements. You didn’t necessarily want him to stop, but rather pause it until the both of you got home. Instead of stopping he flattened his hand against your skin, his light touches turning to a squeeze of your thigh. You bit your tongue, not wanting to give anything away in case the other profilers at the table noticed what was going on. Your hand squeezed Spencer’s, causing him to finally interrupt his conversation with Aaron to look at you. You met his eyes, a warning look directed his way. “Are you feeling alright? You look kind of flushed.” Spencer stated, you could see a glint of mischief in his eyes as he spoke. “I think I just need some fresh air.” You stated as you scooted your chair back to stand up. Spencer let go of your thigh, hand quickly falling to his side. You got up, readjusting your dress as you excused yourself from your colleagues. “Let me get you a glass of water.” Spencer got up himself, heading to the kitchen as you walked to the patio. You didn’t need a glass of water, but you didn’t object to him. You knew, when you were together on the patio you could tell him off.

Stepping outside was nice, the air was cool on your skin and wind ruffled your hair. Taking a deep breath did feel nice in the chilly air. The patio door slipped open and closed behind you, signaling Spencer had come to give you your glass of water. You turned to face him. He was holding a small glass, not holding it out to you but just kept it to himself. “Spencer. You can’t do that when we’re with our friends. If they saw, we would never hear the end of it.” You scolded slightly. He had been incredibly touchy all evening and Derek had made a comment already about how much PDA Spencer had been showing. He liked to tease your boyfriend about how whipped he was for you. Spencer wasn’t really helping his case this evening. “They already do. Besides, you are looking absolutely stunning and it’s taking way too long for us to get home. Dinner ended half an hour ago.” Spencer objected as he took a step closer to you. He set the glass of water on the side table that stood out on the patio. Freeing both his hands to grasp your hips and pulling you closer.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you were pulled against him suddenly. “Spencer, we can’t just leave straight after dinner. It would have been rude.” You explain, trying not to get lost in his touch. His hands wandered from your hips to your ass, grasping through the velvet to mold you to his body. “It’s rude that you walk around in this… dress.” He sounded almost frustrated as he spoke. Putting extra emphasis on the word dress. “You expect me to act normal when all I have been able to think about is you. How good you look, how sexy you look. When Derek looked at you all I could think about was how much I want to keep you all to myself.” He rambles off. It hit you then and there just how desperate Spencer was, the effect the dress had on him, the effect you had on him. You opened your mouth, wanting to speak but being cut off by Spencer for the second time that evening. His lips molding to yours, tongue invading in moments to press against yours. You reciprocated his kiss enjoying the taste of his lips mixed with the remnants of dessert from before.

After a few seconds you pulled away, catching your breath for a moment. Spencer didn’t let up, kissing down your neck like it was his one purpose. “Spencer, please just, let me think for a moment.” You pleaded as he continued his onslaught. His lips on your skin were always intoxicating. He had memorized all the spots that made you weak in the knees. “Just, come home with me.” He muttered against your skin as his lips moved up to your ear. His left hand cradled the back of your head as he sucked the skin where your jaw ended. His cologne wafted up, enveloping your senses, clouding your mind even further. “Alright, alright.” You held back a moan as he sucked a bruise into your skin. You felt his lips curl into a smile, his feelings of triumph clear. He pulled away from your neck, pressing his lips to yours again, softer this time. His eyes filled with a puppy like joy as he seemed to get excited to leave. “We should at least say goodbye. Make up a lie that you’re not feeling well.” Spencer started, grabbing your hand and leading you back inside.

Your entrance to the dining room was quick, Spencer already walking along to grab your jackets as you explained you weren’t feeling well. Assuring David that it wasn’t his cooking. Lying that you felt sick before coming and it had been the reason you had arrived late. Penelope had a certain look of concern, wishing you a speedy recovery and to feel better soon. JJ on the other hand, had a sly smirk on her lips as she caught on to the real reason you were leaving. Spencer returned, helping you into your jacket and ushering you out the door with a final goodbye to the team. Well wishes were called out as you left. The car ride to Spencer’s apartment was quiet mostly. Spencer had his hand on your thigh whenever he could. Once at the apartment building he had his arm around you the entire walk up. Already trying to slip off your jacket before even reaching the front door. You tried to shakily insert the key into the lock, twisting it open before nearly falling into the entrance way. Spencer had you pressed up against the wall before you were able to turn the lights on. His hands were everywhere, as if they had been itching to touch you all evening. Like he hadn’t done so already. Your hands moved to his shoulders, forcing the jacket off his frame as he mimicked your actions. The articles hit the floor with a soft rustle

His hand slipped under the slit of your dress, reaching up to grab everywhere he couldn’t touch before. Smooth hands trailing up your thighs, fingers hooking under your garter belt, unclipping them from your stockings. His hand pushed into your stocking, you could hear the delicate nylon rip, thanking your past self for getting a cheap pair. Your hands were in Spencer’s hair, cupping his head and pulling his face towards yours. Mouth finding his in a heated kiss. The soft curls slipping between your fingers. Spencer moved both hands to right under the swell of your ass, pulling you up until he lifted you off the ground. You got the memo, wrapping your legs around him to allow him to carry you away from the wall to wherever he wanted you.

You were able to kick off your heels as Spencer walked you to the couch. The thud of your shoes hitting the ground sounds throughout the room. Your lips wandered from his, peppering his jaw with open mouthed kisses. A nibble here and there to tease. He groaned softly, from the back of his throat, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Gently, he lowered you onto the couch, sitting on his knees as he placed you on the edge. He looked at you, big brown eyes never leaving yours. Filled with such devotion and admiration. His lips were parted, beautifully pink as he breathed softly but labored. Pushing the velvet of your dress up until it piled up around your waist, exposing matching emerald lace panties and a garter belt. The straps that kept your stockings in place hanging down to the sides uselessly. His hands started at the edge of your panties. Slowly, gingerly, moving down and sliding the stockings down your legs with his movements. Goosebumps trailing behind his touch.

Once the nylon piled on the floor Spencer’s hands moved up again. Up the back of your calves, to the sides of your thighs before he got to your hips. Your dress fell down slightly, covering the top edge of your panties back up. Though not for long. Although Spencer seemed to want to keep the dress on for as long as possible it seemed to be in his way. His hands pushed up the dress further as he simultaneously pushed you to lean back into the couch. Hips still teetering on the edge of the couch but at least this way the dress wouldn’t be in his way. “God, you look so beautiful. So perfect.” Spencer whispered as he leaned closer to you. His hands moving back down to your hips and starting to slowly pull down your panties. Exposing your already wet pussy to the slightly cool air. He kissed you, your hands moving to cup his face and hold him close. You didn’t want to break the kiss, needing him close and wanting to keep tasting him. “I need you Spencer.” You whimpered against his lips. Your legs wrapping around him absentmindedly. Like they were supposed to be there.

“You said you’ll do anything I want.” Spencer pulled away from the kiss, eyes meeting yours, quoting your words back to you. “I did.” You reply, nodding your head ever so slightly. “I want you to lay still and be pretty for me. I want you to enjoy everything I will be doing to you. I want to hear you, every little noise of pleasure.” Spencer whispered, his eyes full of need. God you could drown in those eyes. You nodded your head again. The atmosphere was different from other times. It felt more charged, more electric. Spencer smiled, his hands made quick work of adjusting your position. Placing your legs over his shoulders, arms wrapping around so his hands lay on your pubic bone, right above the trimmed hair.

The position caused him to be face to face with your exposed pussy. He blew softly on your clit, the air causing a gentle shiver to move through your body. There was a certain extra sensitivity to you. Spencer’s eyes landed on the glistening wetness forming on your folds. You watched him lick his lips as he took a deep breath through his nose before he moved down. Starting at your pubic bone he slowly kissed downward. You moved slightly, urging him to give you some of the relief you needed. The heat in your body was growing, the want only increasing. Spencer let out a soft chuckle, it sent some vibrations through your skin but was nowhere near where you wanted it to be. “Spencer, stop teasing.” Your voice sounded whiney, desperate even. “How can I say no to you?” Spencer answered seconds before his tongue trailed a languid stripe up your pussy. A moan breached your lips as you finally had some friction applied to your sensitive clit.

Spurred on by the sounds you were making Spencer wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves interchangeably. He was doing anything in his power to elicit sounds from you. Your hand traveled to his hair, grasping at the soft strands to keep him going. Softly pulling at it to urge him to continue. Your tugs at his hair caused a groan to be pulled from him, sending vibrations through your pussy only heightening your pleasure. "F-fuck, Spence. Feels so good.” You moaned, moving your hips to meet him and feel more of the delicious pleasure.

Spencer watched you intently as he continued to go down, one of his hands leaving your pelvic bone to trail down. You felt his finger part your folds, gathering some of the combined slickness of his saliva and your juices. He inserted it easily, your arousal making it effortless. He curled his finger inside, hitting that spongy spot that sent shivers throughout you. Wanton moans and praises fell from your lips as you felt your climax build. Spencer added another finger unexpectedly. You pulled his hair in response, unable to form words but needing to show just how close you were. “Come for me, I want to taste all of it.” Spencer pulled away for a moment to speak those words before he continued his onslaught on your clit. The combined efforts of his hand and mouth finally pushing you over the edge.

The orgasm hit you like a wave, noises stuck in your throat as you felt your walls clench around Spencer’s fingers. Your hips bucked almost involuntarily and your thighs tightened around his head. Holding him in place as you rode out your orgasm. When finally the pleasure subsided you were left a panting mess. A muscle in your leg twitching ever so slightly leaving it shaking. You let go of Spencer, who sat up straighter and looked you over in your disheveled state. His hair was a mess, his lips and chin still covered in your juices shone in the dim light of the room. You watched him lick his lips. He seemed satisfied with his work though not satisfied sexually. That hunger still lingered in his eyes.

Your eyes glanced downward. The bulge straining in his pants looked uncomfortable, all that pressure couldn’t be doing anything good for him. Spencer, apparently noticing your look, smirked. “Already wanting more?” He teased his hands finding their way back to your waist. He moved you so you could feel his hard-on against your still sensitive pussy. A soft whimper escaped your lips as he ground his hips into you. The seam of his pants, rough against you, was just too much. The emptiness inside you begged to be filled by him. “Take ‘em off. I want to feel you.” you pleaded, putting on the best puppy eyes you could muster in your post bliss state. Spencer grinned softly, leaning in closer. His lips barely ghosting over yours. “You know I can't say no to you. Especially when you look like this.” He whispered before kissing you once, twice before he sat up straighter again. His hands left your hips and you could hear the clink of his belt unbuckling. Another rush of excitement flowed through your body. You already knew Spencer would do anything you asked, if you asked nicely, but to hear him say it was a whole nother thing. He couldn’t resist you. Like you were his own personal vice he did not even try to resist.

His hands were fast, trying to get himself out of his pants. Your eyes followed his hand as he gave himself a few strokes as he finally released his erection from his pants. The groan that tumbled from his lips was pornographic. You could see the relief on his face at finally being freed from its confines. Your hand reached out to his tie, grabbing it and gently pulling him forward by it. Giving him a nudge in the right direction, if you will. You felt the tip push against your wet entrance, already wanting and waiting for him. Spencer used his hand to guide his cock into your waiting pussy, slowly pushing in, making sure you felt every inch going inside of you. It was torturous pleasure the way he was sinking in so slow. When he fully pushed inside you Spencer groaned again, from the back of his throat, it was needy and lust filled. He stayed still for a second. Basking in the feeling of you around him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, your walls clenching around him.

“I’ve been waiting for this since I saw you in this dress. All evening. I've only been thinking of this.” He said, letting his hand wander up your dress until it reached your breasts. Massaging your left breast through the soft fabric. You practically mewled at his touch. He dipped his head down, placing a kiss on your sternum, between the hills of your chest. Before he started to gently suck on the skin, creating a small bruise only meant for his eyes. He looked at you, at your dress that had ridden up to your waist, your disheveled hair, at the dark red mark he'd sucked into your chest, just how perfect you looked for him.

When he started to move it took you by surprise. From the way he had pushed in and taken the time to look you over like you were his world. You somewhat expected him to take it slower than usual. Spencer did pull back slowly, but when he snapped his hips forward with speed and accuracy it made you gasp out in surprise. He hit that spot inside of you that sent ripples of pleasure throughout your body. “Oh, fuck. Spence.” You cried out as Spencer repeatedly thrust into you. Your grasp on his tie tightening as he pounded into you with vigor. Each thrust punctuated with the sound of skin hitting each other. Your lips parted to allow each whine and moan to pass. You knew the thing Spencer loved most was hearing your sounds of pleasure. His name passes your lips in breathless pants.

His rhythm was merciless. Spencer’s left arm wrapping around to pull you closer against him, his hand slipping under the fabric to touch your skin. The layers of bunched up clothing were hot. And even though you would rather take it off it seemed that Spencer was enjoying it to its fullest. His ragged breaths and groans indicate just the extent of his enjoyment. Whispered praises of “you feel so good.” and “so beautiful.” were heard between his groans though you were far enough to not be able to respond to his admirations. Especially when he moved his right hand to your pelvis. Thumb starting to rub your clit in figure eights. Adding pressure and stimulation that was bordering on overwhelming. He was fucking you like a man starved. Every time he hits that right spot inside of you causing white to flash before your eyes. He pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You let go of his tie, lacing your hands together behind his neck to pull him in for a kiss. Or more like needing to moan into his mouth. He eagerly swallowed every noise, his tongue slipping against yours drawing out more.

You started moving your hips, meeting each of his thrusts as you got closer and closer. Using your legs anchored behind his back to draw him deeper with each thrust. Feeling that familiar knot in your lower stomach grow and tighten you knew it wouldn’t be long. And Spencer picked up on it immediately. “You're going to cum for me again, aren’t you?” He breathed, a satisfied smile on his face. He was awfully eloquent for a man who you knew was also bordering on hitting his climax. You knew by the way his dick was twitching inside of you, the way his rhythm would falter every few thrusts, the hoarseness in his voice, you knew exactly how to tell he was close. “‘M so close.” You managed to moan against his lips, tightening your arms around him. “I know, cum for me.” Spencer said as his pace didn’t let up. His thumb continued to rub your clit, speeding up ever so slightly. It sent you over the edge. Stars flashing before your eyes as the familiar waves of pleasure overtook you for the second time that night. White, hot pleasure. You couldn’t contain the loud moan that pushed through you, almost like a yell with its intensity.

He fucked you through it. Though his rhythm failed with your walls clenching around him so tightly. His hand left your clit in lieu of holding you tighter, fucking just to get himself off. He bowed down, his head in the crook of your neck as his hips stuttered to a slower halt. He groaned against your skin, sending vibrations through your skin as you felt the spurts of his spunk coat your insides. It was so hot. So incredibly full. With a few lazy thrusts he eventually pulled out, you could feel the slow drip of his cum falling out of you onto the leather couch but didn’t register it. Your eyes were focused on Spencer as he slowly sat up, heavy breaths as he raked his hands through his hair. Coming down from his high like you were. He looked so beautiful in the afterglow.

“I’m sorry, I made a mess.” He apologized as he looked you over. Eyes landing on your pussy overflowing with his cum. “You better clean it up then.” You answered, slowly sitting up with heavy limbs. “We’ll have to get you out of the dress.” He said with a slight hesitance. Like he did not want to see you in anything else ever again.

“Don’t worry. I think I will wear this dress more often.” You winked.

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