#PURE UNADULTERATED FUCKING ANGST

[kikixreverie]

It's called: freefall

Bucky x Female reader

Summary - Things get heated between you and your closest friend Bucky, when you're made to play a married couple on an important mission. Neither of you can help yourselves when you end up stuck in a hotel room together, with sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

Word count - 10k

Warnings - (18+) smut, fingering, p in v, friends to lovers, fake marriage, gross misogynistic man (not Bucko), borderline sexual harassment (not too intense, just gross words, and also not Bucky ofc), fluff, kinda angst, more misogyny.

A/N - Hi, this took me weeks to edit for some reason, sorry, and apologies if it's too long/wordy, i got carried away again. I'm not a big fan of the first half ngl, maybe that's because it's bad, or maybe it's because I've read it about a hundred times. The smut is good though, and that's what really matters.

________________________

"It's just a quick job, I promise. It'll be easy."

Steve gave you a smile of encouragement, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him, before politely averting his gaze to the floor when you lifted your dress slightly to slide your usual dagger into the holster on your thigh.

"Then what's with the getup?" You asked, lifting your head to catch sight of yourself in the mirror opposite you, looking at the dress you had been made to wear.

It was a pretty dress, beautiful actually, the colour beautiful against your skin-tone, perfectly fitted in all the right places, and it flowed down to the floor, a slit travelling up the length of your left leg, ending at your upper thigh.

You felt confident in it, and it was certainly a boost to your ego when Natasha wolf-whistled at the sight of you and Steve turned an impressive shade of red, but it wasn't something you were used to, having spent the past few years of your life dodging and refusing Tony's party invites, sticking to the comfiest clothes you owned when walking about the compound. It was a beautiful dress, but you couldn't help but feel like an imposter wearing it.

Natasha strode over to you and slightly adjusted the placement of your knife, ensuring it wasn't visible through the dress. "Daniel Kozlov. He's been on Shield's hit list for years now, fucker keeps catching and killing our agents on the inside."

You scoffed amusedly and shook your head, "What, so you send me in to get killed too?"

"Don't underestimate yourself, I've seen you take down four armed men with a screwdriver; you'll be fine, plus, you'll have Bucky and he knows how to stay undetected." Steve reassured you and you smiled at him, nodding to his words.

You heard footsteps behind you only moments before another voice spoke up, and you turned to the door, your breath catching in your throat as you did.

"That I do," Bucky nodded to Steve as he entered the room, eyes focused on his hands, adjusting his cuff links with a furrowed brow, before he finally tilted his gaze up, meeting your wide eyes with his own.

You barely noticed him looking you up and down, as you were too busy doing the exact same thing to him, no doubt probably being incredibly obvious as you stared with your lips parted. He looked like pure fucking sin.

Unadulterated and unfiltered sin.

His suit was all black and his pale, blue eyes contrasted against the colour, somehow making them stand out even more than usual. His already incredibly muscular arms and legs were accentuated, the expensive fabric tight against his skin, without it looking strange and uncomfortable, it only drew your attention to how broad his shoulders were compared to his narrow waist, or how thick his thighs looked in the black dress pants.

Multiple silver rings graced his fingers, matching with the silver, designer watch on his left wrist and you did a double-take when you noticed that his watch was wrapped around skin, not vibranium.

"Your arm." You said, sounding more like a statement than a question and Bucky forced himself to tear his gaze from your exposed thigh and tried to hide his pink dusted cheeks and breathless intake of air as his eyes followed yours to his metal arm, now concealed by what looked to be skin.

"Yeah." His voice came out as a sigh. He didn't know why, most amputees like him he was sure would be over the moon with the impressive technology, but it just made him uncomfortable, seeing his arm how he did 70 years ago. I felt inherently wrong. "Tony."

You nodded, looking away from his hand. A part of you was annoyed Tony had given it to him, knowing that it took Bucky years to accept that part of himself, and this seemed like it would be a setback in that department, though you still understood why it was necessary, Bucky was the best for the job, and chances are a criminal as 'highbrow' as Kozlov, would recognise the arm.

You wanted to change the subject, and you could tell Bucky did too, so you huffed a laugh and met his eyes, jokingly poking his chest with your finger, "You look like a mobster."

He nodded and chuckled, "Thanks, I guess. You look like a mobster's wife."

"Wife huh? Is that what we're doing?" You ask, turning your head to look down at Nat questioningly as she finished with your dress.

"Did they not tell you?" Bucky asked and you shook your head.

"I missed the briefing but Steve here thought he'd sign me up anyway." You gave the blonde a jokey, reprimanding look and he sighed, picking up two folders from the table and handing them to you.

"Blue one is about Kozlov, and the black is about who you and Bucky are going to be playing."

You take the folders from Steve, handing the blue one to Natasha as you open the black one, "James and Lucille Walter. Hey, how come he gets to keep his name and I get Lucille?"

"That's just a coincidence and I'm sure Bucky isn't too happy about it either. You're pretending to be a real couple, James Walter is one of Kozlov's newest buyers, he doesn't know him very well though, that's why you two shouldn't be caught out by anyone."

Nodding to Steve's words, you quickly skim over the rest of the folder, memorising as much as you can, before swapping with Nat and reading the other one, "And where are the real James and Lucille Walter?"

"Dead."

You stop your reading and turn to Natasha at the sound of her voice, giving her a look when she tried to hide her smirk.

"Ah, yes. Courtesy of Natasha Romanoff herself, Mr and Mrs Walter are in fact, dead" Steve spoke dramatically, causing you to scoff and wink at the redhead beside you.

"We should leave now. I'll explain further in the car and give you a rundown of the plan. Should be an easy job." Bucky takes the folders from you and tucks them under his arm, signalling for you to walk out the door and you give Steve and Natasha a smirk before you leave.

"Wish me luck guys."

_______________________________________

You were picked up from the compound by one of Stark's trusted drivers and Bucky described the plan in detail to you on the way there, but as you arrived closer and closer to your destination, you felt the nerves come on.

Usually, you were behind a computer screen on missions, hacking security cameras and breaking into encrypted files, you had no doubt of your fighting skills, you've been training almost your whole life, and the few missions you've done where you've had to fight were smooth sailing, but you had never done undercover before.

You started nibbling on your lower lip as soon as the car pulled up, doubting yourself again despite the amount of times Natasha has given you a whole speech about why you had no reason to ever do that.

The door on Bucky's side opened and when he offered you his arm to help you out of the car, meeting your eyes and giving you a gentle smile, you felt the nerves calm slightly.

You and Bucky were close in a way that no one had expected, considering he had the tendency to keep himself away from people and stay quiet when he was forced to socialise. You were slow-paced and gentle with him, a huge contrast to the way Sam would constantly be on Bucky about his lack of social skills, or Tony dragging him to parties he had no interest in. Sam always has the best intentions, but sometimes can be a little too enthusiastic for Bucky, and Tony, well sometimes Tony's just a dick with full knowledge of the fact that he's being one, and not a single care in the world about it.

You and Bucky both had an understanding, you had confided in him about your fears, your anxiety, and he had managed to do the same.

You just couldn't help but develop a teeny tiny crush on him over the past few months.

"Don't work yourself up, stay in character, stay alert, and remember the plan."

Nodding to him, you took a deep breath and put yourself into character, reminding yourself of yours and Bucky's new names, keeping your head up as you entered the party, an expensive diamond wrapped around your left ring finger with a similar pattern to the silver band Bucky had on his.

The hall was beautiful, gold detailing adorned the large doors and walls, reaching up to the ceiling to create beautiful patterns against the pristine white of the building. The party-goers were even more beautiful, hundreds of gowns and suits worth more than your life, probably bought and worn for a single night, before they're discarded and forgotten in the back of their walk-in closets.

You felt like you didn't fit in at all, but you watched as party guests eyed the two of you, and they seemed to be approving.

It didn't take you and Bucky long to get situated, stood in the corner of the extravagant hall with a glass of champagne now in your hand as you surveyed the exits and bodyguards, and Bucky looked for the target.

The mission was just a small lead in a huge investigation. You and Bucky were just here to buy something from Kozlov and then get out.

"Got him, 4 o-clock. He's surrounded but he should be expecting us so it shouldn't be an issue." Bucky had leant down to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling against your neck and causing a shiver to rake over your shoulders.

Fuck, he smelled like sin too.

It made you want to take a deeper breath, made you want to pull him even closer, close enough to close that small gap between your lips and kiss him till you run out of breath, and as much as that would be inconspicuous and normal for James and Lucille Walter, it would be completely inappropriate for Bucky and Y/n.

"We shouldn't go over yet. Let's just mingle a bit, get more of a feel of this place and blend into the background as much as we can." You add, and Bucky nods, surveying the room again before meeting your eyes.

"Good idea, but when we do go over, don't make eye contact with him and don't say anything," said Bucky. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, giving him a slightly annoyed, but understanding smile, and he smiled back apologetically, "I know, it's stupid, but that's what these guys are like. If he so much as thinks that you're either, on the table or threatening his masculinity, we're in trouble. Okay?"

You understood what Bucky was saying, men like Kozlov, they see women as property, or in some cases, currency. It's best to stay off their radar as best you can, which includes not threatening his masculinity by daring to look him in the eyes.

Women were to keep their heads down.

Which was bullshit.

"Okay."

He gives you a final nod and you think he's finally about to pull away and have mercy on your heart, but before he does, he pauses and presses his soft, warm lips to your cheek in a gentle kiss.

Air gets caught in your throat as it happens, but you try not to make an audible noise, quickly pulling yourself together and reminding yourself that you and Bucky are pretending to be a couple and he's just trying to sell it better. It makes sense.

It's just pretend.

You spend the whole evening with your hand wrapped around Bucky's bicep, neither of you breaking apart for anything as random people come up to you and try to start conversations. Usually, one of you will take one for the team and has to stand there talking about money and beach houses for five minutes, plus the occasional question about kids, which seemed to make Bucky blush every time, as the other keeps an eye on Kozlov.

"So how long have you two been married?" A seemingly kind lady asks, her red dress matching her lips as they stretch into an awkward smile.

"A year in June," You respond, well-rehearsed at this point as you smile up at your pretend husband, "Can't believe how quickly it's going."

Bucky is quick thinking with the act, and he smiles down at you, his arm wrapping gently around your waist and squeezing you to his side. Your heart probably stopped beating for a moment, and you wondered how he got so good at this, before brushing the thought away and looking back to the woman in the red dress, smiling warmly at her too.

"Ah, bet you two are still in the honeymoon phase. You look completely smitten with each other, it's adorable." She scrunched her nose up on the word 'adorable', her gaze flicking between the two of you before she glanced at her own husband, standing a few feet away as he laughed with a larger group of men, a big glass of whiskey in his hand. She sighed.

You tried to keep your face neutral, smiling and nodding along, but something about what she had said had caught in your chest, and you wished you could see just for a moment from someone else's eyes, just how 'smitten' you both look.

You felt bad for the woman, who stood in the middle of the huge ballroom completely alone and abandoned by her husband, but there wasn't anything you could do for her, and Bucky was subtly hinting to you that you were to go speak with Kozlov soon, so you kissed her cheek and bid her goodbye.

You spared Bucky a quick glance and he was focused on Kozlov, his face stoic as he glanced in his direction discreetly, scanning the exits too, checking for close-by security cameras and windows again, just in case.

"I think it's time, doll." He murmured.

You quickly lift your head to meet his eyes, the pet-name he usually only used when you were tipsy and would brush it off casually, slipping off his tongue, though it had the same effect sober or not, you blushed and nodded.

He smiled at you, almost looking fond, though you were pretty sure he was just offering you a break from the stoic, mission orientated Bucky, before he took a deep breath and reached for your hand on his bicep to hold it with his own, gently squeezing before guiding you towards the target.

As you walked Kozlov's way, who was surrounded by burly, most definitely armed bodyguards, you noticed the women surrounding him too, some with their husbands and all of them looking beyond uncomfortable, staring out at the party with bored, or even nervous expressions.

"James Walter," Bucky nodded to one of the bodyguards, who had stopped you both from passing, and the bodyguard shared a look with another, before nodding and letting you walk on.

Daniel Kozlov was sat comfortably in a velvet armchair as he swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, seemingly stuck in a boring conversation as he stared at the wall before him, completely uninterested in what the man talking to him had to say.

"Mr Kozlov, I'm James Walter, It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Kozlov perked up at the sound of a new voice and a wide, Cheshire cat grin formed on his lips as he regarded you and Bucky, though you kept your eyes to the floor, or seemingly 'admiring' the expensive decorations as the men spoke.

"Ah, my new friend! I was hoping you'd show up, had a few men flake out on me recently," The man spoke dramatically, his thick European accent prevalent and images of his file flashed in your head, remembering that Shield had been taking down his buyers one by one, either arresting them on other charges or putting a bullet between their eyes as Natasha had done with the real Mr and Mrs Walter.

They weren't particularly very nice people, so you didn't hold much guilt for their deaths, or stealing their identity after the fact.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, sir. Heard you've got something I have my interests set on." Bucky's voice was smooth and charismatic, matching Kozlov's energy as best he could, and you couldn't lie, it made your blood run warmer, heat spreading to certain parts of your body you were ashamed to admit were reacting to the confidence he exuded tonight.

"Hm... I suppose I do. Do you always allow your wife to be a part of your deals?" Your looked up slightly at his mention of you, and Kozlov smirked wickedly at the expression on your face, "Women can be god-awful gossips sometimes."

This fucking guy-

Bucky squeezed your hand tightly, forcing the words from his tongue, "I assure you, sir. She is nothing to worry about."

He was just as pissed as you were.

"I don't know, she doesn't really seem like the quiet type, I reckon she's a loud-mouth once she's on her back, although I'm sure having her on her knees will shut her up nice and quiet." He chuckled darkly and Bucky's hand was holding yours so tight, his jaw clenching and unclenching, measured breaths exhaled through his nose, he still managed to keep his face blank though, as did you, quietly seething as you put on the frightened baby deer look that men seemed to love, staring down at the floor.

He needed to think you were in the same position as the other poor, frightened women here, that he'd get bored with you all the same.

You swallowed your tongue though, wanting nothing more than to speak up and put the bastard in his place, right before beating the absolute shit out of him, though you knew that would come in due time, for now all you could do was finish this fucking mission.

"She won't be a problem."

Kozlov laughed, knowing he was getting under James' skin. He stood from the armchair and nodded towards Bucky, the smile sinking, trying to look intimidating, despite the fact that he was practically less than half the size of Bucky, "Make your payment."

Bucky pulled a phone from his pocket, sending a single word in a text and waiting for the confirmation only seconds later, before tucking it away again, "Payment made."

Daniel looked over at a man sat in the corner with a laptop and when he nodded, he turned back to look at Bucky, his hand sneaking into his own pocket and pulling out a hard drive, handing it to Bucky before taking a step back and looking you up and down.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

You swallowed your irritation, narrowly avoiding the urge to roll your eyes at the way he was eyeing you like a piece of meat, Bucky opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by a glare.

"I asked the wife, not you. Name?" He spoke through gritted teeth, obviously quick to anger, and you fought back the urge to fucking bitch slap him, take the dagger from your thigh and press it to his neck, but you were sticking to the deer in headlights act.

"Lucille."

A smirk overtook his face, a healed scar on his cheek stretching as he did so, "Pretty name for a pretty thing."

At this point, Bucky was squeezing your hand so hard again, your fingers were starting to go numb, the rings he was wearing digging uncomfortably into your skin, but you didn't pull away, instead, you returned the tight grip to try to reassure him.

Taking a step closer to you, Daniel Kozlov lifted his hand to your cheek, making you flinch slightly and you clenched your jaw when the back of his hand caressed your cheek, his skin ice-cold against yours.

"I happen to collect pretty things."

Bucky felt sick to his stomach, knowing that he couldn't do anything besides stand there and watch, stepping out of line in any way would end in a fight, and he knew he couldn't risk lives, or the mission.

A part of you was expecting him to backhand you, but he never did Instead, he touched your cheek for a while longer, glancing over at Bucky with a smile before he took a step away from you and laughed at the murderous look Bucky was trying to hide, he knew that Bucky was in a position where there wasn't much he could do to stop him, and he openly mocked him for it, "I could take her off your hands for the night for you, teach her some manners. Maybe she'll learn to answer her superiors quickly, when they ask her a question."

"Not necessary." Bucky's voice was scarily even, but his jaw was aching from how hard he was grinding his teeth together and he started pulling you closer to him, shooting Kozlov a dangerous glare, "I think it's time we leave."

"Of course, of course. No doubt you need to get her to bed."

Bucky ignored his words and turned, pushing his way past the bodyguards and pulling you along by your hand, making you stumble in your heels.

"James." You called out as you tried to catch up with him. His grip on your hand was starting to hurt again but he kept walking with intent, pulling you out of the grand doors at the entrance to the hall and towards the expensive car you had arrived in.

He handed the driver a wad of cash and told him to leave, giving him a silent glare which obviously meant 'fuck off' when the guy hesitated.

As Bucky pulled open the passenger seat door and helped you into the car, you glared at him, though when he ducked his head into the car and leant over you to put your seatbelt on for you, the intensity behind the glare faded and you were left just staring wide eyed at him, and instead of yelling at him and telling him that you were perfectly capable of doing your own seatbelt, you were lost for words with how close his body was to yours, his breath fanning against your bare shoulder.

You could only breathe when he pulled away and slammed the door shut, rounding the car to get into the driver's seat, not sparing you another glance as he turned on the engine and put the car into gear, speeding off into the city.

his frustration and anger filled the space with tension.

"Bucky, you need to calm down," You tried but he continued to ignore you, one hand on the gear stick and the other gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. You sighed, his frustration and anger filled the space with tension, and you concluded that he was a grown man who could calm himself down.

You dropped your head against the seat as you focused on the view outside your window, the lights of the city burning bright against the night sky.

You glanced at the side-view mirror, and rolled your eyes when you realised it was the same car that was behind you when you left the party, "We're being followed."

Bucky's hearing was obviously working. When he heard what you said, his eyes lifted to the rear-view mirror and he sighed heavily, "Fuck."

"Where are we gonna go? None of the safehouses are fancy enough for Mr and Mrs Walter."

"We'll have to go to a hotel, they shouldn't give us any trouble unless we seem suspicious. There's no way Kozlov would have us killed immediately after a sale, too risky," You nod at his words, knowing that Bucky was an expert at things like this due to his past with Hydra, he knew how men like Kozlov worked, how their brains ticked, and you trusted him completely. "Okay, I know where to go." He said as you kept an eye on the car, taking note of the plate number and trying to get a view of the person driving it, "Text Nat with the burner in my pocket, tell her we'll be at The Pierre, tell her to bring backup just in case but keep them minimally armed, it's just a precaution."

You sigh again, looking away from the car behind you and back to Bucky, "Which pocket?"

"Inside pocket, left side."

You nibbled on your lower lip as you reached over to him, and he tilted his body to you slightly in assistance. Bucky gulped, and you blushed as your hands brushed against his shirt when you reached into his suit jacket, searching for the pocket.

His body was incredibly warm and it only made you want to draw out the situation even longer as Bucky fought to keep his concentration on the road and the car behind, but eventually, your fingers brushed against the phone and you hesitantly pulled it out and sat back in your seat, a long exhale coming from him as you did so and he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, shooting you a quick glance, his gaze falling to how exposed your thigh had become with the movement, though he tore his eyes away quickly.

You slipped the phone back into Bucky's pocket once you had received Natasha's quick response, and Bucky pulled up to the hotel. You watched in quiet amusement as the man following parked not-so-discreetly, a bit further down the street.

"Remember who your playing." Bucky shot you a final glance as he turned off the ignition and got out of the car, straightening out his suit jacket as he walked to the passenger side and pulled open the door, offering his arm to you and helping you out of the car.

You hated how real it all felt, him doting on you when you were trying desperately hard to convince yourself it was an act, but you still wrapped both your hands around his arm, draping yourself against his side as you walked towards the entrance, telling yourself that you did it only for the upkeep of the ruse.

The tension between you was undeniable as Bucky looked down at you, his expression serious, but not stern, only intense.

"James? Are we going in?" You asked, using his fake yet real name and it seemed to wake him from his daze, nodding as he reminded himself of his surroundings and the man now wandering closer to them, his phone to his ear, though he didn't speak into it.

"Course, doll. Just admiring my wife's beauty in the city lights."

Your mouth fell open slightly at his words but he didn't give you much time to react before he was walking you into the hotel, and you were thankful that he wasn't dragging you this time.

Bucky didn't waste any time, quickly moving to one of the people running the front desk and glaring down at him.

"Name?"

"James Walter," He spoke and the man nodded, typing something out on his computer before handing Bucky a black key-card, giving him a fearful smile.

Stepping away from the front desk, Bucky moved to your left as he discreetly put his hand into his pocket and slipped the burner phone into your hand, and you switched the phone into your right hand once you realised his plan, tossing the phone into the garbage bag on the back of a janitors cart before walking into the elevator.

You sighed heavily as you both finally entered the hotel room, trudging to the bed in the middle of the giant room and collapsing on it as Bucky started scoping out the room, quickly checking the bathroom and shutting all the curtains.

"We're going to have to stay here all night, aren't we? That guy isn't gonna go anywhere." You sighed, closing your eyes as you sunk into the mattress.

"One bed." Bucky said, and you peaked your eyes open one at a time, moving your gaze to the man now slouched in the armchair tucked into the corner of the large room, still looking beyond annoyed.

"Huh?"

His jaw ticked in annoyance as his head fell back against the chair, "There's only one bed."

Oh.

"Oh," You sat up on the bed, looking around the room awkwardly.

You didn't really want to think about what that could mean, it either formed butterflies in your stomach, or disappointment.

He didn't have to act so upset about it.

"Is it that bad?" You scoffed, half joking, half serious, and Bucky lifted his head, his eyes widening, lips parted.

"No, that's not what I-" He cut himself off, sighing and furrowing his eyebrows, looking guilty, "Sorry. I'm just so fucking annoyed."

You smiled and nodded, "I know, me too. We're one step closer to getting this guy though, Buck."

He nodded too, eyes closing again, his jaw unclenching, finding some kind of relief in your words.

"We don't have to share if you don't want, but I'm okay with it if you are. I trust you. Plus, we've fallen asleep on the couch together before, can't be that much different." You shrugged, acting nonchalant, although you felt extremely not, as you stood up, sick of the feeling of your knife's handle digging uncomfortably in your skin.

You pulled your skirt up to expose your other thigh, lifting your right foot to rest on the bed, while making sure not to flash Bucky in the process as you pull the dagger out, throwing it back on the bed, leaving the garter on for now.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight, watching as your dagger glided against the skin of your thigh as you removed it from yourself, tossing it onto the white bed sheets before dropping your foot back to the floor.

"No it's... I don't- uh." He trailed off, losing his train of thought, obviously distracted.

You looked at him, eyes dropping to follow the movement of his tongue wetting his lips, and you knew you'd never get the sight of him right now out of your mind. His legs were spread, sitting comfortably in the chair, one of his arms draped over the arm of the chair, while he rested his elbow with the other one, holding his head up with his thumb and index finger on the side of his tilted head.

He regarded you silently, his eyes dazed, and you wondered if it could possibly be because he was feeling the same exact way as you right now.

Bucky was struggling to think straight, scrunching his face up in frustration when he finally snapped out of his daze, the frustration completely different to what he was feeling before, now he just couldn't get the image of your thighs out of his mind, or the black thigh garter you still wore under your dress.

God, you drive him fucking crazy.

You chewed the inside of your cheek when he sighed again, "Buck, you need to chill out. I know Kozlov is a fucking asshole, but we expected that. We got the mission done with no big issues."

He stared up at the ceiling, feeling so guilty that he was looking at you that way, thinking about you in that way, especially after the reminder of Kozlov and how undoubtedly uncomfortable he must've made you feel.

"I know, I just hate feeling powerless. That prick was touching you and saying horrible shit and I just stood there-"

"Bucky."

He huffed a breath and opened his eyes, only to be met with the beautiful sight of you stood before him, only a few feet away, your dress clinging to all the right places and your eyes locked to his and he felt a familiar heat stirring up inside him again. He stared up at you as if you were a heaven-sent angel.

The tension in the room was so thick, and you both knew why, though neither of you had the guts to admit, nor say anything about it.

Your intentions were pure at first, and for some reason, on the way towards where he was sitting, you never thought about the very un-pure version of your actions until you were stood in front of him, barely thinking about it when you sunk to your knees before him, your hands resting just above his knees on his spread legs.

At first, you told yourself it was because you wanted to talk to him properly, make sure he was okay, and that included you being on his level physically, but now you realised it was mostly because you so desperately wanted to see him like this, his gaze heated, looking down at you between his thighs with parted lips.

It didn't matter that you were the one on your knees, you'd never felt more powerful.

His gaze was unwavering, the intense, lustful look in his eyes alone had you clenching your thighs together as you thought about your next move, and Bucky lifted one of his hands towards your face, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek, just as Kozlov had done earlier, though this touch was completely different, and your eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping you as his fingers caressed your cheek, ridding the memory of Kozlov's cold skin against yours with his soft, warm touch, and you pulled your eyes open to meet his again, lifting your hand to take hold of his.

You looked down at the rings he was wearing, one on almost each finger, apparently it was a common style choice from James Walter, and it wasn't the first time tonight that you'd silently thanked the dead mobster for that fact.

They'd been catching your eye all night, and you lifted his knuckles to your lips, placing a kiss against the smooth metal of the first one on his index finger, and then the next one, and the next.

Bucky watched you kiss his rings, his eyes darkening with every touch of your soft lips to his knuckles, so entranced by you, slowly sinking further into the seat, melting with each touch.

He couldn't think of any repercussions right now, couldn't think of a single reason to stop you, all he could think about was what you were doing to him right now, and where these actions could lead you, and his pants were getting tighter by the second.

You met his eyes with your lips still on his knuckles, and you both immediately knew what this was, where this could be going, and that the thick tension between you, was sexual tension like no other.

Bucky's heart must've stopped when you opened his fist and slipped his index and middle finger past your lips, enveloping them in the hot, wetness of your mouth, your soft tongue circling over his digits, sucking on them, He couldn't help but groan, leaning his head back, though still keeping his half-lidded eyes on you.

"Fuck, doll. So fuckin' gorgeous."

You weren't thinking straight, you must not've been, because why the hell would you be doing this, why was it something you didn't even have to question, why did it feel so natural, and so fucking right.

The words that slipped past his lips were doing things to you, and the way that his fingers pressed down on your tongue slightly, but weren't nearly as heavy against it as something else you wanted on your tongue would be, you were a goner, and your underwear was already soaked.

You pulled his fingers from your mouth but kept hold of them as you crawled onto his lap, his arm immediately wrapped around your waist, holding you to him, his lips so close to yours you were sharing breath.

Slowly, you guided his fingers down, sliding them under the slit in your dress to bring them to your covered core, watching his facial expression intently, watching for any sign of discomfort.

There was none, and his breath caught in his throat when his fingers made contact, the heat of you radiating against his hand, he could already feel how wet you are.

"Fuck." He breathed, eyebrows furrowing, forehead resting on yours, "You sure about this sweetheart? You want me to touch you?"

You nodded immediately, biting your lower lip, pressing his hand against you harder, "Yes. Are you sure?"

He nodded back, "Never been more sure about anything in my fuckin' life."

You moaned when he finally started moving his fingers, circling your clit gently over your underwear, though with enough pressure to give some sort of relief, but it was when he pulled your panties aside, and dipped his fingers into your wetness, spreading your folds and gathering your slick, before pressing his fingers against your clit and rubbing you in tighter circles, that you were a mess in his lap.

"Bucky-" You whimpered, rolling your hips slightly, and he licked his lips again, nudging his nose against yours, wanting so desperately to kiss you, but also not wanting to miss a single expression you made, he wanted to watch you fall apart under his touch, again, and again, and again.

"You know something, sweetheart?" He asked, waiting for confirmation that you were paying attention to him before continuing.

You rolled your hips again, staring into his eyes, moaning out in pleasure, "What?"

"You drove me fucking crazy tonight, every time you touched me, every time you looked at me- God, whenever you said my name- I'd never heard you call me that before, my first name, fuck I don't ever want to stop hearin' you callin' me that."

His words made you dizzy, the confirmation that he'd felt the same as you all night, the confession that he loved it when you called him 'James' just as much as you loved calling him it, you were sinking deeper and deeper into this feeling, that this moment couldn't be more right, more necessary, like you'd both been needing this for months now.

By the time he had finished talking, he had slowed his touch to a complete stop, and dipped his fingers lower, pushing them inside you.

You gasped, he groaned, and when he curled them, finding that sweet spot inside you and pushing against it perfectly, you cried out, dropping your forehead to his shoulder and tucking your face in his neck.

He didn't let up with his gentle thrusting, and the insistent rubbing against that spongy spot inside of your cunt. He used his free hand to move your head from his shoulder, leaning himself forward slightly, holding you closer, and finally kissing you.

You whimpered and moaned against his lips, though returned the kiss passionately, both of your hands in his hair, your tongue gliding against his own.

This was unlike any experience you'd ever had, every touch dialled up to 100.

He used his thumb to rub your clit, still curling and rubbing his fingers against your walls, and when you started to clench down on him, he pulled back from the kiss.

"C'mon, kitten, cum on my fingers like a good girl." He purred, and your head tilted back, moaning as you came, your orgasm only spurred on quicker by his words.

"James-" You whimpered, his touch not letting up as he pleasured you through your orgasm, though when you were through most of it, you crashed your lips to his.

You kissed until you ran out of breath, doing exactly what you had wanted to do earlier, what you had wanted to do for months. Bucky gently eased his fingers out of you, and when you tucked your face in his neck again, catching your breath, you could tell he was sucking them clean, moaning at the taste of you.

It was quiet for a moment between you, only the gentle sound of your slightly laboured breath filling the space, Bucky held you close to him, his fingers gently tracing up and down your spine through the fabric of your dress, you gave a pleased hum and kissed his neck, just above his collar.

It didn't matter that you'd just barely come down from an orgasm, you needed more, you needed him.

"James." You whispered against his neck, just below his ear and he just about melted into the chair beneath you, humming to let you know he was listening, though you didn't say anything else, a part of you just wanted to say his name again, and to feel his pleased reaction to it.

His body was so warm under yours, but there were far too many layers of fabric between you and him and you desperately wanted to fix that, 'adjusting' yourself on his lap just so you could provide some friction between you, biting your lip and sighing into his ear when you felt how hard he was beneath you, he groaned and gripped your hips tightly.

"I wanna feel you inside me, James." Your voice was as sweet as sugar, breath warm against his skin, and your heated core was seated just above where his hard cock was pressing tightly against his pants, throbbing with every small movement you made.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He husked, no doubt sounding like a broken record, though he didn't care much about that, not when you were pressing yourself against him like that, slowly rocking in his lap, not when he could still faintly taste you in his mouth from where he had sucked his fingers clean, not with your mouth on his neck, whispering dirty things.

You kissed the hinge of his jaw, then ghosted your lips lower, pressing a kiss just below his ear, before making your way to the other side, leaving sweet kisses as you went.

You met his eye as you traced your hand up his black shirt, watching his expression as you slowly loosened his tie, and popped the top button open, and then the next, giving yourself better access to the skin there, kissing below his Adam's apple.

"C'mon, Buck. You wanna fuck me?" You asked, looking up at him through your lashes this time, teasing him with a smirk.

He bit his lip, holding your cheek in his palm, thumb swiping across your cheekbone, his eyes darting across your face, taking in every detail he could while he was so close to you.

So pretty.

"I do, of course I do, doll." He said back, his eyes following the movement of his thumb against soft skin. You could sense the 'but' coming, "But... I don't think we should-"

"Bucky." You interrupted, stopping what you know would've become this huge, self-doubting, self-sabotaging speech, and he met your eyes again, sighing slightly, his head tilted, "If we both want this, then why can't we have it?"

He didn't know what to say, he couldn't imagine a world were someone would really want him, as he was, much less a smart, loving and kind, beautiful girl like yourself. He believed you when you said you wanted this, but was still unsure if you would really want him, want him beyond this moment.

"If we go further, I'll never be able to get enough of you." He spoke quietly, this moment between you was so intimate, which was something he'd not experienced in decades. It was terrifying, but so perfect, so right. 

"You have all of me, Bucky. I want you, not just tonight. I've wanted you for months, honey, and if you want me too then what have we got to lose? You can have me whenever you need me, whenever you want me, I'm yours, yours now, yours tomorrow. If you need a hug," You wrapped your arms around his neck as you spoke and held him tighter, "If you need a kiss," You pressed your lips to his, "If you need a release; I'll be there, because you have me, always have."

By the time you were just halfway into your speech, Bucky was a puddle, his brain short-circuiting, his heart beating much faster than it should be with him just sitting, and his whole world view collapsing.

You were his.

You wanted to be his.

He was yours completely.

He surged forward to press his lips to yours, and kissed you for a long moment, using his tongue to memorise the feel of your mouth, the heat of your own tongue against his, and he stood as he kissed you, holding you in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He carried you with such ease and sat down on the edge of the huge bed, not once breaking the kiss, or putting an ounce space between your bodies.

You helped him to shrug off his suit jacket, tossing it to the floor as if it didn't probably cost hundreds of dollars, and deft fingers quickly reached to undo his tie.

The tie was silky and smooth, and your imagination was bright with ideas, the image of Bucky fucking you, with your hands tied above your head, or maybe tying Bucky up just the same, kissing his cock teasingly, without letting him touch you.

You tabled the ideas for now, tossing the tie aside.

You could experiment with him in due time, for now you just wanted to be able to touch him as much as possible.

You were both still enraptured in the kiss when Bucky stood again, this time turning around, and laying you down on the mattress, pressing himself against you as he placed one last kiss on your lips, and pulled back to admire the sight of you, blushing with kiss-bitten lips as you lay beneath him.

He traced his hands down your body and stood at the end of the bed, his shirt almost halfway undone.

His fingers glided down your legs, and ended at your ankles as he eyed the strappy heals you wore, admiring how beautiful you looked in them. He imagined keeping them on you, stripping you down and bending you over the closest surface, whilst still wearing the heels, maybe keeping on the thigh-garter too, but he wanted you comfortable, and he wanted you naked.

Gently, he undid the strap on one of your heels, and slowly pulled it off, before doing the same to the other one.

He kept glancing up at you as he did so, watching you so intently, he didn't dare miss a single moment, a single change in your expression.

His hands traced back up your legs, this time, he kissed his way up too, kissing you ankle, your shin, just below the garter.

He stopped himself though, and looked you in the eyes, that serious look returning, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes. Please, James."

He smirked, he couldn't not, and his hand drifted to your hip, squeezing there, before using both his hands to flip you over, leaning over you and pressing his hand against your back.

You gasped in surprise, and then felt his fingers against the zip of the dress, his breath against the nape of your neck.

"Should we take this off?" He asked sweetly, and you nodded silently, your voice trapped in your throat, that cocky, dominant persona you had taken on earlier apparently about to be fucked out of you. You couldn't wait.

He flipped you back over to help ease the dress off, leaving you only in a lacy pair of underwear, your chest exposed to him, and once the dress was on the floor, and Bucky allowed himself the chance to finally look at you, he groaned roughly, draping his body over yours and reaching up to caress your breasts, watching as his thumb traced over the hardened peaks of your nipples, "So fucking gorgeous."

Your hands were in his hair, back arching into his touch when he took your nipple into his mouth, paying attention to the other one with his fingers, and as much as you were enjoying it, he was still wearing way too much, and you put your fingers under his chin, pulling his mouth away from you.

He kissed you as you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and pulled it off, quickly followed by his pants and soon you were both left in your underwear.

You pushed at his shoulder, and he eventually got the memo, and rolled aside, letting you sit on top of him, carefully moving the dagger you had left on the bed onto the bedside table.

When you pulled back from the kiss, he continued to kiss down your chest, but your eyes drifted to the hand he had on your waist, the left one, that still looked like skin even though it wasn't.

You had almost completely forgotten about it, it felt just like skin, was warm like skin, and looked unbelievably life-like, but there was something about it that you really didn't like, it wasn't him, it might've been once, but as Bucky has told you before, he's not been the man he was back in the 40s in over seventy years, and he probably wouldn't ever be him again, which you reminded him was okay, that he didn't owe Steve the version of himself that Bucky thought he would need.

You knew about the struggles Bucky has had with his metal arm, the history that there is behind it, and the hatred he had for it when he was first rehabilitated. You didn't want this impressive Stark invention to become something he used to hide this part of himself, against the needs of his own healing.

You started at his left shoulder, and traced your fingers down the arm, stopping at the silver watch on his wrist, and Bucky stopped kissing you, watching you, waiting.

"Is it the watch?" You asked, and he hesitated, before nodding.

"You don't have to take it off."

You paused, looking down at him, he looked slightly uncomfortable, and you needed to change that.

"I'd like to take it off. Do you want to leave it on?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about your question. It made him uncomfortable, seeing the uncanny, flesh arm in place of the metal one he knew was there, and to see a human arm, yet not be able to really feel the touch of your skin against it, only pressure and heat. He didn't like it.

He shook his head, and you smiled, kissing him again as you carefully undid the watch with your mouth still on his, pulling back to see his metal arm visible again, and you intertwined your fingers with his, metal against skin.

You did the same with his other hand, intertwining your fingers, before lifting them both above his head, pressing them into the mattress. You knew he could very easily break out of your grasp, but that didn't make the sight any less pleasing.

You rocked your hips against his, just as you did before, and he groaned, lifting his own hips, seeking more friction.

Reluctantly, you released his hands, and quickly took off your underwear, leaving you naked above him, before you took his off too.

You couldn't possibly be any wetter, your inner thighs a mess of slick as you watched his cock slap against his stomach, painfully hard and leaking at the tip.

"Fuck, James. D'you know how beautiful you are?" You asked, slowly touching the underside of his cock, tracing an enticing vein, before gripping him in your hand and squeezing him.

A moan slipped past his lips, hips lifting from the bed again.

He shook his head in response to you, smiling, "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

He flipped you both over again, his hands tracing your body, lingering in certain areas, squeezing your breasts, caressing your stomach, lifting your thigh to rest on his hip, dipping between your legs to press down on your clit, "You're fuckin' breathtaking, doll, and so fucking wet."

He gathered some of your wetness on his fingers, and dipped them back into his mouth again for a taste, moaning around them.

"I wanna eat you so bad, kitten." He lowered himself to you, resting on his elbows on either side of your head, kissing your neck.

"Later. I need you inside me, James." You pressed your core against him, and he nodded, reaching between the two of you to line himself up, slowly easing inside.

You both moaned as he slid inside you, Bucky's eyes fluttering shut, savouring the sensation whilst trying desperately hard not to give in to the urge to immediately bury himself at the hilt, and fuck you without a moments hesitation.

His hips twitched, cock throbbing inside of you, both of you were so desperate for this, and when he finally pulled his hips back, and rolled them back to yours, it was relief like no other.

His first few thrusts were slower, so enraptured by how you felt around him, hot and wet, and fucking perfect. Eventually, he started to speed up, but favoured fucking you harder, rather than faster. He didn't want this to end too quickly.

You were sprawled beneath him, biting your lower lip and moaning with every stroke of his cock against your walls, his body completely draped over yours so with every roll of his hips, his pelvis stimulated your clit. When he started to fuck you harder, repeatedly hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars, you were crying out in pleasure, already feeling close to another orgasm.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good, y'know that? I'm never gonna get enough of this, gonna want to fuck you all the time, 'm never gonna think of anything else." His forehead was resting on your shoulder, one of his hands on your stomach as his other held him up on the bed, "I want you to be mine. Mine to fuck, mine to kiss, mine every minute of the day. God, I want everyone to know, sweetheart, want them to know you're James' girl."

You were moaning with every word, nodding along, whining when his hand drifted lower, his thumb hovering over your clit, but staying completely still, teasing you.

Your heart was so full, just like your cunt, and you hoped to god he'd follow through on his promises, you needed to be his, just as much as you needed him to be yours.

"James, please." You begged, arching your back into him, and he lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you, smiling with a shake of his head.

"You beg real pretty, doll, but you can do better than that. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

Your eyes practically rolled back, fuck, you loved hearing him talk like this, "I want to cum, please."

He nodded, leaning in close to you, "You want to cum? I'll let you cum, princess."

He began to rub your clit in steady circles, keeping up a steady rhythm that dragged you so close to release.

"C'mon, come for me, sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered shut as your orgasm rushed over you, and you gripped Bucky's hair tighter, your cunt clenching around him sending him head first into his own orgasm, his hips stuttering against yours as he came inside you, filling you up with his seed.

His forehead was pressed to yours, both of you slowly coming down from your high, and Bucky waited till you'd caught your breath to lean down and kiss you, slower this time, savouring the taste of you as best he could.

You kissed him back eagerly, aftershocks of your orgasm washing over you and making you clench down on him, still inside of you. Bucky groaned into your mouth, before he hesitantly broke the kiss, and leaned back to slide out of you.

"Fuck, sweetheart, such a fucking mess we made." He breathed roughly, glancing down between your legs, watching his cum seep out of you, so turned on by the filthy sight, before looking up at you again, tracing his eyes up your body, completely bared to him. He took in every detail, and smiled at your flushed cheeks, "You're so fucking beautiful."

You smiled back at him, shaking your head as you wrapped your legs around him and reached out, pulling him back down to you to nudge your nose against his, watching the way his nose scrunched up when he smiled, "So are you."

He huffed a laugh and kissed you, before burying his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you and holding you as close to him as possible, practically laying completely on top of you, though he held most of his own weight. As much as you would completely, happily welcome the weight of him on top of you, you also know that breathing is kind of a necessary thing to survive... sadly.

"We need to shower." He murmured against your skin, rubbing his stubbly jaw against your shoulder.

You hummed and nodded, raking your nails across the surface of his back.

"We should probably talk too." He followed, keeping his face hidden from your sight.

"We should, but I don't think there's much to talk about that we haven't already. We both want each other, and not just physically."

He lifted his head and gazed down at you, his expression vulnerable, more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him, even with him naked above you, "So... like lovers?"

You smiled at the old-fashioned term, much preferring it to boyfriend and girlfriend, and you nodded, gently brushing hair from his face, "I'd love that, Buck, if you want that too?"

"Yes, I want that, so much."

"Good, let's make it official then."

He nodded smiling down at you, before he stood from the bed, and he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to the hotel en-suite like he had carried you to the bed earlier.

"You're my girl now, sweetheart." He whispered to your ear, loving the way it sounded on his lips.

"And you're my guy." You replied, kissing his nose.

"Sure am." He smiled proudly, setting you down on the bathroom sink as he turned the shower on, before he turned back to you, leaning on his hands, which rested either side of you, "I will be taking you out on a date when we get back, just so you know."

"I can't wait, baby."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky #beefy bucky #bucky au #bucky angst #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut

[mikrokcsmos]

That That (I Like That)

synopsis; in which your boyfriend’s loud moans and groans wake you up from your sleep at 4 in the morning and you’re about ready to throw hands — and so is he, but for completely different reasons.

pairing; vlive!jungkook x girlfriend!reader

genre; twinge of angst, mainly fluff and humor, Weverse live au

rating; PG-13

warnings; the word damn (x2) and suggestive dialogue/themes, just boyfriend koo in all his glory tbh

w/c; 1,283

a/n; don’t mind the poor excuse of a banner I tried to make on my own. shout out to @sftk0o for the perfect icons 💕

You tried to ignore it, you really did; believing the first loud moan you heard was a part of the not so innocent dream you found yourself in that involved your boyfriend only moments ago. Eyelids closing as you relaxed your body once more, head snuggling back into your pillow to begin the descent back into said racy dreamland — only for it to be interrupted by a loud distanced slam, your body tensing in fear, heart racing.

“DAMN.” He grunted, no – moaned out loud, you picturing his face instantly – brows pinched in concentration and nose scrunched cutely, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. Can almost hear the low whine in your head that he always does just as he finishes—

Hands immediately searched the bed next to you for a warmth that was non-existent, all that greeted you being the cold fabric of the sheets that have been pulled back for quite some time it seemed. Another loud slam, accompanied by the same noticeable whine following not even a second later has you pushing yourself out of the bed, but this time not in fear, no.

This time it was because of pure and unadulterated anger.

Running on pure adrenaline, head in a fog and mind racing with worst case scenarios to what you’re about to witness has your bare feet bringing you closer and closer to where the noise continues to resonate from — the kitchen.

Just as you’re about to turn the corner, you freeze, hand on wall, a drawn out ‘damn’ piercing your ears that has your eyes welling with bitter tears on the verge of falling. Nails digging into the white of the wall, you push off, utilizing the momentum to push you the rest of the way into the kitchen and in full view of the sight in front of you.

Your voice dies in your throat, before it reaches your mouth, and you remain silent.

Jungkook has his head face down into the edge of the table, fists clenched on either side as his arms flex from the action. Quietly, you edge forward towards his hunched over form, eyes scanning the room around you for any other human other than yourself, and your body sags in relief as you start to piece together the cause of the grunts, moans, and curses.

Food. Fucking food. You should’ve known.

The aroma fills your nostrils, causing your own mouth to salivate and you weren’t even hungry. The smell of freshly sautéd chicken, scallions, and melted cheese wafts in the air along with the nutty flavors of sesame oil from the large skillet that still sits on the burner of the stove built into the table, most of its contents long gone. A bowl of microwaveable white rice sits next to a clenched fist, the other one now raised in the air as if preparing to strike someone, a spoon nestled in the last remnants.

Jungkook, still high off his food induced fever, pushes himself up to immediately unleash the finger guns of a choreo you know all too well at this point, his hips thrusting in time to the tune you have no doubt is engrained in his brain at this point as well as yours.

Despite your best efforts to remain as quiet as possible, you not missing the way his phone is suspiciously propped up against a stack of cookbooks neither of you have bothered opening yet that lets you know he’s currently live on Weverse, a puff of laughter from your lips causes him to pause mid hip thrust, wide doe eyes landing on your amused figure.

“The food was that good, hm?”

A sheepish, guilty grin is all you get in reply, his feet moving him towards you. When he’s close enough, his head dips down to brush a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Did I wake you?” He quietly questions, brows furrowed in worry when he notices the red that is prominent along your eye line. “Did you have a bad dream? Were you crying?”

The questions are in rapid succession, and you have to place the palms of your hands against his lightly stubbled chin, pressing his cheeks together and making his lips pucker at you like a fish to get him to stop talking long enough for you to explain.

“Your wanton moans are what woke me up, made me think that there was—,” you trail off, voice barely a whisper. “—other activities taking place in here that didn’t involve eating food.”

The sharp intake of breath he does let’s you know he understands the hidden meaning behind your words, his hands coming up to pull yours off of his face, and bring your body flush against his. A frown is now prominent on his usually smiling lips.

“Baby, I hope you know I would never cheat on you. Especially not in our house, and in our kitchen. This—,” his large hands trail down your sides, leaving nothing but warmth in their wake. “—is all I’ll ever want or need. You are it for me, jagi.”

A heat makes it’s way up your neck and to your cheeks, his words warming your heart and the inner guilt that festers within you unraveling.

As you stare into his brown eyes, you see nothing but truth and love, nothing but future and promise.

“I know. Im sorry for even allowing the thought to cross my mind. It was stupid of me to think. Besides, I don’t think I have to worry about any person stealing you away from me.” Your fingers interlock behind his neck, arms hanging loosely around his neck. “Food on the other hand? Now that’s what I should be concerned of. That chicken had you making noises I only ever heard you make in the bedroom.”

His head drops into the crook of your neck as he lets out an embarrassed whine, warm breath and lips that brush against your collarbone making goosebumps erupt on your skin and you shiver. His arms circle your waist in a vice grip as his upper body relaxes against your shorter one.

“Sleepy, baby?”

“Mhm. ‘m tired.” He mumbles into your skin sleepily, voice laced with a newfound exhaustion due to his full and satiated belly.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

“Yep, just gotta turn the live off first.”

“Jeon Jungkook, you and your random late night lives will literally be the death of you.”

He reluctantly straightens up, arms leaving your body to stretch up into the air above his head as he lets out a loud yawn.

“No, they won’t, baby.”

“Need I remind you of the candle incident?”

Eyes squinting at you, tongue in cheek, he remains silent and you know you’ve won this round.

“I’ll be waiting in bed, don’t take too long, okay?”

You take a step back as he takes a step forward, lips chasing yours for a quick, yet equally as lingering kiss that makes your breath catch in your lungs. Noses touching, he whispers so only you can hear.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, and your foodgasms.”

You snicker and turn to make a fast getaway, his fingertips only having enough time to graze the swole of your ass as you skip away from him and disappear around the corner until you’re out of sight.

It only takes five minutes for his sock clad feet to slide into the entrance of your room, and two seconds for his body to land on yours as you erupt into a fit of laughter on your shared bed that turns into soft sighs, grunts and moans that you know is because of you this time.

#jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook #vlive!jungkook #weverse live #weverse!jungkook

[sunsents]

Neteyam - Reacting to your death

Hey y'all, how y'all doing 😟? It's been a year since I published something but I am in my avatar era. I will post an announcement about where I've been, but enjoy(?) this heavy angsty.

Summary —> You're on your last breath, and Neteyam has a hard time accepting it.

Pairing: neteyamsully x !reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 1024

Warnings: blood/angst/mentions of a g*n/sad neteyam

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

Sharp pain was all you could feel when you jumped down the ship. It was that short moment of pushing Neteyam before you to minimize exposure that the realization hit you; you followed after him without thinking twice about the consequences, yet again.

Your ears rang in the otherwise silent ocean, like the water completely separated itself from the unnatural, unnecessary and foreign violence happening in the surface. A sigh of relief, contentment, serenity, until you're resurfucing again - or rather, struggling to.

"Fuck," you sputter, feeling a strange loss.

Lo'ak shouts after you to hurry up, but you can't, and it frustrates you. You hate falling behind, no matter how dire the injury is. "You sxkawng," gasping and trying to hold onto something, crimson surrounds you. "I'm shot."

Everyone stills.

Neteyam's head whips around with nothing but pure, unadulterated horror. His eyes fall on your pained face, then the bullet wound on your chest. You can see dark shadows casting over his face, the tremor of his hands, the slowing of his breath - all working together to keep his gears turning you assume. He quickly swims forward. "Quick, the Ilu."

You feel yourself being held around your body - suddenly, warmth feels like an unfamiliar concept. When had you become so cold to the outside world? When had you closed yourself off that warmth was foreign?

Though in odd, you fashion, you're not panicking. You're just lying there, gazing at the sky and letting chaos erupt around you. Sounds are muffled, and you don't know what's happening but you can only assume they're taking you to land.

The sky looks uncharacteristically blue - against all odds you've found yourself in. Eywa is in mourning.

Maybe it's because you cannot fathom that you, your own life, cannot end. You feared losing loved ones, but never feared nor thought about dying. It's not like you were immortal of course, one day you were going to leave the physical world and join the all mother amongst your family.

You just didn't think it would happen this soon. And you still think against it - you think against it when Mr Sully lays you down on cold rock, when he turns you over to inspect something, and when he looks at you with a faraway look.

"Dad," Neteyam chokes out.

Everything hurts and you start struggling to breath. Light headed, that's when you stop thinking  all together.

"Am I-" you gasp for air, surprised that you, out of all people, is struggling to speak. You were quite chatty, at least that's what they told you. "Am I, dying?"

"No!" yells Neteyam, he's cupping your head with his palm, not letting your head touch the cold surface. "You're not dying, ____!"

He's sobbing, and you look around the faces of the people you consider loved ones. Lo'ak is wide  eyed, staring at your probably paled face. He looks in utter agony and...confusion? Mr. Sully is crying, this is the first time you have seen him cry - be so vulnerable. He was Toruk Makto, so he'd always dismiss you with a nod, sometimes crack a joke here and there but stay stern all the while. He was clutching your hand, his own shaking. Kiri was just now arriving at the little land formation, and the look of her horror on her face brings tears to your eyes. You were dying - no. You were dead, it was final.

You try to calm your breathing, an obscene contrast to the gushing blood on your chest. You couldn't speak, but you could feel. And you were feeling the love of the people around you - and with the intensity of it, you deemed it a worthy way to go.

Neteyam however, was cluthing on your hand, hard. "You are not leaving me ____....Dad!" he sobs, a wretched sound breaking through his chest as he doubles over your body and shudders. "Do something!"

He's yelling, screeching even. His dad looks in anguish at his son's state, or perhaps because he feels utterly helpless at saving you.

"It's okay, Neteyam." you say softly, in a very wispy voice; "You're going to be okay."

You smile, and he screams, trashing and hugging your body to his chest. You try to push him away, but to no avail. Your limbs have fallen weak, you have already accepted the pain. "No!" he screams again, chest reverbeting against your deflating form.

"No, no, no, no!"

Mr Sully grabs ahold of his son and softly pulls him back, seperating him from you, "Son, please," his voice sounds broken.

Lo'ak is silent beside you, head held down, shuddering. Warm droplets are hitting your arm, and you can only guess it's tears. Kiri is on her knees, begging To Great Mother.

But you know it's final. And you don't feel too sad about it. You'd get to be with your parents, and Eywa, and all that. You'd be happy, you know you would be.

"____! No, I have to tell-" Neteyam gasps, trashing in his fathers hold. "I love you, I see you. Please,"

You're eyes have finally glazed over, you're gone.

You hadn't heard, and that only breaks Neteyam more. He screams in agony, clawing at your body, shaking you so, somehow, miraculously, you would open your eyes, tell him you love him and that you wan't to spend the rest of your life with him.

But there is no, "rest”. This was it for you, this was your life. When you had told him that you wanted to spend your life exploring Pandora, this was the extent. You would never have that, you will never be able to fulfill your dream because this day was the entirety of your future and present.

Neteyam is helpless. He had somehow escaped his fathers hold and was hugging your lifeless body close to his. Shrieks were ripping from his throat, desperately trying to transfer some sort of energy into your limbs. He could feel his mother's warmth surround him, a weak force pulling him back. "Please, don't. Let me hold her."

He sounded so broken, empty, purposeless that his mother and father break down as well.

#neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #avatar twow #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #neteyam imagine #kiri sully #tuk #loak #loak sully #loak x reader #jake sully #neytiri #neytiri sully #angst #avatar angst

[enditen]

birds of a feather

summary: a bit of understandable anger toward your fiancé for— in your eyes— unwise decisions leads to hurt feelings and avoidance. thankfully, the two of you come back together in the most interesting of places.

word count: 4090ish.

rating: m

warnings: public sexual acts. talk of death ( rooster's, goose's and carole's ). angst. two adults being stubborn fools. talk about breasts. talk about ruining hawaiian shirts and dress whites. kind of playing around with naval deployments and what not.

pairing: bradley ( rooster ) bradshaw x female reader ( callsign vulture )

author's note: hi, first fic in this fandom that was simply supposed to be hot titty fucking with a title of a tit for a cock and then turned into 4k of angst then some titty fucking. some of you might recognize me from another fandom on here on tumblr to which if you do, hi y'all. also i feel like i missed tags and i'm sorry about that. assuming i write more for this because i've gotten over my nervousness i'll learn. and special thanks to @blurredcolour for being a little cheerleader

You’re beginning to wonder if there’s just something about Maverick that just turns everyone around him a bit stupid. You like to think that most of the team surrounding your fiancé aren’t idiots and yet there you were being proven completely wrong as you listened to Bradley explain what exactly had happened on the mission.



“That’s not what he meant when he said don’t think!” You remembered screaming into the phone, knowing fully well that while Mav was his own special brand of stupid- and deliriously lucky he wasn’t the same level of pure unadulterated idiocy Bradley was displaying.

“It worked out!” Was somehow his raspy defense and it had taken all your self control to not hang up the phone right then and there, the sheer unmitigated aggravation seeping through your pores As it stood, what you did end up doing was letting out the world’s most put upon sigh as you rolled your eyes.



“You’re just lucky Mav didn’t have to bury another bird.” At Rooster’s sharp inhale you started to speak again. “I didn’t mean it— I’m just—”



“No. I get it, Vulture,” he spat out your callsign, a definite sign that he’s pissed and you had struck a nerve you honestly shouldn’t have right in that moment before you heard something in the background. “You don’t have to come get me, I’ll get home fine.”



The silence after he hung up feels almost as all consuming as the idea of him dying was.

It’s always been a thing that when one of you comes back from deployment or from a mission or from visiting friends who are stationed somewhere else that you pick one another up. Some of your friends call it silly, but for you and Rooster it works. You’ve always wanted to be together all the time but at the same time— when opportunities present themselves you’ve never been the type to ignore them. Hell, even if you wanted to, the other one would just argue against ignoring the opportunity. That’s why you found yourself here, waiting for Rooster to come back from what should have been a mission he didn’t come back from. What was almost a mission he didn’t come back from. You wonder if this is how his mom felt with his father and if the reason she never wanted him to become a pilot like this is to avoid anyone else having her fate. You see Rooster walking with Hangman and are about to lean out of the car to tell him to get his ass in the car before he sees you through your windshield. The look he gives you is one of aggravation and hurt that you’ve so rarely seen on his face that it practically pins you to your seat in the car. You've seen those brown eyes look at you with so much love and you've made jokes comparing them to warm chocolate more than once but in this moment— all they do is remind you of a hardened and unbreakable tree.



He shakes his head before turning to keep talking to Hangman, laughing at some probable dumb joke the man said and you swear your stomach drops through the floor of the car. You hadn’t thought he was serious about not wanting you to come get him and here he was getting into someone else’s car to go— home? Maybe, or maybe he was going to crash on Hangman’s couch or find— no. No, for all that Rooster was angry with the slip of your tongue he would never cheat on you. He loves you in a way that makes other people sick and makes Maverick and Penny tell you that yeah, you kind of remind them of his dad and Carole.



Still, he’s never been this angry at you and that terrifies you in ways that you can’t put into words. You’ve flown dangerous missions that didn’t terrify you as much as the look on Rooster’s face did right in that moment. After what feels like hours, but is only really ten minutes you pull out of the area you were parked in and head home. You don’t realize Hangman hasn’t left and that Rooster watches you leave from his side of the truck. 



“She couldn’t have done anything that bad, man.” Jake tries to reason as he puts the truck in reverse. 



“You don’t know her like I do," he scoffs, shaking his head and slipping on his aviators. "I forgot why she’s called Vulture. Just— Just drive.”

You suppose it's a mercy that you see Rooster the next morning, making coffee as if he didn't break your tradition with one glance through a car windshield. Suppose you should be thankful he's back home and in your kitchen and not back home in a casket, but you've never been one to allow yourself simple pleasures like that when you're hurt. When your heart's twisted into the version of itself that only releases anger and toxic fumes to push away everyone you hold dear.



That anger has your mouth moving before your brain can catch up and make you see sense. All you know is that the man you love hasn't said one word to you since that phone call and he's only making one cup of coffee and not two. Another tradition broken and you can only see red.



"Are you ignoring me?" You ask the moment he turns around, sipping his coffee without seemingly a care in the world.



Bradley isn't necessarily the more verbose out of the two of you, but he's never particularly short with you. Today is the exception, much like everything about the past two days.



"No." A pause as he sets down his coffee cup and you see a bit of coffee clinging to his upper lip and that stupid little mustache you've grown to love over the years. "Maybe."



"Maybe," you parrot, moving over to where he's standing and watching as he moves just far enough away to allow you to grab your own cup and your own specific pod to make your coffee. "You nearly die, I say something stupid and now you're acting like a moody teenager. Cute, Roo."



Roo. Not even Rooster and certainly not his name because he certainly doesn't deserve it in this moment. You watches as his eyes drift over your body, noting how you're wearing one of his favorite Hawaiian shirts with the top buttons unbuttoned, revealing skin that normally he'd have covered in kisses a thousand times over since he returned last night. Instead it's unmarred by his lips and teeth and you're as vicious as can be. Two can play that game. Two can be childish.



"I'm sorry, something stupid. No— no, you didn't say something stupid. You said something cruel. That's a big difference, babe. One is normal, the other is you reminding me that I could have left you alone just like my mom was. Like that didn't go through my head. Like Maverick didn't tell me that much while we were heading back. "



A laugh erupts from deep inside your chest as you turn to look at Rooster. "Did it really go through your head? Did you think I'm throwing away my life with Vulture because I need to save someone who ruined parts of my life? Or did your brain get scrambled from the G's?"



You watch as eyes that you love start to fill with something resembling tears as his hand clenches the coffee cup. He loves you, he knows that to be a simple fact. He loves you. His father loved him and his mother. Mav loves him and loved his father and his mother. And you love him. In this moment though, that last one feels like a joke, feels like a dagger twisting in his chest. Maybe you don't love him if this is what you want to spew at him. You're a woman who should have had a callsign of Viper but only gets Vulture because you can handle things other people couldn't. You take care of things other people wouldn't or couldn't. He supposes you taking on all of those things is what makes you the way you are.



"It's what my dad would have done," he forces the words out and tries to not cry because you know what that means to him. You know know better than anyone. "I was his wingman."



"And what about my wingman, Bradley?" Your question comes out softer than you mean it to even as you slam your coffee pod into the machine. Somehow tears start to tease the edge of your eye line. "You were just going to leave me without mine. You really are your father's son. Guess I should be happy we don't have a little you running around. That's a little too on the nose."



The slam of the coffee cup startles you more than anything you've thought was possible in that moment and yet without missing a beat you turn to face Rooster once again in time for you to see angry tears falling from his eyes. "I'm not doing this. You're— I didn't leave you. You're not having to bury me and you're not having to be by my side as I bury the closest thing I have to a father now. That is what should matter. Not what I did. What I know you would have done for some people. What you'd have done for Phoenix alone. I'm here in our kitchen wearing my engagement ring and you're just wearing my shirt and not sobbing into it because it's the closest thing that smells like me. Let it go." He takes a moment to take a shaky breath and starts to move toward you. "I made a mistake but I don't regret it. Let. It. Go."



If you were younger, if you were the same girl Rooster met all those years ago you'd have taken your ring off and slammed it on the counter right next to his coffee cup in a fit of anger. You're older now, same as Bradley and you stop yourself even as your hand inches toward your ring finger. Bradley's always been taller than you unless you're in heels and it forces you to look up at him. "You forget who you're wanting to marry, Bradshaw. I'm— I'm not letting this go. Just— you know what, sleep on the couch, do whatever. I don't care— you're not sleeping in our bed. Especially if you want to act like I meant to say what I said in the first place. You want to ignore me? Fine. Then do that."



You see Bradley's jaw tense, and watch the way it moves as you normally would enjoy before he speaks. "Wasn't planning on sleeping there for a while anyway. Enjoy your coffee, Y/N."

Ever since you had started dating, you and Bradley had talked every single day. No matter the fight, no matter what happened between you two you would never let something like this drag on for so long. Life was short after all and you two were both vividly aware of that.



This time though, this time it drags on for two weeks and you have a half right mind to stand in front of Bradley until he talks until you realize from how even Phoenix looks at you while at the Hard Deck that it wouldn't help. It truthfully might make things worse. So you let him stew and he lets you stew. You miss him and you like to think he misses you but you're both very stubborn people who know how to hold grudges with the best of them.



It's strange, ignoring someone you love in your own house but sometimes you'd like to argue that you and Bradley are strange people. Normal most of the time but with those small little scars inside and out that make you do strange things. Strange things like make sure your dress whites are ready to go the day of what you think is a ceremony— honestly you hadn't paid attention for once to the notice. That's what you do with someone you love and someone you care about— not someone you're still so angry with that it hurts to talk to them.



You arrive separately to questioning looks from most of the Dagger Squad and Maverick but you both shrug and smile them off even as you stay apart most of the night. What you both don't realize is that the other is sneaking glances when one of you looks away. Your eyes take in the man who you think— you hope— is still going to be your future husband and bemoan the fact that he can't wear this uniform everywhere. There's something special about seeing him all dressed in white and looking every bit a dashing naval aviator.



His eyes? Oh, his eyes take in the woman he knows he's still going to marry if one of you would just break already. They take in you in white which you hate wearing because it shows off everything and stains and all those silly things you say. They take in how your jacket contains your chest but how the buttons strain just a little and how he knows that you're probably wearing a lace bra that he loves underneath it. He knows how that bra feels against his hands when he cups your breasts and squeezes them in his hands. Your chest is a work of art sometimes— all the time really and he hasn't touched in over two weeks.



Jake is the one who notices how Bradley's eyes haven't left you for a few minutes and notices how he's shifting in place— fidgeting in a way he's never seen him.



"She's been staring at you too," the blonde chuckles. "This is— This is every bad high school dance and military ball I've ever been to rolled into one. Go over to her, Rooster. Stop pining, man."



Bradley wants to defend himself but he turns to look at you again only to catch your eyes and how they slide down his body before stopping at his crotch and— he finds most logic and sense goes out the window. Like two magnets drawn to one another you both find yourselves by each other's sides, with hands grazing each other's hips.



"I—" He starts before you shake your head.



"I was being cruel. You've— We both know I get like that and I was terrified, Bradley. I saw our lives flashing before my eyes the second I found. It was gone in an instant. That doesn't excuse—" Your words are cut off with a soft kiss that you're both endlessly thankful no one sees.



"Babe. Trust me, I know I was an idiot and that same vision you had? Yeah, you weren't the only one. I swear I heard my mom and my dad yelling at me." His words are soft as he nuzzles his nose against yours, laughing softly when you scrunch up your nose because of his mustache. "I'm sorry."



You sniffle a little, partially to prevent a sneeze from his mustache hair and to cover up the fact that you're a little emotional. "I'm sorry too." You take a moment to look up meet his eyes only to see how his eyes are trained on your breasts. "Lieutenant Bradshaw, are you staring at my boobs in public? At a function?"



You watch as a light dusting of color reaches his cheeks before he bites his lips. "And if I am?"



A breath leaves your mouth slowly as you move the hand that's been on his hip toward the front of his dress pants, giggling softly at the slight hardness you feel. "I'd say you should stop unless you want me to take care of this in the bathroom."



His eyes dart around the room checking to see if anyone will notice you're both gone for a bit before he laughs. "Meet you there in five?"



You practically give yourself minor whiplash as you nod quickly. "Can I keep the bra on?"



His groan almost gives the two of you and your plans away.

The great thing, you think, about this bra, is that it makes it so easy to have Bradley stick his cock in between your breasts without taking it off. You know by the end he'll want it off, want to squeeze your breasts as he slides his cock in between them but in the beginning he's fine with this.



"I missed my girls," he groans as you press your arms against the side of your chest, pushing your breasts together even more. "Should— Should've gotten over myself and fucked you in my shirt that morning."



"You would have gotten come on your favorite Hawaiian shirt, Bradley," you try to reason with him even as your voice takes on an airy sort of quality the quicker your fingers move in between your legs. You should have taken off your pants but you realize it's a little too late for that now.



"We're probably getting come on our dress whites, babe." It's a joke but one that's likely very true from the way you can see his cock pulse and from the way your fingers— even through the articles of clothing you're wearing sound so obscene as they squelch and slide between your folds. "Would've made it better. Fuck, swear this bra does something to your tits."



"It's a bra? A dressy one? That's the point?" You can't help but giggle as he moves faster, his cock gilding against the soft skin of your breasts. "You getting close baby?"



"Lil bit," he grunts out, his hand moving to try and grasp at one of your nipples. "You wanna free them? Let your nipples join in on the fun?"



"You just wanna smear them with precome, Bradshaw, you're not slick." It's not a no, and your hands move to start undoing your bra even as you look up and see Bradley with the dumbest smirk you've ever seen him have. "Why are you—"



"You're slick though," he pulls his cock out from between your breasts and bends down to kiss you as your bra releases your breasts. "Bad—"



"Bad dirty dad joke," you cut him off with a fond shake of your head. "At least wait until we have a little birdy before you stoop that low."



A shrug is the only answer you get as he lines his cock up with your breasts and waits for you to press them together before saying a single phrase. "Sorry. It's in my blood."



You look up at him through your eyelashes and sigh, ignoring how your heart twists a little at the faked twinkle in those brown eyes of his. Instead you bend your head down just a little to lick a small kitten lick at the head of his cock. "Doomed to those jokes for the rest of my life as Mrs. Bradshaw. What have I done?"



A shudder ripples through him at your lick and he has to force himself to not come right then and there all over your perfectly made up face. He wants to though, wants to see you debauched like you should have been the second he came home and was alive and in your arms. He should have painted your face white. Should have made it so there was a stain on his favorite shirt that he'd wear proudly because it'd tell everyone how needy you two were for each other. It'd remind everyone that he's taken by the most vicious, intelligent, and vivacious woman he's ever met. It'd remind him that you missed him that much that you couldn't bear to be apart from some part of him for too long.



He didn't though and he can't right now but tonight when you're home and laying across your shared bed maybe he can do it then and watch as your lips try and lick bits off your face. The image he paints in his mind is something else and it has him clenching the fabric of your jacket before his own hands move to play with the tops of your breasts. The action earns a low whine from you, wanting more of his large hands on you, his thumbs playing with your nipples as he kisses you. You two have to make this quick though and it shows in how Bradley's thrusts increase in speed and how he motions for you to do something— anything— with your boobs and your hands until you finally catch onto his meaning.



"You are so boob drunk, Bradley," you mutter as your hand wraps around the part of his cock not between your breasts. With every thrust up you manage a lick or two just to tease him until you see his thrusts getting messier and less controlled.



A breathless low chuckle leaves him. "Nah, just you drunk. Fuck, babe, Y/N. I'm— let him go. Gonna—"



"Cum on them. Just cum on them. I'll wipe it off."



You look up with all the confidence in the world to see him with blown out pupils and a wet lips from where he's bitten them to keep quiet. "You su—" You cut him off with an almost violent nod that has the head of his cock brushing your chin as he does. "Okay okay."



What happens next is a flurry of limbs and grunts and low whines from you and Bradley as you chase your respective highs. Bradley comes first, hips stuttering, painting your chest with his cum, pearly white and just uncontrolled enough that some lands on your lips and chin and another bit lands on your dress shirt, narrowly avoiding your jacket. Your name falls from his lips easily as you look up at him, your fingers curling just so inside of you as he reaches out to cup your cheek his brown eyes so full of love, arousal and adoration that you come with a silent cry, your body threatening to fall forward from the sheer intensity but his strong hands are there to stop you.



You both lean back— him against the wall and you on your knees- catching your breath before he moves to grab paper towels, wetting them just enough for you to clean his release off of you. He embarrassingly lets out something close to a childish whine as he watches you lick the traces of come off your lips until you raise an eyebrow at him and his hardening cock.



"When we get home." You both manage to say at the same time before letting out matching peals of laughter. After a moment where you both can't keep a straight face Bradley starts to tuck himself inside his dress pants and you start to button your shirt back up before he pulls you up with an ease that marvels you even to this day. You feel the warmth of his large hand through your shirt as he straightens it out, making sure it's regulation ready. He winces at the slight stain of his come near your shoulder before remembering you still have to get your jacket on. His hands make quick work of the buttons and he notes with pride the only sliver of come one can see is easily explained away as water.



You can't help but bite your lip at Bradley when you see him looking down at you, inspecting his handiwork. Almost as if he realizes you're staring he meets your eyes and smiles this stupid half smile that makes his mustache look far cuter than it has any right to be and has his eyes dancing with mirth.



"Come on Lieutenant Bradshaw, they're gonna notice if we stay here," he tries to school his face into something resembling a serious look before he chuckles softly.



"Aye aye, Lieutenant Bradshaw." A pause. "You can't call me by your last name yet, you know."



He shrugs, unlocking the door as he wraps his arm around your waist. "I almost died. I can do it if I want. Besides, saw your thighs tense up."



You tamp down on the urge to slap his arm playfully as your own arm moves to snake around his waist. "You're lucky I love you."



"Yeah,' he stops right before you reach the door to reenter the hall and presses you just lightly against the wall. "I love you too."

#bradley bradsaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster smut #rooster angst #bradley bradshaw fic

[random-thot-generator]

Better Not to Know

KYLE GAZ GARRICK x FEM READER

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Summary: A chance encounter with a handsome stranger in a night club leaves you longing for more.

Warnings/Tags: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected P in V - fr tho wrap it up ya filthy animals, random hook-up sex, breeding kink?- hmm... yeah, fem breeding kink, a moody touch of angst, some pining, my usual brand of smut, only half-assed proofread- embrace the imperfections, no use of Y/N

(Notes: Just another smut purge with pretty boy Gaz, along with some angst added in for @tiredmetalenthusiast . I didn't forget, I just get easily distracted. Hope you like!)

banners & dividers by: @saradika-graphics

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Chaotic, strobing lights and throbbing, hypnotic bass. Dim shadows writhing en masse on the dance floor, a dense forest of waving arms and swaying bodies. There is heat and sweat and sex layered thick in the oppressive air with just a hint of danger to heighten alcohol-dulled senses.

The danger you're seeking lurks at a corner cocktail table on the outskirts of the dance floor. He's somehow managed to sprawl with natural grace over the unwieldy, tall chair, lounging like a king on a throne. One heel is hooked on a rung, the other resting on the floor, his body one long, continuous masculine line that pulls the eye up to a face that's both wicked and angelic. His smile is pure sin, his dark eyes appreciative and knowing.

Oh, yes...

This is what you came here for tonight. To hell with the drinks and dancing and your girls' night out. This is what you really need. This man, this demigod currently eye-fucking you from across the room. A coy smile curls your painted lips as the two of you lock eyes.

Ten minutes later, you're pressed up against the graffitied partition of a bathroom stall, legs wrapped around his surging hips, whimpering as he snaps and grinds them with brutal precision. Your fingers glide over dark skin sheened with sweat, hungry mouth seeking the hot cavern of his as he spears you to the wall with a particularly hard thrust. The rhythmic clink of his belt catches your ear, a lewd accompaniment to your gasping breaths and the constant slap-slap of flesh on flesh. It debaucherous and filthy and you can't get enough.

He stares into your eyes when he tells you to touch yourself, pinning you with a smoldering look that has your cunt clenching in response. Nostrils flare and teeth grit, his strokes growing sharper, deeper, more unhinged with each passing second. He's fucking you with feral abandon, a wild light flashing in his eyes as he nears his release. He's growling, gnashing his teeth, mouth hovering at your neck as he fights the primal urge to bite, to mark, to claim.

"This is mine. My pussy," he snarls at your ear, and holy fuck! That possessive, dark tone in his voice sends your mind reeling, turning you into a desperate, needy, grasping thing. Speaking coherently at this point is out of the question, but you nod your confirmation with dazed enthusiasm. Hell yes, this is his pussy. He can claim it and any bloody thing else he wants, just so long as he doesn't stop fucking you.

"Come for me," he demands in a low, guttural voice, and you do. God help you, you do, like a bitch coming to heel. "Fuck, that's it, pet. Just like that. Bloody fuck—"

The rest of his words catch in his throat, and with one last violent thrust he stills, his entire body tensing, muscles trembling with the strain as his fingers clamp onto your ass and drive you down onto his cock, holding you in place as he empties himself inside you. His cock pulses hard enough to make you moan at the feel of it, your eyes rolling back in your head. You know it's bad form to not use a condom, dead stupid of you both, to be honest, yet you can't deny the truth.

You wanted him this way, raw and real and messy. It's insane, pure unadulterated nonsense, but you relish the feel of his cum inside you. You'll regret this decision come morning when you're slinking into the chemist's shop for a Plan B pill before popping into the clinic to get tested. Right now, though, it's all you can do not to purr in decadent satisfaction.

His kisses are errant, artless things landing haphazardly across your collarbone, your earlobe, your cheek. His lips then cover yours, his tongue unfurling in your mouth to slide over yours in a sensual, intimate coupling, and something inside you blooms warm then spreads out to all your extremities. His nose bumps yours in the sweetest way, and you're enamored with him, just like that.

The bathroom door opens, noise flooding into the quiet space between you. Two drunk girls dawdle at the sink, comparing notes on the blokes they've chatted up, deciding which ones they'll be taking home later. His brown eyes sparkle with barely contained mirth, lips quivering as he holds in his laughter. He's so bloody beautiful. You drop your head to his shoulder, unable to look at him any longer without saying something stupid like, "Come home with me."

You bite your tongue and wait.

The sink runs, the hand dryer blasts, and then the two birds are walking out, leaving the lingering scent of cheap body spray and pink hand soap in the close, heated air. The tap drips, his belt buckle jingles, and the spell is broken. He sighs, placing a chaste peck on your lips, his hands giving your hips a gentle squeeze.

Time's up.

Legs sliding down his muscled flanks, you lock your shaking knees to support you, inner thighs quivering. His cum is a tangible reminder of his claim on your body, as much as the smell of his cologne and sweat on your skin, as much as that poignant, sharp ache in your battered cervix. He fucked you hard and he fucked you well and he made certain that you'd remember him for days to come. What more could you ask of a man like him?

"Ya alright, pet?" he murmurs, his voice so deep and smooth and warm that it raises the fine hairs all over your body. The man is sex personified, a carnal feast that's left you sated but still craving more. You've never been with anyone like him, and it scares you a bit, the effect that he has on you. You were right about him; he's dangerous.

You hum in the affirmative and smile, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. You lower your lashes to hide your confusion, too flustered to speak. You can only imagine what sort of goofy, cock-dumb expression you're wearing. His sigh of satisfaction gusts over your face, the backs of his long fingers brushing over your cheekbone. "So lovely," he mutters, like an inner thought spoken aloud.

Silly cow that you are, his words make your heart flutter.

"I'm fine. More than fine," you finally answer.

You chance a glimpse up into deep brown eyes with striations of amber and copper that catch the dim light. Your gaze drinks him in, flickering over his long, curling lashes and wing-like raven brows. You're melting at the sight of the most sensuous mouth you've ever seen on a man, not to mention a smile so brilliant, it turns you inside out and dumps your heart on the floor. It's only the scar beneath his left eye that detracts from his ethereal, masculine beauty, that proves that he is, in fact, a mere mortal.

"Perfection," you whisper, skimming your thumb over the scar. Your meaning goes for both the man and the sex, but he can take it however he likes.

He fumbles at the latch and opens the stall door, keeping a hand at your lower back as you toddle out on coltish legs. You drift to the mirror to see what the damage is, oddly proud about the mess he's made of you. You swipe the mascara from beneath your eyes and dab away the smear of lipstick at the corner of your mouth. Your hair's a bit of a tangle, but who's going to notice or care at this late stage of the evening?

A tremulous smile appears on your face when he steps in behind you, large hands curling 'round your hips as he presses his full length against your back. His warmth seeps through the thin material of your dress, his mouth hot and wet as it skates up the column of your throat. "You were bloody amazing, love," he breathes at your ear, chuckling, pleased, when you shiver. He gives your bum a light smack that turns into a protracted, possessive squeeze. "Love your arse," he mumbles to himself, then gives his head a shake, stepping away. "I'll, uh, see ya around, yeah?"

"Sure," you husk out, knowing it's all a lie. These soft words and kind glances are nothing more than routine hook-up etiquette— always try to part ways on friendly terms. You know this role by heart, have played out this scenario so many times that you can recite all the inane pleasantries in your sleep.

Only this time, you wish the words were true.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror, his weight shifting between his feet, then he winks and stuns you with another one of those mega-watt smiles. Stepping to the door, he takes hold of the handle but then pauses, his eyes drifting over you one last time. He seems on the verge of saying something, but his beautiful mouth presses into a thin line, the corners turned down. He takes in a long, slow breath then heaves it out with a wistful sigh. "Take care, love."

"You, too."

You offer up a brave smile and hold up a hand in farewell, though a pang of disappointment rings hollow inside your chest as you watch him step through the door and disappear. The racket from the club pours into the room like dirty flood water, and the sudden urge to go after him has you shuffling your feet. Then, with a pneumatic hiss of the closing door, the obnoxious noise is muffled again to a dull and distant roar, and your reason returns.

How pathetic would you have looked, chasing after him like some clingy, lovesick girl. Your fingers tighten on the edge of the sink as you peer into the mirror at your reflection. You're surprised by your forlorn expression and realize you feel a little sad now that he's gone.

Once you return to your seat, you ignore the chatter of your drunk friends, instead panning your eyes over the crowd. You're hoping to spot his familiar silhouette among the anonymous bodies but can't find him, again. He must have left, his mission for the night now complete, you think with a touch of bitterness. No point in sticking around, right?

You fancy that you could pretend he was just a drunken fever dream, nothing more than a figment of your inebriated imagination, if not for the dull ache that still resides deep in your core. Oh, he was real, alright, as real as his cum in your panties and the sore throb of your bruised cunt. You know in your heart of hearts that it will take weeks, maybe even months for his memory to fade. The thought is depressing.

"Think I'm gonna call it a night, ladies," you tell the bleary-eyed trio seated around the table.

Your friends fuss and protest, trying their best to coax you into one more drink or at least another dance, but they're too drunk to really see the state of you. If they were just a little bit sober, it would be more than obvious why you're so set on leaving; you're completely fucked out, decimated, ruined. You hug each of them good night and promise to text the group chat when you arrive home.

Cold air smacks you in the face when you step out of the club. You inhale a sharp, icy breath, fog condensing in front of your eyes as you release it. You can feel the chill wind seeping through the seams of your coat, feel how it settles deep into the marrow of your bones. You suddenly feel achy and tired and near desperate for the warm safety of your own bed.

A glance up and down the sidewalk reveals the lack of waiting taxis, so you pull out your phone and order an Uber, cursing the wait. Huddling deeper inside your coat, your let your thoughts drift back to that brief but memorable encounter in the loo. For once, you regret not getting a bloke's number, and now you can't help but wonder if that's why he paused before leaving. Had he wanted you to ask him for it?

Unfortunately, you'll probably never know.

It's probably for the best, you tell yourself. A handsome bloke like him would undoubtedly complicate your life. He's the type of man that makes a sane, independent woman want to bake cakes and make babies. He is dangerous. You knew it when you first saw him, and now he's proven it to you. Already the 'what-ifs' are rattling about inside your tired brain. It's a good thing he left when he did, otherwise...

Yeah, you're definitely better off not knowing.

Your phone chimes, notifying you that your Uber has arrived, a faded red hatchback pulling up to the curb seconds later. You check the driver's ID then climb into the backseat, sinking back into the cushions as the car pulls back into the light flow of traffic. It irritates you that you still feel that little inkling of sadness. It's such a haunted, lonely feeling.

Damn, you think, staring blindly out of the window. I wish I'd asked for his name.

-

part 2

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #cod gaz x reader #gaz x reader #gaz smut #cod gaz smut #cod smut #cod mw2 #cod mw3

[kairiscorner]

yk what, im tired of seeing reader being the one protected, so what about this: reader that sees o'hara severely injured on a mission they are together, and going nuts on the one that hurt him? like even Miguel is surprised cause he never saw reader as mad and bloodlust-y as now, but when its over, the reader goes over him and treats him gently, kinda panicking over the fact that hes hurt.

i feel like Miguelito has such a heavy weight on his back about protecting everything around him and keeping the universe under control, he deserves someone to protect him and have his back 🥺🥺

OH MY GOD you have enlightened me. i fucking need this too now. i hope you like this <:))

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

let me save you. — miguel o'hara x reader

summary: carrying the whole multiverse on his back, having everyone fall back on him... but who's got his back when he's got everyone else's? pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!spider person!reader genre: fluff, comfort, and some angst word count: 1,244

content warnings! depictions of gore, blood, bleeding and wounds. please do not read any further if you are uncomfortable with these topics ^^

heaving, erratic breathing was heard coming out from you as you tried to process that miguel had been slammed into the ground by the anomaly. he had been slammed into the ground, and he's not getting up. his suit's glitching out, slightly dissipating as he coughs up some blood–lyla shows up to try and salvage his suit, get him back in action, but he's not getting up.

miguel always got back up every time he was forced to the ground by the enemy; he never let defeat get to him. it always used to be you who would get slammed into the ground, through some wall, or flung across a whole block–and miguel always saved you, he never... needed saving. never, that was, until tonight–as the anomaly continued to wreak more havoc, thinking they gained the upper hand, they felt a blunt object strike them in the back.

you threw a whole car at them after webbing it up and chucking it at tem in pure, unadulterated rage. you were... so pissed off–you had a fire burning in your eyes and a throbbing in your chest, it was such a heavy, painful throbbing that you couldn't shake off. some part of you told yourself that, until this anomaly is beaten and unconscious–until it was struggling to breathe, bloodied and unable to stand like how they made miguel... how they made miguel hanging on to his consciousness–and probably, his life right now–after they ruthlessly threw him to the ground with a loud bang following the impact.

your eyes were bloodshot from the tears you weren't aware you were shedding, the salty taste of them enveloping your tongue as you decided to end this, once and for all, for miguel... for the man you loved and couldn't bear saying goodbye to. you tried taking down the villain a peg, going after their legs and beating them down the minute they were on their knees and wounded. they cried out in pain as you delivered non-stop punches, kicks, and other blows to their body–inflicting all your rage upon them through marks and wounds on their face that could never, ever amount to the pain and anger you felt when you witnessed miguel get thrown down by the villain, to the point that he's hanging on to life right now and probably fading in and out of consciousness.

you couldn't even hear the sound of you huffing and puffing, even growling and screaming in rage as the sounds of you completely obliterating the anomaly's face in distracted you as you kept thinking, 'when can you just stand down and get knocked out?' the anomaly began to glitch, worsening the pain they experienced from your endless barrage of blows upon them. this evoked no mercy out of you as all you could think was, 'you get what you deserve, you monster, you freak!'

a weak voice rang out from your watch and pleaded–not commanded, but pleaded–you to end this madness. "please... we need that... villain... alive. people... people here are gonna die..." the strained voice begged of you as they coughed on the other end; it was miguel's voice, his tired, pained voice begging you with all the strength he had left to plead with you not to murder the anomaly. he coughed again and wheezed, shuddering as he exhaled, feeling so, so cold. "please... you can't... can't have your way with them... it's not... worth it..." he whispered as his strength was fading away from his voice, from his body as the call ended, and you could only beg for his voice to come back on the call, to hear him, hope he was okay.

you bit your lower lip as you tried to fight the urge to sniffle and weep, your tears beating your mind's demands as tears escaped your eyes. you didn't have time to wipe them away, miguel was fighting his own battle with death looming over his head the longer his injuries go untended. you throw a final punch to the villain, one with all your raw emotions packed in that punch–and you webbed that villain up, calling for back up to come and pick them up. as you had hoped, they were now unconscious, but nowhere near as close to death as miguel was. you rushed over to miguel as soon as a support team was coming over to clean the mess up and send the anomaly home, but you couldn't focus on anything or anyone else right now but him–miguel.

you ran over to him and skidded to his side, scraping your knees in the process, but disregarding the pain as you gently took his hand in yours, watching him breathe heavily. "miguel? mig? mig, baby, look at me..." you whispered to him as you placed your other hand on his cheek, feelings his shallow breathing as his tired, half-lidded eyes stare into your own tear-stained and puffy ones. you remove your mask and let the tears fall, placing both hands on his face and trying to match his breathing, you hoped against a hope that the support team would get here soon and help you cart miguel away to get some treatment for his wounds and have him recover quickly.

miguel ran a hand through your hair all weakly and sighed. "you... were phenomenal..." he murmured as he dropped his hand to the side out of exhaustion. "i've never... never thought i'd be the one... needing saving." he said with a low, forced chuckle, which fizzled out as it became a wheezing cough. you placed your hand on his chest and shushed him, calming him down. "mig..." you muttered his name as you laid your head on his chest, hearing his faint heartbeat grow steady, and in relief, you kissed the spot on his chest where his heart was slowly beating, hoping it'd beat a little faster, keep helping him live. "i can't lose you... i'll never, ever give up on you..." you promised him as miguel placed his hand on your head and began to lightly tear up himself. "and neither... neither will i." he swore as you sobbed a little louder into his chest, finally letting the fact you could've lost him if you didn't call for help any sooner finally sinking in.

you couldn't afford to lose him, you could never afford to kiss him goodbye, or to have him leave you without another word or touch from him. you can never stand the thought of being alone, much less without his stern, serious ass bothering you over something trivial or consistently reminding you to take care of yourself, to keep yourself on your toes, to be... nicer to yourself–because you're the only person he's truly come to care about; and that's him for you, too. he completes you, and you complete him–to lose one another... would be like the death of you both. from here on out, you both have made oaths to one another that you swear on your hearts: to protect and defend each other, and to hang on for the other as long as you can, not to waste a single breath, and to breathe it... knowing the other will do any and everything to keep you alive, to be with you longer than infinity spans, and to be yours until the multiverse gives out and collapses in on itself... to be each other's and in each other's arms until the end of everything.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv comfort #atsv imagines #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv fluff #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff #spiderman across the spiderverse comfort

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Betrayed | Part 2

PAIRING | Male Avengers x Ex-Avenger!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 1.7K

SUMMARY | It has been a few weeks since you found out about the bet the guys placed on Steve taking your virginity. You haven't been back to the Compound since, but now that you're back you will not hesitate to make life absolute hell for each and every one of the guys who were involved.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Major angst, swearing, Reader getting revenge, and telekinesis are used for some interesting forms of revenge, someone gets choked a little bit, someone loses something near and dear to their heart, someone breaks a few fingers, and someone is put through literal hell again.

A/N | This is the follow-up to my request called Betrayed, which received a lot of love! If you haven't checked that one out already, I'd highly recommend you do it! If you would like to request something, please don't hesitate, I love writing requests for you all! 🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

You haven't been back at the Compound for a few weeks, especially after what happened when you found out about the bet the guys placed. They may have killed your dream career of being an Avenger now, but that doesn't mean you won't be out of their lives, and they will not forget it, you will make sure of that. You still needed to pick up your stuff from your bedroom, so you decided today would be the perfect day to get some of your stuff, and maybe play with the boys a little bit. They played with you first, after all. And you didn't have to wait long to have your first interaction. Right as you walked in, you saw none other than the golden boy himself, Steven Grant Rogers.

You decided to have a little fun with him now that you have your telekinesis better under control than last time. Without saying anything you stopped him from walking and pulling him towards you, making sure he couldn't go anywhere and he had to face you. ''What the-'' is all he said as he felt like ropes were being put around him, but he didn't see anything, yet he was still moved, and as soon as he turned around, his eyes turned wide with pure, unadulterated shock. You were back, and hungry for revenge after the stunt they pulled on you. ''What, don't have anything smart to say this time, Rogers?'' you snickered at him, having way too much fun with the way he's squirming in your grip.

''Y/N, please, let me go,'' he said with a stern voice, which only made you laugh. ''You seriously think I'm going to listen to you now? After you ruined my fucking life?! You should start doing stand-up comedy Rogers, you're too funny,'' you said, letting out a fake laugh. ''You don't even know how much you ruined my life, do you?'' you asked, tilting your head as you looked at him with a smirk. ''I- I'm sorry,'' is all he said, before dropping his eyes and trying to get out of the hold you have on him. ''Sorry isn't enough, hell, nothing will ever be enough to make up for the fact that you accepted a fucking bet to take my virginity. You honestly made me feel special - which in all fairness, is also on me, I should've known better than that - and took one of the most precious things in my life away from me, just like that. I didn't think you of all people would be capable of hurting someone like that. Guess I was wrong,'' you sighed.

When you held your little monologue you slowly stepped closer to him, and when you were right in his face you practically spat the words out, before actually spitting in his face. God, you hated him to his core for the games he played with you, and this wasn't even the beginning of what you could do to him. You started squeezing a little tighter while squeezing around his throat like a boa constrictor too. You were enjoying this way more than you should, but it felt good to finally be able to hurt him like he did to you, even if it was just a fraction of the hurt you felt. When you saw Steve's eyes roll back in his head showing he was about to pass out, you quickly released him and he was gasping for air while clawing at the floor, trying to hold on to anything the could get a hold on.

You didn't care and stepped right over him, letting him figure his shit out alone. You were on your way to your next victim, a certain archer under the name of Clint Barton, or Hawkeye, as the public knows him. You don't have to look very long, as he is in his training room shooting arrows. He just released an arrow and without a problem, you stopped that same arrow mid-air, making him snap his head around to where you're standing. ''Surprised to see me, Barton? It was only a matter of time before I would show up, now wasn't it? Especially since you were part of making my life a living hell,'' you said, your voice deepening at the last part of the sentence. His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish, he didn't know what to say. You slammed him into the wall behind him with your hands in your pockets, and he fell to the floor like a ragdoll.

''Not so powerful without your little bow and arrows are you? I can't believe how much of a pathetic piece of shit you are,'' you spat at him while you broke his bow and all of his arrows with a flick of your hand. Not only did you get your telekinesis under control, you learned different ways of using your powers too. ''N-No! Not my bow!'' he said, he was attached to it since he used the same one ever since he learned archery. You snap it a few times for good measure, to ensure he would never be able to use it again. ''Stay out of my way from now on, and Laura and the kids will be safe,'' you said as a warning before physically stepping on his bow one last time, reveling in the crunch it made under your boot. ''God, I could listen to that sound forever,'' you said with a smirk as you turned around, leaving Clint laying on the floor with tears streaming down his face.

Finding Tony wasn't all that hard, since he was working in his lab most of the time, and today wasn't an exception to that rule. You didn't even try to hide the fact that you were looking for him, and Tony acted like he didn't care you were there, but he would care very soon. All you did was put up a little display of a fantasy of yours, where Pepper and Morgan were tied up, unable to move and they were gagged, so they wouldn't be able to scream for help. ''What the fuck did you do to my family, Y/L/N?'' he asked as his eyes quickly went up to the screen. ''Who, me? Don't you think it's rude to ask that seeing how you were a part of the bet that hurt me? That ruined my fucking life?!'' your words were laced with nothing but pure venom.

''Seriously, you're acting like a crazy bitch because we had a bet? I always knew you were unstable,'' Tony scoffed, but you could see the hurt in his eyes. He was wondering if what he saw was real or not. ''I may be unstable, but at least I don't spend every single hour stashed away in here tinkering with god knows what when you have a beautiful wife and daughter at home,'' you said laughing. ''I wonder how they're doing, I think I'm going to pay them a little visit to make sure they still remember me,'' you said as you stepped closer, your eyes honing in on the device in his chest. ''But I think I may have a better way of hurting them,'' is all you said before you turned the device in Tony's chest off with a single flick of your finger.

Since this was still keeping the shrapnel away from his heart when it was on, you could see him squirm as he was working to get it turned back on, to no avail. ''Y/N, please don't do this,'' he begged, but you wanted to see him suffer a little more. The best way you knew how to do that, was to tinker with his iron man suit a little bit, and you crossed a few wires here and there, took out some of the hardware, and smacked the suit against the walls a few times for good measure. Right at that moment Tony was practically begging on his knees for you to stop, and you finally caved. You didn't plan on killing the man, so you turned the device back on so he would continue to live.

''Don't think for a single fucking second I won't keep it off the next time, Stark. Honestly, I never thought I would enjoy seeing you on your knees begging me so much, I think I might have you beg just a little longer,'' you said as you continued to ruin things around his lab, things that were near and dear to his heart. ''Please, please stop, I will do anything if you just stop,'' he said with tears streaming down his face, making you laugh maniacally. ''Pathetic asshole,'' is the last thing you said before stomping on his hand, effectively breaking all his fingers so he wouldn't be able to do anything for a long time. It felt good to hurt him like that, you were starting to feel a lot better now.

''Only one left now is Barnes, you don't happen to know where he is, do you?'' you asked with a sweet voice as if you didn't just break his fingers. ''Gym,'' is all he managed to get out before you turned around. You walked into a straight line to the gym to meet Bucky, and you swing open the door, startling the super soldier as he meets your gaze in the mirror in front of him. ''You're back,'' he whispers as he sees you, and you just laugh at him. ''Yeah, I am. And you're going to regret ever getting out of the claws of HYDRA,'' you say before using your mind control on him. You let him relive every single bad memory he ever made.

He sinks to his knees and he puts his hands over his ears, trying to drown out the noise in his head as you let him relive his worst nightmares, only 10 times worse. He starts squirming on the floor as you keep going, and you make a high-pitched noise go through his head too. ''S-STOP!'' is all he can mutter over and over, but you don't want to. When you eventually do stop, you see that there is nothing left of the man he was before you came in, and you're feeling good about it. ''That's what you get for being best friends with the man who ruined my fucking life, you dick,'' you said before turning around and grabbing your stuff from your bedroom. You were glad you finally got your revenge, and it felt damn good to finally have inner peace.

#avengers #avengers x female reader #avengers fanfiction #avengers x y/n #avengers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #iron man #tony stark #clint barton #hawkeye

[pursuitseternal]

Tensions break in this NSFW update to “In the Monster’s Shadow:”

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart | E | 1.7K

Summary: left to her own devices and freedoms, Shadowheart finds solace alone in the gardens of the Palace… until she realizes that being alone isn’t what will soothe her. But he might…

CW: angst with feelings, vulnerable and inebriated Ascendant, outdoor smut, PiV, regret with true feelings

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 5…

⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️

Sunlight. Warm, pure, unadulterated sunlight. It finally made Shadowheart smile, feeling at peace, and she could forget the walls of the palace where she was… Well, she hesitated to say trapped now.

She had so much freedom now, her room remained in the cellar, as he called it. Not dungeon. And she could explore the grounds freely, the walled garden brimming with flowers and fountains and little tucked-away benches was by far her favorite. Even if she could hear the din of life from the Upper City just on the other side. It was her sanctuary, bathing in the spring sun. Whatever limit he had on her magic extended out here too, since of course she tested it out immediately.

Strangely, it didn’t bother her. Not when he had made such a beautiful place… not when there was so much sun and fragrance and tranquility. And besides, she hadn’t seen him in days. Almost a tenday by now.

She hated that annoying tug in her gut now, his words haunting her still from when last she saw him. The only one… he had called her.

“Ugh,” she grunted at herself, at the way it made her feel… special. That self-loathing tried to gnaw at that ember that just wouldn’t snuff out. That feeling she found in that moment of being… wanted… appreciated… desired…

“No!” She yelled at herself, covering her small, pointed ears as if she could shut out her inner thoughts. “Fuck you, Astarion,” she hissed to herself.

An inane giggle sounded from behind her… from the direction of the palace. “Fuck me? Oh, so now, she’s asking for it to happen, is that it?” That velvety voice was thick with alcohol, his usually exact and dulcet tones sticking on his slurring tongue.

She spun her head around, her tight braid whipping her own body as she faced him. Sure enough, goblet in hand, Astarion slunk near-silently from some double doors in the side of the palace. “How long have you been watching me from your lair?”

“You’re one to accuse me of lurking… given you had to go traipsing around my walls and battlements…” his fingers of his free hand grabbed for her braid and twisted it around his palm, “not the only one curious about the Ascendant, but certainly the only one foolish enough to end up here…” His voice dropped low and he leaned over her seated form, his breath rich with fragrant wine.

“You… reek…” she hissed, pinching her nose and sliding away from his looming presence.

“Like wealth… power…” he rolled his shoulders to flex his muscles and spilled his pricey wine in the process.

“You smell like the Elfsong used to after closing…” she wrinkled her nose in disgust, sliding away from the splatters of red wine.

That made him draw up short, his eyes struggling to focus at the mention of… those times. His gaze grew distant, that constant tweak at the corner of his eyes softened.

Shadowheart paused, holding her breath for a moment before she whispered, “Do you remember how those nights were the best… music whining from the tavern below, Halsin whittling animals…”

She watched his jaw clench and release about five times. “Karlach… making up dances for us to all try…” His eyes shut tight, as if he forbade them to show his turmoil, his weakness, or maybe even tears. “Those days seemed so much…”

“Simpler?” Shadowheart offered, not even noticing that her body leaned closer towards him. Her eyes scanned that refined black silk shirt, the way it clung to his muscles and frame, the way it tucked into the band of his stitched scarlet trousers.

“Defenseless,” he suddenly turned his head sharply to meet her soft green eyes. His gaze was that same bloodied shade of crimson, that same piercing intensity. “We did so many foolish things just to bury our fear,” his voice dropped to a snarl, haughty tension in his neck returning stronger than ever. “And now, I never have to be afraid again.” He gave a confident toss of his head, sipping from his chalice as his fingers went white around the stem.

“You seem so sure of that,” Shadowheart couldn't help but tease, that same prickly tone from their days on the road. “I think it’s better to be afraid in good company like we used to than to bury it down deep alone, never…”

His lips silenced her. The clatter of his cup broke the stillness of the garden as he kissed her, hard and fast and possessive. She squirmed at first, noises of surprise muffled under those thick and wine-tasting lips. It felt so good… he was probably too drunk to remember anyway, the thought passed her mind as she decided to kiss him back.

His hands grasped at the back of her head, pulling her inescapably from his working mouth. She tasted blood, though hers or his, she couldn’t tell with all the sucking and nipping they both did. His hands, almost claw-like and strong, pulled her flush against him, the thin silk of his shirt betraying the heat of his own skin, a heat she knew was matched by her own as it blistered through her own light chemise. He swayed roughly, his balance compromised, and all it took was a little shove from her hands on his chest to land them both in the grass at their feet.

He broke from her kiss looking up with hazy, lust-clouded eyes, his hand wrapping around her long braid as he smirked. With yank, he pulled her closer, her body seeking the warmth and pressure of his between her thighs. That one breath was all they took.

Mouths locked again, all fangs and pants and sighs. He tore into her shirt, ripping it open enough for her breasts to catch the sun. A snarl on her lips, her fingers deftly freed his cock from its confines. No thoughts, it was just heat and need in her veins and shared on his breath as she hiked up her skirts and sank onto his cock. Fangs bit her lip, keeping her bent over him even as she rode him. Her pants of pleasure defend her own ears, the loud wet sounds of their bodies joined making her spine tingle with lust as she finally let him claim her this way.

There was no logic, no coherent sensation in her mind. Only heat and desire as the floodgates of their lust and need shattered at last. Tendays of pent up desire finally pulsed and released, coursing through both their bodies.

The world spun around him, Astarion grunted at the force of her bucks, his body unfamiliar with unbridled lust of late. It had been… Well memories escaped him. Thoughts escaped him now that he was buried deep in that warm, wet pressure. Her breath was hot in his mouth, her blood on her tongue delicious… the grass on his back, the weight of her body. His tired eyes stayed shut, lost in the waves of sensation.

For that moment, they were back in the Emerald Grove, their own little piece of nowhere. Two hands gripped at his shoulders… rolling playfully… the skin of her fresh neck pressed against his eager lips and fangs.

Blood poured into his mouth as he clamped down on her neck, starved as he was for her essence, for attention… for touch. He groaned as he took all of her in, through his mouth and his cock. Her mouth hung slack in constant sighs of pleasure, her hips rolling to match his punishing pace. Nails, legs, hair, hands… she was everywhere and all his. Waves built between them, the perfect synchronization of their hips and pants as they fucked in the dirt.

Thighs clenched around his hips, shirt torn asunder, Shadowheart hung on for dear life. Bright sun warmed her flesh, but he was scalding, burning her up with that long-craved friction of his body on her, inside her. Shattering, bursting, she came, unashamedly twitching and writhing and moaning in her too-long-denied ecstacy. It was tantalizing and dangerous… not unlike when she watched these same lustful choices play out so long ago.

But gods, it felt better than it looked.

Especially the part where his hips snapped harder than ever, his lips barely freed from drinking her down as he growled right in her ear. Three more erratic thrusts, and she knew he filled her, his body collapsing and shuddering and grunting. A few pants of air still thickly laced with their desire passed between their lips, a slight smile on his face as he shifted slightly.

“I’ve missed…” he started to whisper before his eyes snapped open. That softness evaporated, cracking over with resolve and anguish and rage in an instant. He scrambled off her, his voice instantly cold and cruel again. “Get inside, Princess,” he growled as he turned his back, stuffing his cock and shirt back inside the band of his trousers. “That was more than enough of a session for you today.” He rounded, merciless in his gaze as she scrambled to close her blouse. “I’ll ignore the fact your twisted words tried to manipulate me into…”

“What?” She spat, scrambling from the dirt. “Me? Manipulate you?” She scoffed with all the ire in her soul. “That’s rich, not to mention a lie.” Hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she longed to cast any of her spells, just to get at him. “You know what’s really sad, Astarion, really pathetic?” She seethed as he glared at her from the doorway to his study. “All this time, you aim to torture me, give me pain and make me submit, and yet, by doing so, aren’t you just pushing yourself deeper into your own torment?”

He said nothing, muscles in his jaw clenched painfully tight. “You’ll pay for such insolence when next I find you.”

“You can try, but you know I’m right, Vampire. You torture yourself far worse than anything you could do to me.”

Her accusation hung like frost in the air, a coil of tension that snapped tight between them. And in that moment, she could have sworn that glimmer of longing shined in his crimson eyes.

And before he could say another word, he rounded on his heel and retreated back inside again.

#astarion x shadowheart #ascended astarion #ascended Astarion x shadowheart #shadowstar #in the monsters shadow #astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion baldurs gate #baldur’s gate astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 #bg3 romance #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #shadowheart x astarion #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart

[j0elmill3r]

The End Of All Things

Pairing - Joel Miller x  Young!Daughter!Reader

Summary - The one where Joel loses fucking everything - including his youngest daughter.

Warnings - Child death, angst, character death, sad Joel, emotional trauma?

A/N - Is this thing on? Yes, I'm back, maybe not as much as I once was but im back! Stay tuned for updates!

Word count - 2.2k words of pure, unadulterated angst.

Joel Miller was not a god-fearing man.

And given the current circumstances, he feared he may now be facing the consequences of it. Living in a post-apocalyptic world, having lost his daughter. Well, his oldest daughter. He still had you, his last bit of sunshine in the dark world that the survivors of the cordyceps infection now found themselves living in. You were only 3 years old at the beginning of the outbreak, meaning you weren't quite old enough to remember your older sister, Sarah, but Joel was thankful that you weren't old enough to remember her death - it did, however, break his heart that you would never remember how much she loved you. You were lucky enough to not understand the severity of what had happened the night of the outbreak, just that in the days following you sat squashed between a backpack and your dad's back. It was fortunate that you had found an abandoned farmhouse in a secluded area that Joel had deemed safe enough for you to lay low in for a while - the 'a while' in this case is the past 4 years. You liked to play outside, but only where Joel or your Uncle Tommy could see you - Joel especially needed the closure of knowing where you were at all times, he couldn't lose you, especially after losing your sister, who your memories off had slowly faded, her face one you couldn't make out anymore.

Joel liked to tell you stories about Sarah, about how at first she wasn't entirely thrilled about no longer having all of her dad's attention, but how quickly she'd grown to love you; About how she used to help you build a fort in your room to read you stories in, often ending up in both of you falling asleep in it, leaving Joel to find and put you both to bed. The stories your dad told you always brought a sombre smile to his face and a glaze of tears in his eyes, which he tried to hide from you. As Joel finished up his telling of sleeping beauty to you, you fell into a coughing fit.

"Woah, it's okay baby," Joel assured you, sitting you up and rubbing your back. What was coming never crossed his mind. "Here," He handed you the glass of water that was sitting on the nightstand of the room you slept in, watching as you gulped down half of the glass. "That better?" He asked you, pushing your hair back from your face as you lay back down.

"Yeah, thanks daddy," Your speech sounded a bit slurred to Joel, but he put it down to you being tired. Your dad kissed the top of your head as he tucked you in.

"Goodnight baby girl, I love you," Joel told you quietly, noticing that you had already started drifting off to sleep. As he left your room, he duly noted your symptoms, a pit opening up in his stomach as he started thinking through all of the symptoms of the Cordyceps infection that had been broadcast by FEDRA. He managed to somehow gaslight himself into thinking that children your age were immune to the infection.

The next morning, however, confirmed Joel's worst fears.

You were infected.

Your mood change was the biggest indicator. You were agitable and grumpy, something that Joel could confidently say you never were. He tried not to get angry or upset with you during the course of the day, he hoped you were unaware of the infection that was attacking your brain and body,  and ultimately be the cause of your death. Tommy, while upset at the expectant loss of his last living niece, had agreed to let Joel spend your last day with him and only him. He'd go on a run to try and find a strong enough sedative for you. Joel, had somehow managed to source some paint and paper.

"Y/N, come here," He said gently, trying not to upset you, since you had thrown a tantrum over the way he had spoken to you previously. You tentatively took his hand and let him lead you out to the porch, where he had set up a rolling tray he'd found in the attic and filled with paint.

"What are we doing?" Your speech had gotten more slurred since last night, further confirming your infection. Joel sat down behind you and sat you between his legs, your back to his chest as he pulled the tray forward.

"We're gonna make your handprints, baby," He said, the same tone as before, carefully dipping your hands in the paint tray and then onto the paper. He quietly sighed as you tried to resist, but he was quickly able to overpower you.

"Why?" You asked, your tone irritated. Joel couldn't tell you the real reason why. That you were doing this so he could keep a piece you with him all the time because you were dying, but you didn't need to know that.

"Because..." Joel scrambled for an excuse, he realistically knew anything would do, due to the fact that your brain probably didn't have much function left before you became like the runners. "I want to remember you being this little." Because you won't get to be any bigger than this. The thought made Joel tear up even more. The small blue handprints brought a small smile to his face, although it didn't last long, as you looked up at him, he could tell by the absent stare in your eyes that you didn't have much long left before you became nothing more than the victim of the infection running rampant in your body.

"Okay?" You asked in reference to your handprints, lethargically running your hands down your dads shirt, marking it a royal blue, a bright contrast against the black material of his shirt. He sniffled and nodded, picking you and your handprints up and bringing you indoors.

"They're perfect, baby girl," He put them on the table to dry and went over to the dusty sofa, he didn't care much for the dust on the sofa, just wanting to hold you close for a while until Tommy came back. As much as Joel knew this was the right thing to do, to keep his memories of you as his happy baby, he didn't want Tommy to come back with the drugs that would aid in killing you - but he also knew that it wouldn't be fair to let you become one of those...things. You didn't deserve that, at least this way, you would go peacefully, being held by your dad. The sound of Tommy pulling into the driveway didn't even alert you in the slightest, but to your now severely under-functioning brain, you were just happy to be with your dad. Tommy came in, a box in one hand and a solemn look on his face as he looked over at his older brother, who sat holding his daughter. He went upstairs to retrieve the half empty glass of water in your room, crushing up the sedative pills and mixing them into the water, tears springing to his eyes at what's about to happen. If he felt like this, he couldn't imagine how Joel was feeling. He grabbed your teddy before going downstairs, handing the glass to Joel, and your teddy to you. "Y/N?" It took you a minute before you hummed in response. "You know I love you so much, don't you?"

"Yeah daddy," You slurred out. Joel didn't know if he could do this. He didn't want to think of all the lasts with you. That last night was the last time he'd ever put you to bed and tuck you in, that those stories he told you of Sarah would be the last stories you would ever hear. But the more he thought of the thing you would become if he didn't do this, the more he knew it was the right thing. He handed you the glass and watched as you gulped the rest down, unaware of why the water was so cloudy, or why it tasted so bitter. You gave the glass back to your dad, who then handed it back to his brother. Joel put both arms around you, so that you knew he was there, if your brain could still function enough to recognise him. The rising and falling of your chest became less rhythmic, until it just stopped completely. The dam building behind Joel's eyes finally burst, the realisation that you were gone now fully hitting him; He hugged your lifeless body as he sobbed, fully realising that both of his baby girls were gone.

-16 years later-

Joel had changed, a lot. After all, the deaths of both his daughters would do that to a person. He hadn't seen Tommy in months, and had now somehow adopted a stray cat of a girl who was immune to the infection - Oddly enough, she reminded him of you, but painfully of your death. You would be alive if you were immune, you'd be 23 years old now, but instead, you've been gone longer than you ever got to live for. If the whole thing hadn't ever happened, Sarah would be 34, Joel often thought about you both, how you'd get along, if either of you would have had kids, how you would have looked; if you would have outgrown your baby face.

But that's all they were, they were only what if's.

He kicked a log over to pose as a bench for himself and Ellie to sit on, huffing as he sat down, his entire body aching from the days toil. Forgetting about the girl beside him, he pulled out a worn piece of paper, the quarter lines prominent where the shapes of small, blue handprints could be made out - Ellie noted that the shade of blue matched that of the stains marking Joel's shirt.

"What's that?" She asked Joel, peering over his shoulder to get a peek at what he was holding. He gave a glare, more fatherly than anything, and she backed off to give him space. He let out a sigh and looked at the paper, deep in thought.

"My daughter's handprints," He said quietly, unable to face Ellie. She was confused, Joel said that Sarah had died when she was 14, and those were pretty small hands for a 14 year old, although she couldn't say much, she hadn't really met any other 14 year olds.

"But you said-" "I know. They're not Sarah's," Joel cut Ellie off, taking a few deep breaths to compose himself. "They're my youngest daughter, Y/N's. She died when she was 7," He told Ellie, who fiddled with her hands nervously, unsure of what to say next, Joel, sensing the unease from the girl, continued, "It was about 4 years into this whole thing, we'd found a farmhouse in the countryside where we laid low for a bit, but I didn't know you were more likely to catch it out in those areas, so I let her play outside all the time, I noticed she was sick the night before she died, but I didn't think she was infected." Joel finished, his voice breaking. Ellie pretended that she hadn't heard it, instead opting for a probably worse alternative.

"So...she became like...them?" She asked. It sent Joel down a hole. Thinking of what would have happened to you if he didn't do what he did. Some say that the infected person is still in there, like a prisoner in their own body. He couldn't bear the thought of you like that, he'd seen how those people end up, blinded, scarred faces, nightmare fuel. He shook his head with a sniffle, still unable to face looking at the girl.

"No, I spent her last day with her while my brother went and got heavy sedatives, I wouldn't have let her end up like that. So I have these handprints I made with her," He said, gently tracing over the handprints of his youngest child, so gentle that you would think that the slightest gust of wind would turn the paper to ash. Ellie noticed the shakiness of Joel's hand, unsure of what to do, she put her hand on his back. "What are you doing?" He asked her, thinking she'd upset him, she took her hand away.

"Sorry, I was trying to make you feel better," She said sheepishly, unable to meet his hard stare. Ellie reminded him so much of Sarah - and of you. He might not have you both with him anymore, but he has small parts of you, parts of you he sees in Ellie.

#joel miller x daughter!reader #joel miller hbo #hbo the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #daughter!reader

[eijirousbestie]

“I’m done talkin”

inspired by the song below (i recommend listening while reading

pure angst sry not sry

unresolved anger issues

no happy ending

“Are you sure you don’t wanna talk about it at least?”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

“With what happened out there just now? There is definitely something to talk about.”

A long silence fills the air. It’s hard and steely, unwilling to waiver or break. It felt like all the progress you two had made was ripped away in less than a second.

“I don’t wanna push but I need us to be on the same page here yeah? It’s harder to figure this out when it’s just—never mind.”

“‘When it’s just’ what?” When it’s just me trying is what you wanted to say but decided better against it. His eyes settle on you, the gaze pointed, almost accusatory. You don’t want to antagonize him and potentially make the situation worse because of your poor word choice. But it’s hard. Hard to walk on eggshells around someone just to stay in good graces.

“It’s nothing. I misspoke.”

“Here we go with that shit.”

What does he mean?

“What do you mean?” A beat passes and he’s speaking again, although reluctantly.

“Would you drop the psychiatrist bullshit? Actin’ like you know every fuckin’ thing when you don’t know shit about me.”

Where is this coming from? You try not to get emotional. It’ll only get in the way of finding a fix to… whatever this is.

“Katsuki, if you felt that I was overstepping I’m sorry. But I’m just trying to better understand what’s got you lashing out like this.”

“Don’t talk down to me like I’m a fuckin’ kid. Just say what you wanna say straight up. We both know you don’t talk like that.” His jaw is clenched hard, the muscles on the sides of his face flexing and constricting every few moments.

He’s entirely pissed off right now. But it’s almost an unadulterated rage you hadn’t seen on him since he was fifteen. All these years he’d done better, been better. He’d calmed down and grown to let out his frustrations on a punching bag instead of an actual person. You’d been there by his side along the way, but he’d mainly made the change himself. He pushed himself to be better, to be less angry at the world and all that resided it.

But today is different. And you’re not sure why.

“Can you at least tell me what’s got you pissed?” You’re not really sure what to say. It’s like walking on a mine field. One wrong step and it’s all over.

A short, exasperated chuckle leaves the lips of the man in front of you. Seated on the edge of his bed, forearms propped up on his thighs with his head hanging low, messy tufts of blonde shaking slightly as his body trembles with his laughter. It’s mocking.

“You.” His eyes flicked up to yours, the ghost of a sarcastic smile still gracing his face, like he couldn’t believe you’d asked him such a dumb question with such an obvious answer.

Your heart sinks. “Me?”

“Did I stutter?” His tone switches. No longer mocking, but now all too serious. Like he’s physically biting his tongue to not tear down your entire character.

“Why am I—why do you have an issue with me?”

His eyes narrow, embers flickering behind his lashes. His hands ball up together in front of him in a tight grasp. Like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“Cuz—you piss me off. You agitate me.”

“Katsuki I—”

“Don’t talk over me.” Silence.

“You do that thing where you try to ‘get down on my level’ like I’m somethin’ that needs to be studied. You talk like you know everything I don’t already know about myself. Shit’s infuriating. You always gotta make me talk after I get upset about anythin’. Every. Fucking. Time.”

His jaw is set and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“And I’m sick of that shit. What if I don’t wanna talk about how I feel after every situation huh? It comes easy to you. You’re good at that shit. Expressin’ your emotions. M’not. I just—close up.”

It hurts your heart to hear how he’s been struggling this entire time. On the outside it’d seemed like he was opening up and getting in touch with his emotions. But maybe, that’s only what he wanted you to see. Or maybe, you were looking through rose tinted glasses throughout the last four years. Your eyes fall to the floor under your feet, trying to find the right words to say. But nothing. How can words do justice to how much guilt you feel for overlooking what he was really harboring all by himself? It hurts.

“Katsuki… I didn’t know…” It’s as if no explanation was good enough.

“Save the dramatics for somebody that gives a shit. I’m over it.”

“No, there’s no way you could be—”

“I said I’m over it. I’m deading the shit. I’m not dealin’ with it no more. I’m done talkin’.”

The feeling that sits heavy in your stomach is uncomfortable. It’s unnerving. Never once has an issue with one another not been resolved, but he doesn’t even want to try. You can’t help but to respect his choice and give him his space.

But something tells you that you might not be able to come back from this. You nod and let out an okay in response, your voice barely above a whisper. You walk to his door, placing your hand on the doorknob and freeze.

“I know it’s a fucked place to be in right now but I’m always gonna be here for you. I’m not walking out on you Kats.” More silence fills the room. Nothing comes from him. Not even a grunt or a nod. You twist the knob and leave his room with a heavy heart and a heavy mind.

#sometimes small things build up #bakugou katsuki #Spotify #mha headcanons #bakugou headcanons #mha drabbles #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fic #bakugou angst #mha angst

[spookysteddie]

I'll Take Care Of You

Gator Tillman x fem!reader

18+ Minors DNI

cw: SPOILERS FOR FARGO EPISODE 9, angst / hurt / comfort, Roy being a fucking dick, talks of eyes, medical talk, blood, violence, sad boy!gator, kidnapping, marriage. (Let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 2.6k

a/n: look... I am holding out hope our favorite Sheriff will be able to see. I dunno I'm delulu as fuck okay? Anyway, this is a little sad but I have no shame and love how I ended it. I hope y'all do too!

...

You feel like you’re going to be sick as you stand there staring at the man in front of you.

His eyes are covered and all you can see is blood, his hand tied behind his back and the rope around his neck being used as a fucking leash. You’re back far enough that Munch can’t see you, but you can see him and you can see Roy standing there like a fucking idiot. 

Gator is shaking and it isn’t from the bitter winter. No, it’s fear, pure unadulterated fucking fear. You watch his chest rise shakily. He’s crying, his sobs reaching you, your heart breaking. You place your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your own sobs. You can’t be seen, you can’t risk not being able to help Gator. 

He’s been gone for a little over a day, no one seeing him after he went to talk to Dot. You had gone to work, having told Gator you’d be back by four. But when you got home his cruiser wasn’t in the driveway. You’d called everyone asking if they’d seen your fiance. Even going as far as asking Karen if she knew where he was or what happened that day. Besides Roy being embarrassed at the debate, she said everything was normal. Roy had made Gator stay back to keep watch over Dot. You thought it was fucking stupid, singeling him out per usual. 

By the time Roy gets home, asking you if you’d seen Gator and accusing you of covering for him. Typical Roy behavior, he doesn’t even seem to be worried that his fucking only son is missing, instead telling Karen to get dinner ready because he’s hungry. You want to scream, you want to shake him and tell him how much of a shitty father he is. But you don’t, instead you go to you and Gators shared room, wrap yourself up in one of his shirts and keep calling around. You have no luck and instead, cry yourself to sleep. 

By the time morning rolls around, you being woken up by Roys stupid fucking freedom fighters banging around inside the house, Gator still hasn’t been found. Roys head is so far up his own ass that when you ask if he’s heard anything, he shrugs. 

You’re close enough to hear what they’re saying, Munch speaking in rhymes as usual and Gator gasping for breath every time Munch tugs on the rope around Gators neck. You have a sickening feeling there are two missing pieces of Gator behind that burlap blindfold. Your stomach turns again, bile raising in the back of your throat.

Then, Munch shoves Gator into Roy, knocking them both to the ground. Your eyes close out of fear but when you open them again, Munch is nowhere to be found. But you don’t get up, scared Roy will shoot you on accident (or on purpose).

Gator cries as he rolls over, probably onto his broken arm, “daddy?” His pained cry reaches you, making tears fall faster.

Roy sits up and looks around, definitely looking for Much. “Quiet,” he says. His tone is stern and cold, not giving a single fuck that his son is back and that his son in clearly hurt. It makes your blood boil. 

“Daddy? Daddy, I’m scared.” He sits up, arms still tied behind his back. 

Roy sighs, standing up, “I said shut up.” Gator lets out a little sob, a little boy who is terrified and just needs his dad to show him an ounce of comfort. “If there ever was a point to you, it’s gone now.” 

You swear you can see Gators heart crack in his chest as the words cut through his soul. He’s speechless as Roy walks away, leaving his son still bound on the cold, snowy ground. “Dad?” But he isn’t going to get an answer. 

You decide you can make your move, Roy far out of sight. Gator hangs his head, sobs wracking him. He needs comfort. 

You try and hold back your tears, clearing your throat. It doesn’t do any good, “Gator? Hey, sweetheart.” His head jerks up, blindly looking around. 

“Baby?! Bunny, is-is that you?” He’s panting, anxiety mixing with his fright. He’s in fight or flight and you need to calm him down. You also have to get him somewhere safer to look over any injuries he has. 

You smile, even though he can't see it, just hoping it translates in your voice. It doesn’t, adrenaline overpowering everything. Your hands shake as you carefully lift his chin. “I’m here, my love. Oh, I missed you so much. Let’s get you untied, yeah?” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t let it go,” he sobs while you take the rope off from around his neck, being careful not to touch near his eyes. 

“Baby, you don’t have to be sorry. You and I both know that you were damned if you did let it go and damned if you didn’t.” It was true. There was no winning with Roy. Never. “I’m gonna go behind you and untie your hands okay. I’m gonna use my knife.” 

“The pink one I got you?” He’s trying to distract himself, trying to keep his mind going. 

You smile wider, “of course, my love. I always keep it on me. Never know when you're gonna need to stab someone.” 

He doesn’t laugh. 

When you finally get his hands free, they fall to his sides limply. His cast touching the ground. He just sighs deeply and you know it’s coming. 

“I’m useless now,” his voice cracks and he sniffles. “I’m a loser and I’ll never be able to prove myself.”

You can feel your body heat with sadness and anger. Anger for the little boy who grew up without his mom. Anger for the little boy who wasn’t given a fair chance. Sadness for the little boy who just wanted his father to love him. Sadness for Gator Tillman who tried to be good, who wanted to be good, but whose father corrupted him and snuffed out his light before he turned five. 

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You are not useless. Do you hear me?” Your voice cracks at the end, unable to hold it in. 

Gator shakes his head, reaching out to feel for you. You drop to your knees in front of him, grabbing his good hand. His cast hand reaches out and fiddles with the beautiful diamond he put on your finger five months ago. 

“I am. Dad told me just now that he has no purpose for me anymore. I tried. I tried so hard. Why was it never enough? Why was I never enough?” 

You carefully hug him, wanting to hold him tighter but knowing that’d be a bad idea. “Listen to me right now. You, Gator Tillman, are enough. You always have been. Your father is an asshole. A corrupt motherfucker who took his hatred for his mother out on you. It has never been fair.

“But you are good, Gator. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You tried your hardest and Roy kicked you over and over again. I will not do that. It’s you and me forever. Got it?” 

All he does is nod and you take it as your cue to get him inside. 

“I wanna look over your injuries and we’ll go to the hospital if we need to okay?”

You help him up, wrapping his good arm around you and letting him lean on you, walking towards the house. “I ain’t going to no the hospital. They’ll ask questions.” 

“Gator, you might need to go to the hospital. I don’t even know what’s wrong with your eyes.” 

He doesn’t answer, just silently walks inside with you. You give him time, letting him feel around for the railing so he can make it up to his room. You open the door, noticing the duffel bag of money sitting on his bed, which means Roy found it. It also means Roy was snooping around in here. 

You shut and lock his door after settling him on the bed, making sure to grab the first aid kit from his bathroom. His chest still shakes a little here and there and your heart continues to break. You’d be a liar if you said you weren’t terrified of what you’ll find under that blindfold. There were few possibilities and you were prepared for the worst but hoping for the best. 

You set everything up beside him taking a deep breath. 

“Okay, my love. I’m gonna take this off okay? It might hurt but you can trust me okay?” 

 Gator nods. 

You grab the scissors and start snipping by his ears, doing your best to not tug the fabric. Once it’s free you gently pull it back, swallowing the bile in your throat as you reveal his eyes. 

“Oh, Gator…” 

The cut runs from just above his eyebrow to his cheek. It cuts right through his lids so even as he closes his eyes, you’d still see his eyeballs. You wonder how Munch didn’t knick his eyeballs, he must’ve done it slowly, dragging out the pain. 

You can’t stop the choked cry that flies up your throat. “Can-can you see me?” 

He shakes his head, “I kinda can. But s’blurry and my eyes really hurt.”

You can tell that his eyelid and sewn together haphazardly, clearly Munch underestimated how much the eyes can bleed. You also can tell he’s burnt. 

“Did he use something hot?” You ask as you start to clean the blood and dirt off of him. It’ll be no short of a miracle if he doesn’t get an infection. 

“Mhm. Some kinda hot knife thing. I was awake for it. Hurt real bad.” 

You know what you’re about to say isn’t going to go over well. But you try regardless, “you need to go to a hospital, Gator. I’m worried you’ll get an infection, not to mention tetanus.” 

You watch him freeze, “we can’t. They asked me a ton of questions when Munch broke my fuckin’ arm. I don’t wanna answer their bullshit questions.” 

“Gator, listen to me, I am not a doctor and I am worried that if we don’t help you that you’ll lose your vision.” 

He tips his head to the ceiling, sighing deeply, “m’scared. I’m so scared. What if I don’t get my sight back? We’re supposed to get married.” 

You clean down his neck, sighing at the bruise there. “Well for one, we’re getting married even if you can’t see me. I still love you all the same. And two, the sooner we get you there, the more likely it is they’ll save your vision. Okay?” 

You can see his lips wobble even though he does his best to hide it. “Please don’t leave me,” it comes out in the softest whisper and any remaining pieces of your heart shatter. 

“Never, Gator. Never. You’re stuck with me for life.” 

… 

Six months later

It’s been a very, very long six months. 

After you took Gator to the hospital, avoiding any questions that went further than the basics. You gave them the short and sweet answer, making up a few details as you went. You called in some of Gators co-workers, ones you know are on Roy's payroll to inform them about Munch. 

Needless to say, Munch didn’t live past three days after the incident. You were more than fine with that, making sure to watch them place him in the grave on the farm to know he’s dead. For your sake and Gators. 

Gator had to have a lot of surgeries on his eyes. His eyes were, like you suspected, burnt. It took a good month and a half to heal them. It was painful and you silently cried most nights as Gator groaned and cried in his sleep. When he slept, which was rare. 

His nightmares of the situation causes him to wake up screaming, grabbing his chest as he pants. The first time it happened, you grabbed the gun from under his pillow, looking around for this unknown terror. Then you remembered Gator couldn’t see. He told you about his nightmare and you made sure to hold him tighter at night. 

It was rare that you slept as well. 

You spent a lot of time in church, praying to God that Gator would see again. You didn’t even believe in God, but you were willing to try anything if it meant Gator would be okay. 

By month three they had, somehow, restored Gators sight in one of his eyes, the other one just blurry but he could semi see. It was nothing short of a miracle. 

By the fourth month, he was back at work. On desk duty of course but it didn’t really matter to him. Well, it did but he knew it was more of a risk for him to be out arresting people at this time. The issue with small towns is people talk. You weren’t sure how, but people knew Roy had practically disowned Gator. They knew when he moved out of the house after you bought one for you two. 

What they didn’t know was the conversation had between you and Roy. Conversation wasn’t the right word, actually. No one ever just had a conversation with Roy Tillman. It started with you telling him you were here to pack up Gators room. Of course, he gave you shit, telling you Gator wasn’t allowed to move out, saying he needed Gator close to check up on his health. 

You’d never laughed so hard in your life. It ended with you screaming at him, telling him he was a piece of shit for leaving his hurt son in the dirt, tied up and crying. Roy just said he was weak and needed to be taught a lesson. But the time you left Roy had a bloody lip and a broken nose. 

Now, at month six, Gator is doing well. He can see for the most part, going to therapy and back out in the field. You’ve never seen him so happy. Roy hasn’t attempted to contact either of you, Karen calling here and there in secret to check on Gator. 

The only person who calls every other day is Dot. Dot is the one who came to visit Gator in the hospital, holding his hand while he apologized for not helping her and telling her he hopes she dies there. He didn’t mean it and she knew it. Dot accepted his apology and told him how proud she is of him, how much she’s always loved him. How she knows all he’s wanted was to be good. Gator cried then, hugging her so tightly. 

Dot fixes your hair, smiling at you through the mirror. 

You’re getting married today, deciding with Gator that this union needed to happen immediately. You needed him to be yours for the rest of your life and he wanted no one but you to have a say over his life. 

So, you stand in your white dress, fingers wrapped around beautiful flowers. Gator stands at the end of the makeshift aisle in the field of your own ranch, the scar on his face slowly fading, less red than it was months ago, and tears falling from his eyes. 

Gator’s daddy isn’t there and neither is Karen. But Dot and her husband are front and center, their daughter being your ring bearer and the wedding being paid for – though you argued about it – by Waynes mother. 

And as you hand your flowers to your sister before taking Gator’s shaking hands in yours, Gator realizes that, for once, he’s safe with you and your love.

#Gator Tillman #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fargo #gatortillmanedit #gator tillman hurt #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman x reader #fargo s5 #fargo fanfic #fargo season 5 #fargo spoilers

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; jealousy; negative self-talk; talks of miscarriage and hysterical pregnancy; allusions to childhood abuse; talks of pregnancy; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; therapy; talks of grieving a baby; pregnancy hormones (just the beginning lol); reader checking Jake out and being sad while she does it (lmao) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 22.1k+

a/n: sorry it took a month, besties... hopefully this angsty fucking chapter makes up for it lmao <3

and don't worry, i won't be gone long ;)

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

“The covetous person is full of fear; and he or she will who lives in fear will ever be a slave.”

-Horace

-🌼🌼🌼-

October 30, 2022

Birds were chirping. The melodies of an acoustic guitar playing lullabies made your heart warm in your chest. A baby’s cries were being mellowed by the sound of the guitar. A smile, reaching the baby’s face that matched the one on the man playing the strings.

But you couldn’t look at him. Only the bundle of pure, unadulterated, untouched love in your arms; her eyes, looking the same as his, caught yours, the color of caramel coffee. . . twinkling just like his. . .

All pink and white and golden rays of sunshine.

Then, it was gone. 

No. Not again.

There was no more peace. No more lullabies. No more love from parent to child. . .

All dark and dirty and ear-piercing screams. 

A sister, trying to cover your eyes from what was happening, just inches in front of you.

Then there were hands. Hands gripping at your arms, the sister screeching, yelling and clawing for you as she got ripped away. As you got picked up so harshly your head hit something hard, making you dizzy. . . 

When you closed your eyes from the dizziness, you opened them afterwards to see that your sister was back. But she was older this time. 

Elsie. She was stunningly beautiful, as you knew she would grow up to be. Put together in an outfit that resembled that of Rachel Green. Her hair, flowing in strawberry blonde, soft waves around her delicate features and her blue eyes were wide open and wondering. Searching your eyes for something hidden in them. . .

What was she wanting? You couldn’t tell . . . Just as you were about to speak to ask her, she was in front of you, nudging you, not nearly as abrasively as the hands from before. 

You studied her quizzically – why was she–?

“Wake up!”

And the next time you blinked, your eyes were opened wide. 

To reality. To Elsie, shaking your arm in the present. You were an adult, she was an adult. Things were okay.

Life was safe again.

Shit. I’m so tired of that fucking dream, you thought angrily, sitting up and letting the covers fall away from your sweaty, tensed body. 

Blinking furiously, you let yourself cling to the softness— the safety of your bed. The bed hugged you, cocooned you in the fluffy down comforter. You were in your clean, quiet apartment. . . the rays peeking through your bedroom windows the same as they’d been at the beginning of your dream. 

“Sis,” Elsie said your name, out of all of her patience. “Come the fuck on. I’m hungry and I need coffee so bad. You know me. You know I’m about to lose all ability in my limbs if I don’t have caffeine stat–I need it. To survive,” she clutched her chest dramatically. “Please. Get your lazy ass up.”

You rolled your eyes with a giant huff, throwing your covers off of you to try and hit her with them. When you heard her gasp and slap at the covers, you figured you succeeded. 

“Y/n!” She said, backing up from the bed. When you saw her next, her hair was sticking up on all sides from static. Success. But she was laughing, finding it funny nonetheless. “You’re such a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” you said, sitting up to stretch a little. You had to fight the urge to put a hand to your tummy. Not in front of Elsie. “Now leave, I have to change.”

“I’ve seen you naked a million times before,” she argued. “Nothing I haven’t seen already.”

There sure as hell is something you haven’t seen on me already. . . Albeit a little small, but rounder nonetheless. 

“Well I don’t want you to look at my naked body this morning, so get the fuck out.”

You were getting irritated. Just wanted to change in peace. Wanted to hold your belly to start the day. It was routine at this point.

She growled, opening your door. “You have five minutes, or I’m leaving your ass.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

As you pulled up to Waffle House, scream-singing Ariana Grande lyrics with Elsie at the top of your lungs, you were sincerely hoping that your stomach wouldn’t roll at the smell of the greasy breakfast food. 

The nostalgia of the morning was something you wanted to wrap up tight and not let flutter away in the crisp and cool October breeze.

Please, sweet baby, you pleaded. Love Waffle House with me. Don’t make me give this up.

You wanted this with Els. This particular establishment had been cathartic to you and your sister for several years. Talks that far surpassed therapy sessions occurred here, in the back booth, almost completely surrounded by windows. . . The thought of sitting in that back booth was enough to make you cry right on the spot. 

And the All Star Special sounded so fucking delicious. Good sign that it at least still sounded good, right? 

You just wanted scrambled eggs, ham, hash browns with ketchup, and a gigantic waffle with the restaurant name pressed in the middle. It was all you wanted at that moment. Truly. Nothing more, nothing less. . . Your mouth was watering.

Cheesy and strange as it was, you were quite literally crossing your fingers that the food wouldn’t make you projectile vomit as Elsie opened the door for you two. 

Please don’t make me sick, please don’t make me sick. . .

To your extreme relief, your tummy didn’t knot and squeeze. No bile came to the base of your throat. . . In fact, the vanilla waffle mixture, the sizzling, salty smell of the bacon and ham. . . it was better than before. Your heightened senses welcomed the scrumptious, sentimental scents that came with the establishment. 

And the back booth was open! 

Tears literally pricked your eyes at the sight. And you must’ve sniffled because Elsie spun around, where you waited to be seated, and checked on you with worried eyes.

“You okay?” She pondered, her tone light with a joke, but eyes still serious. 

Not able to fully collect yourself thanks to the fantastic hormonal effects of your pregnancy, you felt a tear hit your cheek when you sniffled once more. 

“Yeah,” goddamn, even your voice sounded fucking wet with emotion. “Just happy to be here with you.”

Tell her, y/n. Let her help you. . .Tell her.

Fuck that came out of nowhere. 

The soft, reassuring voice being the one to guide you would take a lot of getting used to if it was going to continue as the one to help you, rather than the harsh, critical one that’d taunted you since you were a child.

Honestly, when the calm voice came to you, your mind settled in the waves of reassurance. This was the voice you longed to hear anytime the dark one wanted to boss you around. . .wanted to push you down when you were up. 

It always spoke soft truths to you. This voice didn’t make you feel like utter shit; this was the one that sounded more like Elsie than you’d like to admit.

As you started walking to your beloved booth, you were trying to find a solid reason to not tell Elsie right now. . . You had to tell someone. Right? And it was killing you to be around her and keep her in the dark. She was safe. And, at that moment, the only person you really wanted to tell was your big sister. No matter how bossy she may get, it was worth it to have her know. She was your one and only safety net for years for good reason. 

And she was going to be leaving again tonight until Thanksgiving. There was no way you could wait to tell her until then. 

She’d also never forgive you if you kept it from her for too long. You couldn’t blame her. If roles were reversed, you’d kill her if she waited to tell you until she had a noticeably round belly. . .

You sat down at your booth. You, at the seat with your back to the big windows, her smile wide as she made small talk with the worn-out waitress. Elsie’s smile, though, was big enough it brought a smile to the tired woman’s face. Elsie got along with everybody, and the waitress was no different. 

God, she was sunshine for you. 

As the woman placed your menus down in front of you two, you immediately flipped it to the side with the All Star Special. You watched her kind face, aged from years of hard work, and found comfort in the thickness of her voice from even more years of smoke, as she asked for your drink orders. 

Elsie ordered her blessed coffee and you sat there, contemplating. . . stuck. Normally, you’d order a Mr. Pibb. . .but was that healthy for the baby?

Your sister stared at you, her brows wrinkled as she gave you a questioning smile. 

“Just get her a Mr. Pi–,” Elsie started.

“I’ll take an orange juice,” you finished. 

The sweet waitress left to get your orders ready, and when you looked up from your menu to Elsie’s face again, she was looking at you like you’d grown three heads.

 “Orange juice?!” She asked, as if you’d just insulted her on a great scale. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

You felt nervous under her stare and questions. You were going to tell her anyway. . . why were you feeling your skin prick with nerves? 

“Just felt like getting an orange juice. . .,” you said, shrugging your shoulders to play it off. “No biggie.”

“I cannot remember one time we’ve come here– in the years we’ve come here– where you’ve gotten anything besides a Mr. Pibb.” She leaned across the table to put the back of her hand to your forehead. She then jokingly asked, “Are you well?”

You watched her laugh at her own joke, her eyes, smiling. The same ones you’d looked into when, for years, you’d told her your deepest secrets. . . A couple of things came to your mind. When you lost your virginity and felt like shit about it (for God knows what reason); she’d raised your spirits by telling you she’d felt the same at first, but it got better with time. Then there’d been when you’d smoked weed for the first time and you felt so horribly about it (again, why?); she told you it was not a bad thing to do and that you deserved to feel so free as the drug would make you feel. 

Very rarely had she been extremely judgemental. 

Right now, she was giving you yet another look of concern, though. . .So, you decided. It was time. Now or never.

“Sis, what’s–?”

“I’m pregnant.”

There it was. First time you’d said it out loud. Damn. In that moment, it felt even more real to you, too. 

You were with child. There was a baby in you. There was life growing inside of your uterus. 

Then the opposite train of thought rushed through you. . .were you pregnant? Was the baby still in there? You hadn’t really had time to obsessive-compulsively research any of that yet. Could your tummy still grow if you had a miscarriage? Was that possible? Was there a baby inside of you?

You had to shake your head from your sudden wave of unwelcome, anxious thoughts. There was no reason to believe you’d lost the baby. . . right? Surely. . . You wouldn’t let your anxiety get the best of you. Blinking a few times, you chanced a look at your sister again.

She gaped at you, staying that way until the waitress came back with your drinks, not saying a word. Didn’t even look away from you when the waitress spoke, asking for your orders. You had to tell the woman it would be a minute, while Elsie still zoned out on you. 

Her eyes just bored into yours until you started feeling uncomfortable and irritable. 

Talk, Elsie. Fuck.

You clasped your hands together under the table, over your tummy. . .had to do something with them. And after continuing to wait a couple more minutes, you decided if she wasn’t going to say anything, you would. “Can you say some–?”

“What the fuck?” She asked, voice much louder than it should be for a quiet Sunday morning at Waffle House. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the heads of patrons turn towards you. Inquiring eyes were not what you needed at the moment.

Your cheeks heated as you grit your teeth. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Elsie?” You fumed, automatically defensive for the life inside of you. “I had sex. I got pregnant. Simple as that.”

You’d never felt this sense of protection for anyone in your life. Not even your sister. No, at that moment, you were ready to go to bat for your baby against the woman who’d been your first line of defense your entire life. 

Thankfully the next time she talked, she sounded more subdued and understanding.

“I– I didn’t mean for it to come off that way, babe,” she said, shaking her head, laying a hand against her forehead. Her eyes searched for yours to believe her. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right response.”

“It’s oka–.”

“This is a sensitive time for you–for any woman–my god,” she continued, not letting you make any excuse. “I was just in shock–still am, obviously–but I’m not upset,” she said, pausing. Then she narrowed her eyes, testing you. “How far along are you though?”

You giggled, remembering your earlier thoughts. The two of you were so alike. More like twins than anything, honestly. “I’m only like ten weeks, I think,” you smoothly said. “I found out two weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep it or not, and I didn’t want to tell anyone until I decided. It was my decision and I didn’t want anything or anyone to sway me.”

“That is all valid and correct,” she agreed, nodding her head. Then, she continued asking questions as she poured too much half and half in her coffee. “How do you feel about it? Good? Bad? Sad? Happy? Overjoyed? Utterly depressed?”

Your eyes bugged, and you waved your hands at her once she was drinking from her mug, watching you and waiting for a response. “Damn, slow down,” you began, entwining your hands again, on top of the table this time. “First of all, per usual, I don’t always know how I’m feeling. . . But–it’s strange,” you started, squinting out the window just next to her. “It’s like, this time, instead of bouncing back and forth between sad and mad and confused. . .I’m more bouncing between a variety of happy emotions for this life,” you untangled your hands to once again place them on your tummy, below the table. “The confusion is still there, but for this baby. . .the emotions are mostly positive ones full of hope and love,” you looked back at her. “It’s weird.”

She was squinting at you, nodding her head as she took everything in. 

Then the waitress was back, taking your orders. And just as soon, she was gone.

Elsie spoke before you could. “What changed?”

Snorting, you gave her a look. “Really, Els?”

Yet again, she narrowed her eyes, but this time it was out of annoyance. “You know what I mean.”

You did. She wanted to get to the heart of it. Not the situation. But what had changed inside of you to instigate your new, surprising view of things? You really weren’t sure . . . To be completely honest, this new feeling had just started yesterday. Less than 24 hours ago, you’d made the decision that would change your life forever.

But, you answered the best you could in spite of it all. 

“I don’t know,” you glanced down at your hands, holding your sweater-clad tummy. You hadn’t had to delve into oversized sweaters the past couple of weeks. Not quite yet. Your tummy wasn’t that round. “I just kind of started thinking on behalf of this life I made, and not really myself. I put him, her–whatever the fuck it is– first and doing that just gave me this new outlook. Like I didn’t have all of the time in the world to criticize myself anymore. Because I have someone else to look out for. Someone special–someone whose life I have to be careful with– a life I hold in my hands.”

She giggled. “Literally,” she motioned in the direction of your hand placement. You joined in on her little moment of humor, enjoying the feeling of normalcy with her. She knew, and things were still the same as always. You didn’t feel any weirdness emanating off of her. This moment was easing you and brought you a sense of undefinable calm. Something you’d needed so badly. She kept on, having more to say. “I’m so fucking glad you’re starting to feel lighter,” she stated, reaching a hand out towards you, palm up on the table. “You’ve always carried so much on your shoulders. Always. And it has sucked to watch helplessly. You have hurt for too damn long and you deserve more than anyone to feel this new happiness.” 

The tear that suddenly gathered at the corner of your eye and trickled down your cheek was unstoppable.  

You moved a hand to place in hers and you squeezed each other. “Thanks Els,” you wetly responded. And nothing more– just needed her to know you were thankful.

After a minute of just communicating with your eyes, your food was being brought in small increments. Her biscuits and gravy were placed at the same time as your plate of eggs, hash browns, and ham. 

“Your waffle will be out shortly, honey,” the waitress smokily said, tone sweet as could be. “You two enjoy.”

After you’d both responded with a nod and she was gone, there was no stopping you two from digging in. 

After swallowing her first bite of food with a moan, she looked at you, still chewing your hash browns, which now tasted more like the sugary, tomatoey ketchup you’d smothered them with. 

“God, I was starving,” she said, taking a little sip of her half and half with a dash of coffee. She squeaked a little as she set her coffee down, a smirk on her glossed lips. “Josh would not quit last night.” 

You made a gagging motion at the implication, your brow furrowed with disgust at her words. 

Then, you took your first sip of orange juice. 

Goddamn.

Fuck! Ew. Baby does not like orange juice.

Coughing a little, your throat felt ready to reject the liquid right as it hit your uvula. Gross as it was, you put as much as you could back into the glass, not caring for Elsie’s reaction. 

“That’s not nasty at all,” she sarcastically noted, still chewing her food. 

You kept coughing into your hand, swallowing as much as you could, focusing on getting it down, not wanting to projectile vomit all over your breakfast. 

I’ll show you nasty, Elsie. Don’t test me.

You rolled your eyes at her remark, finally getting the remains of the drink down. You held your napkin to your face, coughing a bit. “Says the woman who’s talking and chewing,” you said, your voice weak to avoid any bile rising in your throat and at the sour, putrid taste still sitting on your tongue. “And you’re one to talk–telling me way more than I need to know about Josh.”

She snickered. “I’ll tell you more. Just say the word.”

Laughing once outright, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that won’t ever be happening,” you tried taking a bite of hash browns to get the taste of orange juice off your tongue. But it only made it worse. Your throat was not ready to accept any more at the moment. Spitting the mushy remains in your napkin, folding it up so as not to offend other customers. Your throat was tight as you responded. “I need water.”

“Here we go, babydoll! Waffles just for you,” the waitress returned, placing the food right in front of you. The waffle did not look appetizing in the slightest. You didn’t bother looking up to say anything, instead squeezing your eyes shut and willing the nausea away. “You okay, sweetie? D’ya need anything?”

“Can we get a water and a Sprite?” Elsie intervened, calmly requesting. “And like, ASAP, if that’s doable. . .”

“Sure thing! Back in a flash!” 

You kept your eyes closed, the twirling in your stomach not going away, but not intensifying either. You were scared to talk–afraid of what might come from your mouth if you did. 

“Here,” the sweet, older lady’s voice rang through, as you heard the plastic cups hit the table. She was rushing, her voice moving fast. “Gotta go to another table, but wave me down if ya need me, sugar.”

“I think we’re good for now,” Elsie reassured. You could hear the smile in her tone. “Thank you so much.” A few seconds passed, then your sister was tapping your hand that was still laid on the table. “Sis, please take a drink from one of them.”

Keeping one hand pressed to your mouth, you tapped the wrapper off of the straw. You chose the carbonated Sprite, banking on the carbonation and natural aid of Sprite for a sensitive stomach.

As soon as the ice cold, fizzing drink hit your tongue, you felt relief. The feeling hadn’t gone away in your tummy, but you also didn’t feel like you were going to hurl at any moment anymore either. You took a few short, yet healthy, sips, eyes closing again to center yourself. 

Your eyes trailed back to hers after you sat the cup down.

“You okay?” Elsie questioned, following you with her blue eyes, which swam with concern. You nodded, then she talked again. “Do you get sick a lot?”

Reaching for the water, you took one little drink of that, finally feeling able to talk. Your stomach was simmering slowly. You pushed the plates away, needing the food away from you for the time being.

“Not hungry?” 

You shook your head, your brows furrowed. “Not now. Fuckin’ orange juice,” you flipped off the offensively orange drink. Elsie snorted at you, and you grinned at her. “And to answer you, yes. I puke all of the time. Thought it was stress at first. Just throwing up because of all of my stress.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing her own food away. “You’re an idiot.” You scoffed at that, offended. “I’m just saying. You’ve never been a puker. Fevers and shit, yes. But never thrown up a whole lot. And you’ve had some terrible fucking stress in your life. . . never vomiting from any of it; just to remind you.”

“I guess I just wanted to stay ignorant,” you admitted. “And I didn’t think it was possible at all that I was pregnant.”

She hummed in understanding, then she leveled you with a stare as she took a drink of her coffee. 

“What now?” You groaned. “You fuckin’ weas–.”

“Does Jake know?”

Your stomach fell all the way to the bottom your feet. Fuck. What? How did she know?

Stupidly, you tried to reject it. Why would you try to hide it from her? You didn’t know. There was no point in trying to hide it. 

“Why would he need to know? This doesn’t concern him. He’s not the fath—.”

She practically honked with a huge laugh, blossoming from the back of her throat. You blushed, sinking back into your seat. Why would you even try to play dumb? You knew better than to do that with her. 

After wiping a little tear from below her eye, she sipped at her water. Sitting her glass down, she coughed a couple times and snorted with another giggle before continuing. “Please do not insult my intelligence like that.”

Weakly, you tried to defend yourself. “You believed me at the festival that we weren’t fucking anymore, so I just assumed–.”

“You think I believed that shit?!” She gawked at you– in disbelief that you’d thought that of her. “I just wasn’t going to push it out of you while you were so obviously in the depths of sorrow over that girl that was with him.”

Face flushing yet again, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. “‘Depths of sorrow’ is dramatic.” And true, you silently agreed with her. So incredibly, stupidly true.

“And you’re pregnant with Jake’s kid,” she pushed, wanting to hear you say it yourself.

You looked up at her through your lashes, not ready to say it out loud. But definitely needing to. . . and who better than your sister to say it out loud to for the very first time?

“Jake is the baby’s father, yes,” you said plainly, looking directly in her eyes as you said it. Then, immediately peering out the window, directly to your right. “Half him, half me,” you murmured, under your breath.

You pressed your shoulder, clad in your fluffy sweater, against the chilled glass. You still felt the coldness from the brisk autumn day through the thick windows. It calmed your heart which beat frantically against your breastbone. Talking out loud about Jake being the father of your child made reality slap you in the face. You were carrying Jake’s baby. Inside your womb was half of Jake and half of you. Together. Something you’d made. . . together. 

The thought of a part of him just floating around in your uterus was honestly jarring. . . but not unwelcome. Not unwelcome at all. No, in fact because the baby was half of him, you’d decided you had to keep it. Jake was the reason that the baby was a necessity to this world. A piece of the first man you’d ever. . . 

You shook your head amidst the raging thoughts, deciding to cut them off right. there. That was a path you did not want to venture down. 

Dangerous territory.

Knowing the baby was his and that fact being was the sole reason you had to keep it. . .that was big enough for you to acknowledge. Huge, actually. . . You couldn’t believe you’d let yourself face that so surely and honestly. But. . . that was something you refused to tell your sister. That was one thing for you and only you to know. It felt too personal to share–belonged in your heart alone.

The mother and child you were observing just outside Waffle House were about to get you lost in thought again . . . You could spend hours appreciating a true, authentic love between a mother and her child. You’d never had it, and it was just so unique in and of itself. A relationship that held its own definition of love. A love so lovely, precious, safe. . . wholesome.

You were desperate to create that for a child. Something you hadn’t had the privilege of experiencing. And the baby in your womb deserved to feel it. . . But could you do it? Or were you too much like your mom?

Before you could fall down that depressing rabbit hole, you slowly swiveled your head back in the direction of your sister. 

Then, without much contemplation, you unloaded. Told her everything. Informed her of the situation between you and Jake, how you started feeling iffy about all of it towards the end, and then how you’d decided to cut it off due to your desire to protect him. It rushed out of your mouth, with almost no thought and you honestly didn’t have time to consider anything before it slipped from your lips and into the air between the two of you. 

Elsie was watching you, eyes attentively following your every word and movement. She looked ready to help. As always. Her eyes, the color of the ocean and just as deep and sure as the waves that enveloped it. The overwhelming calm you felt after telling her, also similar to the ocean in its ability to offer peace. . . 

What she said first was not what you were expecting. No counsel. Just humility. 

“I’m sorry for what I said about you watching that girl with Jake at the festival,” she started, tucking her hands in her lap, expression sincere. “That was callous. Not the time.”

Wrinkling your brow, you argued back, unnecessarily defensive and overwrought with emotion after spilling all of that and for the life in your belly (lovely hormones). “I’m still me, Elsie,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

She raised a brow, combatting you. “Fine. If you’re still you, then I can say this: get the fuck over yourself and just be with him,” taking a drink of her coffee, she made a face. “Room temperature coffee is absolute balls,” she looked over her shoulder, trying to connect eyes with the waitress. 

You saw the woman head your way, and immediately got the hint when Elsie held the cup out with puppy dog eyes. “You’ve got it, sweet baby.”

“Thank you,” Elsie said, her voice that of a grateful servant to the woman. 

“You, with your food and drinks that must be so hot they burn your mout–.”

“We’re not done with you. So, shut up.”

“Jesus, Elsie! I–.”

Holding a perfectly manicured hand up, black nails flashing in front of you briefly, she cut you off. “No! I don’t want to hear any more of the bullshit. You’re literally having his baby. Get over this. . . thing in your head, and just be with him. You obviously want it. And I think he does, too.”

You sighed, the breath coming fully from your lungs. It wasn’t like you didn’t want it, too. . . it was just complicated. “It’s not that easy, Elsie,” you lamented. “There are several pieces to the puzzle.”

“Liiiiike . . .?” 

“Well, for one,” you held up a finger to start the count. “He has a girlfriend now.”

“No he doesn’t,” she scrunched her face, completely disagreeing. “He’s not with any–.”

“They showed up to the party together, Elsie. The girl from the festival. And they have a past. He was groping her all night last night and she never left his side,” you repeated the events aloud, your stomach rolling at the heinous thoughts. 

“Oh, shit,” her eyes got big, blowing out a slow breath. “I didn’t even realize. Josh and I–.”

“Were roaming the room for half of the night and preoccupied for the rest of it,” you said, shivering at the deplorable thought of your friend and sister. 

“I was with you for a good chunk of it, too, bitch,” she corrected, pointing at you. 

You stuck out your lip, nodding to agree. “You’re right. . .but you were also way too distracted by Josh to notice.”

She made the same face, mirroring you. “You are not wrong,” she grinned smartly, winking suggestively. “No regrets.”

“I’m going to puke on you.”

“Oh my god, please don’t,” she gagged. And then started singing a thank you as the waitress came back with your tickets and a fresh coffee. After dumping one million half and half cups into her mug, she took a hearty sip. When she sat it down, she practically vibrated in delight. “Oh hell yeah.”

“You know Josh hates coffee,” you noted. “Prefers tea.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. We’ve had many long debates over the ridiculous fact,” she growled. “He’s a miscreant when he wants to be.”

You laughed outright. “Yes he is. Little fuckin’ gremlin.” 

The sound that roared out of her was more reminiscent of a yell than a laugh, but it became a string of snorting and giggles that you joined in on. After a few minutes of enjoying the sound of the other’s laughter, you shook your head and scratched your brow before seeing your phone light up with a notification. 

Stupidly, your tummy fluttered at the possibility of it being Jake texting you. But then you remembered that he would absolutely not be texting you in his right mind. . . that was not where you were with him right now. You weren’t sure you’d ever be there with him again. And that thought made your tummy sink as soon as it’d fluttered. 

Though, the notification on your screen was enough to bring a little grin to your face, your eyes watering with the overwhelming excitement and joy that ignited in your heart at the update from your Ovia Pregnancy app. 

Week 10: Congratulations, y/n! You’re heading into the tail end of your first trimester. Your baby is now the size of a kumquat and almost 1 ¼ inches long!

Not being able to help it, you turned your phone to Elsie so she could see the notification as well. 

She read through it, her mouth moving as she took in the words. A wide, toothy smile made its way to her face–her entire demeanor lighting up with you. Clutching both hands to her chest, her eyes were wet next time you saw them. Your own eyes filled with more tears at her reaction to it. 

“I’m so proud to be an aunt to your little kumquat baby!” She said, her voice actually quivering with emotion. 

“I’m glad you’re proud,” you responded with a sniffle, drying your undereyes with a Waffle House napkin. “I’m proud, too.”

Her smile turned close-mouthed, yet no less sincere and delighted. “You should be,” she paused, then her crying eyes dried a bit as her tone turned serious. “And Jake will be, too. I know it, babe,” she stopped, pondering a thought. “You are going to tell him, right?”

You didn’t have to think about your answer. He had to know. You wanted him too, really. “Yes.” Then, your tummy flipped. “ But I don’t know if he’ll be super excited when I do,” you shook your head. “This was not in the cards for him this year. . . I wouldn’t blame him if he rejected the idea of me being pregnant with his baby.”

“Well, he wouldn’t reject it. I can say that for certain–I’m dating his twin and I know Josh would never reject a baby,” she said, wiping at her face with her own napkin. “And, I’m going to argue the other part, too. . . it obviously was in the cards for him,” she reached a hand out towards you and you took it. “This happened for a reason, sis. A good one. And Jake will view it as such.”

“I just don’t want it to slow him down,” you squeezed her hand, looking down to where they entwined on the gray table. “I need him to keep going and chase his dream.”

She raised a brow, shook her head from side to side, once again disbelieving. “He will, y/n. He’ll keep going. Josh is– and he and I are dating?. . . What’s the difference?”

“Where do I start? Most importantly, I’m messed up in the head and I need to work on myself before I expose him to myself,” you insisted, bringing your hand back to place on your tummy. “And he and Josh are different. . .Josh has a drive that Jake doesn’t. Jake gave up his dream before and he’ll do it again if he’s allowed. And a baby is already damn near the most drastically life changing thing that could happen to a person. Could completely screw up his plans,” you sighed resolutely. It was clear to her that you were firm on this, so she sat back with open and considerate eyes to let you finish. “Best to keep things separate between us so he has one less thing that is tempting him to put himself last. A baby is enough.”

She hummed, taking it all in. After taking a moment, she gave a response. “I just have one question.”

“Yes?” You prepared yourself, raising a brow.

“What’s the difference between you and the girl?-- What’s her name anyway?”

“Maya,” ugh. Hate that name. “Her name is Maya. And she is normal where I am not.”

“O-kaaaay,” she replied, still unsure of the validity in your response. You didn’t know why she seemed so unsure. She knew you better than you knew yourself. She knew you were jacked up. She let out a massive sigh, then continued. “Well, I don’t personally think you know her well enough to make that assumption. She could be more detrimental to him than you–.”

“Not possib–.”

“And you could be exactly what he needs,” she said, almost in finality, though it was obvious she wasn’t done when she leaned forward, her tone hard and steadfast. “You’re also not as “jacked up” as you seem to believe you are. Have you got things to heal? Yes. But are you still one of the most incredible people that has ever walked this planet–if not the most incredible? Even more so, yes,” her eyes watered again, but she sniffed the tears away to say her last piece. “I think you could very well be exactly what Jake Kiszka needs to be complete. And even though I wasn’t around for all of the intricacies of you two, I should’ve caught on. Because I do know the way that man fucking looks at you. . . and dammit if I’ve ever seen another man look at a woman the way he looks at you. . . not even Josh with me or Grandpa with Grandma.”

Your heart swelled and your cheeks grew instantly red. Your blood buzzed in your veins. . . did he really look at you like that? 

Then, selfishly, you wondered if anyone else had noticed like Elsie had. . . like Josh. Fuck. Did he see how Jake looked at you? Had he already presumed things about you and Jake based on how his twin apparently, blatantly, ogled you? And then you realized, yet again, how you would have to obviously tell Josh of the baby. . . oh god; how would he react?

“I wish he wouldn’t,” you muttered. “I don’t need anyone to–.”

“To know?” She squeaked a giggle. “I’m sorry, babe. . . but I think your cover’s about to be totally blown within the next nine months.”

You groaned, placing your forehead in your hand as you blew your hair away from your face. “How will Josh react?” You moaned, halfway to yourself and halfway to her. 

“What?” 

You snapped up. “How in the hell is Josh going to react?!” You anxiously quizzed her, eyes wild. “He is already going to be hurt that I kept it from him. And then there’s the reason I kept it from him in the first place. . .,” you felt tears well in your throat right before you nearly slammed your head on your crossed arms, which laid against the table, dramatically. 

Okay, these hormones can fuck right off. 

“Why’s that, sissy?” She carefully inquired, tone soft, not judging your reaction the way you internally were. “Remind me again.”

You moaned, raising your head and willing the tears away. “He made it so incredibly clear to me how Jake didn’t need another woman infiltrating his life and distracting him. And how Jake needed this time to discover himself for the first time in his life. . . and I’ve completely ignored that desire of his,” a lone tear slipped from your ducts. “I’ve betrayed him. Selfishly.”

Letting the words sit in the air between you, she waited a couple of beats before inserting her two cents. “When does Jake finally get what he wants?”

You wrinkled a brow, tears completely dissipating out of curiosity for her next words.

“I mean. . .” she started, making a thoughtful smacking sound with her mouth. “Josh thinks he can call the shots. You think you can just decide to not let yourself ruin his life? Like, what the hell, first of all? And second of all. . . what if he doesn’t care about any of that shit and just wants you? Did you ever take a second to consider that?”

“Yes, Elsie,” you growled, defensive once again. “And that’s why I’m keeping the ball in my court. I’m protecting him. And that was Josh’s intent, too.”

“I don’t know where you two get off acting like Jake isn’t a grown ass man who can make his own decisions. . .,” she trailed off, flashing an irritated look out the window. 

You did not want to get into this right now. The conversation was trailing much further than you fucking wanted. Your nerves were practically electrifying you and your head felt heavy.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Elsie,” you shortly bit out at her. She snapped her head back at you, her eyes still on fire. You stayed firm. “I’m done talking about all of that shit,” your hands laid safely on your lower, swelling tummy. “I have bigger things to consider now,” after glancing down at your stomach, you hit her with another stern glare. “So drop it.”

Her chest was heaving. 

You were not sure what was happening; why was she suddenly so “Team Jake”? When had that happened? And again, why? 

“Fine,” she conceded, sniffing resolutely once and then went to sip her coffee. Which, by the look on her face, was cold again. “Yuck. Can we bust this joint and go to Starbs? I need the sweet stuff.”

You sighed with relief at the change in subject. “Yes,” you smiled. “Let’s.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

It was just you and your sister in the open apartment, which was now completely cleaned from last night’s festivities due to your obsessive-compulsive cleaning. Though, you couldn’t help but notice when you’d come back from breakfast, Jake had been gone and the apartment looked much better than when you’d left with Elsie. It felt nice that he cared for the apartment, too–enough to try to keep it clean. 

You trained your thoughts on Elsie, as she waited at the door to leave, bags completely packed, awaiting her Uber to the airport (you were, unfortunately, so suddenly fucking tired that you had decided you weren’t fit to drive her). 

You didn’t want to let her go. She was your one person who knew now, and no matter how much she challenged your stance on Jake, she was still your sister and your person and you needed her with you during this time. . .

“Can you not just stay for a couple more days?” You tried once more, knowing better than to ask, as she’d repeated the words more than once now. “Let them know your sister is having an existential crisis and needs you?”

She huffed with a grin, rolling her eyes. “You are literally fine,” she reassured, reaching a hand out to hold your arm. But instead of letting it stop there, you fell into it and let yourself fall into her–let yourself wrap both of your arms around her shoulders, hugging yourself tightly to her. 

“Please don’t leave,” you moaned, your voice so meek it was straight up depressing. “I need you.”

She hugged you back, dropped her duffel off her shoulder in the process of embracing you. “I always need you, sissy,” she agreed. “But I’m just a FaceTime or text away,” she assured you, combing her hands through your wet hair, having taken a shower while she’d been gone saying her goodbyes to Josh. “I’m here. And you have people here. You just need to let. them. in.”

“I know. . .,” you sighed hotly into her natural curls. “I’m just so scared to tell Jo–.”

“I’m tired of hearing that, babe,” she asserted firmly. “Because the last person you need to be scared to tell is Joshua,” she stated, leaving no room for argument, right in your ear. “And if you think about it, you know him well enough to fucking know that. So get out of your maze of thoughts and know the truth.”

She was right. . . Truly, you knew she was. You knew his heart. But. . . “How will I even. . .?” 

Pulling away from you, she kept her hands wrapped around your forearms, keeping a caring hold on you. Keeping you near. “I’ve actually been thinking about this, like, all day. . . but the first thing that came to my mind is what I keep going back to.”

You waited for more, but she didn’t continue her thought. Impatient, you asked. “Which is. . .?”

“Invite him to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe your. . .first?” she offered, questioning the last part. But sounded completely sure of her idea. “It’s the perfect way to break it to him. And. . .if I’m correct, I’m assuming you haven’t had one yet since you just decided to keep it?”

“Yeah. . . no appointment yet. So, I could. . .ugh,” you answered. “But– why? How–? Will he–?”

“It’s the ideal situation because he will feel like he’s being helpful and loving. He’ll be able to be there for you. He’ll feel needed and involved and that is literally all Josh wants in general in life, so. . .”

“It’s perfect,” you weakly agreed. It really was. You couldn’t deny it.

“Yes, it is,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder and lifted her duffel bag back over her shoulder. “I came up with it.”

You scoffed. “Okay, now. Don’t get a big fuckin’ head, loser.”

“Bitch,” she bit back, shoving your shoulder. 

Rubbing your shoulder in faux pain, you gave her a pitiful expression. “Elsie. I am with child, you need to be careful with me now.”

Bursting with a chuckle, straight from her chest, she shoved your other shoulder. “I’m not touching the damn stomach, so I’m good.” 

You shoved her back, dropping the act and giggling with her. “You right, you right,” you said. Then, your thoughts came back to the task at hand. The baby that was squirming around in you. “I’m still scared.”

“That’s another perfect aspect of telling him in that scenario though,” she added, assuring you with her opinion. “You can’t back out. You’ll have to tell him if he meets you at the doctor’s office or takes you there or whatever the hell he does. . . you’ll have no choice but to tell him before you go in. And he’ll just have to take it,” she said, her plan sounding, admittedly, concrete. “He will survive,” she dropped her hands from your arms and looped her belt bag around her chest before placing a hand delicately to your cheek. “I promise he’ll survive.”

Just then, her phone dinged, indicating her Uber had arrived. So, with many “I love you’s” and a few curse words, you were following her down the stairs, then hugging her tightly once more outside of her awaiting Uber. 

And as you watched her leave the parking lot, the tears started to flow. So. many. tears. Steady, hard, relentless weeping. . . 

The emotions were obviously true, yes, but the hormones–and your current, lonely headspace– were amplifying the already-existing emotions of her leaving to an incredibly irritating degree.

But before you could lose yourself in them any more, you heard a door to a car shut to your left, along with a laugh you knew all too well. Jake was home. 

And if you didn’t move, he was going to see you as a hysterical mess and you did not want his fucking pity right now. Last thing you needed. And worse, you also didn’t want to see his expression, for the chance it might be hard and uncaring. You also didn’t want to possibly see a certain woman arrive with him. 

You were sure she was with him. The feminine giggle you heard accompanying his endearing chuckles could be no one else.

So, instead of looking in his direction, you turned quickly on your heel and speed-walked up the stairs, a hand on your tummy to avoid any hurt to the kumquat baby. 

As soon as your back hit the closed door, you breathed a sigh, which turned into a long yawn. The kind that made you shiver with a sudden, urgent desire to sleep. You didn’t have to work today, you’d canceled study plans. . . So suddenly, you felt abundantly free and a nap sounded like the perfect remedy to the overwhelming emotions of your day.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Monday came and went before you even knew it was happening. As did Tuesday. As did Wednesday. And when Thursday came around, you had your Modern Poetry elective. The one class you had with someone you knew relatively well. 

You hadn’t made it a priority to make tons of friends while in school to get your degree–you’d had Josh and Elsie, and eventually Sammy and Danny. . .and that had been enough. 

But, when Theo had popped back up into your life, anytime you saw him in a class, it really did feel nice to be around someone familiar at school. Even though he was on the more annoying side, he was still a good confidant.

And especially with the massive course load this semester, having someone you knew around was helpful. Good for feeling less alone. He was somebody who was going through school with you; he got the overwhelming amount of pressure from school, too. He felt the senioritis, too. . . but, his case was slightly different. 

He was ready to be done with school so he could pursue this career he longed to have in writing, while you were just ready to be done. 

Initially, when you had started the semester, you were just ready to be out of Pratt because you felt like you were wasting your time on a degree you’d lost passion for (save for your minor in media studies which gave you the occasional music-related course).

Now you weren’t sure why you were ready to be done. What made you feel more anxious to put Pratt in the past now? Was it the burning desire to be done with a passionless major? Or did the life in your tummy have something to do with it? The thought of the baby you held inside honestly got your blood pumping more excitedly in your veins than a college degree ever could. 

You really only cared about ascertaining a healthy baby– no longer caring much for a piece of paper saying you had studied writing, uselessly, for four long years. 

But you had to make it through school. If not for you, for your baby. You didn’t have much longer left, and you owed it to that child to see this through. You had to find some drive though. So, in came Theo to help with that. He was great at encouraging others, and that was exactly what you needed while trudging through the sixteen hours of classes you’d enrolled in this semester. 

When you were getting up to leave for class that afternoon, you had your mind set on a big jar of baby pickles (stereotypical pregnant woman, much?). You were ready to get off campus and to the nearest grocery store for the deliciously tangy food. 

Before you could leave your two-person table, though, a hand came out to grab your arm as a way of stopping you. If you had acted on impulse, you would have whined and stomped your foot in protest at being kept from satisfying your pickle craving. 

But you didn’t act like a petulant child. Instead, you turned around, eyes opened and ready for whatever was needed from you. 

And when you looked behind your shoulder, Theo was there, a head or so above you, smiling and waiting for a response. 

“Yes?” You asked, semi-irritatedly, semi-sweetly. “What’s up?”

He just stared a little while longer, blinking rapidly before shaking his head. His blonde hair had grown out a bit and shook with the movement, eyes twinkling just enough, making your heart thump a little harder in your chest. 

Why in the hell? 

“I meant to ask you Tuesday, but you were gone before I could,” he started, adjusting his messenger bag over his shoulder. He shifted on his feet a little before peering curiously into your eyes. “Are you okay? I missed seeing you for our usual Sunday study time. . .”

You swallowed, slightly grumpy that he felt the need to pry. 

He’s just showing he cares, y/n, the angelic voice said, which now stopped by more occasionally than the negative one. 

Not wanting to tell him anything too personal (God, no), you went with the bare minimum. “A friend hosted a Halloween party at my place on Saturday, and my sister was actually in town for it,” you divulged, wrapping your fists tighter around the straps of your backpack. Please let me leave after this. “So I hung out with her yesterday while she was still in town.”

Not the whole truth, but not so much dishonesty to  me feel bad.

“Oh!” He said, a light hearted laugh accompanying his tone. “Cool. I remember from high school how close you two were.”

I remember how much she didn’t like you, you thought, feeling uneasy at past-Elsie’s opinion of the guy.

Was he really that bad though? He’d been great for you during high school. Even though it had only been a year of time with him, he had still been a decent person to have around during those formative years of your life. He had been considerate, kind, helpful. . . the only negative things you could remember were the few times he’d try to get you to calm down on unnecessary occasions. He could be occasionally judgmental, but wasn’t everyone to an extent?

And maybe you and Elsie had only been your average, overly sensitive high school girls and had thought he was worse than he actually was.

Because at this moment, all you could see were the green flecks in his blue eyes and how they caught the sun that shone in from the window behind you, and onto his pale face. The way he waited earnestly to hear your response made you feel special and valuable to him at this moment and what woman didn’t like that?

“Yeah,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear before folding your hands over your chest. Aaand, wincing, you quickly moved them away. Your boobs were especially tender with the extra pressure against them. Every day they seemed to get more sensitive to the touch, feeling heavier–fuller. “We’re still that close. Probably closer now, actually. After living together, and then her job forcing her to be far away often. . .,” you trailed off, sad at the thought of her being so far away all the damn time. “We’re forced to communicate way more than we ever have before.”

He nodded, winking at you. And although he was cute, you didn’t feel anything at the wink, really. It didn’t swirl your tummy with nerves like it would with someone. . .else. You chalked it up to the craving that was still distracting you, making your tummy growl. 

He cleared his throat before he tucked one hand in a jeans pocket and one tighter around the strap of his bag. “Intentional is the word,” he added with another wink, seeming to understand to a degree. But you caught the aggravating ‘know-it-all’ attitude. Tipping his head, he looked at you with smiling eyes. “You okay?” He motioned with his hand at your neck-chest region.

Your brow furrowed, confused. Defenses were instantly raised and you took a step back, tucking your hands into your back pockets. “Yes?” You retorted, tilting your head to challenge him. “Why?”

“Just saw you flinch and all,” he said, in wonder at your tone. When he spoke next, he no longer seemed understanding, only misunderstanding. “Nothing big. Don’t worry,” he held his hands out, as if calming a tiger. 

You felt stupid for overreacting, so you covered your tracks with a forced giggle, masking the situation the best you could with a straight-up (ironic) lie. “Just a certain time of the month,” you explained extremely falsely. “Overly reactive to everything right now.” That was true. 

“Oh,” he pointed a finger at you, pretending to get it. “Makes sense.”

Okay, you thought, squinting at him as he looked to the side with a sort of confidence. Maybe Elsie had been onto something. . . 

But then he peered down at you again with his sparkly eyes and shaggy, naturally blonde hair.  It made you feel a little weak for the guy, even with him irritating you.

But why was he irritating you, exactly? Maybe your emotions were controlling you a little too much– getting too easily offended thanks to the hormones. . . Perhaps he was just acting like a normal human, while you were the one who wasn't reacting like a normal human.

Your stomach was fucking growling though. . .Theo didn’t matter worth fuck at that moment. What did matter was how badly your body was craving eating for two. If you didn’t eat soon, you were afraid you would faint from lack of sustenance (you definitely wouldn’t, but there were the over-reactive feelings again). 

You started backing up, and made it just next to the table when you were saying your next words. “I’m going to go ahead and get out of her–.”

“Wait!”

Having just turned on your heel, your face was hidden from view, and you were able to roll your eyes when you heard him. You weren’t going to stop though. He could follow you to the parking lot. You were hungry and grouchy and ready to eat an entire jar of pickles before crashing hard against your sheets. Before you had to show up at the B&G for the evening shift.

“Follow me,” you said, short, only looking over your shoulder at him briefly before continuing your trek. But please don’t talk for long. 

You were just outside North Hall when you decided to stop, so you wouldn’t have to fear him stalling you at your car.

“What’s up?” You asked, playing cool despite your desire to grumble. 

“I actually– I just thought–,” he laughed, seemingly at himself. He scratched behind his ear. Then he stood up straight, determined after tucking both hands into his front pockets and clearing his throat for the second time that day. You noticed his jeans, dark wash, skinny, and complimenting his firm thighs. “I wanted to ask you to hang out with me sometime– outside of here.”

Seriously? He was stopping your pickle eating for this?

You couldn’t help the snicker that escaped you, confused. “We do hang out,” you grasped tightly to the straps of your backpack again, anxious to get food. Already tired of him. “Every Sunday.”

“Well, yeah,” he agreed, pausing. Then he grinned in a way you assumed he thought was cute. But all it really did was make your eyes hurt from the inability to roll, out of courtesy for him. He continued, taking a step closer. Your hands did start perspiring and your heart sped up positively at his proximity. “But I thought maybe we could do something not related to school?”

You opened your mouth to reject it–you were not interested. For many reasons. The biggest being the baby in your belly. . .

Although, the more you pondered the baby, you realized more than that, you were hesitant because of his or her father.

Not the child, but Jake. The man that was ever-present in your mind– with his beautiful, brunette hair, eyes the color of understanding, easing you in the most complex situations. . . and the heart that’d made the world suddenly make sense. . . (Which still scared the hell out of you, by the way.)

But. . .as the thoughts spiraled, it all started to have the opposite effect. Made you want to agree.

So, you did.

You said yes to hanging out with Theo. Because, as soon as that thought process had started derailing, you knew it was best to agree. The idea of hanging out with him seemed like a great distraction from Jake. A much needed one.

What you had with Jake was nothing and it was in the past. For a reason. 

After you watched him smile wide and say he’d text you, he went to join a heap of Pratt’s fraternity boys. You could only hope that maybe getting out there and hanging out with someone else would get your mind off of Jake. 

You did not want it going further than a few dates with Theo. Just a little time with Theo would surely be all it took to get your headspace cleared and make it easier to navigate life. 

The repercussions to its ending were literally nothing. You’d switch seats in class and force yourself through school with the occasional encouragement from Elsie. Theo was not a necessary addition to your life long-term, but you figured he could help you short-term, while also creating long lasting benefits.

Surely you could divert your thoughts from Jake. Think of the child first, and put its father on the backburner as you weaved through this next chapter in your life. . . No matter how badly you wanted him with you through all of it, experiencing it all first hand with you, it was the wiser decision to keep things separate. 

And, as an additional help, Theo would make it obvious to Jake that you were willing to keep your life separate. 

So, when you did eventually tell Jake (dear fucking God), there would be an additional party that emphasized you’d moved on and all that mattered now was the baby. 

Not the two of you. That ship needed to sail. 

Even though the thought made your stomach hurt like hell and tears well in your eyes as you pulled into the nearest Trader Joe’s for pickles. . . you knew it was the truth.

-🌼🌼🌼-

That evening, you took a longer route to work, choosing to listen to a podcast you’d found. 

Having listened to the first episode on the way to school that morning, you decided to fill your cup with another episode on the way to work. 

It was a magnificent podcast that was all about the ‘ins and outs’ of pregnancy, being a new mother, and how to grow mentally and emotionally during such a unique time.

The second episode was going just as well as the first until you heard one of the moderators’ voices get low and forlorn. 

“You know ladies. . . the first time I got pregnant is planted firmer in my memory than any of my other pregnancies,” she said, sighing heavily. 

“Oh, yeah, Jen,” another moderator said, voice growing dim with Jen’s, apparently (you were still getting accustomed to their names). “I bet, babe. . . The ones that are lost are the ones that stick so close it fuckin’ hurts and heals at the same time. . .”

“Agreed, Tally,” the third—and last—speaker on the podcast chimed in. “I’ll touch on my story after Jen.” 

“Thanks, Molly,” Jen’s voice rang through your speakers again. “Yeah, it’s just a different feeling when they’re there and then suddenly they’re not. . . When you imagine holding them in your arms for God knows how long and then it suddenly becomes impossible to do so,” Jen sniffed, and just as she did, you felt a tear hit your own cheek. God, you were hurting with her. “Every woman is different, but I just hang onto my loss like nothing else. And not necessarily in a bad way— just in an attempt to sort of keep the baby here with me— Give her the life she never got to fully live.”

Dammit, the tears wouldn’t let up. They were trailing down your cheeks steadily. When you got to the next stop light, you had to grab a napkin from your glovebox to blot at your cheeks, already marked with black streaks of mascara. Thankfully you could still wipe them up easily, not dried to your skin quite yet. But you knew the crying wouldn’t be letting up soon. Your emotions had been triggered and you would be seeing this sadness through. (Hello, pregnancy hormones.) 

You took turns holding the napkin under each eye, making sure to catch the tears as they continued. 

“I’m right there with you, Jenny,” a voice you now recognized as Molly’s said. “Even though my stories are a little different.”

Stories? 

God. You kept your eyes on the road as you popped open the glovebox once more, grabbing a fistful of left-over restaurant napkins. 

Sitting them on top of your legging-clad thighs, right where you could reach them, you took a right turn towards the B&G. 

“I’m sure we have listeners who will relate to all of these stories,” Tally interjected, sniffing. “Both of you girls.”

“I hope we’re able to help someone,” Jen responded, voice still thick, but not so bad as before. 

You heard a sigh before Molly started speaking again. “The first time I carried was very similar to Jenny’s. Lost the baby. Early on. The worst loss I’ve ever experienced—I will never understand why we lose them,” her voice shook with sadness. But, it soon transitioned to a hot flash of irate frustration when she spoke next. “I will also never understand the people who invalidate our experiences just because they were lost in the womb or lost as little tiny babies. . . Just because they weren’t full grown people, outside of the womb, when it happened. . . doesn’t make it hurt any less. You have just as much to mourn for the life they completely lost.” And just as soon as she was firm, her voice was soft again. “The life we lost before it was time.”

The other two agreed, voices low out of respect for the moment. 

“Then there was my second. . .,” she blew out a breath, as if preparing. She gave a half-laugh. “Strange occurrence. . .”

“But it happens!” One of the other two chimed in. 

“Sure as hell does,” Molly said. “The second time I carried, I had a hysterical pregnancy– a case that only 6 women in 22,000 experience. . .”

“I can’t imagine. . .,” Tally breathed a sigh out. “Your body, tricking you like that.”

“Yeah, and it felt completely real– like everything you’d expect,” she replied, thoughtful. “Like everything I experienced with the one I’d lost before. . . And, God, it was so incredibly hard to get through once I found out what my body had done to me. . . I just wanted a healthy baby–especially after the loss. I was still hurting badly from losing the first when it happened. Almost like my body was playing tricks on me just to see how far I could stretch mentally and emotionally,” she laughed under her breath, in spite of it all. 

“So fucking cruel, babe. . .”

But you weren’t focusing hard enough to know who was talking anymore. You’d caught on to the stories they’d told and now you were over analyzing your situation. . . Questioning everything. . . Was this real? Was there a baby there? Were you having a hysterical pregnancy? Was your body playing tricks on you? 

Or, had you been pregnant, and had now lost the baby like those women had? Were you still carrying the life you’d started planning around? The little life you were becoming more and more attached to by the day?

Had you ever been carrying it? 

As you pulled into work, you put one shaking hand on your rounded lower belly.

- 🌼🌼🌼-

Suffice to say, your entire evening shift was spent in over-contemplation and searching miscarriages, hysterical pregnancies, and semi-local OBGYN’s during the lull of customers. 

As you’d searched online for a clinic, you were not looking for places too close, as you didn’t want God and everybody seeing you enter the clinic on a regular basis (if you, in fact, were to find out you were carrying a tiny little bean-baby). You sure as hell didn’t need anyone to start questioning you before you were ready to offer up answers. 

Once you finally left your longest shift ever, you drove home in deep thought and drowning silence. 

Your research over miscarriages and hysterical pregnancies had done you very little good. They’d actually done you no good at all, if you were being honest. Everything you’d read made you question a lot.

Because, everything that could possibly reassure you was also possible in a hysterical pregnancy or a miscarriage.

One: your growing tummy (which could continue growing in both of the sad, unwanted instances). Two: your hurting breasts (which could still hurt in both sad, unwanted instances). And three: your nausea (which could still occur in both sad, unwanted instances).

Once at home, you took a hot second getting ready for bed— lost in thought, you decided to try to tiring yourself with a bath, complete with lavender scented bath salts and bubbles. Once you were finally in bed, cozy in your softest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, you tried so hard to force yourself to sleep. You didn’t want to have to wait any longer to call the nice little clinic you’d found. 

And you sure as hell weren’t hungry. Didn’t want to eat with your stomach spinning with so many nerves.

And, the sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you could call the clinic and schedule an appointment. 

- 🌼🌼🌼-

But, after laying there for what felt like hours– the sounds of calming ocean waves playing through your phone and everything– you were still awake. 

You were drowning in all of the thoughts. Drown-ing. 

One that was flashing brightly at the front of your mind was why you even cared so much. And, the more you thought about it, tossing and turning, you realized you’d found the most unique, fulfilling form of reassurance in carrying the child. You wanted this baby. It had happened without you even meaning it to. . . but you wanted this baby so. fucking. badly. You’d tried damn hard not to want the little thing, but now that you’d spent so much time pondering it and holding your tummy? There was no question about any of it. You just wanted your baby and you couldn’t figure out how to explain it.

After rolling around far too much in bed, you realized you still hadn’t heard the telling sounds of Jake coming home. So, you decided to venture out into the living room to let a TV show distract you. Hopefully distract you enough to go to sleep. Pillow, Stanley, and phone in hand, you grabbed the fluffiest blanket from your blanket basket and nestled into your couch. 

Just as you’d turned the TV to Friends–wanting to feel closer to Elsie, but not feeling brave enough to talk to her whilst already being so emotional–, you heard the sound of a key jingling in the locked doorknob. And then the door was opening and you were looking behind you at the sound— for God knows what reason.

Then he was all you saw.

Jake.

Clad in the most handsome black, felt peacoat, the top of his head hidden by a black beanie. . . the chilly evening’s attire suited him so well that it brought a ridiculous tear to your eye. 

So devastatingly handsome and not at all mine, your thoughts became enveloped with storm clouds.

Thankfully he didn’t see you staring, as he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact as he went about setting his keys in the bowl and taking his coat off to hang it on the rack by the door. And, as his actions cemented your thoughts, your eyes became wetter, a tear falling down your cheek for this stupid ass, cruel reality that you’d created. Even if you had done it for a good reason—and you had—it still sucked big ass. 

But, just as soon as your eyes were growing teary, your heart was beating erratically in your chest. The sight of the soft, tanned skin between the opened lapels of his shirt— exposed after taking off the coat. And the silver necklaces that clanged against his bare chest were the same he’d worn for Halloween. . . Your mouth watered as you observed the way they fell between his pecs which rose and fell with balanced breaths. . . 

Seriously, fuck these hormones.

Before you could get lost in the roundness of his ass through his jeans, he turned to the counter once more. You flipped back to your original spot on the couch. You decided to 

feign any knowledge of him being home, curling into a little ball on the couch and closing your eyes to fake sleep. 

When you heard him make a stop at his bedroom and then heard the bathroom door click shut, you stayed wrapped in your cocoon on the couch. And before too long, you felt yourself fading to black, one final tear slipping past your closed lids as Rachel and Ross argued over being on a break.

-🌼🌼🌼-

Initially, you weren’t sure what it was that brought you back from such a deep slumber. But, once you heard him, you knew. The deep, raspy laugh that was slightly muffled through you gaining consciousness. 

Why was he in the living room? Was he? Was this your imagination? A taunting dream?

You cracked an eye open the slightest bit to allow some adjustment to the light you’d shut your eyes to. But. . . There was no overhead light. It was off. The room would’ve been pitch black, save for your standing lamp’s yellow glow and the blue light from your TV. 

More importantly, the warning feeling of a crick in your neck was suddenly catching your attention. So, without worrying about your company, you quickly sat up to attempt getting more comfortable. You didn’t want to feel awkward around him, but you also didn’t want to deal with a hitch in your neck or a migraine in the morning. 

The loud yawn that escaped you once you’d sat up couldn’t be helped. You were slightly embarrassed at the obnoxiously loud noise that emitted from your mouth as you stretched. Blushing, you glanced over at your fellow living room occupant to see if he’d even noticed. 

And, of course, he had. 

He was staring at you—but. . . not judgmentally. Not at all. In fact, his eyes held the natural, reassuring lightness that occupied your sweetest recent memories. And the small grin on his face. . . was shocking, to say the least. 

Why was he acting so okay with you? He’d been so distant recently. . .

You knit your eyebrows together, hyper aware of his presence and needing answers as to why he had decided to sit next to you. 

“What are you doing here?” You clipped, tone sharp. You brought your blanket all the way up to your chin and around your shoulders, as a way to protect yourself from the (obviously) harmless man. 

Although, you instantly regretted it as his expression became apprehensive rather than open like seconds before. 

Why do you have to go and ruin everything, y/n? 

He leaned back, his eyebrows furrowed as he balanced a bowl of (. . . macaroni and cheese? Fuck, that looked good.) on his knee, holding onto it with one hand. “I live here, y/n.”

And yet another memory was flashing back to you from the night you got high. . . his breath, hot on your neck, your skin erupting in goosebumps as he said similar words then– your skin flaming now, too. Just the sound of his voice could elicit the most from you. Fuck your pregnant feelings.

Or were they just feelings? The fear came rushing back the moment you thought yourself pregnant. . . was there a baby in there? God, fuck. . . you really didn’t want to sit in this train of thought again. 

You figured you might as well use your company to distract you. . . .You missed talking to him anyways–missed it so damn bad. 

But your tummy interrupted you. The growl that emitted from it was fucking humiliating, honestly, but it had happened. And after eyeing you curiously for a minute, Jake’s lips turned up with a one breathy laugh, his beautiful pearly whites on full display. God, he was handsome.

“You hungry?” He questioned, lifting his mac and cheese. “I made more of this. It’s just the shit Kraft, but it still hits the spot.”

Nodding, you went to hesitantly get up to get some. You really didn’t want to move from under the security of your warm, cozy blanket. 

“No, just wait here,” he insisted, standing. His pajama pants were your favorites (the ones he didn’t normally wear underwear with). But you did not watch his crotch for movement. Your eyes were just staring at the wrong place at the wrong time. Really. “I have to wash my bowl anyway. I’ll put the rest in a bowl for you while I’m up.” 

Again, why was he being so fucking nice? But you weren’t about to disagree. You were comfy and hungry and he was offering. It felt like old times and you felt like being momentarily delusional.

“Okay,” you quietly agreed, your eyes shifted, unsure to his face. But he was moving before you could look at him. Back to the kitchen. After a few moments, he was back, handing you a little white bowl with a spoon. The scrumptious, cheesy noodles made your eyes light up. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, responding as though elsewhere. This was weird and you hated how it all felt. But he kept talking, filling the air as he sat a beer on the end table beside him, before sitting back down in the chair. “I had to get a beer anyway. Long day with the guys and May–,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shutting briefly as he shook his head.

Fuck. Thanks, Jake, you thought, your eyes on the verge of welling with tears. The moments of silence, hanging in the air, closing in around you. Not fucking now, hormones.

All you wanted to do was ask why it had been a long day. Get more information that might hurt you. Why did you do that to yourself? 

Though, before you could say anything, he continued. Awkwardly, his eyes flashing momentarily to the TV to reset as he spoke. “Long day. I should’ve asked if you wanted one.”

Your cheeks heated. . . little did he know. “I’m good,” you mumbled, looking down at your bowl. Stomach sinking with your thoughts from earlier, you decided to eat before you lost your appetite again. Not the time to be sad. “Thanks though.”

The next few minutes went by in a silence you wanted to stab with a fucking knife. It was seriously unpleasant and sucked ass. After you both laughed at a certain thing Joey said, you figured you might as well try to keep some sort of conversation going. Because, god, you missed him. 

“I meant in here, by the way,” you motioned with your head to the space around you, mouth full. (Ladylike.) 

His brow raised as he looked from the screen to you, setting his gaze on you. “What are you–?”

“My question. Why you were here,” you embarrassingly restated, hearing how it must’ve sounded. “In the living room. With me. Why you were in here, in the living room, with me, of all places.”

He sat further back, but this time going to sit in the armchair comfortably. His feet propped up on the ottoman across from him. “Well,” he covered his mouth, coughing briefly into his fist. “To be fair– you were sleeping when I came to sit down in here.” 

Rather than being unnecessarily hurt over him only wanting to be in the same room as a sleeping version of you, you let yourself give in to the temptation and take advantage of him being distracted by his next task. You missed everything about him. . . even such a simple thing as watching him move.

Pathetic. And, because your mind hated you, it felt like you were watching him move in slow motion.

You watched in a daze as he leaned over to the tall lamp’s attached table, his self-cut gray t-shirt rising up at his hips to show his firm abdomen flex with the stretch. It shouldn’t be so fucking hot to watch someone reach for a fucking beer bottle. But, the sight that greeted you next was worse than seeing his side peeking from his shirt. What you saw next were his full, pink lips, wrapping just right around the glass top of his beer bottle as he took a generous sip of his Miller Lite. You admired, mouth open as his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each gulp of the beer. 

But when he went to repeat his action of leaning over the chair to set the bottle back, you decided to look away so as to save yourself from the torture (or, from the possibility of being caught). You took a bite of the mac and cheese, growing cold in your bowl.

Your heart was already hammering much too erratically from glimpsing these ridiculously mundane motions. . . fuck it all. The heat from being so near to him and watching him settled from your head all the way to the pit of your tummy. You swallowed down your bite thickly.

Your tummy.

“Yeah,” you muttered, awkwardly – you just wanted to have a conversation to get your mind off things. Problem was, you didn’t know where to necessarily start with him these days. . . Work? The band? Maya? God, no. . . gag.

Lucky for you, he took the initiative before you had much longer to overthink it. “I’m glad you woke up, though.” He pulled at his plaid pajama bottoms as he scooted up again, going back to get comfortable on the ottoman. Sitting with his legs spread (dammit), he balanced his elbows on his knees as he reached for his phone in his pocket. “I actually wanted to run something past you.”

God, please don’t say you found a place and you’re moving out. . . you thought, suddenly downcast and dreading what he was about to say. Or that you’re moving out to live with her.

You swallowed the thickness in your throat, trying to alleviate the unwarranted nerves before responding. Dispelling them with food, you took one more bite before swallowing it to talk. “And what’s that?” 

So what if he wanted to move out? He damn well could. He surely had the money and you two weren’t involved. 

He scrolled for a few more moments, your heart thump-thump-thumping without relenting. . . And finally, he found what he was looking for and before you had time to prepare, his eyes were sinking into yours earnestly. 

God. . . what is he about to sa–?

“I found a place for you to get therapy,” he stated, tone soft and careful. 

Therapy? Safe to say you were not expecting those words. 

And rather than being nervous, your emotions shifted to defensiveness. Where did he get off looking into that for you? Why was he . . .? Was he talking about the promise he’d made in his bed? That same night you’d panicked at your grandparents’? He’d remembered to do that? Why did he even care, still? You didn’t deserve for him to care– didn’t want him to care. It felt uncomfortable. 

“Why?” You sharply asked, holding your bowl in stiff hands on your lap. 

He leveled you with a look that said ‘cut it out.’ Did he really know where your thoughts were trailing? Was he still that in tune with you? Surely not. He was probably just irritated with your tone of voice. “I told you I would look for you, so I’ve been keeping up my end of the deal. I’ve actually asked a few clients if they knew of any nearby therapists worth their salt,” he peeked back at his phone, scrolling on it when he spoke next. “And there are actually quite a few good ones in the area.”

Your heart still beat harshly in your chest as you felt your skin heat with rage. You set your bowl down on the coffee table. And, the blanket, suddenly suffocating you, was flung off without a thought. “So, what is this? Is this you saying I’m a fucking loony, Jake? I’m sure you’ve been desperate as fucking hell to get me help because you think I’m such a nutcase,” you spit. You sounded dramatic (and, admittedly, like a deranged woman). You knew that. If you were thinking sensibly, you’d know he didn’t believe those things. . . but you were embarrassed that he’d been thinking so hard about this. It hurt your feelings that he thought you needed help that badly. “I’m just so broken and damaged and insane that you’ve decided you need to get a damn shrink to fix me.” Your lap was a sudden magnet for your eyes, your hands entangled on your pajama bottoms. Now, the hot teardrop that hit your interlocked hands was not expected and you swiftly swiped at your cheek. “Thanks for thinking so long and hard and asking God and everybody to find the most qualified person to psychoanalyze the shit out of me,” you sniffled, a couple more tears falling before you willed them away and looked in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Jake.”

But he wasn’t flustered. . . no, he actually sat there and took it. The brow that had raised on his face as you spoke was the only indicator that he’d heard you. 

The emotions you were experiencing were big and uncalled for. . . but, you were stressed. Over a lot of things. Doubting a lot of things. Your life seemed like one humongous question mark and you were sleepy as fuck and it was all just catching the fuck up with you. 

He cleared his throat, glancing once more at his phone before setting it on the arm of the chair. A tiny smirk ghosted briefly over his lips before they were set in a flat line again as he spoke next. His eyes stayed trained on his own hands, now clasped as well. “Y/n. . . Please. You know I don’t fuckin’ think those things,” he tried quietly, slightly testy, but not harsh. Then his irises found yours once more, making your heart rate speed up. You did know that. . . You knew better. He was right. “You agreed to this. I wouldn’t have made a point to look into this if you hadn’t okayed it,” he stretched his hands out and then combed them through his long, chestnut locks. 

His jaw flexed and he eyed you once more, digging into the heart of this before going any deeper. “I don’t want to force it on you. I won’t go any further in this conversation if you don’t want it. This is your decision. You know I looked into therapists. That’s it. You choose where you want this to go and then I’ll either leave you alone or tell you what I found out.”

You felt bit by bit of your current guard break down as you slowly relented. Because, well, you did want to know what he’d found out. Absentmindedly, you glanced down at where you’d subconsciously placed your hands over your stomach. It was habit at this point. That one reason underneath your fingertips was pushing you to know what he’d come to know. If you were, in fact, with child, you were desperate to start therapy. Yeah, sure, you wanted to get help for your sake. . . but more-so the child’s sake. Because, honestly, if you were not with child, you weren’t really sure if you’d want to push yourself to do that– go through all of those intense measures and changes and emotions that you knew only therapy could bring.

There was a ginormous sneaking, sinking suspicion in your gut. The one that was telling you there was a helluva lot more simmering, boiling beneath the surface than you knew. There had to be. For all the blaming you’d put on Jake just now, you knew you were a basket case. And there were some good fucking reasons behind it that you had to get to the bottom of. 

You had to do it for your child. And, on the off chance that your worst fears would come to light and you weren’t actually pregnant, it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear Jake out. Listen to what he’d found. 

You mumbled your next words. “Do you think I need fixing?” Dear God–where had that vulnerability come from? Did you want to know his answer?

Jake brought a thumb and forefinger up to his chin as he scratched it in contemplation, still measuring you with a long look. “I think it’s more complex than that, y/n,” he breathed a sigh out, as if not sure how to say what he was actually thinking. 

And dammit– it hurt for him to not just respond with a simple “no, I don’t think you need fixing.” More complex? What the hell did that even mean? 

“Do you think I’m brok–?”

“No,” he sighed. Then, he had your heart leaping into your throat when, in one swift motion, he was standing and walking the ottoman closer to where you sat on the couch. When he plopped down, he didn’t touch you. . . but the closer proximity was enough. The way your eyes naturally flitted momentarily to where his chest steadily rose and fell. You breathed with him. He spoke his next words with a low rasp, eyes serious as they pored into yours. “You are not broken.”

Your heart fluttered, making its way back to its home in your chest. “Okay,” you muttered. You needed to hear him say that– more than you’d ever be comfortable admitting. Finally, you responded to his prior offer. You knew what you wanted. “Tell me what you found out.”

Jake watched you for a few more seconds before leaning back a little, reaching back to grab his phone from the arm of the chair he’d been sitting in. You averted your sight to your hands this time, not watching his movements. Your hands, which were still nestled nonchalantly on your tummy. 

“So,” he started. Your gaze flickered up to him, a lazy smile fitting to your face. You watched his lips move as he spoke. Honestly, you hated how safe he felt. It wrapped you up cozier than the blanket that’d been around you moments ago. And the sad reality: you couldn’t wrap yourself up in him. You’d have to take what you could get. “I found this place. About 30 minutes from us. It’s a bit of a lengthy drive, but I figured it was worth it. It’s a clinic that’s very well known by many people around here, I’ve found out.”

“Expensive?” 

“Eh. Yeah. Pricier than others,” he clicked his tongue, raised his brow. “But– I asked Josh offhandedly the other day what the insurance was like at the B&G to figure out if it was covered by your–.”

“What do you mean offhandedly?” You nudged, hoping he hadn’t divulged that it was about you. “You didn’t tell him–?”

“No. I just asked him as if I was comparing it to mine at the agency that I teach lessons through,” he reassured. You breathed in relief. He snickered. “I wouldn’t tell him anything about. . .,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from your face to the wall behind your head and then to his phone again. “Anyways. . . they’re covered by your insurance.”

At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if Josh found out. . . he was about to have a massive bomb dropped on him (by you, of course). But. . . you still didn’t really want him finding anything out from Jake. Didn’t want him hearing anything before you were ready. 

“Cool,” you grinned, trying to ease the tension. He opened his mouth to continue, but you stopped him before he could. “Thank you, by the way. For looking into this.”

He looked surprised and you hated that he seemed that way. You should have been more appreciative to begin with. . . this was such a selfless thing for him to do and you’d reacted by getting defensive and snapping. When that was the last thing he deserved. God, you were awful sometimes. 

He smiled, wide and close-lipped. “Of course. I told you I would.”

You nodded, looking back to your hands, which you’d let move to your lap. Didn’t want him catching on to you holding your stomach. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” he began, hesitantly. “I called them for a quote and asked about a specific therapist.”

“Why specific?” You questioned, scrunching your brows. 

“That leads into the next part, actually. . .,” he slowly continued, “She’s the only one at their practice that specializes in this unique form of therapy. A type I’ve read and researched on a fuck ton. . . I wanted to find the perfect method for your specific traumatic effects. So, I thought of the dreams. . . how you like control. . . I think it’s the type of therapy you could benefit most from.”

Damn. Way to call you out on your need for control. If anyone knew how much you desired control, though, you figured he did. But. . .now you were even more curious. . . because. . . you were venturing into different types? Wouldn’t just be sitting down with a shrink? What did he have in mind?

“And this type is. . .?”

His eyes light up, excitedly, as if he’s been dying to get to this part. “It’s called EMDR,” he voiced with a tinge of apprehension and elated anticipation. As you mouthed the letters under your breath, he clarified further. “Eye, E. Movement, M. Desensitization, D. And Reprocessing, R.”

You blinked a few times and shook your head. “Okay,” you stated slowly, placing your hands in front of you to indicate he needed to slow down. “What the fuck does all of that mean though?”

“Before I continue, I need you to know: I’ve done a shit ton of research and out of all of it, I’ve become really invested and interested in this type of therapy specifically. . . and for good reason. I’m really hopeful that it will help you,” he emphasized, eyes sincere. 

Your tummy did somersaults at how invested he’d become in all of this . . . but your mind stuttered momentarily at the flutter. You couldn’t help but get lost in the thought of a little bean in there and how you hoped to feel little kicks someday (obviously not yet, Jesus Christ), not just Jake-induced butterflies. God, you hoped there was a little thing in there. . . 

Jake’s steady, soft voice brought you back to the present and to his face that peered down at his phone, reading carefully. “To put it simply: it’s like a form of hypnosis. A way to force you to remember certain things so you can finally move on and heal from them.”

You blanched at that. “I’m going to be hypnotized?” To say you were second guessing this was a massive understatement. This EMDR shit could take a back seat. You were already apprehensive about getting help–even with the traditional approach. “I’m not down for hyp-fucking-nosis. Hell no. And all for the sake of remembering things I don’t really care to remember in the first place? I don’t think so, Jake,” you shook your head, toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your t-shirt. “I’m already taking a hugeass leap by being willing to go to therapy itself. I don’t need the voodoo shit . . . I’ll settle for the traditional approach,” you paused, not wanting to get too far ahead before showing your thanks. “But. . . thank you for–.”

“No, no. Listen,” he said, laying one hand on your knee for a blip of a second, your mind short-circuited at the touch. He damn sure had your attention now. “It’s different. Yes, you’ll remember things. But . . . well. . . Shit, I don’t know how to explain it in my own words. 

“Well, just send me a link and I’ll give it a read and we’ll settle–.”

“Quit,” he sternly said. “Quit saying that you’re going to settle. I don’t want you to settle. I want you to get to the root of this. . . so you can heal. Please. Hear me out,” he pleaded, the hand going back to rest on your knee for a few moments longer than last time before he removed it again. “It's–it’s more than remembering. It’s like— like your mind takes you back to the memory. You’re there all over again, living it a second time.”

“Yeah,” you went to stand up, but he moved with you, showing you he would follow you. So, you stayed put. Dear God, Jacob. “I don’t want to live the shit for a second time. Why the hell would I want to do that?“

“Do you want to fucking heal?” He snapped, his eyes searching yours for any sort of bullshit.

You blinked, “Damn,” you began, a sarcastic, irritated smirk on your face when you shook your head. Could he give you a break, maybe? Shit. But, still, you answered him. And his impatient, waiting eyes. Your answer was a no-brainer for you at this point. “Yes, Jake. I want to fucking heal.”

His jaw flexed as he let out a deep breath, through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. “So, please, y/n. . . just listen to me. Hear me out. You don’t have to do it. I just want you to let me explain it first,” he begged, eyes trained on yours, following every flicker of them. The unsureness you communicated through your gaze was balanced by the overwhelming sureness in his. You nodded for him to continue. He reciprocated the action, continuing with a deep breath in and and a deep breath out. “EMDR allows you to heal by letting you be in charge of your healing. You have the power to leave the situation this time. You’re in control of it now. It’s the past. But you have to face it. . . That’s part of it. . . The cool thing is, though. . . you can control whether you stay or leave a memory; you control how you move on from it.”

Well, goddammit. . . Of course he’d know just what to say to get you to finally listen to him. 

Control. That single word finally flicked the lightbulb on in your stubborn, jaded head. 

You paused heavily in your opposition, taking note of his far too sincere features. Perhaps he truly was just trying to help you, a sentiment that had always felt utterly foreign to you throughout your life. You’d held all of your guards up so high for so indescribably long. It took a lot for you to dare let anyone in aside from your sister (who, if you had to be honest, simply didn’t have a choice being your own flesh and blood. . .And given the fact that she lived it, too). 

But the harsh reality of the matter was, you had let Jake in. Too much. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the moment, you could’ve smirked at the irony of just how much– the possible little life in your tummy, a constant reminder in recent times. And, well, you’d definitely let him in enough that he knew you came with some serious trauma.

You watched him carefully, suddenly beginning to realize that the only reason you’d felt so reluctant to heed his guidance with this bizarre form of therapy. The reason you always doubted him– you couldn’t fathom the fact that he truly wanted to help you. 

But, time and again he seemed to prove you wrong. Even after you’d bitched him out to kingdom come in the kitchen months ago. There was no reason for him to want to help you. But here he was. With his research, his beautiful and honest eyes, the phone that he gripped with purpose with explanation after explanation, as if a lifeline. . .

He cared. Whether you could accept it or not. . .it didn’t change the fact that he actually cared. 

“I’ll go talk to the therapist,” you finally offered, relenting as much as you could at that moment. “I’ll feel it all out after I talk to her about it. . .,” you leveled, feeling fair in that decision. 

And he didn’t question, just shook his head with a lip stuck out. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.”

“How do I schedule the appointment?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next day was spent making strides towards your future. You scheduled the OBGYN appointment as soon as the clinic opened— being as that was the first, major priority. Setting that up had been simple. A date and time. The insurance you’d be using. Then, you’d hung up.

But, as soon as you’d set that up (and felt utter relief at having that panned out), you called the counseling practice Jake had told you about. And, you set up a therapy session with the woman Jake had given you the name of for the day before your first OB appointment. . . 

The counseling appointment was set up for the upcoming Monday. . . For some reason, when you’d been on the phone, scheduling for the nearest date available had seemed like the only logical option. But, it hadn’t been as cut and dry as your scheduling for the doctor’s appointment. There’d been a form. They’d informed you that they would email it for you to fill out with some general information (and a picture) before your first appointment. It was slightly daunting, but not totally unexpected, the more you’d thought about it. It was an understandably reasonable precursor to your first session. Just a few minor things to assist in your therapist knowing the most basic things about you before beginning. 

Doing it before the OB appointment had also seemed like a good idea. Talking to someone about the newfound worries to help you wade through the days to seeing the obstetrician. . . It seemed like a good plan of action. Made you feel more peace for the whole situation, honestly. 

So, that Friday, as you settled into your seat for a stupid ass writing course, you didn’t even care as you felt like other things were on the move. Honestly, at this point, you wanted to say fuck school and your distaste for the major you’d chosen. . . As they didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of it all. Bigger things were about to start happening. 

And you could only hope that what awaited you would be positive. . . Positive bigger things ahead. 

Bigger things that looked like real healing and a baby with Jake’s eyes.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The couch was leather and a little cold, even through your leggings. . . and the small office-room smelled like essential oils. It was reminiscent of a spa without the ambience music. 

The place didn’t need the music, though. . . the oils and general atmosphere were the perfect, calming mixture. . . Well thought out combination of smells and colors to ease the mind. 

But no therapist. Not yet. You’d been led by the secretary into a room where you now sat by yourself. She’d offered tea, coffee, and water, with a large, welcoming smile on her freckled face. You couldn’t refuse the offer, so you’d accepted the option of water. 

It had been in a bottle, and you clutched it tightly, opened only for the tiniest sip as you let your body relax as much as it could, leaning the slightest bit back into the couch. 

And you continued to wait. 

You watched the closed wooden door, your eyes wandering every now and then to the artwork that depicted gardens and fresh flowers. . . Some were beautiful paintings, while others were simple little drawings, or even real flowers, pressed in a glass frame. 

The walls were tinged with a light sage—the color, oddly easing to the mind. 

Then the knob was twisting open, matching the feeling of your nervous tummy. The muscles at the pit of your stomach flexed and flinched at the prospect of the therapist. What was she going to be like? Would she match the cool, relaxing environment of her office? You could only fucking hope. . .

Looking down at your hands to avoid any awkward eye contact, you took note of how badly you needed a manicure. . . damn. 

“Y/n?” A reposeful, gentle voice interrupted your nail critique. You looked up to acknowledge your long-awaited company. . . and man, was she completely different from your last therapist. The first thing you noticed was that she was. . . young. Mid-thirties at the very oldest. She was much younger than your aging counselor from the past. How long had she been doing this? “I’m Gianna. But all of my clients and closest friends call me Gia.”

“Gia,” you tried it out, letting a small smile fit to your face. It was a genuine smile– you were relieved. Without even really knowing her, you already felt so at ease with her. She was one of those people–like Elsie or Josh–who just carried a naturally empathetic, calming air. Made you feel like you were standing in the breeze on a warm spring day. “Nice to meet you.”

Her hair, naturally dark, but dyed beautifully to be a blonde-gray, was up in a styled messy bun. Lips, painted in the most beautiful naturally red tint. . . and the round, wire-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose complimented her soft features so incredibly well. The freckles on her pale face, visible through the circular frames. Her cheeks were tinged with a perfectly rosy blush, and they swelled with your greeting. 

She adjusted her loose, beige overalls over her off-white, long-sleeved mock neck. The overalls were the fabric ones that’d gone viral (which helped you to note how incredibly trendy she was, if you hadn’t already been able to guess that). She inhaled and exhaled easily, her lips quirking even more than before. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n,” she repeated back to you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to make my entrance. I like to give my people some time to adjust to the space before they’re bombarded with all of the therapy stuff. It’s an important thing to me.” Then her leg was being bent to balance her white, platform converse on the seat of her pale pink rolling chair. “Before we begin. . . I also need you to know that my office has a completely open door policy. If, at any moment, you start feeling uncomfortable, please let me know and you may leave to take a break, or simply leave the practice to adjust your thoughts before the next session. Won’t charge you for the whole time or anything. . .,” she added the last part, surely as another financially conscientious adult. “I just know that sometimes this shit gets tough–baring all of it and having to get through it. . . it’s rarely easy, and I want to be able to foster a healthy, resting environment for you as you wade through all of it.”

“Wow,” you blinked, your heart warm in your chest as you let yourself sink a little further into the couch, shoulders loosening just a bit. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

Winking, she brought the mug up to her lips that she’d carried in with her. After taking a sip, she sat it on her desk and then wrapped both arms around her bent leg. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me and my profession before we begin?”

You pondered that, always having questions swirling in your head. “Just general things,” you snorted, playing it off. “Stupid, basic shit that I don’t need answered.”

“Nothing is stupid in here, sweets,” she said firmly, her eyes communicating more than the words she’d said. “Sometimes misguided and confused, yes, but never stupid.” She used the foot on the ground to swing the chair from side to side, ever-so-slightly. “Sooo, shoot. Ask anything you’d like–basic or not.”

Blinking at her again, you let your grip on your water bottle ease up. “Oh, um,” you quietly began. You scrambled for the right words. “Well, I guess I was wondering how long you’ve been doing this?”

She giggled. “Oh, sure. . . I’ve been practicing for about five years. Administered EMDR for the past two or so. . .” Her cheeks were still rosy with a gentle smile when she spoke next. “I will ask, though. . . did you not check out the website prior to this?”

Fuck. You hadn’t thought to do that. That was strange. . . usually you’d jump at the chance of looking into anything and everything before diving head first into something. Especially something as serious as a life-changing thing like therapy and the person you’d be inevitably baring your soul to. What in the fuck? Why hadn’t you thought to do that?

“I– um,” you searched her eyes, as if they held your answer. “I didn’t. Which is strange for me.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” she said, grabbing her mug from her desk again. But before taking a sip, she continued. “I just noted on your form that you like having control over the things that transpire in your life. And checking the website to do some solid research seems like just the way to do that.” She took a sip, humming as she took it away from her full lips. “But there’s my thoughts going to crazy places based primarily on black and white principles. And we’re definitely not here to do that,” she shook her body as if shaking it off, putting her leg down and nestling her mug between her hands. “I don’t look at shit in black and white. That’s something that, as your therapist, I need you to know. There’s a lot of healing properties found in the gray.”

You couldn’t explain it, but the last sentence left you feeling this overwhelming sense of hope and understanding. Without even knowing you, she seemed to get the fact that you came with a lot of fuckin’ gray. All kinds of shades of the color. Had you been that transparent on your form? Not able to remember it, you just pushed it to the side as you figured it didn’t really matter. Because even if you had been open on the form, you were about to get much more transparent.

“Thank you,” was all you said, the water bottle held in loose hands as you comfortably crossed your legs. “My life has left me pretty fucking gray, so that’s a relief.”

“There’s beauty in the gray, love,” she noted, leaning forward as if engaging even further in the conversation (as if she wasn’t already remarkably with-it). She held her tea steady in her hands, and you couldn’t help but look down at the mug to see what it looked like. And, of course, it was covered in pale flowers, just like her office. “I’m down for any more questions you may have.”

“Family?”

“Just a fiancé, but other than her, I’m pretty estranged from much more family. Boundaries are a specialty of mine, and I’ve had to set a few in my life,” she said, assured and confident. “No kids yet. We aren’t quite sure if we want them or not.”

You nodded. But, you were not able to hold back the wetness that gathered in your eyes. The tears settled at your ducts and if you blinked, you knew they’d fall. The way you were feeling at the moment was unexplainable. So many things at once. But, most importantly, you were thankful. Thankful for people like Gia. The woman exuded peace and you weren’t sure why you’d ever questioned trying therapy again when there were women like her in this profession. 

“Thank you,” you said again, as if you were a manufactured robot. Then you shook your head, embarrassed at your currently tiny vocabulary. “I’m sorry I keep saying that. I’m just grateful there’s people like you in this world.”

Wow. Okay. So we’re getting real honest and sentimental now, huh? A good-humored voice asked you. Here for it.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said quietly, respecting the new emotions in the room. “Are you ready to tell me a bit about you?”

Letting the tears fall with a blink, you wiped at them with a breathy laugh. She grabbed the nearest tissue box and handed it to you. You wiped under your eyes and dabbed at your cheeks. “Chose to not wear makeup for a reason,” you chuckled, internally thanking past-you. She laughed with you, placing the Kleenex on the couch next to you for proper access, then sat back, balancing her elbows on her thighs as she held her face up with open palms. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said once you’d settled. “We’ve got the next hour and a half.”

“How much do you wanna know?” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you placed your locked hands over your tummy. “I’m a basket case.”

Her eyes sparkled. “As much as you’re willing to tell me,” she affirmed with a wink behind her glasses. “I’m all ears.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

So, as you left that day, you were absolutely confident in saying Gia knew about as much of your life as Elsie did. And that was saying something.

She’d just been so receptive, and had kept encouraging you– as you cried and laughed and sighed and growled. She kept reminding you that she wanted to ‘hear as much as you’d give her’. That she was ‘in your corner’ and that she was ‘there for you.’ And her words and kind eyes were enough to spur you on. Continue to the point of her knowing nearly everything there was to know about your life. 

From your childhood to now, Gia was now totally knowledgeable in the realm of Y/n. 

Thankfully, there’d been no EMDR, as she informed you that next session you’d begin talking about the intricacies of the practice and whether or not you wanted to begin with it the session after your next. She wanted to take time to adjust and ‘simply be’ before introducing the innovative method of therapy.

She’d given a couple of tidbits about it, just for you to think about before the next session, but not too much, since the next session was dedicated to her actually breaking it down for you. 

“Now, before you leave, I want you to know that we can locate your safe place next time. The place in your mind where you’ll return when you need a breath of fresh air amidst the memories,” she’d offered, hands in her pockets, tea cup abandoned as you stood up alongside her to follow her out of the office. But before you two left the office space, she took the time to assure you once more. “But only if that is what you decide you want. This is your life, sweets, and I’m just here to help you through it.”

And, for the eighty-millionth time that day, you’d told her ‘thank you.’ You were going to take a bit of time to consider it. 

She’d also given you a few nuggets of wisdom. 

They’d specifically followed the end of your session, when you’d broken down about the unsureness of your pregnancy (but easily applied to the rest of your messy ass life). 

One thing she said to do: “Slow down your thoughts. Do not let them take control. Slow them down and figure them out with what you know. Piece by piece, break them down before they get too astronomically crazy.”

Another being: “Let yourself feel peace. Just every once in a while, let yourself feel it and don’t let guilt eat you alive for it.” (When you’d laughed sarcastically, she’d nodded, agreeing that it was “most definitely easier said than done.”)

She had been wonderful at assuring you that it was most definitely a product of your trauma to react so preposterously. How you thought certain decisions and thoughts might give you peace, yet always resulted in the opposite. But, she’d also told you that you’d “figure it out bit by bit” as you move along and to “give yourself grace” as you navigate it all on your own, in your day-to-day life.

But, there was one singular, specific piece of advice she’d offered that was sticking out more than much else. 

Of course, you’d filled her in all the way up to your appointment tomorrow and Elsie’s idea for Josh to attend with you. You wanted her opinion on it, asking for as much, and she’d been firm in her opinion. Her words rang in your head as you navigated the late afternoon New York traffic on your way back home.

“Your sister is a genius,” she’d said astonishingly, blowing out a breath from between her naturally full lips. “Everything she said is exactly what I’d tell you, too, sweets. And if it helps to hear this, even as an outside party, Josh sounds like the type of person to receive it in a non-traumatizing manner. He will, most definitely, be sensitive to your feelings. And, having him there will help you feel less alone and calm in your worries. . . and it will help him feel needed–like Elsie said. So, truly, it’s a win-win. If I had my way, I’d make sure Josh is there tomorrow. But, again, it’s your life and it’s up to you.”

“How do I even ask, though?” You asked pathetically, pulling your sleeves down over your hands as you began to get nervous at the prospect. 

“Take a deep breath,” she calmly recited (as she’d done a time or two during your life lament). After doing it with you, she settled you with an understanding gaze. “Just text him. Tell him you have an important appointment tomorrow and that you need him there with you.”

“And if he asks what it’s for?”

“I’d say you tell him that you’ll tell him when you see him or when you get there,” she advised. “But, I don’t think he’s the type of person to question when you’re being vulnerable like that. I’d bet you he just agrees to it, no questions asked– if he’s free, that is,” she winked. 

So, with her sitting there, you’d texted him and asked exactly what she’d told you to. The thing about having an “important appointment.”

And even though he hadn’t responded, you tried to not overthink it as you calmed down from telling your entire life story to your therapist.

When you’d pulled into the apartment complex, your stomach sank at the sight that greeted you. Your space was awaiting you, but Jake’s, next to yours, was empty. Per usual these days, his new purchase of a used car was not at home at the same time as you. Really, you’d gotten used to his lack of presence. But it always made you sadder than you wanted to admit. Because, well, you knew if he wasn’t at the studio or some rehearsal, he was most likely with Maya (you were awfully glad he didn’t bring her around the apartment too much, but still. . .your mind went crazy at the other prospects of what they were doing). 

But today, it was worse. You were sad for more than your assumptions about his whereabouts. Today, you desperately wanted to tell him thank you– wanted to fill him in on how it had gone so great. But he wasn’t there. Because you’d pushed him away (something that Gia told you you’d ‘navigate the reasoning for’).

So, as you trudged up the steps, instead of walking in to tell Jake, you just took time to relax as much as you could. And you figured a good way to do that was to give yourself a long ‘everything shower,’ with your most favorite R&B playlist playing as background noise. 

And when you’d gotten out, the screen that you opened your phone to was something that brought a swarm of anxiously joyous butterflies. Under his name, there was a ‘Yes, of course!’ from Josh. And below his text, was a notification for your next appointment with Gia. One week from today. 

Everything would be okay. It would. You recited this as you responded to him, deciding to try your best not to think of telling him until you absolutely had to tomorrow, after hitting send with a simple ‘thank you :)’.

You kept reciting that everything would ‘be okay’ as you put a hand to the firm little bump, growing steadily at the bottom of your tummy. And you contemplated as much as you were willing to, without reducing yourself to any more tears (you’d cried enough already for one day). Because now all you were going to be plagued with for the next several hours until your OB appointment was whether there was actually a baby in your growing belly. 

You then ate a giant salad (everything else you wanted to eat had made you feel nauseous as hell), as you’d watched Friends. Your thoughts were subdued, but still spiraled a tad. . .though, you took Gia’s advice and tried to slow them down to navigate each one with what you genuinely knew. There was nothing telling you that you weren’t with child besides your own convoluted mess of negative thought. More signs were pointing to that you still were. One piece of truth keeping you going was your growing belly. And even though bellies could still grow after miscarriage or in the case of hysterical pregnancy, the probability of that being your situation was very, very slim. Right?

You knew that. 

Before too long, you were standing in front of your vanity, braiding your wet hair and laying down to find rest much easier than many nights in recent times. . . the only thing that kept you up for a bit longer than you wanted was wondering why Jake hadn’t come home yet.

But, again, you knew it was none of your fucking business.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The next afternoon had you waiting outside of your apartment as soon as Josh said he was about five minutes away. Your apartment had started to feel absolutely insufferable, closing in around you as your mind went crazy with scenarios.

The autumn day was lovely, sun shining, but warmer today than it’d been yet this season. With no breeze. And, the lack of breeze was not aiding in your already-sweaty palms, wet with nerves. Or your upset stomach—your current nausea induced by your anxiety more than the (hopeful) baby in your tummy.

Your stomach was fucking rolling as you waited for Josh to pull up to the complex. 

Dramatic as it may have sounded, you felt as if you were on the verge of a heatstroke when he eventually showed up in his little car, which was literally squeaking and creaking as it sat still. The exhaust emitted from the back of the car was enough to make you feel like you were actually going to blow chunks, and you instantly decided you could not ride thirty minutes to the clinic in his little hunk of metal.

Sending a quick text, you made up an excuse to take your car. To emphasize the text, you went ahead and started walking to your Jetta, parked in its usual spot.

You, 11:49 p.m.: I need to get gas… Can we take my car? 

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Of course.

Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Are you ready?

You smiled, looking over to where he was still parked in his visitor space. His eyebrows crinkled in concentration to the device in his hand as he watched the screen, waiting for you to respond.

You, 11:51 p.m.: Yes, Joshua. I’m at my car and staring right at you.

As soon as he got the text, you waited for what you knew was coming. He looked up from his phone, through his windshield, and at you with a giant grin painted across his features. It didn’t take him long to get out of his car, lightly jogging as he came over to you. 

“You creep,” he smiled, slightly out of breath. “Peeking through my windows.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach started aching, yet again, at the prospect of what you were about to tell him. Honestly, at this point, you were just ready to get it over. The longer you kept it to yourself, the more you were worrying about it and his possible reaction. And the sooner you could just tell him, you’d see his honest, real reaction. . . and then you could deal with the rest from there. 

It also helped that his girlfriend and your certified therapist thought that it would go okay. They were the practical thinkers in this situation, whereas you were an overthinker to the highest degree. And, if you could just get it out–just fucking tell him–you could (hopefully) validate their predictions of how the situation would play out. 

“Am I driving or are you?” He asked, bringing your thoughts back to the present. 

To current Josh. Josh who didn’t know anything yet. Completely ignorant Josh. . . fuck. The last moments of keeping him in the dark.

“You,” was all you said before you unlocked the car and made your way to the passenger side. Once you were both inside, you handed him the keys as he started the engine.

Your stomach fucking dropped as he backed out of the space. . . what was about to come out would literally change you and Josh forever.

Would it be for good? Would it be for bad? If he was going to be mad at you, how long would he stay that way?

You couldn’t be upset with him if he got angry. For everything. Like distracting Jake when Josh had specifically told you he didn’t want that for his twin. Or for simply keeping this giant ass secret from him about it all. The more you thought about it, you thought that perhaps the reason you were so scared was because of how completely validated he would be if he did end up being pissed as hell with you. . .

But. . . you just couldn’t stand losing him. Especially at such a time as this. . . you needed him. 

And that’s why you just needed to fucking tell him. It was inevitable for him to find out, and the sooner it was out, the sooner you weren’t lying to him anymore. Because that’s exactly what you’d been doing. You’d been fucking lying. For months. To your best friend.

“So,” he began, excited–the complete opposite of how you were feeling. “Where are we going?” 

Plugging your phone into the CarPlay, you turned off Siri’s voice before you did anything since you didn’t want her blurting out your destination before you were ready to tell him. Once she was silenced, you pulled up the directions to the clinic you’d carefully chosen. 

You sat back slowly after entering it, your stomach spinning as your thoughts went insane and your nerves continued to set on white-hot fire.

You spared a glance over at him through your lashes to see him looking out the corner of his eye at you, coming up to a stoplight. The look he was giving you made you sure that your face was morphed to show utter terror and worry. “What’s wrong, mama?”

Fuck. You turned to face the front again and squeezed your eyes shut at the nickname, bringing two clenched, sweaty fists up to your eyes as your skin began to feel like it was quite actually peeling off of you in nervous jitters. Your eyes couldn’t stand being squeezed shut any longer as you felt the tears forming behind your lids.

He continued driving, but with the occasional nervous glance in your direction. 

Then, he laid a comforting palm on your shoulder, his thumb soothing circles over your arm. 

And, once he’d done that, it was no longer in your control to keep the tears at bay. You tried to fight them back, but it was to no avail. 

So, there you were, face becoming drenched in tears as you couldn’t stop sputtering little sobs. 

In your peripheral, you saw Josh looking at you as he came to one last light before the highway, face surely painted with distress. “Y/n?” He checked, careful and concerned. “I’m sorry if I said some–.”

And what came out of your mouth next was not at all expected. But, it blurted through your lips with zero fucking warning. You did not know which part of your brain had decided to communicate with your mouth to say it.

“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed.

The car lurched to a stop, cars honking furiously behind you at Josh’s abrupt action. Your stomach, already thick with nerves, couldn’t handle it. You quickly slapped an open palm over your mouth to conceal any projectile vomiting. Thankfully none came, but you had to clench your eyes shut once again as Josh made a wide, sloppy U-turn off of the street that was leading to the highway. 

And when he’d finally come to a stop again, you opened your eyes to see he’d pulled the car over into the nearest McDonald’s.

Focusing too hard on trying not to vomit helped you to stop the outrageous weeping for a few minutes. You finally peeled the hand from your mouth as you took several deep breaths, in and out, to calm yourself and your stomach. 

Before you even knew what was happening, Josh was getting out, running to the door of the establishment. You watched in the mirror to your right as he simultaneously got his wallet out of his back pocket. 

Choosing not to worry about it, you shut your eyes once more to ease your tummy. But it did not help and you felt the puke coming in just enough time to unlock your door, open it, and puke all over a piece of the yellow line that boxed the car into its space.

You groaned as you leaned back up into the car and into your seat, letting your hair fall from the impromptu ponytail that you were holding at the back of your neck. Popping open the glovebox, you grabbed a few napkins to wipe your face (these days, between the incessant crying and vomiting, you were fucking constantly thanking God for the years-accumulated collection).

And then the driver’s side door was opening once more, this time Josh’s khakis making the first appearance as he climbed back in. He had two cups, one balanced between his bicep, clad in a white, long-sleeved tee and his chest and one in his hand. He quickly placed both in the center cup holders and popped a straw in each. 

Your brows lifted, wondering. “What did you–?” 

“Sprite,” he pointed to the one at the front. “And water,” the one in the second holder. 

“How did you–?”

“There’s a part of my brain permanently cemented with what it was like to watch my mom be pregnant with Sammy,” he explained, eyes soft with a smile gracing his handsome features. “I was too young to remember watching her pregnancy with Ron, but Sammy. . . he’s always been tough–even in the fuckin’ womb.”

You gave a small giggle, stomach spinning when your hand went to grab the Sprite. The carbonation sounded perfect, and Sprite had been a go-to in a few cases of your recent nausea. 

The cool drink had been just what you’d needed, sighing as soon as you brought the straw away from your lips with the first sip. You kept it clutched in your hands as a lifeline when you looked at Josh next, eyes wet. “Thank you, Joshy,” you croaked, tone exuding gratefulness. 

“Yeah, always,” he affirmed, his eyebrows dipped in. The next few minutes were spent in silence, your thoughts finally quieted a little with the initial confession to him. You took a few quiet sips of your drink, the sound of you swallowing the loudest sound in the small car.

Knowing he most likely wasn’t wanting to pressure you to talk, you took the initiative. “I–I’m sorry for not– I’m–,” you choked, shaking your head. The tears were beginning to gather once fucking more. Yet, even with eyes wet and throat tight, you persevered. You had to get the rest of it said before you continued to the appointment–you were going to be late if you didn’t get going soon. And you weren’t about to tell him the rest afterwards. “I have to tell you the rest.”

His jaw clenched in preparation for it as he nodded, his body turning to better face you for what was left. “Lay it on me.”

You gulped, mimicking his movement so you could see him better. Your throat was so tight it nearly suffocated you with nerves. “The–the father,” you started, looking into the eyes that looked so eerily similar to his brother’s. Very much like the ones you hoped your baby would wind up having–yet, not entirely the same. “Do you want to know?”

Of course you’ll want to, you thought at your ridiculous question. And I’m going to tell you anyway, but I’m stalling like a pussy.

His lips quirked, but only the slightest, tiniest bit. “Only if you want to tell me.”

I have to.

“I–I do,” you said, your eyes darting down to your hands which wrung at your waist, itching to touch your tummy. So, you did, settling them on the small bump. And instantly, you felt better. You were beginning to find it slightly crazy what one simple touch could do. 

Choosing to watch your hands lace at your tummy instead of him, you took the last jump with two words. “It’s Jake.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: i promise you won't be waiting a month for Josh's reaction ;) see you very, very soon <3

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts!

Fill this form out if you'd like to join my taglist! <3 (i am slowly but surely adding these users to the taglist! :) life is busy as hell and i haven't been updating my doc w the tags like i should :/)

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon , @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #jake fic #jake kiszka #covet #my fics

[valkyrayn]

Pairing: Marius von Hagen x afab!reader

Words: 3,724

Tags: mild dubcon, angst and porn, jealousy, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, loud sex, rough sex, oral sex, porn with plot (with plot you say? and the crowd cheers)

A/N: i think there are a few from the prompt requests here. writing this was a sport lmao anyway, sorry for the long hiatus. gotta thank Marius for consistently being the horny mascot and reawakening the horny in me with his new card releases. also i’d like to hear your thoughts if i should continue this(?)

also posted on ao3 if you wanna leave comments! 💜

Betrayal is one way to put it.

But god you can’t seem to stop. You can’t seem to get enough of this—of him .

No, it’s not betrayal. As long as they don’t find out…

…that you’re fucking the enemy. Not even in the ‘I’ll destroy his life’ kind of way but literal, actual, fucking. And it’s obscene too—just pure unadulterated passion, the kind that leaves you both in a sweaty mess of entangled limbs and reeking of guilt by the end of it. Although it’s mostly you who deals with the guilt, never him. 

And by god you know how bad this is, to sleep with him of all people. 

Because he is no longer part of the NXX. 

Marius von Hagen had blindsided the whole team, to say the least. 

See, the funny thing is, you only started having sex with him after finding out that he has betrayed the group. Maybe it’s the thrill of sleeping with the enemy. Maybe because the sex is so good that the mere sight of his smirk makes your cunt throb. Maybe it’s simply because it’s him.

It was difficult to ignore the growing tension, sexual tension, much to your dismay, between the two of you ever since your first encounter. And it was left brewing for way too long—to a point where it can no longer be contained. 

And when it finally happened, it was spilling all over the edges.

And as much as you despise him, you still find yourself at his beck and call. And you hate the grip that he has on you, especially when he calls you his ‘good little slut’ as he pushes your head down on his cock.

But tonight, you’re on a mission. The voice inside your head reminding you like a broken record ‘to not get distracted. This is an in and out mission.’ Swipe the file and exit the building. Simple. Right?

You spoke too soon.

Marius is here. Fuck. 

You meet his dark violet eyes from across the room—he’s just entered the room and is immediately surrounded by the directors and VIPs like moths to a flame. Your eyes lock briefly and he stares at you with a bored expression, seemingly unbothered with your presence. 

A lady in a sequined dress is now standing by his side, looping her arm over his, her other hand reaching over to fix his collar—there isn’t even a need to, she just needed an excuse to touch him. That bitch has appeared in more than one tabloid news involving Marius. 

‘Youngest von Hagen heir’s future wife?’  

‘PAX CEO new beau?’

‘Hot affair: International Runway Model & Stellis Sexiest Eligible Bachelor’

Vom’. Your grip around the champagne glass tightens at the sight. Fortunately, you catch yourself almost immediately before it shatters all over your hand. The last thing you want to do is make a scene. 

Is this jealousy? No. She just looks annoying as hell. 

So you turn away and make your way out of the ballroom, slipping out of the doors just as the master of ceremony starts speaking over the microphone. 

—----------

The second the file transfer icon disappears from the screen, you unplug the drive from its port and turn off the computer—with still a lot more time to spare. You can rejoin the banquet and even mingle with the men just to spite Marius. With that thought in mind, you smile to yourself as you slip the thumb drive inside the tiny designated pocket in your brassiere.  

“I knew I’d find you in here, jiejie.”

The familiar voice startles you but you remain in your spot, turned away from him. You can feel his eyes on you making the hair stand on the back of your neck. And it’s when you hear the click of the lock that you finally turn to look at him—his back is leaned against the closed door, arms crossed with that sly smirk playing on his lips.

“Give me the drive. I know you have it on you…” He says finally, breaking the brief silence as he pushes himself off the door and starts walking towards you. How naive of you for thinking he wouldn’t have followed you here. He’s not stupid. He’s always five steps ahead of you.

Marius closes in the distance between you, trapping your body against the desk—his tall frame looming over you, his familiar scent clouding your senses. “Or should I...take it from you…” his words turn into a whisper as he leans down and kisses the side of your neck. “…but I won’t be gentle.”

He’s mocking you. You hear your thoughts screaming at you, to refuse him. 

You push him away, willing yourself to not fall into his trap again this time. Your team is counting on you , you can’t let him take away the drive. Not this time…not…

” —ah Marius …what are you…” 

His hand has found its way under your dress, long slender fingers now playing with the hem of your panties. Despite your earlier protest, you feel your resolve slowly crumbling against his touch. 

“Hmm…did you hide it here...” His breath is hot against your ear and your body falls limp against his as it gradually gives in to his touch. He chuckles. “You didn’t put it inside you, did you…?” He slots his leg between you, forcing your thighs apart and starts grinding his knee against your clothed pussy. A moan escapes you at the sudden friction, your hand lands on his chest, gripping onto his shirt in a weak attempt to push him away—but who are you kidding, you’re barely putting any force.

“Fuck you…I’m not giving it to you…” You’re surprised at your retort but he laughs at this. Honestly, you’d laugh at yourself too. Both of you know too well that this is going to end up with you giving him the drive after letting him fuck you senseless. 

“Mmm fuck you too…” His low growl makes your cunt throb and before you have a chance to speak once again, he grabs onto the back of your neck and pulls you into a searing kiss. Your teeth clash, his tongue messily entwining with yours until you finally give in, reciprocating just as hungrily as you swallow his every breath and moan. 

Your resolve is weak against the drug that is Marius von Hagen and it only takes one kiss to completely tear it down. You hate him, you hate this but it feels so good...too good to stop. His kiss is deep and passionate with lust and hatred, but never love. Why would it be anyway?

He pulls your head back by the hair, releasing you from the kiss and reminding you to breathe. For a brief moment, you both just stand there, eyes locked, hearing nothing but the sound of your labored breathing. You press both your palms against his chest, using him as a support as you push yourself off the desk, your eyes locked on his own the entire time. 

There’s a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s willing to let you go if you wish to. Your grip tighten against his shirt and all he does is watch you as you wage the war inside your head. The consequences, the guilt that you’ll have to deal with will be immense. 

And even with all things considered, you sigh—and slide your hands down his body and stop right at his belt before looking back up at him. 

“I fucking hate you.” 

Without warning, Marius turns your body around and bends you over—your ass in the air and your feet and palms flat on the floor, presented to him like a prized whore. He’s bent and fucked you in numerous positions before, taking advantage of your flexibility. “…there’s only so many places where you can hide it.” 

You feel him push the skirt of your dress up your body, bunching it around your waist before gripping onto it to keep you steady. He wastes no time in pulling your panties down, exposing your embarrassingly soaking cunt to him, leaving no room for you to deny that you want him. 

You hear him curse under his breath at the sight and it takes all of him not to immediately shove his cock into your wet heat. He prefers to savor you first.

He plunges his fingers inside your cunt, before leaning in to suck onto your clit—earning him a strangled moan from you. His tongue is hot against your folds, lapping and suckling onto it hungrily, determined to make you cum in his mouth. He loves the way your legs tremble just from the way he’s eating you out. 

“Mmmph…you taste so goo–” He moans against your pussy, the vibration shooting electric up your spine, cutting your words off with a gasp. Your cunt starts clenching wildly around his tongue, desperately needing him deeper. He hooks his fingers inside you and hits you at the exact spot where you want him to, instantly making you gush around him. He laps onto your dripping pussy, swallowing your essence as he starts working on unbuckling his belt. 

He winces as he pulls out his cock from his pants, hard and erected, balls heavy, aching to unload deep inside your womb. He continues to make you cum with his mouth several more times before finally pulling you off the floor and placing you back onto the cold surface of the desk. You look at him through half lidded eyes, mind still dazed from the orgasms he’s put your body through. 

“You’re beautiful…” he says it so casually that you almost missed it. His large hands presses against your inner thighs, spreading your legs open for him to finally fuck you. And just as he lines up his tip against your entrance, you press your palm on his chest, lightly pushing him away. 

“Is that what you say to her as well?” 

Marius freezes in his spot for a second, as if trying to process what you had just asked. When the realization sinks in, you see his lips curl into a smirk. 

“Don’t you think she is?”

You raise your eyebrow. “Think she’s what ?”

“Beautiful?”

You can’t help but let out a scoff. You push him against the chest with both your hands now, ready to leave. This shouldn’t bother you the way it does, but it stings regardless if you have feelings for him or not. 

“If you think she is, then why are you here?”

Just as you’re about to push yourself off the desk, he grabs onto your shoulders and pins you flat against the surface, knocking the breath out of you. “Get off me! You—“

And then he’s kissing you again, his mouth swallowing the curses leaving your lips intended for him, his body heavy and pinning you down with nowhere to move. And when he finally pulls away, his eyes bore into you—your death stare mirroring his and if looks could kill, you’d both be dead by now.

“I shouldn’t have let you fuck me..” you manage to say through gritted teeth, that familiar anger returning to your senses. He looks unfazed, used to hearing you say that every time and yet you come right back to him. So instead, he smiles, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as he leans in to whisper next to it.

“Then why did you?”

Before you could spit back, you’re both interrupted by the voice of the woman in question—just right outside the door.

“Marius? Love? Are you in there? ” Her sing songy voice makes you roll your eyes. Marius seems unbothered, his eyes never leaving you even as you break eye contact. A small whimper escapes your lips when you suddenly feel his cock pressing against you once again due to the proximity. Realizing this, he immediately makes a move to push himself off of you only to be stopped with your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Make up your damn mind, woman—the voice in your head is all but done with you. But this is your chance, to claim what’s yours.

“Fuck me. Fuck me right now..” You can’t believe what you just said but your mouth and body are now acting against your will. “Use me, Marius. Please, ruin me..” 

Though confused and simultaneously aroused, Marius was more than happy to oblige. He wastes no time, lining the tip of his cock once again on your entrance before sheathing himself fully inside, making you both moan in unison. “Oh my god..yes you feel so good inside me!” You moan a little bit louder than necessary, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you. 

“Umm…Marius? Are you in there..?” The woman asks, her voice muffled by the door—thin enough that the noise from inside the room can still bleed into the hallways, which is perfect. You want her to hear you.

Still unbothered by her inquiries, Marius pulls down the front of your dress to expose your tits to him, freeing them from their confines so they can bounce wildly in rhythm to his hard pounding. He leans in to suck on a nipple, making your body jerk against him.

Small fingers threading through his hair, you pull him closer, needing to feel his entire body against you, to feel his sweat on your skin. He grabs onto your ass, adjusting you to an angle that allows him to push deeper inside you. 

“Nngh...you’re still so tight…I just fucked you two days ago…” Your walls clench at his words, pulling out a strangled moan from him. It feels like heaven, impaled on his cock like this, your body shaking at every push and pull. You’re high just from the sound, the smell, the sensation—and for a second you even convince yourself that what you have between you is more than just lust and hate. 

The door knob rattles, pulling you out of your ludicrous thoughts, hitting you with the realization that the woman is still out there. Too used in keeping it down, since you both are always fucking in secret, you forgot the real reason why you were doing this in the first place. 

“Deeper.. harder Marius!” His eyes widen at your command, but he pulls back and pushes your knees to your chest allowing him to slam his hips harder against you. 

“Mmm jiejie..you’re so loud.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He laughs, his cock bumping against your cervix and your body instinctively pushes him away only for him to grab your ass and roughly pull you back against him. The scream that came out of you then is not on purpose—and you’re sure as hell everyone in the building could hear that. 

“Mmph—fuck! Marius, too deep!”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he smirks, a little too proud of himself for using your own words against you.

The desk starts moving beneath you from the force of his pounding—he fucks you like he hates you (which makes it easy for him because you assume he does), with your entire body in the mercy of his hands. His eyes are fixated on where you’re connected, reveling at the sight of your cunt creaming around his cock as he pushes in and out—changing his pace to hit you at the right spot every time. 

“Marius..Mariu—I’m cumming..” 

He suddenly pulls out of you and turns your body around before pushing you back onto the desk—the cold surface of the wood against your erect nipples making you shiver. He grabs onto the dress bunched around your waist for leverage as he sinks his huge cock back inside your dripping pussy—cursing into the ceiling at the way your cunt stretches to accommodate him. “Shit…fuck!”

“Nnnghh…please Marius..let me cum! I want to...feel…want you...inside...” you’re mumbling, mind reduced to incoherence. He grabs a fist of your hair and pulls you back, arching your back towards him until you’re close enough for him to lean in and lick the side of your neck. 

“Mmm..you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut, can you?” He shoves two of his fingers inside your mouth, making you drool on him as you run your tongue along his digits. “You want the people outside to hear you?” His other hand now on your heaving chest, grabbing onto your breast to play with your sensitive nipple, coating it with your saliva.

“Mmphh… please… ”

“Please what?”

“Please make me cum…”

“Louder.”

“Please I want to…I wanna…”

“She can’t hear you.”

Something snaps in you then. You reach your arm behind you to grab onto his hair and tug him down, forcing him to release his own grip from your hair. 

“Marius please fucking make me cum, you asshole!” 

“That’s my good girl…” 

He pulls away and presses onto the side of your head, planting your cheek against the desk with one hand grabbing onto your ass, spreading you open so he can watch his cock sink into you. “Mmph…fuck baby. Your pussy is so greedy for my cock swallowing me full like this…” The obscene squelching noise of him fucking your soaking cunt is sending him closer to the edge. But he wants this to last longer, wants you to cum for him before he’ll even allow himself to. 

His hips slam repeatedly against your ass, the next one harder than before. The feet of the desk screeches against the tiled floor as it gets pushed further towards the wall. Your nails sink into the edge of the desk, holding onto it for dear life, willing your body to him as he fucks you until you’re braindead. You’ve given up on words, the only noise leaving your mouth are strangled moans and screams of his name until you finally cum around him, squirting uncontrollably as he keeps fucking into your hole with punishing thrusts. 

“I love how hard you can take it…such a good fucking girl…keep cumming for me…just like that…” His fingers are now circling your clit, stimulating you even further as if your body isn’t still sensitive enough from the explosive orgasm. You thrash beneath him as his pace slows down but now he’s pushing even deeper, ridge and veins brushing against your insides.  

The rattling of the door knob becomes more aggressive, now accompanied by loud knocks on the door. But you can’t hear her voice anymore, drowned out completely by Marius’ heavy breathing next to your ear. He pulls you up and tilts your head towards him, his eyes boring into yours, dark amethyst eyes filled with lust. 

“Just keep your eyes on me.”

You feel your heart clench—it’s a fleeting moment but for a second, it feels different.  

He presses his lips against yours and you melt instantly into the kiss, both your eyes fluttering close as you feel him spill inside you. The warmth of his seed filling your womb triggers another orgasm, the kind that sends your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. You both moan into each other's mouths at the release, your cunt clenching tightly around his twitching cock as he continues to shoot his semen inside your walls. 

He pulls out and brushes the tip of his cock against your thigh, pumping out the last few drops of his cum and smearing it on your skin, as if to mark you with his scent. 

Your body falls weakly onto the desk and he steps back to admire your ruined appearance. Tousled hair, dress disheveled, panties on one side of your ankle and cunt dripping with his cum. 

Guilt. 

He always feels guilty by the end of it, but his face will never show it. And to further cover it up, he steps back towards you and turns you around only to sheathe his cock back inside you. You make no effort to protest, you’re the one who told him to use your body as he pleases. Your breathy moans fill the room as he begins to fuck you again. No words spoken this time; just mewls and grunts and lewd sounds that your bodies make. 

This goes on until the noise outside the door finally stops. She’s probably given up; good.

And when you’re both finally satiated, he finally steps away from you. Standing quietly, a few feet apart from each other as you both tidy yourselves up. Although you opt to not wipe the combined fluids in between your thighs, to serve as a reminder that you’ve once again slept with the enemy.

He leaves the room first, standing tall and unashamedly confident as if he hadn’t just spent the past hour fucking you to oblivion—you, a woman he’s not betrothed to. You watch as the door closes behind him before letting out the biggest sigh. Your heart hurts. So much for thinking that you’re numb to these emotions but as you leave the room and see the woman next to him, you know you were far from being numb. 

She catches you staring and rolls her eyes before running her fingers through his hair to fix it, acting all unbothered, as if she hadn’t just heard your screams of pleasure from behind the door caused by the very man she claims as hers. But a side piece like you doesn't phase her; she’s on a mission of her own and that is to make Marius hers.

Your mission? 

Not to become attached to him. Failed. 

To obtain the info and bring the drive. Fail—

You feel an object poking at you through the hidden slit of your dress. Strange. You pull it out and inspect it—it’s the drive. 

You lean against the wall behind you as you clutch onto the small object against your chest, mind reeling. You saw him take it from you; saw him putting it inside his pocket so then why—

The vibrating sound of your phone startles you. It’s a text from an unknown (but familiar) number.

“take the W. but i won’t go easy on you next time.”

You scoff. This was far from over. 

#brainrotdump #marius von hagen smut #prompt request #lu jinghe smut #marius x reader #marius von hagen #lu jinghe #tears of themis smut #tears of themis

[malice-ov-mercy]

See You Around

Pairing: Jolly Karlsson x fem!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+!, oral (male receiving), unrequited love, angst too I suppose

A/N: See??? I promise I still write for Bad Omens. The Will Ramos brainrot is just always present and never goes away. ANYWAY, I binge a lot of Good Mythical Morning, and I heard Rhett say “look at me and open your mouth” and yeah. An idea was spawned.

Word count: 681

Tag list: @circle-with-me @xxrainstorm @foliosriot @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @reader13000 @sammyjoeee

If you would like to be added, please let me know for who! If you tell me everyone/everything, just know that includes anything I may write for Bad Omens AND/OR Will Ramos.

————————————

Jolly Masterlist

————————————

“Look at me and open your mouth.”

Jolly gazed down at you, his eyes filled to the brim with desire and lust. Not an ounce of love was present inside his stare. You were just a fling to him and it hurt. You hated the chokehold he had on your heart. Every time he called, you fought yourself, knowing what he wanted. A constant internal shouting match between your sensible brain and careless heart plagued you. Somehow your heart always won, never being able to decline him.

You peeked at him through your lashes and opened your mouth, eager to please this man who didn’t care at all for you.

“Good girl.” He said with a crooked smile.

You hated the way his praise warmed your skin.

Jolly brought his cock to your mouth and you stuck out your tongue, like a pedestal waiting for its trophy. He slapped his dick on your wet, waiting tongue, a delighted hum rumbling in his chest.

“You look so beautiful like this, on your knees and my dick in your pretty little mouth.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as one of his hands cupped your cheek. His other hand threaded in your hair and gently pushed his entire length in your mouth. He tossed his head back with a low groan. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.

“I love how easily you take me.”

He thrust his hips gently, not wanting to hurt you like he sometimes did when he got carried away. You never complained to him, but the rasp of your voice was always the tell. Even if you did complain, you don’t think he’d care.

Why would he? After all, you were nothing.

Jolly’s soft grunts and whimpers were the only sound in your room as he slowly fucked your mouth. He was taking his time more than usual. By now, he usually started relentlessly forcing himself down your throat, but he was being unusually tender. You knew better than to get your hopes up though.

You reached for his balls, knowing just how much he loved when you played with them and how quickly and intensely he came. His grip tightened in your hair then forced himself down your throat, making you choke and gag. That’s the Jolly you knew.

“Keep doing that, please.” He begged shamelessly.

Like always, you obeyed, never having the will to deny him whatever he wanted from you. You gently massaged him, turning him into a whiny, whimpering mess. He rarely ever made this much noise. He must be thoroughly enjoying using you.

Jolly picked up his pace, bruising your mouth and throat with his forceful and powerful thrusts, no longer caring about gentleness. You peered at him through tear stained lashes. His face was contorted in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He looked beautiful every waking moment of his life, but especially so chasing his climax.

His hips stilled and held your head in place as he came, unloading a string of profound groans. You hummed, happily swallowing the semen that filled your mouth and leaked down your throat. The bitterness of his seed was a reminder of the bitter cold you would feel in just a few short moments when he left.

He smiled down at you and your heart did a somersault. He gripped your jaw and pulled you to your feet. Jolly towered over you. His once lust filled eyes were now drained, an almost kind glint glimmered in them. No matter how many times you admired his eyes, you could never decide if they were brown or hazel and you weren’t about to ask. That would be a step too far.

You had so much love to give him, but he didn’t want it. He turned it away at every corner.

“Thank you for that.” Jolly stuffed himself back in his pants. “See you around soon, yeah?”

To your surprise, he pressed a light kiss to your cheek—but before you had time to process or ask, he walked away, once again taking your shattered glass heart with him.

#jolly karlsson x reader #jolly karlsson fanfiction #jolly karlsson fanfic #jolly karlsson fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Coming Home (Part 7)

Azriel x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Warnings: Ye olde angste

⧪

There was a storm atop the House of Wind.

At least – anyone could have been forgiven for thinking so.

Cassian certainly had, upon awakening to the mighty tremble that wracked through the house. Like an earthquake, the tremor was sudden and unforgiving. Followed by what seemed to be the heavy pounding – thumping – of hailstones that had to be the size of boulders. A thunderous boom. 

He sat up in bed, rigid and staring around the dark room. The clock on the wall told him that a mere few hours had passed since he and Nesta had returned home from your homecoming party. His head was fogged and pounding from the effects of alcohol, of little sleep. He frowned as another thud landed above him. 

Had to be something quite substantial, to feel it through the strong, mammoth structure that was the House of Wind. 

Nesta groaned softly beside him, pulling the sheet over her head. “What is that.” 

“Not sure.” Cassian slipped out of bed, slinging a loose pair of trousers on. “Go back to sleep. I’ll check it out.” 

He dragged his feet out of the room, the faelights in the hallway causing him to squint. Azriel’s door was slightly ajar, no noise or light visible from the small crack. 

Another thud. Coming from the training area up on the roof. Cas practically threw himself up the winding stairs, kicking the door open and bracing himself for–

Azriel. 

The Shadowsinger didn’t notice as Cassian stopped in the doorway. Still in his clothes from the party, he continued his…assault on the training ring. Slicing through the air with his swords and testing manoeuvres that were far too sloppy for his usual slick precision. His movements were sluggish, languid, his teeth gritted as sweat soaked his hair and dripped down his face.

Only when he started knocking training dummies to the ground, as if they’d personally affronted him, did Cassian step forward. 

“Az.” He croaked, his voice groggy from sleep. “What the fuck?” 

Spinning on his feet, Az stared back at him, his chest heaving. “What?” 

“Are you trying to bring the Gods-damn house down around us?” The Illyrian general stalked forward, setting a dummy upright as he appraised the Spymaster. “Have you even been to bed?” 

“Still wired from the party.” Azriel shrugged. “Thought I’d work out some of that tension.” 

He sliced his sword through the air again, and Cassian stepped back. He had to be drunk – or something. Although, Cas was sure he’d drunk the least out of anyone. But wired…no, that wasn’t the expression taking over his face. It was…darker than that. Consuming his perfect face with something akin to anger. To pure, unadulterated rage.

Even his shadows seemed to be slinking back. 

“Has something happened?” Cassian asked, watching every single one of Azriel’s steps and twists and turns. He clutched the hilt of his sword so hard, his knuckles were white. 

“No.” 

“Then why are you–” 

Cas’s words were cut off as an almighty growl ripped through Azriel’s throat, and he tossed his sword to the floor, the resounding clatter painfully loud. It was so unlike him…so out of character for him to wear anything besides the cool, stone-faced exterior he’d perfected over centuries. Breathing heavily, he yanked a hand through his sweat-slick hair and turned to Cassian, a question weighing on his tongue.

He’d left your house, after that kiss, in a blind panic. Wished he could blame his lack of restraint on faerie wine, on the nostalgia triggered by your homecoming, but he couldn’t. He fucking knew he couldn’t, because what had driven him lived inside him like a gnawing sickness. All-consuming. 

He’d flown so high into the skies that his head began to hurt, and he screamed his frustration at the top of his lungs, only the clouds and the whipping wind there to listen. Neither the flying – nor the screaming – had done much to help. He’d landed back at the House of Wind and begun his sloppy training in the hopes that it would somehow solve his problem.

This problem that he feared would not go away on its own. 

“How–” He attempted to speak, but his voice didn’t work. Still breathing heavily, he braced his hands on his knees and asked, “How did you know? With Nesta.”

Cassian blinked – hadn’t expected Az to say that, of all things. “What–”

“How did you know? That it was Nesta you wanted. That it wasn’t just…lust.”

His voice was…weathered. Strained. Like talking about such things was painful, an exertion. He straightened himself out and stared at Cassian with a silent plea on his face. One that said something was hammering at his mind, and he didn’t know what to do.

Cassian cleared his throat, perching on a stool. “Is this about Elain?”

“Please don’t ask any questions. Just – how did you know?” 

The Illyrian general released a slow, drawn-out breath, blinking forward. It wasn’t a simple one-answered question that Azriel was asking of him. Wasn’t something he could just sum up in a few words. He brushed his long hair back from his face.

“I guess…” He slowly shook his head. “I guess when I realised I was all-consumed by her, I knew I was fucked – there was no going back.” He let out a soft laugh. “My mind was…frenzied, with thoughts of her. When I slept, I dreamt of her. Even training took far more concentration than it ever had. No word was too vicious…no look too scathing. I knew if any other female had spoken to me the way she had, done the things she did, I wouldn’t have given them the time of day. But I just knew – just knew I wanted to see things through. To help her. To love her. Nobody could love her as fiercely as I knew I did. As fiercely as I do. She’s my mate.” 

Mate. Az almost flinched. There again, that word that carried so much weight, that sparked so many conflicting emotions. Want and need and adoration and anger and lust. So much delicious, unfaltering lust, a constant, smoky taste on his tongue. They all roiled inside of him, battling against each other, forming a very solid conclusion that he…

That he was scared of. Terrified.

When the Shadowsinger said nothing, Cassian leaned forward. “Why do you ask, Az?” 

Azriel met his gaze – a gaze he’d seen so many times over his long life. Strong and noble, honest. Cassian was his brother – and so was Rhys. The bond between the three males was a lifeline for all of them, one they couldn’t live without.

One they couldn’t possibly damage.

Azriel couldn’t hurt them; never would he forgive himself for doing so. He couldn’t possibly put his own selfish desires above the trust and loyalty of his brother, his High Lord. The desires would go away eventually, he was sure – his feelings would eventually change.

But someone would inevitably get hurt in the process. 

It was all too much to bear thinking about – not something he could face today. 

So he shook his head, and felt a twinge of regret for lying as he told Cassian. “No reason. I was just curious.” 

Cas no doubt wanted to push it. Pursing his lips, he watched as Azriel fixed the mess he’d made of the roof, his shoulders tense and his brow pinched. But Azriel would talk if he wanted to.

And he didn’t. 

He merely gathered up his weapons and brushed past Cassian, murmuring, “I’m going to bed. Sorry for waking you. 

⧪

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. 

Somehow, your lips still tingled. You still felt the blazing touch of rough palms that had held you through your nightgown. 

Still felt your heart fracturing as you’d heard the booming flap of wings carrying Azriel away from your house. Away from the kiss you’d shared.

Sleep didn’t help. Busying yourself didn’t help. You needed to see him, to talk to him, to simply ask him what the fuck. You couldn’t possibly live with this churning ache inside of you. 

You’d been to the House of Wind – twice – under the simple ruse of wanting to train with Nesta. It was through overheard conversations that you learned that Azriel was on a mission that would take him away from Velaris for at least three days. Convenient, you thought.

You’d tried writing notes to him, watching the magic snatch the paper in front of your very eyes and send it into the ether. You’d waited and waited, but no parchment appeared in front of you marked with Azriel’s elaborate scrawl. No response.

So you tried to occupy yourself for the three days he was away. Just…did anything that would stop your mind from filling with thoughts of what you’d say to him, what you’d scream at him – of what you’d do if you saw those full lips again. You worked yourself into the ground at the clinic until you were too tired to stay standing, and sleep would drag you under. You dropped in to have tea with your brother and Feyre and tried to act like you couldn’t still feel Azriel’s essence on you.

At the end of the third day, you asked Rhys to fly you to the House of Wind – so you could search for a book in the gargantuan library, you’d told him. He’d taken you without so much as an inquisitive look; had promised to pick you back up when you were finished.

And with Nesta and Cassian sharing a dinner in one of Velaris’s restaurants, and the house being empty, you waited. You didn’t go down to the library. You poured yourself a measure of whiskey and settled down in the sitting room – in the armchair by the fire that you knew Azriel favoured. The one you knew he would seek out once he returned from his mission. 

You must have been waiting for at least an hour when you heard the thudding of boots. They approached the door to the sitting room, and you jerked up in the chair, straightening yourself out and trying to ease your thudding heart. 

Shadows pushed the door open, and then Azriel was there. Still in his leathers. Windswept from his flying and breathing somewhat heavily. Flecks of dirt smattered his face, and for a split second, you gave him a panicked once-over.

Just dirt, you surmised. No blood.

He took the sight of you in, expression unreadable. Until his eyes shuttered, and he swallowed hard. “Y/N.” He murmured. “I’m very tired.” 

You set your jaw firmly, already stung by dismissal. “Then I won’t keep you long.”

“You won’t keep me at all. I’m going to bed.” 

He turned his back to you, as if to leave the room. You were not going to make it that easy for him. Launching yourself from the armchair, you stopped in front of him, pressing your palm to his chest. You could feel the hard sculpt of the muscle through his leathers. 

“We need to talk, Azriel.” You said. 

“No.” He breathed. “We don’t. Move, please.”

How could he be so cruel? Even if he did regret the kiss you’d shared…even if he felt nothing of that nature for you…were you not, first and foremost, his friend? Did your feelings not matter?

“So…what?” You barked a laugh void of all humour. “You’re just going to avoid me now?” 

His weary eyes studied your face. “No. I’m going to carry on as normal.” 

“Oh? Like you didn’t have your tongue down my throat three nights ago, you mean?”

You saw the way his jaw flexed, subtle as the movement was. He gritted his teeth, his gaze darkening. “Drop it, Y/N.” 

No. No chance. You pressed your back against the door, forcing it to shut – blocking him even more. He wasn’t leaving this room until you’d talked. Properly.

“I’m not dropping it.” You hissed. “You kissed me, Azriel. You instigated it. And I may not have been alive for quite as long as you have, but I’ve lived enough to know damn fucking well when a male is turned on.” 

“It shouldn’t have happened.” Az simply shrugged – so casual, so nonchalant. “I’m sorry that it did.” 

Those words – they hit right where you suspected he wanted them to. They sliced at you, the invisible cuts they made as deep as the feelings you felt for him. You didn’t want to show how much they hurt, didn’t want to cry.

But you couldn’t hide the crack in your small, pathetic voice as you replied, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.” Another shrug. “It shouldn’t ever have happened. And I…I think we should keep our distances from each other. From now on.” 

Nothing in his eyes, on his face, said that such a suggestion bothered him in the slightest. That he couldn’t bear the thought of distancing himself from you; like you could bear the thought of distancing yourself from him. You blinked furiously, begging your eyes not to well up in front him. 

“I don’t want–”

But Azriel’s firm hands were gripping your shoulders, moving you aside and out of his path like you weighed nothing. He opened the door, no intention of stretching the subject any further. He’d said all he had to say on the matter.

And he didn’t even care.

“Az.” You called after him. You felt so pathetic, so helpless.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Was his only reply.

He didn’t look back as he wandered down the hall. 

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[maddieg0531]

Two Seconds Too Late

Bakugo x fem!reader

Hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings: swearing, kidnapping, talks of blood and wounds, self blame ?, generally more dark themes

Synopsis: You are taken right in front of Bakugo's eyes and he is too late to stop it

A/N: Holy heck guys, thanks for 2500 likes! I feel very honored to have people enjoy my work. I just mess around and write random crap, so the fact that anyone cares means a lot. Please feel free to give me suggestions: characters, topics, tropes, etc. I would love to write something you wanna see!

masterlist

“I need you to tell me what happened.”

Bakugo stares at the ground, sweat dripping off his brow. The mans voice is muddy, incomparable. The fluorescent lights of the drug store sign blur Bakugo’s vision. Their buzzing is deafeningly loud. His mind is spinning, thoughts screaming.

“Sir, I need you to tell me what happened.”

Bakugo whips his head up to look the cop in the eye. He grabs the cops shirt and pulls him close to his face, “You know what happened! I already fucking told you!” 

“I-I need to know the details. Just c-calm down.” The cop cowers at the pure, unadulterated rage burning inside Bakugo’s eyes. 

“CALM?! You want me to be calm right now!!” Bakugo throws the cop back, the man falling to the ground. “They took her! And instead of looking for her, you are sitting here asking stupid questions!”

“T-the heroes—they are going—“

“TO HELL WITH THE HEROES!” Bakugo’s hands start sparking. The cop scampers away, yelling at his coworkers that Bakugo is crazy. “What hell is wrong with me?! I couldn’t stop—I didn’t—“ His breathing is heavy, all his senses are muddied and confused. “DAMNIT!” Bakugo yells up at the sky, as if it is the moons fault you are gone. He starts pacing, his whole body shaking. What is he still doing standing around?! He has to go find you. He has to save you. 

Just before Bakugo can fly off, a strong pair of arms grab him from behind. Bakugo starts thrashing, trying to shake them off.

“Calm down! Dude stop it! It’s just me!” Bakugo whips around to see his friend, Kirishima.

“Let go of me! I have to go find her!” Bakugo tries to pull out of his friends grasp but he feels so weak. His body feels like collapsing. 

“Stop it! Stop. Just look at me. Look at me!” Kirishima forces Bakugo to look him in the eyes. “You are angry and confused right now. We have no idea where they went. We have people all over the city looking for her. Take a breath.”

Bakugo’s eyes are wide and crazed. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t—he can’t

“BAKUGO!” Kirishima thunders, breaking Bakugo from his shock. “Breathe in.” Bakugo takes a shaky breath in.

“Good. Now breathe out.” As Bakugo breathes out, his body collapses on top of Kirishima’s. Kirishima lowers Bakugo to the ground, unable to hold his body weight. 

“How did I let this happen? She was right there.” Tears threaten to spill down Bakugo’s cheeks.

“This isn’t your fault. I’m sure you did everything you could.”

“B-but I should have stopped them. I-I’m supposed to protect her.” 

“Shhh. I know. Let’s calm down and give the cops your statement. We will find her. I promise.” Kirishima lifts a broken, mumbling Bakugo over to the cops to explain the details of the situation. 

—30 minutes ago—

“You can stay in the car. I just have to run inside really quick.” Bakugo smiled at you as he parked the truck.

“Okay.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Bakugo stepped out of the truck and walked into the drug store. The sliding doors opened with a ding as he walked in. The poor lighting of the store made it feel almost as dark as outside. The smell of BO and weed drifted off of the cashier and customer, the stench permeating Bakugo’s nose. Bakugo kept his eyes directed at the dirtied white, laminate, tiles. He moved to the back of the store to grab ibuprofen and shampoo. Normally he wouldn’t buy from here, but it was the closest stop to his house and he was flat out of both items. As he scanned the shampoo isle for a decent brand, he heard a loud thud from outside followed by a scream. Bakugo immediately dropped the bottle of ibuprofen and ran outside. He made it out of the store just in time to see you being pulled into some portal by two men. You were thrashing and screaming, tears streaming down your face. The man holding you covers your mouth with a sneer plastered across his face.

“Y/N!” Bakugo charged at the portal as it started to close. You let out a muffled scream reaching for his hand, but he was too late. The portal closed taking you and the perpetrators with it and Bakugo stood alone, with an empty, outstretched hand. 

Bakugo sits in the police station, his leg bouncing so hard it is shaking the bench. His eyes are glazed over as he watches the police and heroes rush back and forth. He stares down the man behind the front desk, who seems to not be doing anything. The police told Bakugo to wait here because they would be the first people to know if you are found or not. People bustle around him, but he’s not sure they are actually doing anything. After all, you are still out there, alone and probably scared and he is sitting on a wooden bench in the police station, drinking fruit water and doing nothing. A tall, muscular cop walks up to Bakugo.

“You said the suspect who grabbed her was roughly 6ft, had black hair, and a scar on his right cheek, correct?” His monotone voice asks.

“Yes. You already asked me this. Why have you not found them yet?!” Bakugo shoots up to look the man in the eyes, rage pouring out of him. The cop doesn’t even flinch. 

“We are doing everything we can to find their whereabouts.” He drones, “We did find out some information on the kidnappers. The one male you identified was charged several years back for a shoddy bank robbery. He and his brother were sentenced to jail for 5 years, but got out early on good behavior. Is this the man you saw?” The cop turns his tablet around to show a mugshot of two men. 

Bakugo grabs the tablet, his vision going red, “Where is this son of a bitch?”

“We are working on locations. Several people have been dispatched to their homes, work places, and hangout spots. So far, no one has anything.” 

“Well, find them!” 

“My best guess is they took her for ransom, which means they will probably reach out soon.” The indifferent cop walks back to his workspace.

Bakugo paces back and forth. Soon isn’t good enough. He needs to find you now. You are his whole life. He doesn’t know what he will do if he loses you. Scratch that, he will kill the bastards that hurt you. Bakugo anxiously twists the wedding band on his finger. His fingers run over the smooth metal, each touch reminding him of you. You are strong. You will be okay. He tries to calm himself down but it isn’t working very well. 

Several hours pass, leaving Bakugo increasingly anxious. Kirishima left to help with the search for you. He forced Bakugo to stay behind in case the kidnappers try to make contact. Bakugo leans his arm against the front desk, tapping his fingers furiously. A tv sits behind the desk with the news channel running. All the noise is just background to Bakugo, until he hears your name. 

“Y/N Bakugo, Dynamight’s wife, was kidnapped earlier this evening. The police say that two brothers who were recently released from prison after being charged for robbing a bank, are the ones behind the kidnapping. As the time ticks by and Y/N is no where to be found, it makes people wonder, how did the wife of one of the top heroes manage to get kidnapped?” Before the reporter can say anything else, Bakugo smash the remote, turning the TV off.

“That’s it. I’m not sitting around here waiting any longer. I’m going to find her if it’s the last thing I do.” Bakugo marches up to the drone cop from before and grabs him by the shirt. “I want the name and address of every person connected to these guys now. I will find her and no one can stop me.” “I can’t let you do that. What if the kidnappers make contact?” The cops asks, voice slightly raised. 

“Then forward the call. Now give me the names.” 

Before they can keep arguing, the scrawny kid at the desk jumps out of his seat, “Sir!” 

“What is it, boy?” The cop demands.

“They found her!” 

Bakugo drops the cop and marches over to the desk, eyes wide. “Where is she?!” 

“S-she is at the—the h-hospital.” The young cop stammers. 

Bakugo rushes out the door and speeds over to the hospital. Bakugo’s vision goes blurry, his mind filled with endless questions of what happened and what they did to you. In no time, he makes it to the hospital. He bursts into the ER, doctors rushing by, patients being rolled in and out. The smell of rubbing alcohol and blood stains the air. His ears are filled with people talking, monitors beeping, and babies crying. He desperately looks around for any sign off you. Bakugo grabs a doctor, “Where is she?”

“Where’s who?” The man stutters.

“My wife, damnit! Where is Y/N!” Before the man can answer, he hears your voice from down a hallway. He bolts towards the sound, rounding the corner to see a bunch of doctors crowding a small room. “Where is she? What’s going on?” 

A nurse turns to him, “She won’t let anyone touch her, but we need to take care of her wounds.”

Bakugo looks through the window into the room to see you thrashing and crying, while doctors try to hold you down. Blood runs down the side of your face and your arms are bruised and cut. He can hear you cry, “Get off of me!! Only he can touch me! Stop touching me!!” 

“Let me in.” Bakugo’s face goes stone cold, all his rage and anxiety being shifted into a laser beam of focus on helping you. “Sir, we can’t let you in. She needs to be examined.” The nurse tells him.

Bakugo isn’t asking permission. He pushes past the doctors and nurses to get to you, “Get out of my way! Let me see her!”

Your screams stop when you hear his voice, “Katsuki?” Bakugo shoves his way in and runs up to you. “Katsuki!” You throw your arms around him, any injuries forgotten. You shove your face into his broad shoulder, tears gushing down your face. Bakugo holds you tight against him, tears also flowing down his face. “Help me please. You have to help me. T-they won’t l-leave—make it stop, make it stop.” You manage between sobs.

“Shhhh it’s okay. I’m here now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He picks you up sliding onto the bed and moving you to sit in his lap. “You’re okay.” He rubs your head while rocking you back and forth. 

“Don’t let go. Please, don’t” Your voice is broken and hoarse. Your hands grip his shirt so tightly that your knuckles are white. 

“It’s okay, love. I’m never gonna let you go.” Bakugo lightly grabs your face, his heart breaking at the sight of your wounds. You have a black eye and bruises all over. Blood runs down from a gash on your forehead. Your eyes are red and puffy, tears spilling out of them. “I am so sorry, love. I should’ve been there.  I shouldn’t have left you alone. I-I’m sorry—“

You shut him up by slamming your lips against his. He pulls you tighter against him, afraid that if he lets go you might disappear again. Your tears mix together, the taste of blood and salt prominent. You break apart for air and shove your face into his chest.

“Um, excuse me?” A nurse squeaks, “We need to check her wounds.”

Bakugo looks you up and down to see multiple gashes and bruises along your arms and legs. When he gets the chance, he is going to murder the men who hurt you. 

You look up at him, wide eyed, “Please don’t let me go.”

“I won’t let you go, but you need let them look at your injuries.” Bakugo says, soothingly stroking your hair.

You give a small nod. The doctors move in to check on your wounds, while you hold on for dear life to Bakugo. The doctors start saying something about potential stitches and taking an x-ray to check for broken bones, but it is all drowned out by your presence. Your warmth fills Bakugo’s most inner being. He stares at you with mixed emotions of sadness, anger (at the kidnappers), compassion, but most of all, love. As he carries you to the x-ray room, you cling tight to him and he will never let you go again.

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