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sweetbunnykook · 3 years

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Devotion (M)

Word Count: 5,885 // angst (toxic relationship, friends to lovers, yandere behavior, possessiveness, jealousy, mention of physical harm, mention of neglect), smut (rough sex/slight dub-con, fingering, omorashi, asphyxiation, forced creampie), no fluff

Childhood friend!Taehyung X Childhood friend!Reader

Summary: You and Taehyung were inseparable once. When you come back to your hometown after three years, fate pulls you back to him. And this time, Taehyung won’t ever keep his eyes off of you.

Music: X

Winter darkness came early this season. It’s only a few minutes past five and the sky had darkened and streetlights casted a deep orange hue over semi-empty cobblestone paths. The streets are almost silent except for the faint piano music wafting out into the cool air from restaurants and cafes lining the streets. You keep your fists deep in your coat pockets but the numbness persists. You never thought your hometown would look the same after running away at age twenty with nothing but clothes and a roll of cash – his cash – in your bag. Now, at twenty-three, you wondered if you made the right choice, if the yearning that slept deep in your marrows was the reason why you’re glued to the ground in front of the café you had your first kiss in.

You never thought you’d see Taehyung again – assuming he left not long after you did – but here he is, sitting near the bar with his long fingers grazing over the rim of his whiskey glass. He chuckles at something the bartender says, takes a drag from his cigarette, but his eyes are sad and his smile fleeting. His hair grew longer – past the tip of his ears – and he looks overall larger than life. He’s wearing the coat you bought him for his birthday and you’re wearing the knitted plaid scarf you stole from his closet before leaving. It doesn’t smell like him anymore. It doesn’t smell like his warm cigarettes and aftershave and it takes all your might to not walk in and put your arms around from behind like you used to do when he comes back from work.

Your heart wants him. It craves him. It has spent many nights in your chest begging you to call him and apologize to your tormentor who kisses you while keeping a noose wrapped around your throat. Your Taehyung, your lover, your captor who gave you everything including his own fears.

He doesn’t know why he is the way he is and you can’t find it in yourself to ask. You just know he was easily scared of losing you. The day you found your intimidating and loving boyfriend in your classmate’s house, hovering over the poor boy with his blood-stained knuckles in the air, was the day you knew your love for him isn’t enough to keep himself from hurting himself or others.

Just a moment longer. One moment. You want to stay in the cold for just a moment longer and admire how beautiful he looks without you even if the bags under his eyes are deep and his downturned lips are set in a permanent frown.

Just one moment. Just until he swings the shot of whiskey down his throat and asks for another.

You exhale into the scarf wrapped around your lips.

“Taehyung…” you whisper his name into the cashmere wool.

As if he’d heard you, Taehyung briefly glances up at the bartender and you hold your breath, thinking he would turn his head towards the window. He doesn’t and instead stares straight ahead, the cigarette hanging loosely between his lithe fingers falling into an empty dinner plate. Your heart leaps in your throat when he doesn’t move, the finger over the glass paused, his lips falling just slightly. It’s not until you look over at where he is staring that you stumble back a step, meeting his eyes through the angled mirror that gives him a direct view of your figure through the window. His gaze pins you to the floor; you’ve seen it many times in your dreams but in real life it feels like needles down your throat.

When he moves from his seat you tighten your hand around your handbag and run, your lungs burning in the cold as you stumble through the blanket of snow in your heavy boots. You don’t turn to look, not when you can hear the faint bell of the café door opening and your name hollered in that deep, baritone voice that makes your insides clench. He sounds just as guttural as the day he was covered in blood, shaking his head and whimpering your name when you kneel next to your wounded classmate, annotated papers strewn across the broken furniture.

You turn into an alleyway, looking around to see if there is a place you can hide or crawl under.

You’re stupid.

So fucking stupid.

The footsteps grow louder in the darkness the faster you run into the alleyways. The smell of smoke and dirt making you hold your breath as you turn another corner only to face a brick wall and a line of abandoned bicycles. Screaming for help is no use in this part of town.

Your toes curl in your boots as the footsteps grow louder and louder before stopping just a few feet from where you’re standing. Taehyung can see you tremble softly under the small lightbulb from the back of a dormant restaurant building and he is in disbelief.

You, who had torn his heart out of his chest, had the nerve to run away at the first sight of him.

Again.

“Turn around.” He breathes into the air. His voice is shaking, from anger or from desperation, you can’t tell. “Right now.”

You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You certainly can’t run past him. Taehyung has always been stronger and faster, even when you had pulled him away from bullies when you were both children. Even when he had let you ravish him, let him drown in ecstasy underneath as you rolled your heat into his pistoning hips, you can feel his strength. You can feel his capacity to easily turn pleasure into pain.

“Turn the fuck around!”

You wince at his voice, your tear-streaked face disappearing further into the scarf.

When you fail to obey, Taehyung walks forward and grips the top of your arm, his large hand easily wrapping around your limb. He brings you to him, wrapping his arms around your shoulder and neck this time as his whiskey breath hits your face. He breathes in the scent of your perfume when he presses his forehead to the top of your head.

You changed so many things about yourself when you left him. The color of your hair. The shade of lipstick you wore. The dresses you adorned. The thick rimmed glasses you exchanged for contacts. The one thing you didn’t have the heart to change was the perfume he loved to smell in your hair. The faint smell of roses and musk that kept his sanity intact when your eyes lingered too long on another man or when you scream and shout at his reasons for locking you in the bedroom after working so hard to earn your first job.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” He whispers, tightening his hold around your body as if you were an illusion that could disappear any moment. “I looked for you everywhere. Everywhere, baby, everywhere…everywhere…”

You remember. The cries your neighbors in Denmark had to endure when Taehyung’s brother informed you that he crawled on his hands and knees in front of your injured classmate’s porch, hoping that if you saw how apologetic he is you might come back. The police had to drag him away on the third night.

“I’m sorry…” you breathe into the scarf, your shaking fingers coming up to grip his caging arms.

Maybe you wanted this to happen. You stayed another second longer, just another second longer, in front of that café window hoping that he would turn his head. You held your hand over the candle when you know it’d hurt you in the end.

“Don’t run away from me again, baby. Don’t you fucking dare or else I’ll go crazy,” he sobs into your hair. His hold is tighter and your heart is bleeding just like it had when you left. “You’re the only one...”

He pulls back and tugs the scarf down to see your face. You, his moon, his love. Your wet cheeks are still full and soft, your eyes as dark as the night sky, and your lips still swollen and wounded from your habit of digging your teeth into your skin when you’re nervous. You sniffle slightly in the cold and in such close proximity you can’t bear to look at him in the eyes until he takes your face in his big, cold hands and angles you to meet his lips.

You taste the cigarettes and the whiskey. Beyond his tongue, you taste his yearning and pain. You taste the nights he spent lying in bed with the dresses you left behind. You taste his appetite to hurt something – someone – when he comes back to a barren living room from work. You taste his seething, heartbreaking anger that enslaved you as the lover who needed to look at him and him only.

Despite the harshness of his tongue, above all cries, you taste home.

…

The apartment would have looked nearly identical as before had he expected your arrival. Stepping in, you’re hit with the smell of alcohol and leftover pizza on the kitchen counter before you witness the broken television and shards of glass from empty picture frames and bottles. There’s new workout equipment in the corner where an old, broken player used to be. Whatever cleaning he had done in the past three years was minimal. The only object that looked cleaner – polished even – than before was the snow globe with two angels in the center. You had gifted the little globe during fifth grade, gathering coins from underneath couches and stealing a few dollars from your father’s wallet.

Taehyung reaches from behind and underneath your armpits to undo the buttons of your coat and pull it down your shoulders. You turn your head away from the living room and let him without complaint, knowing from his trembling fingers that he’s holding back his unease.

He doesn’t have to say anything. Just from the sight of the place you once called home, the broken shards told you everything you needed to know.

Taehyung��s fingers pauses on the scarf around your neck. Moving your back to lean against the wall, you peek at his face through your lashes and look back down again when his piercing eyes meet yours once more.

“If you still loved me, why didn’t you come back earlier? Why leave in the first place?”

He tugs the material free from your neck and wraps the scarf around his hands before hooking it onto the coat rack next to the entrance. The light switch lays just underneath the rack but he shows no desire to reveal the extent of his anger just yet.

“I was scared.”

“Of me?”

You nod. “Of you and of myself. Of us. Together.”

Taehyung doesn’t comment, merely watching your wet lashes glimmer in the darkness as it catches the hue from the streetlights outside the window.

“D-Did you…see anyone else a-after I left?” You ask him in that soft, airy voice that you used to soften his heart when he’d get upset. Old habits die hard.

He squints just slightly before tracing the back of his teeth with the tip of his tongue, his arms coming to cage you further against the wall.

He contemplates lying.

He wanted to hurt you as much as you’ve hurt him. He wanted to watch your brows come together and fat globs of tears roll down your cheeks as he tells you he would bring women who looked like you in this space and made love to them. He wanted the satisfaction in feeling your fists pound his chest when he tells you he came inside them with a satisfied groan against their ear. He wanted to tell you he’d fall asleep with them in his arms and he’d lick every inch of their skin like he had done to you. It would be all a lie, but he wanted to. He really wanted to fucking tear your heart apart even if it’d feel like he’s tearing his own.

No matter how much he desired it, he couldn’t do that to you. Even when he knows without you telling him that you made love to other men in whatever place you ran off to, he couldn’t do that to you. Because he’s always known he loved you far more than you loved him.

“No, I didn’t.” He says and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I’ve only ever been yours.”

Taehyung takes your hand and puts it on his chest. His wristwatch ticks against your skin like a beating heart.

“Take off my coat.” He commands.

You undo the knot around his waist with a small tug and let the black coat fall open. Taehyung hisses underneath his breath when he feels your hands flatten over his pecs and up his shoulders, peeling the heavy coat off of him until he draws his arms down and let the fabric fall onto the ground. He’s broader than you remembered him and so, so much larger in presence like he’s engulfing your entire being whole. He’s wearing a plain white button down with a pressed pair of black dress pants and a matching belt just like the time you left him on such an ordinary day.

His skin is warm underneath the shirt and you can faintly trace his strong arms and shoulders before wrapping your arms around his waist and placing your cheek on his chest. You close your eyes and breathe – in and out – gradual and rhythmic and soft. He can hear you whispering his name underneath your breath over and over again like a prayer, like he’s your religion and you found your way back to him to repent for your sins.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you want to stay with him forever when he suddenly takes your wrist from his waist in a vice grip and pulls you into the apartment, not looking back when you stumble and fall on your knees. He half-drags you into the open bedroom and throws you onto the bed before looming over your curled figure as you rub your sore shoulder. The bed smells like you and it takes a moment for you to see your dresses laying across the pillows and blankets until you’re forced to tear your gaze away as Taehyung wraps his hands around your ankles and pull you towards him.

“Tae!” You squeal when he leaves hot, wet kisses down your cheeks, jaw and throat and nips at your skin with his front teeth. Your skin prickles with sweat and your shoulder still aches from his relentless pulling.

The room is stuffy and you struggle to catch your breath with the windows shut and sheer curtains drawn. It’s stuffy most of all with the memories it held of Taehyung bringing you a heating pad during your periods, tending to your hands when you burned yourself making dinner, watching movies with a secondhand projector on the opposite wall, and stealing each other’s popcorn because you always finish your share before the movie starts. The little things that leave such heaviness in your lungs.

Taehyung’s hands are shaky but firm as he reaches underneath your knitted dress and tugs your panties down your hips along with your stockings. Because you’re still wearing your boots, Taehyung doesn’t wait until he buries his face into the crotch of your panties pulled down to your ankles and licks your essence off the fabric onto his tongue, sucking the satin clean before finally unlacing your boots blind with sharp, uneven tugs and peeling them off your ankles. The shoes fall to his feet with a thump and your panties, along with your pantyhose, falls onto the leather not long after.

He doesn’t recognize this attire and it makes him grip the softness of your thighs harder when he imagines yourself or any other man buying you these dresses. It has always been his pleasure to see you dressed in his money. He’d made a promise to be your provider when your parents threw you out of the house as a teen and out of their lives with nothing but a backpack on your shoulders.

As soon as he brings back your luggage from the worn-down hotel you’ve been staying, he’s throwing every dress he doesn’t recognize into the raging fireplace.

Taehyung pops the top button of his shirt and reaches behind him to drag the cotton over his shoulder and head. His skin glows like molten gold and the silver chain hanging from his neck, curving just slightly over his collarbones, sways with his calculated movements. At the end of the chain is the ring from a cracker jack box you’d engraved with a pocketknife.

So many fragments of your relationship with him surrounds you yet you gathered the courage to leave all those years ago. Three long years it took for you to realize you preferred to be in his arms than be free anywhere else. In his shackles you feel safe. In his shackles you feel loved. Your freedom had its own shackles too – putting on pretenses in front of strangers, trying to meet the expectations of men who could never love you like Taehyung does, molding yourself to fit into who you could be rather than who you really are. Taehyung’s shackles feel like jewelry, like luxury, like comfort.

“Did you think about me?” He runs his warm palms up and down your calves, kneeling between your legs as you squirm on the edge of the mattress.

“Every single day. I missed you…I w-wanted to call but…” I was scared you were going to hurt me like you hurt the people around me.

He doesn’t comment and for a moment you wonder if the years of anger he had built inside him will rush forward like water bursting from a dam. It was strange how you are the same, vulnerable person after all these years despite changing nearly every part of your identity.

When he looks up your heart leaps to your throat. If it were physically possible, Taehyung’s eyes would turn into steel with how hard, how piercing, his gaze is as if he intends to burn holes into your skull. Despite the glare that steals air from your lungs, he’s still beautiful with his uneven eyelids, thick straight eyebrows, chiseled cheekbones, and a prominent cupid’s bow.

“You’re not leaving me again. You hear me? You’re not taking one single step out of this room until I say so. I,” he grits his teeth, tightening his grip around your calves enough to bruise. “don’t fucking trust you anymore. You destroyed us.” His voice is harsh, labored, full of agony. “You destroyed every fucking thing we built together just because I allowed myself to love you.”

“I know, Tae, I know,” you bring a hand over your lips and stifle a sob. Taehyung’s hard gaze falters slightly upon seeing your sadness otherwise his face remains promptly emotionless. “I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry I left, I d-didn’t know what to do. I just…I’m sorry, Taehyung-ah.”

He takes his hands off of you and places them on the edge of the mattress next to your knees, gripping the plushness with all his might.

“You’re not leaving me.” He repeats as if he needed to convince himself more than he needs to convince you.

You shake your head. “I won’t. I swear.”

“If you do this again…something bad will happen. You know that, right? I won’t let you walk away. I can’t let you do this to me anymore, baby. I…haven’t I suffered enough?” He asks and it makes you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his lips towards you. He devours you like he needed you to breathe. It was obvious he was suffocated in this little apartment just as much as you suffocated in the little den back in Denmark, struggling to make it to the next month.

“I love you so much,” you whimper against his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. “I’m here, Tae. I’m home.”

Your boyfriend groans as he pushes you back onto the mattress and hovers over your body with his knees on both sides of your hips. You bring your legs back, curling them towards your body before hooking it around his toned waist. The warmth that solely belonged to him, you didn’t know how you survived without it. His tongue roams your entire mouth from the back of your tongue to your teeth. You wince just slightly when his fingers trace your slit underneath your red dress, gathering the wetness over your swollen clit in slow circles then moving down to your throbbing core.

“Is this all for me, baby?” He whispers into your mouth as you snake your fingers into his deep chocolate brown tresses and brush his long hair back.

“All for you. I belong to you, Tae, I always have.”

He tsks, watching your hooded eyes suddenly widen and your mouth fall open into an ‘O’ when he impales his index and middle finger into your soaking pussy to the hilt. You had forgotten how long his fingers are until he’s deep inside, until he pushes so hard against your walls that you can feel him from beneath your skin. Your cervix probes his fingertips back and it makes you squirm and wince as he curls his fingers inside and lightly digs digits into your walls. You’ll take the pain with grace.

Your trembling hands reach down to wrap around his wristwatch, slightly wet with your juices trailing down the length of his palm.

“Please, Tae,” you plead, squeezing his wrist. “I want you.”

His fingers move slowly against your walls, leaving you panting and soaking your dress with sweat. He makes no move to be merciless and instead pushes his fingers incredibly deep until your opening burns. He keeps his fingers inside while he undoes his belt, the clinking of the silver buckle raising goosebumps on your skin. All those times he bent you over the kitchen table and lash you across the ass with the belt for blushing when you enjoyed the attention of another comes rushing back, your insides gripping the contours of his fingers as he moves his fingers up and down. Lewd squelches from between your legs make you turn your head away in embarrassment but Taehyung won’t take your disrespect. Not anymore.

You’re left unfilled when he slips his wet fingers out and places them in his mouth to suck, eyes rolling back and his smooth naked chest heaving at your scent. He’s brought back to reality when you work to remove his belt, your palm kneading his throbbing hardness as you unzip and peel his pants open as far as they can go to reveal his boxer briefs. His cock bulges through the dark fabric and you can lightly feel the trail of dark pubic hair above the base. In the silence of the room you relish in his labored breaths and the rustle of clothing. It’s a sound you longed to hear when you’d spend numerous night with your fingers in your panties in your lonely, cramped apartment, fingertips rubbing circles around your clit until you leak all over the vibrating dildo shoved inside.

Taehyung pulls the belt free from his hips and makes you sit up to wrap the belt around your neck like a scarf before lacing the leather back into the buckle and then tightening the loop. He places two fingers underneath where the belt meets your neck to make sure you’re safe. Even with anger radiating off every pore, he cares about you, loves you, wants to please you.

“Okay?”

You nod, palming him and wrapping your fingers around his thick, pulsing length leaking pre-ejaculate through the fabric. He admires the need in your tear-filled eyes and twists the length of his belt around his fingers before pulling you up, earning a whimper as your hands immediately move to your makeshift collar.

The fact that other men had seen you in this position kills him.

Taehyung pulls the thin straps down your arms and peel your dress down to your ankles. You’re not wearing a brassiere and he suppresses a smile. You’d often lounge wearing his shirts in the living room, your perky little nipples peeking through the cotton, all ready for his greedy mouth to latch onto.

When you kick the dress away from your ankles and bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself, Taehyung takes the chance to kick off his shoes. He’s too impatient to remove his slightly tight slacks and black socks, choosing to give all his attention to you instead.

“You’re really here,” he breathes, eyes glazed over in remembrance of you over the years.

It started with kisses in cafes while studying together; at the time, he hardly knew how to kiss and knew less about the feeling deep in his belly. Kisses turned into roaming hands, his fingers disappearing under your panties and yours under his jeans. You lost your virginity to him – and his to you – in the backseat of his car after graduating in which half the time was him struggling to put on a condom while your laughs made him giggle along. He had always been yours, and you his.

You couldn’t accept that Taehyung is no longer the boy you used to know. While he accepted your changes and made peace with your mercurial ways, you couldn’t do the same for him.

“I want to show you how much I missed you,” you bring his hands to your face and rub your cheeks into his palms like a kitten.

Taehyung melts, his tired smile plastered on his face as he pushes the dresses on the mattress away and lays next to you. You know what this meant. He wants to watch you come undone, watch you mold into his body as your spine arches and he can tighten the belt around your neck as you spill onto the sheets. You reach down and slide your hands under his pants, gasping slightly when your hands wrap around the girth of his cock. His hips jolt when you run your thumb over his weeping tip and smear precum down his thickness. Taehyung turns you away from him, his perspired chest sticking to your back, and brings your hips towards his lap until he can slip his cock between your folds.

Heat blossoms on your cheeks when he pants lightly in your ear, breath hitching as he slips the tip of his cock into your entrance before ramming his entire length without warning.

“Ah!” You grip his iron arms secured around your waist. He pushes his cock further until he’s fully nestled in your warmth.

“Ung, baby,” he hisses, sliding his left arm underneath your head to reach the end of his leather belt. He wraps the leather around his fingers twice and brings the belt back to him as he pushes your spine away from him in an arch.

He begins moving, his hand around your waist slipping down to your clit as he rubs coaxing circles while pulling the collar back to compress your jugular. In the dark, cold bedroom Taehyung makes you feel every inch of himself inside your starved pussy. Your vision is filled with spots and every nerve in your body curls and bows to his carnal hunger.

“Please…please, Tae, please…” You beg as he pounds without giving you the luxury to adjust to his thickness, tight balls clenching further as he grinds his hips into your little hole.

You cum immediately, legs twitching as you sob his name and curse under a single breath, the wetness from your folds coating the base of Taehyung’s twitching, loaded cock. When you gurgle and cough, he loosens his grip on the belt and listens to you heave, watching your arms pull you up and away from him as you get on your hands and knees to take bigger breaths. You palm your lower abdomen with the heel of your hand, the ache making your head turn towards the pitch-black bathroom connected to the bedroom. Not only did his penetration burned your entire lower body, but you can also feel the pressure inside screaming at you to run to the bathroom.

You underestimated how cruel Taehyung can be. With teeth gritted, he suppresses the need to cum, and bring your hips back towards him to slip his cock back into your battered pussy. You’re tighter after cumming and it takes every ounce of his energy to not spill his load inside then and there.

“T-Taehyung I need to go to the b-bathroom,” you pant as you sweat from the pressure building even more in your lower region.

He doesn’t reply, only spreading your legs further with his knees and grip your waist before impaling you onto his cock over and over again until you slump back down to the mattress.

“It aches,” you breathe as Taehyung throws his head back and closes his eyes, plunging with the ferocity of a man possessed. He finds the end of his belt curled on your back and pulls, yanking your neck back and curving your entire body to take his length. He hardly prepped you enough and he did so with purpose, with the intent to make you release in more ways than one. “T-Tae, I can’t…Taehyung!”

His hips move quicker and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes along with his deep, guttural groans.

“Give it all to me, baby,” he snaps, falling forward to pin your body beneath his as he pistons his hips like a demented animal. You can breathe now but your vision is still hazy and your breathing labored. You can’t move your arms with Taehyung’s hands wrapped around your wrists in a vice grip above your head. “Do it for me.”

When your legs convulse underneath and a scream rips from your throat, Taehyung leans his damp forehead on your shoulder and spills his seed inside. You swear you can feel every lash of his load against your walls. Your ears ring just as you reach your high once more, neck arching back, nose in his hair as you spill your wetness over the sheets along with warm urine that stung as it leaks down to the dresses below. This was his intent all along – to claim you and to humiliate you into accepting that he will take your body as he wishes.

Still, the embarrassment makes you bury your face into your arms and sob.

“You did so well for me, baby,” Taehyung exhales against your jaw and takes your earlobe in his mouth, suckling gently before running his wet tongue over the shell of your ear. You squirm in his grasp, feeling as if your bones had turned into jelly.

Taehyung reaches down and runs his fingers gently over your pussy, rubbing the wetness over your pubic curls before leaning back on his heels to look down at the soiled dresses beneath your thighs. The warmth of your urine no longer lingers and instead you’re left shivering with the collar still tight around your neck.

He takes a clean dress from behind and wipes your fluids from his semi-hard cock and thighs before wiping between your inner thighs and folds. You’re quiet, toes curled as he works his way down to your knees where your urine trailed. He rolls you to the side, gently, and gathers the wet dresses in his arms before stepping away from the bed and dumping the mound of fabric into a half-empty laundry basket.

He then takes a towel from the shelf and disappears into the bathroom. You can hear the faint sound of water running as you reach up to undo the belt from around your neck and let the leather fall onto the floor with a clatter. Taehyung would prefer to remove it himself, but he doesn’t complain when he comes back with a warm, damp towel and wipes your cheeks and neck before roughly wiping down your body.

The smell of sweat is heavy in the air but it feels rather comforting to know you can be disgusting with him and still wake up loved in the morning.

You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling until Taehyung pulls you up to the pillows once the top half of the bed is clean, molding his body to yours as he buries his face in your hair. He inhales slowly, arms locking around your body and keeping you caged inside his embrace. Only when you lean into his chest does he bring a blanket over your body and his and tuck you in.

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, eyelids heavy.

The room is even quieter than before. It feels serene under the blanket since nothing strange has ever happened when you’re safe in his arms.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your fingers twirling his necklace on his chest. “So…so much.”

Taehyung’s voice is hoarse when he speaks. “I never left. I’ve always been here.”

You blink, training your eyes on the broken chess pieces scattered on the floor, and close your eyes. No more lonely nights. No more haunting dreams.

…

‘What’s that?’ Taehyung pouts when you stand in front of him with a small box behind. Every time he attempts to look around your figure, you turn to hide it behind your puffy white skirt. He was really starting to get pissed off and the playground is growing louder with more lousy children interrupting his time on the slides with you. The fifth grade class is the largest in the school after all and there’s only so many slides to go around.

‘You have to guess!’ You insist, keeping the box behind you still.

Taehyung’s frown deepens and then he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, turning away in a haughty manner with his nose turned to the sky.

‘Whatever it is, I don’t care.’ He says, stepping closer to the slides, but regrets it immediately when your eyes fill with tears and your hands fall to the side. You know he hates being teased, but he knows you love to keep him waiting.

He looks down at your hand to see a box with a picture of a snow globe plastered on the cardboard.

His mouth opens and close like a fish as he contemplates apologizing but he ends up walking up to you and putting his sticky hands on your face instead, tilting your face up to him. You don’t say anything before dropping the present on his shoes and dashing away, maneuvering through the monkey bars and sandboxes with your skirt floating around your knees.

Taehyung kneels and takes the box in his hand, shaking the package until the globe falls into his palm. There it is, the two angels and the glitter particles swirling around them, the very object that he admired in the book fair yesterday. He turns the globe around in his hands, careful, until he reaches the writing written sloppily with a sharpie pen on the glass.

‘I like you’

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sky-berrie · 3 years

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Stitch - Damian

Summary: Another favorite trope - reader patches up a wound. Warning: mentions of blood.

The window opened behind you and you felt a cool summer night breeze brush against your neck. You didn’t bother to give the intruder any attention because you knew that Damian was the only person who could disarm the alarm and crack lock mechanism with ease. You thought the whole system was overkill but it pleased Damian to have it installed so you didn’t complain.

“Hey, Damian,” you greeted him robotically with your gaze still transfixed to your laptop screen and your back to the window. You were watching the events of the latest episode of your favorite show unfold.

You heard Damian land in your room with a grunt. He was usually quite graceful, however you guessed that his ribs and hip were still sore from the last sparing session he had with his brothers and sisters. That family took everything to a whole other level.

You heard Damian shut the window after himself. The sound of the latch being secured came next. Then you heard electronic beeps as he reactivated the alarm. “You –�� he let out a sharp exhale. “You took home economics, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, nonchalantly with a mouthful of popcorn. You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, but you heard the sound of his heavy boots carry him across your room.

“Good,” he said. A shaky breath infiltrated his normally self-assured voice. “And you remember most of it?” The bed springs creaked under his weight.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Great,” he said. “What grade did you receive?” This wasn’t all that out of character for him. Damian was competitive in all aspects of his life. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to compare home economics grades just so he could vaunt his skills.

“I don’t know, Damian,” you said honestly. You turned up the volume, hoping that Damian would get the hint that you wanted to watch your show in peace and quiet. “I think it was a good mark.”

Damian let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Excellent.” His voice sounded less troubled than before.

“Jon did most of my assignments,” you admitted unapologetically.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but you attended the classes, correct?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too focused on the climax of the episode. “Oh my goodness,” you muttered under your breath to yourself as the plot twist unveiled. “Um,” you said, remembering that Damian had asked you something. “Yeah, yeah, more or less.”

“Do you remember how to sew?”

“Sort of,” you told him. You had sewn on a button once. It didn’t look great, but it definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well enough,” he said. “I need you to suture a laceration.”

“What?” you choked out. He said it so nonchalantly that you weren’t sure if he was serious or not, because a sane person would not be so stoic. You whipped around to find Damian lying on your bed in his Robin uniform. It was soiled with a layer of black, like he had been charred. It was so dark that it masked the staining of his blood and you wouldn’t have known he was bleeding if it weren’t for the pool of red soaking through your white comforter. He was holding his side with his hands at an awkward angle.

You had seen him with cuts and bruises and even broken bones, but never with the life bleeding out of him. “Oh my goodness!” you shrieked as panic filled your lungs. Your face contorted into a horrified grimace as you tried to stifle an expression of disgust. The strong stench of metal made your stomach churn and your head woozy.

You immediately felt horrible for not paying attention to him sooner. “Damian, why didn’t you say something? Holy crap! What the hell happened? You need an ambulance!” You turned around to reach for your phone.

“No,” Damian choked out. “Secret… identity,” he said with his eyes squeezed shut.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Your dad? Alfred?”

“On their way. No time to wait. First aid kit,” he implored weakly.

You ran for the bathroom and tore into the cabinet to find the massive first aid kit that Damian insisted you store. You had opened it once or twice to grab a bandage for a paper cut but you never touched the majority of the contents. You didn’t even know what half of the kit was for. You guessed that you might find out today.

When you returned to your room, Damian was moving slowly to unbutton his uniform. You helped him with the rest, trying to do it quickly without jostling anything. You tried to ignore the squishy wetness of the uniform, but your hands came away covered in a layer of crimson blood. Beneath the outer coat, his white undershirt was seeping with blood. There was a large tear in the fabric and a bit of the raw wound peeked through.

You didn’t have a fear of blood, really. You had no qualms about donating blood or seeing it on TV. This, however, was completely different. You were more terrified than you had ever been in your entire life. You had no idea what to do - everything you knew about CPR and standard first aid had inexplicably disappeared from your brain. Silent tears began to spill from your eyes as your breaths tore in and out of your throat, ragged and shallow.

“Y/N,” said Damian, firmly. Through your blurry, wet vision, you could see him straining to make eye contact with you. “Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my instructions.”

Normally you trusted Damian, but this time his reassuring words didn’t have any kind of soothing effect on you. Your whole body was shaking now. You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you shook your head.

“Yes, Y/N. It is going to be fine, but you must listen to me. Do you understand?”

You tried to take a deep breath, but an uncontrollable sob cut it short. If Damian could lie there halfway to death and still be composed, then you could at least pretend to be calm for his sake. You nodded your head this time, trying your best to even out your breathing. It was no use though. You couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Thank you. Cut it,” he said, motioning to his undershirt.

You did as he ordered and cut a line right down the centre of his shirt. It was warm and wet and clung to his skin, so you peeled it off to reveal the full extent of a nasty looking wound. Even through your distorted, teary vision, you saw enough to know it was not good.

You felt faint at the sight of his insides. Or maybe it was your hyperventilating making you dizzy.

“Breathe, Y/N. Breathe and then get the sterile solution to irrigate it.”

You returned with freshly washed hands, a pair of gloves and a jug of irrigation solution. Following his instructions, you squeezed the syringe and expelled the liquid over his wound. It ran down his side and carried even more blood into your comforter.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “There should be a small white packet with a curved need and thread and a pair of suture holders. They look like scissors but without the blades.”

Your trembling hands had a difficult time picking out the items. Once you collected the materials, you looked at Damian for further directions.

“It’s a bit deep so you’ll need to close the layer under the skin first. Can you see it?”

You shook your head. His side was a giant red mess. You couldn’t make out anything except for blood and jagged skin. It was nothing like the clean and clear-cut diagrams you’d seen in class. “This is crazy! I can’t do this,” you cried. People spent years studying and training to do procedures like this. Stitching up a body was not something that a person should wing, and definitely not on their best friend, lying in an unsterile room.

“You can,” he assured you. “Pretend like you’re sewing some fabric. Start with this layer here.” Damian pulled at his skin and pointed to the inside with a pair of suture forceps. You couldn’t help but turn away and shut your eyes as he prodded himself. “Y/N,” he called your attention back. “Make sure the needle goes in like this and comes out like this,” said Damian as he demonstrated.

You were shaking your head. “You are absolutely insane! Sewing fabric is nothing like sewing a wound! Can’t we just wait for your dad or someone?”

“No time,” he said.

“Please, Damian,” you begged. “Let me call EMS.”

“No,” he asserted with what little strength he had.

“Please! I…”

“No,” he repeated. You could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“I understand you have to protect your secret identity, but Damian, come on. There won’t be an identity to protect if you die.”

“Batman…Nightwing…” he said weakly.

“They’ll understand!” you argued with desperation.

“No,” he mumbled. He shook his head.

Without any thought, your next words came flooding out straight from your heart. “Damian, I love you and I don’t want you to die!” Oh. That came as a shock to you. You’d never said anything like that before. In fact, you’d never even had a thought like that, but you knew it was the truth. Your hands almost flew to cover your mouth in regret, but the blood dripping from your hands stopped you.

Damian didn’t seem to notice your confession, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Had you not been utterly distracted by the emergency before you, you might have run away with embarrassment from your sudden proclamation.

“Please try for me, okay?” His eyes were starting to close, but you could see him struggle to keep them open.

You searched his eyes, to see that his once vibrant green eyes had a dull, hazy colour to them. Seeming to find what you were looking for, you conceded. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Okay.”

It was the worst experience of your life. Damian walked you through the process, but nothing could prepare you for the nauseating feeling of piercing his skin and pulling the nylon thread through the thickness of the tissue. Seeing the inside of his body made you want to vomit but his life was at stake, and you had to be brave for him. Besides, he was the one who should be worried, not you. Your technique was obviously non-existent and you were certain that you were hurting him a hell of a lot more than he was letting on. He hissed and groaned and you apologized profusely but he insisted that you continue.

“Thank you,” said Damian after you tied the last knot. His eyes were heavy and lidded and you could tell he was barely hanging on to consciousness. “Knew you could do it.”

You had no response. Now that the worst part was over, the adrenaline had left your system and you were in shock. His hand lolled out in an attempt to offer you comfort, or maybe to seek comfort for himself. You weren’t certain which is was, but nevertheless, you instinctively clasped his hand in yours.

Then he said something that caught you off guard. His voice was so faint that you barely heard him. “For the record, I love you, as well.”

You weren’t sure if he really meant it. Maybe he was delirious. He did lose a lot of blood. You pondered it for a moment and wondered if you should feel mortally embarrassed when he was fully lucid, but just then, a gentle squeeze on your hand told you that you didn’t have to worry.

#Damian Wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #BatFam #batfam x reader #batfam x y/n #damian wayne imagine #batfam imagine #batboys #batboys x reader #batboys imagine #robinchicklets

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chloedrewitt · 2 years

Text

Beastly Prologue (An Arcane/Silco fanfic)

Read the prologue for my Arcane fanfic Beastly here. You can find the full story on Ao3 and Wattpad (https://archiveofourown.org/works/35405245/chapters/88250023 / https://www.wattpad.com/story/293076629-beastly-arcane-silco)

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Word Count: 1.2k TW: Blood, violence, no Silco yet

A child's screams could be heard echoing through the streets of the Undercity, suffocated only by the hasty steps and exhausted groans of the man carrying the toddler in his arms. His expression was that of terror and fear as he threw a glance behind him to see whether he was still being followed, though the darkness of the night swallowed all that wasn't in his immediate sight. His pace increased when the child cried louder, the adrenaline in his veins making it hard to think properly.

She was gone. His love was gone, murdered by the Unseen in broad daylight and yet no one had moved to help her. He knew that no one dared oppose them, not in a place where magical blood was as much a death sentence as aiding someone who possessed it. They called it a genetic defect, a freak of nature, one that had to be erased to ensure the safety of all. The memory was too fresh to banish it from his mind. He was sure that should he live to see the sun rise, her terrified expression as they drew a blade through her heart would haunt him forever.

His gaze dropped to the child in his arms as her eyes opened; the crying had stopped. Her big, golden eyes glimmered in the dim light of the Undercity, her skin seeming even paler than usual. Though it was soft like that of a human's, it was partially covered in small groups of scales whose shapes were emphasized by the steadily increasing street lights. They faded into her skin at the corners, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. A child of both land and water, his perfect little girl. There was no doubt of her origin when one laid eyes on her, which was precisely why he had to leave this place before the Unseen caught them. His legs ached, his exhausted lungs hurting in his chest as he was forced to inhale the ice-cold air of the night through fast breaths, despite it biting into him like needles.

"Don't move or we will shoot!" He heard a voice scream from behind him, which only caused him to run faster. The stone underneath his feet became wetter the further he ran, a sign that he was close to his destination. Close to safety. Though the death of his wife still stung his heart, he had no time to grieve. It was then that he realized grieving was a luxury to those whose life wasn't tied to a single, fragile thread. He hoped the girl would not have to spend her life like that.

A shot rang out in the distance, followed by the sound of a bullet hitting a stone wall somewhere to his left. He tensed, grip tightening around the child who began to cry again in response to the loud sound, while tears blurred the man's view. He should have left the Undercity a long time ago, settled in a more magic-friendly region, like Ionia, or perhaps Bilgewater. He had insisted on staying here, and he now paid the price for his foolishness. For his naivety.

Another gunshot and his limbs began to tremble. He took a sharp turn right, trying to somehow lose the men behind him. Counting their steps gave him an indication of how many were following him; approximately three people. He had to assume they were all armed, anything else might have cost him and the child their lives.

"It will be alright, omuta," he whispered to her, recalling the pet name his wife had used for her so many times. It meant treasure in her native tongue. The memory was so fresh, so vivid in his mind that for a second it felt as though she was waiting for them on the other side of the river, the moonlight reflected on her scaly skin, much less human than the girl's, and her golden eyes twinkling with happiness. He shook his head as he stopped in front of the bridge that led to Piltover, his breath panicked and fast.

He saw four more members of the Unseen at the bridge, weapons in hand as they cut off his only chance of escape. Pure panic erupted in his chest, tears falling down his cheeks as he hastily looked from the bridge to the alley behind him. Shadows appeared before he could see their bodies, but he knew then and there that his chapter had been written.

The child shifted in his arms, tears visible in her eyes as his own landed on her skin. His gaze wandered to an uncovered part of the toddler's neck where three slits were barely visible; an inherited trait she had gotten from her mother. The slits were such fine lines that they almost looked like scars that had long healed, the only indication of their magical origin being their placement and neatness. No blade could carve such perfectly symmetrical lines, three on each side of her neck.

With newly found determination, he looked towards the water separating Piltover and Zaun as the men approached him quickly, their weapons raised. He had only one chance, and a mistake would be deadly.

"I love you, Yelena," he whispered, placing his feet further apart as he leaned forward slightly. Before the men could reach him, he began to run towards the water, his feet carrying him as fast as they could. Suddenly, neither his aching muscles nor the cold biting into his skin mattered anymore. He heard another shot and shortly after felt the pain in his shoulder. A groan escaped him as blood splattered the moist ground, his posture altering.

Pain was written all over his face, his injured arm barely able to hold the child as he kept running towards the river. She felt him cling to him, her little arms holding on as strongly as they could. It only worsened his mental torment. Just as he reached the shore, he felt the second shot. One of the Unseen had caught up to him and fired from such close distance that the bullet entered his back, tearing through muscle and bone, only to leave his body through his chest, missing the child by inches. His eyes were wide as the light began to fade, merging with the shadows of the night until there was nothing left but darkness.

With a silencing splash, his body fell into the river and began to sink to the ground as blood rose from his wounds in an almost smoke-like, crimson spiral. The water that entered his lungs finished what the bullets had begun, while the child sank to the riverbed with him, surrounded by his blood which mixed with the water and entered her now opened gills. She kept screaming, her eyes, which allowed her to see crystal clear even beneath the surface, were locked on the body of the man long after they had hit the soft mixture of sand small stones. Though from underneath, there was no one who could hear her cries as the water suffocated them, turned them to bubbles which did little but burst silently when they reached the air above. There was no one who could have helped. No one who would have.

There was only deafening silence, followed by terrible loneliness.

#arcane #arcane silco #league of legends #silco #silco x oc #vastaya oc #fanfiction #original writing #ao3 #wattpad #lol arcane #silco x reader

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

Tell me you love me, before I go.

A/N: A very short smutty writing I had in my swirling whole night, which unapologetically I ended up writing in the wee hours of dark.

Summary: Harry and Y/N are rivals -- very passive aggressive enemies. When on a mission Y/N breaks into his room he had no choice but to punish her.

AU: Rivals to lovers, dark sci-fi, angry rough sex, spanking and spitting, reassurance kink and unrequited love.

A war between two groups. Left one with nothing but a tech base and other with almost everything. So the Arsonists raid the Phantoms' buildings to steal food items and necessary fuels for their people since they're mostly unarmed due to lack of weapons they try to use their brain as much as possible.

Y/N works in one of the tech bases of Arsonists and right now she's standing with her five more mates trying to figure out how to break through these large gates of the villain's building, one of his most strong headquarters.

They've to collect some data before another truck of fuel arrives for Phantoms next Wednesday so they could have access to it without doing much effort.

Once sneaking in successfully because the two guards were too muddled in gossiping their arsess about their maiden. The building's nothing too extravagant, sleek and able to live, dimmed to an unpleasant light indicating everyone inside it is sleeping.

She barges into the villain's room easily and almost had all the information in her hands from his drawers when the door to the room banged close, startling her at spot and the frames of her glasses fell on the carpeted floor.

"Shit."

"D'ya think cursing would take ye' out of here? if so you're down bad" Her heart sinks in when his cold insensate voice booms within the walls — a heavy boot comes crushing her glasses, again and again mercilessly.

Her blood boils. Because, what the fuck. Doesn't he have any manners?

"Do you think I need my glasses to punch the shit out of you, you prick!!" She pounced at him, almost breaking his nose into a splitted eiffel tower but he dodged it, twisting her wrists at her back and snatching the files from her sneering menacingly —- letting her painful grunts fly over his head without any remorse.

"Well, well." She yelps when he tightens his grip angrily, "Look what cat dragged in come little mousey we're going to have some fun." She didn't know until now that someone could be this strong as he puts her in a chair like a rag doll binding her with no escape out.

She tries to squirm and wriggle her butt out but he just tuts standing tall and evil in front of her, she rakes her gaze slowly up to his tanned biceps and clavicles popping from underneath his flimsy shirt, matted curls grazing his shoulders.

"Oh no, trust me sweetheart, you're going to want to stay strapped in here. We're going to find out how many times an Arsonist can break –- and for the fact my people will kill you on the spot if you step out of my room." Shiver runs down her body from fear and he chuckles, flopping onto the edge of his bed, man spreading, leaning onto the heels of his palms behind him.

"You're pathetic!" She spits out. Full of venom.

"Pfft, a thief telling me that 'm pathetic." He shakes his head and she's despising his audacity as if he rules the world. She could kick him square in his sexy face but the thing's she's bound to this damn uncomfy chair.

"Atleast, I don't go on killing people." She grumps and it's like she pushed a button when his irises turn pitch dark. Her eyes widen in astonishment, reeking with fear when he leaves his spot in a thunder striding towards her furiously and drags the chair closer to him, almost lifting it inches above floor.

The next thing she knows that a gun is resting against her temple ready to be fired, "Ye' really that desperate fo' me to prove it to you, huh?" He growls, hooded gaze following the gun that's sliding down her cheek and the way her breath wavers —- lips trembles, nose twitches he knows he's fucked.

"Will it hurt?" If she's going to die it better be an easy way.

His eyes soften at that. Taking in the rosy features of her, the plushiness and squishiness of her skin that his fingers feels like dipping into cream. The women of Phantom aren't like this; they're built differently to fight and kill who wrongs them -- they're almost heartless at this point.

"Dunno, You'll get to know after taking one." He shrugs like it's not a biggie tipping her chin with the gun's pointer and her eyelids slip shuts. She couldn't cry. Even her dead body wouldn't forgive her if she would cry infront of her worst enemy for the last time.

"I hate you, Harry. I'd never ever forgive you for kidnapping my cat when we were small." There she said it. If she's gonna die soon she better let it off her chest. Before it could hit him right in the wound he builds a shield fast arguing back with a stoic chuckle.

"Guilt tripping wouldn't help, darling." He tuts patting her cheek with the gun's barrel —- funny case it's empty of bullets. He just shooted all of them whilst doing target practice.

"Fuck you." She yells.

"It'd take much more action than just undressing me naked with your bare eyes." He squeaks dramatically. Stepping away and pouts when she huffs trying to kick her feet in his direction.

"Not my fault that you're a perv."

He pouts feigning fake disappointment putting a hand on his chest, "You're such a grudge holder."

"Think about 10 ways to fuck me until then 'm heading to make amends for you -- see what they offer in return of their precious nerd." He smirks, it's sad such a gorgeous face could be such evil she thinks.

When he comes back she's fallen asleep from getting tired and exhausted being trapped in the same spot for hours, "Sorry, peaches but they don't want you back –- even told me to kill you if that what it ta —- oooh" He halts in his tracks closing the door behind him quietly not to wake her up and pads softly towards her, putting her dangling head back gently in a comfortable position and tucks a strand of her hair that's tickling her nose behind her ear.

You're not supposed to act that way with your enemy, you FUCKER.

His brain screams but his heart says otherwise.

She has changed. She never cries anymore. Everytime they kidnapped her or she ended up being caught from his henchmen —- she'd always need company to make her feel less frightened from the hollowness of their buildings, would cry when they'd lock her up in dark rooms.

It's awfully hurtful how once bestfriends turns into rivals just because of a conflict that ruined their and their families lives.

She has been doing all of this for people who doesn't even care about her. They're using her and many others like her to build a nuclear power plant so they could become intimidating.

He retires to sleep. Debating in his sleep whether he should just free her and tell her to sleep in one of the rooms of the buildings but soon the possibilities died when he was high in his slumber.

He groans, knuckling the sleepiness away from his eyes. He woke up from loud the thumping and found Y/N trying to break the door knob, he winces covering his ears when she screams watching him lunge towards her in rush.

His chocolate curls bouncing atop his head. His emerald eyes speaking with morning's gold and lips ripe like cherry. His brows kinked in annoyance and expression pinched in rage.

"You're confident." He rasps out in his morning husk and slams his hands on either side of her head trapping, cornering her between him and the wall.

"Did you really think it was going to be this easy." He nothing but purres, pushing her against the door. She gasps abruptly aware of their height differences moreso the radiation of power he daunts that she ignored her whole life.

"Hmm." He hummed. Eyes black with intimidation burning her under the intensity of it, he keeps his focus on her, smirking. "It suits you. This trying to fight me, desperation is a beautiful look on you."

"Fuck you."

"I mean if, ask nicely." His smile is sweetly honey and lethal if you ask me.

She glares at him with blazing daggers, "This isn't the way you make people love you." Her chest heaving with his heat close to her and his scent enveloping her.

"Love?" He laughs fondly even, crinkled forming by his eyes and he breathes out when she hovers her dry lips over his's, "Sweet thing this isn't about love — if ye ask me far from that." He's lying. He's full of bullshit.

"And yet you don't touch me or hurt me." She squints her eyes up at him wrecking her brain how to slip away from his hold, "If you beg so." He simpers awfully lewd for her. Sure as rock for what he said with his whole chest.

"Come get me then!" She trips him aside and rushes for the door when he pushes her into it tightening his hand around her throat, it's aching him to tell her the truth but he wants to let her know her worth. He rests his forehead against her's muttering a rumble deep within his chest, "They don't want you Y/N." Her windpipes squeezes painfully. The statement punching her lungs. Tears springing in her eyes.

"You're lying!!" She looks up at him shattered and desperate.

He caresses his knuckles against her tear stained cheek, "Shh, shh baby I'll always want you even if they don't — " He jerks back when she blows hit at his brawny chest yelling at him.

"It's because of you!! You, you, you." He sighs. Grabbing her wrists and pining them above her head, "Shut up, please." His chillness irks her more and she nips at him feastly.

"Make me." So he does. When her eyes drift up at his determined ones it takes her breath away and she knew it was over for her.

His lips catches her's in a hard kiss, driving them apart with the force of it. Nothing gentle mind mushing about it rather pricking needles into her skin with the severeness of it. She feels the door rattling against her back when he shifts, pushing her against it with his hips, every thought of her exploding into white noise of want and lust. The dark curl of desire twisting in her stomach and pearling sweat on her neck. With the last thread of restraint in herself she tries to pull away.

"No." He says bringing her lips back to his's. Cupping her cheeks to deepen the kiss and it's ardent as before not loosing it's spark, she slips her hands under his shirt — pulling him closer and the low groan at the back of his throat, a small pleading noise of want sets her skin on fire.

"Fuck me." She mewls. Trying to latch on his body like a kitten with it's dainty paws.

He glides his clammy palms down her bum and grabs her thighs wrapping them around his waist. Not breaking the kiss but tasting ever dulcet corners of her mouth and creating heavenly noises.

The next thing they know she's crawling back with the help of her bum to settle in the nest of pillows and he's fumbling with his belt buckle quite aggressively, she tugs the hem of his shirt down not satiated enough from having his lips on her and meanders her fingers in his hair to pull at them roughly in order to flush her chest up against his's.

"Never thought your sheets would have smelled other than sex." Because, genuinely. They smell that of fresh mint and roses.

"So, you think of me doing dirty on this bed you're laying at the moment?" He asks mock and degradation evident in his tone, "D'ya get wet dreamin' 'bout me railin' ye' to death?" He grazes his teeth along her jaw and sucks at her earlobe counting in her silence.

"Shut up." She gasps, probably from the abrupt press of his bulge against the inside of her thigh.

"Make me then." He growls. Fisting the hem of her hoodie and pulls it over her head throwing it among his skinny jeans. Her head falls back and lips tremble from the effect of slap he landed at her outer thigh —-- she knows she can't shut him.

Though he knows that her single command and he'd be at his knees for her.

When she clings to him for dear life and whimpers in his ear softly, his eyes widen in realization and he leans away to watch her expressions diffuse into manifold emotions. His nose scrunches up and he holds back his cooes for her.

She's a subby. A cute one.

Her eyes blink open to the sight of him out of his boxers and it waters her mouth —- her mind manipulating her to lunge forward and take his heavy member in her palm to give a good suck to his shiny crimson head.

Down her throat. Nestle her nose against the trim patch of hair under his balls.

"Like what y'see, doll?" He highers his chin quite smug about her staring and she hates him for that, "Pretty cocky for someone who likes staring at his enemy's tits." Her voice groggy. She wheezes a squeak through her nose when Harry pulls his shirt over his head revealing toned pecs and abs -- skin sewn with tats.

Unfortunately, she doesn't get to stare at it for longer when that shirt comes wrapping around her eyes blocking her sight.

He can never let her have nice things would he?

"Wanted to gag your mouth with it … but I'd rather love hearing you moan fo' daddy." He nips at her collarbones -- sucking it harshly to leave a prominent mark. His calloused hand rubs over her tummy smiling against her skin when she jolts and lets a little squeal slip.

His cock drips precome at her tummy and her breath shudders into heavy pants when the tip of his cock dipped in her belly button nudging it.

"Ha —- " He glides his sticky head down her happy trail and slips his large palm into her panties cupping her with his middle finger teasing her entrance, "Couldn't hear you!" He ducks down to put his ear near her lips and drums the pads of his digits against her cheek.

She huffs and squirms for a second then moans breathily when he spanks the side of her hip leaving a sting, "Oh my god, daddy." His grin victorious and he lowers down to smudge his lips against her parted ones -- kissing her tongue and humming around it.

She's somewhere it's hard to configure out, in between paradise and wonderland.

"Tell me princess, what d'I do with you in your filthy dreams?" He grabs her jaw patching gentle pecks against her lips and he slops his finger into her throbbing pussy, "Fuckin' drippin' down ye' bum fo' me." She cries out trying to hook her thigh around him but he hisses slapping her cunt hardly -- turning her into a thrashing mess. She's trying hard to suppress the bitter-sweet sensation of her own body getting out of control and her glistening pussy lips flutter erratically creating sloppy noises.

She squirts drenching the sheets underneath them and her panties.

He slides his arm under her arching back pushing her up against his chest with a jerk, "Daddy's askin' you somethin'." He grits, propping his knee in between her thighs to rub it against her soaking centre.

She gulps, licking her dry lips, "You–your rings … ah!" Her whimpers are muffled against his chest and he twists his thumb in tight circles to smear her wetness from her slit to clitoris, "What 'bout them, doll?"

How does she tell him she liked what he did earlier.

"Daddy, please … " She whines blindly searching for his face but he grips her wrists in his one hand and groans, "How's daddy gonna make you feel good when you don't tell him, pet?" He takes a kitten lick of her perky nipple. Teasing her areola with the tip of his cold tongue against her warm sweaty body —- he laps at it hungrily then creates a suckling noises, the noises, his slobbery tongue on her body, his fingers curled inside her pussy and the thick humidity is too overwhelming, she feels like fainting.

She wants him, inside her needy pussy.

She can't take the teasing anymore.

"Spanking! I – I liked it when you did it, please." He kisses her nipple for the last time before smashing his mouth against her's in a fervent sinfulness and parts away with a smooching noise to sit back on his heels, "It wasn't that hard was it? Just a word and I could give you my whole world." The sincerity in his voice makes her want to hug him and kiss him for lifetime but for now he has other plans as he rips her panties away moaning obscenely gruff at the sight of her pussy weeping for him to pound his cock inside her, so ready and full of dripping honeyed wetness for him.

"Your safe word is clouds." He whispers in her ear. He knows her limits and her resistance but by any chance he'd cross it he'd never forgive himself, "What's it?" He asks and she says in wavering, "Clouds."

"Atta girl." He pets her cheek.

Her nail scratches the side of his hands that are pinning her down when he spits on her already damp cunt, a loud noise resonates along with her needy cries when his free hand adorned in jewels came spanking her pussy and her pelvis remains lifted in air bathing in the sting of metal and the throb rattling in her whole core.

"This's what you wanted?" He kisses his teeth slapping her slick clit again and again, "To be roughed up by daddy, hmm." She bobs her head squirming and wriggling. Her words struck in her throat.

"To be manhandled." He hums a growlish moan tasting his own fingers coated in her juices, "I'll show you what being manhandled really feels like." He promises her. She gasps a sweet yelp when he flips her over and throws her bum up.

His cock rubbing against her thigh and her heartbeat fastens, anticipating something, crimping the sheets in her fists and mewls into the mattress when he spanks her ass loving the way it jiggles stroking it afterwards to subside the burn down before landing another brutal one.

She bolts her eyes shut throwing back her hips at him and he lays all the way over her back pushing her down on the bed, her cum trickling down the inside of her thigh, "Want daddy's cock?" He asks. Slicking the head of his prick up and down her asshole and slit.

When she nods vigorously he bumps it in furious circles against her swollen bundle of nerves, "Then beg fo' it," He says intimidatingly and she doesn't waste a second before blabbering shamelessly.

"Daddy … please I want your massive cock inside me, all of it." In her entire lifetime -- she never once uttered these kind of words.

His heart mushes into a puddle seeing her a babbling mess and grabby hands for him, he kisses her gently speaking to her with foremost affectionate, "shh, shh moppet. You could have it anytime you want it, daddy's g'na fill you to rim with his cum and make you keep it there for hours with his prick still snug inside your little pussy, just made for him, c'mere...yeah just like that." He lays her back gently that her front is facing him now and wraps his hand around her calve raising it and pushing it against her chest firmly.

A series of pornographic moans and whimpers echoes in his bedroom when he seathes inside her slowly stretching her out in by inch leaving a burn behind her pulsating walls, their breath laboured breaths mingling, "Fuck you're so warm baby —-- hugging daddy's cock so good." He whines looking down where they're connected and knotted. His stomach twists and turns, his hips stiffens and he resists from pushing inside her when she's not ready but her milking him with her wetness isn't doing him any mercy too.

She gropes his ass, nudging him to move and their teeths clanks, temples falls against eachother and lips whisper prayers of their unrequited love when he pulls all the way back to pound back inside her roughly.

"You're daddy's good girl, making him feel so good. I want to keep you to myself. all of you and cherish you, make love to you, w'na mark you however I want." He groans eyes rolling back under his closed lids grinding his hips against her's in rhythmic pleasuring motions to give her clit stimulations and she cries out feeling another bursting orgasm bubbling in her tummy.

"'M gonna cum, daddy!" She tugs at his roots and he drives more maniacly inside her, "Squirt around daddy's cock pet, so your pussy could swallow it deeper inside you." The headboard of bed hits against the wall vigorously and she digs her heels deeper into the dimples at his back moaning at the top of her lungs when she gushes all over his dick making more squelching, soapy, dirty noises of him raming inside her.

She desires for more.

She has become one little insatiable thing.

His balls smacks against her bum and his thursts turn faster to chase his high, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He curses nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and keeps his hand around his throat with the slight pressure of claimation.

"Come fo' me again." He spanks her ass and she clamps shut down at him pushing him to the edge of ecstasy, "Squeezing me so tight -- gimme more, I know you can princess." Her legs tremble around his waist when she crampies around him and his cock's head strokes against her sweet spot doing wonders to just topple her off real quick.

"Daddy!" She feels floaty and foggy head coming on his cock for the many times she has forgotten. Her mind blocking out even the weak shuddering whimpers and beaten moans of Harry as he reaches his orgasm unloading inside her -- his cum sticking thickly to her walls and some of it oozing outside of her pussy hole but he pumps it back with lazy strokes.

He lifts his smushed face from the dip of her neck, his own curls sweaty against the nape of his neck and he smoothes his palms down her sides to calm her, his lips brushing featherly against the corner of her mouth as she keeps on blabbering something.

When he tries to pull out gently she cries out pawing at his shoulders, "Daddy no!" He caresses her sweaty hair back and gets rid of her blindfold, pecking her nose sweetly.

He wants to take care of her. He yearned to have her like this for years. He has to bring her back from her sub-space before it's too late.

"It's no daddy anymore, petal. I'll crush you in this position — " Carefully he tries to retreat but stop when she says in a very dejected feeble voice, bottom lip wobbling and tears springing at the corners of her eyes, "You don't want me too?" OH NO. This's what Harry was afraid about. A breakdown. He saw the storm coming but didn't know it could be this worst right when she's in her sub-space.

His face pales at that. His state in frenzy and panic.

"No bubba. I want you my precious girl -- s'just you're gonna get tired like this, hmm. 'N I have so much to show you and make you meet new people -- couldn't have me baby walkin' on her wobbly legs for whole day could I?" He cups her cheeks tenderly and smiles down at her warmly smothering her in devoted kisses.

"Promise, daddy?" She sniffles staring up at him with doe innocent eyes and he shakes his head, "Harry sweet angel, come back to me moppet." He keeps his gaze locked with her's, gliding his thumb delicately against her cheeks and seals his promise with a kiss.

"Promise."

She lets him pull out and he shushes her wrecked whimpers with his lips. Falling to side with a large puff of breather and embraces her with his arm slinged around her shoulders protectively and she hides her face in his chest, mumbling incoherent things and he tries to stay with her emotionally and physically much as possible -- assuring her and soothing her with his sweet nothings.

"Harry." She whispers softly and his ears perks up at that looking down at her with most loving eyes, "Hi baby." He giggles quietly kissing the tip of her nose and she sniffs cuddling into him.

"Sorry —- " He shakes his head pinching her chin to make her look up.

"You don't have to darling -- s'okay, everything's alright." After, making sure she's okay and giving her million re-assurances because he loves to he cleaned her with a damp wash rag.

"Such a pretty babe." He makes her blush treating her as if she's a china glass doll who'd break at his slightest poke and showers her in praises and kisses because dunno who got her self-esteem and confidence like that but that person sure needs to get punched in their face.

"Did I hurt you?" He asks tenderly applying a thin layer of cream on her red imprints. She shakes her intervining her fingers into his's one by one and kisses his knuckle, "No."

"Good." He chuckles as if he was holding his breath.

"How bout you take a lil nap and I see if I could bring us some brekkie, hmm?" He's gonna break his own rule. Taking food from mess area to your rooms and taking long showers was never allowed, having lights on after 12 because of the risk of attacks.

"'M not hungry, please stay." Her eyes half open and her face buried into his scented pillow, "Dunno. But to me you look like y'could faint any time soon." He says sternly pulling a snugly clean duvet over her body.

"Okie but come back quick."

"Don't worry. In a snap I'll be infront of you."

It's her fourth day here. She came out of his room to socialize just a day before and she realized from the nasty glowers thrown her way that not a single person likes her.

But it felt like spending a lifespan with Harry. To fill the emptiness of all those moments of their childhood together they lost once after the war.

She got to know he's the best cuddler and likes to be a small spoon, she loves to jetpack him. He seems rather scary and is scary when he's commanding people off -- they wouldn't dare but to speak a word over him but he's this big softie Y/N likes to squish in their privacy.

He got her glasses fixed and put them over her nose with a mishevious kiss, she was unable to not to grin when he murmered against her lips, "Now you could punch me with your glasses on."

"Seems like I don't have to do that anymore." She shrugged squealing afterwards when he threw her over his shoulder tickling her till all she coul see was him and stars.

It was all going on track until now when she was passing through the lobby to go to Harry who's practicing out in field, "What are you doing here Alex?" She asks angrily grabbing his arm and he tells her feeling relieved she's okay, "I'm here to take you back."

"But they don't want me back." She grits, he catches her wrist pleading her sadly, "We want you back -- Nia waits for you daily." Nia is his five years daughter.

"I know that … but — " How she's gonna tell him she's in love with one person they despise with their whole hearts.

"But what — "

"Alex!!" He was in the midst when she sees a bullet approaching his way from the side of his shoulder and screeches loudly pushing him aside, the bullet makes it's home in her chest.

It was fired from Harry's gun with his own hands that were loving on her an hour ago. Life drains out of his body and he feels sickness approaching to split his throat, knees turning weak as he stares his shaking hand in horror.

Before, he could do anything another bullet hits Y/N in shoulder knocking her to floor and this time it was one of his people, the shot was fired on instinct.

"Put your gun down!!" He shouts at him shoving him away with a single forceful push and strides towards where the love of his life's laying in a pool of blood.

He pulls his hair maniacly, falling to his knees and pulls her up in his lap cradling her head gently to press his lips against her forehead, "No,no,no,no baby." He sobs wiping his tears away harshly to see her properly.

"Ouch. It actually hurts." She gives him a frail smile raising her shaky hand to cup his cheek.

Will it hurt?

You'll get to know after taking one.

He wishes he could takes his words back.

"You'll be fine, you're okay, 'm so so sorry moppet. Didn't-- didn't know y'were standing behind him, bu –-- but s'...s'okay yeah —-- call the doctor!! Why nobody has called him yet!!!" His scream thunders aggressively as everyone watches their commander this defenceless and vulnerable infront of them for the first time in shock.

"It's not your fault, okay?" She manages to speak groaning and eyes rolling back from pain residing in her bones torturesly, he cries out like a wounded puppy patting her cheek to keep her awake, "Please stay with me baby, please." Her chest tightens. His chest tightens from the fear of loosing her and he stands up carrying her bridal style tumbling his way on wobbly legs towards the medical ward in the building.

His tears shiny droplets on her skin and she nuzzles into his fragrance for the last time.

"There was no happy ending to this," She murmurs. Any, sign of life fading from inside her and replacing her eyes with stoness.

He brings her closer to himself, "hey, hey now none of that -- you're not leaving. 'M not letting you leave." He kicks open the door and lays her limp body on the stretcher. Snapping his head outrageously in every direction to find any doctor but none and drags his palms down his teary face.

He couldn't stop crying.

He's loosing the sunlight of his bleak life he must protect her at all costs.

But, life's prize is something that would have him selling all of what he had worked for and still he'd be unable to even bring her back from cold dark earth.

"Shit. Shit ---– I'll patch you up myself. I know how to take a bullet out — " He creates a ruckus around to collect stuff, "Harry! Harry! listen to me." but her hollow anguish calls for him breaks him at last.

"How about you spend these last few minutes with me because 'm really 'bout to die commander." She tries to keep her anxious voice cheery but fails drastically coughing blood, "Don't say that baby -- I just got you, don't leave me, don't make me hate myself again." Sad tears trickles down her cheeks and he feels like fainting imagining the pain, agony and fear she's suffering from.

She's hating to leave him.

"Maybe in afterlife, we could have a nice homely house, long warm baths and two smol kittens —- and oh I forgive you for kidnapping my cat." She admires him for the last time wiping his tears away and tries to lift his head that's lowered into shame.

She's so fond of him at the moment.

She gulps, trying to gasp for oxygen feeling her heartbeat drop to zero, pleading him, "Tell me you love me before I go." His bloodshot eyes snap to her's and his chest heaves ruggedly with heartbreaking sobs -- his words full of sorrow tasting the bitterness of goodbye on her lips streaking away the blood on her mouth.

"I love you so much, baby. Never stopped. Never will." She cries at last kissing him back with all the blood she has left pumping to her heart and tries to exchange the words but it was too late before she lost it all -- cold in his loving embrace.

"Stay…." He begs praying like he did never before.

"Y/N!!" He screams trying to shake her alive and hugs his angel to himself with mournful wails.

Everyone standing outside the room knows that they'll never see this Harry again.

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles one shots #harry styles dirty imagines #harry smut #You guys are gonna hate me for this #i cried too #pls fetch some tissue before reading

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mollygetssherlockcoffee · 4 years

Text

Sunflower

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When Y/N joins the team, Bucky isn’t fond of her but as time goes on, she begin to form bond with the team and with him.

Warning: Swearing, torture, violence, death

Words: 20,971

A/N: All translations were made using Google, so sorry if they are wrong! This is also my first Marvel fic, and my first Bucky fic, so all feedback is welcome!

Master List Tag List

May

You’re nervous. Your palms sweat, even with the air conditioner pumping through the compound, and your heartbeat is elevated. You know that your presence is allowed but you don’t know whether they will accept you. After all, you were part of one of the most atrocious organisations that had ever existed.

Hydra was wicked, cruel, sadistic, merciless and they were your past.

When approached and asked to be part of a drug trial, you had accepted. You were young, barely eighteen, and living on the streets of Krasnoyarsk. You had struggled to care for yourself, the orphanage having kicked you out a few months previous, and you had jumped at the chance of having a place to stay and food in your belly.

It wasn’t until you were taken in, subjected rigorous testing, that you found out where you are. The company name they had originally given you was fabricated, and your insides turned to ice as you saw the Hydra symbol.

You were, in a sense, tricked.

You were trapped there, no way out and you knew you wouldn’t leave alive. You had, in a way, signed your own death warrant. You had been foolish, your mind to focused on food and a bed to properly ask about the company who wanted you. Saying that, they probably would have killed you if you had asked to many questions anyway.

For three years, you were put through your paces. They taught you languages; English, German, Spanish, French, Romanian, Italian and others. You had to learn quick, and you were given daily tests. If you got a question wrong, a fist hit your stomach. If you completed the test with more than two wrong answers, you were sent to the Palach [Punisher]. His methods of…correcting…you varied. Beatings, cuttings, breakings, whippings…

They also taught you how to fight. They didn’t go easy on you, in fact, it was the exact opposite. The trainer used his full force, you couldn’t tap out. You adapted, or you got hurt. He’d almost killed you once, just to show you how easy it was.

It had taken you over two years, but you had developed your own style of fighting by studying his. While he was brutish, using his pure strength, you used your small structure. Your moves could be likened to those of a snake, you would slip around him, strike in the most unexpected of places and take him down that way. You fought like it was a dance, gracefully and beautifully.

You also learned how to use a variety of weapons. You could shoot a range of guns now, could strip and clean them too. You were confident with knives, easily able to add them to a fight and harm your opponent. They’d even taught you how to use a bow and arrow, and a crossbow, though they weren’t a first choice of Hydra.

In your three years, you learned more than you thought you were would. Did you want to learn all of this? No, of course not. You had no choice. With was either adept and learn or be killed. You didn’t want to die.

Your final ‘test’, as they called it, was to take another person’s life. A young man, barely of age, with dark brown hair and green eyes. His eyes were rimmed red, tears trailing over his high cheekbones and dripping over the cloth stuffed in his mouth and off his chiselled jaw. You didn’t know his name, but his face would never leave you.

You had hesitated a moment. You weren’t a killer, not by choice at least. You didn’t want to kill the young man, murder was not in your blood. However, you knew that it had been leading up to this moment. Why else would they be keeping you, training you?

It was kill or be killed. So, you shot him.

From there, the training was over. Then, the ‘drug trial’ began. For the first time in five years, you were given meals three times a day, for a week straight. They were building up your strength for what was to come. What were they going to do, that you would need to be so prepared for?

You were reading a Mandarin language-learning book when they came in. You could converse in the language well enough, but it wasn’t your best. And you had to give your best. Four soldiers and three people in lab coats. The soldiers carried guns and had knives strapped to them, you knew they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you if you tried to fight and run. You had seen that happen to another ‘subject’.

You had been taken to lab where they usually tested you. When you entered, the three scientists joined their other eight colleagues. Your normal tests had only been conducted by three scientists, one preparing the tests and equipment, one doing the actual testing, and the final one recording the results. Seeing so many scientists, you knew this was it, that this was ‘the big day’, so to speak.

You were strapped down, thick leather tightened around your body to hold you to the metal table. Your left arm was outstretched, your inner elbow exposed.

Everyday you had been kept at Hydra, you had been scared. But at that moment, on that cold metal table, your fear was heightened. You didn’t know why. They had taught you how to kill, how to lie, how to steal, hack, seduce even… but they left you with fear. They wanted you to fear them, it would ensure your loyalty.

Electrodes were attached to your forehead, the metal discs roughly pressed against your temple. A heart rate monitor was clipped to your finger and a blood pressure cuff was put around your right arm.

You could hear the machine showing your heartrate increased as a scientist moved towards your left arm. In his hand, he held a large syringe. A think, green liquid swirled in it. It was vile looking, it was something you would expect to see in a swamp. He took your arm in one hand, bracing himself before pushing the needle through the skin of your inner elbow.

As soon as the green mixture had entered your body, you had been set alight. You’d cried, screamed, begged for them to make it stop. Since joining Hydra, you had went through pain but this was unlike anything you had ever felt. Your whole body was on fire, flames burning you up from the inside.

It hadn’t taken long for your eyes to roll and for you to pass out in pain.

You had woken up three days later. You didn’t know what they had injected you with but it didn’t taken long for you to discover the results of it. When you got angry after being tied down, the ground had shaken. The stone floor had cracked and began to crumble. When you were scared when the guards entered, vines had extended from the walls to enclose you. When your hand had sat on the wooden table, a flower sprouted, its thorns wickedly sharp.

You had could create and control the earth and plant-life.

It was a terrifying discovery. You had walked into Hydra as a weak orphan, yet now you were a trained killer. You had walked into that lab a human, and now… now you were something else. You couldn’t be called a mutant; you were born like this. You were created. You were an experiment. A test subject.

For two more years, you were subjected to more testing and more training. Hydra pushed you to the limits of your ability, seeing what you were capable of and forcing you to improve. You gained more control over time, soon able to completely control the earth around you with little effort. You also had to ‘update’ your technique with your new abilities. You learned how to weave your gift into your fighting style, making you all the more dangerous.

Though you were skilled, you knew that someone would still be able to take you down.

You had heard about him. The Soldat. You had heard the scientists whisper his name, but it was the guards outside your room which provided the information.

“Soldat escaped” the first guard murmured quietly.

“Do you think they’ll send her after him?” the second questioned, just as quiet. You knew he was referring to you.

“Probably” the first confirmed. “They’d send her to the chair first. Still, with his metal arm he would beat her. It will be a waste.”

You didn’t know what the chair was, but you knew it was bad. Thankfully, you never got to meet it.

Less then a year later, the base you were kept at was stormed by the Avengers. You had seized the moment. While the guards had rushed to fight them off, you had broken the door of your room. A thick, green vine had curled around the large handle and ripped it from its hinges.

You had run from the metal room, which they had put you in after discovering your abilities, and you hadn’t looked back. You had lifted a hand in front of you, causing a stone wall to break and you had climbed through, running into the forest.

You escaped and went on the run. You were sure that those who had kept you at the base had either been captured or killed by the Avengers. Being in prison, or in a grave, they wouldn’t be able to come after you.

You hadn’t counted on the Avengers not coming after you, though. You hadn’t thought of it previously but of course Hydra had files on you. When they had seized control of the base, the Avengers gained access to those files. They found out about who you were, what you could do. You were dangerous.

It had put on the run from both sides. Other sources of Hydra might still know of you and want you, but now, the Avengers wanted you too.

While on the run, you had heard more about The Soldat. While they called him that often, his code name was The Winter Soldier. He was a man out of time, taken by Hydra, turned into a weapon and frozen. He was a victim of the organisation, just like you. They had turned him into a super-soldier and given him a metal arm, strong enough to crush people’s skulls. No doubt strong enough to destroy you. Even with your abilities, he was stronger and more experienced than you.

You knew they were after him, just like how they were after you.

Then, it happened. Khvatka. Der Schnappschuss. The Snap.

One minute, you were fine. The next, your hand had tingled. As you looked down, it began to turn to dust. You had been shocked, but that soon turned to horror as your arm turned to dust and surely… so did the rest of you.

It seemed like only a moment later, you were opening your eyes again. Everything around you looked different, there were buildings surrounding you which hadn’t been there before. You knew you were in the same place though, the earth beneath your feel felt the same.

You hadn’t understood what happened at first but then you had stolen the newspaper and heard people talking. Then, you understood. Half of all life, sentient and non-sentient, had been erased from the universe. And you were part of that half. You had been erased.

You didn’t think it would affect you much. You had nothing before The Snap, you had nothing after. You were wrong. In a few short months following The Snap, the Avengers caught up with you.

The Scarlett Witch, Captain America, Iron Man and The Black Widow.

“I’m not going back to some lab!” you had growled at them, before running.

They had caught you. in fairness, you would have been able to escape, but since leaving Hydra, you had refused to inflict harm. Your actions towards the Avengers were all in defence, and they had noticed that you didn’t not make an offensive move on them. You could have hurt them, killed them even, but instead, you just blocked.

You had been so focused in not hurting them, The Flacon had been able to sneak up behind you and with a sharp prick to your neck, knock you unconscious.

You had been extremely lucky that you only fought defensively. After extensively looking over your file, noticing your singular kill in, arguably, self-defence, you had been invited to join the Avengers. You didn’t know how they had arranged it, after all, you had previous ties to Hydra. However, it was either join them or be held in a secure unit.

It wasn’t a tough choice.

That led you to this moment. Standing outside of the meeting room which held all of the team members. While you knew there was a core group, there were many other notable members which weren’t always included in the specific name.

“You ready?” Steve Rogers, Captain America, asked.

You rolled your lips between your teeth for a moment in nervousness before you nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.

“Okay, lets do this” he pushes the door open, stepping into the room and holding the door for you to follow.

Most of the team was on edge with you at first, watching you wearily. They knew who you were, where you had spent nearly six years of your life. You didn’t blame them for not trusting you straight away. Their trust was something you were going to have to earn. The only person to fully accept you straight away was the Scarlett Witch, Wanda Maximoff.

She had previously been a test subject of Hydra which had given her gifts, including telepathy. You knew she had looked into your mind straight away and while it was invasive, you understood. By looking into you mind, she would know your thoughts, feelings and intentions. What she saw obviously convinced her you owed no ill will, which was true, and she readily welcomed you.

The rest of the team politely nodded, said hello or gave you an awkward smile. Peter Parker, the youngest of the Avengers, seemed to do all three. Though he was obviously nervous of you, you had been with Hydra, he stilled tried to welcome you enthusiastically. It was sweet of him, you thought, offering the teenager a small smile.

“Funny suit” you commented, head slightly tilted as your eyes looked over the spiderweb pattern.

He looks down at his suit before nodding at you. “Thanks. I’m Spider-Man.”

You hummed in amusement, he was a little too young to be considered a man, but it was cute.

The rest of the team greeted you until you got to the final member.

Standing close to the door, in a position allowing him to have complete view of the room and the entrance was someone you recognised description alone. He was tall, with long, dark hair which made his blue-grey eyes stand out. His mouth was set in a hard line as he watched you, arms folded across his chest. Though he had on a long-sleeved shirt and his hand was hidden by his right arm, you knew his left arm was metal.

This was The Soldat, The Winter Soldier.

You tried not to react. This was the man who could take you down, with absolute certainty. Hydra said he would be able to do it, you had to believe in that fact. Looking at him now, you could see why they came to that conclusion. He was much larger than you.

“This is Bucky” Steve introduced.

“da [yes]” you can’t help but fall into Russian. There was something about him that made your mind fall back to Hydra, where they had only allowed you to converse in Russian. It was probably because that was where you knew him from. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared minutely. His head titled up and he looked down his nose at you. Tensing, you quickly spoke again. “Sorry.”

“Dobro pozhalovat’ v komandu [Welcome to the team]” his voice was gruff and low. As soon as the words were out, we passed you, careful not to touch you, and left the room.

Steve apologised for his friend, watching him go without a single glance back. You waved off his apology, assuring him that Bucky wasn’t rude and that you had probably unintentionally made him uncomfortable by speaking Russian.

Later in the evening, you ate dinner with the rest of the Avengers, but you didn’t see Bucky again.

July

You collapsed onto the couch, holding the cold-water bottle against your neck. You had peeled off your suit, which was similar to Natasha’s but was dark green in colour and taken a shower. Though the water had been cool, your body was still hot.

“Move” Wanda ordered.

You sat up slightly, allowing her to sit down before you rested you head in her lap. She moaned as she sunk into the cushions of the couch, and you knew her body ached just as yours did. She adjusted herself again, and then her hand moved to play with your hair.

Since joining the Avengers two months ago, your relationships with the members had improved. You were closest to Wanda, who had quickly become a close friend and confidant. In your first few days at the compound, you had been quiet and just observed the team, not taking part in their talks and jokes. Wanda, however, made sure to speak quietly to you at every meal. She slowly brought you out of your shell and encouraged you to develop your relationships with the other members.

Your relationships with the rest of the team was varied.

As Wanda trusted you, Vision seemed to be open to you. He wasn’t your biggest fan, believe that with your abilities, you posed a strong threat. However, he was respectful. He would often join you and Wanda for film nights and would keep you both supplied with popcorn. He spoke to you politely, but never singled you out for conversation. It strangely hurt your feelings, considering how close you were to Wanda, but you accepted his attitude towards you.

Upon seeing you use your gift, Peter Parker wanted to spend time with you whenever you were both at the compound. He was fascinated by the power of your abilities and the level of control you had. He asked multiple questions, eager to understand how you were able to do what you could. While it had made you uncomfortable at first, you soon began to appreciate his interest. He didn’t want to know these things because he wanted to use you, or because he was scared but because he admired you.

And while you spoke about your abilities often, you also spoke about him. He was struggling with his language class and, being fluent in most languages, you had offered to help. He had also shyly asked you to forge Aunt May’s signature on his language test when he got a bad grade. You had done it, but you had told him he needed to speak to May about it.

Aunt May was accepting of your relationship towards Peter. At first, she had been weary, which you couldn’t blame her for, but then her attitude changed in the few weeks between visits. You think it was Peter’s doing, that he had gone home and spoken about you. Perhaps told her that you helped with his schoolwork, that every weekend you’d give him a bunch of flowers for his girlfriend, MJ. Or maybe about the time you scolded him for his recklessness on a mission and sent him to his room at the compound without dessert.

While Aunt May was his mother figure, you had seemed to have taken on the role of overprotective older sister. A role which May seemed happy for you to have. She had spoken to you just last week about how grateful she was that you were helping Peter and keeping an eye on him while on missions.

Tony Stark had taken somewhat of a liking towards you. He had provided you with your new suit and various weapons, all of which you were grateful for. Just like with the rest of the team, he did tend to tease you. He often called you Ivy after the famous ‘Poison Ivy’ from Batman. It was so common to hear that nickname, it was sometimes used instead of your codename.

You didn’t have a codename when you were with Hydra, they just called you ‘The Subject’, but joining the Avengers had afforded you one. Hemlock. It was a stupid codename and you had immediately hated whoever had assigned it to you. You understood the choosing of it, it was a deadly plant, but still… it was stupid.

Though Tony’s nickname was unoriginal, and it occasionally annoyed you, you much preferred it. Hemlock just seemed presumptuous. It was a deadly planet and having that as your codename, would make you appear to be deadly. You had the potential to be, yes, but you had only ever harm one person and that was out of a need for survival.

Natasha Romanoff usually observed you quietly, as if waiting for you to flip and attack. However, she didn’t go out of her way to make you unwelcome. She included you in conversation and would normally speak in Russian, which was also her native language, but you think that was to annoy Tony. He hated to be excluded.

She was sassy, her jokes hidden within her words. Though you hadn’t grown close with her yet, you could see yourself favouring her in the future. There was an appeal about her, she was mysterious, and it kept people interested, wanting to know more. You were no exception.

You had only seen Clint Barton once or twice, but he was always nice. He also adopted Tony’s nickname, calling you that more often that your own name. He didn’t seem to care for you though, not in a mean way, but in a way which he doesn’t view you as a threat. Which was refreshing.

It was from Tony that you learned Clint lived on a farm with his family, who had previously lost to The Snap. It was nice to know that while being a ‘hero’ didn’t mean you couldn’t have a normal, quiet life.

James Rhodes was another member of the Avengers that you didn’t have much contact with. Though you saw him around the compound, it was only ever in passing. He was often with not alone, with Tony or a military colleague. When he was alone, he carried files in his hands which he read through, ignoring the environment around him.

Sam Wilson welcomed you easily. While he kept you at arm’s length for the first few weeks, that soon gave way to flirtatious teasing. You knew he meant nothing by it, and you enjoyed the comments, no one had ever said such things to you. Though there was no attraction there, between either of you, you both enjoyed the flirtatious attention you afforded the other.

He had taken to calling you Petal, or the shortened Pet, a cute nickname because you were as delicate as a flower and also because of your ability. You acted annoyed when he called you it but secretly, you adored it. It was cute, sweet, and it felt like it fit.

Sam was also the one who you trained with often, though you tried to put him off it. You were trained to kill by Hydra, your skills on par with Natasha and Bucky – though he was much stronger than you. You could make Sam down in minutes, which a few members of the team enjoyed seeing, but you could beat him in seconds on the rare occasion you used your ability.

Still, he insisted. “You need your practice, Pet, I’m not always going to be there to save you.”

You beat him every time.

Steve Rogers was the unofficial leader of the team. Unofficial, because he didn’t want anyone to think he was above them. However, he was the one who decided on and led missions. He was the one who kept the team in line, he was the one who kept an eye out for everyone.

Since introducing you to the team, you hadn’t seen much of him; for various reasons. He worked often, going on missions more and when he wasn’t, he was busy preparing for the next mission. When he wasn’t doing that, he was working out with Bucky or just spending time with his best-friend.

And therein was the reason you hardly saw the Captain.

Bucky Barnes did not appear to be a fan of yours. Your presence seemed to make the man uncomfortable. When you entered the room, he would sit up straighter, would tense and watch you as you moved about. When you trained in the gym, his eyes would focus on you and you knew he was working out your style, to know how best to take you down. He only spoke to you when necessary and he was always short and to the point.

He wasn’t outright rude, but his dislike of you was clear. The only time he had outright asked about something pertaining to you, it was when he was confused over Tony’s nickname for you. Tony had proceeded to introduce him to the Batman comics and with Poison Ivy’s character, you were sure you were put in a darker light.

In his avoidance of you, Steve was also avoiding you by association.

You didn’t see much of the other Avengers. Thor was often in Asgard but had graced the compound with his presence occasionally. He was always polite but often kept a close eye on you, especially when his brother, Loki, took a shine to you.

Loki thought you were interesting for a mortal. He had never met a mortal who could control nature like you could, he called you ‘The Life Giver’ which you had strongly disagreed with. However, you found Loki fun to socialise with, he was interesting and mischievous, often liking to cause trouble which you couldn’t help but find amusing. He also had a love of knives which you shared an interest in and you had compared various weapons, discussing the pros and cons of each.

Honestly, none of the Avengers approved of your blossoming friendship with the God of Mischief. Still, they let you be, though they kept close watch.

You had only met Doctor Strange once but you found him fascinating. A sorcerer of great power, you were amazed by his abilities. Peter had told you how he had worked with Doctor Strange during the battle against Thanos, and that the magician could create portals. Thor had taken that moment to delight in telling you that Doctor Strange had made Loki fall through a portal for thirty minutes.

Apart from that first meeting, you also hadn’t met any of the other members of the team again. King T’Challa and his sister, Princess Shuri had left almost immediately for their home. Scott Lang didn’t often visit the compound but whenever he did, you didn’t happen across him.

“I can’t wait for winter” you huffed, dragging the bottle over your sweltering skin.

“Too hot for you, Pet?” Sam asked, taking a seat on the couch opposite you.

“Mm” you agreed. “I’m Russian, we like the cold. My sozdany dlya etogo [We’re made for it].”

“Kak pokazyvayet tvoye serdtse [As your heart shows]” Natasha jested, earning a chuckle from you.

While the words at face value were funny, it was hiding a meaning behind them which you both chuckled at. Natasha was one of the best spies in the world, tied with Bucky. She was observant and smart, and it hadn’t taken her long to put two-and-two together.

She knew you found The Winter Solider attractive. You couldn’t help it. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair and beautiful eyes. He was a stunning specimen of a man. He was clearly intelligent and undoubtedly observant, with a key attention to detail.

Working with him on missions and seeing him the limited times around the compound had drawn your attention. There was something about him. He was all man. Your body hummed when he was near, and you were acutely aware of his presence.

You didn’t bother to deny your attraction when Natasha had confronted you. There was no point. There was no lying to Natasha Romanoff. She didn’t judge you from you crush. She did, however, make veiled comments.

“What does that mean?” Tony asked, looking between the two of you. “You know its very rude to speak in a language that others don’t speak.”

“Bucky can speak it, he counts as others” you shrugged, smirking at Tony. “Eto ne nasha vina, chto vash ‘geniy’ zakhodit tak daleko [It’s not our fault your ‘genius’ only goes so far].”

This earned a laugh from Natasha and Bucky, who was quietly leaning against a wall, Steve sitting in front of him. Tony’s eyes flickered between the three of you, “What? What did she say?”

“On vyuchit odin den’ [He’ll learn one day]” Natasha smirked, wiggling her eyebrows at the billionaire.

“What? Bucky,” he turned to the quiet assassin, arm extended and pointing at you and Natasha. “What are they saying? Are they talking about me? What did they say?”

Bucky’s eyes went from Tony to you. His blue-grey eyes taking in your relaxed pose, leaning against Wanda as you held the cooling bottle against the base of your neck. You fought to keep your heartrate calm, his gaze sending tingles down your spine.

“YA somnevayus’, chto on budet [I doubt he will]” he rumbled before throwing the tiniest smirk at Tony and turning to leave the room.

It took a moment for you and Natasha to process his words but then you’re both laughing as Tony continues to question what you all were saying.

August

Your hands sat palm down, fingers spread as the glass tickled between them. Your hands ran against the grass and you sighed, smiling to yourself. You could feel the hum of the earth beneath your palms, the steady thrum of life which only you could feel.

It was an intoxicating feeling. Since leaving Hydra, you had taken great pleasure with just being part of the life around you. With your abilities over nature, you could feel the power of the earth and you fed off it.

In Hydra, they closely monitored your exposure to nature, not wanting to give you an opportunity to fight back and escape. You had never been able to explore the deep connection you had with the earth but since escape, it was something you indulged yourself in at every opportunity.

The compound is surrounded by open fields which back off onto tidy forests. After obtaining permission from Tony, you had happily taken ownership over a small section of the property and turned it into your own, personal, sanctuary.

You had started at the very beginning and created a small pond. It hadn’t been very hard to create the hole and line it with stone. You did take your time, lining the stones in a perfect formation with small ones framing the smaller ones. Tony had called in a water truck to fill it for you, which took an hour or two, but you hand enjoyed watching the pond fill.

When it was full, dressed in a new bikini, you had climbed into the pond. The water wasn’t deep, going to just above your waist. Your fingers trailed over the surface of the water, leaving flowers floating. Beautiful lily pads with bright pink lotuses, purple water lilies and water hyacinth. Yellow water poppies floated behind you, lazily moving across the pond. You walked to the edge pond, your finger running over the sides and leaving broadleaf arrowhead behind.

Flowers and weeds would soon bloom around the pond, and you hoped it would attract wildlife. It would be lovely to see frogs, dragonflies, and butterflies. You hoped that when your little spot of paradise was done, it would be teaming with life.

You crouched on the grass on north-west side of the pond and touched your hand to the earth. You breathed out slowly, closing your eyes as you envisioned what you wanted. The ground beneath you hummed as your power soaked into the grass below you, spreading outwards. You could feel the ground welcome you and allow you to bend it to your will.

You focus on the soil, creating the image in your mind of what you wanted. Long, strong roots buried deep in the ground, anchoring the large tree. From the ground, a large base would emerge with dark brown bark. It would stand tall, the thickness of the trunk showing strength and making it appear old. Branches would expend out, weighted down by long branchlets. You imagined them spanning wide, going so far as to dangle over the pond’s side.

You opened your eyes and stood up, smiling to yourself as you looked at the weeping willow in front of you. A hybrid of two different types of willow, it only had a life span of between forty to seventy-five years, but you knew you could make it live for a lot longer.

The tree fit in perfectly with the pond, giving off an enchanted vibe. It looked like something out of a fairy-tale, as if magical creatures would be hiding within the weeping willows branchlets. You created a stone bench at the base of the trunk and framed it with blooming flowers of varying colour, adding to the magical appearance.

You had made sure the rest of your area was full of natures favourites. There was plenty of nectar-rich flowers for bees and hummingbirds, with bright and bold colours to attract them. Marigolds, pansies and petunias sprouted, ready for the hungry tummies of rabbits you hoped to see in the future. You didn’t know whether the neighbouring trees housed deer but on the off chance, you made sure to grow hostas, daylilies and roses on the edge of the tree line.

Not wanting to make such a harsh change, you had extended some flowers into the other fields, letting them slowly grow to have more and more as they went towards your plot. It was a beautiful sight, anyone would agree.

Slowly, as the weeks went by, life began to bloom within your paradise. It started off small, a few butterflies and a stray dragonfly. Tiny frogs, that would hop away and hide if you got too close. Then you found the small warren and when you hid to spy on it, your heart warmed as the tiny rabbit’s nose which peaked out. It was incredible, to say the least.

Since creating this little slice of heaven, Steve had visited with his sketchbook in hand. The image the sanctuary provided was beautiful and something he was eager to capture. He had given you one of his sketches, one that was coloured in with watercolours which blended together. You had hung it on your bedroom wall that day.

Wanda had visited, smiling softly at the rose canina which scattered around the area. They were the flowers her brother used to pick for her, which were native to her homeland of Sokovia and the neighbouring country of Slovakia. Since then, you had made a small bush of the flowers outside her window and made sure it was always in bloom. She had said nothing but the smile she had was thanks enough.

The most common guest to your sanctuary was the most surprising. Bucky. He would come to quietly sit on the stone bench, lost in his thoughts as he watched the breeze blow the branchlets of the weeping willow. He found peace in that spot, and he enjoyed the freeness of the area rather than the confines of the compound.

One time, you had brushed through the branchlets of the tree to see him sitting motionless, watching a rabbit eat the marigolds on the floor beside him. You had frozen, worried about startling the little animal, but it ignored you, carrying on with its early afternoon snack.

“You’re here almost as often as I am” you observed, carefully walking to the edge of the pond.

“Its nice” he grunted, looking around appreciatively. “The compound can be… crowded.”

“Yes” you agree. You look over your shoulder to see him tracing a rose with his finger, avoiding the prickly thorns. “What flowers do you like, Bucky?”

Since that evening in July, Bucky had been more open towards you. Though he still kept his distance, he didn’t out-right avoid you. He no longer tensed when you entered the room, but his eyes remained on you, keeping a close watch. His observations of your fighting style had decreased and now he actually continued his work out, only throwing occasional glances at you.

It was progress.

“Sunflowers” he finally replied, having been sorting through his thoughts for the last few minutes.

The next time he visited the sanctuary, sunflowers lined the entrance to the willow’s spot.

Now, you sit with your palms on the grass with your fingers spread. You allowed yourself to just breathe in the fresh air and enough the hum of life beneath your palms. It was a wonderful feeling, making your heart fill with content as you allowed yourself to just feel.

So entuned with the earth beneath you, you felt the approach of another instantly. You knew their footsteps would be considered light, soundless, but through the ground it felt heavy. There are five sets of footsteps approaching from in front of you, a direction that no one should be coming from. There about a mile out, far enough that your other senses wouldn’t have picked them up.

There’s another set of footsteps behind you. These ones feel light even through the ground and you quickly recognise them. You don’t turn your head to him when he pushes through the branchlets and instead keep your eyes in front of you.

“Na severe otsyuda yest’ proryv [There’s a perimeter breach, north of here]” his voice is low, and you know his eyes are scanning the area. He always speaks to you in Russian during missions when he doesn’t want locals or enemies to know what he’s saying. “Natal’ya i Toni idut szadi. Oni idut syuda [Natalia and Tony are coming in from behind them. They’re coming this way].”

“Pyat’ iz nikh. Meneye chem v odony mile [Five of them. Less than one mile out]” you inform him.

You ignored Bucky as he quietly passed on your information to Natasha and Tony, and, instead, focused of the intruders approaching. They walked in formation, and you could feel the heaviness of the weight they carried. They weren’t hikers who had gotten lost, these were people looking for the compound and with the sneaking up, you could assume their intentions weren’t good.

You take in a deep breath before pushing your ability outwards. In your minds eyes, plants begin to grow on the path before the intruders. Stinging nettles, hogweed, pain bush, and poison ivy. You line the forest floor which leads to your sanctuary with the plants. Though not plants that will kill, they are ones which will cause discomfort and, hopefully, impact the intruders.

You ensure to line the way with overgrown roots, little pockets underneath where a person could catch their foot. It wouldn’t be enough to stop them, but it will slow them down.

“YA mogu sdelat’ otverstiye, chtoby derzhat’ ikh. Oni dolzhny byt’ blizhe, khotya [I can make a hole to hold them. They need to be closer though],” you tell him, standing up and looking at him. “Mne nuzhno umet’ pravil’no yego razmer [I need to be able to size it correctly].”

Bucky nods and reiterates to Natasha and Tony, telling them to follow the group but keep a distance. He pulls out a knife from his leg holster, flipping it in his hand and preparing. He trusted that you would be able to effectively take down the intruders, but he still liked to be prepared for anything. That was the solider, the assassin, in him.

Soon enough, the intruders were close. You couldn’t see them through the trees but you could feel them through the earth. You knew Bucky could see them, he was a super solider with heightened senses.

You quickly took note of where each member of the group was. One leading, dead centre. Two sets flank to the left and two to the right, in a triangle formation. The weight in their feet makes it easy to calculate their heights, the tallest being just over six foot.

Their weight shifts slightly, they’re preparing themselves. Without waiting to see what they are readying themselves for, you open a pit below them. It was quick, instantaneous. The once solid ground simply opened up and swallowed them, leaving them in a pit eight feet deep.

By the time they’re on their feet, the hole is surrounded. You and Bucky stand on one side, Natasha and Tony on the other. Bucky and Natasha have guns out, each pointed at the group while Tony brandishes his Iron Man blasters.

Standing over them, you quickly allow vines to grow out of the sides of the hole. They grasp onto the intruders, wrapping around them and preventing them moving. They’ve unable to pick up their military-issued guns from the floor nor get the handguns or knives from their holsters.

“I didn’t realise we were having a party” Tony sasses, his helmet retreating.

You used the vines to lift each intruder out one at a time. Bucky and Natasha quickly relieved them of any weapons on their person and Natasha cuffed them with zip-ties that were in a compartment on her suit. If their grunts were anything to go by, she made sure the zip-ties were tight.

When they were all above ground and cuffed, you quickly filled in the hole. You didn’t want any stray animals falling in it and getting hurt. With their weapons in a pile, you form a basket of branches around them to carry them.

Tony leads the way through the sanctuary, mental hand on the shoulder of the leader of the group. Bucky follows behind with two more of the group, each of his hands griping one of their arms. Natasha escorts the final two and you are left to carry the numerous weapons.

“Tony, watch the sunflowers!” you scold as he roughly shoulders past one.

“You can just make another one” he scoffs, pushing the leader forward when he tried to stall.

“No, Tony, they’re special!” you tell him, stopping beside the sunflower to make sure it was okay and undamaged. “This is our safe space; you can’t just walk around like a brute.”

“I’m not walking around like a brute” he defends, looking at you over his shoulder. “And it’s just a flower, Y/N.”

“’Just a flower’?!” your voice rises with outrage. “I’ll have you know-”

“Ostav’ eto, Y/N, on ne ponimayet [Leave it, Y/N, he doesn’t understand]” Bucky says.

Though you were no longer ‘on a mission’, so to speak, he liked to speak in Russian to annoy Tony. After the instance last month and a few repeated scenarios, Tony had attempted to learn Russian but after a week, he soon gave up. Bucky, Natasha and you often spoke in the language to annoy the billionaire, with the former two taking great pleasure in making him uncomfortable.

“No Bucky- [But Bucky-]” you protested, throwing a glare at the billionaire.

“YA znayu [I know]” he nods. “On yego povredil? [Did he damage it?]”

“Net [No]” you confirmed.

Bucky let out a grunt and nodded, throwing a look of displeasure at Tony.

Though you hadn’t outright discussed it, Bucky knew that the sunflowers were specifically grown for him. They were a way of showing that Bucky was welcomed in the sanctuary, that it was a place that he could escape to, should he need to.

It was something he was grateful for. While he wasn’t a man who was particularly enthused by nature, he could appreciate its calming and healing abilities. The willow tree bench often brought him comfort in times of stress, ever peaceful with disruptions only coming from the wind or small passing animals.

Bucky had been truthful when he told you his favourite flower was a sunflower. He didn’t, however, tell you why. You didn’t pry, it wasn’t any of your business and you suspected it had something to do with life before the war. You knew he was truthful though, because you sometimes caught him gently stroking the petals of one of the flowers, a far-off look on his face.

Once you had returned to the compound, you separated from the group. You took the weapons to Tony’s lab, knowing that he would want to examine them before they were put in the lock-up. You had only visited Tony’s lab twice. The first time was when he wanted to run tests on your abilities, which you had reluctantly agreed to. The second time was two weeks ago when you dropped off a vial which you had been sent on a solo mission to gain.

Since Hydra, you weren’t a fan of labs or doctors’ offices. They made you extremely nervous and set you on edge. It made you feel like you were still in Hydra, that you were going to be strapped down and another serum would be pushed through your veins.

It was a terrifying thought. You never wanted to return to that lab, to be tied down again. While you were grateful for your abilities, if you could go back, you would change so much. You would have stayed on the streets of Krasnoyarsk, would have taken your chances at survival there. Hydra had changed you, and you still weren’t sure whether there were truly any ways it had changed you for the better.

Doctor Cho said it was completely normal, it was a form of PTSD, and as such, if you needed medical attention, she came to your room. While you still weren’t completely comfortable having a doctor around you, being in your own space made you more comfortable and allowed you to remain calm as you received medical treatment.

With your drop off complete, you returned to the team’s living quarters.

The kitchen was a beautiful mix of light grey and white, with marble countertops. Everything matched, from the white appliances to the grey cupboards. On the island was a vase of flowers, that you always kept in bloom, which offered the space the only pop of colour. The vibrant pinks, blues and yellows seemed to somehow brings the space together.

The arched doorway led into the living room. Though Tony had paid for it all, you knew that Sam and Natasha were the ones who chose the furniture. The plush ‘L’ shape couch was a dark grey, with colourful pillows and a two thick throw blankets over the back. Two soft armchairs sat on the right, with the TV at the end completing the rectangle of furniture.

There was once a fluffy rug under the coffee table, which sat in the middle of the put-together shape. However, Bucky wasn’t in the habit of removing his boots and had trailed dirt all over it. Wanda had gotten it clean, but it was a repeated offence until it was finally just thrown out.

As you passed through the kitchen, you waved your hand over the vase, brightening the flowers. While they were still beautiful, it looked like they had been knocked slightly and bent out of shape. It wasn’t a surprise, while they respected your ability, the Avengers didn’t tend to take care towards your plants.

Except Bucky.

He was always mindful of your plants. While he often touched the plants in the sanctuary, never once had he left a single petal out of place. When the team was having ‘family’ meals, he would quickly pull the vase of flowers from the table before Sam could accidently knock them off while roughhousing with one of the other men. You’d heard him telling Natasha and Peter to be careful when they had nearly toppled the flowers over while throwing snacks to each other.

It was only a small thing for him to do, but it still meant a lot to you. Bucky knew, perhaps better than anyone, what you could do with your abilities but still, he didn’t want to cause more damage than absolutely necessary to your plants.

And while you weren’t close with the man, it would be a lie to say you didn’t have a soft spot for him. The way he respected your creations warmed your heart. He could barely be labelled as a friend. Still, it reaffirmed the crush that you had on him.

You curled yourself into the corner of the couch, folding your legs under yourself. You grabbed the TV remote, knowing you had at least a few hours to waste until you would find out why the intruders were at the compound. You settled on Kitchen Nightmares, snuggling yourself further into the cushions.

Natasha found you a few hours later, eyes slightly glazed over as you were lost in your thoughts. You didn’t blink as she turned of the TV, and you didn’t acknowledge her until she gently shook your shoulder.

“Nat?” you blinked, looking around. “When did you get here, what’s going on?”

“Only a moment ago, you seemed pretty lost in your thoughts” she told you, taking a seat on the couch. “We got them talking, in the end. We know why they came here.” “And?” you asked, sitting up straighter and turning to face her.

She waited a moment, her eyes carefully taking in your expression. “They came for you and Barnes.”

“Hydra?” you sighed when she nodded in confirmation. “It’s been years and yet they still want us.”

“We thought we had got all of their agents… obviously we were wrong” she said, head tilting and eyebrow lifting slightly as she spoke.

“‘Cut off one head and two more shall take its place’” you quoted.

October

You had never celebrated Halloween before. You had been raised in an orphanage un by the Orthodox Church and Halloween was act of betrayal to God. After leaving the orphanage, you had been taken into Hydra, where you never celebrated anything. After escaping the clutches of Hydra, you had been on the run. There was no time to celebrate a Pagan holiday while running for your life.

For the last week, Peter had not stopped talking about the upcoming holiday. You knew the young hero was excited, he practically bounced when it was mentioned. He got especially excited when Tony had announced he was throwing a Halloween party and that Peter could invite his friends.

“What was Halloween like in Russia, Y/N?” Peter asked you.

“It’s not hugely popular, not enough to be a tradition, anyway. People do celebrate it though” you replied. “When Russia welcomed the West in the nineties, it became more well-known… it depends on where in Russia you are from. The Orthodox Church doesn’t approve of celebrating it at all, so if you’re from a religious area…” you shrugged, trailing off.

“Did you ever celebrate it?” he passed the carton of ice-cream over to you.

“No” you shook your head, accepting the scooper. “This will be my first time.”

“Oh, you’ll love it! It’s so much fun!” he assured.

After you had agreed to attend Tony’s party in two weeks’ time, you had gone costume shopping with Natasha and Wanda. You hadn’t been planning on dressing up as anything really, you were happy to just put of your suit and go like that. However, neither of the girls were willing to let you do that.

“So, what do you want to be?” Wanda asked, browsing the shelves at the local mall.

“I don’t know” you shrug, following after her. “What are you going to be?”

“Vis and I are doing couples-costumes this year” she blushes. “We’re going as Alice and The Mad Hatter.”

“I’m going as Pennywise; I have the hair for it” Natasha shrugs.

“What’s Pennywise?” you ask, looking between your two friends.

“You’ve never seen It?! You’ve seen Sleepless in Seattle, but you haven’t seen It?” Natasha huffed in disbelief.

“Tom Hanks is in Sleepless in Seattle… I like Tom Hanks” you defended weakly, giving an awkward smile and a small shrug.

“We’ll watch it later, it’s great” Wanda assured.

You continued to search the store for a costume, but nothing caught your eye. As you were beginning to think that maybe you just wouldn’t find one, a gasp to your left caught your attention. You turned quickly, your arm raised and ready in case someone was being attacked.

Instead, Wanda stood holding a costume, grinning and bouncing in her spot as she showed you. As soon at Natasha saw it, she was smirking at you too, firmly agreeing with her choice. As you hadn’t found anything you liked, though you had been in the store for two hours, you reluctantly agreed to their choice.

Later that evening, you sat on the couch with the rest of the team as Wanda kneeled in front of the TV. She placed the DVD into the player and grabbed the remote, returning to her seat beside Vision. She had managed to gather the whole team into the front room to watch It, a horror film you had never seen before.

Wanda had shown you DVD case earlier and you had to admit, you were already a little on edge. You were an Avenger, trained by Hydra, with abilities beyond normal. However, seeing a picture of the clown, Pennywise, made your stomach turn. Especially when there appeared to be children involved.

“Oh, no…oh, no” you whisper quietly to yourself, watching the small paper boat drain.

The child, Georgie, was wearing a yellow raincoat like the child on the front of the DVD case. It was reasonable to assume he would meet the clown. Now, you weren’t a particularly nervous person in normal circumstances, but you grew up surrounded by children and looking after younger children in the orphanage. The instinct to protect children was ingrained within you, so you know this film would put you on edge.

You hardly notice as you start to tilt to the left, your hand lifting up to pull at their shirt. The pulling causes them to lean forward slightly, enough for you to tuck your head behind them with your eyes peaking over their shoulder. You quickly close your eyes, ducking your head to hide as Pennywise’s mouth opens and reveals its pointed teeth.

You breathe in deeply through your nose and its then that you realise who you are hiding behind. His unique smell fills your senses, making your head go fuzzy for a moment. It was a wonderful mixture of mint and woods. It was the scent of the outdoors, dirt and wood and rain. There was another smell underneath, something you couldn’t identify that was just all him. It was intoxicating, making your eyes want to roll back.

You slowly pull away from Bucky, moving back to sit properly. Your cheeks are ablaze, no doubt bright red with embarrassment. You had never touched Bucky before and the first time you had, you had hidden behind him because of a film.

Though Bucky had allowed you to move him – he was more than strong enough to resist you – you knew he wasn’t comfortable with that contact. While he hadn’t been rigid, his body had been tensed against yours. You knew Bucky well enough to know that he didn’t have physical contact with many people. He hugged Steve every now and again, received and gave friendly pats of the back with Sam, and often physically trained with other agents. However, that was the extent of the physical contact.

Guilt ate up at you. You liked Bucky, harboured a small crush on him, and making him uncomfortable was not something you had wanted to do. You hadn’t even realised that you were moving to hide behind him. Still, you thought, that wasn’t an excuse.

“Sorry” you whispered, so low that only he would be able to hear you.

“‘s’fine” Bucky replied, eyes not leaving the screen.

You sat stoically throughout the rest of the film, so lost in your embarrassment that you hardly jumped. You couldn’t believe you had done that, that you basically cuddled up to him.

In honesty, you weren’t surprised you had leaned towards Bucky when you were scared. It had been a subconscious decision to seek comfort from him, rather than from Sam who was to your right. Something about Bucky just screamed ‘safe’.

A soldier, Hydra trained assassin, and valuable member of the Avengers, Bucky was not a man to be trifled with. He was strong, brave, and powerful. In every sense of the words. However, while you knew of his brute strength, there was something about his quiet persona which also assured you. He was observant, thoughtful, smart and patient.

Everything about him screamed ‘protective’. You knew it wasn’t just your mind telling you things either. Bucky had proved on multiple occasions that he had the teams back, including yours. He had thrown a Hydra agent away from Natasha when she had been caught up in a fight with two other and hadn’t seen him sneaking up behind her. He had covered Wanda when she was using her powers to contain a bomb. He had covered for Sam when a one-night-stand just didn’t’ get the hint.

He watched out for all of the team, without expecting them to return the favour. Of course, the team looked out for him in return, he just didn’t just assume they would. They worked together well, treating each other like the family they were.

The film ended and the room was plunged into darkness for a moment before F.R.I.D.A.Y switched on the lights. On the right of you, Sam was sprawled against the couch with his head tilted back and soft snores falling from his nose. Looking around, you noticed Tony was also fast asleep and Peter was yawning.

“So, what did you think, Y/N?” Natasha asked, shifting in her chair to face you.

“I didn’t like the clown” you admitted, blushing as you bit your lip and shrugged.

“Really, you’re scared of clowns?” Peter questioned. “Why?”

“That film… erm, the…the…I don’t know it in English. Pokhititel’ detey [Child snatcher]” you replied.

“Child snatcher” Bucky and Natasha translated simultaneously, before Natasha continued, “’Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’.”

“Mm” you confirmed with a nod. “We were told he was a clown who took children… It scared us all. The nuns would always threaten us, tell us that he’ll come to get us.”

“But he doesn’t look like a clown” Peter protested, confused.

“No” you agreed, nodding. “But when you’re young and that comparison is made, it sticks.”

When Halloween came, you were locked up in your room to get ready with Wanda and Natasha. The women had both been excited for that the party, and you had secluded yourselves to get ready four hours early.

Wanda looked beautiful in her short blue dress, with a white apron and a pair of white tights. The front sections of her hair were pulled back from her face, held back by an invisible hair tie and a blue headband. Her hair was lightly curled, bouncing down her back beautifully. Her black heels sat by the bedroom door, ready for her to slip on when you all left for the party.

Natasha, true to her word, was dressed as Pennywise. The female, sexier version, anyway. She wore a short, ruffled dirty white dress with red pompoms down the middle. White knee-high socks covered her legs with a pair of blood red pumps on her feet. Her red hair was in two pigtails, the ends waved. Her face was painted white, with two vertical lines cutting through her eyes, over her cheeks and connecting to her red lips.

As uncomfortable as clowns made you, you couldn’t deny that Natasha looked great as the killer clown.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, pulling at the hair that fell over your shoulders. While you could admit that you looked good, you still didn’t know whether you were up for wearing it. You were showing more skin than usual, much more, and something inside you said that was wrong.

“You look great” Natasha assured you. “You just need to add the vines.”

Your eyes ran over your body again. You wore a tight green corset body bodysuit which pushed your breasts up and together. Wanda had help you put on the authentic looking pink-red wig which fell in long waves over your chest and down your back. The two women had insisted that you skip the green tights and just wore the green heels with your legs near bare.

While you looked good, your outfit wasn’t yet a costume. Not a proper one, at least. You walked over to your windowsill, hovering your hand over the small pot of dirt that sat there. Slowly, two stems of vines poked out from the soil. You reached in, plucking them out and bending over to hold them against your ankles.

A few moments later, long vines were wrapped around your ankles and extended up your ships and curled around the bottom of your thigh, just above the knee cap. Small pink, white and yellow flowers bloomed sparingly along the vines, adding pops of colour around green leaves.

Picking one of the leaves and holding it to your chest, you closed your eyes and envisioned yourself. You imagined the more leaves sprouting from the one you held, imagined them growing and wrapping around your corset. The corset would be covered, left to look like it was created by leaves and not fabric.

Plucking a flower from the vines on your leg, you held it to your hair and let it wrap around the stand, holding the hair back from your face. There, you thought as you looked in the mirror again, you looked much more like the character Tony nicknamed you after.

“I feel like that’s cheating” Natasha joked, her head tilted, and lips pursed. Her eyes trailed over you, taking in the whole ensemble. “That lipstick does look good on you though; you should wear it more often. Now come on, we’re gonna be late and Wanda needs to meet Vision.”

Natasha was right and you did enter the party late. Agents, scientists, doctors, social elites and at least one member of the press filled the open space. Tony had elected to throw the party at the compound, on one of the lower floors which had a huge open space.

While the room was bright, shadows were thrown from the decorations. Fake spiders sat in cotton webs, hanging over banisters and on the edge of the bar. A cauldron bubbled, dry ice emitting white smoke over its rim. Knee-height plastic fencing lined a little path to a small booth where a photography waited to take pictures of guests.

“Is that a coffin?” you asked, looking to the far side of the room.

“Any Halloween decoration that you can imagine is in this room” Pepper nodded, looking around. “You know what Tony’s like: ‘Go big or go home’.”

“Hence his attitude” Natasha whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Nat” you elbowed her, biting your tongue to hold back your laughter.

“Ivy!” the shouting of your nickname draws your attention to the eccentric millionaire who had just caught sight of you. “And you’re actually her!”

Tony was thrilled by your outfit, and, in a rare display of affection from him, gave you a tight hug. Of course, he was immensely proud to say that he gave you the idea for the outfit. You smiled and shook your head, not bothering to argue with him.

His hands traced the leaves curing around your hips, obvious amazement in his face. “How did you get them to do this? It’s amazing, they’re literally wrapped around you. Bruce, Bruce! Have you seen this, look!”

You had been introduced to the quiet Bruce Banner earlier on that day. Natasha had convinced him to visit the compound and Tony had bribed him to stay with access to his own lab. While rather timid, he was more than comfortable to speak to you about science. While your brain wasn’t that of a scientist, your abilities were a scientific mystery.

Something about the kind man made you comfortable to answer his questions. He wasn’t invasive like other curious people. Rather than wondering how you got your gifts, he was more curious about what you could do with them and how. Not because he wanted to use you, but because he wasn’t you to have a better understanding of them.

What shocked you more was why he had this reasoning. You had heard about The Hulk, though you didn’t know much about him. While on the run, you had heard of the green giant with a strength beyond current measure. Finding out that Dr Banner was The Hulk was astounding.

Rather than wanting to state his own curiosity, he wanted you to understand yourself. When he first became The Hulk, while he knew it happened because of his experimentation with gamma radiation, he didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t until years later and a lot of further research, that he got his answers and he was finally at peace with himself.

Bruce wanted you to have that peace too.

“Huh,” Bruce said, poking at the leaves. “I don’t think this is natural behaviour at all, but we’ll have to run some tests.” He picked at a leaf slightly, turning to Tony, “Do you think we could get a few different varieties of bushes and flowers to-”

“Okay, stop, leave the girl alone” Pepper shooed them both away. “This is a party, your party Tony, you can play scientist tomorrow. Now go.”

Smoothing down his lab coat, because of course he came as a scientist, Bruce smiled before taking his leave. “See you later.”

“I can’t believe you just came in a suit” you shook your head at Tony.

“I’m James Bond” he defended, pulling a ‘are you for real?’ face.

“Yes, well, James Bond needs to speak with Mr Mikaelson about fund raising gala next month” Pepper said, hooking her arm through Tony’s and pulling him away.

The rest of the party goes well, with you receiving many compliments on your outfit. Just like Tony and Bruce, they all seemed amazed at the authenticity of the plants which wrapped around your body.

A member of the press seemed to be infatuated with your costume, though it was in appreciation of the plants but rather of your body. His eyes had travelled your body, focusing on your thighs, and he fought to keep his mouth from dropping open.

You had made an attempt to avoid the man and his camera. Your evening was made exceptionally better when you heard his yell from across the room. He had put his camera on the table while he went to grab a drink and when he returned, his camera was broken. You had caught a glimpse of it, and it appeared to have been crushed. You couldn’t say you felt any sympathy for the man.

It was towards the end of the evening that you ran into the trio you jokingly referred to as ‘The Three Musketeers’. The three of them stood near the bar, each with drinks in their hand as they cast watchful glances around the room.

Sam had obviously gone for the humorous look. Dressed in a cheap Captain America costume, with the obvious cushioned muscles, he was clearly poking fun at his friend. In his hand was a plastic version of the real shield, part of it bent which was probably from Steve trying to grab it off him earlier in the evening.

He was the first to see you walking over to them, reaching out and pulling you closer. He gave you a gentle squeeze in greeting before letting you go and waving for the bartender.

“Y/N” Steve nodded in greeting.

“Hey, Cap” you smiled. “Love the outfit.”

Steve was dressed as Indiana Jones, having watched the film a few month ago and becoming a huge fan of Harrison Ford. The brown leather jacket was tight across his back and he had the whip wrapped up and attached to his hip. The famous hat sat on the bar beside him, resting next to a glass of what appeared to be whiskey.

You had to admit, Steve pulled off the character rather well.

Bucky made up the last member of the little team. His outfit was rather unsurprising. Rather than a traditional outfit, he wore his mission suit. A tight black leather top with matching black trousers, combat boots on his feet. He looked like he did on any other day.

When you tilted your head to the side and went to open your mouth to comment, he quickly held up his right hand. You quickly grinned when you spotted the mask, your eyes lighting up in amusement.

“Oh, Bucky, we match!” you grin. “Now we just need to find our Robin, Harley Quinn and The Joker.”

“Hm” he rolls his eyes, letting the Batman mask fall to his side.

“Don’t worry, I won’t try and poison you tonight” you teased with a wink.

Sam snorts into his drink, turning away to hide his smile.

“What made you go with… this?” Bucky asks and your insides burn as his eyes travel over you.

“Wanda suggested it after I couldn’t find anything I liked” you shrugged. “It’s amused Tony and he made me take a few pictures with him. The nickname is definitely staying now.”

It was true, Tony had found you after slipping past Pepper and had pulled you along to the photobooth. He’d taken great pleasure in telling the photographer that he had nicknamed you ‘Ivy’ and had, essentially, given you the idea for the costume.

“I still think ‘Petal’ is better” Sam argued.

“I’m sure you do” you acknowledged with a nod. “You never call me by my name anymore.” “What is your name?” he joked; his face mock serious. When you made a playful threatening move towards him, he quickly wagged his finger at you. “Careful Pet, you can’t take me all by yourself.”

“I know for a fact that Bucky has a least one knife-” you begin.

“Three” Bucky interrupts to confirm.

“Three knives” you correct with a small nod in thanks. “hidden on him and would sooner back me up than you.”

“Three knives?! Bucky!” Steve chides, giving his best-friend a disapproving look before turning to you. “How did you know he had them on him?”

“The same way that he knows I’ve got a knife hidden in my corset” you shrug. “It’s what we were taught.”

There’s no response to that as Steve and Sam are reminded of your time within Hydra. Though you weren’t often comfortable talking about the scientific experience of Hydra, you were not ashamed to admit you had been trained by the organisation itself. You had been tricked, and later forced, into it and it was in the past. You couldn’t hold it over yourself anymore or you’d never be able to move on.

You had accepted your past and, now, it was time to more forward with your life.

“And one in your left shoe” Bucky nodded at the heel.

“All right, pipe down” you rolled your eyes.

Since the night the team had watched It, your interactions with Bucky had steadily increased. Though you could hardly be called best friends, the former assassin now spoke to you. The conversations were neither long nor often but still, everyone made your insides warm from his attention.

The friendly conversation and teasing callouts were something you wasn’t expecting to develop but you couldn’t deny that you your enjoyed them. From the small remarks he made, you knew that behind his quiet brooding, there was a man with a sparkling personality.

Hydra had just buried it deep within him.

Every day with the team seemed to slowly chip away at the walls he had been forced to build. His morning runs with Steve and Sam, his time spent with Steve regaining his memories of the forties. His playful fights with Sam, verbal and sometimes physical in the gym. Natasha goading him into a fight to see who the best assassin was while Wanda quietly encouraged him to join in with team activities.

However, it was Tony who helped in the biggest way. It had taken time, but he had accepted that it was The Winter Solider who had taken his parents. He no longer blamed Bucky, which greatly eased the man’s guilt. He still felt horrible for what he did under Hydra’s influence, but he was slowly learning to forgive himself.

“You two are unbelievable” Steve shook his head with a small smile.

“Thank you” you grin, playfully bumping your arm into Bucky’s.

“We’re here all weekend” he finished, flashing Steve his own smile.

“Where’d you learn that?” you asked, eyebrow raised at the super solider.

He pursed his lips, shrugging. “The Tonight Show.”

“Don’t tell Tony” Sam advises, glancing around for the billionaire. “It would only set him off and he won’t stop talking about how he’s been on there.”

You spent another ten minutes with the boys before you left them to find Natasha. The rest of the evening passed fairly quickly, and it wasn’t long until you found yourself tucked up in bed. Your head aching from the wig and your mind overworked from socialisation, you soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

You woke up the next morning from a message from Natasha with a link which you soon clicked on. It led you to an article, posted very early that morning, of Tony’s party. Your eyes barely skimmed the article but near the end, you understand why she had sent it to you.

There, clear for you to see, is a picture of you and Bucky. Your slightly leant against him, with you head barely titled towards him. Your both looking at something off to the side, both of you grinning happily. It takes you a moment to place it but then you realise, its from that moment with Steve.

You both look happy, carefree. It’s the first time you’ve seen Bucky fully smile, his eyes seeming to sparkle as he looked at his best friend. Though you know he wasn’t entirely comfortable in a room full of strangers, he looks content to be within that group, your group.

You smile and save the picture, dropping your phone on the bed and getting up for a shower.

November

“I can’t drink that; my aunt will kill me!” Peter hissed, pushing the flute away and quickly looking around to ensure no one was watching you both.

“Its fine, Pete, it’s just one glass” you assured him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I’m pretty sure the drinking age is twenty-one, Peter” Bucky said, stepping up beside you, arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised.

“I wasn’t going to drink it, Sergeant Barnes, honest” Peter denied, stepping back and waving his hands to show they were empty.

You rolled your eyes, nudging Bucky. “Leave the kid alone. He’s almost eighteen, and I know you drank way before you came of age.” You turned back to Peter. “I promise, Pete, your aunt won’t kill you for one glass. If you don’t want it, that’s fine, but don’t reject it just because your scared of getting in trouble.”

You knew Peter wouldn’t get in trouble for drinking the one small flute of champagne. Before offering it to him, you had asked Aunt May if he would be allowed to try it. If he tried it in your company, where you could keep an eye on him, he wouldn’t sneak off to try it later and get himself in trouble.

Tony’s charity gala was going incredibly well. Celebrities, socialites, the press and even a few ‘ordinary’ people. You could even spot two Gods walking around. The gala was being held in a large hall in the middle of Manhattan. Round tables with matt gold table clothes lined a hard wood dance floor in front of a large stage. Crystal chandeliers cast light around the room, with help from a single candle on each table.

“Are you sure I won’t get in trouble?” Peter asked, eyes wide as he blinked up at you.

“I promise” you assured him.

He took the glass from your hand and starred at it unsurely. He took a deep breath as if to prepare himself before bringing the glass to his lips, taking a sip. His nose scrunched up, head shaking as he pushed it back into your hands. “Ugh, no, that’s nasty.”

You and Bucky laughed at his reaction, and you dropped the near full glass on the empty table behind you. “It’s champagne. People rave about it but it’s not really that good.”

“If it doesn’t taste good, then why do people drink it?” he asks innocently.

Bucky snorts, shaking his head. “They don’t drink it for the taste, kid.”

“Some people do” you correct him. “Some people like it, like Tony, Pepper and Natasha.”

You were solidly in the ‘I don’t like champagne’ team. Tony had insisted on opening a bottle after your first mission, to celebrate you joining the team, and that had been the first time you had tried the bubbly drink. Your nose had scrunched up at the taste and it led to teasing for hours about your lack of taste in alcohol.

“I think I’ll just stick with this” Peter said, tilting his glass of Sprite towards you. Something catches his eye over your shoulder and he grins. “MJ’s here!”

“Go get her, tiger” you tease, nudging him in her direction.

“I’ll see you later” he blushes, hurrying in the direction of his girlfriend.

Your heart warms as you watch them greet each other. Their hands link, squeezing gently, neither of them ones for public displays of affection. They were truly adorable, probably the cutest couple you had come across. MJ was a sweet girl, a dry sense of humour and a sassy personality. She complimented Peter’s soft nature perfectly.

You were glad she had accepted Peter’s invitation, though you knew she wasn’t a fan of large fancy parties. Everyone was told that they needed a date for the gala, and Peter had worried that MJ wouldn’t accompany him, and Tony would be disappointed that he was failed to acquire a date. You had reassured him, of course, but that worry was still there.

“I adore them” you sigh happily, watching as they huddle at a corner table to hide and talk, rather than socialise.

“Trust me, everyone knows” Bucky nods. When you turn to his with a raised eyebrow, he continues, “You provide the kid with a bouquet every time you see him, just so he can give them to MJ.”

You shrug, taking a sip of your drink. “She likes the white and blue hydrangeas.”

It was quiet for a moment before Bucky spoke again, “You know the last time she came to the compound, he took her to the sanctuary?” “I’m not surprised, everyone visits at some point” you grin for a moment before turning a little more serious. “I found Richard from HR there the other week. He was picking at some of the daisies… which mysteriously suddenly grew sharp thorns. He’s been permanently banned, and I asked Pepper to send a compound-wide email with instructions of not to touch our flowers.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky give a small smile at your use of the word ‘our’. You quickly lifted your glass for another sip of your drink, attempting to hide the blush colouring your cheeks.

You had been truthful in your words. In your mind, the flowers belonged to both of you. While people visited the sanctuary at their leisure, it had an ‘owner’, so to speak. However, you couldn’t help but feel like the sanctuary belonged to you and Bucky.

Even though winter had come, you could still find Bucky in the sanctuary at various times throughout the day. He’d be wrapped up in his leather jacket, with a scarf and a pair of gloves on. Sometimes he’d have a thermos between his knees, a book in one hand and a cup of still-steaming coffee in another.

With the amount of time you both spent in the sanctuary, you had gotten comfortable in each other’s company. You would share the bench and read together. Bucky would bring an extra thermos for you and you would pastila, cherry pirozhki, and plyushka. You sit with your coffees and snacks and enjoy the silence and comfort of the sanctuary.

Slowly, you began to talk more and more. While before the conversations had been short, they slowly grew longer and more personal. His trust in you grew. You had been with the team for six months, and it had taken time, but he grew to trust you. you had his back during missions, you supported him silently through training with small nods in his direction, you helped his healing by growing sunflowers for him.

It was during one of your evenings on the bench that he told you about his favouritism of sunflowers. Most of the plants in New York, at the time, were rather drab. Weeds grew from the sidewalk, some a spikey green and sometimes a sickly dandelion. He’d seen bouquets in stories, once someone had even brought one for his sister, but the variety was selected and with the fumes of nineteen-forties New York, they were often on the verge of weltering.

However, when he had left the city of New York and went for his training with the army, he had seen them for the first time. Stuck in a bus of sweaty men, Bucky had gazed out the window and saw sunflowers for the first time. He’d tried sunflower seeds before, though they weren’t a huge staple in his area. However, he had never seen the flower itself.

Bucky’s memory of the forties wasn’t the clearest, but this was a memory which he could envision easily. Dozens upon dozens of sunflowers lined the field. They stood tall, the large heads of the flowers pointed to the sun and soaking up its goodness. Unlike flowers in the city, these flowers were vibrant in colour. Bucky was sure he had never seen a flower so beautifully yellow.

Through the horror of preparing for war, the flowers still stood bright and strong. It installed a sense of hope within him. If those sunflowers could be so full of life during war-time, there had to be hope out there. So, when Bucky shipped off for war, that was one of the things he would hope for. He’d think about returning to his mom, his sisters, Steve, and he would return to see those sunflowers again.

It wasn’t just Bucky who had opened up. You told him about your childhood in the orphanage, of the children you used to help care for because the Nuns were always too busy. Though they could be kind, they weren’t exactly nurturing individuals. In a way, you couldn’t blame them. They had joined the church to serve God, and while some did choose to attend to the orphanage, a lot of them were assigned there by those of higher authority.

You told him of little Nina. A beautiful little girl who was half your age. Just as her name said, she was a dreamer. She dreamt of leaving the orphanage, of going to far away lands such as England or France. She loved the sound of France, with the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre museum. While you did your chores and looked after the toddlers of the orphanage, she would tell you of her dreams to travel and explore. She’d been adopted two years before you left the orphanage, by a family in Austria.

You had also found the courage to tell him about your time in the labs of Hydra. He was the first person you had openly spoke to about it, and he was patient and listened to you. it felt like it had taken you hours to tell him everything, the fear and hatred of the labs making you take breaks to gather your strength. He stayed quiet, a solid rock of support by your side as you finally told someone about what Hydra put you through.

After opening up about your time with them, he told you about his. Hearing that someone else had been subjected to similar treatment… it brought you a sense of comfort because finally, someone may understand.

Your interactions with Bucky weren’t limited to the sanctuary either. You sat together during movie nights and bowls of popcorn. He would spar with you in training, telling you to not use your abilities.

“You never know, you could find yourself without them” he had said.

You would leave out a plate of freshly made plyushka for him, with a small sunflower as an identifier of who the treats were for.

When it came to the gala, it seemed natural for you to attend with Bucky. Just like Peter had been required to have a date, so had the members of the Avengers. Steve and Natasha, Wanda and Vision, Tony and Pepper, Sam and his current girlfriend Marianne. Bucky was your friend, someone you enjoyed spending time with.

Going to the gala together saved you both. Wanda had wanted you to go with Richard from HR, the one who violated your sanctuary, and Sam tried to set Bucky up with Sophie from the third floor. Neither you nor Bucky were interested in the suggested individuals, so going together seemed like a pretty smart idea.

However, you had not been prepared to see him in his suit. You knew Bucky was attractive, you had checked him out multiple times and had been teased by Natasha about your crush on him. Seeing him in a form-fitting suit, with his hair pulled back in a half-bun… it made your knees weak. You already knew that dark colours suited him, so of course he looked great in the black suit, but you’d also discovered that the pink champagne colour of his tie suited him nicely.

Bucky’s tie perfectly matched the colour of your dress. Your dress was a beautiful pink champagne colour which complimented your skin beautifully. Spaghetti straps laid delicately over your shoulders, leading to golden vines and leaves which covered your breasts. There was a small gap of fabric between your breasts and waist, leaving smooth skin visible beneath the vines and leaves. The vines extended to the beginning of the floor-length champagne pink tulle skirt, which hugged your waist but then flowed freely to the floor.

It had taken a long time to find the perfect dress. You had spent the day shopping with Wanda, Natasha and Pepper to find the perfect dress but all the ones you came across just weren’t…. you.

You had tried on a tight maroon red dress, with a plunging neckline and a slit up the left leg. Natasha had been quick to praise you in it, her eyes wide and her lips stretched in a grin. The next dress you tried on was a strapless forest green, with slight ruffles on the skirt. Wanda had loved it, saying it ‘fits you perfectly’ but you didn’t think it was the one. Pepper had favoured a lilac dress with small flowers which climbed from the hem of the skirt. It was a wonderful dress, probably your favourite out of the three, but still… it didn’t feel right.

You’d found your dress at the back of the store, hidden behind the colourful gowns that people usually went for. While still elegant, it was slightly more subtle than the other dresses in the store. As soon as you saw it, you knew you had to try it on. It was while you were putting it on that you came across the realisation.

There was some form of floral design on every one of your outfits.

The black jeans you had worn that day had small sunflowers stitched into the waist band and along the ankles. Most of your tops had pastel flowers pained on them, or bronze leaves. You had even specially ordered a pair of Converses with sunflowers, orange roses and orange and red bicolour germini.

You don’t know how you didn’t realise your fashion choice sooner.

When you had tried the dress on, you had known it was perfect straightway. Even without your hair and make-up done, you felt, as they say, like a million dollars. As soon as you had stepped out of the changing room, the girls had praising you and telling you ‘its like it was made for you’.

When you had met Bucky at the compound, ready for the drive to the gala venue, he’d quickly complimented you. You noticed how his eyes trailed over your appearance appreciatively, with his mouth slightly dropped open for a moment before he quickly caught himself. Offering you his arm, he had given you and small smile and told you looked beautiful.

You had thought for sure that you were going to die from the heat filling your cheeks. Your throat had seemed to close up and her heartbeat erratically in your chest from his compliment. You had been hyper aware of his presence by your side, his usual calm and quiet self except when he whispered quietly in your ear about a stuck-up attendee.

“Mrs Archard thinks Pepper’s choice of band is appalling” Bucky whispers, pointing discreetly to the seventy-year-old woman who stood beside her husband, sipping on her gin and tonic.

“She thinks this is bad?” you head tilted in the band’s direction with a roll of your eyes. “This is classic music, no doubt from her generation.”

“Shh!” he quickly hushed you, turning you both when Mrs Archard looked in your direction. “Oh, hey, look.” He pointed over to the bar, your eyes widening when your eyes land on the person he’s pointing out. “Its that the guy who played Sally? In the plane film?”

“Sully!” you correct him, going on you tip toes to get a better view. “And the film was based on a real event, Bucky, you know that. It’s Tom Hanks, the Tom Hanks, and he’s here!”

“Let’s go meet him” Bucky shrugs, beginning to pull you in the direction of your idol.

You quickly pull on his arms, bringing him to a stop. “No! No way! I can’t meet him, that’s crazy.”

“Y/N, doll, he’s just a man” he said, and you can see the corner of his lips tilt up in amusement.

“No, Bucky, he’s not!” you insist. “He’s Tom Hanks! I can’t meet him, no way.”

When Bucky tried to tug you over to the bar again, you quickly duck away from him and dart to the other side of the room. Since coming to America, and joining the Avengers, your exposure to film and TV had increased. From the countless movie nights with the team, you had discovered your love for Tom Hanks.

The actor was incredible, and he made you feel content while you were watching him. You had watched all over his work, multiple times, and you respected him immensely. He was your favourite actor, and an idol you looked up to.

You were, however, much to shy to go and introduce yourself. You were a member of the Avengers, a highly skilled, Hydra changed agent but meeting your favourite actor? You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You don’t know why the thought of meeting him shook you to the core, maybe because, in your mind, he was so pure and so good, far away from the dangers of your life, that you didn’t want to taint that by introduction yourself.

Bucky, however, clearly didn’t think you should miss out on the opportunity to meet your idol. When you heard him say your name ten minutes later, you turned to find him standing there with the man himself.

“Tom, this is-” Bucky began to introduce you with a small smirk.

“Y/N, yes” Mr Hanks interrupted with a nod. “I’m a huge fan, I’ve seen you in action on the news. Absolutely incredible.”

“Oh, erm, wow, erm, that, I-I, wow” you stammered, completely star struck.

“Y/N’s a huge fan of your work, Tom” Bucky informed him.

“Oh, so we have a mutual appreciation of each other” he chucked, gently patting your arm.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Mr Hanks” you finally found your words, your cheeks heating up.

“I could say the same” he assured you with a smile. “Bucky was just talking about you and I just had to get him to introduce us. As I said, I saw the work you’ve done on the news. Your saving of those children in Cambodia… Its honestly inspiring.”

Your heart was in your throat for the next ten minutes while you spoke with your idol, who actually said that you were his. To know someone you looked up to regarded you with so much respect, it made you appreciate the man even more.

When a gala photographer asked to take your picture with Bucky and Tom, who had insisted you call him that, you couldn’t stop smiling. And the next day, when Bucky gave you a copy of the framed photograph, it was if the smile would never leave your face.

December

Your birthday passed in a blur of happiness and excitement. The day seemed so long, and yet so short. You’d entered the kitchen to a wonderful breakfast, where you, of course, sat between to of your friends and avoided the corners, as per tradition.

Natasha gently took hold of your ear, tugging it and saying the traditional; “Rasti - ne bud’ laphoy [Grow up – don’t be noodles.]”

The presents were wonderful. Natasha had brought you a new pair of black heels with, of course, a floral pattern. Wanda and Vision got you a beautiful jumpsuit to match which you couldn’t wait to try on. Steve and Sam had teamed up to buy you a beautiful charm bracelet with a beautiful Avenger’s charm and a charm of St. Basil’s Cathedral. Tony and Pepper got you a complete copy of the collection edition of all of Tom Hank’s work. Bucky had brought you a beautiful silver sunflower charm for your bracelet and, later, gave you a small collection of sharp throwing knives.

You loved all your gifts, but the throwing knives made you tingle. You had spoken to Bucky weeks ago about them, telling him that you had seen a beautiful collection in a store over the other side of town. And from your limited description of them, he had found them and got them you.

You couldn’t stop yourself when he gave them to you and had automatically thrown your arms around his shoulders. He had frozen at your abrupt action, seeming shocked. As you moved to pull away, his arms came around your waist. His metal arm was a heavy weight against your back but also incredibly light and gentle as he didn’t want to harm you.

His manly scent of mint, the outdoors and just pure Bucky filled your nose and made your eyes clench shut. He smelled amazing, it was like your nose was clear for the first time and your first breathe was full of him. It awoke your senses and made you tingle as he took over your mind.

You could have sworn there was a light pink tint to his cheeks when you pulled away, but you couldn’t be sure.

It was an incredibly thoughtful gift and you had been quick to cover the blades in toxins which would render a person unconscious. Throughout your training, you had always favoured small blades which include the small throwing knives. They seemed to work best with your abilities.

Throughout December, you noticed a subtle change in Bucky. Though he tried to seem casual about it, it was obviously to you. You were completely in-tune with everything he did, and when it involved you, you were even more hyper aware.

Bucky touched you more.

On movie nights, he would always make sure to sit next to you. Slowly, throughout the film, he’d relax more and more and then, by about half-way through, his arm would be pressed against yours. Sometimes his knee would bump against yours too. When passing by you, he would press his hand gently against the small of your back, his fingers trailing the skin. Rather than asking you to move when he wanted to get to a cupboard above you in the kitchen, his chest nearly pressed flush against your back as he leant to retrieve what he wanted.

Once, he had even offered you his arm when you were both making your way to the sanctuary together.

If it was anyone else who did these things, you would think nothing of it. However, it’s Bucky. Bucky had never been touchy-feely with you. Before, he would touch you only when necessary but that had obviously changed. It wasn’t a change which translated to the rest of the team either. He still avoided physical contact with them when he could, bar Steve.

You didn’t want to let yourself read too much into the implications of his actions. You didn’t want to wonder if he was doing it because he was perhaps interested in you, because that would lead you down a dangerous path. If you allowed yourself to believe that he did, and then it turns out you’re wrong… No, you would just ignore it.

Your first Christmas with the Avengers didn’t go to plan.

You noticed the new presence in your room straight away. As soon as the doorknob had turned, you were roused from your sleep and your hand had stealth moved to the knife under your pillow. When the hand touched your shoulder, you quickly rolled over, bring the knife up and towards the persons throat.

Your wrist was caught in a strong grip and was twisted to the side. It wasn’t enough to make you drop the knife, but it stopped it from hitting the persons throat. You sighed at the person standing in front of you, releasing the tension in your arm as a sign of you posing no more of a threat.

“If you wanted to get into bed with me, you just had to ask” you teased, pushing yourself to a sitting position.

“Maybe I’ll join you later” Natasha replied. “Get up and suited. There’s been an explosion in Kecskemét.”

“Hungary. What happened?” you asked, getting out of bed and moving to grab your suit from the wardrobe.

“We’re being briefed on the jet” she left the room, most likely to wake the others up.

You changed quickly, pulling on the tight, dark green body suit. You strapped your gun holster to your left thigh, securing the weapon and then attaching additional ammo to your utility belt. You tightly strapped your throwing knives to your right thigh where you’d be able to grab them quickly. A combat knife was strapped against your right ankle, and you put the comms device in your right ear before leaving for the jet.

On the twenty-fourth of December, at nine-twenty-eight in the morning, local time, an explosion went off in the town centre of Kecskemét. Fifteen people were killed in the explosion with a further two-hundred and seven injured.

From there, it was reported that three different groups were making their way throughout the city armed with heavy weaponry. They were executing people indiscriminately. Men, women, children… babies.

The Avenger’s had been called as soon as the explosion had occurred, with the team on the jet and departing the compound with thirty minutes. The Hungarian army had been deployed to the city, but it was soon clear that they were not equipped to the weaponry that was being used against them.

On a large screen on the quinjet, Tony played a video from the streets of Kecskemét. While the camera was shaky, the image was clear to make out. Bodies littered the floor; buildings were crumbled, and dust settled over the streets. A group of men stood at the end of the road, one pointing off to the side as he spoke, gesturing around himself.

Tony froze the footage, zooming in on the weapon in the terrorist’s hands. It was large and bulky, made with thick metal and emitting a glowing blue-purple light. You leaned forward slightly, your eyes narrowing as you took in the sight. You had never seen such a weapon before. Being part of Hydra, you recognised nearly every weapon known to man, and knew how to wield most of them. However, you couldn’t recognise this one.

“That’s modified Chitauri weaponry” Natasha observed. “How did they get that, I thought we got it all?”

“well, obviously we didn’t” Tony rolled his eyes, shutting off the record.

“I’ve never heard of Chitauri weaponry before” you said, looking between the two of them. “And something with this much power… Hydra would have trained us with it. Where is it from?”

“A few years ago, twenty-twelve, Loki tried to invade Earth” Steve began to explain. You nodded in understanding, remembering the team mentioning it happening but you had never known the names of the aliens which stood with the God of Mischief. “A section of New York was destroyed due to the Chitauri army which aided Loki. We thought we had collected it all but then there was underground trading of the weapons in Queens. Peter stopped that. Obviously, the trading of the weapons expanded world-wide.”

“That was Loki-Loki by the way” Tony injected, raising an eyebrow at you. Out of the whole team, he was the one who objected against your… ‘friendship’ the most with the man. “You know, your little bestie.”

“I never said he was a good man” you defended. “However, he treats me well and I shall treat him with the same respect.”

“Yeah, really?” he asked, both eyebrows raised now, and his arms crossed over his chest. “And when tries to make a move on Earth again?”

“Firstly, we don’t know if he would do that” you argued. “He may be a bad person, but he’s not stupid. Secondly, I would gladly help to stop him. He may be a friend but that doesn’t get him special treatment.”

The quinjet cut the ten-hour journey to just over four hours, and it wasn’t long until you were landing just outside of Kecskemét. You were quickly split into three teams consisting of Wanda, Natasha and Clint, then Vision, Sam and Tony, and finally you with Steve and Bucky. After a round of ‘Good luck’ nods, everyone left to their assigned area.

“Y/N, I want you watching out for any civilians. You see any, you get them out. Watch the buildings, make sure none of them come down on us” Steve ordered as your group headed for your designated zone. “Bucky and I’ll take down the assailants.”

“Ah, so you’ve got the easy job” you joke, pushing a stray strand of hair back. “It okay, I get, you’re getting old.”

“Pft,” Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m still in my prime, its that punk that’s on his way out. Dinosaur.”

“You’re still older than me” Steve argued.

“Don’t worry boys, I’ll visit you both in your care homes when we get back” you assured them.

It didn’t take you long to reach the infiltrated area. Burning cars lined the streets, shops broken into with glass littering the street. A handful of people lay on the sidewalk, all on their tummy and went you bent to check for a pulse, there was nothing.

You were about to turn a corner when you quickly reached out, grabbing the two super soldiers by their arms and pulling them back. You could feel it through the ground. The vibrations hummed into the floor, travelling to you. You could feel the movement of people walking on the ground, sending you clear information of what was around the corner.

“Seven assailants. Two, far west. Three, east. One, front north. Two, south west” You reported, reading the vibrations of their footsteps. “Nine civilians in the building three ahead of them, east side.”

“Circle round the side, go in from the back” Steve told you.

“Got it” you nodded, turning to go back the way you came.

As you pass him, Bucky grasps hold of your hand. He holds your hand for a fraction of a second, his eyes meeting yours. There worry in stormy eyes, but he quickly hides it as he gives you a nod, gently squeezing your hand before letting you go. You give him a small before continuing on with your task.

You run up the road directly besides the one with the assailants. It takes you less than a minute to reach the house which sits behind the building containing the civilians. Bringing your knee up and to your chest, you aim your kick to land directly besides the lock. Within two kicks, the door is down and you’re rushing inside.

You run to the top of the building, on the far-left side. The room you enter into is small, which boxes piled three-high. The boxes are full, nearly bringing with metal pots, ornaments and clothes. Taking care to move the items to restrict damage to them was not an option, you had to get the civilian out quickly.

The wooden floor of the room split in half, bowing downwards, and allowing the boxes to fall into the room below. The floor fixed itself within moments, the crack sealing over and leaving no trace of having been there. The wall separating you from the other building began to break. Bricks crumbled outwards, plaster falling with a swoosh of dust as a hole began to form.

People who had previously been cowering against the wall quickly move away, frightened gasps leaving them as they watched the wall crumble. The terrified voices of a woman filled your ears and you hurried to assure them in their native language.

“Ne fuss, itt vagyok, hogy seítsek. Az utcán vannak olyan férfiak, akik ártani akarnak neked [Don’t run, I’m here to help. There are men on the streets below who wish to harm you]” You speak, holding your hands up to show you meant no harm. “Kérem. Ki tudok hozni innen. Gyere velem. [Please. I can get you out of here. Come with me.]”

“Hemlock” one of the children say, recognising you. He tugged on his mother’s sleeve, pointing at you again and repeating your code name, the name civilians knew you by.

“Avenger” the woman realises, recognising you after her sons prompting. She turns to hurriedly inform the rest of the party, telling them you were part of the ‘superhero’ group and had come to save them.

It was still strange to hear someone refer to you as a hero. You had never considered yourself to be heroic, actually, you had often thought yourself to be the opposite. You were a product of experimentation by a terrorist group, who made you into a weapon. You had the power to crumble things to the ground, you could wipe out a city with a single thought.

Of course, you wouldn’t do that, but you still had the ability to do it.

In the months that you had been part of the Avengers, you had saved over a dozen lives. Still, you didn’t believe that saving someone made you heroic. Well, that was a hypocritical statement. You considered Steve a hero, Bucky a hero, Natasha, Peter and Wanda too. Tony, Sam, Clint and Vision, they were all heroes. For some reason, that just didn’t translate over to you.

You waved the civilians through the wall before quickly repairing it. You instruct them to remain quiet before quickly leading them to the street below. Before opening the front door, you pause and take note of the roads between you and safety. The streets between the house and the safety of the Hungarian law enforcement were clear.

“Kövesse a virágokat, ők a rendõrséghez vezetnek [Follow the flowers, they’ll lead you to the police]” you instruct them.

You opened the front door and led them out. On the floor, in a straight line, was a of flowers going down the street and around the corner. You had created the path of flowers to guide them to safety, knowing that you couldn’t go with them. You had to go and watch your teams back.

“Köszönöm [Thank you]” one of the women said, squeezing your hand.

“Megy [Go]” you encouraged, nodding after the others.

She gave your hand a final squeeze before hurrying after the other.

You ran to the end of the street, quickly making your way to the road where you knew Steve and Bucky were squaring off against the assailants. Rounding the corner, you see three of them on the ground, with the others attacking the super soldiers.

An assailant aimed their weapon at Steve, shooting it in rapid succession as he held up his shield to defend himself. You lifted your arm up, pointing at him as you concentrated on the assailant’s feet. Vines quickly wrapped around his right leg and he was pulled off balance. The sudden change in stance loosened his grip on his weapon and stopped him from firing, allowing Steve a moment of reprieve where he could throw his arm out, knocking the man unconscious.

Your attention turned to Bucky, who was fighting two assailants at once. He grabbed the thrown fist of one in his metal hand, twisting a throwing a kick into the chest of the other man. His flesh hand fisted, knocking the first man backwards.

It was at that moment you realised something was wrong. There were four assailants on the floor, with Bucky fighting two and Steve moving to remove the seemingly unconscious men’s weapons; knowing that Bucky had his situation under control. That made a total of six, there was one missing.

Strong vibrations pushed through the floor behind you and you quickly turned to see the final assailant heading for you. He brought his hand, holding a silver combat knife, down towards your chest. You right arm crossed over your body before moving up and to the right, pushing the knife to the side. Your hand flipped over, grabbing his wrist as you crouched and slid under his arm, you leg darting out to swipe at his ankle. As his leg went from under him, you twisted his arm behind his back and pushed him to the ground using his own momentum from falling. You grabbed his dropped knife and stepped off him, allowing the vines to climb over him and hold him down.

When you stand up, you notice Bucky watching you. His eyes are intense, watching as you push the hair out of your eyes and step away from the man, flipping the knife over in your hand. Walking over to where he stands with Steve, you give him a small smile before focusing on the Capitan.

“All seven down, civilians are with law enforcement now” you confirm.

“We’ll have to take these weapons back to the states” Steve examines one of the weapons in his hands with distaste.

“We’ll need to take a few members back too” Bucky says. “Need to speak to the others, find out who the top guys are.”

“Mm” Steve agrees before reaching to activate his comms. “I’ll get us a van to transfer these guys.”

It took a further day to ensure all the terrorists were captured, the team wanting to be certain that all members had been flushed out of hiding and another attack wouldn’t happen after you all left. The younger members of the group squealed quickly, and it was only a matter of hours before you found out who the leaders were and they were flown back to America for questioning, with the rest being taken into custody by Hungarian law enforcement.

The team stayed in Kecskemét for a further three days to help with aid towards the injured city. While the team’s actions varied, you focused on repairing the damaged structures of the city. Any cracks, holes, or chips were repaired with buildings foundations made stronger. You ensured that every building was to high standards you held, meaning that no one would be getting hurt any time soon.

By the time you all arrived home, no one felt like celebrating Christmas. You were all tried from the long four days in Europe and just wanted to collapse into bed. Presents were exchanged, but there were no celebrations, just a lazy family dinner of take-out food.

January

You had a new nickname to add to your extensive list, Doll. You hadn’t noticed it at first but after the first few times, you realised that was the only nickname that Bucky used for you. He only ever referred to you by your name, or by ‘Doll’, never ‘Ivy’, ‘Petal’, ‘Pet’ or anything else.

He only used the nickname in private, when no one else was around. Or he would lean beside you and whisper it in your ear.

“Hey, Doll” he greets when you push through the branchlets of the willow tree.

“Hi, Buck” you return, moving to sit beside him. You accept the cup of coffee, curing your hands around the plastic cup from the thermos. You sipped at the steaming drink, letting it warm you up from the inside. “Thank you. Mm, you added caramel.”

He gave you a small smile and a nod, turning back towards the pond in front of you. “You liked it last time.”

“Oh Buck” you grin, nudging him playfully. “You’re going sweet on me.”

“Don’t know why, you’re a pain in my ass” he teases but you notice his cheeks are tinted pink.

“A pain in your ass?” you laugh, shaking your head. “I grew sunflowers for you, made sure there were plenty of plants for your little bunny friends. I have your back all the time, not just on missions. Remember when Sam and Tony were ganging up on you because of Sophie? I got them to back off. What about when you realised, you’d never tried fajitas? Who cooked them for you? Me. Who saves you plyushka? Me. Oh, and what about-”

“Okay, okay!” he interrupts with a small laugh, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m the pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, you are” you agreed. “You’re lucky that I like you Bucky, or you’d be in trouble.”

February

“I’m don’t know about this” Bucky’s voice reaches your ears as you walk towards the kitchen, low and unsure.

“Do you or do you not like her?” Sam asks and it quiet for a moment before he continues. “That tell the woman! We all know she’s sweet on you.”

“She’s pro’lly just being nice” Bucky disagrees.

“Buck… she’s not like that with other people” Steve’s voice joins the mix.

Your heart stops for a second, who were they on about? Bucky had a crush on someone, who? By the sounds of it, it was someone who was nice to him. Then again, who wasn’t nice to Bucky. He was like a little puppy which the team secretly adored.

You knew it wasn’t Wanda, she was happily with Vision.

It could be Natasha. She had always had a close friendship with Bucky, sharing experiences which were eerily similar, and he had even shot her once, which she was completely okay with. It was a strange friendship, you admit, but it was clear that they favoured one another. They had silent conversations with just a shared look and seemed to be completely in sync when on missions.

It could be Sophie, from the third floor. She was sweet on Bucky; you knew that for sure. She had brought him coffee, invited him to see a movie and made him baked good. You had thought, however, that Bucky wasn’t interested in the girl. Maybe you were wrong, maybe he did like her.

A part of your mind whispered that it could be you, but you quickly dismissed it. Bucky had never shown any interest towards you that wasn’t platonic.

“So, what, I just ask her out?” Bucky asks.

“Ooh, who are you asking out, Bucky?” you force a smile onto your face as you walk into the kitchen.

“Well-” Sam begins, his normal shit-eating grin on his face.

“No one” Bucky is quick to interrupt, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

“Oh, come on! Sam and Steve know, why can’t I?” you pouted, reaching for a glass.

“You’re different. You’re not one of the guys or anything, you’re… you” he shrugged.

Your shoulders deflated at the comment and you realised it was true. You were just Y/N, you weren’t one of ‘them’. You had thought that you and Bucky had gotten closer but obviously that assumption had been wrong. You weren’t close enough for him to talk to you about stuff like that, his words had made it obvious that he didn’t want to talk to you about it just because you were a girl. He didn’t want to talk to you about it because you were Y/N.

“Oh” you nodded quietly. You filled your glass with water and walked back to the door. “I get it, sorry for asking.”

“Y/N, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that” he rushes to say.

You held up your hand to stop him, giving a smile which probably looked more like a grimace. “Its fine, Barnes, don’t worry. I get it. I’m sorry for asking.”

You left the room quickly, retreating back to your room and crawling under your duvet. You’d never called him by his surname before. You usually referred to him as Bucky, or Buck, and, when you were feeling particularly playful, sometimes ‘sir’. If your tone didn’t show that he had hurt your feelings, your use of his surname would definitely make him aware.

It felt like hours later when there was a knock on your bedroom door. With a groan, you pull yourself out of bed and open the door. On the other side, Bucky is standing with his hands in his pockets, slightly hunched and looking as if he was trying to appear smaller. He rolled him lips into his mouth, his voice quiet as he asked if he could come in.

Closing the door behind him, you returned back to your bed, pulling one of your pillows into your lap as he stood in the middle of your room. He looked around himself, taking note of the loveseat, which was covered with a fluffy blanket, your laptop balanced on the arm. Your wardrobe door was slightly agar and had a scarf hanging over it.

“I’m sorry for what I said” he apologies again, avoiding looking at you.

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t have been nosey” you shrug.

“No, you don’t understand” he sighs, his metal hand brushing the hair back from his face. “I didn’t want to tell you because… because…”

“Because I’m me, I get it” you assure. “I’m the person you sit and look at flowers with, I’m not the person you talk to about your crushes.”

“No, you’re not” he agrees.

You nod your head, biting your lip as your eyes stings. Your chest aches, as if a hole had been carved through it. The thing that hurt you wasn’t that Bucky liked someone else, it was that he didn’t consider you a close enough friend to want to tell you.

You had considered him one of your closest friends. You told him your secrets, told him of your desires to go back to Russia one day and see your home city. Of wanting to visit places you hadn’t gotten a chance to because of you were hiding before. You had told him that you were scared that one day, Hydra would find you again; something you hadn’t even told Wanda or Nat. He knew of your secret love to goad Tony into an argument by speaking in a language he didn’t understand. And he knew so much more than that.

And yet he didn’t want to tell you this. You knew it was ridiculous to be hurt by something like this, it was small and trivial, but you couldn’t help your feelings. Your feelings were valid though. The person you trusted, didn’t trust you in return. It was, sad to say, a fact which you would have to accept.

“You’re the person I have a crush on” Bucky finishes, his voice small as he finally looks at you.

His expression is one of obvious worry. His blue eyes are wide and doe-like, watching you with nerves as you try to come to terms with his confession. He’s rolling his lips into his mouth, waiting for your reaction which he no doubt expected to be negative.

“You… what?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Me? I’m the person who you have a crush on? Why would it be me?”

“Why wouldn’t it be you, doll?” he snorts, giving a small shake of his head. “You’re amazing. You grew my favourite flowers for me, without hardly knowing me. You save my seat on the sofa during every movie night because you know that I like being on the end. You make sure there are toffees in the snack draw for me, and you hide the Starbursts from Tony and Clint for me… You took me to Starbucks and Walmart for the first time, and you helped me hide from the woman in Target. You trimmed my hair when I got too nervous about the hairdresser and you sit with me when I need my arm looked at. You watch out for me on missions and when we get back, you always bake me something to cheer me up…”

He moves to crouch before you, taking your hand in his. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest, likes its about to break through your rib cage. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Bucky Barnes had a crush on you. Your heart was souring, your mind floating through the clouds.

“You’re sweet on me, doll, but I’m just as sweet on you” he tells you. “It’s okay, though, if you don’t feel the same. I don’t expect you too. I know that its pro’lly just you being nice. You’re always nice, nice to everyone… but… I just want you to know, it’s you that I like, and I’ve liked you for a long time.”

One of your hands left his, moving to cover your mouth as you laughed in disbelief. The tears in your eyes changed from those of hurt to those of pure joy. Bucky liked you, he wanted you. You couldn’t believe it. You hadn’t allowed yourself to believe that this moment could ever happen, it was never a real possibility in your mind. And yet here he was, professing his feelings for you.

“I do” you assure him, pulling your hand away from your face so that he could see your smile. “I do like you!”

“Really?” his eyes light up, a grin quickly spreading over his face.

“Of course,” you nod, cupping his face. “You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, Bucky, how could I not? You make me feel things that I never thought were possible. Being around you, I feel happy, I feel free. I can’t even put into words how much you mean to me.”

By the time you’ve finished speaking, his hands are gently cupping your face, his thumbs softly tracing your cheeks. You could see the slightly tears in his eyes, and his smile is wide and happy. It’s as if he’s just heard everything he has ever wanted to hear, as if you had said the magic words.

His eyes flicker from your own, down to your lip and then back to your eyes. You give a small nod, barely moving your head but he catches the movement and he leans him.

When his lips touch yours, your breath leaves your body in a pleasured sigh. While his lips are soft, their a little chapped from where he has bit them due to his nerves. They were gentle against yours, the pressure light as he didn’t want to push you too far.

You were on top of the world, your heart beating erratically as you leaned into the kiss, your fingers tracing his stubble. You had never thought that kissing Bucky would be like this. It was like a set of fireworks were going off in your chest, and you were more than happy with it.

“Does this mean I’m your girl?” you ask him, smiling when you’ve pulled back from the kiss.

“My best girl” he confirms, pulling your lips back to his.

And you went happily.

Permanent Tag: @sskhair

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smol-and-trashy · 3 years

Text

OC vore thing

wrote something dumb. yay. warning for mean asshole pred, fear of digestion, and fearplay. yeah, there’s kind of a lot of fearplay. been in the mood for angst, sorry :/

_________

And there is was, that knowing smirk slipped back in place. His eyes followed her, narrowing slightly as she quickly averted her gaze to the door.

If she could make it, just before he…

A twitch of a vein throbbed in his neck. Vic’s knuckles were colored white from his deathly grip on the kitchen counter. He was waiting for her to make the first move.

Maris clenched her teeth. She was trapped. If she made a single move, there was no doubt that he would catch her. But if she stayed…

She slowly looked back and was met with his icy gaze. Fear snaked in her chest, she could hear the roar of blood in her ears.

“Looking to leave so soon?” Vic’s cool voice cut through the tense silence and Maris did the first thing her mind cried out to do; she ran.

Vic froze in place for a split second, looking genuinely shocked before he quickly composed himself. She fumbled with the door, heart pounding with trepidation as his footsteps neared.

“You!” He hissed, his hand flew out and grabbed onto her wrist.

Maris tore her eyes off the door handle, frustrated tears blurred her vision as she blindly twists at the doorknob. She needs to turn it, the moment she turns it, she can get out of there. Why did she even think it was a good idea to come back to Vic’s? Even if it was supposed to be a short visit.

She jiggles the knob some more and Vic stared at her incredulously. His hand still firmly wrapped around on her wrist, but he moves his free hand to fumble with something in his pocket.

Maris doesn’t pay him any mind. She’ll take all the extra time she can get, despite her mind whispering that something was amiss about his shift in mood.

And finally, with the snap of the lock, Maris is able to unlock the door.

Relief floods her chest, finally. She yanks her arm away. He doesn’t reach for her again. Instead, his fingers pull out of his pocket and right when Maris sets to run, he wastes no time digging a needle into her exposed upper arm. Maris lets out a surprised yelp, where had he gotten a syringe?

N-no! I just need to get there before I— her thought process suddenly stops as it felt like her head was tightening into her skull.

Everything changed. She could feel her bones constrict and compress while her internal organs twisted. It felt like someone was throttling her and then placed her inside a giant shake-and-bake while shaking the bag vigorously.

"H-Help m-me." she finds herself croaking before the feeling of her windpipe being crushed intensified.

“Sweet dreams, Maris.” Vic crooned, his face quickly growing in size, leering down at her before her mind finally goes dark.

——— —— ——

….

What the hell did he inject me with? Am I dead? Maris thought as the white spots behind her closed eyes begin to scatter; however, she wasn’t prepared for a searing pain running through her chest. It was as if a million needles ran through her veins, jabbing at every bit of flesh; both internally and externally. Why was pain trailing her in the afterlife? Maris rolled over, clutching at her sides. Well, why would I think that would help? She thought bitterly as the biting pain resumed.

“Argh!” Maris shrieked, eyes jolting wide as she shot straight up.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maris noticed a shifty figure in the background. They were preoccupied with reading some sort of novel and already too large for her to recognize. The minuscule blonde shuffled quietly; she had to find a way to escape. Dream or not, she had a bad feeling about the figure before her and the apparent lack of Vic sent chills up her spine. Luckily, she was foolishly placed out in the open on a marble table.

Disregarding the dull ache in her chest, she carefully made her way to the edge of the table; stepping over bits of paper and pens to get to her destination. Why do I have to be small of all things? Would’ve been ten times easier if I was regular sized. Maris inched towards the high edge table, better jump than stay. She held her breath and began to run forward to gain momentum, her lips curved, soon she would be free.

Or at least she thought. An oversized bit of fabric came out of nowhere and covered her means of exit; miffed, Maris paused.

“What the—“

“How cute, it really is like seeing a tiny, cornered mouse struggle to escape.” a booming voice lilted.

Maris looked up, finally noticing that the figure was none other than Victor. Except, this time rather than having only a few inches on her, he rivaled the height of a tower. She could hear the poorly concealed laughter in man’s voice.

“Go on, continue if you would like. It was rather amusing to see you so confidently attempt to escape; you really thought nothing would get in your way, didn’t you?”

“What did you do to me?” Maris demanded, trying to conceal the creeping fear edging in her voice.

Vic hummed, picking her up by the collar of her shirt and setting her down on his palm. Maris winced as his gigantic grey eyes honed in on her. There was nowhere to hide from him.

“Putting you in your place, m’dear. You really thought you could leave like that, didn’t you?” He brought his face closer, she could the feel hot air escape his mouth as he continued. “Not if I have something to say about it.”

Maris’ mouth gaped open. She needed to say something, anything. But she found herself at a loss for words.

Unimpressed, Vic rolled his eyes.

“I have to admit, you caught me by surprise for a minute there. Never did expect for you to try and leave me like that--”

“You know why I was here tonight and besides, we were never even together. You can’t just expect me to stay...” Maris mumbled, but Vic’s cold glare quickly silenced her.

“Weren’t we though?” His head tilted slightly, “I recall you singing quite a different tune a few weeks ago.”

“We weren’t.” She said stiffly. They were just friends, if that. She helped him with an ex-girlfriend who had been harassing him, that was the furthest their relationship had gone.

“We weren’t.” He repeated, mockingly. A twisted smirk stretched his lips as his eyes thoughtfully shifted to the side, before zeroing back in on her. “Hm, I guess we really weren’t anything, then.”

Maris paused, where was he going with this? Vic wasn’t the type of person to leave something at that, there had to be more.

“Well, if we were truly nothing, I suppose that this is nothing personal.” He hummed and right before Maris was about to ask what exactly that meant, he pinched two fingers on her chest and swiftly dropped her in his mouth.

The complete change of scenery made Maris freeze. She was in a mouth. She was in a human mouth!

An amused chuckle rose from the back of his throat and Maris was knocked flat down on his tongue from the vibrations.

Vic quickly tipped his head, feeling her tiny body struggle against the back of his tongue, but it was no use; she lost her grip and fell down. Down. Down. Down to an early grave. Down to where she’ll never see the light again, never see her friends or her family or her dog---She couldn’t breathe, everything was oh-so tight, she needed to get out of here, and fast. The crushing rings of flesh sent her down with relative ease as she tried grabbing onto the slippery folds of flesh to pull herself back up.

Despite her efforts, his muscles forced her down with ease. Maris shrieked out of frustration and dug her heels into his slick throat, but a more forceful swallow sends her down her merry way to her final destination. She shivered, finding herself unable to fight back as the gurgles from his stomach became louder and louder with each swallow.

“Vic, please. Please don’t do this.” she whimpered, but her only response was another heavy swallow.

Time ticked painfully slow as her legs slipped into a more open space, followed by the rest of her body. Immediately, she tensed from the strong gastric scent in the air. Bile rose from her throat, and almost out of impulse, she quickly screwed her eyes shut. The walls hugged her, almost suffocatingly, and then convulsed, sloshing her around his belly, almost as if trying to figure out what to do with her.

Until it finally dawned on her.

He’s…he’s trying to digest me!

She jerked away from the nearest wall, but his belly shoved her back into the slimy walls, drowning out her cries for release with a cacophony of gurgles.

“Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry for running. I’m sorry for blocking you! Please, Vic, just let me go!” Maris desperately banged on the walls and dug her heels into the bottom of his stomach. There had to be some way to harm him from the inside.

Her only response was a heavy thumping from the foremost wall, and Maris’ face reddened. He was enjoying it?! No...She bit her bottom lip as her heart raced against her ribcage; he was taunting her.

Right before Maris was about to inflict another full-body slam to the walls, a deep vibration shook the chamber. It was too loud and muffled to make out any of the words, but from tone alone, he had to be mocking her.

Does he want to kill me? Why is he going to such lengths to get rid of me?

She knew the answer. Vic’s piercing gray eyes from earlier picked apart every one of her faults at first glance. Vic always knew how to read her perfectly. She couldn’t say the same for herself, but she knew one thing about Vic. Once he had his mind on something, he would go at any length to get it. She just happened to be the unlucky object of his affections this time around.

“He’s going to kill me. He’s actually going to kill me to make sure that I’m his.”

Once saying it aloud, her heart dropped. Deep down, she knew what he was planning, but she didn’t want to admit it; she didn’t want any of it to be true, but after simmering in the man’s gut, his plan was perfectly transparent, and she was helpless to do anything against it.

Maris hugs her knees to her chest and makes herself as small as possible, sobbing quietly. She hoped her would grant her the small mercy of being knocked unconscious before the acids kicked in, but knowing Vic, even the automatic functions of his body would ensure that she would endure a slow, painful death.

The sounds of birds chirping rang in her ears. Maris’ eyes shot open. Her pillow was coated with sweat and her heart threatened to break out of her ribcage. It...was a dream? No, that couldn’t be right. It felt too real. She was dead, this was just her mind coping with her untimely death. She stared down at her hands, no signs of burns she thought would have marred them previously.

“There you are!” Cohen popped his head in, followed by the rest of him. His brows knit together as he sat himself down at the edge of her bed.

“Where were you last night? You were all over the place after Anna’s party, and kept rambling about meeting with Vic? I thought you cut ties with that guy!”

Maris pursed her lips, but stayed silent. Was her brain addled by the drinks last night? She didn’t remember drinking anything besides water before heading to Vic’s to pick something up, but an alcohol induced dream made more sense than anything else. She sighed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” She mumbled, voice barely a whisper, yet Cohen seemed satisfied. His annoyance and worry quickly melted to concern.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “That guy has always given me the creeps.”

“Yeah...” she trailed off as her her phone buzzed loudly. She didn’t answer it. A notification from an unknown contact popped up:

“ur welcome.” Was all it read.

#vore story #soft vore #safe vore #digestion mention #kind of fatal vore?#but not really #angsty vore #unwilling prey #cruel pred #vore writing

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loki-hargreeves · 4 years

Text

Vampire!Loki x Reader [smut] ~ Bite me 🎃

Warnings: vampire x human sex, biting, blood play, unprotected sex, fucking a stranger // 18+ please

Word Count: 6,9K [nice]

Summary: You’re in the forest on what seems like a regular day, when suddenly everything changes. A werewolf chases you and you’re trapped, until Loki arrives and saves you. This handsome stranger takes you to his mansion where things evolve quickly and passionately. When you find out he’s a vampire, you have two choices. To run for your life, or get captured willingly...

Author’s Note: It’s Halloween and I made Y/N a little bit freaky when it comes to vampires. Enjoy! :)

Listen to: Flesh - Simon Curtis or any Halloween playlist honestly

YOUR POV

The weather wasn’t always predictable. On days that started with autumn sunshine and a lovely breeze, no one could really see the storm coming. Not even you, as you made your way deep into the forest to pick berries and herbs. You had only been surrounded by the tall trees for a few lonely hours, as the sunshine turned into darkness and rain began to pour from the skies.

Birds flew away from the clouds, and you had to assume that a thunderstorm was coming, even though you saw the light from the full moon shine through the cracks in the clouds. The only thing you could do now was to seek shelter, which wasn’t easy when you were far away from the town and the safety of your own home.

“Fuck,” You cursed as you felt the rain soaking through your coat, cold droplets running down your spine, leaving shivers behind its trail. Moments later, you heard the first brawl of thunder, roaring loudly throughout the land. You didn’t see where the lightning struck, but based on the volume of it, you had to assume it was close -- too close.

You had to push branches and twigs out of your way as you made your way through the narrow pathway. It was incredibly dark, so it was hard to see your surroundings. The rain and thunder were loud and it made your ears hurt. The weather had changed to fast that it was almost unreal, and now you were cold and wet which was beyond annoying.

You would be lucky if you didn’t get struck by lightning.

After a while, you heard a cracking sound, and you caught a shadowy figure in the corner of your eye. As if you met a brick wall, you stopped and held your breath. With narrowed eyes, you scanned the dark surroundings.

“Hello?” You called out, hoping that your voice didn’t give away just how frightened you were. It was odd how meeting other people in the woods could be so scary.

When you didn’t get an answer, you decided to take a few steps forward. That’s when you heard another pair of footsteps, coming closer to you. Whoever it was, they didn’t want to make their presence clear, and that was very suspicious to you.

Whoever it was must’ve had ill intentions, which became awfully clear when they ran towards you. You only saw it for a short moment and struggled to see any human signs. As if you weren’t terrified enough when you realized you were being chased, you now feared that it wasn’t even human.

Without any hesitation, you dropped your basket on the ground and took off into a sprint. Adrenaline kicked into your system and your only thought was to get away from that stranger as fast as you could. You didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if you slipped and fell right into their grasp.

Was it an animal? Why did it run like a human?

“Help!” You cried out, hoping that perhaps someone could hear you. It was unlikely, but you were stranded and absolutely helpless.

The strange creature was coming closer and closer to you.

You didn’t know if it had only been a few seconds, or minutes, but you were exhausted. Your heart was beating all the way in your throat, and every breath you took of the cold rainy air made your throat hurt. Eventually, the worst thing that could’ve happened happened.

As you stared at each other, you couldn’t even breathe. For a moment, you were paralyzed by fear as you realized that whatever had caught you looked like a werewolf. It dug its sharp claws into your arms, which made you panic. You had to fight!

Your foot tangled with a plant on the ground, and you felt your balance go way off. Just like that, your body slammed against the muddy forest ground hard and painfully. Before you could even get a chance to get up, you were caught.

The creature leapt on top of you, and you could finally see what it was. Lightning illuminated the sky and you saw its face clearly. To your horror, it was hairy and beast-like. It had a snout, and rows of sharp and pointy teeth, coated with drool. What frightened you the most were the bright yellow eyes that bore holes into your skull.

With nothing to lose, you tried to kick it off you, but to no avail. The creature growled angrily and opened its mouth. You let out another horrified scream as you feared the worst.

But it didn’t bite you.

The creature froze as well and it was staring at something that you couldn’t see. Then as fast as it had appeared, it let go of you and ran off into the forest. Your body was shaking in terror and you couldn’t believe what had happened. What had possibly scared it away?

You sat up from the cold ground and looked around, hoping to see who had saved you. At first, you couldn’t see anything at all. Tears blurred your vision and it was dark. Then someone stepped out of the shadows, someone that at least resembled a human, to your luck.

A tall, dark-haired man stood in front of you. He had pale skin, and that contrasted with his dark clothes. Something about him was very charming, welcoming. You felt safe in his presence.

“Thank you,” You barely got the words out of your mouth.

The stranger looked at the wounds on your arms. Even though your thick coat, he noticed the blood. “Come with me. I live nearby.”

He smiled ever so slightly as he walked closer to you, “We shouldn’t stick around. It might return,” He let you know and he was oddly calm about it. Almost like the sight of a werewolf was anything but strange.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” You remembered. The closest houses were far away, at least the ones that you knew of.

Did he live in the middle of the deep and dark woods?

You realized that you didn’t have any better options, so you decided to trust him. Just like that, the two of you were on your way. You stuck close to him because you were still terrified, and he was the only thing that made you feel even a little bit better.

It took you a while to calm down from it all. The initial shock faded and you could actually think about it. What you had seen was absurd it and made you sick to think how close to death you had been. How did this stranger make the creature run away? It was something you simply couldn’t understand.

“What is your name?” He asked you, interrupting your thoughts. You didn’t mind it.

“I’m Y/N,” You answered him politely, wiping your face from tears and dirt, “and you?”

He didn’t look at you as he answered, “You can call me Loki.”

It turned out that Loki had told you the truth. As bizarre as it was, he had a house in the middle of nowhere. It looked like a mansion, with its black iron gates, impressive garden and the sheer size of the building. It even had a tower that seemed to have one floor more than the rest of the house. You wondered if he lived there all alone, and why.

Kindly, he invited you inside where you could finally rest your tense body and feel safe from the monster that had tried to eat you earlier. You were certain of it.

The inside of the house was just as impressive as it was outside. You walked in to see a large spiral staircase to the upper floor, large paintings on the walls with golden frames and furniture that looked old yet fancy and expensive. Whoever this Loki was, he sure had a good taste in the finer things in life.

He was lighting up the fireplace so you could warm yourself.

“Thank you, again,” You felt the need to thank him. He had to know how grateful you were. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be long gone already. And now he was treating you as a guest as if he hadn’t done enough already.

As the two of you sat by the fireplace, he offered to take your coat off. He hung it by the fireplace so it would dry faster. That’s when you first saw your arm wounds. The blood had spread all over the sleeves of your white shirt, and you saw rips that were left by the massive claws. Loki stared at the wounds for a while, almost strangely. You brushed it off, thinking that he didn’t like the sight of blood too much.

“No worries, love. I couldn’t just leave you there by yourself, now could I?”

You had only just met him, but the pet name made your heart flutter. You got a better look at him and noticed how charming he really was. Not only was he the equivalent of a prince, but he was also incredibly nice to you. It was hard not to like him.

He returned to the couch you were sat on and inspected the wounds. The blood certainly made it look worse than it really was. It didn’t hurt too much and you realized it was mostly a bunch of surface scratches.

“Does it hurt?” Loki wondered, never taking his eyes off your bloody wound.

“Not really. I’ll be fine,” You reassured him. The last thing you wanted was to bother him with your worries and pain right now.

Nevertheless, Loki rolled up your sleeve to reveal the wound on your left arm. His cool finger traced your skin, and you had to be lying if you said you didn’t like his touch. Something about him was so captivating. You didn’t even know him but you felt like you could do anything for him. It was strange, and you didn’t understand it.

He pulled his finger back and stared at your blood that was on his skin. After a while, it got slightly stranger.

Loki seemed to realize that too as he stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked away, leaving you alone to warm up by the fireplace. You didn’t think too much of it.

As Loki returned, you felt much better already. He was holding a small box in his large hands. He opened it and you saw needles, cotton, and all things you would need to stitch someone up. “I am running you a bath. By the time I’m done with you, it should be ready.”

That’s what took him so long. Hearing that made your heart swell and you were moved by his kindness. “Thank you, that’s really nice of you.”

“Of course,” Loki smiled and looked right into your eyes. Those eyes of his were captivating. You looked into them and couldn’t look away, but you didn’t want to look away either. Why did he have such an effect on you?

Before you got lost in his eyes, he looked away and began to attend to your wound. “This might sting a little bit,” He explained as he doused a cotton ball in a clear liquid. Next thing you knew, he pressed it on your wounds and it burned like fire. You bit your lips together and tried to ignore the pain.

“Are you okay?” Loki wondered, sensing that you were in pain.

“I’m good,” You reassured him through gritted teeth.

A few more seconds passed and he was done, throwing the bloody cotton ball into the fireplace. “You’re lucky, Y/N,” He explained mysteriously.

“What do you mean?”

Loki was focused on fixing you up, but he continued speaking, “Do you know what attacked you?”

You had your suspicions, but you were afraid you’d sound stupid if you told him. “I’m not sure,” you had to tell him.

Loki moved onto your other arm and you knew he was going to clean the wound, which would hurt again. Just as he pressed the cotton ball against the wound and you hissed in pain, he continued, “That was a werewolf.”

Hearing him say that was almost relieving. Either both of you were mad, or you had seen right. The relief was quickly replaced by fear. It wasn’t very reassuring to know that they existed.

“How did you make it run away?” You wanted to know. To you, Loki didn’t look like a threat. At least not to a strong beast like the werewolf. It just didn’t make sense to you how it ran away with its tail between its legs once Loki appeared -- seemingly out of nowhere.

He continued rubbing the cotton ball around your wound, cleaning up the dried blood. “I don’t think you would believe me if I told you.”

You just talked about the existence of werewolves, yet he didn’t think you would trust him?

“Try me,” You encouraged him to tell you the truth.

Silently, Loki finished his work and threw the other cotton ball into the fireplace as well, watching how it burned away.

You were afraid you had been rude. Before you could try to apologize, he sighed, “I think the bath is ready. We can talk after you’re done.”

That was good enough for you.

During the time you were alone in the lavish bathroom, soaking in the warm bath that smelled like flowers, you couldn’t stop thinking about Loki. Why was he so mysterious? Why was he being so nice to you? It didn’t make sense. Many people would’ve stopped helping you after chasing the werewolf away. Just the thought of the werewolf made your head spin.

It was much better to think about Loki. The tall, dark-haired stranger had certainly swept you off your feet. Each time you looked at him, you felt an invisible force trying to push you closer to him. It was absurd since you had met him that day. But somehow, it also made sense.

You were done with your bath and you wrapped yourself in robes that he had given to you. Your clothes were drying and after all, wearing some silky robes in a beautiful mansion wasn’t so bad.

But you didn’t see Loki’s reflection.

Someone was playing the piano, which was the first thing you noticed when you walked out of the bathroom. With quiet steps, you walked towards the staircase, and you saw Loki. He was playing the grand piano downstairs, by the staircase. It was a familiar tune, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Nevertheless, it was elegant and he played it beautifully. For a moment, you stood there and adored the music he created. It filled the otherwise silent mansion perfectly.

As you stood there and adored him, you saw a huge mirror on the wall, facing the piano. You saw the flames from the fireplace in the reflection, the beginning of the staircase and the piano.

At first, you thought it was the angle. But then you realized that you should’ve been able to see him. You blinked a few times and looked closer, but his reflection simply didn’t exist. By now, he had stopped playing the piano, and to your horror, he was looking at you.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel safe anymore, and your poor heart sank to the bottom of your stomach.

“Do not be afraid, pet. If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be standing there,” Loki broke the silence between the two of you.

Although you were afraid, you realized that he had a good point.

“What are you?” You had to know. You felt trapped as you stood upstairs. He blocked the way to the front door. Then you realized that if you would run, he would probably catch you nevertheless.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Loki wondered, standing up from the chair by the piano and spreading his arms in a dramatic gesture.

You remembered how odd he was when he saw your blood, how he had just stared at it for a while. He didn’t have a reflection. He lived alone, in the middle of nowhere. His presence had scared the werewolf away.

You put all the pieces together and it all made sense. Shivers ran down your spine like cold daggers against your skin, and your knees felt weak. “You’re a vampire,” You stated, but it sounded more like a question.

A proud smile decorated his face when he heard that. “Very good, Y/N.”

This couldn’t be happening.

First, a werewolf attacked you and now you were facing a vampire, in his own home. You were afraid, but another part of you...wasn’t. You felt slightly excited, as wrong as it was.

“Are you afraid of me?” Loki wondered and slowly made his way up the stairs.

Run! Run away!

Your mind was screaming at you to run away from the blood-sucking creature, but you didn’t. You just stood there, trying to remain as calm as possible as he got closer and closer. By the time he reached the final step, you could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“Answer me,” Loki wanted to know if you feared him. He stood right in front of you and took your shaking hand into his own. His skin was cool, like a window on a rainy day. It was oddly comforting.

“A little bit,” You were honest. You knew you were supposed to be terrified, but when you looked into his eyes, you felt an odd sense of calm.

You were afraid, but you also enjoyed it. It didn’t make any sense to you, but you didn’t mind. Loki’s presence somehow made you feel alive, but you weren’t going to tell him that. Right?

It seemed like Loki already knew that. Judging by the smirk on his face, and the look in his pretty eyes, he knew. Could he read your mind or was he just that good at reading people?

“I don’t know,” You murmured. A part of you knew it already. You knew you couldn’t outrun him, but you also didn’t want to run. Even if you had decided to run, you knew that a part of you wanted to be caught.

“Why didn’t you run?” Loki wondered.

He brushed his fingers against your cheek and instinctively your body leaned against his touch ever so slightly. It almost felt like you were in a trance, but you didn’t resist it at all.

“I think you do,” Loki raised his eyebrows and traced his fingers along your jaw, then your neck. He could feel your racing pulse against his fingertips, feel the warm blood rushing in your veins.

Having a vampire toy with your neck like that was intimidating. Was he going to bite you?

“W-what are you going to do to me?” You dared to question him.

Loki leaned closer to your body, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. He was so close that you could smell his cologne. His mouth was so close to your ear and you realized that he wasn’t breathing. “Nothing too bad, love. Nothing you wouldn’t want to be done to you,” He answered quietly. His voice was so smooth, it made your body weak.

His other hand let go of your hand that was no longer shaking, and he grabbed you by your waist. Your body melted against his and your fear was quickly replaced by something much stronger, a desire you never knew you had before. Perhaps it was wicked, but you felt a burning need to be touched by him.

“You smell divine,” Loki purred against your skin, holding himself back so he wouldn’t bite you just yet. It was so tempting. If he wanted to, he could suck you dry right then and there, but he didn’t. Loki wanted to savour the moment, to play with you as a cat would play with is prey. “I bet you taste marvellous,” He continued.

The tall double doors to the master bedroom opened loudly, slamming against the walls and the two of you made your way inside. Loki had a tight grip on you and he didn’t let go until you were on the huge king-sized bed, resting against the pillows. Loki stood by the edge of the bed and he looked at you, taking in the sight of your beauty. He adored the way you lied there, looking at him with a thrilled smile on your face. To him, you looked like a goddess and he couldn’t wait to break you, to taste you.

His words made you feel warm inside. This much attention from someone you barely knew was fun. You knew this was dangerous, but you didn’t care. Right now, all that mattered was him and the way he made you feel. “Why don’t you have a taste?” You wondered, which was probably the last thing he had expected to hear. Most mortals were scared to death when they were faced with a vampire, but you weren’t.

And Loki relished that. He knew he had done the right thing when he saved you from the forest.

Your breath was heavy and you began to grow impatient. It felt like your body was on fire and only he could make it better. Hoping to lure him to you, you grabbed the tie around your waist that kept the robe around your otherwise naked body. Slowly, you tugged it and untied the loose knot, which didn’t go unseen by Loki. He watched your every move so intensely, surely not missing anything.

“You’re much naughtier than I had anticipated, Y/N,” He admitted. You noticed that his voice was deeper now, and it made you tremble to your core.

Loki wasn’t any less excited than you were. He pushed his body closer to yours and then you felt it, his cock was hard and it was pushed right against your body. A moan escaped your lips, blending into your heated kiss.

You opened the robe slowly, just enough to show the curve of your breasts, the skin on your stomach and your thigh. Just enough so he’d catch the bait.

To your luck, Loki joined you on the bed and he wasn’t shy about it. He yanked the robe away, exposing your body to him like a gift wrapped in wrapping paper. The weight of his body on yours trapped you, but in the very best way. Your eyes met and finally, his teasing touch turned into something more. Loki captured your lips into his, and at that moment, you almost forgot that he was a vampire. The kiss was passionate and harsh, but lovely nevertheless. You felt as if you could spend the rest of your days like this.

You couldn’t help yourself when you bucked your hips against him, trying to gain some friction. Loki growled quietly, which was like music to your ears. How did he sound so hot when he did that?

He moved his lips to your jaw, peppering kisses on your skin and slowly moving towards your neck. Another moan left your lips when he found your sweet spot. “You like that?” Loki chuckled darkly and kissed the same spot again, making you take a shaky breath to collect yourself.

“Yes..” You had to admit it, yearning for his touch again, and again, and again.

Loki’s cold hand had been tracing patterns on your skin, and now he cupped your breast. His thumb ran over your hardening nipple in a teasing manner and he didn’t hesitate to squeeze you properly. You arched your back and gave him better access to devour your neck. His lips felt like heaven against your needy body.

“Loki,” You mewled his name, needing him to do more. You held onto his broad shoulders with your trembling fingers. By now, you were so aroused and touch starved that your body was overwhelmed, which resulted in you shaking in anticipation.

You wanted his touch, his lips, everything. It was a little embarrassing, but right now you didn’t care if you seemed desperate. “I want you!”

“What do you want, darling?” He wanted to hear you say it.

But when you felt his twitching cock against your wetness, his huge hands toying with your breasts and his oh so lovely lips nibbling on your neck, you struggled to think, let alone form a sentence. You let out a frustrated whine, which again made Loki laugh. “Words, love. Tell me what you want.” This time he sounded more demanding.

“Mmhmm,” Loki moved his hand up your chest and around your neck, holding you a little tighter but not enough to choke you. “I might want something in return,” He reminded you.

You looked into his eyes that were now darkened by lust. As scary as it seemed, you didn’t care. You were aware of what you were getting yourself into, with this vampire.

“Bite me,” You told him boldly.

Loki seemed pleasantly surprised by that. “It will hurt,” He let you know as he brushed your hair away from your neck. He was thirsty and he wanted to taste you already, but prolonging it made it more fun.

You were far too eager to think about the consequences.

“I don’t care,” You admitted shamelessly. A little pain here and there would only spice things up.

That was more than enough for Loki. He parted his lips and you finally saw them, his fangs. Two sharp teeth that looked like the ends of a pair of daggers. They were sharp and long. Oddly enough, you found him attractive with them.

Loki nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck and you wrapped your arms around his torso, for comfort but also to keep him close because it felt nice. By now, your heart was back in your throat, beating hard from both arousal and excitement, and a little bit of fear.

As if to make you more comfortable, Loki pushed his hand between your legs and found your clit. He started rubbing circles on your little bundle of nerves which felt heavenly. His fingers were skilled, and he somehow knew exactly how to make you crumble beneath his touch. Instinctively you wrapped your leg around him, giving him better access to your dripping wet cunt.

Suddenly you felt a very sharp pain in your neck. His teeth pierced your skin and he bit you, surely hard enough to leave a prominent mark.

“Ohh,” You moaned in pain and squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stay tough. It hurt more than you thought it would, but it wasn’t so bad that you had to push him off. Once his teeth had sunk deep enough, he closed his lips around the fresh wound and he sucked on your skin. It was a bizarre sensation when he drank your blood, not letting a single drop go to waste. Through all the pain it caused, it felt good.

Loki pulled his sharp fangs out of your neck and you felt a hot stream of blood running down your skin, which he licked off immediately. “Gosh, you taste even better than I thought you would,” He let you know.

“Loki,” You moaned his name delightfully, feeling a new kind of high. He had just drunk your blood and now his fingers were giving you exactly what you needed.

“You’re doing so good,” He praised you, which made you feel proud. You wanted to be good for him. For a moment, he let go of you, which made you whine impatiently. But he didn’t leave you in distress for long. You pushed yourself up by the elbows and watched how he crawled down your body, kissing you chest and stomach as he did so. Finally, he was between your legs and he had a tight grip on your body, keeping you locked on the spot so you couldn’t possibly escape the torture of pleasure he was going to put you through.

“Let’s see how you can handle this,” You could barely hear it. The next thing you knew, his tongue licked your heat all the way to your clit. Then Loki captured it between his lips and began sucking on it, and nibbling it, whatever to make you writhe in both pleasure and pain.

You could hardly breathe when he had started. It happened so fast and you were suddenly indulged in the greatest pleasure you had ever felt in your life. Your body didn’t know how to react, and you were squirming which was out of your control. But Loki was strong and he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Oh my god!” You cried out and squeezed the sheets with your hands, having to hold onto something. Never before had you felt an orgasm forming faster. No one had ever touched you like this. It felt like you were being devoured by a god, and you loved every second of it.

When Loki pushed two of his long fingers inside you, you lost your breath for a moment. The feeling of his fingers stretching your cunt as his mouth tortured your clit was too much. You felt warmth spread on your face from embarrassment when you knew you couldn’t hold it for much longer.

“Loki...I’m going to come, I’m-”

“Do it,” he wanted you to come undone right before him. Knowing that you were close made him eager to push you even further. He thrusted his fingers inside you faster and curled them just perfectly. He kept doing that and he never took his eyes off of yours.

Thankfully, he stopped -- for now. He kissed your inner thigh and then let go of you. As you stayed on the bed to catch your breath, Loki stood up. By now he wanted you so bad it was almost unbearable. His pants were tight to the point it almost hurt. He needed you, and he needed you fast. He rid himself of his clothes that were just in the way and then returned to the bed.

You looked down and when you saw just how intensely he was watching you, you came. Your orgasm was powerful, and it felt like it knocked you out. It rippled through your body strongly and left you a puddle on the mattress. It didn’t stop Loki. He pulled his fingers out and licked your arousal, making sure to taste all of you.

“Loki! Fuck...I can’t,” You whimpered when it got too much. Although it felt amazing, you were sure that if he kept teasing your sensitive cunt, you’d pass out.

“Are you alright, love?” He was full of lust, but he also had to know if you were up to it.

“I’ve never been better,” You answered him joyously. It was true. You couldn’t recall ever feeling as good as you did now. It was like you were on cloud nine with him. Somehow the bite didn’t hurt. It felt like bliss had enveloped you entirely, and it wasn’t over yet.

Seeing all of him was impressive. His cock was huge, and the tip was red. You knew he was being extremely careful with you and he must’ve yearned for touch, some much needed friction. Before he could crawl on top of you, you grabbed him by his shoulders and pushed him on his back, crawling on his lap as you did so. He seemed surprised by this move, but he didn’t mind it. “Are you sure you can take it?”

“Oh I can,” You were confident. By now, you had recovered from your first mind-blowing orgasm and you needed more. It had only taken one time and you felt addicted. The thought of feeling his cock inside you was like a dream and you needed it to come true now.

Carefully, you grabbed his cock and rubbed your thumb over the tip, spreading his pre-cum. It was so big that you could hardly close your hand around it.

“Like what you see?” Loki had turned a little cocky by now, but you didn’t mind it at all.

You looked into his eyes and nodded, “I certainly can’t complain.”

Loki grabbed your hips rather roughly, but you liked the dominance of it all. You leaned your body closer to his dick, but instead of riding him, you decided to tease him. You rubbed your clit against his tip, and then sat down so his cock was trapped between you and his stomach. Then slowly, you rubbed yourself off on his cock, feeling how it twitched by the teasing touch.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned the two of you around coarsely so that he was on top. You barely had time to register what was happening when he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, with one hand.

“You’re certainly full of surprises,” Loki’s voice was raspy, and you could tell he felt good. Perhaps he was a little irritated by the teasing but in the very best way.

You rested your hands on his chest and picked up the pace, humping yourself on his cock which felt so good. By now, your clit was pulsing ever so eagerly and you were sure your arousal was dripping on the sheets. A little moan left your lips, and it was driving Loki wild.

Finally, he sank his cock into you. It was a little harsh, but it was incredibly satisfying.

“Loki! Holy…” You panted, and didn’t finish the sentence. His body was heavy on yours and you felt trapped, and hugged.

“Loki,” You tried to catch his attention in the middle of it all. He grabbed your jaw and looked into your eyes curiously, slowing down ever so slightly with his strong thrusts. He was listening.

He had a good grip on you, which he used as he began pounding into you. He wasn’t careful anymore, not like he was before. His touch was strong and it would certainly leave bruises. The way he pushed himself deep inside your cunt was feral. It was driving you absolutely wild.

A set of moans and cries left your mouth uncontrollably. The way he reached that delightful spot within you every time was almost too much for you to handle. He fucked you unlike any other man before. Like a vampire. You were his prey.

Loki grabbed your ass and squeezed tightly, making you groan and hold onto him tighter. Your nails were digging into his skin, but he didn’t seem to mind it at all.

“You...feel...absolutely amazing, pet,” He growled to you, chasing his own high.

A warm feeling spread through your body. You were happy that he felt good too. Somehow, you wanted more.

“Bite me,” You wanted him to do it again. You wanted to feel the adrenaline rush and the pain again, but now combined with his lovely pounding.

There was a gleam in his eyes now, and you didn’t have to tell him twice. He was quick to move your head and reveal the unbroken skin on the other side of your neck. He could see your pulse, and it was practically begging him to bite already. This time he went right for it. The sharp fangs stung madly and then sank deep into your flesh. At first, the pain made you freeze. You held onto him tighter, combing your fingers through his long, raven hair and holding onto his neck.

When he started sucking your precious blood, and he kept digging his cock into your wetness, you relaxed. A wave of pleasure crashed against you and somehow it felt euphoric how he was biting you. You couldn’t feel pain anymore; just a perfect bliss.

You let out a throaty moan and closed your eyes, wanting to feel everything as intensely as you possibly could. He was so close, and you could’ve sworn you felt his cock all the way in your stomach. At first, it hurt how much he was stretching you, but now it was the best thing you had ever felt.

There was a tingling sensation on your neck when he swallowed your blood. Loki craved more, but he also knew that if he took too much, you would suffer from it.

With any other human, he wouldn’t have thought about it twice. He would’ve sucked them dry and left them to die. But he didn’t want to do that with you. No, you were special and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to let go.

So he abandoned your neck, and kissed the wound he made -- to make you feel better. He had a little bit of your blood left in his mouth, which he wanted to savour until he got an idea.

Once again, Loki grabbed your jaw forcefully, which caused you to open your mouth. Without hesitation, he spat the remaining blood right into your mouth. “Taste yourself,” He explained and closed your mouth so you couldn’t spit it out and waste the bloody nectar.

At first, you felt shocked that he did that. But you quickly learned that you enjoyed it. The way he just manhandled you with such care. The blood had a strong irony taste. At first, it was almost too much. But then you swallowed it, all of it while looking at Loki. Once he saw that you swallowed it, he was happy.

“Good girl,” he praised you again. He kissed your lips, which took you by surprise but in a pleasant way. Then he picked up the pace, fucking you harder again, bringing the both of you closer to the edge. Another storm was brewing within you, and you were getting dangerously close. Your walls clenched around Loki, and he growled at the sensation. “You’re close, aren’t you?” He realized, and he sounded smug about it.

You could only nod your head as an answer, along with an incompetent moan.

He wanted to watch you unfold, to be so full of pleasure that you wouldn’t know how to handle it. Torturing others with pleasure was one of the greatest things he knew of, and it was no different with you. Loki began to rub circles on your clit just to make it harder for you.

“Oh god!” You gasped at the sudden sensation. His cold fingers felt like a dream against your heat. Like water after a long, hot day.

“Come for me! Come my little pet,” He wanted you to cum all over his cock. Loki was close too and he couldn’t wait to spill his seed inside your inviting body. It was incredibly tempting, and he wasn’t sure if he could stop now even if he wanted to.

You felt like he pushed you over the edge and he did so hard. Your second orgasm approached fast and deeply, shaking you to the core. Your mind went blank and you were sure you cried out his name repeatedly like a prayer, but you weren’t aware of it. The mixture of feelings and desire had you overwhelmed, like in a dream-like state of mind.

Loki felt your walls tightening around him which pushed him to the edge too. He grabbed your hips and buried himself deep inside you as he finally came. A warm feeling spread through his entire body and he felt relieved.

His cum coated your walls, and you couldn’t help but to moan when you felt him filling you up. It was an incredibly satisfying feeling to know he came too.Loki didn’t pull out. He wanted to savour the moment for as long as he possibly could. He wanted to stay close to you like this and soak in the bliss.

And he knew that if you were up to it, he could do it again. After all, he was no ordinary man.

“That was incredible, Loki,” You whispered, afraid to break the comfortable silence that set around you.

Loki brushed his fingers over the bite-marks ever so gently. He knew that you, as a human, must’ve been exhausted after all that. He didn’t just bite you once, but twice, and he had handled you quite decently as well. He’d happily do it again, but he knew it could be too much for a mere mortal like you.

For now.

“You should rest,” He told you after a while.

Sleep would top it all off nicely, you thought. “Can you stay?” You wondered. His presence was calming and you enjoyed it. Deep down, you wished that this wasn’t going to end already.

“Of course. I’ll go grab something and I will be right back by your side,” Loki promised you as he was brushing his fingers on your neck and shoulders.

He wasn’t going to throw you out now that he had gotten what he wanted. It made your heart swell warmly. Who would’ve guessed a vampire could be so sweet?

As he pulled out of you, you felt empty and cold. You squeezed your weary legs together and tried to pull a blanket over your exposed body. He had been right. You needed to rest. All that had taken a toll on you. You were going to clean yourself up very soon, but your legs were jelly and you knew you wouldn’t be able to get up just yet.

Loki grabbed the large blanket and spread it over you safely. Something inside of him told him to take care of you. He didn’t know why but he was protective over you. Perhaps it was because you were different.

Or because he hadn’t killed you, and you were now going to turn into a vampire -- just like him.

He was the one who had started the process, infected you with the beginning of a new life. Loki felt responsible for your transformation and he was going to make sure it would happen smoothly.

You were his now, but you just didn’t know that yet.

A/N: You made it to the end! Great! I hope you liked it, and if you did I would really appreciate your feedback and/or a reblog <3 Thank you. 🎃

TAGS: @iraniq @blackroseyaz @badass-psycho @r-alexandra01 @your-pixels-are-showing @disasterren @iamsuperjenna @yuna-belikova @ornella0910 [let me know if you want to be added/removed]

#Loki #Loki smut #vampire!Loki #vampire smut #loki x reader #vampire!loki x reader #loki x you #Loki x Y/N #Loki halloween fic #Loki fanfiction #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki imagine #loki one-shot

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

Text

Be a Good Guest, part 8

CW: Whump, failed escape attempt (again...) kidnapping, electrocution, choking *inhales* intimate, possessive, creepy, protective, parental whumper, slapping, blindfold, restraining, shackles mentioned, manhandling, angst, so much angst with a seasoning of despair. No happy ending for this chapter at least :c

Masterlist

Walter was happy today, dancing and humming as he moved about the house with the radio playing a cheerful song. Gabriel didn’t even have the chain shackled to his leg today, he did still have the tracker in his neck of course, but if he pretended that it wasn't there, it almost felt like a normal ordinary morning.

“Good morning, little one!” He smiled. “Gmorning..” Gabriel gorged. He stood with his arms crossed while swaying on his feet, his eyes half open. He was hardly sleeping, the bed still felt foreign to him as he would just stare blankly at the ceiling.

He was homesick. As lonely as his crammed apartment was back at home, he would rather be lonely, then here. He felt two arms slither around his waist from behind as he gasped with chills running up his spine.

“Please don’t touch me!” He barked, jumping from his grasp and pinning himself against the wall.

“It was just a hug” He giggled, extending his arms out. Gabriel shook his head no as he refused to budge from his corner. Walter sighed as his arms fell crossed. “Are you still scared of me?” He asked.

He didn’t respond, his eyes just darted around the room to everywhere but his burning gaze. “Come now, Gabriel, It’s been a week. I’m doing everything I can to keep you happy, can’t you give it a little effort?” He asked, his voice growing impatient. “I just...I don’t want to stay here, please...” He begged.

Walter’s face fell with sheer disappointment. He sighed as he slumped onto the piano bench, tapping his nail against the wood as an invitation for him to sit. Gabriel silently shook his head no once more, cringing and squeezing his eyes shut when he heard him abruptly stand up. He knew he was testing the waters a bit, but maybe he could pity himself out of this. He wouldn’t hurt him for something this mild, right?

*Slap*

His cheek burned as his whole body hit the fridge door. His lip that had just healed from the car crash splitting once again as blood smeared across the fridge. Gabriel took a shuttered breath as his hand gripped the door handle with his other hand on his red cheek.

“Wh-what is wrong with you!?” Gabriel shrieked. “Are you crazy!?”

He regretted his words instantly as a hand wrapped around his throat, pinning him against the fridge as he fell silent. Walter rested his other arm over his head against the fridge as if he wasn’t already presenting enough dominance. He wasn’t squeezing his throat very tight at least, it was just enough to scare the daylight from him.

“I’m getting real tired of your constant disrespect, young man. You live under my roof, the least you can do is show an ounce of thankfulness for everything I do for you.” He hissed in his ear. Gabriel whined against his hand around his neck as he pressed his back against the fridge. The hand retracted as Walter’s fingers moved to wrap around his chin, tilting his head up until their eyes met.

“Tell me you’ll behave.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I-I’ll behave...” He whispered.

“Little louder.”

Gabriel’s eyes darted down, he was just doing this to be purely dominant now.

“Gabriel if you disobey me one more time I’m taking you to the basement.”

“I’ll behave!” He yelped.

“Good boy.” He smiled, his hand moving from his chin to lovingly caress his face as he slightly flinched. “Go sit down now, breakfast is almost done!” He smiled.

It was disgusting how he could change his mood in a flash. Gabriel’s legs felt numb as he struggled to walk to the table, slinking on the seat. He kept his wide eyes forward, too scared to move or even breathe too hard in fear of attracting anymore unwanted attention.

There was a clattering sound with a splash of water as Walter dropped a full cup of hot tea. “Drat!” He yelled, hissing and cursing under his breath as steam fumed off his soaking clothes. He grabbed his boiling wet robe and tossed it over the chair to get it off, before marching off to his room for a change of clothes.

Gabriel sat wide eyes staring at the robe pocket opened just enough he could see the cluster of keys poking out.

Gabriel didn’t even think twice about the consequences as he reached into the pocket, grabbed the keys and bolted. They were much heavier than he expected, with about two dozen medieval looking keys hooked on a loop. His hands trembled as he fumbled with it, trying each one in the keyhole to the main door. The window, unfortunately, was out of the question, Walter made sure of that with metal bars after his pitiful first escape attempt.

He could hear Walter in the other room opening and slamming drawers, there wasn’t much time left. He was about halfway through and none of them had worked yet-

*click*

One had finally fit as he bolted out the door. He still had a tracker in his neck, but all he had to do was outrun him, right? He felt his pulse beat through his body, his head pounding as he sprinted up the hill. He had been here before, but this time he was free of the chain dragging him down, the thing that screwed him over the first time. Finally, he made it to the road. He stood there, looking left, then right.

No cars… No one ever came here. He ran down the road, there wasn’t a soul in sight. He slowed to a stop as his lungs started burning, his hands on his knees as he gasped for air. He stopped when he thought he heard something… Chattering? Laughing? No, that was too good to be true. He took a deep breath and held it, trying to listen as he straightened up, spinning around trying to figure out where it could have come from.

There it was again, a laugh. It was coming from the other side of the road near a trail. There must have been hikers! He bolted in the direction, following the cheery voices of what sounded like a small group of people having a laugh. He could see movement through the branches as his chest leapt with relief…

Finally, finally! He made it! There were people right there, just a few yards away! “Heey!” He hollered, staggering through the woods. “PLEASE HELP ME!” He cried. He did it… He had made it out.

His cries for help were interrupted by his own screams as a shock spiked through his body. What felt like thousands of needles stabbed through his neck forced him to plummet to the ground. After a couple of seconds, it stopped as he found himself lying in the dirt on his back, his hand held to his neck as he heaved for air. He scampered to his feet, before he could take a step, the full weight of someone tackled him from behind, pinning him to the ground on his chest with a hand tightly woven around his lips.

His screams and crying were muffled as he fought back, digging his knees into the dirt trying to push the man off, who kept his arms and head pinned to the ground. He could hear the voices commenting the strange noise they heard in the woods, but brushing it off as some animal romping around.

“But it sounded like a voice.”

“It’s just your imagination, or just another hiker, who cares?”

Tears swelled in his eyes as he was forced to watch the group walk by. He stayed pinned to the ground for several more minutes until they were long gone, the forest grew silent with their passing. The weight pressing against his back quickly became agonizing as his distressed noises were muffled.

His hand retreated as he instantly shouted for help, electricity pulsed through his body again. His back arched off the ground in the man’s arms as he was held. “Gabriel, stop this right this instant!” Walter hissing in his ear after lifting off the trigger.

Gabriel went slack in his arms, his body still quivering. Walter got off him as he continued to lie still in the ground between his feet obediently.

“Get up.” He ordered.

Gabriel blinked his eyes open, his tears mixing with the dirt on his face as he looked up with a pitiful expression. Walter only stared him down as he finally sighed in submission, slowly crawling to his feet.

“Walk. Let's go.” He ordered. “You’re going to behave, and walk all the way home. Do you understand?” He growled. Gabriel flinched into a nod as he wobbled on his feet. Walter pointed to the direction of the cabin as Gabriel held his arms tightly to his chest as he shakily cowered past him.

He was forced to walk in front, as Walter loomed behind him making sure he stayed in check. He lost his footing at one point and fell to the ground, only to be roughly grabbed and ripped to his feet.

The cheerful music was still playing when he was shoved into the cabin. His hair was roughly grabbed as Walter dragged him along, ripping the basement door open.

“W-wait..” He rasped.

He was ignored as he was thrown onto an old wooden chair. Cuffs and shackles already built into it clamped over his wrists, ankles and neck tightly. He could still hear the happy music playing on upstairs.

“Wait! P-please!” Gabriel begged, tears dripping down his face as a blindfold was secured over his eyes. “Please don’t! You don’t have to do this!” He sobbed. He felt a hand rest in his hair, gently petting him.

“Yes I do, little dove. Because you made me. This is for your own good.” He planted a kiss in his hair. “Since you want to be cut loose like a wild animal so badly, you can stay here, where it’s safe until you learn what’s good for you. That I’m good for you.”

Gabriel heard his footsteps stomping up the stairs as the basement door slammed, muffling the joyful music playing like some sick fever dream.

“PLEASE! Don’t leave me here, I’m begging you!” He sobbed, his voice cracking.

His cries were ignored as the house fell silent. He only saw darkness, as all he could do was listen to his panicked breath.

@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry @whump-it @kixngiggles @as-a-matter-of-whump

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading! (and I’m sorry)

#whump #whumpee #whumper #kidnapped whumpee #electrocution whump #parental whumper #intimate whumper #possessive whumper #creepy whumper #yeah i need some fluff now #time to rescue him

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Good Help - chapter 4 - ao3 link

The day Wen Ruohan returned, Meng Yao felt ready for just about anything short of an immediate order of execution. He had survived an increasingly frantic set of attempts to murder him – in many instances, his survival was entirely courtesy of A-Jue – and had a list of achievements as long as his arm, each one backed with public recognition and an explanation as to how they fit into Wen Ruohan’s pre-existing orders.

He'd disposed of any dissenters, too.

The return ceremony was no time for someone to blurt out something awkward.

It was intricately planned: first the multitude out in the Nightless City, cheering their Emperor’s return, then the procession through the court with all its ministers and representatives of all the other Great Sects, and finally the entrance to the throne room, which would contain only those most important to the Emperor: his closest deputies, his wives and concubines, and of course the Empress far above them all in her sedate chair.

And Meng Yao, of course.

The innermost hall would be guarded by those guards assigned to it, an honor that they all lusted for, and Meng Yao had abrogated the right of the guard captain to select each of them himself, claiming that all of the disasters in the past few weeks had shown him the need to take especial care of their beloved Emperor’s life.

He didn’t select A-Jue.

He hadn’t even looked for his name in the list. He'd rather deliberately planned on A-Jue not attending, in fact, and A-Jue hadn’t questioned it, only saluted with a bow deeper than any of the (usually ironic and highly irreverent) ones that had come before. Their eyes had met briefly – a glance full of regret, regret and understanding – and they had said no more about it, each going their own way that evening as if everything were the same.

And then, in the morning…

A-Jue had not come.

Meng Yao had not permitted himself to be disappointed.

He’d turned his mind to other things, to preparations, to making sure everything was perfect, and it was. He’d worried briefly about the Empress, that she might refuse to leave seclusion, but she was there before he was, seated and waiting in her place, a larger than life statue in her thousand veiled layers as always. He’d stressed over the placement of the guards, but they were there, shining and immaculate as always, each one carefully selected for their talent at discretion. He’d checked over his multiple plans designed to let him survive.

He was as ready as he could ever be.

Wen Ruohan’s procession took an age, the concubines in the inner hall yawning and shifting from leg to leg, the veiled Empress as unmoving as stone. Meng Yao took her as his model and remained still, refusing to show weakness.

And then –

The Emperor walked in through the doors, a swirl of robes, and no matter how much Meng Yao had prepared himself, he still involuntarily drew a breath when he felt the sheer power radiating off the man. There were those that accused Wen Ruohan of doing dark and dirty things to get his power, those whisperers all dissatisfied and envious, and they were probably right, too. But those that entered his presence, that were subject to his might directly, knew that it didn’t matter how he’d gotten his power.

Power was power.

Strength was strength.

Wen Ruohan had the face of a young man and the aura of a vicious beast, the temperament of an emperor and the emotional stability of a madman – and he had enough power to crush all the rest of them with a snap of his fingers.

He swept into the room like a storm.

Following in his wake were those he had taken with him on his travels: his highest-ranked guards, his most favorite servants, and Imperial Consort A-Sang, veiled and hidden but for his clever eyes, characteristic scholar’s fan held loosely in his hands.

Walking freely, as if he feared nothing.

As if he owned the hall.

Meng Yao was not the only one who tensed at the sight of the Imperial Consort and his blithe unconcern, thinking that the last thing that they needed right now at this moment was the bitter internecine conflict of the harem breaking out.

And then, of course, it turned out that their concern, all those rumors and suspicions and speculations and schemes, were all for nothing.

Wen Ruohan didn’t so much as look at the rest of them – not the concubines he had obtained, unmatchable in their beauty; not the guards he had nurtured, each one as ferocious as a tiger and as precious as pearl held in his palm; not the deputies he valued so highly; not even Meng Yao to who he had entrusted his city, his sect, his empire.

He had eyes only for his Empress.

“My beloved,” he said with a smile and hands extended as he climbed the stairs, Imperial Consort A-Sang left forgotten behind him to quietly retake his proper place among the other concubines. “Have you missed me?”

The Empress ignored him, silent and unmoving as always.

Wen Ruohan did not take offense the way he might have with someone else – the way he would have, with anyone else.

Meng Yao had heard people say that Wen Ruohan was mad over his unspeaking statute of an Empress, but his time in the Fire Palace had made it difficult for him to believe it. Wen Ruohan enjoyed rape, among the multitude of torments inflicted there, and he took sadistic pleasure in snatching would-be brides or daughters, sometimes even sons, from people he disliked and forcing them to become concubines; the more he disliked them, the more time he spent in the beds of their loved ones.

He was a man who enjoyed violence and humiliation above all else. How could such a man fall in love?

Much less with the Empress, of all people. The frigid, silent Empress, who had no political backing to prove her worth, who had been there by his side for years and years – long enough for any man to grow bored, much less an Emperor who commanded the wind and storm, who could have anyone he pleased?

Meng Yao couldn’t believe it.

And yet, it appeared – he was wrong.

Wen Ruohan’s gaze as he walked up to his wife went beyond passion and into obsession. The miraculous treasure he had obtained in the south, a powerful spiritual weapon in the shape of a lamp that was said to increase the speed of the bearer’s cultivation a dozen times over, was placed in front of her.

“Do you like what I got for you?” Wen Ruohan asked, and the Empress turned her veiled head aside, a clear gesture of rejection. “So picky, so picky. I could pluck the moon out of the sky for you, my beloved, and you wouldn’t care…”

Any normal woman would yield to such persuasion.

Any woman who knew fear, knew Wen Ruohan’s fickle moods, would seek to at least temporize, distract.

The Empress ignored him.

“Same as always,” Wen Ruohan sighed exaggeratedly, and put his hand upon her cheek, turning her face back to him. “You never do change, do you, A-Jue?”

A cold sharp shock spread at the base of Meng Yao’s spine.

The Empress permitted her head to be turned, to be raised to regard her imperial husband.

“Fuck off,” A-Jue said, his voice painfully familiar, and attacked.

“Would you like some more tea?” A-Sang – Huaisang, apparently, Nie Huaisang, just as A-Jue was apparently the long-thought-dead heir of the Nie sect, Nie Mingjue, and obviously had never even once been a guard of any hall whatsoever – asked Meng Yao, patting his shoulder sympathetically yet again. “You’ve had a hard day.”

“No, thank you,” Meng Yao said, both because he didn’t know where he’d put the needles he used to check tea for poison after the last cup and also because he wanted to keep some room in his belly for the barrel of liquor he intended to find and down at some point later on.

He rather thought he deserved it.

A hard day. He scarcely had words to explain how much Nie Huaisang was understating things. A hard day!

Meng Yao still had blood splattered on his face from standing too close to the throne when A-Jue – Nie Mingjue, he needed to remember that – when Nie Mingjue decapitated the Emperor right in front of all his deputies and concubines, which was immediately followed by half of said concubines pulling out knives or swords or other weapons and moving at once to hold the other half hostage. The shrieks of those concubines that had not been in the know acted as a signal to those outside the hall, the roar of fighting breaking out at once, and Meng Yao didn’t even want to think about the gigantic mess they’d undoubtedly turned the Sun Palace into.

(But that was still better than thinking over and over, with no little amount of hysteria, I’m so glad I never ordered him to serve me in bed!)

Nie Mingjue had stalked out to the door, the frankly gigantic saber he’d always carried around everywhere finally drawn – it felt almost alive to Meng Yao’s admittedly inferior senses, alive and vicious and cruel and bloodthirsty, and he remembered how he’d once laughed off A-Jue’s claim that death would inevitably follow if he drew his blade – and he’d been greeted by shouts of acclaim and admiration from his followers, cries of dismay and despair from his enemies. He’d still been dressed in an Empress’ robes, which he’d torn apart for more mobility, but no one had cared one bit.

I guess the problems really did start in the harem, Meng Yao thought to himself, and thought he might still be a little hysterical.

Jiang Cheng had shown up at some point, wielding some sort of lighting-whip; he’d only stopped long enough to pull Nie Huaisang into a brief embrace before continuing onwards, his voice snapping out orders as sharp and vicious as his weapon, his orders obeyed by what might or might not have been a secretly resurrected Jiang sect. And he was the least disturbing of their visitors – the Lan sect apparently had been hiding a demonic cultivator away in their placid and boring little mountain retreat, just waiting to bring his unique brand of necromancy to cause havoc in the Nightless City – !

“How did I miss all this?” Meng Yao found himself asking Nie Huaisang, who smiled at him.

“Scale,” he said. “You were so close to everything, and your ascension so abrupt, that you had no chance to catch us – by the time you were put in charge, everything was already in the works. You would have only been able to see the patterns as they were, not as Wen Ruohan would have had them be.”

That made sense.

“You came pretty close a few times, though,” Nie Huaisang added thoughtfully. “I had to deal with more than a few frantic messages from my brother – thanks for spilling that, by the way.”

Meng Yao could not, for the life of him, tell if Nie Huaisang was being sarcastic.

He did feel marginally appeased that he’d come close.

“Was it always supposed to happen now?” he asked, curious. “The lamp he retrieved – was it –”

“Oh, no, no, we’re three months early! The lamp wasn’t important at all; it was just something I dug up a reference to because I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist going after it and we needed him out of the way to set up the last few things we needed. And then da-ge got into a fight with him so that he’d get the idea to drag me with him – he’s vindictive like that, but also predictable – and that gave me the opportunity to keep on poisoning him. The whole thing was actually supposed to be at his birthday banquet, after he’d gotten drunk…it’s all your fault, you know.”

“Me?”

“He was going to execute you, as you’d suspected,” Nie Huaisang said. “Your methods would have forced his hand – he couldn’t have done it publicly, not and keep his self-image of the merit-rewarding Emperor intact. But he promised your father that you’d be dead before the month is out, even if he had to cause an ‘accident’ himself.”

Meng Yao shuddered. That’d been the one weakness of his plan: his weak cultivation, which Wen Ruohan could have used to excuse a death from a supposedly ‘friendly’ interaction.

Still, that wasn’t the key part of what Nie Huaisang had said.

“You sped up your plans – for me?” he asked, confused, and Nie Huaisang nodded. “Why?”

“My brother likes you! He doesn’t like just about anybody, really,” Nie Huaisang said, voice blithe and merry as it had always been, something that raised Meng Yao’s hackles more than relaxed him. Clearly Nie Huaisang wasn’t anywhere near as useless and head-in the-sky, dreamy and idealistic, as he’d appeared for years. “Especially when it turned out that you were easy enough to convince into not continuing to commit atrocities as long as another route was offered – you don’t know how hard some people find that, and of course you did come out of the Fire Palace, very suspicious, but all in all you passed your trial period with flying colors. So obviously we couldn’t let you just die, could we?”

“…this humble one thanks you,” Meng Yao forced himself to say.

Nie Huaisang waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, you’re a good administrator,” he said. “And there’s still the Nightless City and all the Empire left to manage. You don’t mind, do you? There should be fewer assassination attempts now.”

Meng Yao frowned. “Those attempts…?”

“We spread word that Wen Ruohan was planning on keeping you,” Nie Huaisang said, and he didn’t even sound apologetic. “Obviously Wen Ruohan had already encouraged all those he thought were his enemies to attack you, but we tried to lure out the rest of them: his most faithful servants, the greedy and the vile – that part of the plan was before we got to know you. Or, well, before my brother did. He felt so bad after a while…I don’t see why. He protected you, and together you got rid of any number of the people who would have been our fiercest enemies! So what if you had to endure a little stress?”

No, Nie Huaisang was definitely not useless and dreamy and idealistic.

“Now there’s really only one problem,” Nie Huisang mused. “It’d be strange if you went from being Wen Ruohan’s viceroy to being ours, so we need to give you a new position. But what would suit…?”

“Huaisang! Meng Yao!”

They both turned.

A-Jue – Nie Mingjue, why couldn’t he remember – strode towards them. He’d changed into proper robes at some point, dark ones that could handle bloodstains, and he looked like a war-god, shining with power as bright as sunlight. He was every bit as powerful as Wen Ruohan was, in his own way – the blazing sun to Wen Ruohan’s dark and ominous hurricane – but that wasn’t so much of a surprise, given as he was such a ridiculous cultivation maniac…and, oh, they’d made jokes about the Empress right in front of him. They’d joked about her dual cultivating with the Emperor in front of him – !

No wonder he was so powerful. Wen Ruohan literally shared his spiritual energy with Nie Mingjue, presumably for years, the cultivation making them both grow more powerful and creating a connection between them, a connection that Nie Mingjue had used to drain all that power away from a weakened Wen Ruohan – Nie Huaisang’s unspecified poison, presumably – and then to sever the bond between them when he severed the erstwhile Emperor’s head.

A-Jue smiled at them both, just as free and easy and straightforward as he’d ever been.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally met!” he said, beaming. “You’re very similar, in some ways; I think you’ll get along excellently. Which is good, because I’ll need all the help I can get –”

And then he started talking about a publicity campaign, rearranging the army, and tax reform, about implementing Meng Yao’s system of random audits for more than just wheat and expanding the Watchtowers concept across the entire Empire, and Meng Yao stupidly felt a little like someone had given him flowers and romantic poetry written just for him.

At his side, Nie Huaisang started giggling.

“Oh,” he said. “Well there’s always that, I suppose. It’ll work quite well. I think you’ll make a very nice Empress, Meng Yao – perhaps a bit more sociable than our last, wouldn’t you say?”

The pinnacle of power, Meng Yao thought to himself, and shrugged, accepting his likely fate with a smile that he thought was even genuine. And why not? He could have everything he’d had under Wen Ruohan, except with a leader that would actually listen to him – that he had already trained to listen to him – and it would good for them, too. They’d keep him around, he was sure of it.

After all – good help was so very hard to find.

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #good help

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

Text

I feel terrible that I haven’t been participating in the last couple events, so I decided to write something for day 3 of the @jonsaseasonalbash

Prompt: crow and little bird

posted on ao3 here

When Sansa steps into the tattoo parlor, she nearly loses her nerve and runs back out.

But no, she made this appointment and she will keep it (plus, if she runs away, Arya will never let her live it down and she cannot let that happen). She just wishes she'd waited until Arya was free instead of declaring, loudly, that she could do this by herself.

It's a Tuesday morning and so she isn't surprised when she notices the shop is practically empty and that there's only one other customer. As she goes to the front desk and then waits for the tattoo artist she booked with – a woman named Val – she tries not to look over at the other customer to see who they are and what kind of tattoo they're getting. That would be rude.

She can't help it, though, because the other customer is distractingly half dressed (and distractingly ripped) and no matter how hard she tries, her eyes keep flitting over to him. He's only in a sleeveless undershirt and she can't help taking in the corded muscles in his arms, eyes sweeping down his forearms and to his hands and-

“Sansa?”

“Yes!” she turns to face a woman who must be Val, trying to look as innocent as possible. It doesn't seem to work, because she's pretty sure Val gives a slight snort of laughter and looks over at the man with a smirk before leading Sansa to a chair that... has a perfect view of the only other customer.

She keeps her focus on Val as the woman applies the stencil to her skin and they both agree that they like the size and placement. While Val preps her needle, Sansa stares at the line of small birds in flight across her inner wrist.

Little bird.

She is free of the Lannisters now and that taunt will never hurt her again. She will never allow herself to be used like she had before and she is getting this tattoo to remind herself.

(Not that her new job is any better, she sighs internally. After leaving Lannister Publications, she'd gotten a position at The Mockingbird, but her creepy boss had relegated her to writing fluff life and style pieces. Not that Sansa has anything against life and style, but the pieces he gives her are incredibly stupid, to the point where it almost seems like he's doing it on purpose, and Sansa aches to write something better, something more. She wants to be a real journalist.)

The needle doesn't hurt as badly as she was expecting (though it's still not pleasant) and Sansa can't help when her eyes wander over to the other chair – or, more specifically, the man sitting in it. His dark hair is pulled up into a man bun that she should hate, but he somehow makes it work. In fact, she should hate his whole look – scruffy beard, battered boots and old jeans – but it just... well, it works for her, ok? Even the way his face has settled into a resting scowl works for her, against her will or better judgment.

But then she sees the tattoo.

He's already got a few of them, and the new one is being added to his upper arm and she almost rolls her eyes when she sees it – a black crow.

He must be a fanboy.

Ever since The Crow showed up in Winterfell almost a year ago, she's seen normal men go absolutely insane over the superhero. He's only been seen a couple times, a man in all black with a mask who leaves one black feather as his calling card.

He'd made quite the splash with his debut – dumping Ramsay Bolton on the front steps of the Metro Police, bound and gagged, with a trunk full of evidence so concrete there was no way that even his father, politician Roose Bolton, could get him out of it. And, stuck into the bindings around Ramsay's wrists, a single black feather.

Newspapers had dubbed him The Crow – even her own newspaper wrote about him nearly every single day, even when he wasn't active. The Crow wasn't like the other superheroes that had been popping up in other cities – he didn't fight petty crime, he didn't seem to prowl the streets at night looking for minor assaults and thefts. No, he went after the elite, the ones the police couldn't (or wouldn't) touch.

(There had been a time when Sansa had wished desperately that The Crow would come for the Lannisters and save her, but he never had. The Lannisters might be cruel, but they weren't criminal masterminds, and in the end, it had been Sansa that had saved herself.)

Sansa sighs and tears her eyes from the stranger and back to her own tattoo. He may be one of the most attractive men she's ever encountered in real life, but she doesn't think she wants anything to do with one of The Crow's fanboys. She has mixed feelings about The Crow himself – she has no issue with someone taking the law into their own hands when the law refuses to do it themselves, but superheroes come with consequences. Consequences that look exactly like the stranger sitting across the room from her – men who decide that they, too, will mete out their own justice. Those copycats usually turn out to be less heroics and more violence for the sake of violence.

Yes, Sansa has very mixed feelings about The Crow.

She looks up again (determined that this is the last time she will look) and she nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees the stranger staring straight back at her. Their eyes catch and Sansa feels a wave of something rush through her. He doesn't look away and she finds herself caught, breathless, until Val declares that she's all done.

(When Sansa's legs almost give out when she stands, she laughs it off to Val and pretends she has a low pain tolerance and also her blood sugar has dropped and it definitely has nothing at all to do with the stranger who's eyes she can still feel burning into her as she walks away.)

SIX MONTHS LATER

Sansa tries very hard not to cry.

If she cries, her nose will stuff up and then she'll have an even harder time trying to breathe around the gag in her mouth. She tries to take deep, calming breaths, fighting against the panic that is swirling through her chest. Her hands are bound tightly behind her, her legs likewise bound with industrial zip ties, the plastic cutting into her skin whenever she tries to move or struggle.

How did she get here?

She'd sworn, six months ago, that she would never allow herself to be at the mercy of a man again - she'd even gotten a tattoo to remind herself. But here she is.

From her vantage point, lying sideways on the bed, she watches Petyr Baelish fold and pack his clothing into a suitcase. To anyone else, he would probably look calm, but Sansa has been around him long enough to see how pale his face is, the tight line of his mouth, the slight flaring of his nostrils - he is terrified.

But why?

Four hours ago, she'd been working late in the office when Petyr had found her and told her to come with him. He wouldn't explain where or why and when she refused - when she tried to leave, tried to run - he'd had his right hand man bind and gag her and they'd shoved her into the back of a car and driven her to Petyr's penthouse.

It hadn't registered then, but Sansa knows something has happened to scare Petyr. Something has forced his hand. He has been making advances towards her for the past few months, making sweet promises of a promotion (she'd finally be able to write something real), trying to take her out to dinner and giving her little gifts that made her stomach turn sour. She'd given the gifts back, refused the dinners.

But something has changed and now he is kidnapping her.

She'd overheard him and Brune talking about a private plane – about an island where he would never find them. Sansa knows that she is going to be taken to this island, that Petyr will no longer accept her refusals.

She wants to vomit, but she tamps it down, afraid that she'll choke behind the gag. She may be bound and helpless, but she refuses to die. She'll find her way out of this, somehow.

The door bursts open and Brune comes in, face a hard mask, and Sansa watches Petyr's eyes get wide and somehow even more fearful. Then something dark fills the doorway and Brune's hand comes up, gun at the ready, and Sansa closes her eyes tight when the first shot goes off. There's a second and a third in rapid succession and then more noises, but Sansa's heart is pounding so loudly in her own ears, she can barely hear.

Eventually there's silence, though it takes her a while to notice it.

No, not silence.

Someone is moving about the penthouse, and when Sansa finally opens her eyes, she nearly lets out a sob when she sees a dark figure dressed in all black standing over the bodies of Petyr and Brune.

The Crow.

There's a rip in The Crow's sleeve and she can see blood seeping out from where a bullet must have grazed him. Her eyes won't leave the blood on his arm as he bends down and begins to tie up first Brune and then Petyr. There's a lot of blood, but underneath she thinks she can see something, almost like a tattoo-

“Are you ok?”

She tears her eyes from his arm and looks up at the masked face that's now turned towards her. His voice is low and rough and even though she can't see his eyes behind the mask, she can feel them on her.

He stands up and walks over to her and carefully unties the gag, finally pulling it away and she coughs and nearly chokes when it's gone. Her mouth is so dry, but she manages to croak out, “water?”

She should be asking him to untie her, but she feels like she still can't breathe with how dry her mouth and throat are and The Crow leaves the room and comes back with a cup of water. He helps her sit up and holds the cup to her mouth, with his other hand on the back of her head, holding her steady, as she gulps down the water.

“Police will be here soon,” he tells her, setting the cup down on the side table.

Then he goes back to the bodies (she sees they're still breathing, which doesn't surprise her – The Crow has never killed anyone, as far as she knows) and he pulls out a single black feather from somewhere and tucks it into the bindings at Petyr's wrists.

“Aren't you going to untie me?” she asks when he starts moving towards the door again.

He turns to face her and says, “no.”

“What?” she gasps, twisting to try and face him better.

“You're evidence,” he shrugs.

“You're just going to leave me here?” her voice raises an octave in disbelief. “You're supposed to be a superhero!”

“I'm not a hero,” he says, the words biting. “Just because the news-”

“You help people!” she cuts in. “I read about what Ramsay Bolton did,” she swallows hard, remembering the horrific things that had come out in the wake of his arrest, the things he'd done to countless women and gotten away with because of his father's position. “You stopped him.”

The Crow stares at her for a while – or, she thinks he stares at her, she can't see his eyes. But she feels it, feels his gaze burning into her and something like a shiver rolls down her spine.

“You're evidence,” The Crow says again. “I'm not going to untie you.”

She knows, deep down, that she will be ok. The police will get here and untie her and she will be fine, but she can't seem to focus on that because there's a primal fear coursing through her at being tied up and helpless. She breathes deep and tries to calm herself.

“Then let me interview you,” she blurts out. He jerks back in surprise and she can't blame him, the words surprise even herself – she hadn't meant to say them. But she has, so she continues on. “Let me write an article on you.”

“No.”

“You owe me!”

“I just saved you,” he says and she thinks if he weren't wearing a mask, she would have seen him roll his eyes. “If anything, you owe me.”

She ignores the strange feeling that flits through her stomach and struggles to sit further upright. “I can help you,” she tries. “Isn't there some message you want to get out?” He's silent and she tries again. “Something you want to tell your fans?” She watches his mouth twist in disgust and she thinks yes! There it is.

“I don't want fans,” he grits out through clenched teeth. This is it, this is her chance.

“You could tell them to stop. Let me interview you and you can tell them whatever you want.”

She waits, heart in her throat, pulse pounding in her wrists, against the zip ties that bind her and the ink of her tattoo. She is not a little bird.

For a long while he watches her, eyes hidden behind his mask, mouth set into a grim line. The silence stretches out between them, crackles with a sort of energy Sansa has never felt before, except maybe once, six months ago in a tattoo parlor when-

Sirens wail in the distance, startling both of them. Time's up, she thinks as he begins to back away towards the door.

“Let me interview you,” she says one final time, and she's surprised at how low and breathless her voice is.

The sirens get closer, red and blue lights flickering on the ceiling through the penthouse windows. He's a shadow in the doorway, almost gone.

“Maybe,” he rasps and she feels a thrill go through her.

“When?”

“I'll let you know. If I decide I want to.”

She doesn't get the chance to say anything else because he's gone – no flash, no notice, just gone. Seconds later, there's the pounding of feet in the hallway and the door bursts open and police pour into the room. She's subjected to questions and she's photographed while still bound, but the indignity of it doesn't touch her.

She's going to get her story, she can feel it. As the police cut the ties and help her up, she knows it's true. She's going to get her story and something else bubbles up in her chest, a new determination. She'll get her story and-

And she's going to unmask The Crow.

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jonsaseasonalbash #i was watching a lot of daredevil #so sue me

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justapoet · 3 years

Note

mary all those prompts are 👀👀👀 can i get 33 + tarlos please?

I'm so glad you like them, Jamie! Of course you can, and I truly hope you like it! ♥

33. "It hurts to breathe..."

Send me a prompt! | Prompt list

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read on Ao3

tell me your secrets (and ask me your questions)

TK had always been a curious person.

Since he was a child, he would ask questions about every single thing he saw around him. From why a window is called "window" to where we go after we're no longer beating, and it never changed throughout the years. His curiosity only grew as the answers didn't exist, and TK would always find himself making questions he would chase after answers that didn't exist.

TK would wonder why the stars shine, or why the sky is blue ― and who named it "sky" anyway? How are the same thing called in different languages, and none of them is wrong? Why does the fire burn, and how do we feel the heat? Who chose the name of the sea, and who was the first person to ever decide that fishes were edible?

His parents would say that, as a baby, he would touch everything he could and be mesmerized by anything new that would come to his sight. They would say they knew he'd be trouble once he started walking, for his hands wouldn't fear touching a single thing, and TK would only laugh at how right they were about that.

As a kid, he would ask too much until his mother ran out of patience, and Enzo had to come to the rescue, taking him to the nearest bookstore or library so he could have a source of both questions and answers. As a pre-teenager, he would ask his teachers, and some of them would be thrilled to be challenged with their knowledge, while others would just say they weren't an encyclopedia.

As a teenager, his doubts and curiosity would lead him to periodic obsessions that would keep him awake at night, or it was just something he used as an excuse to stay awake. Anyhow, it was an escape from his twisted mind and fucked up head ― so, for what's worth, his curiosity had kept him alive when the bare facts didn't want to do so.

When he became an adult, his curiosity was never left behind. His questions changed, though, and he essentially wanted to know how it felt not to feel as down as he did and how it would be if someone ever loved him the way he had always read about in books and fiction. TK would wonder why the world wasn't as bright as he used to see it and how he could just disappear, even if for a little while.

Wondering why it was something TK was better in than anyone he knew.

He never wondered why it was like that, though.

With his curiosity, TK also learned he had to be patient and observe the world around him, which led him to know people from a different angle. He would notice their movements, word choices, and how their eyes moved in each situation ― he would read into people as he would read into books, and it was pretty nice to know how to do that.

He wished he had done that better, though, when it came to Alex. But he read into himself around that time, and he knew that he was desperate for any type of love and affection ― TK wanted the love his younger self always questioned if his older self would get and didn't think twice before jumping into the change he'd have that.

It was entirely his fault; TK knew it.

And he was determined not to make the same misjudgment twice in his life ― because he feared he wouldn't have a life to get right if it happened again.

When he got to Austin, TK was still mad at the world and at himself for being so stupid and losing everything he had achieved through the years. His anger took the best of him for most times, and so did his sadness ― but it opened his eyes for a few new lenses, and he found out it was pretty cool to have more than one set of eyes to read people and situations.

Judd, under his red vision and bitter analysis, was just someone too mad at life to realize other people had feelings, too. He was hostile, had anger problems, and was a pain in the ass ― not that it was entirely wrong ―, and TK would never ever be friends with someone like that.

Under his blue vision and heartbroken analysis, though, Judd was just someone who needed some space and time to find the way back from the place he had gotten lost. He was sad, and melancholic, and seriously in need of help.

And, under the vision that didn't require lenses, Judd was a big-hearted man with a few pieces falling from his soul. He was kind, had horrible jokes, and was profoundly in love with the woman he had gotten married to ― and it was the kind of person TK desperately needed as a brother in his life.

Marjan was a badass firefighter with strong opinions and more feelings she'd let slip out of her sleeve, not to mention how sweet she could be towards those who'd allow a mask to fall without any judgment. She was strong, fearless, and should be a bit less acid to those who were only trying to help ― but she was a best friend TK had missed in his life.

Paul was a riddle, and TK suspected that was what he wanted people to think about him. He was observant ― a little too much ―, alarmed and always had good advice on the tip of his tongue, even if he'd rarely follow someone's help that didn't come from Grace or Carlos. Paul was attentive, patient, and wise ― and TK was a little scared of it but wouldn't trade a best friend like that for the world.

Mateo and Nancy seemed to get along well, for both of them had unending jokes for every situation and never won from Marjan on any of their video games. TK had no clue about how it happened, but suddenly Mateo just revealed he was a Broadway fan, and Nancy let it slip that she had watched every single Marvel movie and series so far ― and it was the end of the peace around the firehouse.

TK wouldn't trade them for anybody else, to be honest. But he would, for sure, lock Nancy in the ambulance in revenge for eating his piece of the pie Grace had baked.

And then, there was Carlos.

In the first moment, TK didn't want to read into him enough to regret his choice of not wanting something serious. It was notorious, almost like a fact known to all humanity, that Carlos had kindness hanging out from each one of his words and movements. His words were nothing but sweet, and every single one of his actions seemed to be careful and calculated.

It was surprising, really, when Carlos had invited him to dance on that first night after a shift at the Honky Tonk. He didn't touch TK at any moment, only doing it when he approached first ― and Carlos seemed to always give him a second to think and rethink if he really wanted to go all the way.

Even if it was the bare minimum of respect, it was rare to find it around.

From the beginning, TK also noticed how patient Carlos could be and how he would never pressure anyone into doing anything. He was dedicated to his friends ― since they've met, TK lost count of how many times he would stop by the firehouse to give Michelle something she mentioned he wanted to eat or offer her a ride ―, and to his job, being a damn good cop.

He was good with kids, and any call with one would get him a bit sad afterward. Even so, TK had seen him countless times sitting with them in the ambulance, telling them a story or a joke to distract them from the needles and exams. It was heartwarming for whoever would see it.

From the beginning, too, Carlos would be a mystery TK didn't really know how to begin to solve. Unlike everything TK could've predicted or expected, Carlos didn't seem to want him just for his body or pretty face ― he seemed to want to get to know him, and that was something TK really couldn't wrap his mind around.

Not only that, but he was a mystery, too, to everyone in the firehouse. Judd had known him already from a distance, his friendship with Michelle bringing him around for years, but nothing more than cordialities and the usual kindness that evaporated from the man. Grace had known him from calls, as well, and only knew that he was a good cop, a good man, and really cared about those he was trying to help.

Other than that, no one knew much. Paul could tell Carlos was someone who really respected his privacy and didn't talk much when he didn't seem comfortable or didn't have to, being quiet even when going out. He didn't drink much and was absolutely punctual, and Paul somehow knew that Carlos loved giving small gifts to people.

Marjan said that he would always listen and give full attention to what anyone was saying, and Mateo couldn't get over the fact Carlos had a Mjölnir autographed by Chris Hemsworth ― and he would never tell how he got that.

Being curious about Carlos, then, was inevitable.

Getting to read and decipher him, though, was a choice. And a choice that TK would never regret taking.

He wasn't fluent just yet, but TK would spend as much time as necessary to learn every single word Carlos had to say, imply, or erase. It was a book, a whole universe, that TK was willing to find out more about.

Turns out Carlos never touches anybody without their complete consent, but he loves to be hugged and held whenever he can. He never complains, and on hard days, he almost purrs to any skin-to-skin contact.

TK loved to know that because he loves contact just as much.

TK also found out that Carlos is quiet most of the time, not only in public, and only gets to speak a lot when he's incredibly excited over something new. He found out through some night hours when, after TK had arrived back from his shift, he had started to talk excitedly about Einstein's Theory of Relativity and everything that involves the whole thing.

He was sure he fell in love again as each minute passed.

Carlos was punctual, but finding out he got ready for every appointment about an hour earlier was surreal for TK. And Carlos loved giving gifts to people just to make their day better ― TK had cried when, after a shift from hell, Carlos offered him a single dandelion, telling him to close his eyes and make a wish.

TK had kissed him deeply before blowing the dandelion.

And out of all the details TK could've learned about Carlos, one that would always be in red letters on the back of his mind is that Carlos could be quiet not only for his comfort but for the comfort of others. And, although it had been transparent with all of the mess and pain in Carlos' eyes when they talked after the meeting on the Farmer's Market, TK had noticed it on small moments through the days.

Carlos wouldn't speak up about his feelings or open up to anybody. He would be in pain, miserable, and silent, not wanting to bother or worry anyone around him.

He had gotten so used to it through the years that TK wasn't surprised when Carlos seemed shocked that he had noticed something was up.

The thing is that TK paid attention. To Carlos more than anyone, indeed, he had learned a few details that he knew Carlos himself didn't know, like how the cop would talk to himself when he thought no one was looking. Or how his lips would tramble a little every time he was going out, or how he would bite his tongue when the concentration was taking over his worries.

There was also that permanent wrinkle on the top of his nose that would deepen whenever he was confused and even more when he was worried. His eyebrows would follow the movement when he was emotional, and he would press his lips together when he got speechless ― and TK loved to kiss it away and watch as his face melted under his touch.

TK was lucky enough to say that he knew Carlos behind all the quietness and politeness ― he knew the lows, the fears, and the clever jokes.

That's why he knew something was wrong when they were driving back home from Judd and Grace's house on a Saturday afternoon, the sun already setting on the horizon.

Carlos hadn't drunk, not a sip, and seemed to be enjoying the company, the talk even if he was quieter than usual, and the kids ― the Vega twins really had fallen in love with him after the sandstorm. Yet, the man had given TK the car keys as they were leaving the house and didn't say much before walking around the car and taking the passager's seat.

Carlos loved to drive, and TK usually only took the wheel when his boyfriend chose to drink on their night out. He didn't do questions, though, and got in the car, taking Carlos' hand in his and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

The cop smiled at him, almost thankfully, and then looked out his window.

It was a thirty-minute drive, which had never been a problem for the both of them for some reason, loved to take car rides whenever they could. Ten minutes in the vehicle, though, TK noticed that Carlos was moving quite too much, his hands gripping his pants and his leg bouncing against the floor. His brown eyes wouldn't focus, either, and he would swallow dryly more times in a minute than anyone should.

He wanted to ask if everything was okay, but Carlos beat him to it.

"Stop the car," he asked, his voice seeming to be stuck on his throat. TK frowned worriedly at him but did as he was asked, turning the wheel and parking the car on the curb and watching his boyfriend as his mind seemed to race, and he didn't know what to do.

TK didn't have to wait a second until Carlos was opening the door and walking away from the car, crossing the flower field they'd stopped beside and not looking back at TK, looking too scared to do that. His legs seemed to work automatically, and TK quickly snapped out of his worried state to realize what the hell was going on when Carlos walked towards the empty gazebo further on the field.

Carlos kept walking, his palms feeling sweaty and his feet seeming to work mechanically. He didn't stare at anything around him, his eyes were unfocused, his mouth seemed to have dried up, and he couldn't even hear anything but the thin, high-pitched whistle inside his ears.

The cop found himself walking towards a little empty gazebo, groping the air unconsciously to find the small gate and then opening it and not even bothering to close it before he placed himself against the wall, leaning almost vainly on it. He took a few deep breaths, the warm spring air entering his lungs and seeming to hurt, but he didn't really care.

Carlos closed his eyes, feeling the world and his head spin a few times. His brain could only say "too many people, too many people, too long," but Carlos couldn't utter a single word or move.

Not even when he noticed a movement next to him and could assume that someone was stooping down. He wasn't sure, and he couldn't be sure at that moment. He didn't want to think about it or anything else in the world.

It was when the person sat down next to him, also leaning their head against the wall, that he could connect the dots to the smell of perfume his boyfriend always wore. The other man didn't say anything, just bent his knees and put one of his arms over his legs, and looked straight ahead.

TK knew him well enough to figure that he hated to be seen in such a vulnerable situation.

"I..." Carlos muttered, swallowing hard and looking breathless. "A lot of people, I..." he interrupted himself, feeling the tears that hadn't been falling fill his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

His lips trembled, and he felt frustrated then. Carlos threw his head back, knowing that it would hit the wall. It was then that TK finally faced him and placed one of his hands on his boyfriend's hand that was still on the floor while the other seemed to pull at his hair.

"It hurts to breathe..." Carlos said, then sobbing. TK's grip on his hand got more solid, and Carlos wouldn't stop crying even if he wanted to ― he felt pathetic, overwhelmed, and he hated to be facing that fact about him in front of someone else.

TK inhaled deeply before saying anything.

"You're on a gazebo," the man began, his voice sweet. "There's nothing here but the two of us and a plant I don't know the name of, but you should," he said, and Carlos could hear a small smile in his voice. His hand let go of his hair, and he began to breathe slowly. "There are only the two of us here. And the stars."

Carlos took a deep breath. Once, twice, three times― just him and TK. Just him and TK. It was all right. Everything was fine.

He held his boyfriend's hand weakly, and TK made sure to squeeze it a little. He was there, just him, and everything was fine. He could breathe, there was air, and there was nobody else but him and the man he loved right beside him.

TK didn't say a word, his thumb caressing the back of Carlos' hand and his eyes analyzing each one of his breaths as he breathed just as slowly. His heart was pounding on his chest, and he had a few questions, but it was alright ― everything was fine, and they had time to talk about it.

The minutes went on like this, quietly, until Carlos, a little calmer but still with a knot in his throat, opened his eyes, swallowing hard and analyzing his surroundings warily. His brown eyes seemed alarmed, rimmed, and his breathing was still shaken.

"Allamanda," he said, then, his voice weak and hoarse. His breathing was smooth now, and TK smiled as he noticed it, even though he hadn't understood what Carlos had said until he gestured toward the flowers with his head.

TK chuckled quietly, amused that his boyfriend actually knew what the flowers were, and leaned his head against the wall again. They stood there for some time ― Carlos couldn't tell how long ― until his breathing returned to normal, and his ears were whistled low enough that he could hear around him.

"Sorry," he said, and TK turned his head, still leaning against the wall. "For this. I had no reason and― and I just..."

"Carlos," the paramedic called in a low voice, interrupting him before he could blame himself or try to explain what he wasn't ready to. "It's all right. You don't have to apologize or justify anything. It happened, that's fine," TK said, confident. Carlos swallowed hard. "It's okay, babe. I promise."

Carlos nodded but didn't seem too confident in agreeing with TK's words. TK looked at some spot in front of him again, and Carlos let his head fall until he was staring at his lap, his hand over his stretched legs and his mind racing with wild thoughts. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and threw his head back, leaning on the wall.

"I've never told anybody," Carlos said, then, all of a sudden. TK turned his head in his boyfriend's direction, bending it a bit with the piece of given information. "About this. The disorder or the crisis," he explained, and TK frowned with worry. "Not even Michelle."

TK waited, not wanting Carlos to shut down with any questions. After a minute or two, he spoke up again.

"I feel pathetic," Carlos said, a humorless chuckle leaving his closed lips. "I know I shouldn't because it's perfectly normal and everything, but..." Carlos swallowed dryly, his lips twisting in some shade of sadness. "I'm an adult. I should've left this in my teenage years, shouldn't I?"

TK didn't answer but thanked God it was a rhetorical question. He didn't quite know what to say.

He couldn't help but ask, though.

"How long you've been hiding these crises?" he asked, and Carlos chuckled humorlessly again. It caused TK's stomach to wrap.

"Since they began," he replied, and TK closed his eyes as if it was a painful truth to face. He squeezed Carlos' hand, and the other man just shrugged. "I was going to tell my father, even before I came out to them, but I heard a conversation over some documentary about mental disorders," Carlos said, and TK didn't like his tone. "I should really stop listening to what he and mom talk about. It would save me mental health," he joked, and TK bit his tongue.

Carlos wanted to cry, but he didn't think he could.

"I don't think they realized, you know? I mean, everyone makes jokes about it," Carlos said, then. "They didn't mean harm, I think. But they were laughing," he told TK, turning his head and not really looking around. "It was― eating me alive, and..." he chuckled again. "They were laughing."

TK squeezed his hand.

"So you figured that would be their reaction," TK supposed.

"Theirs and anybody's," Carlos said. "The only ones who take mental health seriously are the ones to whom it's lacking."

And TK didn't have an answer for that because there wasn't one. He could see what Carlos meant when he said that his parents meant no harm ― mental disorders were only a thing if you knew well enough to understand that sick people didn't want attention or were being dramatic; they just wanted peace.

And it was only genuine when someone that mattered hurt themselves over it, and TK knew that. He had experienced it himself, his mother being usually too skeptical to believe that someone wouldn't have control over their feelings.

Until TK had lost control over himself and his heart had lost the strength to beat for the first time.

Carlos had skepticism surrounding him when it came to taboos such as mental disorders ― and having one wasn't quite the solution to deal with it. His family didn't think it was something more than some drama or lack of control over emotions, and even the best-intended comments could hurt when they were only meant to be seen as a joke.

And TK couldn't see how it must have been to Carlos to feel like it for over a decade ― like a joke. Like who he was and the problems he had were too much, inconvenient, uncomfortable for someone he loved to deal with.

From cover to cover, Carlos had felt like a burden to his family. And although it wasn't their intention to make it like it, the fact they didn't seem to be open enough for Carlos to come to them still twisted something inside TK's soul.

"Hey?" Carlos called beside him, and TK lifted his eyes to find his boyfriend's sad face and closed eyes. "Does anybody else need to know about it?"

TK caressed his thumb over Carlos' skin.

"Not if you don't want them to," he replied. Carlos sighed.

"But?" he asked, and TK's heart swollen with how much he knew how to read him.

"It would be nice if you talked to Mitchell," TK said. "So she can have your back at work, you know?" Carlos sighed. "I know you've dealt with it all your life, babe, but someone has to have your back. Especially in our field," TK explained, and Carlos knew he was right. It didn't make things easier. "You know no one would laugh, don't you? And no one would ignore it, either," the paramedic continued, and Carlos weighted his head forward again.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Carlos said, then. "I've been prepared for the laughing and the ignoring my whole life; what do I do when it doesn't come?" he asked, and TK felt his heart clench inside his chest. "Besides, letting people know just..."

"Makes you feel a weird thing you can't really name?" TK guessed. "Something between guilt, regret, and stupidity and not the relief they've promised you?"

Carlos chucked again, and TK followed him. The cop nodded, and his lips trembled a bit.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Something like that."

A beat of silence, and then TK asked.

"Do you regret that I know it?" he said, and Carlos only closed his eyes again. There was no judgment or expectation in his boyfriend's voice, which is much more comfortable to answer.

"Honestly?" TK nodded. Carlos sighed. "Yes," he said, and TK pressed his lips together in a sad smile. "But I, uh...―" Carlos babbled. "I'm glad I can ask you for a hug now," he said, and TK widely smiled when he noticed the words. Carlos turned his head up to him, smiling expectantly, and the paramedic didn't lose a second before hugging him close to his chest.

Although Carlos was taller, TK knew he loved to be held close to someone and be involved in their arms as if he fit in them. Which, when it came to the two of them, the affirmative was nothing but correct ― Carlos fit in TK's arms seamlessly.

They stayed there for a while more, with Carlos breathing slowly against TK's neck and feeling his heartbeats and TK caressing his fingers through Carlos' curls and nape.

When they got back to the car, Carlos was almost sleeping on the passenger's seat with his head pressed to the window, and TK smiled at the cuteness of the scene and the peace on Carlos' face. He didn't say much, not to say anything, all the way back, sniffing a bit and taking some deep breaths.

TK could relate if being honest. Sharing such a personal thing, that something that should lift the weight out of your shoulders isn't as pretty as people make it seem. It's excruciating, tiring, and it feels like all the power you once had over your lack of control vanishes for a while.

It isn't exactly about being vulnerable, but about how much you can pretend something isn't real if no one else knows about it. And, when someone else does know, it feels a bunch more genuine than it was before ― even if the pain was already breathtaking.

As soon as TK parked in front of their house, he took Carlos' hand in his, squeezing it lightly to wake him from his superficial sleep. The cop opened his eyes a bit confused, breathing in deeply before looking out the window and then turning to his boyfriend, who smiled sweetly at him.

Wordlessly, the pair got out of the car and made their way to the front door, Carlos always a step behind him as they went up the stairs. TK couldn't point out if it was Carlos' habitual protectiveness towards those who he cared about or some kind of embarrassment over the things he wished he didn't mind about, but TK decided it wasn't something he shouldn't ask. Not then, at least.

They walked around their house silently, taking their shoes off before walking to the living room, where TK put his cellphone and wallet over the coffee table. Carlos seemed scared, hiding in the shadows around the corners, almost unsure of what he was doing there ― and, damn, it hurt TK to see that. Even if the paramedic knew it had nothing to do with him or the two of them, seeing the man he loved so out of place in their own house was a dagger to the heart.

TK wanted to suggest something, but Carlos seemed so stuck in his head that he wasn't sure he would be heard. So, he went to the bathroom downstairs silently, taking more time than necessary to wash his hands just so he could see if Carlos would move. When he went back to the living room, his boyfriend wasn't there anymore.

Knowing that he probably needed some space to deal with what happened and with the fact that TK knew about it all, the paramedic found a few things to do downstairs. Putting more water in a bottle to put in the fridge, wash the pair of plates and coffee mugs they've left there in the morning, answer a few texts on their group chat and some others from Grace asking if they've made a safe ride home.

He also checked all locks and windows before taking his phone and slowly climb up the stairs, turning off the lights as he went to their room. There, Carlos was still in the bathroom, and TK plugged his charger before taking off his shirt and pair of jeans.

As he laid down, he could hear the shower on and smiled a bit that Carlos had enough disposition to let himself relax around warm steam. TK sighed, sinking under the covers and closing his eyes for a second to let his thoughts settle around his head.

A second might have been longer, though, when he opened his eyes to the turned-off bedroom lights and the only light source being the semi-open bathroom door from where he could see Carlos' reflection moving a bit. His heavy eyelids wouldn't let him sit up or even move too much, but he used all the strength he had to stay awake and stare as his boyfriend left the bathroom and turned that light off, too.

His head was down as he walked to their bed, and he seemed to hesitate for a second before swallowing hard and turning his body a bit, his direction changing from his to TK's side of the bed. The paramedic waited, just to see how carefully Carlos took the blankets off his body and then moved to crawl up the bed.

The mattress deepened, and TK inhaled sharply ― which made Carlos realize he was awake but didn't stop him from doing whatever it was. TK tried to see something in the dark, but Carlos' warm hand over his naked waist caused every nerve to relax, and his eyelids fell heavy once again. He was a little more alert, though, his worried side speaking loudly.

Carlos put himself between TK's legs, his body half over his, and wrapped his arms around the paramedic's waist, sighing heavily and placing his head in the middle of TK's abdomen. Instinctively, TK's hand was in Carlos' curls, and the cop felt like he could cry just with that touch again.

"Am I hurting you?" Carlos whispered in the dark. "Do you want me to move?"

"Nah," TK grumbled. "You okay?" he asked, and Carlos just stood quiet. TK didn't pressure him into saying anything, perfectly comfortable with whatever Carlos wanted to talk about.

The cop closed his eyes for a second and then exhaled wearily against TK's stomach. He moved his legs to tangle it with TK's and the blankets, the coldness of one bringing relief to his racing nerves.

"Not quite," he said. "I'll be."

TK hugged him the best he could manage to in their position, caressing Carlos' bare skin in comfort.

"Don't rush yourself into it," TK murmured. Carlos closed his eyes, ignoring a bit of a headache on the side of his temple.

"Won't," Carlos said, and TK knew he was telling the truth.

Because Carlos was kind, sweet, loving, and the easiest person to love. He's the kind of person the paramedic tried to avoid because TK simply knew that he would fall in love with him ― it was Carlos, after all, and TK knew better than trying to fool himself with the premise he could only do casual.

TK searched for questions without answers, and Carlos had all the answers TK wanted to find the questions to. He was pretty sure he could discover why the sky is blue in the brown of Carlos' eyes. He could find out why the languages change just by kissing his lips. The reason fire would burn would be written over Carlos' skin, and the sea could be explained but never compared to how deeply Carlos felt things.

TK was curious, indeed, but he didn't mind waiting for the answers if it meant he would discover Carlos page by page, breath after breath.

Carlos, deep down, couldn't wait to be deciphered, too. And he knew things would be better and would be good if he tried to see himself through somebody else's lenses. It would take time, effort, and much more talking than he liked to think about ― but it would be alright.

Because they didn't have to wonder if they'd be alone while trying to be better.

Because they didn't have to wonder what it would be like to share some of the weight.

Because the answers weren't written, and they could always wonder what they were.

Because, for now, it didn't hurt to breathe.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star fic #911 lone star #my fic #my writing #prompt list #prompt fic #carlos reyes x tk strand #tk strand x carlos reyes #ask #fic prompts

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gentrychild · 4 years

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Suspected Traitor Izuku Ideas

Note: Sorry this ended up being super long! I just really love the idea and wanted to put in some ideas of what I think could happen. It was all too long to fit into a couple asks, and I figured you would prefer a submission than 7+ asks in a row. These are also just some fun ideas I was thinking of for the au I thought you might enjoy lol

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Izuku gets interrogated and at first goes along with the questions. He doesn’t realize why he is there at first, until they ask more and more questions showing they suspect him for something. After the second or third question about his relation to the LOV he pieces it together. They think he’s a villain.

And instead of having a confused smile or nervous laugh, his eyes widen and he whispers “you think I’m the traitor.” It wasn’t hard for him to figure it out, after all he spent so much time analyzing and trying to deduct things quickly from situations where he barely was given any information, and they practically threw the answer in his face. He was probably one of the few students who was fully aware that there was a traitor from looking at the previous attacks.

He starts to shut down after realizing this, and when people start yelling or slamming things out of anger (because no one was actually going to get physical, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the room was off limits) he unconsciously reverts back to his old habits from when he was quirkless.

This can include, but is not limited to:

- A smaller frame to protect vitals and give less room to be hit

- A quite and passive voice to try appeasing their anger

- Distracting himself from the emotional pain by focusing on the physical stuff. Mentally keeping track over where everyone is, what they are doing, and how much of a threat they are to him

- Looking for any and all possible exits, even the ones that would result in him being hurt on his way out, just in case things get worse (and he fears that they may hurt him worse than before. In a world full of quirks, it’s easy for someone worked up to forget how easily they can kill someone, and Izuku probably has experienced more than once a situation that became life or death because a middle schooler was too worked up to process how much damage they were about to do)

- Eyes downcast due to fearing that eye contact would seem like he’s defying them or trying to irritate them in purpose (thanks Bakugou for that one)

- Holding back sudden movements or flinching, when going to the point of possibly hurting himself on purpose to prevent him from acting out.

- Holding his breath every time someone moves, but forcing his body to relax/tense up in case they attack him. When your body tenses up, it can absorb him impact, but can also cause other things like knives or needles to hurt more when they cut/go through the skin. So when there is someone who has a weapon visible (probably a means of intimidation) he quickly figures out which way will hurt less and forces himself to go through with that because of the constant thought of ‘just in case’

- Forcing himself not to cry or break down. That’s what some bullies want, but sometimes it also makes them even more upset. It gives them fuel, and always ends bad for the victim.

The teachers and others accusing him of being the traitor takes these signs as him lying or trying to hide the truth, those who don’t think it’s because he’s lying see the 'experience with interrogations’ aka trauma reactions and think he was trained by the villains to act this way. No one thinks about the fact that some of the reactions are clearly not helpful with interrogations and that the villains would train him to do the opposite (ex: stay calm and keep eye contact. You don’t have anything to hide and looking away makes it seem like you do).

The only two people who know his past refuse to acknowledge or bring it up.

All might doesn’t because he can’t risk the consequences of OFA getting out, but also because he only has a vague idea because of when he was shoeless himself.

Bakugou refuses to acknowledge the signs and the relapsing to his habits from middle school.

No one else realizes the cause, and as a result they accidentally reopen the trauma that Izuku hadn’t healed from. No, he had taken it and stuffed it into a box to avoid acknowledging that he was hurt. So he never talked to anyone about it, and as a result it just festered in his mind. His intrusive thoughts from all the victim-blaming he went through never went away (because let’s be honest, gaslighting and victim-blaming are things he probably went through as a result of the bullying. He couldn’t help being quirkless, but the bullies will latch onto anything and everything they can. And because they wanted to prevent themselves from having anything marked, if they made him think it was his fault then they felt it lowered the chances of them being reported)

During the pause of interrogation when they are having Tsukachi enter and he’s about to come in, he almost send himself into a dissociative/depressive episode because of his thoughts. He forces it back when the doors click open, thinking 'no, it’s just like before. No matter how much it hurts, wait until you’re safe. You’re not safe here, they will use it against you, so you have to wait until you’re alone and safe to finally break down.’

As a result, none of the adults fully realize how broken he is after the trap/interrogation is over. But its only a glimpse that they see, and nothing more. Because Izuku’s learned that weakness = vulnerable = targeted and hurt.

And now that he knows almost all his friends- no, his classmates were involved he knows he can’t break down anywhere near them. He can’t go over and let them know how broken he is or he thinks they’ll turn against him even more.

Someone brings up the 'logical’ aespect of the interrogation and their suspicions before he leaves and Izuku’s thoughts use that and forces it against him. 'It was only logical. Everyone was convinced you were going to hurt them, that you were evil. Of course they had to do it.’ He repeats it like a mantra in his head. 'It’s only logical, they did what they had to, and it’s almost over. You’re almost done, it was just the logical thing to do.’

And why is it this that he repeats this, instead of being angry or upset?

The victim-blaming.

His own intrusive thoughts were fuelled by the victim-blaming, and because it was what hurt the most, it was also what he was most accustomed to.

But when he finally gets back to the dorms, to the 'safety’ of his room, he knows he can’t break down. Not yet. After all, if they went through all that trouble because they thought he was the traitor, who’s to say they didn’t do more? His resurfaced paranoia/anxiety from the trauma makes him search his room for hidden cameras and microphones, desperate for at least one safe-space.

He finds nothing, thank god, but then he keeps pushing back his breakdown in search of exits, ways to avoid the most dangerous people or most likely to turn on him, ways to get by unseen and to avoid any situations that would be like Middle school. He stays up making notes and maps of the school and how to best protect himself because 'You’re already used to this. Shouldn’t have expected anything different. Stupid, idiotic, Deku. You put off finding the saferoutes because you thought it would be better to try playing nice. Look where that got you, now you have to stay up and make up the months of ignoring the inevitable.’

He doesn’t sleep that night, and when it becomes time for class he still hadn’t given himself time to break down. So he returns, but doesn’t pretend to be friends with any of his classmates anymore. He uses the ways he maps, brings out old tactics, just with the hope of making it through the day without being hurt or breaking down.

Lunch comes, but he doesn’t eat. He goes to the roof, finds an elevated area with no cameras and where people are unlikely to see him and sits down. It takes a moment, just a mere second of sitting there alone before he breaks.

He cries and let’s his regret and anger wash over him. All the feelings he had been pushing back finally breaking free and coming loose. He doesn’t eat, he never got the time, and right as he is starting to realize how badly hurt he really is, the bell rings signalling he needed to get to class. So he forces himself up, pushed all his emotions away, and tries to clean himself up in the bathroom.

He ends up in a dissociative state the rest of the way back to class, and when the others ask why he’s acting different or 'weird’, he doesn’t respond. He barely registers anything the rest of the day and when teachers try calling on him, hoping for some kind of reaction, they get nothing. He doesn’t process that he’s being talked to and just sits there dissociating in a desperate attempt of forcing himself not to break down again.

When classes end, the others try talking to him but eventually give up. He slowly realizes after everyone left that he was alone and he picks up his stuff and walks to the dorms on autopilot. He gets to his room and shut the door, and finally let’s himself finish the breakdown from on the roof. This time, though, he finally lets himself cry over everything. The entire past of abuse and neglect from his peers and adult figures in his life (minus his mom), the suicide-baiting, the victim-blaming, the bullying, accusations and mistrust, all of it. And he finally fully, truly breaks.

- - - -

#Ah yes more people who loves to hurt Izuku #Welcome #suspected traitor Izuku AU #submission

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grilledcheeseandguavajelly · 4 years

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“If You Fall, I Will Catch You, I’ll Be Waiting” -- Billie Dean Howard x Reader

This one is LONG. Like. Really long. But it’s Billie Dean, so can you blame me?

Special thanks to @shineestark for proofing this for me and dealing with my constant worrying, and to @thatgirlintheleatherjacket for proofing also, but most importantly for being so encouraging and convincing me to post this after having it locked away and deeply protected.

Words: ~20,000

Warnings: ANGST. A lot of it. You’ve been warned. Also, a teeny tiny mention of blood.

~Enjoy, little peaches~

(And please go easy, because this one is literally my heart smeared down on paper)

Being with Billie Dean was a whirlwind of a life, constantly running and spinning and dancing across not only your relationship but her career, new shows getting picked up, old shows getting cancelled— the rollercoaster of emotions that came with press and premieres and red carpets and ever-changing schedules.

It had been brilliant. She was the brightest light in the universe, and you felt lucky to be included. But the fact that she loved you? Couldn’t keep her hands off of you and was so supportive of you and absolutely worshipped you, inside and outside the bedroom? It was more than you ever thought possible. More than you ever thought you deserved.

You took every second of it as a blessing, but about eight months in you started getting reckless with your time. Started taking it for granted and really just losing yourself in every moment. You were no longer hyper-present, taking in every minute detail of every second of your day with her, but rather you sank into the comfort of her constant presence beside you. The normalcy of her hand on your waist, the warmth of her quick kisses behind your ear every time she leaned down to whisper something to you. At first, they had all been a shock, setting you on edge and fueling your pounding heart. But now they were a comfort— a part of who you were and who the two of you were together that you could no longer comprehend your life without.

She was always with you. Always right there when you needed her, even if she was halfway across the country or halfway across the world. Because sometimes it worked out like that. She had to leave for a week or two at a time. And you would never ask her to sacrifice her career for you. At first it had been agonizing, every minute away from her like needles in your heart. But she was always right there, calling you and Skyping you and letting you snuggle into the familiarity of her voice until the tears subsided and she was finally home.

Things had progressed from there, as your relationship had progressed. You started getting more comfortable with those small stretches when she was away, and she started growing more comfortable with fucking you over the phone. Because sadness at her absence had turned to a desperation of want. And instead of crying during your chats, you found yourself breathlessly whispering her name, and she would always be right there, ready to give you whatever you needed, ready to catch you as you lost control and tumbled head over heels in love with her.

It got to the point where most of your friends didn’t know you without her. Even if they were old friends, Billie had become such a constant in your life that it was expected the two of you were together. You rarely went anywhere without her, she rarely went anywhere without you. You partied together, you went home together. You started living together, so you started shopping together and walking together, and about a year in you started looking for houses together.

A year and a half in, you found one. Bought it right there on the spot, and christened every room by the end of the night.

You spent the next two weeks unpacking boxes, moving your lives into this new space and decorating it together. As a team. As partners. Equal thoughts and equal compromises. A life together, forever.

The night you finished unpacking, Billie got a phone call. Billie got a job. Billie had to move to London for a year if she signed the contract.

You told her you would go with her. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could find a new job. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could sell the house. She hadn’t asked.

She told you to go to sleep, pressing kisses to your hair and pulling you in so close you almost couldn’t breathe. And by the time you woke up the next morning, she had made up her mind.

You thought for sure she would turn it down. That’s just the kind of person she was. You thought for sure she would tell you that you were too important and that she didn’t want to cut a slice out of this life you were building together. You were prepared to tell her that she should go, that you wouldn’t dare get in the way of her following her dreams. But she had decided. You knew her well enough to know that she had decided the moment she hung up the phone. And there was nothing you could do.

You could never fathom asking her to sacrifice her career for you, and yet she had sacrificed you for her career in the blink of an eye.

A quick procedure and you were surgically removed from her life. You couldn’t go with her. She was leaving you behind.

You didn’t comprehend it. Not really. But she had decided and it had happened.

And then it had ended, and you were alone.

You were left with this aching, gnawing need chewing at your heart. It ate at every fiber of your sanity, picking at the strings of your being and unraveling them, one by one.

Your life came and went in flashes, none of them linear. Tiny glimpses of moments completely overpowered and drowned by this heavy emotion that you had no name for.

It wasn’t sadness, hurt, or grief. It wasn’t depression or pain or numbness. It was all of it and exponentially more, bound together so that you couldn’t feel one without the other, and you couldn’t feel any of it at all.

Days went by like that, scenes cut from a movie that you didn’t recognize. Because life didn’t look like life without her.

Without her.

You didn’t know how to carry on without her. And that’s what hurt the most.

You were hurting alone.

She was the only person you wanted. Really, truly, deeply. Your friends came over and brought you food and cleaned your kitchen and sat with you while you cried. But you honestly couldn’t be sure who they were. All of them blended together, just like the days did, and with the color taken out of your world, everything sat in different levels of shadow and you honestly couldn’t even make out their faces.

Some tried to talk to you, others let you be. But they were all pieces of a puzzle that you couldn’t connect. A glimpse of someone sitting across from you and handing you a tissue. A flash of someone in your kitchen, working at the sink. And the front door closing, over and over, one by one as they all left. The pieces didn’t fit together, but you didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to form a full picture of a life without her.

But you knew you could, if you tried. And that’s what scared you the most. Because what would that picture even look like? What would you see there besides empty space and emotion dark as tar. Sticky, thick, dragging you down and suffocating you and blinding you until you couldn’t find your way back to the surface.

They asked if you wanted to see her.

You said no.

Time ticked by slowly, and they kept coming over, and they kept asking.

And you kept saying no.

She wasn’t here. She was gone. She had left and picked up her life and kicked you out of it. Turned around and walked away and left you bleeding out onto the floor.

Around the fortieth time they asked, you snapped, rage taking over at the semblance of thought that they would dare assume you would be fine Skyping with her when they knew, they knew you needed all of her. That you didn’t want to hear her voice, not pixelated and distorted and morphed. You didn’t want to see her. You didn’t want to talk. And they should have known better than to keep pushing you like this.

Eventually your screaming dissolved into sobs, all of your emotions hitting tenfold as they pinched at your vulnerability like a nerve.

You had mumbled something along the lines of “I couldn’t Skype her, I couldn’t bear it”, and that’s when you heard your friend speak. Actually heard someone speak for the first time in who knows how long.

“No, Y/N. Not Skype. She’s back. She came back.”

You blinked at your friend for what felt like years, letting her words sink into your mind. Carefully, delicately.

“She’s... back?”

How much time had gone by? How long had you been sitting on your couch? How long had it been since you had showered? It couldn’t have possibly been a year already. You had lost all sense of time, but there was just... there was just no way. Impossible.

And you were right. It hadn’t been. According to everyone else, it had only been three weeks.

Billie had been back for two.

Billie had been asking to see you for two and a half.

According to everyone else, she had called them all and asked to see you. Multiple times. Every day. They had taken your phone from you at your request pretty early on, your fear of spamming her with messages greater than your need for her to call you. Somewhere in the back of your bleary, broken mind, you had realized that you needed a clean break. That realization had dissolved as want nestled it’s way into your soul, but by that point your phone was gone. Hidden. Taken. And you were utterly alone, whether you liked it or not.

But now, with the realization dawning and your friends asking you again if you wanted to see her, you still said no.

You had detoxed in this house the two of you were supposed to share. It was full of negative energy and hurt and loss, everything inside of you expelled in each room, the toxicity of it filling the air and seeping into the walls. You had curled into the furniture you had picked out together, clung to any remnant of her smell, of her memory.

But you didn’t want her back in the house. You didn’t want her back in your life.

You needed her back in your life more than you needed to breathe.

There were a few hours spent hyperventilating, your friends stroking your back and pushing the hair from your face and getting you water. But none of it helped like Billie would. They didn’t know you like Billie had.

They dropped it after that. They didn’t ask you again. And you settled back into your shadowed world with the realization that you had lost your chance. They had tried, she had tried, and in your attempt to salvage what was left of your heart, you had pushed them all away.

Your friends still came over, still brought you food and inevitably threw it away, untouched, the next morning.

Nothing really changed. Nothing really could.

The hurt doubled, knowing that she had been back and you had said no. But according to one of your friends, she had left again. And you were right back where you had started. In this big empty house that didn’t really belong to you, with nothing but your loneliness to burrow into at the end of the night.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You couldn’t have known. Three weeks had felt like two lifetimes, and a day felt like an hour. The clarity that had come with your rage had dissolved back into fragments, your days pieced together in small glimpses of television and whoever was coming or going this time.

Doors opening, doors closing. Shifting on the couch, more tears. Change the channel. Fall into a restless sleep.

Over and over again.

Until one day you were woken by a voice. A low, raspy voice etched with concern.

“How long has she been like this?”

You thought it was your mother for a moment, with the way the voice broke at the end of the question. Thought they had finally had enough of you and gotten her a flight over. But no. It couldn’t have been. It didn’t sound like your mother. It didn’t sound like anything.

She was the sound of your entire universe.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for some sort of doctor. Understanding that you hadn’t eaten in ages and you were probably hallucinating.

But it didn’t feel like a hallucination when the couch dipped by your ankles. It didn’t feel like a hallucination when fingers brushed the stray hairs from your face.

You knew it wasn’t a hallucination when tears immediately fell at the familiarity of her touch. The warmth that always followed in her presence. The soft sound of her breathing.

“Y/N...?” she tried softly, and you almost flinched at the way she said it. You had forgotten how special your name sounded when it came out of her mouth.

You were buried under three different blankets, pushed down into the couch because you hadn’t been able to get warm without her. And now it was to your benefit, because all you had to do was tuck your face down, just a bit, and no one would be able to see you crying.

Except your shoulders were shaking, just enough, and your friend, whichever one it was, noticed.

“I think this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked you to— I think you should go.”

But she didn’t move. Her fingers did, tracing your hairline and moving down your shoulder, still covered with the blanket. But she didn’t move.

“Just let me stay a bit longer,” she whispered. “Just let me... I just want to look at her a bit longer.”

And suddenly you felt like you were dead. Like you had died and stepped outside of your body and were watching your own funeral. Everyone you had loved watching your lifeless form and grieving some kind of irrevocable loss.

Except you weren’t dead. You could still feel. You could feel the warmth of her fingers, despite how hesitantly she touched you. You could feel the way she shifted on the couch, so subtle you shouldn’t have been able to.

And you felt her breath catch when you opened your eyes, staring at her through tear-starred lashes.

It was blurry, the world around you, and you didn’t know if it was from tears or lack of food or the fact that she was really there. Right there. An arms length from you.

Billie Dean Howard.

Your head started spinning and every emotion you had felt since she left coated the next, wrapping you in a never-ending, expanding bubble of pain and sadness just waiting to be punctured and popped.

All you could think to do was turn, eyes finding your friend, still blurry and still shadowed, despite how bright Billie had been just seconds before.

“What is she doing here?” you managed, finding your voice through the mess in your mind. “I told you I didn’t want to see her.”

You felt Billie stiffen on the couch, and she spoke at the same time as your friend.

“She knew I was back...?”

“We were so worried about you, Y/N. We didn’t know what to do. You weren’t eating, you were barely talking to us, you—“

And then the humiliation came, embarrassment that you had been this distraught by Billie’s leaving and she was finding out about it. She would know how broken you had been. So you lost your temper. It was the only way you could fathom protecting what was left of your heart.

“I told you I didn’t want to see her. What part of that do you not understand? I don’t want her here. I don’t want her on my couch, I don’t want her in my house, I don’t want her in my life! You had no right to bring her here, to just show up without—“

A hand on your ankle startled you from finishing your sentence, and you looked down to find tears in Billie’s eyes, her perfect acrylics scratching lightly against the blanket.

You jerked your foot back on instinct, tucking your knees to your chin as you pushed yourself up against the arm of the couch.

You wanted to scream at her for touching you. You wanted to growl and narrow your eyes and talk to her through gritted teeth. But you couldn’t bring yourself to direct any words at her at all. Not with the way your brain flipped itself inside out and warred with you heart at the very sight of her.

“Could you give us a minute?” Billie asked, eyes never leaving yours, and after a brief moment of your friend opening and closing her mouth, after she looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t read and you shook your head as you pleaded with her silently not to go, not to leave you, she nodded at Billie and left the room.

A moment later you heard the front door close, and then she was gone.

A long silence stretched, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you could actually hear the grandfather clock ticking in the foyer.

Time passing. A cruel joke.

Every second with her sitting across from you felt longer than the days, weeks she was gone. And you had forgotten that time was like this with Billie. It stretched. The universe never let you miss a moment, absorbing everything, breath by breath, blink by blink.

You stared at her from behind the safety of your knees. Watched her nails pick absently at the edge of the blanket beside her. Watched her mind turn and her nostrils flare as she swallowed down sentence after sentence.

There was nothing to say. There was nothing to be said.

She had said enough when she had left, telling you that you were important to her, but not important enough. Not as important as her career. Not a big enough part of her life.

Well, big enough for her. Just not as big as you had imagined you were. Hoped you were. Assumed you were.

Assumed. And look where it had gotten you. Abandoned in a house that was too big for your life alone. Too big for your life with her. But your relationship had always been just a little bit larger than average life.

Another beat, and then Billie got up off the couch. Just like that her warmth was gone. Again. And you thought for sure she had given up and would leave. Just like she had done before.

But instead she walked behind the sofa, crossing the room and opening the curtains. It wasn’t until she pulled the first set open that you realized the sun was still up.

You had watched the light filter in through the foyer windows and then filter back out again as night fell. You could see the hallway by the front staircase from your place on the couch.

But you had never actively kept track of the time or the days, the soft light from afar fading into the background just like everything else.

“You really shouldn’t sit in the dark like this,” she started, pulling the rest of the curtains open. “It’s not good for you.”

A dry laugh fell out of you. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me anymore.”

And just as you looked over at her she froze, hands hovering over the last set of curtains as her brow popped up.

“Well well, she speaks.”

“Well well,” you spat back, eyes narrowing. “She’s not in London.”

A sigh, and then she was crossing back to the couch and kneeling next to you. Her hand came up only to fall away again, acrylics digging into the seam of the sofa. Tears welled in her eyes as they searched your face. And when she spoke, it came out strangled and broken.

“How could I be, when you’re here?”

You could feel her breath on your face, but she didn’t feel that close. Maybe she was panting, maybe you needed her closer. Maybe both. But she smelled crisp and dirty, like smoke and sage and something so uniquely her. And you didn’t understand how something so soft could feel so much like coming home.

That’s when the tears started. That’s when you lost hold of your composure. Because you weren’t home. She was back, she was here. The two of you were sitting alone, together, in this house you had built. Together.

But it wasn’t a home. It was a magnet for everything that had gone wrong in your relationship, from the argument to the loss to the memories of her packing her bags and walking out the front door to the taxi, leaving you standing in the foyer in one of her shirts and a pair of your favorite socks, the world ripped from underneath you like a magic trick gone wrong. Because you didn’t stay standing. The trunk closed and the taxi drove off and you crumpled to the floor, only dragging yourself to the couch after your knees went red from the tile.

Her hands on your face brought you back to the present, and you almost jerked away. But as soon as they had come they were gone. Your cheeks were suddenly dry and she was wiping her now wet fingers down her shirt.

Billie stared at you, her expression so open and vulnerable and questioning, but there was a hesitance laced under it all. You had let her touch you now, but you hadn’t before. You wanted her to touch you again, but you weren’t sure how you would respond. So she watched you. And you watched her. And there was a moment where you almost reached for her hands. Almost.

But then her eyes flicked down to your lips and you shifted, swallowing as you turned your head away from her.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

Fingers on your knee, stroking softly. “I know.”

You pulled your leg from her grip, glancing over at her.

“You should have let me go with you.” A pause. “I wanted to go with you.”

And then she sighed, sitting back on her heels. Her fingers twitched over the blanket.

“I don’t...” she tried, fingers twitching again as her brows pushed up. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

At that you turned to face her fully, looking at her incredulously. “How was this ‘doing the right thing’? You left me here, Billie—“

“I know.”

“—all alone, in this big, stupid, empty house that we picked out together. This was supposed to be our place. Our life. And we hadn’t been unpacked for five minutes before you up and left! And all for what, a job?!”

Your voice had risen and you were sitting up on the couch now, teeth bared as all of your pent up anger, all of the hurt that had melded to your bones, came boiling back up to the surface.

Billie flinched at your words, and as her brows furrowed she stood, flicking her nails and smoothing out her pants as she walked to the other end of the couch. Distance between you. Again. Comfortable. Heartbreaking.

“You were the one who always said you wouldn’t interfere with my career,” she started, voice hardening. “You were the one who told me to ‘do what I wanted’ and ‘follow my dreams’. So I did. And now suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Because you just left.”

She whirled on you. “You think I don’t know that?! You think this wasn’t hard for me? For Christ’s sake, Y/N, I only lasted eight days!”

“And then you came home.”

“Yes.”

You swallowed, fighting the tears pricking at your nose. “And then you went back again.”

She paused, fingers flicking absently as she processed what you had said.

“What? No— I didn’t... Y/N, I didn’t go back.”

Her head tilted and her brow furrowed, arms crossing protectively in front of her.

“They told me—“ you started, but then she was right there, cutting you off.

“I didn’t go back. I couldn’t go back. Not without you.”

Your heart stuttered and you forced yourself not to notice, tucking your knees to your chest again. Putting something solid between her and you and the feelings that were starting to seep into the soft places of your heart. You hadn’t known there were any soft places left.

“I came back for you...” she tried again, her voice breaking.

But you didn’t react. Didn’t respond. You couldn’t. What were you supposed to do? Dive back into her arms and tell her you would cross the world with her and give up everything for her? You had tried that once, and look where it had gotten you. You wouldn’t do it again. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

So you watched her. Watched her watch you, watched her fidget. Watched that swagger that was so much a part of who she was crack and falter as her fingers twitched yet again.

“Say something,” she whispered, her brows pushing up. And when her teeth dug into her perfectly painted lip, you found your voice again.

“You should go get a cigarette,” you started, swallowing as you shifted further up the couch.

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not smoking in our— in your— in this new house. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You ignored the way your heart fractured at her corrections, shaking your head slowly.

“I know you want one, Billie. I can see your fingers twitching. Go get a cigarette, you’re fine. The air in here is already so fucking filthy.”

She paused, hesitated, looked at you like she used to. You had never liked her smoking habit, but you never really said anything. Especially if she was at a friend’s house or at a party. But if you were out to dinner or over at your family’s, she always used to look to you for permission. She never asked, she simply looked at you. Always the same way. Brows up, eyes wide, tongue pushing against her cheek.

You nodded, warmth shocking your system at the familiarity of it all.

And then she was walking away. But this time, just as the memories and the hurt and the ache returned, she paused. Stood in the doorway. And tried for a smile as she said, “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.”

She was gone before your tears fell, sobs shaking you as you doubled over your knees. Those were the words you had been longing to hear for so long. For so long. And now she was back, and she was saying them. And she was saying all of the things you had wished she would have said in the first place.

But dents had been made, scars had formed. And your mind had placed a nice, hard, steel cage around your heart to keep anything from hurting it, ever again. So you couldn’t feel the kindness, couldn’t feel the warmth. You were protected from her. From now to forever. And nothing would ever be the same again.

It took her longer to come back than you thought, giving you time to get your emotions back under you and steady your breathing. You swiped at your eyes, taking long, deep breaths to clear your lungs. Ever since she had left, it felt like there was something squeezing your chest, keeping you from breathing in all the way and forcing the air out of you faster than you could get it in. It all added up to a constant feeling of suffocation, like you were dying slowly. Breaths getting slower and shorter little by little until maybe one day they just stopped.

Except now you could catch your breath. You told yourself it was the setting sun through the window. Not Billie. Because it couldn’t be. You refused to let her have that kind of control over you anymore. You at least got to dictate your own breathing.

Except you didn’t.

You heard the front door open and then heels clicking against tile, and you braced yourself for her presence again. But no matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared you to see her face again, walking through this house again. It was almost worse than the first time, because this time you knew it wasn’t a dream.

This time she was here, and you knew she was coming around the corner, and she looked even more beautiful than before with her signature cigarette between her fingers and the sunlight streaming against her hair from the window.

You blinked at her as she stood against the other end of the couch again, pulling her lighter out of her pocket. You watched as she flicked it open, held her cigarette between her perfect fingers. And that’s when you noticed her nails were powder blue.

Billie always stuck to peaches or corals. She rarely went for cool colors. And when she had left, they had been blush pink. Which meant that she had gotten them done at some point. She had changed, evolved while she was gone. Kept moving. And when her eyes flicked down your form and a sadness clouded her features, you realized that you were still in the same shirt and socks you had worn when she walked out the door. Her shirt.

Hers.

She tapped the tip of her cigarette into the tray on the side table, and you realized again that you hadn’t moved that either. You had never had that moment where your feelings turned to anger at her, where you ran around your house and smashed everything that she had left. You never felt the need to.

And it struck you, as you watched her take the first drag and sigh out the smoke, that you didn’t know why. Because you had been angry at her. You were still angry at her. Weren’t you...?

“I thought you were smoking outside,” you said, scrunching your toes into the couch to ground yourself.

Billie paused mid drag, fingers stuttering on the couch. “Oh, I— I thought you said I could smoke in here, I didn’t mean to—“

“No no,” you cut her off, shaking your head and hugging your thighs. “You’re fine. You were just out there for a while so I assumed...”

And there was that word again. Getting you into just as much trouble as before.

A hum, and then Billie spoke. “I was telling Michelle to go home.”

You startled, realization settling in for what felt like the hundredth time in moments. Everything was clearer now, the world dropped back down around in you in full color, and all of the pieces were starting to come together, whether you liked it or not.

“That was Michelle?”

Billie’s brow creased. “You didn’t recognize her?”

“No I did, I just— I don’t know, wasn’t thinking.”

Another hum. You swallowed, the sound warming you in a way that made you feel overly-exposed.

“Why did you tell her to go home?”

The corner of her mouth twitched then, but it almost seemed sad. It wasn’t in that familiar, knowing way that she always covered her smirks. It was cautious, like she was afraid to be happy. Afraid for things to go back to normal. Afraid to tell you the truth.

The silence stretched and she sat down on the edge of the couch, careful not to displace your blanket. But your legs were still safely tucked against you as you watched her, so she crossed her legs and leaned against the arm of the couch, cigarette still smoking in her hand.

She answered you with a soft, “I don’t think we need her between us anymore,” but you barely heard her. You were too taken with the way she was sitting on the couch. Just like she always used to sit on your couch, the way she used to smoke against the side of it as you curled in next to her. And yet still stiff. Still waiting for something to open up all the way. You didn’t know what.

She watched you, eyes narrowing.

“What?” you spat, automatically on the defensive. She flinched, lowering her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just... Are you okay?”

You scoffed, brow furrowing. “Are you kidding?”

She waved you off. “No, never mind. It was a stupid question.” Another drag. “I’m just worried about you.”

A long pause. You didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? That you didn’t want her to worry about you? That you didn’t need her pity? That you were fine? All lies. So you settled on the only point in your emotional road map that you could adequately comprehend.

“You shouldn’t have sent Michelle home.”

“Why not?”

You looked to the curtains like you would be able to see the street. Like maybe Michelle would still be out there and would intervene. Like maybe she would grab Billie and leave and you could shut the curtains and shut out the world again and go back to your sunken limbo of not feeling anything at all. It was better than the hurt and the warmth that came with Billie’s presence in front of you.

It was easier.

“Y/N?” Billie prompted, and you looked back to her. “Why not?”

And then something splintered inside of you, because she was prodding at you like you were a child. Like she used to when she had owned every part of you and had ultimate responsibility of your heart. But she didn’t anymore. You had grown exponentially in these last three weeks, and you didn’t need her treating you with such care. You wanted to argue. You wanted to fight. You wanted to get the last of your hateful energy out so that you could feel some semblance of peace again. So that you could quiet its incessant buzzing and bumping in your chest.

“I don’t want you here, Billie. She was just trying to protect me. You shouldn’t have come.”

“She was the one who told me to come over.”

“Bullshit.”

“She did. And so did Angelica.”

Your fingers twisted in the blanket. “Angelica knows you’re here?”

Billie nodded slowly, tapping her cigarette in the tray again. “I’m staying with her.”

Dread dropped into your stomach like lead. Angelica was your best friend. You were sure she had been over here almost every day, if your memories were aligning correctly. And the entire time, Billie had been staying at her house? Impossible.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression nonchalant. “For how long?”

But you couldn’t meet Billie’s eyes, so you traded that for picking at a loose string on one of the throws you were buried under.

“Y/N,” Billie started, but you didn’t look up at her. Not until you felt her hand on your ankle again. Keeping you pinned, pulling you down into the couch. “I had nowhere else to go.”

And that’s when you lost it. The last shred of patience disintegrated and you pulled your foot away, shoving the blankets off of you so that you could really, properly get in her face.

“Nowhere else to go?! Billie, you should have come back. I was right here. Waiting for you. ‘Nowhere else to go’ my fucking ass. You were scared. You were being a coward. You really feel so bad? Really?”

“Yes, of course, I—“

“Because you couldn’t even find the courage to drive five minutes down the road and face me yourself! You say you’re sorry, yet you’ve been hiding behind Angelica this entire time, and I’ve been here, alone—“

Your voice broke over the last word and you sniffed against your tears. You hadn’t noticed them falling, but suddenly everything was blurry again and you were so, incredibly hot.

“I wasn’t hiding, they told me not to come over here!” Billie countered, cigarette forgotten as she leaned forward on the couch. “You really think I wanted to spend two and a half weeks in her spare room?”

“Well, you said you wanted to live with me, and then you changed your mind in the blink of an eye because of a fucking job. So I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Don’t start with that again,” Billie screamed, vaulting off the couch. And before you knew what you were doing, you were right there with her, pushing yourself up and gesticulating wildly.

“I’m not starting with anything, Billie! That’s what happened. That’s why I’m upset.”

“But I came back, Y/N. I fucking came back!”

“So what?” you growled, teeth bared.

Billie snarled right back, stepping forward and waving her cigarette. “So what? I lost my fucking job! I gave up everything to come back here, and you’re acting like you don’t even care—“

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do!” Billie’s free hand caught at your wrist as you threw your hands up, and you stuttered, her perfect nails digging into the soft skin there and holding you in place.

Time froze. You couldn’t hear the clock. All you could hear was Billie’s breathing and the pounding of your own heart. Maybe the pounding of her heart, too. She had gotten impossibly close to you in the span of your short argument, and when you looked from her to your wrist and back, you saw her eyes flick down to your lips again.

This time, you licked them. Just because. Just in case. But she didn’t move.

“I don’t care,” you panted, nostrils flaring as you met her hot stare.

She shook her head lightly, curls bouncing. “I don’t believe you.”

And you were sure she could feel your pulse racing against her palm where she held your wrist. Your fingers twitched.

“Why not?” It came out as more of a whisper than anything. You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to be quiet. Not to speak over the way your heart was thundering in your chest. It was trying to tell you something, and you wanted to listen. But you weren’t finished with your conversation. You weren’t finished with her.

“Because,” Billie started slowly, loosening her grip on your wrist and hesitantly threading your fingers together. “You used to say that you loved me. And if you ever truly meant it, then I know that you care.” A soft squeeze. “And that you never stopped caring.”

You swallowed, staring down at your hand in hers between you. How many times had you done this? How many times had she taken your hand, or you hers? And how many times had it made you feel like you could do absolutely anything?

“Of course I care,” you breathed. And when you looked up at her, there were tears welling in her eyes.

One fell, and you swiped it away with your thumb before you knew what you were doing. Cupped her cheek before you knew what you were doing. Leaned into her, impossibly close, before you could think. Before you could stop yourself.

Your eyes fluttered closed at the warmth radiating off of her and you paused just centimeters away from her mouth, noses nudging together. A beat, an instant, and then she was there, hand on your jaw as her lips met yours.

You gasped at the sensation, so familiar and yet so, so new. She tasted different, sharper, like the first time you had ever kissed her. The quick, unthinking kisses had all melted away and you had forgotten what she felt like, what her breath felt like filling your lungs, how plush her lips were.

Velvet, sliding and working and nipping and sucking.

Home.

And that’s when the reality of what you were doing crashed back down around you. Just as her fingers hooked behind your ear and you felt the sticky end of her cigarette brush your cheek. Just as her other hand squeezed yours and she pulled you in closer. You broke the kiss, practically shoving her off of you.

Her eyes were dark as she blinked at you, desperation sliced with hurt. Disappointment. Realization.

“We can’t,” you panted, shaking your head and pressing your fingers to your temples. “We just... We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Billie tried, reaching for your wrist again and smoothing her thumb over your pulse point. “Please...”

“No, Billie,” you practically screamed as you yanked your hand from her grip. She startled, stepping back. “We can’t just— You can’t just come in here and act like nothing has changed!”

She sniffed, and this time as a tear fell she caught it herself, swiping it away and shaking her head out softly before nodding.

“Right, no. Of course.” A broken smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of you again and building that barrier back up. “You weren’t thinking.”

She shook her head, a sad smile making her lip tremble. “Right.”

“Just like when you left,” you added for good measure, knowing the sting would come, but that hard part of you feeling like she partly deserved it.

“Alright, I heard you,” she said again, sniffing against tears. Another fell and she swiped it away almost before you could notice. “Do you... Would it be alright if I used your restroom?”

Your restroom. Not the. Not our. Your.

You nodded, gesturing to the hallway. “Of course, it’s just down—“

She held her hand up, forcing a smile as another tear fell. “I remember, thank you.”

And then her heels were clicking and the door shut and she was gone.

You stood frozen to the spot for a moment, ears ringing as you fought a shiver from the memory of her touch. And oh, how you missed the way her thumb always ghosted over your pulse point. The way she always pressed kisses to those sister points on your neck after whispering in your ear. The way her hand would hover over your heart for just a second too long when her fingers danced and teased and kneaded over your breasts. Always your pulse points. The most delicate part of you. The most intimate, because they led straight to your heart. It was as close to your heart as she could physically get, and her touch always got exponentially more possessive there, even in the tiniest brushes against them. As if to say, “this is mine.” As if to say, “your heart belongs to me, and I am keeping it irrevocably safe.” As if to say, “I love you.”

And that’s when you moved.

Your feet were dragging you to the kitchen before you knew what you were doing, throwing open cabinets and wrecking through drawers to find your phone.

Because you wanted to know. You needed to know.

It hadn’t been that well-hidden. Or maybe you just knew this house better than you thought you had, even after pretending for three weeks that you were somewhere else entirely. A stranger in a strange place, to protect your heart in whatever manner you still could.

You stood on your tip-toes, reaching into a bowl on the top shelf. But when your fingers wrapped around your phone and you pulled it down in victory, you paused. One little tap to the screen. That was all it would take. And you would know in an instant if she had been telling the truth.

A deep breath to center yourself, to re-solidify the mantra that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t really care. You had already lost her once, so you couldn’t really lose her again.

You couldn’t lose her again.

You tapped the screen, squinting as it lit up. And then your eyes went wide.

Your phone was full of so many notifications that they had stacked up on each other. You didn’t even have to count. Your phone had kept track of them all, displaying the numbers proudly. Almost impatiently.

252 missed calls. 189 voicemails. 378 texts.

All from her.

You did the math as quickly as you could with the way your head was spinning and your heart was hammering in your chest.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Which meant... roughly twelve calls a day. Right? And texts— twenty? Eighteen?

You made the mistake of swiping at your lock screen and opening your messages. And the last one, the last one...

If you could only know how much I regret leaving you. I can’t live with the thought of losing you. I love you. I’m coming over. Please don’t say no.

Oh my god...

Your head spun as her words swirled around you, and suddenly the weeks of not eating and not drinking enough and crying out every ounce of energy inside of you caught up with you.

Black spots coated your vision, tinged and closing at the edges, and then your head grew too heavy to hold up and you were falling, falling straight onto the tile floor.

You thought you heard someone call your name, but it was too far away and all you could think of was Billie.

Billie, Billie, Billie.

Arms around you caught you tight, holding you up and keeping you steady. And as the world righted around you, you heard her.

“Hey, shh. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Deep breaths. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to shrug her off of you. You wanted to turn around and yell at her that she didn’t have you. Not when you had needed her. That she had left, and it was too late. And that you could never forgive her.

But you knew it was a lie, and your body knew it was a lie. And so the words stayed locked in your throat, melting away with every soft stroke of Billie’s hands on your arms, with every kiss she pressed to your hairline.

“I’ve got you,” she sighed out, and you thought she almost sounded relieved. Relieved at catching you in time, relieved to have you in her arms again. Relieved to finally be able to take care of you, to help in some way after causing so much searing pain.

Her name left your mouth in a breathy whimper, and you felt her mouth press against your ear.

“I’m right here. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

A kiss, right below your ear. Soft, delicate, directly on your pulse point. Just like she used to. Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

“I’m never leaving you again,” she finished, her voice thick with tears. “I—“

But she cut off, her fingers tightening around you as she physically stopped her heart from speaking. You knew what she was about to say. Her “I” always pitched just a bit higher on that phrase, threading with the other words to make them sound like a symphony.

Maybe it was because she was holding you so tight. Maybe it was because your back was to her, held against her chest as she supported you. Maybe it was because you didn’t have to look her in the eye, and you could pretend, like you had so many nights, that she was just a figment of your imagination, born to help you fall asleep.

Or maybe it was because you had wanted to scream it at her since the second you heard her voice, and every minute of every hour that had passed since she arrived.

The words tasted sweet as they bubbled up your throat, out of control and so, so different from all of the bitter hate you had been spewing at her.

And then they fell out of you, squeezed out by her arms hugging you tightly to her, welcoming you home.

“I love you, too...”

She froze behind you, and you felt her heart stop. Actually stop it’s steady beating against your back for the longest of seconds.

Her breath hitched and the tiniest sound came out of her, and then her face was buried in your neck and she shook with sobs, hot tears falling against your skin and soaking through your shirt.

You let her stay like that for a moment, her sobs doubling in volume as your hand came up behind you and found her hair.

She was squeezing you so tightly, her fingers digging in as she held you to her, like you were a figment. Like you were a dream.

And that’s when you realized that she must have conjured you up in her bed when she was away, just like you had, to help her fall asleep. That’s when you realized that you had been haunting her, just as she had been haunting you. Maybe not as much, because she was in a new place with a new home and a new job. Or maybe more, because the memory of you would have faded over time, whether she liked it or not. Smoke in a glass, tipping and spilling and dissolving into thin air.

You didn’t realize that your heart could still break. You had thought it was already shattered and stepped on and crushed to dust. But it broke again in that moment, in a different way.

You had assumed this whole time that she had abandoned you. That she had picked up her life and left you behind and moved on. But you hadn’t considered that maybe, just maybe, she had been hurting in the exact same way you were. And while you had to cope with being abandoned, she had to live with the knowledge that she was the one who had left. It was her decision. It was her fault.

This time, when your heart broke, it broke for both of you. For the pain she had caused you, sure. But also for the thought of her, in a strange city, all alone and longing for everything she had lost.

Over two hundred missed calls. She knew what she had done, and you hadn’t even been willing to try to hear her out.

Billie was still crying behind you, holding onto you for dear life. You turned in her arms, shushing her, and she desperately cried out “no” at the movement before her fingers tightened on your waist in realization that you weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t shoving her away.

You just wanted to look at her.

In another life, in another world, you didn’t think you would have ever wanted to look at her again. But that world was shrouded in darkness and hurt and loss. And this world, set right, was starting to weave itself back together around you. A world of light and growth and love.

A world of forgiveness.

You wiped at her cheeks, ducking to catch her gaze.

“Billie,” you tried softly, brows pushing up.

Her eyes were rimmed red when she raised them to yours, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

She sniffed, forcing up her wall of composure and setting her posture straight as she hummed questioningly.

Your fingers shook as you swiped at her cheeks, trying your best to preserve her dignity. Because you knew what you were about to ask, and you knew it would change everything.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Her nose twitched and tears welled again, and before words could form she was pulling you to her, shaking her head urgently against yours and pulling her fingers through your hair.

“Yes,” she croaked before clearing her throat. “Yes. Of course. Always.”

You hugged her then, really properly hugged her until her breathing evened out and her grip on you loosened, just so. But when her hand came up hesitantly and ghosted over your spine you pulled away, clearing your throat and looking anywhere but her.

“I should, um...” you tried, glancing up at her before walking back to the couch. You grabbed at the heap of blankets, piling them into your arms and moving past her once more, through the kitchen to the laundry room. “I should probably shower. Do you want to order dinner?”

You heard her answer “sure” as you threw them in a basket, too exhausted to comprehend doing laundry. But too self-conscious to fathom leaving a mess on the couch. On all of the new furniture that the two of you hadn’t even broken in yet.

“What do you want?” she called, and when you made it back to the kitchen, she was already typing on her phone.

She glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way her lips pulled into a smirk.

“Thai,” you both said in unison, and she nodded, popping a soft “yep” before pulling out a barstool and sitting as she continued to type. Too casual. Too normal.

“I-I’m going to go shower,” you tried, ignoring the way her brow creased in concentration as she scrolled through her phone. Ignoring the way she flicked her bangs back into place as she pulled her phone to her ear.

She nodded. “I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” she murmured, smiling as you passed by her.

And then you were up the stairs and peeling her shirt over your head as the water heated up.

You tested it as you slipped out of your socks, turning it just a bit cooler so you wouldn’t overheat.

It had been three weeks since you had showered. Three weeks. Why your friends hadn’t dragged you off the couch and locked you in the bathroom, you had no idea. But you must have looked awful. You must have smelled awful. And Billie was still right there, eager as ever to hold you and kiss you and press herself right up against you.

If that isn’t love.

You brushed the thought away, relishing the warm water washing you clean. Washing all of those toxic emotions off of you, purifying your life from the outside in. A fresh start. Clean. New. Try again.

You washed out your hair as quickly as possible, desperate to shave and unwillingly giddy at the thought of Billie waiting for you downstairs. You didn’t want to be, but you couldn’t help it. Not to mention that you were starving.

Your stomach growled as you shaved under your arms, grimacing at how out of hand you had let yourself get when you were normally so keen on being silky smooth. It was when you felt your most confident. Your most beautiful.

Memories of Billie’s fingers tracing up your legs danced across your mind as you shaved, the way her nails used to scratch and leave those little pink lines. Just a bit too rough, especially if she caught someone eyeing you when you were out, or after a premiere when she had to keep her hands off of you for hours.

And then a specific memory, unbidden. The time at the Emmy’s when she had pulled you into the bathroom and fucked you senseless because you were wearing a dress that was cut too low and hugged your hips too tight, and she’d had to keep her hands to herself since morning. The feel of her mouth on you that night had been different, just like it had been different tonight.

Her mouth.

You cried out as the razor skipped over your skin, digging into your thigh and leaving a nice trail of red in its wake.

“Ow, fuck, shit.”

The water stung, but you let it run over the cut, wincing and digging your fingers into the wall.

“Y/N?”

You jumped at Billie’s voice inside the bathroom, scrambling to cover yourself. Made sure the curtain was fully closed.

“Y-Yeah? What’s wrong?”

You heard her murmur “just one sec” before she raised her voice over the sound of the shower.

“They’re out of bean sprouts. Do you still want pad thai or do you want curry instead?”

Your thigh stung against the cold air as you backed yourself into the corner of the shower, so you didn’t even have time to register that she remembered your order. That you hadn’t told her what you wanted. It had only been three weeks, but she still remembered.

“The pad thai is fine,” you called out, watching the blood drip down your leg. “Just—“

“No tofu, I know,” she finished for you, and you heard her repeat your order over the phone.

You bit down into your lip as you wiped down your cut, muffling a whimper.

But you must not have been as quiet as you thought, because just as Billie finished with a “that will be all, yes. Thank you,” and made to leave, her heels stuttered on the tile, the clacking amplified now that you weren’t lost in your own thoughts. Now that you were focused intently on her.

“Y/N?” She tried again, her voice infinitely softer now. “Are you alright?”

You dropped your head back onto the tile, fighting tears at the throbbing from your leg.

“Yeah— yes, I— I just cut myself. I’m fine, it’s not that bad.”

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move, either. And you could feel the tension growing between you.

The last time you had cut yourself this badly, you had called out for her and she had been in the shower with you in a second, pressing her palm against the gash and peppering soft kisses across your face to keep you from crying. Cooing sweet nothings in your ear as she bandaged it up and got you tucked safely into bed. That had been at her old house, in her old bathroom. A lifetime ago.

And now, she was so close. Right there. You didn’t have to call for her, she had heard you. But everything had changed.

“Do you need help?” she asked softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep your heart from cracking.

“No, it’s fine. I just- would you mind leaving so I can hop out and get a bandaid?”

Her heel tapped. Once.

“No.”

Your eyes flew open. “No?”

And you could practically see her shaking her head, her shadow blurred by the thick shower curtain.

“No,” she said again, and this time she sounded closer. “I told you I’m not leaving you again, and I meant it.” A beat. “Here.”

And then her arm poked through the curtain, towel clutched between those perfect acrylics.

You backed away from her on instinct before forcing yourself to take a breath. She was just trying to be kind. She was just trying to help.

So you pulled the towel from her fingers, shutting off the the water, and although her hand disappeared, her shadow remained. Just across from you.

You patted yourself dry the best you could as you avoided the trail of blood, and wrapped the towel tightly around yourself. Made sure you were decent. Pulled back the curtain.

Billie’s eyes went wide and you immediately checked yourself over to make sure you hadn’t left a piece of you exposed. But no, you were completely covered.

“What?” you tried, voice wavering as her eyes pulled down your form.

She glanced back up at you before shaking her head and averting her gaze.

“Nothing, it’s just— Nothing.”

“No, Billie. What is it?” You prodded as you stepped carefully from the shower. Grabbed a tissue and dabbed at your cut.

“It’s just,” she started, eyes tracking your every movement. Blurred, hazy. “I forgot how beautiful you look freshly showered.”

You felt your cheeks burn, and you were grateful that your face was ducked as you focused on cleaning up your cut. You cleared your throat against the lump forming there and threw a sarcastic, “was I really that disgusting before?” to deflect the compliment.

She smirked, fingers twitching, and then her hands were on your arms and she was pushing you down onto the closed toilet seat with a soft “here, let me help.”

It had been easy enough. You had directed her to the bandages, and she found them quicker than you anticipated, kneeling in front of you and pressing her hand over yours on the tissue.

You watched her work, hand frozen under hers as she pulled at the tape with her teeth. Ignoring the fact that she was situated right between your thighs. Ignoring the fact that you were completely naked under your towel, pressed down between your thighs to keep yourself covered. Keep yourself protected.

Billie tugged at your fingers and you lifted them before you could think. And then the tissue fell away and your breath caught because god it looked so much worse now that you were out of the shower. Puckered, angry. Blood still pooling.

You watched Billie, her fingers hovering over the wound. Watched her mask a grimace. Watched her lick her lips. Watched her eyes track from the gash up your thigh, before she cleared her throat and reached for the gauze. You knew what she wanted. You could see it in her face. She always kissed you when you were hurt, emotionally or physically. Always brushed her lips over some piece of you to let you know that everything would be okay.

Like she had by the couch. When she hadn’t wanted to let go.

You didn’t realize she had already cleaned up the gash until you heard her rustling as she put the antibiotic away. Her fingers worked over your legs gently. Always so careful and delicate with you.

Until her hands found your knees, falling there thoughtlessly, and pushed them apart.

It wasn’t much. It should have been nothing. But you were so acutely on edge, exacerbated by the fact that you were naked beneath the thin fabric wrapped around your body. How many times had she done this before? The sensation sent a shock of heat through you and straight down to your core, memories of that hungry expression she constantly wore when she was right here, under completely different circumstances, with a completely different agenda, flooding your mind. You couldn’t think about it now. Not when she was so close. Not when you were completely exposed and she would be able to smell what she still did to you—

Her fingers trailing up your inner thigh brought your attention back and your hand locked around her wrist before you could think. Holding it in place as you stared at her incredulously.

She shushed you, glancing up as she gently guided your knees back apart. “I just need to tape the top, okay? Almost done.”

And that’s when you looked down at your thigh, perfectly bandaged and nowhere near as high up your leg as you thought it had been. You were hypersensitive to her touch, too on guard. You needed to take a deep breath.

Before you knew it you were dressed in clean clothes and sitting opposite Billie on the floor around the coffee table. Something about sitting at the dining table felt too formal, and something about sitting at the breakfast nook too casual. So when she had dropped the bags of food on the coffee table, you had simply sat down. Right there.

It was silent, with the occasional polite “how is your food?” breaking the stillness that had settled. You were so consumed with your food that it wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that awkwardness settled in.

You hadn’t realized you were staring at Billie’s plate until she quietly asked if you wanted a bite. And the question went right through you. Whenever the two of you ate, especially Thai food, it was more of a share and care kind of deal. Usually the plates would sit somewhere between you, you picking off of hers, her picking off of yours. Both of you too consumed in the company to care about portions and manners. And sometimes, depending on how long it had been and what kind of a mood Billie was in, her fork would twirl in your noodles and she would feed you bites herself, smirking as your lips closed around the fork and kissing you nice and slow after you’d finished.

You swallowed down the memories with a sip of water, shaking your head.

And Billie nodded for what felt like the hundredth time since she came back, that sad smile morphing her face and clouding her eyes.

You ate the rest of your dinner in intentional silence, unable to meet her eyes. There were a few times, just a few, where she would reach for a spring roll, and on the way there or on the way back, her hand would hover over yours. Almost. Just barely.

But it was always gone as soon as it came.

Part of you wished that she would just do it. Break the wall and hold your hand so that you could know if you were comfortable with it or not. Because you didn’t know. And you couldn’t be the one to start it if you were only going to pull away a moment later.

You watched her hands, one tapping against her glass as the other methodically brought her fork to her mouth. Her mouth. Her perfect mouth.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of it, her nails, the way she stirred and scooped her curry. And her lips, plump and plush and swollen slightly from the spice. The dip of her jaw as she swallowed.

Her eyes stayed pinned to her plate, and every once in a while she would shuffle herself and readjust her legs underneath her. Perfect posture, perfectly proper. Perfectly Billie.

As much as you could’ve watched her eat for days, as much as you were grateful for the stolen glances and the long moments where you got to just look at her, reacquaint yourself with the way she moved and breathed and lived, dinner had to come to an end. And by that point, you were so tired from the day that you were almost glad to go to sleep.

You pulled fresh sheets from the linen closet, making your way to the couch as Billie cleaned up the dishes.

“I’ll sleep down here, and you can sleep in the bed,” you tried, fluffing the pillows and folding out the sheets.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Billie scoffed, and you almost cut in. Almost let frustration pin to your heart as you told her off about how there was no way in hell you were sleeping in the same bed as her. As you reminded her that she had gone and left you and now you could handle yourself. But she simply continued with, “you’ve been sleeping on this couch for weeks. You deserve a good night’s rest. I’ll take the sofa, you take the bed.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell her the truth. That you didn’t want to sleep in that huge, king sized bed. That you hadn’t ever slept in it without her. That you couldn’t sleep in it without her. But she was smiling so softly and already pulling the sheets from your hands, tucking them into the couch and making a tiny little home for herself.

So you left, only pausing as you hovered in the doorway, turning and watching her settle down into the couch — the same couch you had mourned the loss of her in — so delicately and uniquely her.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, trying for the best smile you could muster. Because there was so much left unsaid and undone and it was the end of the night already. Tomorrow was a new day, and it would no longer be the day she came back. It would be the first day of sorting out your feelings and putting your life back together.

The first day of deciding whether or not she would be included in that.

Three hours of tossing and turning, and you still couldn’t sleep. The sun was gone and the stars were up, and you watched them through the window as you tried to get comfortable. As you sorted through your thoughts.

But the sheets were too cold, and you were frozen to the bone, despite getting up multiple times to add more layers.

And all you could think of was Billie. On a loop. Coming back. Kissing you. Bandaging you up. Downstairs. Right downstairs. Right there. So close. So far.

Billie. Your Billie.

Over and over and over.

Eventually the thoughts grew too heavy and there was no space for anything else, not in that bloody, empty, frozen bed.

Frozen in time. Frozen in isolation.

Somehow, even though you hadn’t touched it since she had left, any semblance of her was gone. It didn’t smell like her. The sheets weren’t worn in yet. There wasn’t even—

You paused, eyes tracking over her pillow again and again as they caught on something glistening there.

And without thinking you reached up, pulling a stray hair from the fabric.

The gold glinted in the moonlight and you ran your fingers over it absently, relishing how smooth it was. Remembering how good it felt to have fistfuls of it against your tender palms as her mouth left hot, sticky marks anywhere she could reach.

How it had felt brushing against your neck just hours ago as she cried into your shoulder.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of crying yourself into some semblance of sleep. Three weeks of deep aching for Billie by your side. Three weeks of begging the universe to be back in this bed, with your Billie wrapped around you. Making deals and rationalizing and trying to compromise with an entity that you couldn’t understand for some semblance of your normal back.

And now she was back. She was right downstairs. Directly below you. And somehow you were still here, alone.

What were you doing?

You took a deep breath, twirling the strand of hair between your fingers. If you did this, there was no going back. If you asked, you couldn’t kick her out five minutes later.

You could, you thought, but your heart broke at the notion.

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to have to. The question was, did you trust her enough to think that she would respect your space and your boundaries and not try anything funny.

This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous.

Your feet hit the floor a second later, crossing the room and opening the door and padding down the stairs before you could think.

This always happened late at night. You never thought, only felt. And tonight it was amplified, your want screaming louder than any rational boundary because you hadn’t slept, hadn’t really, truly slept in three weeks.

You finally had a full meal in you, but all it had done was set you further on edge. Made you ache for a time that was long pushed to the past. A time that was so close for your future. All you had to do was reach out and grab it.

Whispering caught your attention and you paused just short of the doorway, inching closer and peering around the wall.

Billie was stretched out on the couch, hands pressed to her eyes as her mouth moved over words too soft for you to comprehend. And an ache twisted at your stomach, because you had forgotten.

You had forgotten that she talked to herself when she was particularly upset. That she would mumble and mutter and block out some of her senses until she could get her thoughts straight. It was something she had done since she was little, she told you once, the voices in her head constant and too loud, forcing her to speak her mind aloud just so that she could hear her own thoughts.

You had forgotten. Forgotten. And tears pricked your eyes as you realized that you never wanted to forget anything about this woman ever again.

Ever again.

Billie took a shaky breath, a sob pushing out of her as her knees curled to her chest. She cried quietly for a moment, body shaking softly in the darkness.

You wanted to run to her. You wanted to comfort her. You wanted to hold her and rock her and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

Except you didn’t know if it would. And you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to her.

Suddenly you felt like you were prying, intruding on a moment that was too private and too personal.

So you bit your lip, taking a breath and turning to leave.

The floor creaked under your foot.

Shit.

You froze just as Billie‘s breath hitched.

“Y/N?” she whispered, and goosebumps ripped out over your skin because it sounded like a wish. It sounded like hope.

You could have left. You could have gone back upstairs and pretended like it had never happened. You were already behind the doorframe. She couldn’t see you. But what if she heard you again? What if the stairs squeaked and groaned and she came out to see you fleeing back up the steps?

Stupid, idiotic new floors that hadn’t settled yet—

You heard a sniff, a rustle, a sigh, and you realized it had been too long. You had hesitated too long.

The mumbling started up again, and something inside of you fractured. She wasn’t sleeping. She hadn’t been. She had been crying and reasoning with herself and overthinking, her brain obviously too loud for her to fall into any semblance of rest. Just like yours had been. Just like you had done for three weeks, wishing and hoping and begging that she would come back. Just for a moment. Just for an instant.

And now she was here.

In your mind, when she came back everything went straight back to normal. She said just the right things and the world opened back up and you ran into her waiting arms with kisses and “I love you”s and millions of promises exchanged in seconds.

But it hadn’t been like that. It couldn’t be like that. Not after everything. So it had been like this. And you were taking it one step at a time.

One step at a time.

A deep breath, and you gripped your hand around the doorframe, walking slowly, quietly around the corner.

She was still curled on the couch, fingers carding through her hair as her mouth moved around words.

This time, her hands weren’t over her face. This time, she saw you.

Billie immediately froze, sitting up on the couch and scrambling to wipe at her eyes, to push her hair back into place. She tucked it behind her ear, and your mind flashed back to the first time you’d ever seen her do that. Her acrylics digging through curls and tucking them back as she eased down between your thighs, pushing them open and kissing them slowly. Hot, sticky kisses and deep red marks from her nails. It wasn’t the first time she had eaten you out. It wasn’t the thirtieth. But it was the first time she had pushed her perfect appearance out of the way so that she could focus on pleasuring you. It was the first little way she had said “I love you”, let her guard down and been completely open with you. In her own way.

And here she was, doing it again.

You pushed the thought aside as her voice cut through the still air hanging in the darkness.

“Is everything alright?”

It was raspy, but not from sleep. It was raspy because she probably hadn’t stopped talking the entire night.

You swallowed hard.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you started, unsure of what else to say. What were you supposed to say?

What did you want to say?

She chuckled, sniffing again and wiping delicately at her nose. “Me neither.”

There was a long pause, ice creeping down your skin as the words churned over and over in your head. You should ask. All you had to do was ask.

Billie cleared her throat. “Did you want to watch tv? I can move, we can switch—“

“Come to bed with me.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you didn’t even know if you had said it right. Phrased it right. It might have come across completely wrong because you hadn’t actually thought. The only thing you processed was sheer want, and your request was born of that. Want of her. Want of company. Want of everything to go back to the way it had been. Before.

Billie hesitated, and you watched her fingers twitch against her sheets. All of this darkness, all of this gloom, and you could still see her fingers twitch.

You were too focused on her.

You were only focused on her.

“Are you sure?” Billie tried softly, but she was already standing, pulling the sheets off with eager eyes.

Your heart stuttered. Backtracked.

“N-Not like that. I just— I was cold and I couldn’t sleep and I—“

But then Billie was there, crossing the room and wrapping you in a tentative hug as she shushed you.

“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep, either.”

You nodded, pulling yourself from her embrace. Coughing around the lump forming in your throat. Because you had asked. And she had been willing, and there was no going back now.

You had expected her smile to fracture when you pulled away, but when you looked up at her you realized that she hadn’t been smiling. She didn’t look happy, or relieved. She looked exhausted.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to. She was doing this for you. Because you had asked.

And as she turned you around and prompted you out the door with a soft “let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” you suddenly felt like a child. Foolish. Small. Again.

You only made it halfway up the stairs, Billie trailing close behind, before stopping mid-step and turning to face her.

She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes pinned to the stairs, and just as your gaze landed on her she glanced up, realizing that you had stopped, and practically ran smack into you.

Your arm came out on instinct, holding her steady, and she offered you a weak smile.

“I’m alright,” she tried, and then her eyes moved past you up the stairs as she nodded expectantly. “Let’s go—“

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. And you hated the way you instinctively chewed on your lip, fingers digging into her arm to keep yourself grounded.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied smoothly, making to move past you. But you squeezed her arm, holding her back.

“Billie, I mean it.” You stared at her. Blinked. Took a deep breath. “Please don’t do this just because you feel... sorry for me. I don’t...” Another breath. “I don’t want your pity. I just wanted some company.”

Your company.

You expected a smirk. You expected a witty remark. But instead something like confusion etched down her brows, mixing with a flash of hurt in her eyes.

“I don’t pity you,” she murmured, shaking her head.

You scoffed.

And then her fingers on your chin, tilting your face up to look her in the eye. And you were caught. Caught in her grip, caught in her stare.

“I don’t pity you,” she said firmly, fingers tightening. “I missed you. That’s all.”

That’s all. Like it was nothing. Like you missing her hadn’t completely ripped you to shreds. Like it hadn’t taken every piece of your sanity and flipped your world into another dimension. Like it hadn’t ended your existence as you had known it.

But there was something soft in her eyes, a depth there that you hadn’t realized was missing. And another memory came.

The two of you on these steps. Not far from where you were now. Her hands flitting over you as you went before she grabbed you and pinned you to the wall, her hand coming to your throat for a second before fingers tucked under your chin and forced your face up. Forced your wide eyes to meet her lust-clouded ones. And the way she kissed you, like she was devouring you.

“Mine. Such a good girl.”

Your fingers twitched on her arm, eyes flicking down to her lips. She watched you closely, calculating. And when her eyes tracked down your face, you knew she was remembering the exact same thing.

Something hot pooled in your stomach and suddenly, suddenly, you needed her mouth on you more than anything.

You tilted your chin up, following the push of her fingers. Licked your lips. Brushed your thumb over her arm. She was right there. Right in front of you. Inches away.

Please.

And then she pulled away, shaking her head out and clearing her throat as she brushed past you.

“We should— you should get some sleep,” she amended, flicking her bangs back into place as she walked.

And you couldn’t help but stare at the way her pants hugged her hips as she went, swaying gently.

Her pants.

She hadn’t changed out of her clothes.

You practically ran after her, following her into the bedroom.

“Do you want to change?” You blurted out, and she was already halfway into the bed.

She turned to look at you, exquisitely lit by the stars from the window. Eyes glassy.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. You need sleep. Come on.”

She patted the bed and you shook your head, moving to the dresser and finding some sort of shirt and short set that matched. Handed them over. And the hesitance there, the way her teeth pinned into her bottom lip, everything aligned at once.

She was afraid you were going to change your mind.

That’s why she was rushing you to bed.

You offered her a small smile, pushing the clothes further into her grip.

“Go change.” A pause. A nod. “I’ll still be right here when you get back. I’ll still want you in bed with me.”

Billie let out a soft sigh, nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

And as she slid into the bathroom and shut the door, as you crawled back into bed and pulled the covers around you, you weren’t sure if she was thanking you for the comfort of the clothes or the comfort of consistency.

You barely had time to take a sip of water before the door opened again, and you had to physically stop yourself from staring at her legs. It had been too long since you had seen them exposed like that. You almost forgot how beautiful they were.

You could never forget how beautiful they were.

Billie pulled the covers all the way back, only pausing to give you a questioning look. To double check.

You nodded.

And then the two of you were laying down, covers tucked up to your chins and too much space between you. You stared out the window, chewing your lip at the silence.

It was so much better, and yet infinitely worse.

“Thank you for... coming up here with me,” you whispered, fingers picking at the sheets.

Billie hummed.

“It’s just, the sheets are so cold and—“

She shushed you, cutting you off. “You don’t have to thank me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Tears pricked your eyes then, at the loss you had endured, at finally having her back in your bed. At the inevitable space that separated you, growing by the second as the silence amplified. You hadn’t thought you’d had any tears left to cry.

Stillness settled in, and you let yourself focus on the sound of her breath, rising and falling and rising again. Watched the constellations dance from the window. Thought back to buying this house, and how Billie had specifically pointed out what a great view it would be. She knew you liked to sleep with the curtains open. She knew you liked to watch the universe go by.

A soft sigh and Billie rustled, and you thought maybe she had fallen asleep.

A warmth threaded through you at the thought that she could do that. She felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in the midst of all of this mess.

But just as you felt the exhaustion creep up, just as you started matching your breaths with hers and imagining her heartbeat beneath your ear, just like you had tried to do every night for the past three weeks, her hand covered yours under the sheets.

You startled, whipping your head around to face her.

But no, she was asleep.

God, you forgot how angelic she looked when she was sleeping. The moonlight making her hair almost silver, her face buried in her pillow and half covered by curls. Peaceful. Soft.

You almost pulled your hand away. Almost slid it out from under hers and turned away. But then she squeezed, just so, and brushed her thumb over your knuckles, back and forth and back and forth. And before you knew what was happening you threaded your fingers with hers, sank into the comfort of her touch, and fell into a thick, heavy sleep.

You woke in a fog, dazed by sunlight streaming through the window and tangled up in Billie’s warmth. Her strong arms were wrapped loosely around you and you snuggled further into her chest, nuzzling your nose against the soft skin there. Her arms tightened, just so, and you blinked the sleep from your brain, running your foot up the smooth curves of her calf as you pressed soft kisses to her skin.

She smelled of smoke and sage. Just like home, just like she always did.

You buried your face closer to her chest, opening your eyes on bare skin streaked in gold, and a black lace bra barely containing the swell of her breasts when she was laying on her side like this.

You hummed, groggily kissing and biting and licking hot lines up the edge of her bra as she stirred. She murmured your name, half-asleep. The way she always did when you woke her up like this, your legs tangled in hers and your mouth eager to darken the marks that had faded from the night before.

The night before.

Why couldn’t you remember the night before?

Nails pricked at your scalp as her fingers carded through your hair. Lazily. Absently. Tightened, just barely, and tugged you up.

You happily obliged, tracing your fingers down her side and flicking your thumb over her bra as you kissed up her chest, sucked messy marks up her neck. You hummed again as she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, leaning up and nipping at her pulse point.

And then her fingers twined with yours, her thumb rubbing lazy circles against your own pulse point as her lips ghosted across your hairline, over your eyelids, down your nose. Hovering just inches from your mouth.

Her thumb pressed against your wrist. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I own this.” As if to say—

Her fingers skimmed over your inner thigh, catching on something and sending a sting up your leg.

Your eyes flew open, realization hitting you like a train, full force.

Your bandage. Last night. Yesterday. All of it.

Billie blinked slowly, confusion clouding her already sleepy expression. But she must have seen the look on your face, because a split second later, clarity sharpened her eyes and she pulled her hands off of you so quickly that you could have burned her.

You scrambled back in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. To put something between you and her for the millionth time in just a few hours.

“I—“ Billie stuttered, looking around the bed and fumbling for something. And as you watched her, watched her ribs twist under her bra, you said the only think that you could think of.

“Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

Your eyes were wide as she scrambled, face lighting as she found what she was looking for and leaned over the side of the bed.

“I got hot in the middle of the night, I’m sorry, I—“ She pulled the discarded shirt from the floor, slipping it on quickly and tugging at it. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t just— you shouldn’t—“ you fumbled at words, heart pounding over everything that had just happened. At the taste of her still stuck in your mouth. “You can’t just take your shirt off like that, Billie. Come on.”

“I said I was sorry!” she countered, voice elevated as her chest heaved. As she stared at you.

You stared right back at her, swallowing hard around your pounding heart. Watched the way she bit into her lip before her mouth fell open again around her panting.

And then you were on her, and she was on you, arms reaching for you as you launched yourself across the bed and crushed your mouth to hers.

She pulled you so tightly to her that you thought you would suffocate, not to mention the way her mouth was clashing against yours, teeth and desperation as she sucked the air from your lungs.

Her hands were everywhere, sloppy, needy. So unlike how she normally touched you. But yours were the same. Dragging over every inch of her just to feel her again.

You could feel her heart pounding against yours as you raked your nails over her back, and she gasped into your mouth, giving you a break to bite at her lip and hook your fingers under her shirt.

“Get this stupid thing off,” you panted, yanking and pulling, up, up, up.

Billie leaned back, ripping it up over her head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled, and then the shirt was back on the floor and she had an arm around your waist and you were being pushed down into the mattress, Billie’s thighs hugging your hips as she pinned you down.

“Billie,” you begged, raking your nails over her arms before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her down to your mouth.

Her lips were so soft, so urgent, and you couldn’t help but whine into her mouth, yanking at her hair and making her gasp.

“God, fucking hell,” she breathed, kissing your jaw for a split second before moving back to your mouth. Like she couldn’t get enough of you.

You didn’t want her kissing your jaw. You wanted her mouth directly on yours. The most intimate way to say the most intimate things. Hot and messy and broken by ragged breathing. Desperation into action. Kissing you, kissing you, kissing you.

“I love you,” you breathed, not even sure you said it out loud. Halfway convinced she sucked the words right out of your chest.

And she kissed you harder, her tongue pushing and fighting with yours.

“I love you, too.” Panting, breathing, grabbing, holding. “I love you, too.”

Something deflated at those words coming out of her mouth. Some kind of tension between you, because you hadn’t been sure. She had left and she had gone and you honestly hadn’t been sure anymore.

But now she was back. And she was saying it. And the air lightened and the sun brightened and the last barrier lifted from your heart.

Her kisses slowed down, tongue dancing with yours instead of fighting it, her fingers loosening on your waist and skimming up your sides.

“Billie,” you gasped, toes curling at the sensation.

And then she broke away, pressing her forehead to yours and nudging your noses together.

And the way she was braced over you, taking up your entire field of vision. Taking up your entire world.

A tear fell onto your cheek and you startled back to the present, hands coming up to swipe at Billie’s eyes before you even registered she was crying.

“Hey,” you tried. She shook her head softly, closing her eyes. But you caught her cheeks, cupping her face in your hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

A sniff, and then she looked up at you, her perfect facade fractured once again. Eyes rimmed red, a flush in her cheeks from whatever she was feeling. From whatever she had been feeling just moments before.

“I don’t know how to apologize to you,” she breathed, and her voice broke. “I’ve been over it and over it in my mind, and nothing that I could say will ever be good enough.”

You shushed her, cooing as your swiped at her fresh tears. But she batted you away.

“Don’t—“

“Billie,” you chided, hands finding her cheeks again and forcing her eyes back to yours. Tear-stained. Glassy. “It’s going to take a long time for you to find the right words. Just like it’s going to take a long time for me to trust you again.”

She ducked her head, a sob pushing out of her throat.

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, continuing. “But we’ll get there. You’ll apologize and I will forgive you. Eventually.”

She dropped her head to your shoulder, body shaking as she cried. Your hands came up immediately, one pulling through her curls while the other rubbed over her back.

“It’s okay, Billie. It’s okay. You’re back now and we can start figuring everything out. Step by step.”

A slight nod against your neck and you smiled. Because you meant it. Something had settled and healed in the warmth of the morning, and you were ready. You were ready to try.

“Now how about we go make some breakfast, and you can start at the very beginning. Tell me everything from your perspective.”

Billie led you down the stairs, your fingers twined with hers as she tugged you along. Your eyes tracked down her back, still bare. She hadn’t bothered to put her shirt back on. You had silently pleaded with the gods that she wouldn’t. And you thanked them now as you watched her shoulder blades roll with every step.

You didn’t miss the way her pace stuttered when she passed the spot where she had pinned you last night. Didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched.

By the time you had pulled out eggs, peppers, and tomatoes, and scrounged for some frozen bacon, Billie had left sage to burn in every single room downstairs.

“Who knew you had so much negative energy to expel,” she teased, coming up behind you and pulling the eggs from your hands.

“What can I say,” you countered, turning your head and grabbing the eggs back. “You bring out the worst in me.”

Billie let out a low chuckle, her free hand falling possessively to your hip.

You tutted. “Hands off while I cook.”

She groaned, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You can’t kiss me like that and then tell me not to touch.”

Your brows hit your hairline, images flashing through your mind of the hundreds, thousands of times she had done just that to you. “Oh, I can’t?”

She laughed then, a real, full laugh that warmed you instantly from the inside out. And you popped her with your hip, bumping her out of the way as you grabbed a bowl down and cracked the eggs.

You didn’t notice her opening the wine fridge, didn’t notice her pull down two wine glasses. You were too engrossed in cracking the eggs, not making a mess, catching the shells. It wasn’t until you were washing your hands in the sink and Billie’s arm wrapped around your waist that you noticed the wine glass in her hand.

You checked the clock. “It’s ten in the morning, Billie.”

“Let me cook for you, hm?” She pressed a soft kiss to your neck, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

You shook your head, making to move back to the eggs, but her hand splayed out on your stomach and she held you against her.

“Billie,” you warned, that familiar warmth pooling in your stomach again. And this time, you were mildly afraid of it. Because you didn’t know if you were allowed to want her. Didn’t know if you were supposed to give in to her that easily.

She pushed the wine glass into your hand and pulled you around the bar, dropping you onto a stool.

“You just sit and enjoy your wine. Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do.”

Half of you wanted to protest. Half of you knew she was right. And there was a small part of you, growing by the second, that was remembering how much you loved watching her cook.

You watched her over the rim of your wine glass, grinning as she glanced up at you.

“That’s the Pact,” she murmured, her brow popping up as she busied herself cutting up peppers.

You almost choked. “We were saving it for a special occasion.”

She smirked, licking her thumb clean. “This seems special enough for me.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the flush that burned in your cheeks. Billie dumped the eggs and vegetables into a pan, and then she grabbed her own wine glass and clinked it against yours.

“To new beginnings,” she said softly, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“To my lover coming back to her senses and realizing she can’t live without me.”

Billie laughed, her mouth falling open into that perfect smile, and you raised your glass, chuckling around your sip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you said after you swallowed, and you watched her eyes go wide as she swallowed her own sip.

“Shit.”

“I told you.”

Billie set her glass down, stirring the contents of the pan as they sizzled. “We definitely should have saved that for a special occasion.”

You slid out of your seat, drawn to her like a magnet and refusing to be so far away from her for another second. It was like everything had melted away, with every minute that ticked by. Everything was going back to normal, and you had a feeling it was going to be a lot easier to forgive her than you had initially thought. Especially with the way your soul was responding to hers, cracking and popping and drawing your body to hers almost against your will.

You wrapped your arms around her waist as she stirred. “What happened to ‘this seems special enough for me’?”

She chuckled low in the back of her throat, turning her head to kiss your nose. “I meant like an engagement.”

“Ah,” you teased, brows popping up. “Should I expect a proposal?”

And then she kissed you properly, mumbling a soft “you wish” against your lips before removing the pan from the stove and setting it on the counter.

You kissed her again as you giggled, desperate to get another taste, another piece of her affection. You had missed this, giggling into kisses and dancing around the kitchen, hands constantly wandering and pinching and flitting over places they shouldn’t.

Billie broke the kiss, nudging your nose. “Go get the plates, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t help your slight bounce as you crossed the kitchen, the pet name making your fingers itch. A second later and you were back, two plates in hand. Billie divided the contents of the pan evenly between the two, and you set them down at the bar.

There was silence for a few moments, the meal from last night running through your mind on a loop. How you hadn’t taken a bite from her plate, let alone let her touch you. And just minutes ago you had been wishing she would sit you up on the counter and kiss you like she meant it. Like she used to.

Billie cleared her throat, breath suddenly shaky. “So, should we talk now, or...?”

You swallowed your sip of wine, letting out a long sigh. Shook your head softly. “Billie...”

She wasn’t looking at you, staring down at her plate as she absently stabbed at her eggs. “I don’t know why I left. Why I thought I could leave you. Just leave you here, alone. I don’t— I don’t know why I did it.”

You could hear her breaths quickening, the tears sticking in her throat.

“Billie, we don’t have to do this right now,” you said softly, hand finding her knee and stroking over the dips there.

“No,” she said firmly, and you startled. “You deserve an explanation. I just don’t have one. Not one that excuses what I did.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse,” you started, and she did look up at you then, the suave, swaggering woman who had just made your breakfast buried under the burden of her emotion.

“I think I didn’t know how to ask you to come with me.”

You shook your head again. “Billie, you didn’t have to ask. I told you—“

“No, I know,” she sighed, fingers flicking over her fork like a cigarette. “I know what you said. But how was I supposed to ask you to give all of this up? Your life, your family, your friends, just to move across an ocean with me?”

“Just?” You repeated, brows furrowing. And now tears were forming in your own eyes. “Billie, do you realize how much you mean to me? Do you realize that I would do anything for you?”

She shook her head, swiping at a tear as it fell. “But not this.”

“Yes, this.”

“No,” she said again, her hand covering yours on her knee. Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Not this. Because what if it ended up being nothing? What if it was a waste of time and a waste of money, and— What if nothing came of it, and you ended up resenting me for pulling you away from your life, your job. For nothing?”

Time froze around you, ice threading through your veins. You tried to take a breath, but there was no air as realization settled down. As your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I could never resent you,” you tried, hand frozen under hers.

She shook her head, taking another sip of her wine. “You don’t know that.”

But no. You did know. That was the one thing you knew over everything else on this earth. Because even when your heart was shattered to pieces and you were only and solely blaming her, you still couldn’t resent her. You couldn’t, even though you absolutely tried.

“Billie,” you breathed, still frozen in place on your barstool.

Her thumb brushed mindlessly over the back of your hand. “And what if you came with me and you didn’t like London? Or hated your new job, or—“

“Billie,” you said again, more forcefully this time. And this time, she looked up at you. “Kiss me.”

Her eyes widened, just so. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes as the truth melted around you, melted into you, melted the ice in your veins and set your heart pounding. “Please—“

She lunged forward, hands on your face as she kissed you deeply, fervently, intently. And you kept melting, melting against her, hands coming up to grip her shoulders and pull her closer, closer.

She hadn’t left you behind because she didn’t care about you. She had left you behind because she was trying to protect you. She was worried about you. Because you were her first priority. She wouldn’t sacrifice your happiness for hers.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against your lips, and you stood, pressing yourself flush against her.

“Shut up.”

You kissed her hard, the new angle making it easy to take control. And when you licked at her lip, she opened her mouth easily. She tasted of wine, of nice, expensive wine, the spice of the peppers warming your tongue. You couldn’t help but hum into her, tucking your fingers behind her ears and pulling her mouth impossibly closer.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled against her lips, gasping as she let her teeth graze over yours.

And then her hands were on your waist and she uncrossed her legs, pulling you between them. Her mouth hit your ear, hot and sticky and low. “You want to try that again?”

A groan fell out of you. You couldn’t help it. Not with the way her nails were digging through your shirt and her thighs were hugging your hips.

Her lips trailed from your ear down your jaw, licking over your pulse point. She nuzzled her nose there, humming. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I’ll never leave you again.” As if to say—

“I love you,” she breathed, and you felt her sigh into her kisses, pinching your soft skin between her teeth and sucking over the sting.

Your fingers found her hair, raking through it. Desperate. You melted until you were burning, scorching need running from your fingers to your toes, pooling between your thighs and making it hard to breathe. You had missed that feeling. You had thought it was gone forever. But here it was, burning you alive. Back with a vengeance.

You wiggled your hips against hers and she moaned into your neck.

“Billie,” you breathed, fisting her hair and tugging. Her hands started wandering then, up your shirt, over your thighs, any piece of you she could find. But it was different than this morning. Something between the messy way her nails had raked over you, so needy, and the way she normally touched you, so carefully. Thoughtfully. An artful plucking of every one of your strings.

“God, I missed you,” she sighed, pressing a hot kiss just over your heart. And then your shirt was rucked up and she was kissing down the line of your bra, tongue flicking out under the fabric as she glanced up at you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as you squeezed your thighs together. “You can’t look at me like that.”

She chuckled against your skin, fingers tight on your ribs as she held your shirt up. “Or what?”

You yanked on her hair, pulling her back from your stomach as you leaned down and kissed her. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

“It’s ringing a vague bell,” she panted against your mouth, breaths coming out in hot little puffs. And then she dove forward again, catching your mouth with hers and kissing you roughly.

“Please,” you begged as you broke for air, hands falling to her shoulders as your thumbs ran along her collarbones.

She shivered. You knew how that got to her. And when she spoke, there was a need laced under her usual confidence. “You haven’t asked for anything, sweetheart.”

You growled, shoving her back so she was pinned against the counter. Your mouth hit her neck and you weren’t gentle, biting hard as she gasped, her hands gripping into your sides.

“God, baby, go easy.”

“No,” you mumbled into her skin, all of the need and want that had surfaced at her absence, the longing and pining and wishing and hoping, for her, bubbling back to surface and burning you everywhere she wasn’t touching you.

And she read your mind, her hands tracing over your back as you marked her, sliding down over your ass and kneading.

“Billie Dean Howard,” you gasped into that space between her breasts, biting down on the fabric of her bra to keep yourself from moaning. “You have thirty seconds to get me to a horizontal surface before I push you down on your knees right here—“

And then she was up, backing you out of the kitchen and down into the couch.

“Shirt off, now,” she growled, ripping at the buttons as she straddled you.

You smirked against her sloppy kisses, helping her get the buttons undone. “Yes, ma’am.”

She moaned, leaning back on her thighs and letting her eyes rake over you as your shirt fell open. You couldn’t help the flush that crawled up your chest, that dove straight between your thighs.

“God, I missed the way those words sound coming out of your mouth.” Billie shook her head as you bit into a grin. “How did I ever think I could live without you?” She murmured, fingers sliding up your stomach almost reverently.

Your hands covered hers, squeezing softly before moving them up, arching your back and leading her to the clasp of your bra.

“Don’t leave me again,” you whispered, holding onto her eye contact like she would vanish if you blinked. Because somehow you still felt like she wasn’t real. Like you were going to wake up and she would be gone. But the warmth of her fingers as she unclasped your bra proved you wrong.

A tear fell as Billie leaned over you, kissing across your chest as she pulled your bra out of the way. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

You thought you heard her mumble something like “exquisite” as she ghosted her lips over your nipple, but then there was a loud click and the front door opened, and voices flooded your foyer.

“Y/N, we’re here.”

“Just making sure you’re still alive.”

Your eyes went wide and you shoved Billie off of you, scrambling to re-hook your bra.

“Shit,” you muttered, Billie fumbling with the buttons on your shirt and doing them up as you pulled your fingers through your hair. “Shit, shit, shit.”

There was a split second before they came into the room, a split second where Billie reached up and adjusted your collar to no doubt cover a mark that she had left. A split second where you both looked at each other, fighting smiles as you settled down onto the couch, her on the arm, hand finding your thigh.

And then Angelica and Michelle walked into the room, clearly shocked to find you sitting up, and clearly shocked to find Billie still here.

“Should we have called?” Angelica mused, her brow popping up.

Michelle stopped in her tracks right behind her, an impressed smirk on her face. “So, do we just not wear shirts in this house now, or...?”

And that’s when you realized that Billie was still only in her bra.

Your heart stuttered and you glanced over at her, but she was already talking to your friends, her hand tightening, just barely, on your thigh in reassurance.

“...honestly would have thought me not coming back last night would have been a clear enough sign that everything was alright.”

Angelica scoffed, moving through the kitchen and stabbing at some of the abandoned eggs. “I don’t know what happened,” she mumbled around a bite of food. “You could have killed each other for all I know— Fuck, these are good.”

She took three more bites as Michelle set her stuff down on the counter and walked to the stove.

“I’m assuming you’re going to make this bacon, yes?”

You coughed to cover a snort as Billie’s nails dug into your thigh.

Her mouth hit your ear. “You distracting, little—“

You hummed, hand coming to cover hers. “You were the one who insisted on cooking. It’s not my fault you can’t focus. I laid everything out for you.”

“Listen—“ Billie started, lips already twitching up into a predatory smirk. But then Angelica’s voice cut through the room.

“So you got her to eat?”

“And shower, by the looks of it,” Michelle finished as Angelica spun a wine glass in her hand.

“And I see we’re day drinking?”

You rolled your eyes, getting up from the couch to take the glass from Angelica before she took a sip.

“So we’re staying, right?” Angelica asked as you set the glass down, looking to Michelle.

“Oh yeah, definitely staying.”

“Oh, no no,” you chided, grabbing them both by their arms and dragging them back towards the front door. “I don’t think so.”

“Kicking us out already? God, you two really can’t keep your hands off of each other.”

You flushed, glancing behind you to find Billie smirking as she rose to follow.

“How about the two of you shut up?”

“How about you say thank you for taking care of your sorry ass for three weeks?”

“And for covering for you at work,” Angelica added.

You chuckled, hugging them both tightly.

“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“Probably die in a hole of self-pity,” Michelle chimed in, and Angelica nudged her.

Your brow raised and you felt Billie behind you before you heard her, leaning back instinctively as her arms wrapped around your waist.

“You know,” you started, thumb brushing absently over Billie’s arm. “If you two are nice to me, I might just invite you over for a thank you dinner tonight.”

“And if not?” Angelica teased, Michelle practically dragging her out the front door.

“We’ll see you at seven!” Michelle called, Angelica shoving at her and pulling keys from her back pocket. “You’d better have wine left!”

You waved, laughing as you shut the door behind them. As soon as it clicked, you felt Billie’s hands on your waist.

“I’m not going to lie, part of me will miss staying with them.”

You turned in her arms, brow popping up. “Oh yeah?”

Billie’s lip twitched over a smirk. “Jealous?”

“And what if I am?” You replied, breath hitching as Billie’s hands slid up under your shirt, pinning you against the door. Her mouth found your neck in seconds, sucking and licking and kissing over your pulse point.

“I seem to remember you begging me to fuck you a moment ago,” she purred, and your eyes fell closed, fingers tightening on her waist.

“Please,” you whined. And you felt Billie smirk against your skin.

“So needy for me already, hm?”

You nodded, pulling her impossibly closer. “Always.” Your hand fell to her hair, holding her in place. “God, please, Billie, just—“

A loud banging on the door made you practically jump out of your skin, and Billie sprung off of you, cursing.

“What the fuck?” You muttered, pulling your shirt down and looking to Billie for the answer. She shook her head, flicking her bangs back into place. You peered through the window by the door. And immediately rolled your eyes.

“What?!” you growled as you yanked the door open, eyes landing back on your friends.

“I forgot my phone,” Michelle apologized, sliding past you and giving Billie a soft wave.

Angelica sighed. “Honestly, Y/N. Against the door? We didn’t even make it down the driveway.”

“It’s not my problem you’re a slow driver, Angie,” Billie chimed in, sidling up next to you.

“And we didn’t have time to do anything against the door, because you two—“ Michelle slid back past you, phone in hand. You waved your finger between them. “—you two can’t seem to leave me alone.”

Angelica laughed, shaking her head. “You’d better be glad we didn’t leave you alone, or you wouldn’t have eaten for three weeks.”

Michelle slid her phone into her back pocket as Billie’s hands wrapped around your waist and her mouth found your neck.

“You’re only alive because of us,” Angelica tried again, obviously looking for another thank you. But you couldn’t focus with Billie’s fingers sliding against your stomach.

“I’m not waiting for you to leave, Angie,” Billie chimed in again, pressing a kiss to your neck. “It’s been three weeks. You’re lucky I kept my hands off of her this long.”

Michelle dragged Angelica away with a soft “ew, ew come on,” and Angelica rolled her eyes as she was tugged back to her car, pointing at you.

“I did this! You owe me!”

“Mhm, yep, I’ll be sure to thank you in my next acceptance speech,” Billie called, spinning you in her arms and kissing you properly.

You melted into her, wrapping your arms up around her neck and threading your fingers through the hair there.

You heard the car start, and then Angelica’s voice screaming “get a room” as the engine faded off.

Billie broke away from you then, reaching out and shutting the door.

“If only we had a room,” she teased, pulling your hips against hers.

You smirked. “Or two.”

“Or three.”

“Or four—“

You cut off with a squeak as Billie’s hands hooked under your thighs and she picked you up.

“I guess the only question now is which one, hm?”

You hummed, scratching your nails against her scalp. “Or in which order.”

Billie did thank Angelica during her next acceptance speech. It was a speech for an award she won, for a job that she had gotten only because she had left the London job. You didn’t realize, as you sat at the table with her costars and watched her shine up on that stage, light bouncing off of her smile just as brilliantly as it was bouncing off the gold statue in her hands, that this award would be one of seven. That this job that she had gotten because she had decided to stay with you would sweep her career to heights that you couldn’t have even imagined. Soon, you would be dating an A-list celebrity. Soon, your lives would change. Soon, everything would be different.

But as you sat in that uncomfortable chair and gazed at the love of your life on one of the proudest moments of her life, absently twisting your engagement ring over your finger as you always seemed to do when Billie was on your mind, all you could think about was how lucky you were. Blessed. Utterly spoiled.

Because Billie was yours. Billie was yours, and you were hers. Unequivocally. Forever. And no matter where this award took her, no matter what happened next, none of that would change. Billie Dean Howard had come back to you. She would always come back, be it an hour or two months. Billie would always be standing right next to you. Right by your side.

Time after time.

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @pradababey @mssallymckenna + @raleigh-ocean (because we’ve been talking about this for too long)

#billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean x reader #billie x reader #ahs #ahs murder house #ahs hotel #ahs apocalypse #ahs billie dean howard #american horror story #ahs fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs fandom #ahs imagine #angst #hurt comfort #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic

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