#(hasn’t put out anything since chapter 4)

[iwriteloveletters]

bitches will give themselves a schedule to put out new chapters and then not commit to it (me i’m bitches)

#like yea i’m gonna put these out on tuesdays guys!!! #(hasn’t put out anything since chapter 4) #motivation has been so hard hopefully when my meds work i can work #eren x reader #cherubrambles

[janaispunk]

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

#fic: wildest dreams #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york smut #pedrostories #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dbf!dave york

[melrodrigo]

Tardy, part 10

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

Tara Carpenter x Fem Reader

Summary: Tensions rise as two of your friends are found in a suspicious position.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, angst

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: I’m sorry if this sucks…writing this chapter sucked the life out of me.

Sitting in the ambulance doesn’t feel right.

You don’t think you deserve to be here, getting taken care of; while the rest of the gang goes on searching for clues. You lean against the van door, struggling to keep your eyes open.

You can’t bear to watch as the police lift Ethan’s body and wheel him into their black van.

You’re so tired that you can’t even cry.

You turn and bury yourself in the crook of Tara’s neck, trying to distract yourself with her warmth, her smell, her. She hasn’t left your side for a second since the paramedics arrived, and she doesn’t seem to mind you clinging desperately onto her either.

It might be how exhausted you are, or the fact that her comfort makes you feel so safe, it lulls you to sleep quickly.

It feels like a blink of an eye before you’re getting woken up to the sound of Sam interrogating Anika and Mindy.

“Found them just a couple minutes ago, they were knocked out,” Tara whispers to you, reading your face in the blink of an eye and knowing exactly what you were going to ask.

You inspect the pair carefully. They look like they’ve been through it.

Along with red marks all over her arms, Mindy has a little scrape of peeled skin at the top of her head.

Anika’s looks even worse.

There’s a huge purple-ish green-ish bump just right above her eyebrow. It’s in the shape of a perfect rectangle like someone had tried to knock her out with a brick.

“Where have you guys been?” Sam’s asking, sort of calm but sort of rough at the same time. There’s no doubt there is an underlying tone of suspicion in her voice.

Mindy sighs heavily, seeing right through the fake calm facade Sam’s putting on.

“Sam, we swear we do not know anything.” She’s saying, eyes wide. “We saw Ghostface coming, we ran! And the next thing you know we both got knocked out. I mean, look at the wound Sam. I know Ghostfaces have done this before, the whole hurt yourself thing. But I swear. Please, Sam.”

She looks put-together, all things considered. But Mindy’s always been one of those people, she goes through life swiftly; with nothing on her mind except for obscure indie horror films and her girlfriend.

She doesn’t sound like she’s lying, you’ll give her that.

“So you just left Danny alone?” Sam asks, clearly not as persuaded as you are.

Anika breathes loud, a sound of growing impatience.

“We were being chased. I’m sorry Sam but if it was between Mindy and Danny there’s no way I’m picking your boyfriend.” She explains, waving her hands wildly. “And we don’t even know if he’s Ghostface.” She ends, the last statement said in nothing but a hushed whisper.

Sam can’t say much about that. She breathes heavily, very much resembling the look of an angry dragon as she stands; towering.

You snuggle into Tara, deciding that you in fact do not want to be a part of this conversation.

She looks down at you and smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Then she’s wrapping her arms around you and slipping a hand in your back pocket.

She wiggles around in there a moment before you feel her fish something out and shift away from you slightly, smiling.

“Now what’s this?” She’s whispering teasingly, quiet laughter shaking her body.

You crane your neck to look at it, but all you see is a backside of a tiny piece of paper, all yellow and old looking.

Paper? You don’t remember having paper in there.

Tara stills as she reads it, her heartbeat under you quickening at a rapid pace.

“What is it, babe?” You question, tightening your grip around her waist.

She tilts her whole body to show you what’s written on the paper.

Scribbled crazily on the note in thick red liquid, are five words.

NITEHALK CINEMA - TONIGHT. BE THERE.

You stare at it for a long time, like if you looked at it hard enough it’ll dissolve into thin air. The words look almost anthropomorphic, threatening to jump out and grab you by the neck.

“Huh.” You state, turning to blankly stare at Tara. She blinks back at you, obviously also taken aback.

You guys have a silent conversation until Tara carefully untangles herself from you and makes her way toward the older Carpenter.

You see her hand Sam the paper, all eyebrows furrowed and soft voices. Sam snatches it from her, but your view gets blocked off when a paramedic comes to stand in front of you.

You eye her a little wearily, confused as to why she’s standing there.

“Hey, hon.” She says, eyes crinkling at the sides when she smiles. She has some age, you can tell, but she still looks youthful and full of life.

You relax, almost melting at her term of endearment.

You were always a sucker for one of those. Especially if they were coming from an attractive middle-aged woman.

You quirk an eyebrow, signaling that she can keep speaking.

“So, I had a quick look at the wound on your stomach there. You’ve got an infection, sweetheart. It’s nothing to worry about if you get to the hospital immediately.” She tells you, sternly.

An infection?

You open your mouth to answer her, tell her that there’s no way in hell you have enough time to do that, but Tara’s heading back before you can say a thing; and you mumble a quick, “Don’t tell her anything.”

Because the last thing you need is Tara fussing over you when there should be Ghostface hunting to do.

“So what happened?” You ask your girlfriend, grabbing and positioning her so she’s standing in between your legs.

She doesn’t say a thing about it, but you see the blush start forming.

“We’re going to the damn theater together, and we’ll end the motherfucker. Once and for all.” Tara says and then tilts her head to the side, eyes flirting between you and the paramedic as if she’s just realizing she’s here. “Everything okay?”

You cut in quickly, shooting the paramedic a look and wrapping an arm around her waist for reassurance.

“Everything’s great.” You smile.

-

“Aren’t we rushing into this kind of fast? Like..why are we going to a random place Ghostface clearly wants us to go to?” Chad asks, his voice betraying his fear for the whole plan.

You’ll admit, it was a sort of sudden decision, even for you.

As soon as Tara showed Sam that paper, Sam turned into an animal. Asking for papers from the medical staff still around and gathering all of you to listen to her new plan; excluding Anika and Mindy.

“Seriously?” Anika’s saying, right after Sam informed her that they weren’t invited to listen in.

Sam doesn’t relent, just stares her down with those fiery eyes she only has reserved for situations like these.

“If you want me to believe you, you’ll have no problem staying out of this,” Sam says, nodding matter-of-factly.

“Well, I don’t want to be kept out of the loop and die.” Anika mumbles, but backs down nevertheless; walking back to join Mindy dejectedly on the sidewalk.

Now, you guys are stuffed into Sam’s van, ready to take on the weirdo in the white mask once again.

Funny, this is giving me déjà vu.

But after Sam’s monologue last night, where the older carpenter had talked about sacrificing herself, it seemed to ignite a fire deep in you; one that still wanted to fight.

You know you’re not the only one who’s feeling this way.

One quick glance at the gang and you can tell everyone’s feeling motivated. You can only hope it lasts so long.

Well, everyone except Chad.

You contemplate reaching over and gripping his hand for support, but wonder if it’ll be weird because you haven’t exactly had the best relationship with him, but decide fuck it, we’re friends, and do it anyway. He sends you a nervous but supportive smile back.

Sitting still hurts. Any kind of movement only worsens the pain. It’s like the conversation with the paramedic opened your eyes because you can feel every little thing bothering you now.

By the time you guys get to the theater, your anxiety’s at an all-time high.

Beads of perfectly shaped droplets fall from your forehead at a rapid pace, and your heart feels like it’s up in your throat.

You push open the doors and try to quell your fears by acting brave. The facade disappears immediately when you see what’s in the theater.

You pale.

It’s a shrine. A goddamn shrine of Ghostface.

“Well isn’t this nice? Ghostface has a fan.” Tara mumbles, pushing past you to see further in.

Everyone slowly files in and looks around curiously, murmuring soundlessly between pairs.

You sway as you walk further in, head whirling. You stumble and hit a glass box, and you have to grip it to steady yourself.

You stare at Sam unloading the big black bag shed packed full of weapons from just last night, getting prepared.

It doesn’t help with the haziness. You need to get your mind off this shit…you need something. Your head drops to peer inside the glass box.

You think your heart literally stops when you see the collection of pictures, paintings, a summarized biography, and a bloody knife. A familiar photo makes your breath hitch.

Stu Macher : The Second Ever Ghostface

You blink. Try and steady your heartbeat by closing your eyes and sucking in a deep breath.

Just when you feel like you’re about to pass out, Tara steps up beside you, putting a hand on your back to help steady you.

“You okay?” She whispers, a concerned expression painting her features.

You look down at her, flash her a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah.” You try and say with as much positivity as you can muster.

She sees right through it, frowning so big you’d think you’d just told her you were Ghostface.

“I know when you lie to me.” She says pointedly, pouting.

You sigh, it’s no use to lie.

“No, I’m not doing great currently, but that’s not our top priority here Tar.” You murmur softly.

She punches you in the arm, with all the power of a marshmallow bouncing off you and crosses her arms.

“It’s a priority to me.” She huffs.

You raise an eyebrow. Tara wasn’t one to give you words of affirmation, but whenever she would, she’d get adorably shy.

She’s not this time. She’s standing tall and sure of herself, staring at you like if she lets her eyes off you for even a second you’ll run away.

You contemplate telling her about what the paramedic said.

You should, you know that, but you don’t want to worry her more than she already is.

She’s tired too, you can tell. It shows through the dark circles beneath her eyes and the way her hair is just a little more ruffled than usual.

Tomorrow I will, you think. After all this is over.

You settle for wrapping your arms around her and whispering an I love you in her ear.

Tara stills, obviously surprised at your confession. It surprises you too. You guys had never really said it before, even though you’re sure the both of you felt it.

“Um..I’m sorry. It just sort of came out, you don’t need to say it back. I understand.” You say quickly, sheepishly.

Tara quells your fears with a kiss, full of passion and urgency.

It feels like it always does, so goddamn dreamy. Her and her kisses never fail to send you straight into cloud 9.

When you pull back, you’re a little dazed.

“Well…okay.” You say, smiling goofily.

Her expression matches yours, albeit a little more composed. Her red cheeks and neck don’t fool you though.

“I love you too….idiot.” She says, adding the last bit to help put her racing heart at ease.

You snicker and shake your head. Your eyes drop down to the box again, but you don’t feel nearly as bad anymore.

“Man, I’m related to that guy? He looks like an alien dog.” You whine, only sort of half joking.

Tara chuckles heartedly and pats your back softly.

“He kinda does.” She murmurs.

“What does that mean…are you saying I look like that too?” You question, eyes wide and piercing, trying to look intimidating. To Tara, you look like a lost puppy.

“I never said that.” She quips, smirking. She’s teasing you.

“Yeah, but you didn’t rebut me so I’m led to believe you agree.” You press, forming your lips into a pout.

She reaches out to try and wipe it away, but you tilt your head; trying to fight for some semblance of control here.

She tries again, leaning to grab your face and kiss you, but you swerve as quickly as possible, a small part of you a little sad at the act.

The part that wants you to win this “argument” is bigger though. And it takes control once again.

“Nuh-uh. No kisses until you admit I don’t look like an alien dog and that I’m actually mighty gorgeous.” You say, proud smile; sure you’ve won.

“Oh really?” Tara smirks, leaning back until her back is pressed against the box and your hands on both sides of her waist.

She calls your bluff. “I don’t think you’d be able to take it; not kissing me.”

You have to bite back a gulp at her boldness.

God this girl was going to be the death of you.

You challenge her, happy to have your beloved banter with your girlfriend back.

“Funny…I vaguely remember you being the one who couldn’t keep her hands

to herself for a second. And who was the one that was so impatient the first time we had sex she tripped over and landed face first into the mat?” You tease, watching Tara’s cheeks heat up.

“Hey! We promised not to talk about that.” She grumbles, disregarding her bet from 5 seconds ago and tilting up to meet your lips.

You smile against her lips, victorious.

When she sees it, she huffs slightly, mouth still connected to yours.

“Whatever.” She says, pulling back.

“Guys!” Sam’s voice booms through the theater, echoing a couple of times before fading out.

Creepy.

“Get over here! Safety in numbers, remember? Who knows where Ghostface is? For all we know, he’s already in here watching us.” She continues to yell, watching as you and Tara saunter over; hand in hand.

Her words send chills down your body, and you’re suddenly aware again of your beating heart.

You look behind Sam, seeing multiple Ghostface mannequins standing tall. It’s scary how much eeriness some pieces of fabric can create.

“Well, isn’t this a dainty place to be having our conversation?” You chuckle nervously, turning your head to the left, then the right; where you see nothing but all 9 Ghostface mannequins from the Stab franchise, or in this nightmare reality, real life.

“Can you just shut-“ Sam begins, obviously done with your bullshit attempts at lightening the mood.

The lights turn off in the theater all at once, leaving you guys in complete darkness; all stunned.

“Up.” Sam finishes, and you can already hear her feet start to shuffle as she looks and grabs around.

You feel her rough hands as she grabs at your wrist and pulls, too hard for your liking.

“Sam- Could you be a little gentler please?” You huff, trying to weasel your way out her grip.

“What are you talking about?” Sam voices, but it feels kind of far away from you. The grip around your hand suddenly feels weighted. “I’m not touching you Y/N.”

Before you can react, the hand is coming up to your mouth and pressing hard, muffling any sounds that’ll come out.

“YN? Baby? What’s going on?” Tara asks, worry seeping through her words.

You try and scream, or say anything, but the sound dies in your throat when you realize there’s something pressed against your nose.

It’s a cloth: a smelly one at that. You realize what it is immediately, all those true crime documentaries finally coming in handy. Chloroform.

The fumes are practically shoved up your nose, and you feel your knees buck underneath you.

Fuck, Tara.

You wiggle and thrash around, but nothing works, the chemical’s doing its job, because in the next second; you’re gone.

#tardy #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream vi #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #wednesday addams x reader

[s-4pphics]

dial. 4 (e.w.)

wc;cw: 5.5K, fratadjacent!ellie, all ocs r black coded<3, angst, SMUT MDNI!!!!!, finger sucking!!!, voyeurism, dirty talk, lil assplay, squirting, spit, a lil breeding kink, sextape, masturbation, more porn mentions, bussing untouched, weed, dubcon bc alcohol, pov switches bc im experimenting :p

You returned to campus surprisingly high-spirited. 

You were arriving to class fifteen minutes early, color-coding your notes, smiling and laughing with your friends even more than you used to before shit hit the fan! It scared the shit out of all of them since the last time they saw you, snot was coming out of your nose while you sobbed your eyes out. 

Dina knocked on you and Niah’s front door the night before class with tears in her eyes, whimpering out about how terrible she felt and how she should’ve tried harder to steer you away from her best friend. Nothing was her fault; She did what anyone would, and you ignored it. She slept in your arms that night. 

When you joyfully volunteered to pay for you and Niah’s fancy dinner upon returning to campus, she grilled you, demanding to know where this change of heart came from. As if you weren’t screaming about how much you hated these hoes on FaceTime a couple of weeks ago. All you could do is shrug and laugh some more, confirming that everything would be fine. She seemed a bit skeptical when she peered at you over her glass of wine. 

Niah even volunteered to be angry with you. I’ll still beat her ass! I don’t care if you’re feeling better; I’m not! But you didn’t even want that. You developed a crush on somebody that’s a bad person, who just so happened to have amazing dick! Shit happens, and you’re over it. Sort of. 

You still have something that you need to take care of before you close this chapter of your college career. And there’s only one person who’d be willing to help you out!

“… You want me to what.” 

Your feet tapped nervously on Abby’s hardwood floor as she gawked at you, her body lax on her couch as smoke left her mouth in a large, pale cloud. 

After Ellie exposed her and Abby’s history, you decided to pry. Abby seemed a bit confused at your eagerness to know about their relationship, but she provided some insight. They’re apparently not as close as you thought: they’ve been screwing on and off since freshman year after Abby’s partner cheated on her with someone dressed in a panda costume. What the fuck.

Abby is actually Riley’s best friend, who’s also Ellie and Dina’s really good friend whose also friends with someone named Kayla and your brain is fucking fried and you’re not even high! You don’t know any of these people!

Since when did snooping become this fucking confusing! 

Your hands fiddled nervously, “Um… well, I mean— “

“Listen,” she snickered. “You seem nice, like really fuckin’ nice, but I dunno about this. Ellie’n I aren’t… best friends or anything but—”

“I know it sounds fucking crazy! I know!” Your arms flailed, “This is really outta character for me, but… she…” 

Tears immediately jerked in your eyes as you recalled Ellie’s harsh words. This is the first time you’ve cried since you’ve been back, “She really hurt my fucking feelings. Don’t tell anyone I told you that, by the way! I just wanna…” 

“Use me to get her back?” Abby concluded, leaning over to ash her joint. 

You pouted, “… You make it sound so awful— “

“Well, I mean,” she snorted, offering you the remainder of the joint. You took it gratefully. 

You spoke around your toke, “I dunno what else to do. I don’t know anything about her. The only time I saw her slightly out of character was at the fucking party!”

Abby hummed as she listened when you exhaled. She didn’t seem… entirely off put by your suggestion, but she hasn’t said much this entire conversation. She probably thought you came here for another reason based on her appearance. Ellie and Abby were surprisingly alike. They loved themselves some fucking grey sweatpants!

Moments of silence passed as she stared at the floor with her lip between her teeth, and you knew it was over. She was thinking of a way to kick you out politely. Not only was your one chance at karma destroyed, but you might’ve cost yourself a potential friendship with Abby! You’re bound to be walking out of here without the dignity you attempted to salvage in the next five seconds. Is it hot in here or is the bud getting to you quicker than expected—

“Run the plan by me one more time?” 

You looked up at her, meeting the mischievous glint in her eyes. You choked on your last puff of the blunt and your brows raised in shock. Her index finger tapped on the back of the couch while you went through the run-down for the weekend. 

She still hasn't said anything after your second explanation, and your body flushed hot in mortification. You threw in the towel with a heavy sigh.

“Abby, I’m sorry,” you palmed your forehead, “I shouldn’t have thrown this on you. Apparently, I’m not good with strangers, either!” 

You tried to mask your incoming breakdown with an awkward chuckle as you stood to leave, “Um… yeah. I’m sorry— “

“Alright.” 

Your heart jerked in your chest.

“I’ll do it.” 

“R-Really?” 

“Mhm. Ellie never discounted when I picked up, anyway,” she spoke around her bite of a peach ring.  

You leaped from the longue chair to the couch, squealing out thank you’s and throwing your arms around her neck. You felt her hand squeeze the plush on your hip, and you shuddered above her. 

She grinned like a Cheshire and offered you her pinky. 

“Our little secret?” 

You smiled like a fox and laced yours with hers. 

You don’t know when or how your balls dropped, but they were dangling and fucking huge. 

Did you purposefully wear your Sunday best to the Starbucks that Ellie works at? Yes! Were your titties freezing on the way over here from the cut in your sweater dress? Abso—fucking—lutely! You received so many compliments from your peers during your sociology course, though! 

Your heeled boots clanked on the tile with every step you took in the fast-paced line. You hoped Ellie could see you from the register!

It only took two minutes for you to be standing in front of the service counter, finally face-to-face with the first person you’ve ever plotted on. 

“Morning…” you gazed down at her nametag, “Ellie.” 

“… Mornin’,” Her eyes shifted, “Chai latte, extra mi—? “

You ignored the fluttering of your heart as she recited your order. 

“Actually,” your tone was honey-sweet and your smile stretched across your cheeks, “I’d like a Java Chip Frap. Extra chocolate syrup… aaand…” 

You pretended to study the menu board behind her, “A pack of Madeleines!”

She swallowed at the mention of her favorite munchie. You recall catching glimpses of her sneaking some into her pocket before her shift ended every other day. 

She cleared her throat and stared at the screen in front of her, “Anything else?” 

“No, that’s all!” 

You scanned your student card while she wrote your name on your cup. You threw the most darling, pageant-ready have an amazing day, Ellie you could muster over your shoulder. You didn’t bother to wait for her reply before strolling to the pick-up line with a newfound pep in your step. 

That was the best cold drink you’ve ever had!

Saturday came like a freight train. Today was the day. 

Today was the fucking day! 

You were absolutely terrified; You woke up with anxiety pooled in your gut, your mind racing with hundreds of questions. 

What if something bad happens and all this plotting was for naught? What if Abby doesn’t show tonight? What if Ellie chose to just not attend the soccer house party for once? All this pent-up aggression inside you would never get released. 

You rolled your black back seam stockings while Niah curled her hair. 

“Is there a reason we're doing all this extra shit for a stingy party?” Niah asked as she removed her elastic band. 

The second you returned home from Starbucks, you dragged Niah from her bed and into the mall. This would count as your monthly splurge (auntie slid you a few extra coins)! It was vital that you looked as sexy as possible, even if it meant putting a dent in your allowance. 

“Can I not do the most for once?” Your brow arched, twiddling your fingers like an evil villain. 

“You always do the fucking most,” Niah stared blankly as she curled her ends. You giggled and skipped over to where she sat at her desk. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” You cheesed. 

She rolled her eyes, “Get out my face with that gay shit, bruh— “

“I wanna kiss!”

“I dunno why you’re so excited. You know damn well that girl is gonna be there.” 

Your smile widened. She looked up at your silence with a glare, her sharp liner slicing through you as she studied your face. 

“Did y’all fucking make up?” 

“Not at all,” you hummed. 

She didn’t let up, her eyes squinting at you before they doubled in size. 

“Oh my god…” 

“What.” 

“YOU’RE FUCKING SOMEBODY ELSE!” She sprung out of her desk seat, almost dropping her curling iron. “No wonder you’ve been acting so fucking weird— “

“What’s weird about being happ— “

She squealed in excitement, “Shut up! Who is it! Who’s tearing them organs up— “ 

“NIAH! Nobody’s tearing anythi— “

“CALL FROM: ABBY SMILING FACE WITH HEARTS SMILING FACE— “

Siri, followed by your ringtone, blared through your speaker. 

Niah slowly peered over at your desk before looking back at you.

“… And who the fuck is Abby?” 

By the look in her eye, she must’ve already known. 

Oh fuck. 

“U-Uh— “

Niah sprinted towards your desk before you could stop her, snatching your device and answering despite your anxious protests and grabs for it. 

“Yes, hello. Are you smashing my— “

“NIAH! STOP!” You were able to wrangle your phone out of Niah’s grasp, speaking over her shouts of just two whores fornicating!

You could hear Abby snickering, “So much for a secret.” 

“I’m sorry! I can't beat her intuition. Or Siri!”

“You’re cute,” Her voice was like butter, “Just checkin’ to see if we’re still on.” 

Whores! Whores, I tell you! Boutta sweat my wig off! Niah hollered, finally resigning and leaning against your desk. 

“Yeah, we are. Unless you don’t wanna— “

“Shut it. I want to.” 

A shudder wracked through you at the drawl of her tone. Niah shook her head, and you bucked at her with a threatening stare. 

“Okay. I’ll see you soon?” 

“See you soon.” 

The two of you gently farewelled and hung up. You turned to see Niah shamefully shaking her head at you. 

“I’ve seen a lot of shit in my lifetime,” she started, “I’ve never, in all my years, seen anyone fuck their side piece’s side piece.” 

… Were you really the only one who didn’t know that Ellie and Abby canoodled? 

Your eyes rolled, “You’re so fucking dramatic.” 

She reached behind her and grabbed two nips of 1800, tossing one in your direction, almost cracking you in the face with the plastic bottle. 

“You’re gonna need that shit. Harlot.” 

The soccer house was on one; They knew how to fucking throw a not-Christmas party! 

You prayed with every fiber of your drunk being that the feds wouldn’t show up as you threw it back on Niah as Dina grabbed your titties. Tequila’s the devil and coaxes sluttery! 

Drake always sounds more talented when you’re fucked up. Good on him! 

Eyes were burning through your body and you showed out for them. 

Until you felt your phone vibrate in your fucking bra you can’t have shit in this house! —

You irritatingly pulled it out of your bra, leaning on Dina’s shoulder to read your message from… Abby, oh fuck fuck fuck—

You smirked and searched the dark room for your new pretty friend. A moan almost left your throat when you saw her standing by the counter packed with liquor… in a muscle tee that read DO MILFS, NOT DRUGS. And a lollipop stick in her mouth. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion when you locked eyes with Abby. She nodded behind you with a grin. 

You peered over your shoulder and instantly regretted it. 

Ellie was standing against the wall in a flannel and beanie, yet another girl pressed up against her while she smoked. And stared at you. Stared hard at you. Were those the eyes you felt seconds ago? Pride exploded in your chest at the thought. 

… But how long has she fucking been standing there, and why didn’t you fucking notice? You’re never touching Tequila again! 

You shot another text to Abby before shutting your phone off, watching her squeeze through the crowd to get over to your little group. 

“Okay, baby?” Dina shouted in your ear over the music as she rubbed your back. You nodded, keeping your eyes on the blonde girl. 

Abby popped up behind Dina, tapping her shoulder to greet the girl that was propping you up. Abby whispered something to her, and Dina’s grip loosened around your waist. You smiled when Abby presented in front of you, throwing your arms around her neck to keep yourself steady. 

You barely heard Niah’s shouts of whore alert before Abby leaned down to connect your lips. The shots she had mixed with her cherry-flavored chapstick and apple lollipop as her mouth caressed yours, calls of oh shit from partygoers around you drowning your head. The attention made you kiss her deeper, your tongue easing into her mouth as people hooted around you. 

Abby’s strong arms wrapped around your waist to hold you to her strong chest, her sneaky hands crawling down to grab your ass through your dress. You moaned into the kiss, lacing your fingers through her curled locks. 

She tightened her hold on your hips and spun you, a thin line of drool connecting your lips before your back met her chest. You held onto a shocked Dina’s hips while you threw it on Abby, your back arched while she thrusted into your ass. 

Niah, ever the sweetheart, slapped it encouragingly, your hips pushing further onto Abby until she grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back up, her large arm enclosing around your throat. You felt her messily kissing your neck and up your ear, and your eyes fluttered open. 

Don’tlookatEllieDon’tlookatEllieDon’tlookatEllie—

You did everything in your power to ignore her harsh stare, pulling Niah’s hips back on yours, exposing more space on your neck for Abby to suck, anything anything anything! Don’t fucking look at her!

“Ready?” Abby shouted in your ear. 

Thank god for Abby; You were this close to looking at her. 

You nodded, and she whisked you upstairs after you blew your friends' kisses. 

Why the fuck was Ellie fuming in this dark corner? 

Not only did you blow the fuck out of her high, but you decided to do it with someone she considered a… she doesn’t fucking know. Someone close enough for it to feel like a betrayal!

And you looked so fucking sexy in the act. 

The person chewing on her neck must think that the squirms she’s trying to cover are because of them. They weren’t, not when you’re around dancing like money is getting thrown all over you. 

How did you manage to get her so fucking horny with absolutely no interaction? You looked at her once since you’ve arrived. She could bet every cent in her bank account that you’re a witch! The sluttiest, sex-obsessed witch with good pussy. Not to mention, you’re so fucking sweet. 

Well, you used to be.

Ellie’s never seen this wild side of you. You’re always structured and organized and sweet like fucking honey. Somebody will get a cavity if they get too close to you. She can attest. 

All she could do was watch you and Abby trek upstairs with interlocked hands, something nasty stabbing in her gut at the sight. She knows she’s a hypocrite. A disgusting, vile hypocrite with the audacity to feel negatively about you seeing someone else. She’s fucked up and she’s horny and she wants you. Fuck, you have such good pussy. 

And the prettiest brown eyes. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck—

She hasn’t seen eyes that gorgeous since she fucking moved away for school. Since the last time she saw her. 

Seconds, minutes, it felt like hours went by as she replayed every interaction the two of you have had since you met. Sex, sex, sex, you trying to get closer, her getting upset at you trying, sex. More good— great sex. You're pulling the leash you have on her with your cunt, for fucks sake. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing off to the side, but the person that fucked up her neck disappeared. Probably took too long to fucking react because she’s too busy thinking about how tight your cunt chokes her dick. 

What the fuck were you and Abby doing? Ellie knows she’s a fucking hypocrite. 

She pulls her device out of her pocket to ease her stress, but her stomach plummets when she sees a message from Abby. 

Ellie’s such a fucking, goddamn hypocrite. 

She forces herself through the crowd and scurries up the stairs like the floors on fire, ducking and dodging drunk students that were in her path until she stood at the top of the steps.

She instantly hears you over the booming bass. A choked scoff leaves her before anything, your pleased cries ringing through her eardrums like a church bell, and she almost loses it in the middle of the hallway. She’s getting so wet and your moans are getting higher in pitch and she knows you're about to cum. Why’s she out of breath and pissed and drenched to hell?

The door’s right there. 

She takes a couple steps until she’s facing it, her hand resting on the knob. You always asked her to keep all entries open when she fucked you outside. You’re just as gross as she is. 

One twist and it’s over. 

She’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Whoever owns this bed is going to need a new mattress. You’ve never been this wet in your life. 

Is it gross that staring into Ellie’s shocked, glossy eyes are making your pussy squeeze down on Abby’s dick? Even after all the bullshit she’s done, she still makes you drip like a faucet. Shame on you and your cunt. 

S—it down, you whimpered, and Abby chuckled. 

Abby’s harsh thrusts slowed when you cracked out your command, a harsh slap landing on your ass, and the arch in your back deepened. Ellie exhaled a harsh breath and shut the door behind her, her body falling against the wood due to her wobbling legs. The more you inspected her bruised chest, the angrier you became. Who was she trying to fuck now? A nasty smile grew on your face at the sight of her in complete disbelief. 

Abby pulled out until just the tip was inside before slamming her entire length back into you, your jaw slackening when an oh, fuck escape you and Ellie. You hardly recognized your own voice. 

Her eyes left yours and stared behind you, your core squeezing when her fists clenched at her sides and eyes darkened. 

S-Sit down. Be a good girl’n sit d-down, you whimpered, your walls squeezing on the silicone. 

She looked down at you again, her cheeks tinting a darker shade of red whenever you addressed her. Your glare hardened when she didn’t listen, and her body cowered, eyes sparkling before pushing herself off the wall and onto the small lounge chair at the front of the room so she was facing you. 

Ellie’s hands were fiddling in her lap as she took the scene of you: liner and glitter running down your cheeks in a heap of tears, bruised neck and tits pressed against her friend’s ruffled sheets, your ass bruised to hell. She could see your slick and cum glistening on Abby’s cock under the dim lamp of the room. Her boxers were a mess. 

Such a sexy little pornstar, isn’t she, El?

Ellie wanted to cry when you and Abby laughed lightly. This is the first time she’s been speechless when it came to anything related to fucking. She loves sex, but she’s always, always, in control no matter what. The lack of ability she had over the situation made her throat dry and clit throb. She’d never admit it, though. 

W-Wanted t’make me a pornstar so bad? You spat shakily. You’re gonna sit there’n record Abby f-fucking me. 

Ellie’s breathing increased at the demand. You always looked so fucking sexy on camera. A natural vixen, you are. She’s never been this wet. Fuck, fuck, please—

Take your phone out, El, Abby encouraged with a sly smirk, You know how wet this pussy gets on cam. 

Ellie’s body didn’t feel like hers, like her soul was floating above her physical form. She heard the soft platplatplat of your ass clapping on Abby’s hips before she realized the two of you were fucking again, your loud cries chiming through the spacious area. Your pussy sounded so fucking wet. 

Atta fuckin’ girl, tha’s my girl, c’mon, Abby groaned while she watched your cunt milk her dick. She would give anything to cum in you. See her cum flow out of you like water. Breed you fucking full. 

She couldn’t take her eyes away from your ass. The movement of it was hypnotizing and it was bruising beautifully. She almost retrieved her own phone from her jean pocket to take a picture for herself. Almost. 

Ellie’s arm moved on autopilot, her fingers digging in her pocket for her device. You caught a glimpse of the flashlight she accidentally turned on in your haze, and smiled, fucking back onto Abby to meet her thrusts. You kept your eyes on Ellie as she held her phone up, the quiet blip indicating that she was recording. 

Your eyes flickered from Ellie’s heaving chest to the two small lenses in the corner of her phone, your back arching deeper so that she could get a good look at your ass rippling from each thrust. Your nails dug into the duvet every time Abby brushed against your cervix, her dick plunging into your squishy cunt. 

S-She’s fucking me s’good, Ellie, fuuuck—

Your babbles were sloppy and nearly intelligible, mumbled together in a fast, wet muss of your tongue. You couldn’t think about anything except Abby’s dick and Ellie’s fucking camera. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back every time your eyes passed over the lens. Ellie was right; Maybe you were meant for porn. 

Ellie… ugh, shit! C’merecomehere—

Ellie looked like a newborn deer trying to walk when she got up and stood directly in front of your sweaty, fucked out form. Her camera was right in front of your face, and a hazy, drooly smile made its way onto your face. You could feel your impending orgasm sizzling all the way down to your toes. 

M’gonna squirt, fuck, thinkI’mgonnasquirt!—

Both girls moaned aloud at your squealed warning, Ellie’s thighs squeezing right in front of your face. Her hands were shaking around her phone and… her fucking hands are so sexy—

Your pussy was in agreement; The squelching sounds of your wet walls got louder with your moans, your screams flying off the walls with Abby’s, your eyes glued on Ellie’s long fucking fingers and the veins in her hands—

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth and licked over all four of the digits clenched over her device. She squealed in shock but you didn’t care, pulling away with your tongue out like a dog, eyes begging for her to fuck your throat with them. 

Ellie held her phone with her dominant hand and dragged two wet fingers over the flat of your tongue, angling her phone so that the way your throat closed around them was captured. Ellie was whimpering to herself and desperate to fucking cum. Was she crazy or was she about to nut from you gagging and drooling all over your hand? She’s crazy; She has to be fucking crazy—

Her walls were squeezing so hard in her jeans; She might actually fucking cum. She’s a goner, fuck fuck fuck—

Milk her fingers like you're milking this dick, baby, that’s it, Abby moaned out before releasing a line of drool on your ass and rubbing it in with her thumb. You choked around Ellie’s thrusting fingers, eyes crossing in your head while your pussy cried. And squeezed so hard, Abby almost couldn’t move. You felt your juices leave you in a light spray as Abby announced her orgasm, squealing about how swollen you’re going to be with her cum. You’re cumming, you’re cumming so fucking hard—

Your head dropped onto the edge of the mattress, Ellie’s spit coated fingers ripping from your mouth and you screamed, your cum drenching the bed and Abby’s dick and waist, your clit jumping with every pulse of your walls. You couldn’t keep yourself upright any longer, falling completely flat onto the bed as your body thrashed from pleasure you could hardly bear. Abby’s body laid flat on top of yours so she could force her dick deeper into you, fuck more cum out of you and milk the last bit of her orgasm.

You sobbed from the intensity, but Abby didn’t stop until your hand flew back to push her off you. She planted one wet kiss on the back of your neck before gently pulling out. Your thighs were still shaking and your clit was twitchy, but you felt so good. 

And so much better. 

It took a minute for your teary eyes to peel open. Ellie was crouched down on the floor with her knees to her chest, heavy breaths and light whines leaving her mouth while her lashes fluttered. 

Abby chuckled behind you, landing one playful smack on your ass before leaning over your form to whisper in your ear. 

Think she came when you did, She snickered.

A breathy giggle left you. Ellie couldn’t meet your eyes, hers glued to the hardwood. 

Your auntie was right; Maybe revenge was the way to go. 

You shut the bathroom door and made your way back to the bedroom, where a dazed Ellie was sitting on the bed. 

Abby left with a see you soon and a kiss on the cheek, leaving you and Ellie alone to suffocate in silence. She looked lost in thought as her finger tapped on her thigh, her teeth digging into the dry skin of her lip. You breathed heavily before walking to tower over her. 

“I want you to send me the video,” you spoke stoically, nothing bothering to wait for her to speak.

She nervously met your eyes for the first time since you orgasmed, eyes glossy like a puppy getting scolded, before grabbing her phone from where she tossed it on the bed. She shakily tapped a few times before your device vibrated in your hand. 

“Now delete it. Delete everything. Every video, every Snap. All of it,” your voice was sharper than a blade. 

You loomed over her as she scrolled through all of your memories together, your cheeks warming at the sound of your moans and cries of her name, watching closely as she trashed all the footage of the two of you fucking since you met. 

Whenever you were confident that no evidence remained, you ensured she would never hit your line again. 

“Block me, Ellie. On everything.”

She exhaled shakily before doing so on every platform and line of communication. You spun on your heel when she finished without another word, heart heavy, leaving the room and shutting the door behind you to retreat back to the lively environment downstairs. 

You deleted Ellie’s contact information when you reached the bottom of the steps. 

Ellie was absolutely distraught. And the horniest she’s ever been in her fucking life. 

She refused to move from her spot on the bed until a couple shoved into her friend’s room, eager to rip each other’s clothes off. She had too little and enough sex for tonight. She cringed when she got up and felt her cum squishing in her boxers. 

… She can’t believe she busted from just your tongue on her hand like a fucking loser. 

She didn’t bother to wait for Jesse and the rest of the soccer team like normal, opting to walk home and regain some peace of mind. The cold shocked her body when she stepped outside of the packed house, the melting ice crunching under her sneakers. 

Much to her dismay, she thought about you the entire stroll. Her mind raced, flooding with images of you getting absolutely destroyed by Abby. And looking up at her while you sucked the life out of her fingers. And your sparkly fucking eyes whenever you laughed at something stupid and unfunny she said. 

She fucked up, she fucked up so bad. 

Anxiety was stirring in her gut all the way up to her and Jesse’s apartment. 

Ellie hoped you wouldn’t be too mad at her when everyone returned to campus, but she felt vicious, unfiltered rage radiating off your body when you loomed over her. The disappointment she was so used to seeing after turning you down was replaced by disdain, and it made bile rise in her throat. Your composure used to impress her, but now she was terrified of it. 

You actually fucking hated her. 

Dina mentioned how she might’ve awakened something that you tried to keep hidden, but she didn’t care enough to listen. 

Ellie didn’t intend to hurt your feelings, but she did want to keep you at a distance. You were caught in a crossfire you never needed to be in, and she didn’t do enough to stop you from getting hit. 

She sees so much of her past in you. The moments of eagerness and joy and elation she felt in her younger years, it all crashed into her the second she stared into your eyes for too long. She almost saw roses blooming in them. She grew to despise your optimism very quickly. 

Ellie shoved her key so hard into their door she thought she bent it, ripping it open and slamming it shut. All her weight fell against the wall and she sighed. Her head was pounding and so was her clit. 

You’re so fucking hot. What the fuck. 

Her hands ran down her face in exasperation before she kicked her shoes off, unbuttoning and removing her jeans and soaked boxers. 

She slid down the door and squatted, her fingers instantly finding her twitching clit. She sighed at the sensation before dipping her digits lower, pushing past her entrance and collecting her juices to bring back to her rosy bud. She alternated between rubbing and fucking into herself, moaning into the dark space of the living room. 

She couldn’t unsee… you. Everything about you. Your scars, the dark hairs of your furrowed brows, your plump, wet lips slobbering all the way down her wrists. The deeper she reached, the hotter she became, her sweaty bangs clinging to her forehead. 

A-Abby, fuck me h-harder, please? 

Am I a good girl? M’your good girl?

M’so wet, oh god!

You fuck me t-the best! Yeah, yes yeah—

Your voice was the only thing ringing through her empty brain. Anyone would’ve been embarrassed, disgusted, traumatized by what you and Abby did. The two of you shattered her completely, breaking down every barrier she built for herself for so long. Distance was no longer her priority; She wanted to be in between the two of you so fucking bad. 

She was already so close, so close to tipping over, to wetting her fucking floor, all because of you. Fuck, she fucked up; Was it too late to tell her you were the best— one of the best she’s ever had? She has to protect her pride somehow, even if it’s pointless. 

She dug into her cunt harder, grinding her fingers into the spot that made her see stars, sent her to fucking heaven. Your name left her mouth in an almost manic cry, whimpering the syllables over and over again until she crashed, legs closing around her wrist when her pleasure shook her form. She shoved three unoccupied fingers into her mouth and swallowed around them, fucking her throat and her cunt at the same time, trying to replicate the feeling of your tongue on her again.

She almost cried when the sensation wasn’t the same. Nothing felt like your mouth, your tongue, and it sent a painful jolt in her heart. 

She came down and finally allowed her tears to fall, barely having the strength to ride out the last bits of her pleasure before she slumped onto the floor. Sobs escaped her in choked gasps. She’s a fucking idiot to be crying over you. Over the little twinkles in your eyes whenever you’re excited. 

Ellie’s a heartless, ungrateful hypocrite, and she ruined her billionth chance at redemption. 

ellie got bitched LMMMFAOOOOO

this is not a love triangle!!! or is it

jk its not lol

taggie waggies love yall down :3 @dyk3ang3l @iced-metal @sawaagyapong @kittnii @mariefilms @villainousbear @pick-me-up-im-scared @dragonasflowercrown @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @freakumfilm @robinismywifee @ohitsjordynn @womenofarcane @inf3ct3dd @nil-eena @kaispaws @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @yuckyfucky @machetegirl109 @ximtiredx @mattm1964 @liabadoobee @tfuuka @aouiaa @lastofvenus

teaser, one, two, three, five

#fratadjacent!ellie #works 𖧧࣪ #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie williams au #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x black!oc #black!oc #black!reader #the last of us #lesbian #abby anderson smut #Spotify

[buckets-and-trees]

Warm Shadows - Carving Through the Dark (3/4)

Fandom: MCU Collection: Warm Shadows [ part one | part two ] Title: Carving Through the Dark Characters/Pairings: established Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader, Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 14.4k

Summary: Worse than a nightmare because it's real, Bucky has to track down his kidnapped omega and the man - the super soldier - who had been his closest friend turned into the dark, rival alpha, Captain Hydra.

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, angst, explicit smut, vaginal intercourse, consensual forced orgasm

Logistical Notes: Shhh - yes this was the final story update I had planned for the Dark Forest Fest and it's the first week of January! But. Well. The word count. But we're here now, okay? Title taken from Hozier's Who We Are.

Additional Notes: Okay, I know that I did a poll asking last month if folks wanted the final chapter split into two parts or just one long chapter and - er - I kind of did both. I did not split this chapter, but a couple of days ago I realized we needed a fourth and final part. Lastly, @biteofcherry has been an absolute lifeline during the composition of this chapter - thank you for putting up with my conjectures and letting me piece together some of the elements. And even a little thank you to @rookthorne for cheering and bullying me over how long this got.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“I can’t help you,” Shuri states, though there’s the flicker of it almost being one final question of it in her eyes.

“No,” Bucky confirms. “No more than you already have.”

He knows she says it as one last opportunity for him to change his mind, but also in acknowledgment that he must do this on his own. They clasp hands and then he turns to walk up the ramp of the aircraft.

“James,” she says when he’s nearly gone. He turns back to look at his friend, one who has seen him at the best and worst of times. “Whoever he is now, he knows Bucky, he knows the Winter Soldier, he will have learned everything about the Soldat from their archives, so you must truly be the White Wolf. She knows the wolf, but he does not.”

He nods and then walks further into the aircraft, leaving Shuri behind.

After you’d been violated and taken from him, Bucky had lain in anguish until just before dawn, raging over the loss of his world and everything he’d worked for, built, found, cherished. He would find you again – when he’d sworn, “There’s no corner of this earth you can go where I won’t find you,” it had been a promise to you as much as a warning to the monster – but none of you three were the same after that night.

To be the White Wolf…

It will take all the tactics he learned in the army, that he was forced to acquire as Hydra’s finest assassin, and since he escaped and then truly reclaimed his freedom. As angry as he is, as desolate as he feels, he holds the emotions at arms’ length, he needs to be at the eye of the hurricane so he can maneuver the way he needs to.

Bucky hasn’t been able to feel you. His desperate hope is that it’s because you’re sedated and unconscious and not … not anything else.

In Wakanda he and Shuri hadn’t been able to find even a sliver of a trace of the jet that had come and gone for Steve to enact his plan. It was a statement that whoever he was now, Captain Hydra was utilizing every ounce of knowledge Steve had and blending it with whatever Hydra hat put in him.

Bucky won’t leave a trail either.

It will take Steve time to figure out how Bucky left Wakanda – on foot, ground transport, or air transport – if he can figure it out. But Bucky was the untraceable ghost over fifty years of missions for Hydra, and he didn’t have the motivation he does now.

Bucky devised that going on the already-scheduled aircraft to the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland gave him the best options. He assumes Steve would have managed to get into the networks used by the Avengers and SWORD, and since he flew an aircraft in and out of Wakanda undetected and Bucky won’t be able to use Wakandan technology to best him either, so landing in Oakland also puts him in proximity to the hardware, software, and network resources he would need to build his own tech. During his convalescence in Wakanda before the Infinity War, it had been days of goats and technology research and development in the most advanced science facility in the world. He is not the expert that Shuri is, but he knows enough. His aversion to much of “modern” technology has always been due to how primitive it was compared to anything from Wakanda.

It takes weeks, but Bucky acquires the hardware he needs, modifies software, creates the network and protocols he needs to start Hydra hunting, and puts it all to work. He knows what to look for – the patterns, the seemingly innocuous inconsistencies – and he knows it because he was running data point for the team of analysts dedicated to Hydra hunting before this. He had taken more responsibility at the base of operations and fewer and fewer field assignments to be home and build his life with you.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate in ignoring any ethical limits whatsoever for his surveillance protocols. When he was working within the system, they had established some lines they weren’t willing to cross.

With seven billion humans in existence and him alone looking for two, lines to cross no longer exist.

He knows he will never get his life back, but he will not let anything prevent him from getting you back.

He puts every piece into play immediately as he builds, sleeps only the bare minimum. Truthfully he had only indulged in more than the minimal sleep a super soldier needed these past years because it was time spent blissfully with you.  Without a reason to rest, he didn’t have any problem cutting back to short sleep allotments to keep him operating at peak condition.

In putting his own tap into the Avengers’ database, he studies the work that had gone on while he was gone for his annual retreat away with you. He discovers that Steve and Sam followed leads in Europe.

“Damn you idiots,” he murmurs.

The reports show his two friends go dark after losing comms nearly a month ago. A team went in after them and their debrief says they found only their communication devices. ‘Search ongoing…’

That was a month ago.

He knows the status of Steve.

Sam could be a live asset in play, an asset still being trained and molded by Hydra, their prisoner for torture, or he could have been eliminated already.

It takes him sixteen days from the beginning of his build to finish – he’d been collecting intelligence, but once everything is in play and he continues to hone in on incoming results, things progress systematically, satisfyingly, in a foreign familiarity that evokes memories of this time hunting as the Winter Soldier.

Two more days and he’s got enough evidence in the intelligence to confirm you’re somewhere in Europe. Within two hours Bucky recalibrates calculations based the new findings, conducts new searches, gets confirmation of a face on a traffic camera in Gdańsk that looks like Steve, and when he’s able to piece a clear trail that follows him through the city and then to an aircraft that he’s further able to track until it disappears over northern Italy. He knows this for what it is – a trail tempting him closer to the trap. A challenge, an invitation, but only if he can put together more pieces to find you. How many times did he set beautifully complex traps for some of his prize targets when he was the Winter Soldier? Breadcrumbs to entice, to drive his opponent to work harder, to put their prowess to work, to make them feel confident so he could trick, trap, and kill them in the end.

This monster of a man tricked him in Wakanda. It will be the only time. Expert and intricate traps of this sort are something his opponent has been playing with for a few weeks. Bucky has more practice and expertise, infinitely more motivation, and no distractions.

He travels under cover of transports between Wakandan outreach centers from Oakland to Washington DC, and then from Washington to Bilbao. When he touches down in Bilbao, his information relay device has a new lead based off a visual of Steve in a bookshop in Turin twice in the previous week.

He takes the train to Turin. Within twelve hours he finds the location of the Hydra facility, and Bucky makes enough noise to reveal to Hydra that he’s in the city and trigger the personnel to raise the facility to its red alert security status. He plants a false trail indicating that he’s given up and gone further north, all the while watching every aspect of the base, making plans to infiltrate, and ensuring sure none of the vehicles or teams moving in and out look like they’re transporting you somewhere else. They drop to an orange threat level, and then yellow – standard caution and operating procedures.

Bucky would have been floored that they believed he’d missed them in Turin and moved on to search somewhere else, but it spoke to one of the weaknesses of Hydra’s organization: the arrogance. Instead, Bucky hacks into their base network as well as their external communications channels.

This observation, research, recon, and analysis Bucky does not rush. Everything he cares about is at stake. If he’s going to be successful in getting you back there can be no room for error as he’ll be up against Hydra and the only other super soldier on the planet who could potentially match or outmatch him.

And as the weeks wear on, the other thing he cannot deny, that he’d known from the beginning of this nightmare even if he’d wanted to try to ignore it, it that he isn't in this to rescue only you.

When all is said and done, the reality is he has to get Steve back, too.

Bucky knows the longer it takes, the more dangerously close he gets to your next heat. He knows an omega being in a distressed environment will affect the heat cycle. It could bring it on early, or potentially also push you to the extremes of a dry heat depending on the conditions they are keeping you in, and how you’re feeling. Once he determines he knows enough to start putting together a plan of extraction, he also determines it’s too close to when your heat might hit, and he can’t risk trying to extract you if you’re in heat – it becomes an element he can’t predict and ensure that his plan will still be successful.

His own senses are strained with the tenor of your unease in a way that’s different from before. It’s driving his alpha side mad, and he wants to storm the facility and reclaim you, and that’s one more element contributing to the volatility of the situation. He knows he can’t gamble on so many unpredictable elements.

He must wait.

But when he sees Captain Hydra leave in his jet right when Bucky is certain you are close to your heat, Bucky is stunned.

It might be too damn close to your heat, but clearly you’re not in heat yet or the other alpha would not leave you. This was not his plan, but it is a prime opportunity he can’t ignore – not if he can get to you alone and save you from a heat away from him. His heart can’t deny this unexpected opportunity.

After Bucky had hacked into the Hydra base’s network, he’d discovered that the small jet Captain Hydra had exclusive use of had been excluded from all navigational tracking and that the man only communicated by radio with one individual whenever he left. He’d further discovered that Captain Hydra was a weapon still cloaked from most of Hydra, with nothing about him other than his existence as a new asset available on the network. Even his former identity was not yet disclosed or recorded anywhere digitally.

This means Bucky has no idea where the man is going or when he will be back, but he hears Captain Hydra and his liaison discuss and confirm his time of arrival and his estimated time of return. Bucky must work quickly, but there is a window.

As he had not anticipated infiltrating so soon, he still has to finish putting things together for the actual extraction – like transportation, supplies, and thoroughly planning out three escape routes and destinations – and while he works quickly, he does not rush those final preparations, and so that takes him a significant amount of the window of time he knows he has.

But he only needs long enough to get you out.

He will have that.

He ambushes the delivery truck bringing in the week’s food shipment with no trouble and drives it right into the base as he has all the proper credentials on his person and its still pre-dawn hours, so lack of light works in his favor to get through the first gate.

But of course when he doesn’t follow delivery procedures once he rolls up to the shipping and receiving dock, that’s when his limited time really begins. The first decision he must make is whether or not to take out a man of average height but portly build that approaches the truck – one of the cooks, Bucky has studied the personnel files for everyone registered on this base – and Bucky evaluates as he steps out of the truck. He could kill him, but this man should probably be spared. Bucky doesn’t want unnecessary blood on his hands. So with lightning fast moves and a choke hold, the man goes down. But next are two security personnel, and them Bucky shoots point blank, taking each of them out with single shots. He leans down to lift the comms off one of them, putting the piece in his ear so he can hear everything as it unfolds across the base.

He yanks open the first door and moves down the hallway. And then there’s a frantic message over the comms, “Code Red! Winter Soldier, loading docks, two personnel down, in pursuit!”

Bucky growls and turns back down the hallway and swears when he sees the man putting comms in his ear and squaring up a gun he’d clearly lifted off one of the security guards was the cook he thought he’d put out cold. Apparently the man had more in him than Bucky had accounted for, and so now Bucky takes aim and shoots him once he’s close enough to secure the kill shot, only having to dodge two close but errant bullets himself as the cook had tried to run him down.

Lethal force for everyone it is, he thinks.

He’s irritated he wasted extra time on this man trying to keep down the body count.

He does not make that mistake again, killing everyone who comes across his path. The silver lining working in his favor is that this base in Turin is a science facility, not a military facility, so he has fewer muscle personnel to deal with than other places you could have been kept, and he can hear over the main comms that scientists and researchers are being given orders to shelter in place while there are instructions given over the security comms in Bucky’s ear that prime-level scientists are to be evacuated. It’s the directive he expected, which benefits him as the security personnel are split between pursuing him and evacuating those individuals deemed indispensable.

But dealing with those who are in pursuit of him is simple. When he’s out of ammunition, he makes quick work dealing what should be lethal wounds with his knives. Every man or woman down is one less he will need to contend with while trying to safely get you out, and while he’s reasonably sure he’s dealing death to everyone, there are a few he thinks may survive.

He has studied every aspect of this facility while making his preparations, and he sends a message to Captain Hydra that he was prepared by shooting glances cleanly into every camera he knows he passes.

There’s a flash of fear that ripples through him – it comes from the bond he’s tried to keep dormant between you since you were taken, but this is too powerful, and it’s a barb he can’t ignore. It flares and then dies out, which could be either a good thing or a bad thing. He squares his shoulders and moves more quickly.

As Bucky reaches the quadrant they’ve been keeping you a few moments later, the words, “The Omega is secured, sedated, and ascending to the roof with team Foxtrot, thirty seconds until air evac.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He knows he can’t make it in time, but Bucky still races down the hall to the stairwell, launching through the door and then hurtling up the stairs, taking them three and four at a time. His super speed isn’t enough to scale four flights of industrial facility stairs, and he bursts out on the roof to see the coaxial helicopter already twenty meters up in the air and navigating away to the north.

He wants to shout until his lungs bleed because he was so close, but he knows he can’t afford to indulge in emotions that strong in this moment. Instead, he takes huge gulps of the fresh air, pulls the door from its hinges, and hurls it across the roof before going back down the stairs.

He does not engage with anyone but comes across few through his retreat. Instead, his focus now is decimating what he can of the facility without wasting time or going out of his way as he escapes the base, rigging explosives quickly in key areas on his way out.

While he left destruction in his wake, and he leaves alone, he was precise in how much damage he dealt. He left the area of main logistical operations intact because he didn’t want to destroy their network and communications, eliminating his ties to tracking their next moves.

Bucky immerses himself in tracking and monitoring everything the second he’s back in his hideout with his tech. He sees the Captain return. He watches the final evacuations. They send him to Geneva, and Bucky is ready to follow, knowing exactly where the Swiss facility is located since he’s fully infiltrated the Hydra network of information. He can’t travel as quickly since he doesn’t have access to any Hydra aviation, but he makes it there by sundown.

He wouldn’t risk trying to disrupt your heat now, not with everyone moved and on high alert, it would be dangerous for you. Instead, he works on setting up his new undercover observation point in Switzerland. He fine tunes his information tap into the Hydra system. As he works, he notices the rise of an anxious feeling pulling at his hind brain. He’s felt the press of you trying to reach across the bond while you’ve been apart, but this is different – there’s a frantic, wild tug, and while it’s insistent, it’s more erratic, like the flickering of a flame, as if you aren’t even concentrating on the connection to him.

He knows so much of you that he knows you have to be on the brink of your heat but that you must desperately be trying to fight it. The discomfort he can sense continues to ebb and flow. It morphs. It becomes tinged with more discomfort. Then there’s a lick of desire that is almost imperceptible. That’s followed rather quickly be a flare of adrenaline – or is it fear? Another shift a few minutes later, and tone of this is pure arousal, the feeling he’s shared so much of with you, and the thought that you…

He grits his teeth, shuts his eyes, and abruptly stills every muscle in his body. You are his omega. Another alpha bonded you. Your heat is undeniable. His brain knows that – it’s one of the things he’s been focusing on, acknowledging the various scenarios that could play out for this heat, he just did not want this, nor was he prepared for what it might feel like. And so, with forced, measured breaths, he does everything he can to concentrate on shutting down the connection, to put his alpha side to sleep, because he can not bear this. He has suppressed so much of everything since losing you, only holding onto the faintest tether, but he cannot endure this – not and keep his rationality and do what he needs to do now, which is to formulate the next steps, the things he needs to figure out and watch for now that this cruel game has changed. Emotion will distract him, but there’s also the flow that could go the other way and throw you off, and he swore to keep you safe.

Diving into the network databases of this new Hydra facility, Bucky notices something he noticed in Turin: there are no records that contain any of your names on file – not you, not Steve, not Sam. He thought it was strange before, but he had a theory it could have been the nature of secrecy around all the projects at the research facility in Turin – there were very few data files on the science being explored on that base. But in transferring the Turin personnel out, with a contingent of them going to Geneva, he pours over all the documentation and the only he finds is the transfer of a high-level asset referred to only as Waffe SR4718. He easily knows the German word for weapon, and without missing a beat Bucky knows the letters and numbers are supposed to seem random but clearly refer to Steve Rogers whose birthdate is the fourth day of the seventh month in the eighteenth year of the previous century. It’s innocuous to anyone coming across it, but abundantly clear that it’s specific for those who were supposed to know.

With all Bucky knows of his own time with Hydra, how there were always layers within layers, secrets buried, hidden, withheld, he’s certain the acquisition of Steve and metamorphosis into Captain Hydra is as dark and as quiet as his own existence as the Winter Soldier.

There are quarters assigned to Waffe SR4718, and Bucky tags it track all status alerts – comings and goings, services, requests. He also puts the cameras for that hallway up on a constant feed monitoring protocol with the AI he’s adapted to bring up the imagery if there’s any movement in or out of the door.

Knowing you’re in heat, Bucky concentrates on new extraction tactics and mapping out escape options from this new facility.

But at three in the morning during the second night in Geneva – the second night of your heat – the door movement alert goes off, and Bucky immediately turns his attention to watch as Steve slowly emerges.

Why would he have any reason to leave you during your heat? He knows he could order food, clothing, bedding, medical personnel if absolutely necessary…

A quick check of the log shows that there have been no such requests.

And then he sees the unthinkable.

You’re right there behind him, following as he starts to make his way down the hall, dressed in darker clothing as he is. He has a small tactical pack slung across his back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The question is only uttered out of frustration and disbelief because he could immediately decipher what is happening.

As precarious as it is to interfere with your heat, the two of you are clearly on the move.

The other alpha has no intention of staying at this base.

But why?

His mind begins deciphering even as he’s pulling up security cameras as the pair of you move through the facility, tracking your movements and actions.

The calculated risk is to get out when you’re supposed to be in heat. Bucky did see that status reported on the log – omega in heat. The protocols were to leave alpha and omega Hydra personnel undisturbed unless a priority one situation developed – typically reserved for life or death and rarely anything less urgent or pressing. It meant no one would think to check after the asset immediately. Even if an alpha skipped regular ordering for a meal or two to the living quarters, that wouldn’t be taken as out of the ordinary, merely unnecessary or forgotten due to being otherwise occupied, or deciding to make do with the food already with them.

The movement logically progresses toward the transportation hangar under the building – intending to employ ground transport.

On the way, the two of you duck into a room and close the door. Bucky accesses the schematics to discover it’s a data analytics workspace – cooperative computer sharing area. There weren’t any goons to hide from, so Bucky works quickly, trying to pull up the specific workstations in there. He sees the log in for a science officer. The user accesses the personnel transfer files for everyone from the Turin base submitted due to the evacuation. Four names are brought up on the roster and their locations are changed from Turin to the other the other bases anyone from Turin was reassigned to – a pair of them to Odessa, the other pair to Trondheim.

Subterfuge. He’s displacing security agents – or at least their location statuses.

Bucky frowns.

The rest of your course takes you directly to the vehicle hangar. Moving in the dead of night has capitalized on as few people as possible moving around the base for you to encounter, and it paid off. The other alpha selects a smaller SUV, loads some readily available weapons and supplies from the nearby vicinity into the back and then – faster than lightning – he withdraws something from a pocket near his chest, presses it over your mouth, and Bucky can see you seize up and then slump into his arms. He tucks you in amongst the supplies before throwing a canvas over everything and closing the hatchback.

Clearly you had been cooperating with this escape, so why was it necessary to knock you out?

Then he leaves the vehicle, leaves the hangar, goes back up two floors to the security personnel floor, and knocks on one of the doors.

Bucky accesses the database to see who’s assigned to that room as he watches this man converse briefly with whoever answers the door.

The two names assigned to the room match the two names reassigned to the Trondheim base on the evacuation transfer records.

“What larger game are you playing, Captain Hydra?” Bucky murmurs.

Because it’s back down to the hangar and the SUV with you stashed in the back, but then he waits.

And within five minutes, two men in full tactical gear get in the vehicle as well, and only then does he start up the car and leave. There’s a tracking device on this vehicle, so Bucky starts to pack up his tech, and pulls up the tracking on his smartphone.

He’s about to shut and pack away his laptop when he thinks of doing one more thing. It will take time, and this is why he knows Captain Hydra didn’t do it, but it will be worth it. But after his time in Wakandan labs and building up his own robust systems, within twenty-five minutes, Bucky has gone through the security camera system and successfully removed all footage of you and the captain moving throughout the base, rewriting it with the empty hallways from just before and after, effectively erasing the evidence of your escape. This will buy more time. No one may have thought to look for any movement in and out of Waffe SR4718’s quarters, but now they won’t find it when they ultimately go back and try, extending Bucky’s time to tail you without Hydra in the mix. They will assume the alpha and omega are still in heat seclusion now without any reason to doubt it.

Bucky leaves his temporary Geneva hideout with the essentials he arrived with. He chose this location because it was two streets down from one of the larger private car services in Switzerland. Bucky knows he can pass as a mechanic with his clothing, and the service staff works overnight to keep up maintenance for the large fleet of vehicles that provide VIP transportation, airport pick up and drop off, limousine transfers, corporate chauffeur services, ski transfers, and event chauffeuring. Acquiring a non-descript vehicle is as easy as he hoped, and it’s more than simple to de-activate this car’s GPS tracking system.

Within half an hour, he’s comfortably in pursuit. The vehicle he’s tracking has maintained its course and is an hour out of the city now, but an hour ahead is reasonable.

When the Hydra vehicle is three hours outside of Geneva, it makes its first stop. Bucky presses a button on his phone to pin the location. The stop is for less than five minutes, and then it continues, but Bucky will stop there as well to assess the purpose and glean any information he can.

Bucky is an assertive driver, making up speed, but not at a point to draw attention. When he reaches the pin he’d set on the route for the stop your vehicle had made, it’s on a bridge.

There’s only one reason Bucky can think of to stop on a bridge.

A reason that could make Bucky’s heart stop with devastation, but he must continue to operate under the assumption it wasn’t your body dumped into the river. Anything else wouldn’t make sense.

Unless the other alpha has become completely unhinged and all of this is an elaborate game to drive Bucky beyond all limitations of his own reason.

Within the next two hours, he sees you pass the border into Germany, and then another stop is registered on the GPS tracking near the city of Albstadt. Bucky has made up a significant amount of the head start the other alpha had had. When he arrives in Albstadt, he finds the SUV. It is most likely that this vehicle had been abandoned for another, but Bucky has to stop at this point and tap into security feeds for the city to see whether you’re here or not. He picks a spot that advertises wifi with their sandwiches, refueling his body while setting up his tech in a spot most won’t question him to hunker down for some serious work on a laptop. He gets into the city’s street cameras, sees Steve steal another vehicle, pulls the license plate, and then he programs his algorithm to watch for the number to track the route now. He won’t be able to smoothly follow the route of a GPS-tracked vehicle anymore, but Bucky knew this would grow more difficult. As long as his goal was to draw out the Soldat, Captain Hydra will still leave a trail of breadcrumbs, but it will be scant if he’s trying to evade Hydra.

While Bucky has questions of intent, he has no question that it’s what the Captain is doing now.

Bucky is able to pick up the trail with license plate tracking and route mapping into Stuttgart. All the way to the train station. But this is where the other alpha shows incredible skills for blending in. It’s a busy station. Bucky will have to run thorough security camera assessments of the Stuttgart station, figure out when – or if – they got on a train, and then continue tracking from there. If the alpha and omega got on a train, Bucky can at least narrow his search to that route and its stops for that schedule, but Bucky used train stations to cover his tracks as well, and sometimes that involved never boarding the train but leading anyone tracking him to believe that he had.

With that much information, he writes new coding into his overall system, sends it back to the larger machine he left in Oakland to do the heavy computing so it can start the work he’ll need to fine tune once he can settle in a more permanent stopover, pays for his meal, and then drives to Stuttgart. The hacking into facial recognition has been so enhanced beyond boundaries though – especially because he can tailor it to look for only two faces he knows as well as his own – that he sees the two of your board a train headed west, targets the route, sets up the watch parameters for the schedule, and catches you getting off in Paris.

Another smart move blending into the vibrancy of a large city, but Bucky is sure it’s not the final destination either. But Steve knew enough French to blend into the country, as well.

It takes Bucky and his systems six more days, but he confirms three separate facial recognitions for the other alpha in a town outside of Bordeaux small enough to be off the beaten path but big enough to blend in and go unnoticed by its people.

Bucky travels there as quietly as possible. He does not want to tip his hand. He’s too close now to have you slip through his hands again.

After two more days and with the assistance of satellite imaging, he has found the small house in a forested area outside of the town.

Bucky grips the edge of the small desk he’s been working at, grounding himself. Adrenaline had immediately surged through his veins, but he must keep everything contained. He has practiced so much control and restraint that if his heart betrays him now, he’ll carve it out himself and leave it behind. He cannot compromise this delicate situation.

He drives out to the area and leaves his vehicle well-hidden a kilometer out from the house and approaches on foot, circling at a large perimeter and slowly moving further in, cautiously, taking in everything. He doesn’t want to trip anything the other alpha may have set up to alert him to intruders.

What he discovers is minimal, and all old tactical elements – things they’d done as

Cap and the Howling Commandos back in the old war.

Effectively things that would have worked on anyone from this day and age but that only Bucky would know to look for.

He doesn’t trust it.

This is another trap.

But he has to walk into it and fare as best he can.

That’s what Captain Hydra had said was his plan from the beginning – draw out the Soldat.

The White Wolf would enter the trap but would need to control it and come out on the other side with his omega. 

He can’t even think those words without his pulse racing now, and he digs his vibranium fingers into the trunk of the tree under his hand, splintering the wood while he closes his eyes and stamps down everything that wants him to sprint to the house he can see, break down the door, and launch himself into your arms.

He timed his approach when he’d seen the other alpha leave – likely for more food and supplies – but he knew the time alone would be limited.

Bucky takes measured but determined steps to the green wooden front door of what’s essentially a little cottage.

Straining his ears and focusing on his enhanced hearing, he doesn’t pick up anything beyond ambient noises – and your soft, slow breathing.

He takes a deep breath, slowly twists the doorknob, and opens the door.

There you are, curled up in a cozy armchair, dozing, hand pressed up against the spine of a book that has fallen to your chest after you clearly fell asleep reading, and this.

This simple scene nearly knocks him to his knees.

The way you’re there, feet away from him, it’s the most beautiful sight of his entire life.

But still, he is quiet, cautious.

His entire chest aches for you.

He shuts the door softly behind him, then crosses the small living room and kneels next to you. He eases the book out of your hands and puts it on the small side table. He’s done this before so many times. You make a slight hum through your sleep.

Brushing his fingers over your cheek is almost enough to make the nightmare of the last six weeks vanish as if it really had only been a nightmare.

He almost doesn’t dare to breathe.

But the warmth of his hand against your skin evidently reaches in to stir something in your subconscious, because you shift slightly, sigh, and tilt your head into his touch and murmur, “Bucky…”

The stutter of his chest is both painful and euphoric at once, and everything wells up in his chest, everything he’s been holding back.

He drops his hand from your cheek to your shoulder, gently trying to nudge you awake.

Coming back into consciousness, you take in a deep breath before blinking your eyes open. Your gaze drifts to him, and then your body seizes up one moment, and the next you’re scrambling up and away from him, whipping over the back of the armchair you’d been curled up in.

“Bucky?” your voice comes out in a wounded whimper of a tone that pierces him, confounds him.

“Yes, it’s me,” he answers, brow furrowing. He hadn’t allowed himself to think over what this moment was going to be like – he knew the fixation would have been too painful to hope over – but it was not supposed to be this, with you looking at him with caution, with hesitancy, with your guard up.

“Omega?” he questions tentatively, rising from where he’d been crouched on the floor.

You don’t move your position, but you draw yourself up to your full height as well.

Bucky maneuvers around the furniture, wanting to remove the barrier between you, but he changes his position slowly, allowing you time to retreat if you feel compelled to. You hold your ground but do keep yourself squared off facing him as he moves. He does what he hasn’t done since this ordeal began and definitively opens up the gateway of the bond between you, tentatively reaching out, trying to read you.

Your mood is hard, and it doesn’t fluctuate. There’s a steady mix of fear, doubt, and what he thinks is exasperation there.

No, it’s more than that.

“You’re angry with me?”

“I’m more than angry with you!” you hurl the words at him and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m livid.”

“I came to you as fast as I could!” He steps closer, and now you step back. He moves closer again, but with a smaller step.

“It’s not that, I know you worked as hard as you could–“

“Then what else could you possibly be upset about, Omega?” His tone is desperate, earnestly seeking the answer, but also tinged with a warning he can’t help from bleeding into the question.

“I couldn’t feel you.” The anger gives way to let the anguish of your words bleed through, and they sweep over both of you. “You cut yourself off from me. I was desolate and scared and alone, and you withdrew any hint of our connection.”

He steps forward once more, finally close enough to reach for you, and as he continues to close the distance, you unfold one of your arms and backhand slap him. “I needed you!”

Bucky staggers a step back from the raw force you hurled at him, but it only takes him the space of a breath for him to recover enough, and he surges forward and pulls you into his arms, uttering your name the way one pleads in a fraught prayer. You try and push against his chest and squirm out of his arms, but he only secures you more firmly, holding you dearly and desperately to him.

“I needed you,” you sob out. Instead of continuing to try to struggle away from him, to hold your hurt at bay, he feels you stop fighting and the turn as you let everything out. He holds you, soothing you, but not trying to quell any of this yet. He knows everything you’re feeling is warranted, can feel now that you held back as much as he did while you were apart. Endured as much hurt as he did – more in many ways. He won’t tell you to settle down, because the hurt needs to be acknowledged and not minimized.

Once your chest is no longer wracked with sobs, when your crying has abated from steady streams of tears to the small sniffling, he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. Then Bucky decisively nuzzles his face down into the crook of your neck. Slowly, tentatively, he presses his lips to the place he claimed and bonded you as his omega, his mate. You whimper, but your hands clutch at his shirt, and the immediate flood of relief, of love, of devotion, washes over you both. He can feel it, he knows you feel it.

His large hands are planted firmly on your back, one at the curve of your spine, and one between your shoulder blades, pressing you as close together as he possibly can. He plants a longer, more concentrated kiss to the mark, and your right hand slides up to thread your fingers into his hair and press him closer.

The more he kisses into your neck, the more whole he feels. He had ignored the hollow, empty feeling in his chest, had truly rejected all feeling, as cold and empty as he’d operated while being the Winter Soldier. He’s feeling human again. Himself again – or at least it’s all coming back to him now.

He doesn’t even realize when your body has fully melted into him, too caught up in the mending of the connection, but then you’re urging his face up away from your neck, but only so you can press your forehead to his, and you say, “I need you, Bucky.”

He nods, and then you kiss him. In a movement familiar to you both, his hand moves down, curving over your ass and to the back of your thigh, and he picks you up. Your legs wrap around him as you deepen the kiss, nipping at his lips. He carries you across the big open space to where there’s a bed in the far corner.

He sets you down gently on your feet, and his hands are already reaching for the hem of your shirt, and you readily lift your arms so he can pull it cleanly off your body. You’re reaching for his belt, and he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. Your lips eagerly seek each other as much as they can. You push his dark jeans down, and he huffs and sits down at the foot of the bed so he can hastily unlace and yank his boots off, so he can shuck his pants off all the way. When he raises his head, you stand before him in nothing but your simple underwear, one hand pressed against your torso, biting your lip.

You’re so damn beautiful to him, his heart aches again at the sight of you nearly naked before him again after so long torn apart.

He reaches for you, and though you don’t hesitate to take his hand, as he tugs you into his lap, your thighs straddling either side of his hips, he doesn’t miss the slight tremble of your body, and it kills him but there’s a deep part of him that resonates, recognizes the feeling. The separation had been hell on an alpha and omega level, and this is still too much, overwhelming, and altogether not nearly enough to soothe the deep loneliness he had pushed beneath the surface. His arms wrap around you again. While your left arm wraps around his neck, your right hand roams over his bare skin – shoulder, arms, chest, neck, face – questing to rememorize him.

He wants to be inside you, but having your chest pressed into to his chest, it’s like your heartbeats are syncing back together, and he almost needs this more. The side of your face rests against his, and the way he can hear you breathe in and out right next to his ear, can feel the warmth of every exhale, it’s yet another inimitable balm he didn’t know he longed for.

He murmurs your name softly against your shoulder.

“Mmm?”

He knows you can tell he’s working out something to say. Every season you two had been together had been time you had worked to only continually knit your souls more tightly to each other, not only to love each other more, but to understand each other, to work together, to support and lean into each other as true partners.

It had made the separation all the more painful.

He squeezes you more tightly for a moment, then inhales to speak. “I need to tell you why I put up the walls I did.”

He feels you tense slightly in his arms – of course he does, there’s no way for him to miss it any more than there was any chance for you to try and hide it when this intimately entwined. He bestows a soft, light kiss to your bonding mark, and you whimper, but turn your head to brush your lips over his cheek, and then both of you draw back just enough to look at each other.

“I’ll never know if it was the right or wrong thing to do to you, but it felt like the only way I could hope to survive navigating back to you. Immediately I knew I couldn’t allow the anguish of pain and anger I was feeling to flood to you when I knew you were living your own nightmare. When I held that back, the way Hydra had conditioned me to repress all feelings when I was their fist resurfaced, and I knew shelving the emotions would leave me to focus and be more effective in everything I was doing to track you and find you.”

“Bucky,” you start, but he shakes his head slightly, his eyes pleading for you to let him continue. You give a little huff. “Okay.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and he pecks your lips before going on. “When I was closing in on where they were keeping you, I didn’t want to alert you and have you have to worry about how to hide that.”

“That’s a fair strategic tactic,” you grudgingly admit.

He grins at your tone, but it abates quickly. “I also…”

He pauses for half a beat and takes a breath to steel his resolve because you deserve his raw honesty as it’s still a concern in play.

“Also what?”

“I didn’t know how much of our bond he would feel. I didn’t want to tip him off, but I – I didn’t want to feel what might go the other way and bleed from him through you either.”

“Oh, Buck,” you bury your head into the crook of his neck now, nuzzling against the bonding mark you’d given him. “Our bond is ours, not his.”

“It’s not?”

“No, no,” you press quick successive kisses against your bonding mark on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “You might feel the wake of what I feel from his bond to me, but the ties to each of you are very distinct within me. I’m especially sure of it now that ours isn’t dormant anymore.”

He holds you close while he sorts through this revelation from you. “I didn’t know – and I was worried if I felt him it would either devastate or enrage me and either way make me overrule logic and slip up, do something rash.”

“Now I understand,” you speak right into his ear. “Concentrate though, what do you feel right now?”

He breathes in. Breathes out. Another breath in. Out.

“Only you,” he says, no question.

Your lips drift back down his neck, and you press an insistent kiss to your claim on him this time, then you open your lips and suck over the spot.

Bucky shivers and groans, and you wince and laugh when his arms flex around you so tightly it actually hurts. Because he reacts so strongly, it doesn’t shock him in the slightest that you’re spurred on to seek more, but now he’s ready, so when you’ve satisfied with your initial torment and he feels you slot your teeth over the mark, he bares his neck, ready when you bite down to renew your claim on him, and he shouts – euphoric, flooded and overwhelmed with the way everything opens in such a raw way when a bonding mark is refreshed.

It drives you to rock your hips against him. You’re both still in those last pieces of underwear, but the friction of your cunt against his cock is glorious, and he can’t help the satisfied rumble in his chest in answer to the simple action.

His hand clamps on your plump, round ass, and he pushes you hard against him and holds you there – he doesn’t want the rocking, for a moment he just wants the intense pressure, the reality that you’re here with him.

You crash your lips to his desperately. He slants his head and works his tongue along the seam of your mouth, which willingly parts for him, an open moan passing between you both, your tongue inviting him into your mouth, stroking against his. Both of you fiercely hold onto each other, keeping that close chest to chest contact while you kiss more than you breathe. When you ultimately have to break off from each other to get air back in your lungs, the heaving expansion of your ribcages against each other is such a simple but intense intimacy, breaths mingling – another moment that adds to the replenishment for how much his soul had been depleted without you.

“Need you inside me,” you plead.

He nods while turning and tossing you onto the bed.

As he climbs up to join you, you quip, “No more clothes, Alpha.”

“Bossy Omega,” he chuckles, but complies in pushing his boxer briefs down and tossing them away.

You quirk your lips. “Give me what I need, and I won’t need to be so demanding.”

He growls, but it’s teasing, the feeling in his heart is a light one, a feeling he feels echoed in you, lines of it running through the overwhelming need.

Bucky moves up the bed, hooks his fingers beneath the band of your underwear, and you lift your hips so he can remove them immediately. He leans down and presses a broad flat lick of his tongue over your hip bone, causing you to squirm – desire and a sensitive spot of skin he discovered on your years ago. “I know what you need, Omega.”

“Yes, Alpha,” you nod eagerly, and he flips you over onto your stomach

He hears your breath hitch. He knows you love roughness and to be handled as often as you love softness, but the latter isn’t what you need right now. He crawls up over you and plants his left arm up by your shoulder while he slots himself between your legs. Your left hand finds his, twining your fingers together while he lines up his cock with your slick entrance, and the sigh of ecstasy that escapes you as he pushes his length in sings in his ears. The feeling of your warm channel gripping him is better than he remembered – or at least it feels that way – and he tries to push in as slowly as he can to savor coming home to where he belongs inside you, but it’s not nearly as slow as he wants it to be.

Once he’s fully sheathed in you, he kisses your shoulder, then nips along until he’s at the juncture of your neck, and you keen and bare your neck to him. He licks over his bonding mark, then bites down, reclaiming you, and you cry out, body thrumming beneath him. He starts to move behind you, pulling his hips back before thrusting back in. Your right leg hitches back to tangle up and over his, urging him on. He grips your hip, and then he fucks you. It’s the most primal it’s ever felt with you, the force of it rocking the bed to knock against the wall, and he almost worries about whether or not it’s too much, but you rock back against him, meeting his thrusts as much as you can in your prone position, eagerly taking all of him.

“That’s it, darling, take my hard cock inside you,” he urges you both on.

You sob out a breathless, “Yes,” that makes his chest rumble in satisfaction.

He can feel your cunt fluttering around him, can feel you on the edge of ecstasy, but it also feels like you’re refusing to fall over the edge.

“Come on, darling, let go.”

“No.”

That shocks him but doesn’t slow him down.

He maintains his pace and slips his hand down between you and the mattress, cupping your pussy and finding your clit. “Yes.” He starts to rub quick, concentrated circles over your tight bundle of nerves.

You shake your head desperately. “No, I don’t want it to end,” the words tumble out, and he hears the sound of you crying again.

“Omega, I will give you more. I’ll give you as much as you need, but I need you to give in to this, surrender and fall over the edge with me again.”

“Bucky!” you cry out as you’re unreservedly flung over the edge. Your cunt clamping down on him was the last of what he needed to reach his own climax, and so his shout echoes your own, and he exerts those final thrusts to pump his seed deep within you.

He stays sheathed within you but rolls both of you to your sides, brackets his arm around your waist, and keeps you close, nuzzling into your neck. You sink back against him, resting your arm over his and threading your fingers together.

“That was…”

He nudges your chin for you to turn your head back so he can kiss away the tears that escaped during the emotions that came through there at that end.

“Intense?”

“Yes.”

“We both needed it, Omega. I need you as much as you need me. Do not doubt it.” You shiver in his arms, and he swears, “I’ll make sure you never question it again.”

“Never let me go.”

“Never again.”

You shift and turn over to face him. He’s just as content to wrap you in his arms this way. You tangle your legs with his as you have so many times before. This is so familiar.

You brush your fingers over his face, retracing the lines and angles that define him, and he watches your face as your eyes drink in his features.

“I’m yours, Omega,” he says in a quiet, low tone.

A soft smile lifts the curve of your mouth. Your hand cradles his jaw and beckons him in to kiss you, and he is happy to acquiesce. The kisses he shares with you now are slow, solemn promises of lips and tongues, heated but not demanding.

When you eventually come up for air, you tuck yourself more closely into his chest, humming with contentment. He’s half hard again, and the frantic last moments of the sex he shared with you flashes back to the forefront of his mind. “I promised to give you more. What do you need from me? Tell me how I can please you, how I can love you.”

You reach up and press your fingers delicately against his bonding mark. “Just this. Hold me. I only need to be with you.”

He can feel how true it is as your fingers stroke lightly over the place where you claimed him all those years ago, reclaimed him here in this bed, flooding him with more peace. His brushes his lips over your forehead. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

There’s a little chirp that bubbles up out of you when he calls you sweetheart again, and it makes him just as happy as it does you. He slowly caresses your back, hand moving up and down, up and down, in a soothing motion, soothing himself as much as you.

There is still so much ahead for you both, but this – your connection to each other – he can feel that again so strongly. He never doubted it, but after being deprived, the return of how powerful it is engulfs him. This will anchor him through what’s coming.

“Buck?” you murmur against his neck.

“Mmm?”

“I can tell your brain is beginning to work away from here.”

He sighs. “Can you blame me?”

“No, but talk to me, take me with you if you’re going to think.”

“There’s so much to think through.”

“Start with one thing.”

You’ve done this with him before – late nights, afternoons, mornings, on a drive, on a walk, sharing a meal – you could always feel when he started to get tied up in his brain with his thoughts, and you’d listen, ask questions, sift through with him. He was perfectly capable of sorting through things on his own, but sharing with you made it altogether different. It was one of the best parts of having you as his mate.

“Why…?” He frowns and trails off. “No, nevermind.”

“No, Buck. I worked hard to soothe and relax my alpha. I want this gift of respite with you, however brief it is, and whatever string you don’t want to tug on first clearly is one that’s important.”

He nips your shoulder. “My gutsy omega.”

“Alpha,” you press, also literally pressing a finger insistently against his chest.

“Alright…” His tone turns serious. “Why didn’t you try to escape – especially here where he leaves you alone sometimes?” From the way he’d found you, it was clear this wasn’t an anomaly.

You cluck your tongue impatiently and roll your eyes. “First, how was I reasonably supposed to outrun him, hide from him, and try to find you? I don’t have any of the tactical skills or training you two do.”

“Fair enough. And second?” The first point is obvious now that he’s asked it and heard you answer, but he wants to hear the rest of what you have to say.

“Second,” you continue, your tone altering to something more somber, “he took me to lure you to him, so the most logical thing was to stay and wait for you.”

“Ah,” Bucky nods, the smallest of smiles taking over his mouth. “My smart omega.”

“And third,” you continue, though your words tone is cautious now, and you drop your eyes to his chest.

“Yes?” he urges you to finish the thought.

“He’s my alpha, too.”

This isn’t news – he’s known it from the second he witnessed that bite to claim you, he thought of it frequently while he was hunting for you both, he knew it would be the new reality, you’d even discussed the two bonds together in this bed – and yet having to think about it yet again in this light is still straining on him.

Clearly you feel his unrest, because your hands come up to cup his face and basically attempt to soothe him with gentle but insistent strokes along his jaw. “Bucky, I’m always going to be yours.”

He sighs and angles his head down to touch his forehead to yours. “I know.”

And it’s not jealousy that drives his unrest – it’s the not knowing what this means, not right now and not for the future. He’s started thinking about possibilities, but he’s limited until he can confront the other alpha. So, he decides to concentrate on what it has meant so far.

He makes sure his tone is soft but serious when he asks, “Did he hurt you?”

You’re quiet for a beat, then say, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Bucky starts to sit up, but you pull him back down to the mattress, trying earnestly to soothe him. “What he did hurt us both, and it was meant to hurt. It was absolutely calculated. But they broke him, Bucky. They tortured him and tried to make him comply for weeks. They were experimenting on Sam, trying to pull the science they could from old records on you and what they could pull from analyzing Steve’s blood, but they weren’t having success, and so they enacted their last use for Sam – and they killed him in front of Steve. It destroyed him.”

Bucky’s own chest aches as he listens, throbbing painfully at this reveal, and his vibranium hand fists the sheet.

“And when he was at his most devastated and spent emotionally, what I have been able to piece together is that that’s when he couldn’t stand to feel anymore, shut off his emotions – or his humanity more like, and it’s his humanity that made him Steve. That’s when they were able to take over and mold him into the fist they wanted in Captain Hydra.”

Hurt, anger, the horror of his own past life as the Winter Soldier, it’s surging through his veins, but you continue.

“So that night in Wakanda? That was Captain Hydra at his height of cruelty. I haven’t seen that iteration of him since that night. It’s been slow, but he’s different now. He’s not our Steve, but he’s not Captain Hydra.”

It’s a few moments before he registers that you’re done – at least with that piece of sharing.

He cups your jaw and looks into your eyes. “Do you trust him?”

He sees you clearly put thought into your words before answering, worrying your bottom lip. “The heat he and I shared was intense in every way. It changed things fundamentally between us, but since the heat our connection has still been very tenuous. We’ve both been very guarded with each other. I know he’ll keep me safe, but I’m still wary of him.”

He nods.

“Where is he right now?”

A wry laugh tumbles out of your chest. “I don’t even know where we are right now, Bucky. I know we got off a train in Bordeaux, but then he moved us here while I was in one of my heavy end of heat sleeps. From the food, books, and supplies he’s brought for us, I know we’re in France, but that’s it. There’s not a lick of technology kept in here while I’m alone. We don’t even a radio.”

Bucky grunts at this news. He doesn’t like this, but other than being kept here cut off from the rest of the world and having claimed you and separated you in the first place, it seems you’ve been appropriately cared for.

“Wait, no radio?” He growls. Bucky had looked away to consider the new information, but his eyes snap to you again. “Have you had any music?”

“No,” you groan, and he can feel the pained irritation.

“That won’t do.” 

He quickly rolls off the bed to a small whine of protest from you, but it was so rare that he’d ever been in a space with you and there hadn’t been music playing – loud for you to sing, or low in the background keeping you company – and this is something he can fix easily.

He fishes the small communications device he had put together out of the pocket of his discarded pants, then comes back to sit on the foot of the bed and begins typing away. You’re quick to crawl up behind him, and you wrap your arms around his chest and settle your chin on his shoulder while he works. You don’t see the smile that breaks across his face as he feels your excited impatience radiate off you, having figured out what he’s doing. It’s so palpable he wouldn’t have needed your emotional bond as alpha and omega to sense it.

Once he’s modified his device to play music, it doesn’t take him much longer to hack into your music account. He pulls up the list of your most-played songs, picks one that he thinks will be perfect for this moment, and hits play.

You croon with joy and then fall back on the bed, arms spread out in pure rapture. He beams and then crawls up next to you, handing you the device. You hold it close to your chest with one hand and pull him in for a kiss with the other.

You break off the kiss so you can sing along to the chorus, and he laughs. He knows exactly the last time he felt this happy: the last day by the river with you in Wakanda. When the chorus is over, you actually kick your feet in delight, grinning at him. You kiss his nose, scoot your body as close to him as possible, then settle back into the mattress and pull his arm to rest over your stomach.

The two of you talk, sing, and continue to hold each other for a while. A string of two or three softer songs play, and you and up drifting into sleep, late afternoon sun pouring over both of you, its warmth too much for you to ignore after the physically and emotionally exhausting afternoon. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, his hand over your heart, no thought for time. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to take his eyes off you. How did he survive without you for all those weeks?

A flare of light across the room pulls his focus though. It’s a repetitive flashing coming through the window to the wall.

Morse code. His blissful mood evaporates.

C-O-M-E  O-U-T-S-I-D-E

The other alpha is out there, summoning him.

He identifies which window the light is being directed into, then pads over, and releases the drape to cover the window, pulls it back, covers it again, and then secures it back in its open state. The other alpha will know he’s received the message.

Bucky has referred to him as the other alpha for so long now, but he’s ultimately about to discover who this man is. You say he’s no longer The Captain Hydra that he was, but not yet his Steve either.

He doesn’t hurry getting dressed. The other alpha isn’t going anywhere. He’s waited this long. He can continue to wait.

Bucky takes a long look at you from across the room before he leaves.

He’s relatively sure he will come back to you. There’s only one outcome that will keep him away, and now that he knows the potential danger, he won’t let this man ambush him ever again.

Bucky stalks as carefully to the tree line where the signal had come from as he had when he’d first approached the little house. He can smell the other alpha on the breeze that rustles through the trees. He tracks him in a kilometer or so – not in the direction Bucky had left his vehicle, but that works fine for him because if he needs to cut and run, he’ll be able to get to you in the house and then continue on to get to the getaway without having to double back and without the other alpha being able to cut off the route.

Bucky will think through every possible scenario as each moment of this unfolds.

His brain got him here.

His brain can get him out.

He will keep you safe.

The scent he’s known nearly his whole life grows stronger, and when he reaches a small pocket of the forest devoid of trees – not quite large enough to be called a clearing – instead of slipping silently out of the shadows, the other alpha steps out unabashedly to meet him.

“What took you so long, Buck?” he has the gall to ask, his voice barely covering notes of anger.

Bucky roars and hurls himself at the man standing before him, taking him to the ground easily, and they scramble against each other. They’re so closely matched in skill, prowess, and power, and the energy they’re both exuding is raw, primal, and angry. Bucky is incredulous that the other man is angry with him.

His own rage lands him a punch. He takes a blow to the ribs, and the other alpha gets a hand on the collar of his shirt, resulting in a tear, but it allows Bucky to grab his wrist, twist him around harshly, and pin the arm behind his back as he decisively thumps him into the ground, pinning him there.

The man beneath him only makes two attempts to struggle and shift out from under his hold, but then he sighs and sags into the tall grass they’ve been tussling in.

Is he feinting?

Bucky honestly doesn’t know.

“Who am I talking to?” he asks – the same line of inquiry Steve used on him in an abandoned warehouse outside of Berlin.

He knows it, letting out a guffaw beneath him. “I’m not him anymore.”

“Not who?”

“I’m no longer their Captain Hydra,” he pauses before adding, “but I’m not the kid from Brooklyn either.”

Bucky knows they’re not going to stay like this forever, and he needs to see this man’s face and look into his eyes if he’s going to be able to sort out any of this, so as swiftly as he can, he releases the alpha, pushes himself up, and takes a wary stance a few meters away.

Steve remains on the ground, but rolls over and sits up, planting his feet on the ground, and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It’s almost a casual.

Bucky will have the advantage of already being up on his feet if the man before him tries anything.

Bucky needs to know how to read whoever this is, so he decides to go with a different line of questioning – things that are more cut and dry.

“When you left the base in Geneva, there were two Hydra security with you. You stopped over a bridge two hours into your journey, and they weren’t with you when you switched vehicles in Albstadt. Who were they, and why the elaborate ruse only to drop them in a river so quickly?”

Rather than being surprised, it seemed he was satisfied that Bucky knew this much about what had played out. “Alright, we can start there. Leaving under the initial guise of a mission on security footage was supposed to be helpful when they started looking for me.”

“And why move the records of their transfer files to other facilities with two others?”

“I’m glad you picked up on that, too. Buying more time for some missing personnel before it was suspect and they figured out they really didn’t know where they were.”

“And why them?”

“Arbitrary.”

“Bullshit. You’ve gone on solo missions as Captain Hydra and you didn’t buy enough extra time by leaving with a two-man team to make it worth the set up only to drop them in the river without a reason.”

Steve’s brows knit together, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering. “One was arbitrary. He just happened to be the roommate of my target. The one I was after? He was part of the extraction team who took our omega out of Turin. Specifically, he’s the one who handled her so roughly she had bruises from his casual brute strength. I watched the footage to figure out who hurt her.”

Bucky cocked his head and studied the man before him.

“I had only been an alpha to her for a month and I was willing to kill someone who harmed her. What are you going to do to me, Buck?”

Bucky turned and paced way, running his hands through his hair. He didn’t want to show this much unrest in front of the other alpha, but he was thinking and feeling so much, trying to read and decipher too many pieces.

He lets out a long exhale and just speaks the truth. He can’t try and take any other angle. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Before all of this, if there had ever been a situation in which Bucky would have needed to trust someone else to keep you safe, Steve would have been his immediate answer.

Steve waits silently.

There are so many questions he wants answers to, and so he starts asking them. The answers don’t shock him, and he can see that even when Steve doesn’t tell him the full truth, it’s a cautious guarding of information, but he detects no lies in any of it. That Steve has some guards up also seems tenuous, possibly temporary, like if he can only ask the right question, the tide will turn.

But it couldn’t be that simple with Steve, could it?

And when did he start to think of him as Steve again?

Bucky deals out one of the questions he’s had the longest, since the very beginning of this. “What you said that night in Wakanda – you did all of this to draw me out. Why?”

Steve lets it hang in the air for a moment, but Bucky can see this is a crux for this conversation with him, too.

“I can’t explain everything that went into that plan – I don’t know if the machine of Captain Hydra was fully in control or if part of the old me was trying to grasp at you as a lifeline, but as the weeks wore on, the strategist in me knew he needed either the Soldat to join him or his best friend to save him.”

Those words sink into Bucky, and he can understand that explanation as no one else in this world can.

“What took you so long?” Steve asks again, but this time it’s tinged only with angst, not anger.

The accusation in it unsettles Bucky.

He’s still not sure how to address the question, but he starts with, “The Soldat is gone. The Winter Soldier? Not who I needed to be to get here either.”

Steve pushes up from the ground but maintains the distance Bucky put between them. “Who are you now then?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Depends on who’s standing in front of me.”

Steve looks off into the trees for a moment – in the direction of the cottage.

Bucky’s instincts have failed him less than a handful of times.

They’re telling him now that’s where to start, even though he’s not sure exactly where it will end. “I’ve seen a lot of versions of you – my childhood best friend, the punk who couldn’t stay out of trouble, the stars and stripes symbol, Captain America, the target who wouldn’t let me assassinate him and then refused to finish me off in the hellicarrier, the Cap who went against the Accords, Nomad in exile – but always Steve. You’ll never be who you were before – I never was. Doesn’t mean you’re irredeemable.”

Steve scoffs. “It’s not that easy.”

Bucky gives a wry laugh and shakes his head. “I more than know that. But you’re shades of all those men right now in front of me. She sees it, too.”

“God, she…” Steve shakes his head, puts one hand on his hip, and scrubs over his face with the other.

“If you can be you, if you can be Steve, she will have you.” He’s not sure where the words came from, but he himself believes them as he says them.

“I don’t know if I can be.”

“Do you want to be?”

Steve doesn’t answer immediately. Bucky can see him sincerely work over the question in his mind. It’s a simple inquiry, but one that will define everything, and Bucky knows he will be completely behind whatever answer he gives because that is the core of who this man is and always has been – fully committed to his convictions.

When Steve says, “Yes,” Bucky can hear the heaviness in his voice. Bucky nods.

“What about you?” Steve asks.

Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he digs back into himself and where his head, his heart, and his gut now sit with all of this. But the answer is clear enough. “Till the end of the line,” he answers.

“Even after I–“

“Stop,” Bucky cuts him off. “I’ve had little more to think about over the last six weeks than us – all of us. And it felt like my heart started beating again when I found her, but you… Before this I never fully understood why you fought so hard to get through to me when I was trying to kill you in DC all those years ago, why you searched for me for years, why you were a goddamn pain in the ass who wouldn’t abandon me in Berlin and believed in me without question, but now I get it. We are in each other’s bones.”

He doesn’t move, but Bucky sees the look change in Steve’s eyes, and he can practically feel the air alter between them. They’ve always had an acute awareness of each other, and Bucky can feel the tentative return of it, like déjà vu even though he’s still figuring out who this Steve is or who he will be.

“When did you start giving Captain America speeches?” Steve finally asks.

Bucky shrugs. “One of us had to do it.”

“What now then?”

Bucky has sketched out many scenarios for how things play out from here, but every stage of this, every new revelation shifts the direction they’re heading. Even in the last two minutes things have significantly shifted again.

Bucky licks his lips and stares at Steve for another beat before he decides to head down a path he hopes is the right one. “You’re always a man with a plan, so you tell me. Tell me where this started, when it changed, where you think it ends. I figured out a lot, I have theories, and I still have questions.”

“We went to Italy to investigate a lead that came up on our radar. We thought it was an innocuous enough whisper about a couple of Hydra scientists. And don’t,“ Steve pauses to pointedly look at him because Bucky was already opening his mouth to argue. “I already know you’re going to say we should have involved you, I thought of it every day they were holding us captive. I thought it the second I heard their boots. It was a week after you left for Wakanda, and Sam–“

He pauses again, and his shoulders fall just a fraction.

“Sam and I weren’t gonna bother you.”

“She told me about Sam,” Bucky says.

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips together. “I told her enough about what happened, but I didn’t tell her everything.” He opens his eyes and meets Bucky’s again. His face is truly haunted, and Bucky nods, his own chest tight. He knows more than enough about that. He had still had to face the demons of his past, but when he was ready, and he had fought to find his way to do that. Steve would find a way, but it would take time, and not likely be the same journey.

“After they killed Sam, they got a raw version of me, shut down, and they went to work conditioning me, shaping me into Captain Hydra. I was too lost to fight anything. I couldn’t save him. I failed us. I didn’t want to be me. It was easy too easy for them to get the version of me they wanted when I was like that.”

There’s a full shift in how Steve lays everything out – and as he shares, Bucky knows it’s still not everything, but he can feel that it’s everything Steve can bear to tell him.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Steve tilts his head and looks off into the forest. “It was and it wasn’t. It will always haunt me.”

“It will, but less and less.”

Bucky walks to the edge of the small clearing and sits on a fallen log. Steve follows him.

“When I was trying to find you after DC and taking down S.H.I.E.L.D. I read everything they had on record about you, how they conditioned you. They used some but not all the same methods on me.”

“I couldn’t find anything on you, and I found more than enough other hidden monstrosities in their networks these past weeks.”

“I think they got smarter after we were hunting them after exposing them – they couldn’t keep everything off the databases, but they have projects now that they keep paper-only, small teams. There was the team that captured us, but after they put us in a holding cell, we were transferred. From that point through the torture, the breaking point, and the conditioning I only saw four faces – three scientists and one officer who became my liaison. When they sent or let me out into the field, I never went with a team of more than four of their men, always the same four. Two of them I ended at that bridge.”

Bucky nods.

Already his mind is calculating – this means they could potentially contain and eliminate all of the people who knew any specifics about Captain Hydra.

“One of the scientists was killed when you stormed the facility in Turin.”

Bucky raises his brows. Even better.

Steve goes on to tell him about how he was sent on a few missions to test his loyalty before he was given the task to bring back the Soldat.

“I didn’t have a chair, and they were very adamant that my point person was my liaison and not a handler, they gave me a fair amount of autonomy. They didn’t want me to drag you in. They wanted you to join me. I think they felt like an asset who had to be controlled could break free as they saw with you the first time around, and this time they wanted operatives who weren’t giving controlled compliance, but allegiance instead.”

Bucky grunted. “A tether rather than a leash.”

“Yeah.”

“But you knew who I was tethered to.”

Steve’s head drops. “Yeah.”

“And you knew I’d be the most vulnerable and off my guard in Wakanda.”

“I did.”

Bucky lets him sit with that discomfort.

Bucky has replayed that night in his mind so many times.

“But your plan changed that night. I didn’t register it in the moment, but everything about you changed the moment you bit into her neck to claim her.”

Steve doesn’t deny it.

“Before you sunk your teeth into her, you were taunting me, dangling her like something to be smashed and discarded, you didn’t even know if it would work, and I think part of you thought it might even kill her.”

Bucky sees Steve’s jaw tick.

“You were in no way prepared for how a bond would change you fundamentally as an alpha.”

“Obviously it didn’t flip a switch immediately, but yes, it altered what I intended to do,” Steve admits.

He goes on to explain some of the things that happened in Turin – missions he went on, how things had developed with you, the clothes, and the books.

“The books were for her?” Bucky breathes. “I saw security footage of you in the bookshop.”

“I wasn’t worried about exposing myself because you were already taking longer than I wanted you to take, but when you didn’t access any of the Avenger networks, bases, or safehouses, I expected you were underground and untraceably hunting for us.”

“What else did you expect?”

“I wanted you to get foolish in your desperation and tip your hand.”

“Not with her on the line.”

“No.” Steve narrows his eyes. “You never left Turin once you showed up on our radar, did you?”

Bucky scoffs. “Course I didn’t.”

Steve nods. “A ploy to see all the defenses of the base.”

“But you left dangerously close to her heat,” Bucky shoots, the disapproving accusation blatant in his tone.

“And that’s when you made your unsuccessful move to get her back. If you’d killed everyone you’d encountered from the beginning, you probably would have made it to her in time.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“No, I know you do.” Steve sighs. “You know, back in 1945, I thought you were dead when you fell off that train.”

Bucky doesn’t interrupt. He knew Steve knew he knew this. They’d touched on it before. But clearly there was more and a reason for Steve to bring it up again now.

“The thing is, when they found you, I know Zola did what he did to you because of me, your tie to me. When they took me and Sam, they tortured him and killed him because of me, again. You were both people I cared about, and you were hurt for it. I was not going to let it happen to her. The sense of responsibility I felt for her had already been growing and evolving, but when I felt that surge of adrenaline and fear through the bond when you attacked the base and they moved her? It had been a slow melting of ice, what was developing there, but that shattered the ice. When I found out they had moved her, I kept my personal weakness guarded, and I knew I would do everything I could to get her out of their web and keep her safe.”

At this admission, Bucky is quiet. So is Steve. Bucky knows Steve is letting him think. There’s so much to consider there – the guilt Steve has still carried for him for years, the fresh hell of Sam, and the fervent determination to keep you from being another victim by association.

He could think over this for much longer, but there are more pieces he still needs context for, so next Bucky asks, “Why did you leave the Geneva facility during her heat?”

“Best cover for time – alphas are given room to take care of their needs during rut or care for omegas if they’re bonded during their omega’s heat.”

It verifies what Bucky had theorized himself.

“But it’s been eight days since you came here.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“And you’ve just…been here.”

“Yeah.”

This is the piece Bucky has been suspicious of now.

“Explain.”

“When I took her to Turin, yes, it was a trap to lure you. When I brought her here, it was to wait for you to find us. I couldn’t find you when you went underground before, and I couldn’t find you this time, and if I tried too hard, I didn’t want to risk Hydra finding us, but I knew if we stayd in one place and I focused on keeping us hidden from Hydra, you could find us.”

Bucky furrows his brow, frowning.

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that,” Steve confirms.

Bucky studies him for another quiet few seconds, then says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, what now?”

“Her,” Bucky replies simply. “We’ve still got a lot of shit to figure out, but we’ve got to do it with her.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Still with me? This was a lot. I hope I've answered some of your questions, and there are some more that have been brought up, but... we're here. We're this far.

This is the single longest story/chapter I've ever published. You can see where I've left off, and there's clearly more story, but Bucky reuniting with his omega and with Steve were the primary objectives, and both of those elements I didn't want to cheat or shorten as they began to unfold. I hope they've truly done justice to these characters and relationships, and we'll see how they can possibly move forward together in the conclusion. These three still have big things ahead.

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers #bucky barnes fan fiction #captain hydra #aspen wrote something #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x reader #omegaverse #marvel omegaverse #warm shadows au #aspen's dark forest fest

[todomochi-uwu]

Who (6/?) J. Y & S. M

Pairing: Poly! Jeong Yunho x reader x Song Mingi

Genre: Angst, Smut

Warnings: This content is for a mature audience

Synopsis: You can't remember when was the last time you spent time with them, the last "I love you", the last time any of them kissed you.

Author's notes: It's been such a long time, and I'm sorry for that. Life hasn't been quite easy, but as an apology here's some smut. Hope you enjoy.

Other chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee ☕

It had been a couple of weeks since that night, and getting used to being back wasn’t quite as easy as you thought it would be. At first feeling like a stranger to the place you had once called home, and while your lovers may try to help with that, you fear they may seem to be overcompensating a bit.

You woke up because of the ungodly amount of sound that came from the kitchen.

“Yunho?” Your eyes could barely focus on the things in front of you, besides, what the hell was he doing at home at this hour? Wiping the floor?

“Good morning, my love.” He sighed and got up, “I’m sorry did I wake you up? I dropped some pans and spilt milk. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess right now.” He kissed your forehead before going back to cooking, “I’m making breakfast, are pancakes, okay? We also have cereal, or I can make you some eggs or…”

“Pancakes are okay, but what are you doing here so late in the morning? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?” You took a seat on the kitchen bar.

“I’m taking some time off, they asked me to. Just to get my head back on my shoulders.” He flipped a pancake, “Mingi will be back in a second he went to get some orange juice, we ran out yesterday and we know how much you like it and…” He kept on going, but you couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.

You looked at him without saying anything. His hands trembled with every move he made; he kept on rambling, not stopping to take a breath, afraid to let any uncomfortable silences come through. He couldn’t stay put, moving things around, not able to focus on one thing.

Mingi came through the door. His hands were full of grocery bags that threatened to snap and spill what was inside of them. “I’m back!” He set everything on the countertop, bags of snacks spilling out, hygiene products you were missing, and a bunch of things you don’t even remember mentioning you needed. “I bought everything you ask for, my love.”

“Mingi, you didn’t have to buy this all at once. I have most of this stuff back at my place.”

“Oh well, now you have them here.”

After everything that you had gone through you felt like you needed a bit of time alone, to take a step back and process. Having to come to terms with the idea of being single, actually trying to move on, Bang Chan, the club, Yunho and Mingi. All that in such a short period was messing with your head. But your lovers seemed to differ.

“Babe, I will come back earlier from work to take you on a date, okay?”

“Mingi, we went out yesterday, I’m sure Jongho needs your help back at the office.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of everything.”

Yunho wasn’t any different.

“My love, how about we go for a walk? Or would you rather watch a movie? We can go for some ice cream.”

“Yun, don’t you have to study? I saw your calendar and you have an upcoming test.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out.”

You missed them, and not having them around had been a nightmare, but this might be over the top. Not neglecting you didn’t have to mean neglecting everything else. So, a list of all the things you had to do began to form in the back of your head.

First, figure out a way to tell them (in a way that won’t destroy Mingi) that you need some space to understand what’s going on in your head and heart. Second, get some actual work done; bills still need to get paid. Third and last of all (and the one you have been dreading the most) talk to Chan. You weren’t even sure if he would be willing to. Jisung said he hasn’t seen him come out of his apartment, and he doesn’t even answer the door; every single time Minho tried contacting him it goes straight to voice mail. Your friend assures you he only needs a bit of time, but you are not quite sure, this might be it for your friendship, and you won’t lie, it breaks your heart.

­____________________________________________

Going back to the first task. You rehearsed over and over again the things you want to say, in your head and front of the mirror, it makes you cringe, but it’s better than to see Mingi drown in tears and sobs.

“I appreciate all the effort you are putting in, but that doesn’t mean you have to neglect everything else in your life...”

“We have to learn how to balance work, our individuality and this relationship...”

“All this will take time, trust is gained slowly, and I’m sure…”

And you swore those would be the words that would come out of your mouth the second dinner was over. It wasn’t easy to explain how you ended up in this position…

Mingi between your legs, lapping at your pussy like a starved man, his mouth alternating between your entrance and your clit, not knowing which one to pleasure first. Meanwhile, Yunho was sucking at your neck, leaving bruises all over the sensitive skin; his fingers pinched and pulled on your nipples, and the sins that came out of his mouth made you tremble.

“Haven’t you missed this, my love?” He said pulling on your earlobe, “Have you missed Mingi eating your sweet, little cunt, mm?”

Mingi let your skin go with a pop, before pushing two of his long, thick fingers inside you without warning, finding a rhythm immediately, kitten licking your clit at the same time.

You couldn’t form any coherent thoughts; pleasure had completely taken over your brain; you could only feel the warmth of Mingi’s tongue and Yunho’s hard cock on your back.

“Please, please, please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for.

“What do you need, baby? Tell us and we’ll give it to you.”

“I need you.” You whimpered.

“But baby, you have us.” Fucking Yunho, always a tease.

“Please, please Yuyu.”

“You need to tell me, love.”

Mingi’s mouth abandoned your core, leaving you aching and in need of more. “Come on, baby. You have to tell us what you want.” He urged, mocking you. “Use your words.” His fingers kept you on the edge, but not giving you any more.

Your mind is clouded by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "I need..." you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "...both of you."

Yunho's fingers continued their torturous assault on your sensitive buds, while his teeth nipped your skin, "And you will have us."

Mingi resumed his ministrations with renewed fervour. His fingers delved deeper, stroking that sweet spot inside you that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins, while his tongue resumed its teasing assault on your throbbing clit.

“I need to cum, please.”

"Then cum, my love, cum for us.”

With a strangled cry, you let yourself go, surrendering yourself to the overwhelming sea of sensations your lovers were providing. Heavy breaths escaped your chest, a constant ring in your ears, you could barely tell where you were, but one thing was clear, your lovers were not done with you.

You could feel them moving around you. This time Mingi was the one behind you, holding your knees against your chest, placing small kisses and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, his hands massaged your thighs gently.

“You did so good for us, sweetheart.” His fingers traced patterns in your bruised skin.

The familiar sound of the lubricant’s cap opening made you whimper; you had been conditioned to know what would happen next. Yunho and Mingi would always make sure to prepare you to take them, making you cum a couple of times before even trying anything, but tonight you just couldn’t wait, and neither could they.

“Are you ready, my love?” Yunho’s words made you tremble. You felt both their tips in your entrance, ready to claim you at the same time. Mingi kept his hands on your hips while the man in front of you caressed your legs, waiting for your permission to go on. Both of them slightly shaking with excitement and desperation.

“Yes.”

The sensation of being filled by them was overwhelming, but made you feel complete, whole, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Their movements were slow and hesitant, not wanting to hurt you. Mingi’s moans and whines filled your ears, his hands pinched your skin and his head was thrown back in ecstasy.

“Oh my god, yes, god yes!” He wasn’t concerned by the sounds that left his mouth, too busy enjoying the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

Yunho wasn’t doing any better, groans constantly leaving his mouth, driving himself deeper inch by inch. His eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly opened, his eyes could only focus on the place where your bodies met and became one. The image of his and Mingi’s cock splitting you open wasn’t new, but goddamn was it the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

You closed your eyes, trying to control yourself. Pain and pleasure danced inside you, intertwining themselves and covering your entire being. Each thrust consumed you entirely, making your moans turn into screams, you could feel yourself teetering over the edge. The blonde´s fingers pushed on the small bud of nerves at your core making tears spill out of your eyes, while Yunho’s lips sucked your nipples raw.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned, his hips never relenting their hellish pace. And a single moment of clarity, his eyes met Mingi’s. The same look of need and lust covered his face, red cheeks and dazed eyes, cries escaping his mouth, a small I love you between them. With what little sanity he had left, he took the younger man’s head and pushed their heads in a kiss. their teeth clashing and tongues sucking on each other in ardour, both of them moaning because of the new stimulation.

“I’m going to cum!” You cried. An explosion of pleasure filled your system, as your body convulsed in ecstasy, making you almost pass out. Yunho and Mingi couldn’t hold back any longer, the tight knot snapped, joining you and spilling their seed inside you. Their essence and yours running down your thighs, ending up in the couch’s leather.

The three of you lay breathless, boneless, but complete. You had for once and for all found your way back to each other, and after what felt like an eternity, everything felt right.

____________________________________________

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#ateez #ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez x reader #jeong yunho #mingi angst #mingi smut #yunho x reader #yunho angst #yunho smut #song mingi #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #ateez yunho #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez yungi #todomochi writes

[merrybloomwrites]

I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 5)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: Harry and Y/N spend the weekend together in Chicago

Previous Chapters: Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4

Word Count: 3.8k

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“So, what are we going to see in the city?” You ask Harry. You’re both on the couch eating fruit, since Harry insisted you needed some sort of snack to hold you over until lunch.

“Well, first, we should swing by your hotel. Figured you might want to get changed,” he replies. You laugh and nod in agreement. While you wouldn’t mind living in Harry’s comfy clothes doused in his scent, you know that going in public, with him, wearing his clothes, is admittedly a terrible idea.

“Then obviously some lunch,” he continues. “And after that, I have no idea. Maybe see where the day takes us?”

“I like that plan,” you answer. Normally you like to have everything totally scheduled out, but you’re excited to see what experiences might happen naturally.

“We can keep your things in the car while we’re out and stop back here to drop them off on our way to the arena later,” he adds.

“Am I staying here tonight?” You inquire.

He pauses, trying to find the right words. “I would like for you to stay,” he finally says. “It’s just, you’re only hours out of a drop. And you said that hasn’t happened for a long time. I would like you to stay close to me in case something happens. And uhm, my alpha is fairly attached to your omega at the moment.” Harry blushes and his eyes look down at his fingers as he finishes his sentence.

“Harry?” you say, and his gaze meets yours. “I’d love to stay.”

His anxious face instantly morphs into one of excitement and he says, “Fantastic! Okay, I’m going to call a car to take us to your hotel and we can start our adventure.”

“It’s only a couple of blocks, we could walk it.”

At this he seems nervous again and he quickly explains, “It’s probably best if we drive. We’ll be more under the radar that way, and I don’t necessarily want to be seen in public too much.”

“Oh, right, of course. That totally makes sense.” There’s an insecure part of your brain telling you that it’s because he doesn’t want to be seen with you, just some average nobody, but you tell that voice to shut up. Harry would never be so callous, so shallow. He simply wants his privacy.

A few minutes later you’re back in your quiet hotel room. Harry is waiting in the car, so you quickly get changed and freshen up. You spray on our scent blockers and are disappointed that you no longer smell like Harry. He put on blockers before leaving his hotel as well so now it will be hours before you’ll catch his scent again. If you’re lucky. You remind yourself this whole situation is temporary, and you should take what you get.

Your belongings are mostly packed so it only takes a minute to get everything together. When you reenter the car you let out the breath you’d been holding while separated from Harry. You admit to yourself you are still feeling the effects of the drop, and you allow yourself to revel in the presence of an alpha. Normally the idea that you need to rely on an alpha for anything would make you mad, but not right now. Not when that alpha greets you with a shy smile as you slide into your seat next to him. And especially not when that alpha reaches over so your hands are resting close enough to just barely touch.

It's a bit of a drive to the restaurant Harry picked out, and you pass the time making small talk. You discuss your families, hobbies, favorite vacation spots, anything you can think of. Nothing is all that crazy or interesting, but Harry is locked in on every word you say. It makes you feel warm inside, having his full attention and knowing he truly wants to hear what you have to say.

Harry is so absorbed in the conversation that even he is surprised when the car stops outside the restaurant. He gets out, quickly moving around the car to open your door for you and lead you inside. The diner he’s chosen is lowkey, giving hole in the wall vibes, and you think it’s perfect.

It’s not empty, but the crowd there doesn’t bat an eye as you two walk in. A quick glance around the room shows that you’re the youngest people there by far. Everyone is engaged in conversation or reading the newspaper or a book they’ve brought with them. It makes you feel comfortable, relaxed, and you know you’re going to enjoy this lunch.

You’re seated together at a table towards the back, and a waiter comes over to take your drink orders. After he walks away it’s quiet for a moment, both you and Harry reading through the menu. He comes back a few minutes later to take your food orders. Once he leaves again you fold your hands on the table in front of you and look at Harry.

He’s sitting the same way, hands folded just inches from yours, and his eyes are already on you.

“So,” he hesitantly begins. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Like, of yours?”

He laughs before saying, “No, just, in general. But I am also curious what your favorite of mine is.”

You think for a moment, and you catch him chuckling and your very serious thinking face. “I guess all-time favorite song might be ‘Annie’s Song’ by John Denver. It was my parents’ wedding song, so we played it a lot at home. Makes me think of them.” You smile and think again for a moment before saying, “And my favorite song of yours, well, that’s harder to choose. I think maybe ‘Canyon Moon’. It’s just so fun, and upbeat. It’s the first one that really hooked me on your music.”

“That is a fun one, yeah. Kind of bummed it’s off the setlist if I’m honest. And I too love a little John Denver occasionally.”

The discussion on music lasts until your food is placed on the table. The delicious smell alerts you to how hungry you are, and you immediately dig in. Conversation stops again so the two of you can eat.

As Harry settles the bill (which you attempt to help pay for, but he quickly denies) he says, “We’ve got about an hour before we need to head back to the hotel and get ready. There’s a park nearby. What do you say about a little stroll?”

“That sounds perfect,” you reply.

He stays close to you as you walk the couple blocks to the park. His hand reaches out towards you multiple times but he pulls it back like he’s afraid to make contact. It keeps your mind spinning, wondering what’s he’s thinking when he does this. Is it an unconscious gesture? Is it a protective one? Does he just want to be touching you the way that you want to be touching him?

Once in the park he leads you to a bench by a small lake. The bushes grant you both some privacy from the few other people who are walking nearby.

“So,” he says timidly. “How are you feeling today? After the drop and everything.”

You take a moment to assess in order to answer truthfully. “Honestly, I feel pretty good right now. Like, better than I have in weeks. I think my omega really needed that break.”

“You said your meds lost their potency right? And that’s been going on for weeks then, at least since the first show you came to. How have you been coping with all of that? Do you nest at all?”

“I tried nesting in the past, but it never brought the peace people said it would. I guess cause most people are betas now so it’s harder to get alpha or other omega scents. And without those nests aren’t as comforting.”

“That has to be frustrating. I’m sorry it’s so difficult for omegas. I wish things were different for you guys, I truly do.”

“Thanks. Me too. Can I ask, why do you keep your alpha status a secret?”

“I guess because people have certain views of alphas. They think we’re mean and controlling and yea, a lot of alphas are these days. I just didn’t want people to judge me before getting to know me. Plus, some record labels and managers don’t want to work with alphas. Say they’re too unpredictable or difficult.”

“Seems like it’s tough for alphas too.”

“Yea, but at least we’re safe. No one tries to cross us or control us. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have your free will taken away by an alpha command.”

“It’s definitely not fun,” you say, shivering at the memory of being frozen and silenced just by a knothead alphas words.

Noticing your slight distress, Harry places his hand on your knee and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up, I know you have bad memories with that.”

You’re instantly soothed by him, and you reach out to place your hand on top of his. You have no idea where the courage to touch him like that comes from, and you’re about to pull away when he flips his hand until your palms are touching and he’s able to intertwine his fingers with yours.

The sound of your purring is sudden and surprising. It’s not something that happens often, and you almost cut it off, but you see the smile that breaks out on Harry’s face. You sit there, holding hands, and purring softly. Neither of you tries to start a conversation, just enjoying the moment.

Harry’s phone ringing brings you both back to reality. His driver is on the line, reminding Harry that it’s time to head back in order to stay on schedule. He lets go of your hand as you leave the bench, and though you’re disappointed, you remind yourself of the media frenzy that would ensue if Harry was caught holding hands with a girl.

You’re especially soothed when he reaches out for your hand again once in the privacy of the car. Just like the earlier drive, you get to know each other better, this time discussing favorite books at length.

He insists on carrying your luggage into the hotel for you, and letting you have the first shower. You’re in the living room finishing your hair when Harry walks out of the bathroom, having finished his own shower. He’s wrapped in a towel, water dripping off his hair and down his chest. You pray that your suppressants still work well enough to at least prevent unwanted slick production. Because you would literally die of embarrassment if the telltale scent of honey filled the room.

“Sorry, so sorry, forgot to grab clothes,” he says as he dashes into the bedroom to grab an outfit from the dresser. He jogs back into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. You let out the breath you’ve been holding and quickly reel in your thoughts to ensure your face isn’t still beet red when he comes back out.

You force yourself to focus on perfecting your hair in an effort to erase the image of a practically naked Harry. Or at least, erase temporarily. While you’re in his presence. It works, because by the time he comes out again, now dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, you’ve fully contained your thoughts.

“Car will be here in five minutes, you almost ready?”

“Yup, just gotta grab my phone,” you say before walking back into the bedroom to get the phone from where it’s been charging. Harry’s scent is strongest here, likely because he’s been sleeping there for weeks, plus he was broadcasting his scent the night before during your drop. It’s so potent that you almost feel dizzy. You shake your head in an attempt to clear it, quickly get the phone, and rejoin Harry in the living room.

He's distracted during the drive over, checking updates on his phone that he’d been ignoring during the day. It’s hectic but organized at the venue. There’s so much to be done but it’s a well-oiled team and everyone does their job well. You hang out in Harry’s dressing room for the most part, wanting to be out of the way.

There’s a brief moment after Harry is ready and before he needs to go on stage, and you need to find your place in the crowd. You’re finally alone again, and the two of you are standing facing each other. He reaches out to hold both your hands between his and he says, “I have another question for you.”

You’ve been asking each other questions all day, most lighthearted, some serious. But you can tell by his tone that this may be the most important one yet.

You meet his eyes, encouraging him to go on, and after a moment of nervous hesitation he says, “I’ve really like spending time with you. I’ve known for awhile that my alpha had formed a connection with your omega, and I thought that’s where my feelings for you came from. But after today I know that I just like you. You’re funny, and smart, and beautiful. So, uhm, I was wondering, will you go on a date? With me?”

You’re speechless for a moment, so you nod your head yes while trying to process everything he just said.

“Can I take you out tomorrow morning for brunch?” He continues.

Finally, you find your voice and say, “Yes, Harry, that sounds perfect.”

The brightest, most boyish smile spreads across his face. Harry’s about to speak again but there’s a knock on the door and a voice telling him he needs to leave the room in one minute.

Harry quickly says, “Can I scent you? Before you go out there?” You again nod yes, knowing that he needs this, needs to protect you in this way even though you’ll be in a VIP section with plenty of security.

Plus, you’ve decided that you’d have to be insane to ever say no when he asks that question. One of his large hands cups the side of your neck while his nose moves to the scent gland on the opposite side. It slides against your skin, and you’re surrounded by his mouthwatering smell. He presses one gentle kiss directly near your mating spot before he pulls back, gives you one last dazzling smile, and walks out the door.

Jada walks in to find you still standing, dazed, in the middle of the room. “Need a minute?” she asks with a knowing smirk.

“Just, uhm, gonna use the…bathroom, real quick,” you stutter out before fleeing through the door to the attached restroom. You quickly take some deep breaths and grab toilet paper to clean up the slick that had escaped. Thankfully you’d held it in until Harry left, and Jada, being a beta, would be none the wiser. Still, you need to pull yourself together and get your desire under control before you embarrass yourself.

Once you’re ready she leads you to the VIP section. You feel amazing, completely opposite from the night prior and you know that you owe it all to Harry. Not once during the entire show do you feel dizzy, or anxious, or any of the negative emotions you’ve been feeling for weeks. Instead, you feel electric, especially during the handful of moments when Harry’s eyes find yours in the crowd, sharing a special look with you.

You’re screaming along with all the other fans as Harry runs out of the venue. Jada then leads you out to the car the two of you will be taking back to the hotel. The ten-minute drive turns into almost thirty with all the post-concert traffic.

Back at the hotel, you knock on the door to Harry’s room. Technically it’s also yours now, and yes, you do have a key, but it still feels weird just walking in while you know he’s there. It takes a moment but finally he’s opening the door for you. As you take in his appearance, you realize you made the right decision to knock. His hair is, once again, wet, he has pajama pants on and is quickly throwing on a shirt. Obviously he’s just showered again, and you know you would not have survived seeing him with any less clothes on.

“There you are,” he says, smiling and pulling you in for a hug as the door closes behind you. For a moment you’re surprised, but quickly melt into the embrace.

Before pulling away he says, “Why don’t you change into some comfy clothes, and we can put on a movie.” You head to the bedroom, grabbing your own set of pajamas before changing and washing your face. Once you feel clean and comfortable you join Harry in the living room.

He’s already laid out blankets on the couch and pulled up the latest Rom Com on the TV. After confirming that you want to watch it, he presses play and you snuggle under your blanket.

You try to pay attention to the movie, truly, you do. But Harry’s right there, sitting next to you, looking perfectly cozy and domestic, not a single scent blocker covering the delicious smell that’s started to feel like home to you.

It’s not surprising when you start to subconsciously shift closer and closer to him. He notices the small movements, and without hesitation, wraps and arm around you and pulls you close to him. He adjusts the blankets so that you’re tucked in before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

Feeling safer and more content than you have in possibly your entire adult life, you fully relax. The next thing you know, you’re being gently placed into the bed. Sensing that you’re awake, Harry smooths down your hair and says, “Get some sleep, love,” as he pulls the covers over you.

***

Waking up with Harry’s arm slung around your middle is unexpected, but entirely welcomed. Everything feels so warm, so safe. His arm unconsciously tightens around you, and you snuggle deeper into the embrace.

It isn’t long before Harry wakes up, stretching out beside you and saying, “good morning.” His husky morning voice has you practically melting, but you still manage a “good morning” in reply.

Neither of you move for a while, choosing to lay there holding each other for as long as possible. It’s nice, once again feels rather domestic, and you have to stop yourself from imagining this happening every day. Your mating spot practically tingles at the thought of you and Harry bonded to each other, raising pups together in your home.

An alarm rings on Harry’s phone, thankfully stopping your daydream from getting too out of control. You take turns getting ready before heading to the car for your first official date.

Brunch is absolutely perfect. Harry had booked a private room to ensure fans and paparazzi wouldn’t be able to spy on your date. He steps away to use the restroom at one point, and you think about how it’s going so far. It’s just like any first date you’ve ever been on; better even.

It’s almost easy to forget that he’s this world-famous popstar. When it’s the two of you together, focusing on each other, he really just becomes the man of your dreams. The fact that he’s a respectful and gentle alpha is the icing on the cake.

After brunch you head back to the hotel to repack your bags before flying home. Harry watches sadly as you prepare to leave him. You ignore your own feelings for the moment, not wanting to cry in front of him. But truthfully, the fact that you have no idea when you’ll see him again is borderline devastating.

Once you’re packed and ready to go, Harry pulls you in for a hug. You stand there holding each other for a minute before he pulls back. You look up at his face, mere inches from yours, and note how his eyes are looking between your own eyes and your lips. His hands slide up your arms, your neck, until they’re cupping your face. He leans in and presses one simple kiss to your lips.

His eyes meet yours again, silently asking if that was alright. You can’t help but lean back in, giving him a couple kisses of your own.

It doesn’t go any further, and that alone brings you some peace. He’s not just doing this all to get into your pants the way many alphas would. Honestly, this whole weekend with him feels more like puppy love than anything.

 “Would it be alright if I scented you before you left?” Harry asks before adding “Since you’ll be at the crowded airport and everything, it might be safer if you smelled like you have an alpha.”

Some omegas might find this controlling, overwhelming, overprotective, but you know that’s not his intention at all. So you agree, and close your eyes as he leans in to scent you once more. It’s electric having him so close to you. It takes all your self-control to hold back a needy whine when he presses a kiss to your scent gland.  

“One more thing,” he says after pulling away. You watch in confusion as he walks back into the bedroom. He comes back out a minute later holding his green Pleasing sweatshirt. He hands it to you, and you can immediately tell he’d scented that as well. Without hesitation you slip in on, catching the satisfied smirk on his face as you do so.

You get a text from Jada letting you know a car is there to take you to the airport. Harry pulls you in for one last kiss, and having to leave his embrace is nearly physically painful for you. After saying a final, quiet goodbye, you grab your bag and walk out of the room.

All the stress of traveling seems miniscule compared to separating from the man who is quickly becoming one of your favorite people, not to mention is the alpha your omega seems to crave.

You arrive home pretty late that evening. The last thing you want to do is wash away Harry’s scent, but you desperately need a shower after an afternoon of travel. Thankfully you have his sweatshirt to burrow into.

You sleep peacefully that night, still surrounded by Harry’s scent, knowing the last text you received before bed was a message from Harry saying, “Sleep tight, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

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AN: Thank you so much for reading! So sorry for the long delay between chapters! Hoping to get the next chapter out much sooner!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp @ottawaoutlander @storyschanging

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you

[pit-and-the-pen]

I'll Crawl Home to Her- Chapter 4

A/n: So I’m pivoting a little bit with this series. In the last chapter, I had reader with Rhys a lot and I’m fighting the urge to rewrite it, but from here on out it’s going to be a lot more of the inner circle stuff while Rhys and Feyre are doing their own thing. I didn’t like how much  I relied on the dialogue straight from the book for chapter 3 so hopefully this makes it a little better to write and more interesting to read! 

Strap in because a lot happens in this chapter. Also this is mostly unedited because my brain in soup at this point.

Warnings: Cannon level description of violence, blood, brief mention of trauma (Rhys and Readers history with Tamlin), suggestive thoughts/language (as always let me know if I missed anything)

WC:19k

Previous chapters: [prologue] [chapter 1][chapter 2][chapter 3]

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“I don’t get why I wasn’t invited.” Cassian whined, leaning back in the wide backed chair. I knocked his feet from their place on the coffee table and he stumbled as the legs of the chair touched the ground.

“Because last time you were there you fucked someone’s wife and destroyed their house in your attempt to get away.” 

“In my defense, she didn’t tell me she was married.” He grumbled out, crossing his arms like the petulant child he was. 

“Try telling that to her husband.” I continued to tease him. 

“I did.” 

“Children, children.” Mor chided Cassian and I. A bored wave of her hand causing Cassian to turn his attention to her instead. I smiled widely as the two of them started going back and forth. 

Eventually Rhys and Azriel came to collect Cassian. 

“Sorry, boys night.” My brother said, shooting me a wink when I tried to argue. “Don’t pout at me.”

“They’re just afraid they’d lose their ass if they let us play.” Mor returned, all of the males sputtering out a chorus of protests. 

True to their word, they didn’t let Mor or myself join them. Going as far as to lock the door to Rhys’ study. Their loud shouts could be heard from where Mor and I sat together down the hall. 

Mor was swiping the second layer of a silver and black sparkle nail polish on my hand. 

“Are you nervous about going to summer?” She asked casually. 

“Hardly.” Even I wasn’t convinced by my words. Mor raised an inquisitive eyebrow at me. “Fine. I’m just worried we won’t get the book. We’ve only tested this theory of Feyre’s powers once and that was Rhys’ magic.”

“You think the bond could let her sense it.” I nodded.

“It’s not impossible. Even if she hasn’t accepted it. She could be inherently drawn to things that have ties to him. I just have to hope my brother is right.” I stopped talking to start blowing my nails dry. Shaking them slightly while I did so. Mor turned to her own nails, brushing a blood red polish over them. 

The summer court was just as beautiful as I remember it. I was immediately greeted by the smell of sea salt, even the sunshine smelt different. The humidity in the air laced it with something I could not put my finger on but warmed every part of my body. My skin felt instantly sticky, suddenly very grateful for the flowing white halter dress I had picked for myself that morning. 

Even though it was early in the morning, the city below the palace was already teeming with life. Merchant carrying various baskets full of goods, ships sailing in and out of the docks. The rope bridges swayed slightly in the breeze as people flurried about. 

We had winnowed right in front of the palace. The purple and green sea glass doors opened at our arrival. It had been at least a century since the last time I visited this place, enough time that I was in awe of the scene in front of me. As much as I loved my home Velaris, there was something about the lightness of this palace that called to me. The full walls of sea glass and shells embedded into the floor, covered with some shiny surface that didn’t make it painful to walk on.Light chiffon fabric  in pastel purples, seafoam green, baby pinks, and, buttery yellows adorned the chairs and curtains. The sun that shone through the glass walls tinted with all the colors around us. I was still gawking when Tarquin approached us. The time since he came back had been kind to him. His dark skin more bronzed and his long white hair was  braided and adorned with various shells, he was heart stoppingly handsome.The power of a high lord circled him, but unlike Rhys, it carried a certain warmth to it. An aura of safety and security. I swore the water flowing from the fountains around us bubbled harder at his arrival. 

“Welcome. I see you like the changes I’ve made” He winked at me, eyes still flickering about. 

“I believe you’ve met before, although not since your…promotion.” Tarquin eyed Amren before he gave her a polite bow. Amren bit back a greeting that reminded me of what others saw us as. Cold and calculating. 

“And you two were never formally introduced under the mountain. Feyre, Tarquin.” Tarquin’s face set into a tight line as his eyes swept over the revealing dress Feyre was wearing. Even more see-through with the sunlight in the room. Rhys let out a lewd comment and Feyre returned her own before I  could even think to grimace. 

Another's presence in the room had me looking over Tarquins shoulder. I tried to keep my face even as I spotted Cresseida. The female and I had grown closer than anyone else in the court during my last visit. She shot me a wicked smile before Tarquin introduced her, a claiming hand resting on her shoulder. My eyebrow raised to her and she shrugged her shoulders. A promise of explaining later in her dark brown eyes. Varian was next to be introduced. As captain of Tarquins guard, I did not fault him for the way he sized all of us up, especially Amren. 

Our group followed Tarquin through the hallways of the palace. Rhys and the High Lord making polite small talk. Cressida and I walked in step together. 

The room Tarquin led us to was just as beautiful as the rest of the palace. High ceilings speckled with those same pastel colors, a wide open window showcasing the vibrant water of the sea, so rich in color it appeared almost teal. Feyre gravitated towards the window, like her feet were working on their own. The Summer High Lord approached her side and I tried to keep up with their hushed conversation. Rhys took a seat at the table in the middle of the room and motioned for me to do the same. Rolling my eyes as the others approached, I grabbed Cressida’s arm and led her to a set of couches a bit away from the others. “We’ll leave all the important talk to the high lords and generals.” I said, sinking into that vapid facade I carried when I wasn’t expected to be Rhys’ terrifying counterpart. He gave me a bored look of dismissal. 

“You must tell me everything.” I nearly squealed at Cressida, loud enough for the others to hear. 

“There isn’t much to tell, Tarquin is adjusting to being High Lord quite well. However, suddenly it was…He’s a good change from before.” So not interested in her advances then. Her eyes flickered over to the table where the rest sat. 

“Are you not in contact with Tamlin then, Feyre?” The question was laced with challenge and accusations. The idea that she was in not one but two high lords beds a grave insult. 

“My relationship with the High Lord of spring is none of your concern.” She bit back, the perfect edge of regal and warning in her voice. 

“Good, I’d hate to have to return you to your master.” Even from across the room I saw Amren go deathly still. I gave Cressida a small tap on her shoulder, a playful move that warned her to hold her tongue. She gave me a withering glare as Tarquin reprimanded her for her words. 

She turned back to me, mouth opening to continue our conversation as Rhys spoke. If I hear word that she or anyone else sends news of our being here to Tamlin, your lives will be forfeit. I heard the tone of promise. The air growing deathly still as his words registered to the High Lord.I took a deep sip of my wine as feyre whispered out something that had Tarquin laughing. The room seemed to take a collective sigh at the sound. Tarquin was a good change indeed. Cressida sank back into her chair as she looked me over. 

“You look well.” She said once the conversation in the room resumed. I nodded, setting down my glass on the table beside me.

“Fresh air will do that to a person.” My not so subtle reminder to her that she had not been under the mountain. She gave a small hum. “It seems the court has recovered nicely.”  

It was her turn to grow tense. “It was not without hard work, as I’m sure you can relate to. Having a sudden change in high lord and losing half our population has not made it easy to rebuild, but we’ve managed this far.” She sighed, looking at Tarquin who was now laughing with Rhys. “He has made things easier. Gave my brother and I much more control over the efforts than the previous High lord would have.” I took in her words, the tension in her shoulders and heard the tone of someone who had sacrificed a great deal for her court. Something I very much understood. I felt shame rise in my throat at my earlier comments. She might not have been under the mountain but she, and many others in Prythian, had suffered just as much because of it. I’d imagine it would be impossible to find someone who was not affected. 

“Enough about me though, tell me how’ve you been?” Her tone switched back to one of light gossip. I took a deep sip of my wine as I gave her a half-true recounting of the last few months. 

Cressida walked me back to my room, pointing out things around the palace while doing so. Explaining the bits of work that were still in planning. She gestured to my room and said her goodbyes, promising to find me at the party tonight. 

I let out a heavy sigh as the door closed behind me. I had forgotten how exhausting court politics was. How heavy the role Rhys and I played was. Instead of lingering on that, I quickly changed into my clothes for tonight. A flowy dress that mimicked the fashion of the court but with Night Court colors. Silvers and midnight blues, silver chains fastening the dress around my neck. I left the tiara I would pin in my hair on the edge of my bed as I walked out onto the balcony attached to my room. I stared out at the crashing waves, sitting in the sound that they brought with them. The tide was coming in stronger now that it was mid-afternoon. On the horizon I saw the colorful sails of merchant and travel ships bobbing on the water. I leaned against the railing, letting myself become almost hypnotized by the motion of the water around me. I don’t know how long I stayed staring out at the water but Rhys knocking at my door told me it had been at least a few hours. Rhys walked up to my side, leaning against the railing. 

“It's definitely a nice view.” He says, snapping me out of my trance. I only nod. 

“I wish we didn't have to do this.” 

“Which part?”

“I don’t know all of it. The sneaking and the games. I just wish it could change.” I said, voice barely above a whisper. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. 

“It will be. Once this war is over. That’s what we're fighting for.” He gave a little squeeze before I sighed heavily. 

“I hope that’s how the others see it.” He nodded and I pulled away from his side. Walking back into the room. I picked up my tiara and slid it into my hair. I adjusted my makeup in the mirror on the vanity.  Looking at Rhys I gave a dramatic twirl. 

“How do I look?” He rolled his eyes at the question.

“Every bit the Night Court princess. Now will you please hurry up, we’re already late enough.” I stuck my tongue out at him as we walked out of the room. 

The ship was beautiful. It could fit double the amount of Fae than it was currently holding. Feyre, Rhys and Amren stayed close together while I mingled amongst those who would actually talk to me. Cressida found me at some point in the night, pushing a glass of wine into my hand. I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between her and Mor. Making me wonder just what sat behind her own mask. We got along fine but years of not speaking had made our friendship dissolve. Rhys made his way over to Cressida and I, giving Feyre space to talk to Tarquin. He tried to play the aloof High Lord but I saw the way his eyes kept floating over to Feyre, the way his shoulders stiffened at every smile Tarquin gave her. Cressida must have sensed the tension too because she leaned across the table to reach for my brother's hand, purposefully leaning over to expose her cleavage to him. I tried not to roll my eyes at her attempt to get his attention. 

He gave her a sleepy smile and pointed to the seat next to him. She gave Feyre a lingering glance before she stood up and all but climbed into his lap. I didn’t hold back my eyeroll this time. She shot me a wide grin. “You don’t mind do you?” She asked in a coy voice. 

“By all means, don’t let me stop you. But you should be asking him.” She pouted at my brother who nodded his head, his hand drifting to the small of her back. I downed the rest of my wine before standing up to get more. I had no interest in seeing him lean down to whisper in his ear. I noticed Feyre spared a glance our way, quickly looking back to Tarquin when she spotted Cressida’s new seat. Before I knew it, Feyre was on her feet. Walking away to a less crowded spot on the ship, leaving a very confused looking Tarquin behind her. Taking the opportunity, I joined him at the table. 

“I hope I didn’t upset her.” He joked when I sat down beside him.

“She can be a little…touchy where my brother is concerned. Pay no mind.” I waved my hand to punctuate my words. Tarquin just took a deep sip of his wine. 

We made light conversation, asking each other about our courts and each only giving as much information as was polite. My eyes tracked Rhys movements as Cressida pulled him from his seat and across the deck of the ship. A deep laugh came from the High Lord’s chest. 

“You’re not interested then?” I pointed my hand at the retreating couple, still holding my wine glass,  Another laugh from Tarquin.

“Mother no, did no one tell you she’s my cousin.” 

“Oh…” He gave me a smirk. 

“And besides,  princess. I am still young and rebuilding my court. All of that,” he waved towards the direction Cressida had pulled my brother, “can wait until after. That doesn’t mean that anyone in my court isn’t free fuck whoever they decide.” I almost shot wine from my nose at how hard I laughed, choosing an inopportune time to take a deep sip from my cup. I sputtered out an  “I’m sorry.” between coughs. He handed me a handkerchief to wipe my mouth. “I truly wasn’t not expecting you to say that. Please don’t think I was laughing at you.” 

“Never.” His voice suddenly became more serious than before. 

“Now what about you? No one has caught your eye?”

“I dare you to try with a brother like mine.” It felt wrong to so crassly talk about Rhys. LIke he was the one stopping me from what I wanted. 

“But there’s someone?” He pried. I shook my head. 

“No one that would see me that way.” It wasn’t a lie by any means. He didn’t have to know exactly why. 

“Do they happen to be blind?” I raised an eyebrow in question. “That would be the only reason I think of for someone not seeing you that way.” I didn’t fake the blush that rose on my cheeks. 

“You flatter me. But no, just… I don’t know.” I said in a tone almost boarding on a whine. He laughed again, a sound I realized I liked. We sat and talked until the sun colored the water a deep purple. I looked out at the view, once again falling into a trance as I stared out at the waves. 

“Shall I walk you back to your room?” Tarquin asked, pulling my eyes back to him. I wanted to say no. But the role I played required I saw yes. So I nodded, letting him guide me by my hand back around the palace. I was nervous as we approached my door, not knowing fully what he expected out of me. Especially not knowing exactly where Cressida had pulled Rhys to. I felt panic starting to rise in my throat until he cleared his throat. 

We were outside my door and the panic I felt must have been written across my face. 

“Don’t look so disappointed. But I was not walking you back for that.” I felt my shoulders relax and a blush settle on the tips of my ears. 

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t be. I like my partners more than willing.Enthusiastic if you will.” I laughed, which made him laugh in return.

“Good night.” I whispered to him

“Good night.” He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before he turned and walked off down the hallway. 

I had nothing to do until Feyre went to look for the book. And I truly had no desire to sit and gossip with Cressida after the heated looks she had been giving my brother. So I simply stayed in my room, listening to the sounds of the ocean. I tried to think of how much the rest of my family would love it here. How much they had loved it here. I lightly chuckled to myself as I remember Cassian's face as Mor winnowed him out of the court last time we had visited. It took days of debate and many apologies before the previous High Lord rescinded the blood ruby he threatened to send after Cassian.  Mor looked absolutely gorgeous with some sun on her skin, although Azriel held onto it longer much to her chagrin. I curled my knees up to my chest at the thought of Azriel. It felt almost selfish for how little I had thought about him since I’d been here. Regardless of the fact that I had no reason to feel bad, a small twinge of shame pushed its way through me. A hand rising to the center of my chest to massage the discomfort away. 

Rhys didn't come to collect me until dinner. He was curt as he announced that the rest were waiting for me, not waiting for my reply before he was leaving the room again. I rushed after to catch up with him. Feyre must have done her job well if my brother was wound this tight. 

“Anything on your mind, brother?” I asked in a sweet voice, purposefully teasing him.

“Don’t you start with me too.” So Feyre must have already talked to him. Good. Maybe he’ll finally use this to tell the poor girl. “Stop trying to meddle.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I just want to get this damned book and go back home.”

“I’m sure that’s all there is to it, Rhys.” I patted him on the back and nearly started running down the hall, suddenly very hungry. 

The days passed by slowly. As Rhys’ advisor, I was now expected to attend the various meetings Rhys had with the summer courts own advisors. I wished we could have left Amren out of these meetings, but as his second, she attended every one of them. Her presence set the others on edge, making any and all discussions freeze at random moments because she so much as shifted her body weight. 

It wasn’t until dinner the night after that Feyre almost gave herself away. One too many questions asked about the little temple in the middle of the tide. Tarquin brushed off her questions with ease but I saw the way his eyes lingered on her longer than normal, like he was sizing her up for the first time. If I blinked I would have missed it, that slight fog in his eyes. A fog that only appeared for a moment before sea green eyes were revealed once again. I shot my eyes to Rhys who shook his head. Not him then. Meaning Feyre must have been able to do that. I was both very impressed and oh so horrified. 

“I can carry you both and then keep watch” Rhys layed out the plan. Amren looked over to me. 

“And her?”

“Someone has to keep the High Lord distracted.” I grinned at her

“What a hard job to do.” She bit back at me, baring her teeth at me. I fought back the urge to do the same. 

“It’s a necessary job. Unless you want to risk Tarquin sniffing us out.” She didn’t have a response for him. “Good. Do you think you can do it?” He turned to face me and I nodded. From there we planned the rest of the details. 

The day dragged by. Tarquin, by Feyre’s suggestion, had taken her to the mainland to show her the rest of the court. That left Amren, Rhys and myself free to make some final conversation with the court advisors. Simple things like trade and training of soldiers felt wrong to discuss with a greater war on the horizon, felt too mundane. 

Evening came around eventually. Tarquin all but deposited Feyre into Rhys’ outstretched arms. He gave her a salacious smile that I wasn’t sure was entirely fake. But gave the right impression of just exactly why I was so eager to leave the palace. 

Tarquin and I walked through the city where he took me to a small bistro. The staff all smiled at him as we approached the open air restaurant. It was quaint, reminding me of something you would find in Velaris. The casual exchange between the owner and Tarquin felt very familiar. I smiled at the couple as they personally sat Tarquin and I. The restaurant had no menu, instead the meal was based on whatever the ships brought in that day and the catch of the day seemed to be crab. They brought out steaming plates and I could only stare at it. 

“I must admit, I’ve never tried crab before.” I picked up one of the legs in front of me, taking note of the hard shell. Tarquin smiled at me. 

“Apologies, I didn’t consider that.” He gestured for the piece I was holding and I handed it over to him. “You have to crack this open” A simple twist of his hands and the shell popped loudly. “And then you can pull out the meat.” Picking up a tiny fork, he pulled the entirety of the meat out in a clean piece. I gave him a small clap. He laughed and handed me another piece. 

“You try.” I earned my own clap from him as I copied his motions. It took me a few tries to scoop everything out but I got there in the end. 

“I’lll just have to practice more.” I winked at him and he gave me a soft smile. 

“If it gives you an excuse to come back here, be my guest.” I let the comment float between us. We ate until he had to wave off the shop owners. A small argument between the three of them as they tried to insist he didn’t need to pay. Tarquin dropped a bag of gold on the table when their backs were turned and all but pushed me out of the restaurant before they could notice. The action was so unlike any other high lord I had seen that I couldn’t help the giggle that left me. 

He had grabbed my hand in his sometime during our walk back through the city. Not paying attention to the way I led him to the stretch of beach on the other side of the palace, on the opposite side of where Feyre and Amren were currently trying to grab the book from. The only sound between us was the crashing waves. 

“Sunlight looks good on you.” Tarquin winked at me as we walked down the beach. Breaking the comfortable silence.  The red that tinted my cheeks had nothing to do with the fleeting sunlight. 

“I’m afraid I might become the same color of that crab if I stayed too long,” I joked back.

“You’d adjust… If you ever wanted to, that is.” His tone was light but I could sense the truth behind those words. 

“You’d do well to remember not to be fooled by a pretty face.” I returned with that same tone. He shook his head. 

“I was under the mountain too. Everyone heard the way you would stand up to her. The way you suffered so others wouldn’t.” His words startled me. I never acted that way to get attention. I told him as much. “And that’s why I know you’re more than a pretty face. You did all of it without thinking. Regardless of what you might show others, I know you and your brother are good people. The people that refuse to see that are fools” 

I didn’t respond. Unable to find the right words. I kept walking, slower than before. The sound of waves crashed over my ears. The white noise comforting. Tarquin was not a bad looking male by a long shot. Even under the mountain he was gorgeous. But even thinking of it, however fleetingly, felt wrong. Some deep part in my chest hurt as I thought of how easy it would be to fall in love with him. My hand drifted subconsciously to rub that sharp sting away. 

“You’re kind too. I see it in the way you interact with your people. Very few high lords care about lesser fae, let alone enough to remember their names.” It was his turn to blush, the skin on his cheeks darkening ever so slightly. 

“I want to be better than those before me. I see no reason to make my people suffer because they weren't lucky enough to be high born.”

“I wouldn’t call it lucky.” I muttered mostly to myself. 

“Neither would I. But to them, to the people that only get to watch…”

“It all does seem rather glamorous. Just another mask to put on.” I bit my tongue, cursing myself for saying too much. To my surprise, Tarquin only nodded along. 

“Better to let them think it’s all parties and banquets. It means we’re doing our jobs well enough.” Once again, silence blanketed itself over us. Both of us were aware that our conversation had drifted to something too real. As I looked out at the ocean and saw the tide starting to swell again, I felt disgust ebb through me. I hoped Feyre had made it out by now. That she had gotten the book. We would be leaving tomorrow regardless. Tarquin must have noticed the look on my face, the pensive far-off look. 

“Are you sad to be leaving?” Luckily he had misread my emotions. I nodded, not entirely lying to him.

“Your home is beautiful and it’s nice to be given a break from Hewn city. Sometimes when I wake it, it’s hard not to think I’m still…with her.” He grabbed my hand in his as I spoke. As I looked into his sea green eyes, I had never felt more disgusted with myself. He was kind and trusting and so naive. It felt too easy. Any other high lord, one that had been around longer, would have never let my brother or Feyre out of their sight. Pretty face or not. But the High Lord in front of me didn’t hold an ounce of suspicion for my court. Had told Feyre that much during their trip earlier in the week. It made my stomach twist. 

“She left our mark on all of us, it’s our job to make sure someone like her can never have that chance again.” My throat felt tight and I couldn't speak. He was a good male without a doubt. I only hoped he would forgive us for what we had to do, and would be willing to hear us out after all is said and done.  

AS if the mother herself sensed my words, an alarm rang from within the castle. Tarquin jumped, pulling his hand from mine as a  figure appeared next to us. I hoped the sigh of relief wasn’t too loud as I saw Rhys. It’s done. We need to go now. Tarquin’s head was whipping back and forth between his palace and my brother. I knew I would never be able to forget the look of pure disbelief in his eyes as the pieces clicked into place. 

“I’m so sorry.” I took a step towards him as Rhys wrapped an arm around my waist and the moonlit water of the summer court disappeared around me. 

My knees gave out as soon as I felt the ground return underneath me. Azriel was at my side instantly, hands quick to wipe the silent tears off of my face. I pushed myself away from him. So disgusted with myself I could hardly breathe. My brother paid no attention to me, instead turning his focus to Feyre. I let out a mix between a sob and a laugh as I saw her pull out the book. Azriel just pulled me back against his chest. And my treacherous body relaxed in his hold. That familiar smell of nighttime and pine and something so Azriel that I couldn’t help but calm down. I clung to him tighter as Feyre struggled to open the book. Scared that this had all been for nothing. Then the sick voice echoed through the room. A language I couldn’t quite make out but chilled me to my very core. Like the book had been made of nightmares themselves. Even Azriel tensed beside me, wings flaring before I felt them wrap around me. The voice burrowed into my brain sending a fresh wave of tears down my face. Then, just as sudden as it had started it stopped. Feyre held the now opened box in her lap, refusing to look into it. 

Amren finally looked and pulled away, swearing. She looked…scared. It was a look so out of place on her face that I almost couldn’t clock it. But as she looked back at the book I recognized the pure terror flickering behind those quick silver eyes and I wondered out loud what exactly we had gotten ourselves into. 

I didn’t stay to discuss the events at the summer court with the rest of my family. As it was, Azriel had to all but carry me to my room. Maybe I was being dramatic but the last few days mixed with that look from Tarquin had worn heavily on me. Waves of guilt kept roaring through me. Enough so that I simply let Azriel place me onto my bed, feeling too disgusted with myself to be in his presence any longer. He only pressed a light kiss to my forehead before he pulled the curtains shut and left my room. 

Azriel didn’t return until later the next day. When I finally was able to look him in the eyes I saw nothing but concern in those hazel eyes. Concern I didn’t deserve or want. 

“Talk to me.” He pleaded. I shook my head, a small sniffle the only sound I made. Willing the tears away. I didn’t even deserve to be crying for myself. He sighed heavily and pulled me into his lap. I was so upset that I didn’t even consider the intimate hold. I just curled up tighter into myself and let him rock me back and forth. 

“I’m a horrible person.” I sobbed into his chest, unable to hold back the tears. 

“Rhys told me everything. You’re not. They don’t know it yet but this could save us all.” I didn’t let his words comfort me. 

“He’s so kind. It sickens me to think that I might be the reason he stops being kind.” My voice broke. The admission was unbearable. 

“He’ll deal with it.” I sniffled one more time before I started to calm down. 

Tarquin did in fact deal with it. In the form of four blood red rubies delivered to Hewn City that morning. I swore when Rhys placed it on my bed. “Azriel’s already sweeping the border, so if you decided to have a melt down on me again, you’ll be waiting for a while for someone to comfort you.” Half a tease and half a plea for me to keep it together. I tossed the ruby to the floor, letting it roll under my bed. 

“You really know how to comfort a female, Rhys. It’s a miracle we aren’t having to peel Feyre off of you, truly.” I spit at him. 

“Be angry at me all you want, but get your shit together. You’ve, we’ve, done far worse things.”

“To people that deserved it.” I whispered back. And that was the root of it all. The way we had done unspeakable things to people in the past had never bothered me, because they would have done the same if they got the chance. But sweet, naive Tarquin…

“He’ll understand in time.” Was all he offered, and I saw red tinge the edge of my vision. 

“But at what cost? He’s a good ally to have if we come down to war and we very well might have pushed him into Hyberns hands.”

“If it takes a simple theft for him to go to Hybern then he was never truly an ally.” I wanted to slap the cock-sure look off of my brother's face. 

“Send in Azriel when he gets back.” Dismissal clear in my tone. Rhys looked at me, but I turned away from him. He said my name softly. 

“Get.Out.” I gritted out, picking up a pillow to throw at him but when I turned around he was already gone. 

Azriel did come to my room later in the day, but only long enough to bring me food and say goodbye. He was doing more patrols, checking  his network of spies for any word that Summer might be preparing to send soldiers to our doors. He left before I could say anything to him, only leaving a single shadow behind. It stayed near my bed until I ate the food Azriel had brought for me. Then, and only then, did the shadow retreat to the corner of my room, making me feel a little less alone as I drifted off to sleep. 

It took days for me to finally come out of my room. Nothing compared to the weeks of waiting for the queens to reply to our request. Rhys didn’t have to inform me I would not be coming to the meeting and I didn't have it in me to argue with his decision. He would keep an open line to me from the human lands and I would be able to add my two cents if it was needed. But after my reaction to Tarquin, wwe couldn’t risk another break down on my end. As much as everyone understood where I was coming from, they knew the role I played weighed heavily on me and if I was to attend the meeting I would need to play my part perfectly. A part I didn’t want to play at the moment. That would leave me with Amren, the ancient fae had not let the book out of her sight since it had been given to her. Rhys and I were the only others who had an inkling of how to translate the equally as ancient language, but it took me far more concentration than it took her. 

She didn’t seem to care because no sooner had my family left before she was hauling the book onto the table in my office. The map had been moved to a larger table so she sprawled out sheets of paper with random sentences scribbled onto them, like she was translating faster than she could write them down. I stared at the pages until my eyes began to blur over. Amren shot me a dirty look when I pushed away from the table rubbing my eyes. 

“Weak.” She muttered to herself and I didn’t dignify her taunt with a reply. I had nothing to prove to her, and she very well might be right. I didn’t have the same pull to war like she did, planning it was hard enough. Despite how naturally it came to me, I despised the scheming and backstabbing that usually accompanied it. I didn’t spare her a glance as I walked out of the room, leaving her to her own devices to try to make sense of the pages of the book. 

It was around dinner time when everyone appeared in the front room of the house. I could feel the tension radiating off of Rhys and I wondered why he hadn’t tried to contact me. Until I followed him into his office and he spun around, looking like he was ready to attack me. 

“They want proof that we’re not the court the rumors suggest. They want to see behind the mask.” He spit out, hands lacing into his hair looking like he might pull it from his roots. 

“What are you going to do?” I asked him softly. Taking very slow steps towards him. He growled before he pushed the contents of his desk to the ground. He stood, chest heaving rapidly as he just stared at the floor. 

“I’m going  to show it to them. For the first time since its creation, I’m going to show someone Velaris.” He sunk into his chair, like his legs would no longer support him. I sensed Cassian and Azriel behind me then. I shot them a look that told them to get out and they left as quickly as they had entered. I walked over to my brother and wrapped my arms around him. The sob he let out shook me to my very core and I could only hold him tighter. NO words of encouragement found their way from my throat. 

“I’m sorry for judging you so much over the last weeks.” He said once the sobs had stopped echoing around the room. 

“You were only trying to-”

“I was only being selfish. You made a hard choice and look at me the moment I’m presented with one.” 

“You’re allowed to feel things, Rhys.” A conversation we had had far too many times. He shook his head against my shoulder.

“Not if this is what it does to me. Not if it puts my family in danger.” He sounded so broken and exhausted. 

“You don’t have to do this alone.” My words only made him start sobbing again. And I just held him, not trusting myself to speak as he cried himself out. 

We didn’t speak of the events in his office, that singular moment of weakness from my brother and the others knew better than to ask. The withering glare I had shot Amren when she even attempted to pry served as warning to leave it be. They let it be as the focus quickly turned to the trip to Hewn city. The Veritas orb would be the only way the queens would ever truly believe us. 

So we all prepared. Dressing in finery like it was no different than our fighting leathers. Because in that wretched court they were synonymous. Lipstick akin to war paint and a lethal smile more than just an expression.

I dug in the back of my closet for the ballgowns I reserved only for these occasions. The one I chose for tonight was made of a fabric so black it looked purple. Cut outs at my waist and a neckline that nearly dipped to my navel. Twin slits up the legs that closed right under my hip bone. I left my hair down as I usually did, pinning it to one side of my head. Slipping in my crown I didn’t give myself another glance in the mirror. 

The dress left no room for weapons anywhere on my body but Azriel would be by my side as we searched for the orb. And hopefully he wouldn’t have to even think of using the polished blade that sat on his hip. 

Mor and I arrived first. Winnowing ahead of the others to announce our arrival. There weren't many preparations to be made, the court never one to stop partying. Only stopping enough to sleep or the occasional formal dinner. So Mor and I waited. And waited. Kier grew ever impatient at the lack of my brother's appearance. 

“He’s your high lord, he can come and go whenever he pleases.” My voice the perfect picture of an ice cold princess. Stuck up and full of mirth. He rolled his eyes at me.

“Yes of course, I just wish to go back to my own festivities instead of waiting for him to grace us with his presence.” 

“You will wait as long as he sees fit.” I bared my teeth at him and all he did was give me a wicked smile. I fought to keep my face even, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of riling me. 

Mor was shifting from foot to foot. Looking at her, you would think she was bored, but her tight grip on her arms was the only indication about how uncomfortable she was. Standing in the same room as her father. Neither of them so much as looked at the other. 

“Why don’t you go check on the others. Make sure they remembered we were coming.” I said to Mor, giving her an excuse to leave if only for a few minutes. She didn’t say anything, just gave me a tight nod in appreciation. When she arrived, her face was grim before that mask of indifference snapped back into place. I would have to ask her about it later. 

I almost sighed in relief when I saw my brother, Feyre in tow behind him, walk through the heavy obsidian doors. Kier had already gone back to the main room, my threatening promise of collecting him when my brother appeared. 

“Wait for the others.” Rhys said to me as he brushed by me, steps not faltering as he walked into the throne room. So I waited for Cassian and Azriel. They arrived a few minutes after Rhys had left the room. 

“What happened?” I hissed at them, seeing their glowing siphons. 

“Ambush. We’ll tell you more later.” Azriel said in a clipped voice, shadows whipping around his feet. Clearly agitated. I nodded. 

“You better.” I answered before we all fell into our positions. Azriel on my right and Cassian on my left, me a few paces in front of them. The three of us walked into the throne room. If it wasn’t already silent, the sheer presence of the three of us would have quieted it. As it was, eyes tracked our every move, people all but jumping out of the way of the three of us. Gone were the playful smiles and casual words. Here I was more than just darkness, if Rhys night incarnate and I was something different entirely. The absence of anything, a void. Everyone here had witnessed first hand my powers. The smoke that could incapacitate everyone standing before me, when I had my full powers. Then there was Azriel and Cassian, the wicked spymaster and the bloodthirsty general. 

A path was cleared for us up to the dias where Rhys was standing. Azriel and Cassian knelt at the foot of the marble steps. I joined my brother on the opposite side as Feyre. A feline smile gracing my features as I looked at the kneeling figures of the court. 

“How lovely of you to finally join us.” 

“Call it fashionably late.” Rhys chuckled darkly at my response. With that he walked over to his throne. Pulling Feyre onto his lap. I walked a few paces to stand beside him, my usual position as his sister. I was not expected to kneel for him, instead presenting a unified front. The terrifying high lord and his equally powerful sister. 

I tried to ignore the way Rhys ran his hands all over Feyre. She had already been warned of the role she would have to play while visiting this court. A role she accepted. I admired how bravely she was taking it all. He leaned in to whisper something I tried to tune out. The court is still kneeling, bodies shifting with the strain of the position. As if remembering that they were even there. “Go play.” Was the only acknowledgement he gave them. Dismissing them like they weren’t worth his time anymore. The music began after a few moments. People scramble to do something to distract themselves. 

I walked over to the two warriors as Rhys summoned Kier from his spot near the dias. I fought the urge to hiss at him as he walked by me. I let a small flicker of smoke leak from my hands instead, a threat. He snarled at me and I only let out a low laugh. 

Azriel was already waiting for me. Ready to surround us in darkness to retrieve the orb. We hung by the edge of the room for a little longer, slipping out seamlessly. 

I led the way down the twisting hallways to the vaults that lay hidden underneath Kier’s bedchambers. Azriel needed someone from our bloodline to get in that room, the wards being keyed to our family. We didn’t run into any guards on the way, the wards making it unnecessary.

We entered the cavernous room and began searching. Azriel sent his shadows off through the various tunnels to search ahead of us. We searched through room after room. Silently cursing my extended family for the sheer amount of things they held onto. Jewels and ancient tomes. Records of every dealing of the court of nightmares. I rolled my eyes at the absurd opulence of it all. Azriel’s shadows whipped back to him, wrapping around his shoulders. No doubt whispering of the orbs wearabouts. He grabbed my hand in his as the shadows slunk back to their previous location. The orb was sitting high on a shelf. Out or reach if it wasn’t for Azriel’s wings. He quickly scooped it up and placed it in a bag hidden underneath his leathers. 

We started the walk back to the throne room. The sound of footsteps alerting us of someone else's, several someones, presence. Without thinking, I pulled Azriel’s face close to mine. Bringing a hand up to his face. His hand went to wrap around my waist at the quick movement. 

“Play along.” I whispered to him. I gave a quiet sultry laugh and the footsteps stopped mere feet from us. I jumped back like they had surprised me. Peeling myself off of Azriel. I stepped away, forcing an embarrassed look onto my face. 

The two males only stared at Azriel and I. Taking note of the secluded spot, the space I had abruptly put between us. Predatory smiles graced their faces. 

“Don’t let us ruin your fun.” One said.

“Unless you would rather us join.” The other added. From the lilt of their voices, I could tell they were drunk. Too drunk to realize exactly who they were speaking to like that. I only made a disgusted sound, pulling Azriel behind me as the sound of their laughter echoed through the hallway behind us. 

Azriel and I blended seamlessly into the dancing crowd. The music was slightly more refined than earlier. He didn’t say anything to me as I pulled his hand into mine and put his other hand on my waist. He slowly let his shoulders relax, leaning into me and his footing became more sure. 

It didn’t take long for me to forget why we were doing this, that we had nearly been caught despite his shadows. As I danced with him, I forgot anything but us existed.

The music flowed through me making me feel light as he spun me around the dance floor. I didn’t care about the eyes tracking us across the room. I couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of his hands on my exposed waist. He whispered a joke at something his shadows must have picked up and I threw my head back with laughter. Truthfully I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this good. My mind fully focused on Azriel. 

I prayed to the mother he couldn’t feel the goosebumps that had risen along my skin against his touch. 

He dipped me low and I felt my breath stop. His face an inch from mine. It would be so easy to close that distance and feel his lips against mine. Every part of my brain was screaming at me to do it. His shadows raced around us like they could hear my thoughts. My traitorous body locked up when all I wanted to do was pull him to me. He took in the tension in my body and started to pull away. Panicking at the thought of losing his body heat against mine, I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him back down to me, right as he started to stand me up. I bit back a moan as I felt the plush of his lips collide with mine. 

It was clumsy and rushed but I sucked down breaths full of him, hand still locked on his neck. His hands tightened their hold against me and he groaned my name before he pushed me away. 

“I’m sorry. I…” all the joy had leached out of me as I took in his face. He looked disgusted and before I could say anything else he was weaving through the crowd, leaving me alone on the dance floor. 

My mind was reeling. Lips still tingling in the aftermath. I had dreamed of that kiss for centuries but never could have predicted his reaction. The tears were streaking down my face before I quickly wiped them away, pushing my way through moving bodies. I needed to get out of this room, get out of this stupid dress that had suddenly become too tight to breathe. 

Before I could rip it off in the middle of the throne room, Rhys caught my elbow and was pulling me down to a quiet hallway. I haven't even realized he had left his throne. 

“What happened? Are you hurt?” I couldn’t answer with anything other than a sob. He took me into his arms and my skin crawled at the contact. I shrugged out of his hold and could only get out one word. “Mor.” I said her name like the lifeline it was. I saw the conflict in Rhys’ eyes. The need to make me feel better and not leave me alone. But as another sob passed my lips he was all but running away to grab the female I had requested. 

I was hiccuping between sobs by the time Mor arrived. Rhys nowhere in sight, probably returning back to that cruel High Lord facade. I don’t think I could have gotten the words out of what had happened if he was still standing beside me. I choked out the words to her. Recounting what happened and Azriel’s less than enthusiastic reaction. Mor was well aware of my feelings and her eyes shone with sympathy. She held me as I cried it out, tears soaking the fabric on her shoulder. Her hold on me helped to ground me and eventually my tears calmed. I gave her the tightest squeeze I could manage and she held me at arms length, examining my face. Her thumbs came up to wipe under my eyes, coming away with streaks of my makeup sticking to them. My own hands brushed along my face and a sigh of relief followed as I noticed my makeup hadn't smudged too much. No one would be able to know the mess a single kiss had just reduced me to. 

Taking Mors outstretched hand, she pulled me back into the main ballroom, music filling my ears again. The tempo had picked up more turning into something I might hear at Rita’s and definitely something you couldn’t waltz to. Couples had retreated to the sides as the dance floor became a breathing pulse instead of the graceful swell of movement it had been earlier. The pairs that had remained grinding against each other. Mor snagged two flukes of champagne as she pulled us deeper into the dance floor. I knocked mine back as quickly as I could and resolved to block out all the thoughts that were racing around in my head. So I danced with Mor until my brow was covered in sweat, my skin glistening at the rising temperature of the entire room. We ignored all the disgruntled looks aimed our way. Not caring if they heard our laughter for once. 

We both laughed as we found our way to the edge of the crowd again, grabbing more champagne. We both hung back catching our breath together and I let out a heavy sigh as I emptied the glass. I spotted the shadows from across the room and all but slammed the glass onto the table behind me. 

“I’m leaving.” Was all I said to Mor as I stalked away. She didn’t try to stop me, only grabbed my arm to winnow me back to Velaris. She didn’t linger. Returning just as swiftly as we had arrived. 

I just made it back to my room before the tears started anew. Ripping the pins out of my hair and peeling the beautiful dress off my shaking frame, I didn’t make it to my bed before I sunk down to my feet. Pulling my knees close to my chest I let the tears come. 

He was allowed to not return my feelings but in those moments on the dance floor that kiss had felt so real. The way I effortlessly fit against him or the laughter that flowed freely from me. It all felt so right and to see that look on his face. It broke some part of me I had been holding onto for so long now. That small dream that he could for some reason ever return my sentiments. That he would ever see me as anything as Rhys’ sister. 

I eventually was able to pull myself into bed and curl myself into a ball. Tears lulling me off to sleep. I must have dreamt that night because I swore I felt those familiar shadows glide over my skin but by the time I opened my eyes they were gone. 

I managed to pull myself out of bed the next morning. Pushing the stinging rejection to some deep part of me. There’s a war at our doorsteps and you’re crying over a kiss. I reminded myself to stop being so pathetic as I walked down the stairs to the kitchen. I was the last to arrive apparently. 

“You disappeared rather quickly last night.” Cassian said to me, tone teasing but laced with questions. 

“We got the orb, and I no longer wanted to be there.” I shrugged. Pointedly ignoring the gaze of the shadowslinger I could feel burning a hole in the side of my head. I didn’t talk to him all morning, suddenly finding someone calling my name when he tried to speak to me. It was childish, sure, but I didn’t have it in me to discuss it without breaking down in front of him. As it was, I could barely make eye contact with him. My lips tingled every time I look at him. A feeling that I imagine must be similar to being struck by lighting erupted over my skin. I couldn’t be in the same room as him. Lucky for me, Rhys had called me into his study to go over the events of last night. What that would mean for our upcoming trip to the queens.

I was so out of it that I didn’t even notice that Rhys had stopped talking. 

“What happened to you last night?” Rhys asked in a soft voice. I shook my head. If I started talking about it I wouldn’t be able to stop. Rhys would know everything.

“Weren’t you just the one telling me you don’t have to do this by yourself. Gods just let me help you.” 

“You can’t fix this, Rhys.”

“Why not?”

“Azriel kissed me.” He tensed at my rushed words. 

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was cold as death. I shook my head.

“Not the way you mean.” He tapped his hand impatiently against his desk, waiting for more of an explanation. So I sighed and told him everything. 

“How long have you been in love with him?” He asked when I finally finished my story. 

“I’m not-” His pointed stare made me wither. “Only a few years after you became high lord.” I admitted. He had the audacity to laugh. 

“Cassian and I called it.” I gaped at him.

“Not out loud or anything but we always assumed.” 

“That’s all you have to say about this?”

“You’re an adult. He’s an adult.” 

“So you have no idea why he reacted that way.” He looked sheepish at my question. Hands going to pick at an invisible piece of lint. “Rhysand.” He flinched as I said his full name. 

“No. I have no idea.” He threw his hands up in the air before he said “Have you tried, I don’t know, talking to him yourself?”

It was my turn to look sheepish. 

“That explains why you’ve been avoiding him all morning then.” A smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“And I’m sure you were whispering all about the mating bond in Feyre’s ear last night?” I returned. 

“Touche.” 

“Who would have guessed, the two scariest fae in all of Pyrthian and we run with our tails between our legs at the thought of a romantic relationship.” 

“Pathetic truly.”

“If only they could see us now.” I joked back. 

I felt better after my talk with Rhys, lighter even. It was nice to have him know even if it meant I would have to endure his teasing at times. Azriel said nothing about my change in mood as I finally acknowledged him, Rhys making a lewd gesture behind the spymaster. I fought to keep my laugh down. Azriel looked behind his shoulder to find a perfectly still Rhys, his head turned back to me and then to Rhys again, like he might catch him if he moved fast enough. 

“We should-” He started before I held up a hand.

“Not necessary. I got the message loud and clear.” He deflated ever so slightly at my words and didn’t say anything else. So I carried on about my day as usual, until it was time to get dressed for tonight.

The gown I wore tonight was vastly different from the one I wore to Hewn city. This was a silver, tiered dress. Ruffles formed to look like butterfly wings and encrusted with gems on the edges. The neckline was far more modest than my other dress, swooping gently right under my collar bone. I couldn’t help but twirl in the mirror. Giggling at the rainbows the clear gems threw across the ceiling. It truly was a gorgeous dress. One I had custom made from one of the shops in Velaris. 

I didn’t wait for any of the others to join me. I had gotten ready at the house of wind so I could join the festivities the moment I was ready. Too excited to waste one minute with Mor fussing about her hair. I stood on the balcony, eyes already searching for those little flickers of starlight. 

“You look beautiful.” A voice behind me said, making me jump. I haven't heard Azriel approaching behind me. He stood beside me by the railing, leaning on his elbows. It was peaceful, standing next to him with the wind brushing against my skin. The events from last night eddying out of my mind with him so close to me. 

“I missed this.” I nearly whispered to him. Looking out at the lights of the city I loved. Hearing the laughs and joyous shouts of everyone above us. It was all too much and not enough, the thought of it bringing happy tears to my eyes. Tears that I felt scared hands wipe away before I could. “I’m sorry. I just… I never thought I would see this again.” His eyes filled with a deep sadness. Before he could open his mouth to speak again, Mor called my name. Rushing over she put a glass of champagne in my hand, pulling me upstairs with the other. Azriel trailed behind us. 

I looked over my shoulder and gave him a soft smile that he returned. Cassian was waiting for all of us, talking to some pretty female that was batting her eyelashes at him. He didn’t give her a second glance when he spotted us approaching, the female calling his name as he retreated from her side. I could have laughed at the look she gave all of us but I didn’t have time to think about it as Cassian swept me into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Look at you all dolled up, princess.” Cassian said as he held me at arms length. 

“Couldn’t have you upstage me” I winked at him which only made him throw his head back with laughter. I joined in and felt a weight uncurl from my shoulders. 

“Come on.” Mor said as the music started to pick up. The telltale sign that the best part was just ahead. My eyes searched the crowd for my brother. I wanted to share this moment with him. I caught the outline of wings on the balcony above us. Tucked away enough that I really had to search for him. I saw the sparkle of Feyre’s dress and a warm smile plastered itself to my face. His arm was wrapped around her waist. I looked away, giving them their privacy. 

No sooner had I looked back to the sky did I see the faint trails of light beginning to fill it. First one, then a few more, then the sky was full of the brightly colored trails. Bits of stardust landed in the river below us, covering the surface with their glittering color. Mor grabbed my hand, pulling me into a uneleagant dance. Cassian and Azriel joined in a few moments later. The four of us not caring about the moves we made, simply soaking up each other's company. Azriel wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close to his side and I felt my heart skip a beat. Mind instantly going back to our dance at the court of nightmares. He shot me an almost apologetic smile that told me he was thinking the same thing. I shrugged at him. Nothing to apologize for. He kissed me and I kissed him back. Simple as that. It didn’t have to mean anything, nothing more than the heat of the moment decision. As much as it hadn’t been that for me, as much as it stung to know that’s all he saw it as.

 Shaking the thoughts away, I grabbed his arm and swayed gently to the beat. Cassian and Mor devolved into a dance that was more jumping than dancing. They wrapped their arms around each other howling with laughter. 

I felt the glittering substance hit my arm. Looking down to inspect it, I noticed Azriel’s wings sporting their own splatters. It took every ounce of brain power I possessed not to reach up and brush it off of those beautiful wings. Instead I dipped a finger through the dust on my arm and wiped a streak over Azriel’s cheek. He stared at me in disbelief before a booming laugh left him. The sound warmed my heart. He laughed like this so rarely, truly carefree. It seemed so natural to lean in and rest my head against his chest. His arms wrapped around me as we just stood in each other's embrace. I tilted my head up so  I could see his hazel eyes already looking down at me.

“Azriel I…”

He let me go when Mor cried out my name, cutting off my words.

“You’re not nearly drunk enough.” She said pulling my arm to the table holding the full glasses. I turned to look at Azriel but he seemed to have disappeared already. His shadow trailing across my shoulder being the only indicator he had even been there. 

Mor and I stayed on the rooftop until the sun started peaking over the horizon. Coloring the Sidra a beautiful pink and orange. Sighing heavily as the lingering effects of the alcohol had started to wear off finally, leaving nothing but exhaustion in their wake. Mor simply grabbed my arm and winnowed us back to the house. 

Cassian and Azriel were asleep on the couches. A bottle of whiskey sitting empty on the table between them. They wouldn’t wake up until later in the afternoon. I threw blankets over both of them and started heading to my own room. I didn’t stay up long enough to bathe nor did I peel myself out of my dress. Suddenly too exhausted to even keep my eyes open. 

I woke up sometime in the late afternoon. Rhys all but pulled me out of bed.

“We're leaving soon.” That woke me up. With a curse I stumbled over myself to get to the bathing room. I took a hasty bath, washing away the remaining stardust that was stuck to my skin. I braided my hair and dressed in my Illyrian leather. Daggers slid into their place on my thigh. I strapped my sword to my back and was down to meet the others in less than thirty minutes. Rhys gave me an approving nod. 

Going to Windhaven never got any easier. I had no love for my old home. It was only a blessing from the cauldron that I haven't been born with wings. The cruelty I faced growing up was enough. The shudder that racked through me had nothing to do with the cold. 

I ignored the sneers from passing by males. Azriel and Cassian tight by my side serving as a buffer for the nasty comments that were usually thrown my way. Feyre was silent beside me, taking in the sights around her. 

We walked until Lord Devlon walked in front of us. A brutish male that was one of the few people in this world I can say I truly hated. Mor snarled at the mention of the girls they were supposed to be training. 

“And why aren’t the males helping them with the chores?” I dared to ask him. He looked at me like I was no more than a speck of dirt on his leathers. 

Before Devlon could grace me with a response Rhys cut him off. The demanding voice of a high lord telling him to clear out our old house. The tone even Devlon couldn’t argue with. 

Rhys, Feyre and I stood in the clearing. Time and time again she reached her power out, getting stronger each time. I practiced along with her. She stood in awe of the mist that poured out of my hands, getting thicker each time until it hugged the ground like fog. 

“When did you meet Tamlin?” Feyre asked after a string of questions about Illyria. Rhys and I both stiffened. The mist instantly retreated back into my hands. 

“Show me something impressive and I’ll tell you.” She rolled her eyes but did it anyway. Holding out her hand she conjured a butterfly out of the water in the snow. It was very impressive. 

“I’ve known Tamlin since he was young. The more decent children of the high lords at the time. Definitely better than Berons bunch.” He almost shivered and I willed the earth to swallow me whole. “And significantly better than his brothers, who knew from the moment Tamlin was born he would be high lord. He was the lesser of the evils so I decided it would be better if we were friends… I don’t know why but I even taught him some illyrian techniques.” 

“Did anyone know?” He shook his head. I blanched at the thought of how angry our father would have been had he known about Rhys and Tamlin’s friendship. Rhys looked to me, knowing the next part of the story was mine to tell. I just nodded at him, giving him permission to say the words I couldn’t. 

“When my father got wind of our friendship… for lack of a better term. He decided it was time for the two courts to align themselves more. And that’s where this gets even more complicated.” He trailed off, once again looking at me. 

“Why?” Feyre pressed on and I wish she hadn’t , wish she would have let it go at that. 

“Because the only way to join the courts in any way my father deemed worthy was to marry them together. Literally.” Feyre’s eyes went wide and her gaze landed on me. I couldn’t meet her eyes. Shame rising up, tightening my throat. Rhys continued. 

“We all saw the power that Tamlin had, the power that marked him as the next High Lord of spring. And without any sisters for me to get paired off to, that left one option.” He shrugged over at me. 

“What happened? I mean, I’m assuming you never…never went through with it.” I took a deep breath, willing my voice to work. 

“I moved to the spring court, I tried to fight it but my father would absolutely not hear it. Every plea fell on deaf ears. So I went because I had to,” my hands were shaking as I pulled up the memories. “It wasn’t so bad. Tamlin was different back then, sweeter, less guarded. At least when he wasn’t around his father. We became friends over time. But the closer we grew, the more protective he got over me.” She nodded, understanding the feeling. “Eventually it became a little more. He fell faster than I did, I never really saw him as more than a close friend but we were supposed to be married so I played along. Wishing every day that I could return his sentiments. Calanmi came that next year and he sought me out.” She paled at my words, her hand rubbing absentmindedly at her neck. I quickly added. “It wasn’t horrific by any stretch of the imagination. If I had said no, regardless of the magic, he wouldn’t have done it. Would have stopped. But that was when everything shifted for him. I couldn’t go out to the gardens without having his sentinels on my tail. Was damn near confined to only the house. Lucien wasn’t around as much then, still fairly new to the court. And of course, his father was watching our every move. Gauging the relationship as it progressed. Watched as I withered away under Tamlin’s overbearing protection.” I couldn’t stop the words as they flowed out of my mouth. 

“I pushed back as much as I could. I was constantly sneaking out which only made him more overbearing. We fought more than we didn’t. Both of us said and did horrible things to each other. I knew I couldn’t live like that forever. Couldn’t continue to suffer just because my father had some grand plan.” I finally met Feyre’s eyes and I almost flinched at the understanding in them. Of course she would get it. Her own experience was not too different from mine. She nodded at me, a sign to keep going. 

“So I started planning how to get back home. I couldn’t just winnow away in the dead of night. I knew he would come looking for me. I knew he wouldn’t let me go that easily. I had to break whatever love he thought he held for me, I had to make him let me go willingly. It wasn’t peaceful by any means. I went too far one day in an argument and for the first time ever he lost control.” I pulled up the arm to my jacket, letting the glamor fall away on the three angry claw marks that I never let heal. A reminder of just how destructive both of our tempers had gotten. 

“Why do you seem so calm about this, why didn’t you let me know…I would have-” Her skin was rippling with darkness. Fire flickering from her palms. 

“Would have what, Feyre? You were willing to die for him. I couldn’t take that away from you. I wanted to believe he could change, that he would be better to you. But that is simply how he loves.” I took a steading breath. “I said we both did some terrible things to each other and I stand by that. He’s a villain in my story as much as I am in his.” 

“We simply didn’t want to think we were trying to turn you against him” Rhys echoed. 

Rhys reached for her as she was already walking towards him. My ears barely picked up the whispered words. 

“I want to paint you.”

“Nude would be best” I rolled my eyes as Rhys reached to winnow me with them. 

I was able to catch up with Mor and Cassian as they surveyed the newest girls in training. Most of them were too scared to even pick up a sword, their eyes not moving from worriedly staring at Cassian. Signing, I stepped up in front of him. 

“Magic or no magic?” He asked, raising a challenging eyebrow to me. 

“Magic.” That gave him full permission to use his siphons. That was one department where I needed the practice as much as he did. I tried to pull all my focus on that kernel inside me. The smoke curled out from me before it retreated the moment I moved towards Cassian.

“Try harder.” He growled at me. And I did. I’d been able to coat the ground in the black fog. Cassian stepping to avoid it, but it followed him like a serpent. Twisting and curling around him. It was easier this time. More like trying to pull it through murky water as opposed to a brick wall. Something had changed since this afternoon. It was easier to hold onto it, and didn't leave me as breathless as before. It took a few more tries but I was even able to move around, the fog still staying on the ground. When we were done, I noticed Mor was coaching three of the girls who had been brave enough to pick up swords. I smiled at Cassian as we both watched her. It wasn’t much but it was progress. Slow progress but a start. 

All of us sat around the fire that night. Gathering as close as we could, trying to gain any sort of warmth from it. Feyre looked like her hands might just fall off, not built for or used to the frigid temperatures the night brought with it. We sat absently chatting as we all ate. Mor was going to Hewn city in the morning and Azriel had already left to scout out the human lands. I wasn’t happy with the idea of him going alone but he waved off my concern, promising me he would be safe. Mor, true to her word, left before the sun had even risen the next morning. Grumbling my good bye to her through sleep filled eyes. 

Rhys had convinced me to train with him and Feyre again. Impressed by the progress both of us had made so far. Feyre and I traveled further back into the clearing, putting space between her and my brother. I didn’t ever ask him what exactly had happened during starfall but the tension between the two was palpable and I didn’t blame her for needing space. As much as I hated being away from Azriel, the distance was nice. I felt like I was suddenly unable to think clearly around the shadowslinger. Thoughts more often than not drifting towards the memory of his lips on mine, his hands around my waist. 

A voice I recognized called out Feyre’s name. And to my horror it was not my brother but Lucien standing in the middle of the clearing. 

I stood by, ready to use my powers at the first sign from Feyre. Lucien and the wraiths at his side had yet to notice me. 

I hung onto every word of their exchange. Someone tipped us off that you had been here. Rage boiled my blood. Devlon no doubt being that someone. I took a step forward as Feyre stepped back. 

“Tamlin hasn’t been himself. We’ll take you back-

“Touch her and I kill you.” There was no warmth in my voice for my old friend. Lucien spun around so he was facing me. Giving Feyre time to put space between the two of them. He stared at me, mouth gaping. Smoke was already swirling around my feet. It would take nothing for me to reach out and get Feyre out of here. But this was her battle to fight. I wouldn’t make that choice for her. I felt my self control start to slip as he opened his mouth again.

“Of course. What poison have you been spewing into her ears?” He spit at me. 

“Don’t make this about me.” I spit back so harsh, he flinched. A twig snapping had Lucien whipping back to face Feyre. 

“Let’s go home.” He said as he reached out a hand. I reached for my dagger, wondering if I would be fast enough to sever it from his body if he reached any closer for her. 

“That stopped being my home the moment you let him lock me away inside.” She spoke, quiet as death. He at least had the decency to look ashamed. 

“He made a mistake. He’s sorry, we’re both sorry.” I couldn’t help the scoff that left my mouth. He only ripped his gaze on her away for a second. 

“All this time and you can’t come up with better excuses, Lucien?” I goaded him, “Will he change? Will he be better if she just gives him time?” I felt the fog thin out by my feet. I didn’t pay it any mind. 

I lunged forward the same time Lucien did. A shout leaving my mouth. But his hands found nothing. Feyre was now standing behind him with Rhys at her side. I didn’t let myself relax. 

“Didn’t your mother tell you what the word no means?” Lucien did nothing by spit at my brother's feet. But it was that one word from his mouth.Whoring prick. That had me lunging for him. A firm arm across my chest from Rhys was the only thing holding me back. 

“You made your point Feyre-now come home.” He reached his hand out again but feyre only stepped back. 

“You gave up on me.” The way she spoke those words hit me like a punch in the gut. Lucien’s eyes flickered over to me. No doubt remembering me saying similar things. I was suddenly very far away until I saw those beautiful IIlryian wings peek over her shoulder. Lucien to his credit did not fall as he stumbled back. 

“What did they do to you?” Horror laced his words. Good. 

“Tell Tamlin I won’t be coming back. That if he sends anyone for me, I’ll show him exactly what we do to those who wander into our court.” I felt no sympathy at the hurt that washed over Lucien's face. 

“You’re dead. You and everyone in your court.” He was gone before I had the chance to lunge at him. 

“Scheming prick. Stupid, overconfident bastard.” I kept shouting, kicking the snow around me. I had half a mind to go track him down at the spring court and finish the job I should have done a long time ago. It wasn’t truly Lucien I was mad at, no he was simply the messenger. Once again trying to clean up Tamlins messes. It was either that or have no court to call home. Anger flared through me at the thought. How Tamlin took advantage of Lucien’s situation and turned him into nothing more than a mindless crony. I didn’t pay attention to the words Rhys and Feyre spoke around me. Didn’t even notice Cassian flying in beside me until he gave my arm a small shake. I ripped it out of his hold without even thinking, letting loose a snarl. He spoke my name, reminding me of where exactly I was.

“You’re all safe. Come back with me.” He said, moving closer to me again. I felt the tears already sliding down my face as he scooped me into his arms. 

I hardly moved for the rest of the night. The shivers that ran through me had nothing to do with the cold. Azriel was still hunting for lingering signs of Lucien or the spring court so that left Cassian to deal with me. Something he was not known to be the best at, despite his best efforts. 

I sat with him until Mor came to collect us both, whatever business she had in Hewn city officially ended. 

She sat with me all night. Both of us curled up against each other as we slept. 

Rhys and Feyre were supposed to be back later in the day so we all waited around for them. Hour after hour past and not a word from them. Azriel had left once again when we told him as much. He returned an hour later. 

“Nothing?” I asked him. He slammed his sword down on the table. 

“Not a damn thing.” He huffed, storming to one of the rooms in the back of the house. 

It was almost nightfall and I had been pacing back and forth across the living room of the small house when I heard a noise from outside. All of us were on our feet, rushing outside before we could think better of it. 

The sigh of relief that left me quickly turned into a gasp as I saw Rhys fall to his knees. Cassian and Azriel were on their side of him instantly. Feyre was still standing, in perfect shape actually. Good enough that she was able to march right past me and into the house. The two Illyrian warriors all but dragged Rhys into the house before leaving to go collect Majda. Feyre or Mor were nowhere to be seen.

Rhys’ eyes opened slightly and he only called out Feyre’s name. I shushed him, dabbing a wet washcloth over his head, he was burning hot. Majda came and confirmed what I already knew. Poison. Faebane. 

“He’s healing so he’ll need to just sleep it off,” she rose from beside his bed. “His mate's blood very well might have saved his life. He’ll recover in a day or two.” Her words caught me off guard. His mate. If Feyre knew her blood could heal him…Shit. Casssian and Azriel must have made the connection at the same time I did because when we heard Mor enter the house again, we all ran to find her in the living room. 

We pulled out a bottle of good wine as she confirmed what we had already thought. Feyre knew, no she doesn’t seem happy. No I won’t tell you idiots where she is. Of course, we could find her on our own if need be but it was the idea behind it. Mor only shared the more intimate details with me. Shooing the males out of the room. “Go take care of Rhys if you care that much. He’ll tell you himself.” They both stomped off in a way that reminded me of toddlers, walking into Rhys room. Mor rushed the words out. Feyre was fine overall, just pissed at him at all of us for keeping something this big a secret. I didn’t blame her one bit but it still stung a little that she was mad at all of us. Did she know how much we had been begging Rhys to tell her? 

Rhys woke up in the middle of the next day. He winced as I slammed the door

“How did she find out?” 

“Hello to you too. No, how nice to see you Rhysand, I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“How did she find out?” I asked again. He sat up a little more, wincing slightly

“She trapped the Suriel.” I balked at him. “It seems it’s not the first time she's done it either.” 

Feyre had trapped the Suriel… that could mean. I didn’t want to get my hopes up but I was already on my feet. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Stay out of it, Rhys.” I closed the door a little softer. It took me practically getting on my knees, begging, to convince Mor to take me to the house she tucked Feyre away in. She only agreed when I promised I wouldn’t mention my brother. She needed to bring Feyre more food anyways.

I stood outside the door, feeling very stupid as I held a basket full of food for her.“If you’re asking me to forgive him, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Feyre had only opened the door an inch

“I need you to tell me how to catch the Suriel.” She opened the door wider

“Why do you want to know?” She motioned me into the house and I looked around wildly. The smell of fresh paint lingered in the air and covered her skin. 

“I have something I need to ask. Please. I know you don’t owe me anything, especially right now. But please.” 

I stood in the middle of a clearing, new cloak in hand. My hands had frozen on the walk over but I had to talk to the Suriel. I knew it was around here, if it had talked to Feyre only the night before. The snare I made was sloppy at best. But I prayed to the mother it would work. 

The scream that echoed through the clearing had me running towards the sound, crossing my fingers. 

It had indeed worked. The Suriel had my velvet cloak in its hands.It thrashed violently as I approached, suddenly;y going still as it sensed my presence. 

“ Let me down before I gut you.” 

“I have a question first.” Hollow eyes looked at me, pinning me in place. 

“You seek answers about your curse?” 

“How do I get rid of it?” 

“You already know how. The very thing that the wicked queen knew you would never do.”

“Stop the games. Tell me.” I was shouting, hands shaking. 

“Forgiveness. Forgive the one you hate the most.”

I flinched like the Suriel had burned me. The words swam around my head. I vaguely realized I was shaking my head. 

“That can’t be it.” I pleaded. 

“I am many things, but a liar is not one of them.” I felt the angry tears starting to trail down my face. “Now let me go. I only have so much patience for meddling fae today.” I pulled out one of my jeweled daggers, slicing the rope that held the Suriel’s ankle. As the figure retreated, I sank down to my knees. Forgive the one you hate the most. 

It was a rare occurance to be summoned to her private chambers. Attors on either side of me, ready to strike at the first sign of push back. They unceremoniously threw me into the center of the room, pushing me to my knees in front of the red headed female. 

“Leave us.” She said in a voice that turned my stomach. I dared to raise my eyes off the ground. Rhys was perched in a soft looking chaise, he didn’t hold my eyes for long. The Attors shuffled out of the room but I knew they lingered in the hallway. 

“I hear you’ve been causing trouble again, princess.” It was all I could do not to flinch at the way she said that name. The name my family had called me for centuries. A defiled, twisted rendition of the sign of my family's love. “Well, I have a surprise for you.” Her voice dripped with a wicked delight. From somewhere in the room a noise drew my attention. I completely froze as I saw Tamlin being led out in chains. Even Rhys momentarily broke his mask to glare at him. Amarantha smiled at me as she walked over to him. She squeezed his cheeks in an overly familiar way. “Doesn’t he look good like this?” She laughs at my lack of response, pushing him away from her. He didn’t try to hide his stumble. “No groveling at his feet then? No apologies for the mess you got him into?” 

“That’s no-” An invisible hand around my throat cut off the words. Rhys’ eyes flickered to mine, an apology lingering in his violet stare. 

“Did I say you could speak?” She released her magic and I nearly fell to the ground, sucking in painful gulps of air. She stalked towards me, stopping inches from me. Her hand went out to cup under my chin, forcing me to look her in the eye. “Maybe if you hadn't broken his heart, he would have accepted my offer the first time.” I bared my teeth at her and she gave a sharp cold laugh. 

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Are you sure there’s no kind words for our little High Lord over here?”  I just held her gaze. Not wavering as I saw the fury in my lack of response, my lack of fighting. “Pity. Where’s that sharp tongue of yours now?” She pushed me, I landed on my back. I didn’t even cry out, too familiar with this treatment from her. 

“You’ve made your point.” Rhys said in a bored voice from his seated position. She only gave him a low growl. 

“You’re no fun.” She cooed at Rhys. The same voice you would use on a babe. Despite my best efforts, trails of black smoke so thick it looked like ink left my fingers. Another invisible force collided with my body and my power retreated back to me, my chest feeling like someone had poured ice water into my veins. Before I could even attempt to try again, she lifted me onto my feet by my hair. “As much as I’d love to see you try, I’m bored with you already.” She yanked my head back before releasing her hold on me. “Tamlin, any words of goodbye?” Forest green eyes met mine. After all that I endured in this hell, I had never felt as small as I did now. That simple glare, so full of hatred, reducing me to that same afraid girl I had once been. Tamlin didn’t speak. Neither did I. 

“Shame. You’ll wish you would have said something soon enough.” I didn’t have time to think over her words as the cold hands of the Attor wrapped around my arm, hauling me back to my room. Didn’t make the connection between that slam in my chest with the trickle of power that I was left with. 

It was right there. Amarantha was never one to just give you information. Just like that riddle that had saved us all. Everything had been a game to her, why would this have been any different? But there had to be another way. Thinking back to my encounter with Lucien recently, there was no way in hell I was forgiving any of them any time soon. I would talk to Helion. Go by myself if need be. Because it was going to be a cold day in Hel before I ever forgive Tamlin. 

I called out for Rhys. For anyone to come and get me. It was at least a day's journey on foot back to the boundary line outside of Windhaven. I sat by and no one came after me. I reached deep within myself and imagined the space I wanted to go to. I didn’t even make it half way before I popped back into the cold clearing, panting. I tried again and it was like I was reaching through brick again. My powers boarded up behind walls I could not break through. I kicked at the snow, cursing. I tried one last time, crying out when nothing happened. So I began to walk back, hoping when I got close enough Rhys would hear me screaming for him in my head. It wasn’t Rhys that came to get me. Instead, Mor appeared beside me. 

“Where have you been?” She said when she spied me, half frozen from the wind. 

“Later.” Was all I could get out, I was bone tired. 

“You all really need to get your shit together.” She grumbled under her breath as she winnowed us back to the house. Don’t I know it.

Rhys had gone to apologize to Feyre, and had not been back since. We could only hope that meant all was well, or that she had at least hid the body herself. 

Rhys and Feyre returned the next day. They didn’t even attempt to hide the smell of the bond, and as happy as I was for my brother I gave him a wide berth. Cassian on the other hand only saw the tension in Rhys shoulders, the way his eyes were drifting between Feyre and every other movement around him. 

“Anytime you want a real ride, Feyre, let me know.” As if his words weren’t enough, the wink he sent Feyre had Rhys lunging for him. I had to quickly side step out of the way to avoid being hit by flailing wings. Ushering Feyre into the house I muttered loud enough for her to hear, “Big Illyrian babies.” 

They fought for an hour and despite being covered in blood, Feyre sent Rhys a look that the rest of us could not run away from fast enough. Mor winnowed the two of us to the house of wind. Azriel was already there, wings tucked in tight as he looked out the large window overlooking Velaris. I snuck up behind him, a rare achievement to make the spymaster jump when I placed a hand on his shoulder. The others slowly trickled into the room as we all waited for Feyre and Rhys to join us. 

The sun was just starting to touch the water when we heard them enter. One by one we stood in front of Feyre before giving a low bow, hands on our hearts in an ancient gesture of respect. One she had more than earned. I couldn’t help but smile at my brother's joy, it radiated off of him in waves so strong I swore I could reach out and grab them. The joy of finally having Feyre by his side. Rhys’ eyes followed my hand as I rubbed a small circle into my chest, separate from the sign we had given Feyre. The tension eased slightly.  Rhys quickly looked away before I could ask him why he was staring so intently on me. 

The human world was just as I remembered it. Despite seeing it less than a month ago, I still gawked as we approached Feyre’s family home. I knew she never lived in this particular estate but the idea that Tamlin made this possible for them thawed my heart just a fraction. Forgive the one you hate the most. I haven't gotten the chance to talk to my brother, or anyone, about what Suriel had told me. Everyone too caught up in Rhys and the Queens we were sitting in front of. 

I sat in stunned silence at the vipers in crowns in front of us. The queens I had met before would laugh if they heard these were their predecessors. 

Mor opened the box in front of her and I had to sit on my hands to stop the urge to knock it out of her hands and destroy the orb. Azriel’s hand on my shoulder did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside of me. We all took a collective breath as the bright lights of Velaris filled the orb.

“This is Velaris,” My brother started and I felt his heart shatter in front of me. “For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from outsiders. This is what I have fought so hard to protect. The cruelty you believe I possess to protect this city, my people. Dreamers and creators and good people with families. People that have never known strife or violence. All of what I have gone through over the centuries was to protect them.” I couldn’t stop the sniffle that left me and I desperately tried to blink back the tears rimming in my eyes. 

“We will..consider this information.” Mor snarled beside me. I felt like the eldest queen had punched me in the stomach. I went to stand but Nesta beat me to it. 

“Give.Them.The.Book” I didn’t discount the single tear streaking down her own face. 

“No.” A word so final I couldn’t breathe. 

“We appreciate the gesture of your trust.” But I could not look away from the way Cassian stood next to Nesta. The calm he emitted from standing so close to her. When I looked back the queens were gone. 

I looked to my brother, head reeling at the events that had just happened. We fulfilled our end of the bargain. Screaming, manipulative-

In Rhys’ hand sat a box, a box not unlike the one Feyre had struggled to open when we returned from the summer court. A surprised noise left my mouth and Azriel tightened his hand on my shoulder, rubbing small comforting circles. 

Nesta and Elain chose to stay in the mortal lands. The sisters are staying in their family home. The last thing I heard before we left was Nesta whispering to Feyre. That’s why you painted stars on your drawer. 

There was no celebration when we arrived back in Velaris. No sense of triumph as we handed the book to Amren. We had gotten what we needed but at what cost. To Rhys, to my family, it had cost everything. All that he suffered during the war, from my father, from the Illyrian soldiers that looked down on him so much. All that he suffered under the mountain, from Amarantha, all the horrible things we had done together. All of it was sacrificed to the wicked queens who still did not know we possessed the book. Queens who would gladly sit back and watch Prythian and their world be destroyed. 

Rhys and Mor went to the Court of Nightmares the next morning, to return what we had stolen before Kier noticed. Azriel and Cassian pulled me into my study to go over the map, planning for the inevitable war. We added more pins to the maps, adjusting the Illryians to their new location scattered across the mountain ranges. Added the black pins for the warriors we prayed Kier would grant us. I don’t know how long we stayed in that room, Cassian and Azriel periodically doing a lap of the house and its perimeter to watch for anyone who would want to hurt Feyre. Overgrown guard dogs. But I found that even I was keeping a more watchful ear out for any sign of trouble, a light cover of fog I kept over my hands like gloves, ready to attack at a moment's notice. 

The next day, Azriel pulled me from the map to accompany him on patrol. Leaving Cassian the great pleasure of entertaining Feyre until Rhys’ return later today. The city held an eerie silence today despite the citizens going about their usual routines. It wasn’t much later than that thought crossed my mind that I felt the ground beneath my feet quake. My head whipped to Azriel who had gone as still as a statue, his shadows scattering out from him searching for the source of the sound. 

“Azriel?” I questioned, looking around the area for any threat. And then I followed his eye line. Eyes turned to the once clear midafternoon sky, now tinged in clouds of darkness. They were moving far too fast to be only storm clouds. 

“Get Amren and Cassian, now” I choked out. Azriel’s arms were around me instantly, taking off into the sky. Feyre and Cassian had gone to the amphitheater on the other side of the city, hopefully they weren’t far from there. A red light filled the sky, a homing beacon to where we would find Cassian. Quake after quake filled the ground as those creatures tore through the shield around the city. They reverberated through the air, Azriel only held onto me tighter.  

Cassian was shooting through the sky and I felt the ground beneath my feet. Azriel stayed long enough to hear me cry out to him, “Be safe.” He was gone. And I was running towards the direction I had seen Cassian fly in from. Screaming filled the air and I reached for the sword on my back, daggers left forgotten on my hip. I gave tentative push of my power and could have cried in relief at the cloud that pushed out from me, however thin it was. I pulled my earlier thought from my mind, the twinge of something I felt as I had looked at Feyre’s home in the human lands, the physical proof of Tamlin taking care of them, I focused all my spare energy onto that single kindness and I watched the fog grow thicker, curling around me in a way that was so familiar.

 I clutched at that feeling as I heard the screams around me grow louder. I could not run fast enough to stop the swarm of Attor like creatures that flooded the streets. I thought of Elain’s sweet face and Nestas beautiful dresses and willed my power to wrap around the creatures in front of me. If they could see me, they didn’t let it show. The only sign I had that my power had worked against them was the choked screams they let out. My sword tinged with their blood as I ran it clean through them. I pulled that black smoke into me, panting as I forced my legs to run ever faster. Reaching out for something deeper, I visualized the next swarm of them I could see and I felt the familiar pressure as I appeared in the middle of them. Shooting my power out with a force I didn’t recognize, I made quick work of them. They didn’t even get the chance to scream this time. I couldn’t focus on the blood that now stained my blade and face. Could only think of the distance between me and the bright pops of red and blue in the sky, the water I could hear roaring just ahead of me. If I had looked up I would have seen the pack of water wolves Feyre was using to chase them from the city streets and back into the air. 

The tremble that took my feet out from under me was one that did not scare me. Rhys had arrived and his rage took out half of their forces. His power filled the air with a metallic scent and I did my best not to think about what the dusting of red was as it covered my skin. A second roar, far stronger than the first one spurred me on. I did not fear the darkness that slipped over my eyes, those stars and nothing short of pure night. When I could finally make out shapes again, I saw the outline of wings, not those gnarled and bony wings of the creatures attacking us, but Illyiran wings, claws fully extended. I didn’t think as I barreled towards the shape. Didn’t think as I launched myself into Azriel’s chest. His arms came to wrap around my waist, pulling me so tight to him I struggled to breath but I couldn’t find it in myself to care. I gulped down whatever breath I could, filling my lungs with the scent of him. Heart hammering in time with his own wild heartbeat. The screaming had stopped, leaving only a horrifying silence in their wake. I did not let go of Azriel as he winnowed us back to the townhouse. 

All of us were sitting in the living room of the house in various states of disarray. Mor’s hair was caked with dirt and flecks of blood, her eyes starting to flutter shut. Feyre was curled up next to her also looking like she was ready to fall asleep any moment. 

I could see the gears in Cassian's head spinning. The general already thinking about what this means for the greater battles ahead. Obviously, the queens had sold us out to Hybern. Our home had been used as a bargaining chip and it had bit us in the ass. 

My eyes flickered over to Rhys and I could tell his thoughts were in a similar spot. It wasn’t your fault. I said into his head. He flinched, a disgusted look replacing the grief for a brief second. I told them where the city was, I gave them the information freely and for the first time in centuries an outsider knows about the city and then we get attacked. How is that not my fault sister? It was my turn to flinch. With Rhys in his current mood, there was no point in trying to argue back. So I finally closed my eyes and tuned out the conversation between Cassian and Rhys. I didn’t have the energy to talk about Hybern right now. The throbbing headache behind my temples let me know just how much magic I had used today and let me know how much I needed to start hunting for ways to break this curse.

At some point Azriel had stretched out next to me on the couch, my back to his side. Half asleep, I turned to face him and just grabbed his arm. Curling around him as best as I could in our current position. Someone in the room chuckled as I settled down once again. I don’t know how much time passed as they all just sat and talked. I drifted in and out of sleep but couldn’t piece anything coherent together. At some point I felt Cassian standing over me. 

“Come on let’s get you to bed.” His voice held more humor than I would expect from him after today. My eyes didn’t even open before I said. 

“Move me from here and you will lose that hand.” I snuggled closer into Azriel to prove my point. The male by my side laughed a stiff laugh but wrapped his arm around me tighter. I was too tired to care about the content purr that left my chest at the motion. Too tired to care that he scooped me up in his arms and carried me all the way to my room. And definitely too tired to hear the three words he whispered to me as he closed my door.

Taglist: @nickishadow139 @tothestarsandwhateverend @quinzzelx @durgenyx @i-am-infinite @mariahoedt @acourtofbatboydreams @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @nocasdatsgay

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[buckyarchives]

Metal arms and short skirts | Bucky Barnes. {4.}

summary: waltzing in as the new head of the Avenger's medical division, impressing everyone, and... scaring Bucky with your incredibly short skirts. while Bucky's having a hard time looking at his arm as anything other than a deadly weapon, and you're more than happy to help him.

word count: 7.4k

author note: the way this chapter originally was 11k words… i had to cut it down a little and also kinda end it mid chapter and pick up next update? so it may seem like it ends weird? idk. also unfortunately Vivienne Westwood’s death was recently so i thought of to use her dress in the chapter to honor her :) enjoy reading. not beta’d (please i needs a beta reader) important! opening my inbox for drabble request since this series is coming to an end soon

warning: bucky’s self loathing (like usual tbh.), people being mean to bucky (making remarks about his trauma, specifically brain damage), creepy and annoying men.

outfit reference here

read on AO3 | masterlist

Bucky is convinced his life is just one sick joke, and whoever finds this funny— deserves death. his legs bounced wildly, eyes frantically checking the watch on his wrist. it was Steve’s, very expensive, not Bucky's type. the ticking was starting to annoy him, bucky wanted to smash it, then he wouldn't know how late you are.

the navy blue suit, Steve gave him that too, said it brings out his eyes. god- bucky was practically sweating through it, the night hasn’t started yet and he feels like he needs to change. he was overthinking, everyone keeps telling him. but there was a plan, 5 pm and after work, the common room down the hall to your lab. maybe it was just nerves, but it still didn’t excuse the impending doom settling in the bottom of bucky's stomach.

“James, it’s been 10 minutes,” Natasha spoke, dressed in a long black dress. she sat on the floor before a couch, wanda held a curling wand in Natasha's hair as she sat above her. bucky had tried to distract himself by watching the curls form, it was quite fascinating if he wasn’t so distant.

“she is probably just fashionably late, it would make sense,” Wanda said— which felt true. but you’ve never once been late because of your appearance before, bucky can't even think of a time you’ve been late for any reason.

frustrated, Bucky abruptly got up and ran a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. “hey! I am not going to reapply all the gel!” Wanda shouts and bucky's flinches, putting both of his hands to his side like a child obeying their mother.

“what if she doesn't want to be seen with me, you know- like, like that? what if after yesterday she changed her mind, oh my god. Nat, I can't do this.” Bucky rattled on. Natasha rolled her eyes to the back of her head.

“Stop with the what if” Natasha groaned, “she is not even that late.”

“Have you even tried to text her?” Wanda mentions.

Bucky stops pacing.

“you haven’t even called her?'' Natasha looks at Bucky like he's stupid, he feels stupid. “do you know who you are? what if something happened to her that would make her late?”

Bucky's face dropped, oh my god, what if something happened? Bucky doesn't feel stupid, he is stupid. he is the fucking winter soldier, and you’ve been out with him, something could totally happen to you. Bucky's breath hitched before he felt like he was choking on it, was this a panic attack? he can’t call you while having a panic attack, but you could be in danger.

Almost instantly, Bucky grabs his phone on the coffee table. his fingers stumble as he looks for your number, but just as his fingers hover over your name. a loud, annoying ring comes from Natasha’s phone. Bucky's head perks up so do all the heads in the room.

Natasha's eyebrows furrow, looking down at her phone. Wanda follows suit as she looks over her shoulder. “it’s Y/N?”

“pick up!” Wanda shouts.

Natasha taps on the phone, “hey, you oka-“

“no!” you shout from the other line, a matching panic in your voice. “no, I am not! I’ve cycled through like 12 dresses and I have like 3 more but I swear, I’m going to go to Versace or Mytheresa— I will fucking call Valentino right now if I have to.”

faintly, everyone heard the sound of fabric rustling, your heels echoing as you paced through your room, and your heavy breathing. panicking about your outfit.

“Hey, hey, y/n calm down.'' Natasha hushed, your faint rattling didn't stop as you continued on talking about some black dress that made you look bloated. “you don’t need to impulse spend 8k on a dress, don’t make a big deal out of this, you’ll look perfect.”

“But Bucky! What if he doesn't like it, or thinks I look fat, or if I'm trying too hard! or too little? ugh!” you groaned, screamed, and rattled. Bucky had half the mind to shout through the phone that he’d think you're perfect however you showed up. but Natasha knew him well and sent a glare that told him not to.

“I just- just, Natasha… I really like him, I don't want to mess this up.” you sighed in defeat. Bucky's heart surged out of his chest, his face felt hot. He just wanted to cradle you close and tell you everything was okay.

“y/n.” Natasha started, her voice stern. “what are you doing right now.”

the other line went silent for a moment. bucky can imagine your thinking face, eyes narrowed, and tugging your lip under your teeth. a sigh escapes your mouth. “I'm on the floor in my closet, trying not to back out or cry.”

“Just don’t back out, okay? I'll be over to help you, sounds good?”

a small sniffle that broke bucky’s heart, “yes.”

“Okay, don’t die of panicking.” Natasha finished, hanging up the phone with a sigh.

Bucky sank down onto the couch, raking his hand through his hair again despite Wanda's protest. letting out a heavy exhale.

you were safe, that’s really what matters. but you were also on the brink of crying, probably tearing through your closet like a mad woman just to appease bucky’s opinions. He felt like a dick.

Natasha sat still, staring at Bucky like she knew more, knew better. Bucky couldn’t read her.

“Are you going?” he said weakly.

“No,” Natasha said plainly, making her way towards Bucky and dragging him to his feet by his suit— before straightening Bucky out. from his suit to his hair, even smoothing the small nervous wrinkles on his forehead.

Natasha always felt like a sister to Bucky in this way. helping him, worrying for him, supporting him, and seemingly reluctantly saving him with Steve couldn't. They shared many painful experiences that brought them close. Natasha was always there for bucky.

“you are.”

“What?!”

Bucky stood dumbfounded, “you’re going to go over there. get her out of her head, pick a dress that makes her look like a fucking goddess, maybe one that matches yours. and make her feel beautiful.”

“I can’t-“

“Shut up, Barnes,” Wanda interjects, the same determination on her face as Natasha's. there was no way he was getting out of this. “go, or I'll make you.”

Bucky watched as Wanda conjured up the red ball of pure power in her hands, an empty threat; they already talked about using her powers for this reason. but enough to scare the shit out of Bucky and make him nod violently. almost to convince himself that he could go.

“go get your girl.” Natasha encouraged.

******

Somewhere between throwing dresses around and banging your head on your walk-in closet walls, you decided that it didn't matter that you weren't mid-age yet, this was a mid-life crisis. Never in your life have you second-guessed your judgment on what to wear, not even in the eyes of the greatest designers the world knows.

But here you sat, verge of tear on your floor. Piles building up around you of dresses, shoes, tights, et cetera, et cetera. You were practically drowning in silk, crepe, and chiffon. Moments ago you really had a dress, it fit perfectly and made your complexion glow, but then the thought of what Bucky would think made you spiral.

Honestly, you knew deep, deep down that he wouldn't care. A day ago he saw you covered in Sam Wilson's blood, so there was really only going up from there. You knew he was a good guy, not one to point out fat rolls on your back or if your stomach was bloated. But the female experience constantly sabotaged those positive thoughts and brought out the ‘what ifs’.

Natasha wasn't much help on the phone. She just spared you from spending your paycheck on another Valentino dress and told you to calm down. She'd be over in a few, you trusted her taste enough, at least you'd have a second opinion. she always looked good, but it was easy for her.

You didn’t think of yourself as an envious person, especially the looks or body category but it was hard in this fragile state of mind to not long for a widows physic.

The loud and echoing noise of your doorbell shook you from your thoughts, you had been spacing out. Throwing on the first piece of fabric you saw on the floor, a large dress shit? Sure, whatever, it was just Natasha. Another loud ring.

“Gimme a moment, Nat!” you shouted, seeing a flash of yourself in a full-sized mirror. you look pathetic, with black tights, a dress shirt, and hair lazily put in a claw. You were already late, how worse could it get?

Spoiler. Much worse. very, very worse.

Opening your front door abruptly, a spew of apologies and worries left your mouth before you could notice the lack of red hair. Eyes wide and mouth gaped, Bucky stood before you. And like the fucking pathetic idiot you are, before Bucky could get a word out, you slammed the door in his face with a high-pitched yelp. A hand flew to cover your mouth, to contain the groans and curse words directed at Natasha. Because of-fucking-course she’d do this.

A wave of guilt and mostly embarrassment washed over you before you could kick yourself more - you opened the door, again.

“I'm so sorry, bucky! I didn't mean to do that– you just surprised me.” the words stumbled over themself, a stuttering mess. You were an udder wreck, this is so embarrassing, you thought. Your voice rose a few octaves, almost certain your makeup had smudged off by now. “Wha- what are you doing here?”

“Nat sent me,” he spoke plainly, standing dumbfounded in your apartment hallway.

“Of course she did.” you cursed and gritted under your breath, words coming out harsher than intended. An unsure face washed over Bucky and he took a tiny step back.

“I can go if you’re uncomfortable.'' Bucky sounded small, it broke your heart.

“No! Please don’t, I'm just freaking out right now– not sure why.” you definitely knew why. Stopping in the middle of your sentence once you notice Bucky's attire. Experiencing whiplash at the sight of the slick, noticeably expensive navy suit he wore. You practically did a double take, blinking like an idiot as you looked him up and down. “Wow! You look great, like really great.”

“And you look…” Bucky's eye trailed up your body, his eyes landing on your face. “Perfect, as always.”

Maybe it was the stress, or nerves, but you were a flustered mess. Complements, embarrassment, running around crying– you shouldn't even try to imagine what you looked like.

“I just threw this on, I…” you noticed the way Bucky began fidgeting and shifting his feet, standing awkwardly with his gaze finding the apartment behind you. “I'm sorry! Come in, come in.”

Moving out of the way for Bucky and letting him in, his eyes travel to every corner, eyes wide in awe. Your apartment was more of the ‘rich, new york snob, with high ceilings and large windows.’ but it was still you and Bucky was taking it in.

Bucky hummed, finishing his look over of the front room and turning back to face you. Fuck, he looked so good, from head to toe, his hair was a little messy and you could see gel residue that made you want to pounce and fix it.

And you were so– a mess.

“I'm sorry for my appearance, I've been panicking and I'm so late, I didn't mean to make you late or worry. Gosh, my makeup is probably messy and–”

Bucky found himself right in front of you, tearing you from your rambling as he grabbed your face. Cradling your jaw in his palms as your eyes met his, wide and frantic. “Doll, stop apologizing, please. You'd done nothing wrong, you look perfect. Everything’s okay.'' Bucky spoke slowly, sure of himself and successfully bringing you back down. You breathed and nodded.

“Now, let me help you get dressed.”

You could kiss him right now if you had a slight nerve. Where did your confidence go all of a sudden?

Bucky must have read your mind, slightly. Pressing a kiss to your crown that made you lean into his hands, worries slowly leaving and almost forgetting about that stupid dress and gala.

Grabbing Bucky's hand with a giddy smile, pulling him into your room slash tornado mess of fabrics. And it showed on Bucky's face, a large huff left his mouth as he stopped in your doorway, eyes exaggeratedly wide..

Maybe it was just growing up in the depression era, and also being just straight-up poor, but the amount of fabric on the floor felt infinite and slightly unnecessary to Bucky. He knew you were a science prodigy and had been paid highly for your research and machines, even more, evident after seeing your place. He's never known luxury and pleasure like this.

“Why do you have so many dresses?”

Shrugging, “fashion is like art to me, and so in some ways, i'm just collecting art. I also have a horrible spending problem, but that's a conversation for another time I think.”

“What are the options?” Bucky asked.

“Uhh,” you stumbled around your room and threw a few dressed around. “Versace, very nice. Christian Dior, is expensive, also nice. Dolce and Gabbana…”

Bucky lazily caught the very expensive dresses you threw around like nothing, peaking into your large walk-in closet. As if your personality summed up into a room, colorful and expensive textiles piled up. Bucky was positive the room was usually clean and organized to the tee. You kept yelling out random French or Italian names Bucky had no knowledge of.

“Okay, slow down. I can speak like twenty-two languages but high fashion is not one of them.” Bucky stopped your rambling, pulling up a long, blood-red gown to your body. “What's wrong with this one, this is pretty.”

You looked at Bucky as if he grew three heads, “way too long, I’d trip over myself all night, and if I’m going with you– red and blue? I know your cap's best friend but come on now, Buck.”

“Okay.” Bucky sighed, picking up a black slim dress. Even imagining you in this one made a pink tint rise to his face. “And this one?”

“Makes me look like a bloated ballon,” you said plainly.

Now Bucky was looking at you like an idiot. “Stop it with that, you’re perfect.”

“Gee thanks, but that doesn't help right now.” you snapped, instantly recoiling at your harsh tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Bucky just smiled, his charming and stupidly sweet smile that makes your knees weak. Wrapping his hands gently around your shoulder and staring intently into your eyes. “Baby, calm down.”

You breathed, tried to at least. The sweet name also made you choke but besides that, Bucky's smooth voice distracted you. “I’m calm.”

“Good.” Bucky nodded, his eyes glancing to the far corner of your closet. A certain light in his eyes showed before his gaze came back to your face. “What about that one?”

Bucky pointed to a certain very special, navy blue dress. Your eyes were wide as you looked between Bucky and the dress. As the silky fabric hung from the hanger, you only took it out of the “vault” to look at it, and didn't even think to try it on. Just wanted to relish in the beauty of it.

“I- no, I can't wear that.” you studdered.

Bucky knew nothing of fashion. What looked good, what was in season, or what was acceptable in the fashion industry. All he knew was the dress looked expensive, matching his and even the thought of you in it made bucky want to fall to his knees. He wasn't leaving this apartment without you in it, to hell any stupid excuse you gave.

“Why not?” he said, stepping carefully over the clothes littered beneath him and picking up the dress. Putting it up to your body, it looked perfect.

“James Buchanan. This was personally gifted to me by Vivienne Westwood. I can’t just wear this.” you shouted.

“I don't know who that is or what that means, put it on.” he shoved the dress in your hands.

“Buck-”

“Please, for me?”

Blinking like an idiot in front of Bucky. You couldn't protest anymore, Bucky was more stubborn than you, and you soon realized he probably wasn’t gonna let you out door without at least seeing it on. You held the dress in your hands, running the fabric under your fingers, huffing dramatically. “Fine, I’ll be in the bathroom, wait here”

Your steps cascaded as you left for the bathroom connected to your room, Bucky awkwardly settled himself on the edge of your bed. Beginning to fidget with the hem of his coat jacket as he waited nervously.

Meanwhile, cursing to yourself in the bathroom as you slipped the dress on it. This dress was gravely special to you, because on your off times and not nose deep in the labs, you'd spent them at fashion events and runways.

Meeting Vivienne was one of the best memories of your life, (next to offering Bucky a new arm) and you'd almost dropped dead when a box decked with the familiar orb logo showed up in front of your door. You had only worn it twice - in your bedroom, too scared and almost feeling unworthy to wear such a thing.

Bucky Barnes sure was special for getting you to go to a stark party with it on.

grunts came from the bathroom as you struggled to slip it on, the zipper reached your middle back and out of reach. Slowly unlocking the door, Bucky's head whipped in your direction. And god, suddenly he couldn't breathe. Even as you clumsily shimmied toward Bucky with your arms awkwardly holding the back up, he thought you looked like the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Buck, can you? The zipper, please?” you turned around and showed the back. Bucky couldn't move for a moment, utterly stunned by your presence. You whispered his name again to catch his attention. Then he stumbled to his feet like a flustered 15-year-old boy. He sure felt like one.

“Yeah. sorry, doll. I got it,” he spoke. You tensed up when Bucky's warm hands touched your bare shoulders. His hands held you like you were glass, slowly zipping the dress up fully. But you didn’t turn around yet, facing him now just felt wrong. You could feel Bucky's breath as his hand trailed across your shoulder blades, Bucky felt goosebumps slowly rise to your skin, and all self-control was gone.

Bucky leaned down and placed a small peck on the crook of your neck, he didn’t even know what he was doing but you practically shuddered under his touch. A chill shot through you and your knees went weak. And then another kiss, and another, and another. His lips slowly made their way up your neck, and one of his hands rested on your waist now.

“You're breathtaking, doll. I’m serious, I've never seen someone so beautiful in my life.” bucky whispered close to your ear, hot breath on your skin that made you ache. His featherlike kisses made you ache, he was so gentle and careful like you’d break under him. You ached for more.

Ever so swiftly, you turned to face bucky. Your hands latched to his neck, “kiss me like you mean it, Barnes.”

In a single instant, bucky’s lips crashed to yours as if his life depended on it, like he couldn't breathe without you. Your back arches into him as he pulled you closer, tongue swiping across his as he let you in. bodies pressed against each other, clinging, aching. More, more, more.

“Bucky…” you wined against his lips, and Bucky quickly pondered if this gala was even worth it. You both were already late, anyways. He hummed sweetly against your lips, your knees hit the edge of your bed and with a surprised yelp, bucky fell atop you on the bed. Kiss unbroken, but you smiled and felt bucky smile into the kiss, following him.

Your hand tangled in his long hair, successfully messing it up farther than it was before. Buckys pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, adoration you found and almost melted. The ends of bucky’s lip quirked up into his infamous dorky smile you only saw on a few special occasions.

“We’re already late…” he whispers so softly.

“Yeah.” you can only mutter out in a daze, falling surrender under bucky’s gaze. Your fingers still tangled in bucky’s brunette hair, getting your nails deep and scratching at his scalp. A quiet pleasured groan escapes his lips. “I messed up your hair.”

Bucky chuckles, “it's okay.”

Tugging your lower lip under your teeth, smiling widely as an idea pops into your head. “Get up, come with me.”

you usher him off you, playfully grabbing at his hands and stumbling over your clothes with bucky following close behind you. leading him into your bathroom and in front of the mirror.

Bucky stood much taller than you, especially without heels. Bucky chuckled as you dragged a small step stool and stepped up behind him. He speaks through a grin, “What are you doing?”

“I messed up your hair, but to be honest– whoever did it added too much gel so I’m going to fix it,” you spoke, grabbing a brush and spray bottle and beginning to spritz his hair in the water. Bucky seemed more than content with your hands raking through his locks.

First parting his hair in half, pulling the top half into a bun, and let the rest fall down. Cocking your head at the sight, he always looked good but not this hairstyle for a gala. Bucky's face crunched up too and you took that as a big no. you just left the hair to fall down naturally, being so used to the regular middle part, you thought to grab the comb and give him a side part.

“What do you think about this?” you asked, brushing the hair out.

Bucky hummed, “Different.”

“Bad or…?”

“No.” bucky smiles, then you realize he's not even looking at himself, his eyes are trained on you. “I like it.”

Leaning down to kiss the top of his head, bucky grew flustered. Jumping down from your stool and kicking it away. Grumbling under your breath, “I gotta get my height back.”

And with that, you grabbed a pair of black heels and before you could go to slip them on, bucky swiped them from your hands and wordlessly knelt down and grabbed your leg. Halfway convinced you were dead and gone to heaven before going along and letting bucky slip the heels on your feet.

Bucky’s eyes gaze slowly up your legs, and body and found your eyes. Your breath hitched as his hand begin to slowly travel up your calve, thigh, and waist. Not taking a moment before his lips were on yours again, the kiss was sweeter now, so sweet you felt your teeth rot.

But then it grew wild, and needy when bucky’s hand squeezed at your waist and thigh. Pushing yourself against his body like a puzzle piece, kissing him was so natural to you, like a motion you were meant to do your whole life. Nipping at Bucky’s lower lip, earning a hungry groan from the soldier.

Both his hands found themselves on your thighs, catching you by surprise when he lifts you up to sit on the counter. Giving himself a better angle to push you flush against him, feeling pleasure shoot through you when your hips met his waist. you knew where this would go if you even got a taste though– and you both were already incredibly late. At this point, you wondered if you'd even go.

“Bucky, I'm serious, we gotta go…” you wine against his lips, Bucky chased after your touch but you pulled away.

A dramatic groan escaped his lips, his head falling in the nook of your shoulder. “I know, I know.”

You hopped off the counter, half mindedly grabbing a Vivienne Westwood pearls to finish the look, because god forbid your outfit to be boring. Bucky watched you with adoration as you both walked hand in hand, leading him out of your apartment. One last glance was spared at your mess of a bedroom, you sighed and told yourself you'd clean it later.

Bucky called over a cab and you two headed off to the Stark tower. One quiet and comfortable ride, bucky’s hand stayed placed on your thigh, your head fell onto his shoulder as your gaze landed on the passing new york streets. A small hum escaped your lips, Bucky squeezed your thigh gently and soon enough you were in front of the huge and practically sparkling tower.

The press and flashing paparazzi that found word of the gala yet were not invited littered around, most were gone as you were at least 40 minutes late. Sometimes you forgot these people you worked with were essentially celebrities in the public eye, they had PR teams and brand deals. You'd see tabloids with iron man's names or magazines in the streets talking about Captain America’s new love interest.

And apparently, Bucky Barnes was no different.

“Bucky Barnes! Winter soldier sir! Is this your new girlfriend!” a young man shouted from behind the barricade, a couple of flashes of cameras. You’d expect your pictures on some website with some arbitrary statement about you and Bucky soon. Even so, this man seemed much nicer than the overbearing fangirls of Steve or scum of the earth reporters yelling bottom-line misogynist comments towards Natasha or Wanda.

Bucky kept his head down as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and forearm, he wasn't one for crowds or simply people who only knew him for what the media portrayed him as.

“You’re okay.” was all you spoke into his ear as you made your way into the doors, being hit with the cool air of the building. Your arms loosened around Bucky now you were in the somewhat safe zone, but his arm snaked around your waist as you walked into the more crowded area.

“Holy shit, I don't know which one to call the arm candy.” Sam's voice yelled from behind you. Being met with Sam in a nice black suit, along with Wanda in a sparkly red dress and Clint in an all-black suit as well.

Everyone looked amazing, it was rare to see them out of kevlar and super suits, or raggedy clothes thrown on after feeling like shit from tough missions.

“And Sam, wow! You clean up nice!” you complimented him.

“You look good, man.” Bucky said, a small smile on his face.

“You too, buck,” Sam said, nodding towards his new hair. “I like the hair, suits you, I still think you need to shave your beard.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, along with a small quirk at the end of his lips as he playfully smacked his shoulder. “Whatever.”

The small chatter continued, a glimpse of the inside of the loud ballroom as guests came and went. Bucky seemed to warm up to everyone more, a smile gracing his lips that made him look at least two decades younger. Soon a smooth and low voice was heard behind you.

“Sometimes I wonder if you are in the wrong profession, you know?” Natasha said, her vibrant red hair pinned up and wearing a beautiful black, slim dress, with two small cutouts on by her waist. You couldn't help but think it was a nod to looking more like the iconic widow hourglass she wore on her belt.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, “really?”

“Look at yourself, model material in front of me.” Natasha's eyes scanned up your body, a small smirk on your lips.

“You should thank Bucky.” you smiled, eyes glancing towards the man as he conversed with Sam and Steve. He looked genuinely happy and comfortable, a part of you swelled with pride for him. “He convinced me to wear this.”

“And thank god for that.” she laughed. “Also, I think Tony and Bruce were looking for you.”

It took just that for you to excuse yourself from the group, and give Bucky a comforting squeeze as your heels echoed and left the small gathering of avengers. Going to search for Bruce and Tony, apparently to speak about some new projects and talk with some foreign scientists looking for collaborations.

Meanwhile, the cap quartet was left sitting lazily around hallway couches and successfully avoiding the overbearing and bluntly disrespectful politicians and reporters, fans even. Natasha snuck close to Bucky and next to Sam as they spoke about nonsense or missions.

“You make her feel beautiful?” Natasha spoke, nursing a drink in her hands despite the fact she had only taken 2 sips in the past 20 minutes.

Bucky's mind went back to the bathroom counter or the edge of your bed, the way his heart raced and cock twitched as his hands roamed your body. when your breath hitched as he bent down before you and trailed his palms up your legs, and pressed himself against your core. Bucky hummed, trying to cover up the pink-tinted ears at the more than erotic memory,

“yeah, yeah, I think so.”

******

“I’m really glad this collaboration is going through, I’m hoping we get some really good things done soon.” Miles franco's upbeat and excited voice spoke.

your heels echoed in the hallway, just leaving a semi-empty meeting room with Bruce, Tony, and Pepper. Miles was a scientist and developer with new ideas and resources for some big projects Tony’s been wanting to start. He spoke kindly and had confidence in him that made you feel secure in working with him.

After a text from Bucky that the group had gone into the ballroom to actually do what they were there for, you excused yourself while Bruce continued to look over the contract you’d be signing in a few days, and Tony and Pepper went off to… you’d rather not think about it. Miles kindly offered to walk you back, as long as you introduced him to Natasha. with a smile and laugh you began to walk back.

“I am too, I’m also just glad to be back and working in one place.” you laughed, referring to your last few years of constant traveling, researching, and volunteering. meeting as many high-level and reputable people to kick start a better career. “Tony’s been very good to be over the past month.”

Miles clicked this tongue, making a tsk sound as his steps faltered. He wore a smirk that didn’t match his friendly smile from earlier, like something hidden beneath his conventionally attractive smile and dimples. Once you stopped, he began to close the gap between the two of you, shaking his head.

“You know, you don’t need Tony.” Miles' voice sounded coy, cocky. As if he knew better and had to teach you some lesson.

“Pardon?”

he chuckled, “you're smart, sexy, young, and know your way around a room. in a few years you’ll be running laps around both Tony and Bruce, they’re holding you back by making you work under them.”

you blinked, almost flinching from the sudden change in tone. “they aren’t making me do anything, and we’re partners if anything”

Miles flashed his smile again as he stepped closer and tried to reach for your hand, you smoothly avoided his touch, but he was practically in your face now.

“you know what I mean.” he sighed, “you could be so much more, making millions and having anything your heart desires. make a deal with me, I can give that to you.”

“I’m content with what I have now, thank you. and I’m definitely not making a deal with someone who insults my colleagues— my friends.” you snarled, trying to remain as professional as you could. not wanting to drag out any hostility from the man before you, the hallway was far away from the main ballroom and empty.

you were mentally done with the conversation, wanting away from Mile’s hot breath and uncomfortable stares (you were sure he was staring down your dress as he crept closer). Turning your back on the man, steps speeding up from before as you fumed with anger.

a low chuckle was heard from behind you, making your skin crawl. “fuck, that man really has you dickmatized or something.”

okay, what the fuck?

stopping dead in your tracks, gasping under your breath as your whipped your head back around. face scrunched in anger— stop, you have to tell yourself. He’s trying to make you mad, calm down.

“Excuse me, what now?”

“Barnes. You don’t think everyone knows by now? I’m positive he’s the only reason you're still at that shitty compound, working with those super freaks. you could be so much more if it wasn’t for him.”

Breathe in— breathe out.

trying to settle the rage settling low in your stomach, slowly rising to your chest. trying not to make your voice shake as you responded. “Bucky has absolutely nothing to do with my job.”

another low laugh. God, this man was fucking evil.

“Come on! you’re fucking amazing and potentially one of the smartest people on earth, that guy doesn’t deserve you! I’m sure with the amount of brain damage the commies gave him he can’t even count to 10.” Miles frustrated, closing the gap once again, you felt stuck in place. “face it, he’s a fucking nut who only knows how to handle a gun like a mad man, a ticking time bomb.”

your fist clenched until your nails dug into your palm, blood trickling down your hand. Your breath was unsteady with rage, but you couldn’t move— you felt frozen under his disgusting gaze. Mile's hand moved to grab at your waist and pull you close, you jerked back.

heavy exhales, your voice raised slightly - keep it professional - you must have been shaking. “don’t insult my- my boyfriend’s intelligence, you are not even an ounce of the man he is. and do not even try to touch me again.”

Miles rolled his eyes, trying to step closer again if possible. “come one, don’t be like that babe-“

“and consider your part in this collaboration gone. you will not be making any more money or deals with Stark industries from now on.” your voice settled, you sounded stern and strong. holding your head high as you held back from screaming in his face.

Mile’s features dropped, the cocky smirk faded and he looked weak – desperate and small. “you don’t have the right to do that.”

now, you got in his face. “yes, Miles. yes, I do.”

he genuinely looked scared and pride warmed in your chest. getting one last ‘fuck you’ in as you very harshly slammed your heel on his foot. he groaned and curled into himself, you hoped to draw blood there. you were wearing stilettos.

picking up your pace as you fled from him, head still held high but you felt shaky. this wasn’t the first time you’d experienced sexual harassment or insults and you were sure it wasn’t going to be the last but the meer mention of Bucky shook you, the insult towards Bruce and Tony. the way he felt like he held something over your head and felt obligated to touch you. your skin crawled.

you were left in a daze, finding your way back to the ballroom, warm lights and loud chatter everywhere. instantly hiding from the crowded areas and searching for Bucky. you edged with anxiety.

Breathe in— breathe out.

Bucky stood near the bar, nursing a drink that probably had zero effect on him. you sped over to him and pushed out a smile.

“Buck! sorry, I got caught up!” you spoke as you approached him. Bucky’s eyes lit up lighter than any light in the room, making you feel warm and comfortable again.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky smiled, reaching to wrap his arm around your waist. “don’t worry, how’d the talk go?”

you opened your mouth to speak of the contract and project, finding a way to leave the hallway interaction out. but Bucky interrupted you abruptly, worry fell onto his features as he brought your hand into his.

“Sweetheart, what is this? are you okay?” he looked down at your bleeding palm, small cuts the size of your nails and the tips and cuticle of your nails stained red.

“It's nothing.” you shrugged it off and slipped your hand away from his grasp.

“No.” Bucky spoke, stern and clear. Grabbing your hand back and running his fingers along the small cuts. “It's not. What happened?”

You sighed heavily, avoiding eye contact but Bucky knew much better. He grabbed your chin between his thumb and index, your eyes still gazed down.

“Baby.” bucky whispered.

“Seriously, Bucky, it's nothing. I just had a frustrating person in that meeting, didn’t even realize I was doing it.” you rattled, grasping for an excuse without having to lie to the man.

Bucky sighed, pulling you away to the side with no word. Wetting an entirely too expensive Stark napkin with alcohol and wiping at your plams, stinging slightly. Bucky worked so gently, his hand wrapped around your forearm made you feel warm.

“I've seen you handle Stark at his lowest moment, bark off assholes like it's nothing. It is obviously not nothing, doll”

You wouldn't win this, not with the most stubborn man in front of you. You watched as he smoothed his thumb over your hand.

“this guy…” Bucky listened intently, his full attention on you and adoration yet, worry dripped from his features. “The collaborator from France, he said some rude things about Tony, Bruce and, uh… you. He tried to sweet talk me into leaving Stark industrie. Kept calling me all these objectifying names, he’s a dick I can’t believe I was excited about this project.”

Bucky's back straightened and his jaw clenched. He looked around the room, almost to find the man responsible. It was Bucky's turn to clench his first, knuckles turning white.

“and you?” was all Bucky could manage to mumbled out.

“I told him off and smashed his foot with my heel, and I'm making Tony diminish the contract.” you replied.

“Good.” Bucky nodded, snarling under his breath. “deserves a lot more than that.”

“I’m okay, seriously. just shook me up for a moment.” you reassure the man, because there was no way he was letting go of this. you took Bucky’s hand and dragged him towards the dance floor. “now dance with me, sergeant.”

the bright, boyish smile reluctantly returned to his face. hands almost instantly falling at your side and pulling you flush again this chest. you chased into the touch, grinning.

And that's how you and Bucky spent the next few moments, soft live music played in the background, other couples and friends swayed around you two. Bucky would quietly hum along to the music sometimes, your head rested on his chest and you'd feel the soft vibrations from him. You'd never understand how safe and secure you could feel in someone's arms, the idea sounded so out of reach and impossible only a few months ago. God knows you had never even thought to make time to explore that idea, but here it was, coming to you without even realizing it. It felt so natural now.

Bucky's hand smoothed on the exposed skin on your back and arms, he breathed freely, not feeling tense or on edge like most of his life. And for the first time since the alps, Bucky felt soft inside– in a sense. Bucky didn't feel dangerous, like he would break the person that he held in his arms. He didn't feel like an animal, a machine, or a murderer. Bucky smelled the lavender conditioner in your hair, the expensive smelling perfume on you. Bucky felt like a man in love with a girl, he is one.

Oh god, Bucky Barnes is in love. A feeling he has not felt since maybe 1942? when he took that red headed girl to coney island, but even that could never compare to the feelings swelling in his chest now. Being in love was scary– so, so scary. But with you warm and smiling in his arms, it was hard for Bucky to think of anything else.

“Bucky.” you wined, Bucky pulled away just enough to see your face. Your eyelids flutter in tiredness, a haze filtered across your eyeballs. “Are you obliged to stay for anything?”

“Not that I know of, doll. You want to get out of here?” Bucky spoke so smoothly, so flirtatious. He felt younger and more confident.

You nodded lazily, and Bucky looked around to see the crowd had begun to disperse. People hung round and talked, most were slightly tipsy. The craze of politicians and reporters settled. Bucky's hand smooth from your shoulder to your hand, ready to pull you into him and guide you home.

But his hands grazed the small cuts on your palm, he tensed. Gladly, you didn't notice. Bucky had one more thing to do before he left.

“Sweetheart, I have to go ask Steve something real quick, meet me in the lobby and i'll take you home?”

“Everything okay?” you asked, Bucky hoped you didn’t pick up on his… scheming. Flashing a smile, “of course, I’ll be quick.”

Nodding again, your heels echoed away from Bucky, the dress train cascading behind you beautifully. You reminded Bucky of some sort of angel.

A slight scowl fell upon Bucky's face as his blue eyes searched the ground, he found Steve with ease. Bucky had some sort of sixth sense when it came to finding Steve, ever since they were just two pre-teens getting lost in the city, Bucky was always the one having to search and rescue him from large crowds. The added height now just made it even easier.

His steps were heavy and with purpose, finally approaching the blonde. Standing close to Sam, Bruce and Clint. Good.

“Hey, buck. Where did your girl go?” Steve asked, all eyes now on him as he joined the small circle. Bucky's ears tinted pink towards the mention of you being his - he hoped you'd want that.

“We’re about to leave, she's getting tired.” Bucky replied. Steve opened his mouth to respond, small talk maybe, or a short goodbye and a pat on the back but Bucky was already onto other things.

Bucky turned to the timid scientist, getting Bruce’s attention. “Hey, banner! Who was the guy that y/n was with earlier? Looked french.”

Somewhat of a rhetorical question, Bucky kinda knew of the guy, he knew enough from what he heard from you. Steve was watching from the side with realization soon growing on his face, but he didn't speak a word.

“He's a scientist that Tony and I were wanting to collaborate with, I think he is still here if you're looking for him. At the bar I think.” Bruce replied.

“Great, thank you.” Bucky forced out a half hearted smile and began to turn away from the group. Steve grabbed onto his shoulder before he could heave.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, he knew Bucky better than most and recognized the off look in his eyes. Steve grew concerned.

Bucky looked at the others in the group, pulling Steve close and hoped none of them picked up the words he whispered into his ear. “Some punk tried to come onto her like a creeper, shook her up real good, talked badly about the team and kept trying to come onto her.”

“And you plan to do what?” Steve knew the answer to his own question.

Bucky gave Steve a knowing look. Bucky was clearly growing annoyed and Steve could tell when he started talking like it was the 40s again, strong Brooklyn accent coming out with it. “Gonna teach the fella’ a lesson.”

Steve exhaled, slowly letting go of Bucky's shoulder. his eyes fell onto the bar as he found the man. steve didn’t object.

It’ll be okay if he is a little late, right?

tag list: @matchat3a @sebsgirl71479 @heavenswrld @ivywasmaroon @nt-multi-fandom @michaefuckinglangdon @fand0mskullfa1ry @lilliarussell @athenabarnes @almosttoopizza @genlovesdcb @i-l-y-3000 @timotheesrealgf

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #fic rec #fic update

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Shut Up and Drive (Chapter 4)

Roy Kent x F1 Driver!Reader

4.4k words

Warnings: Language, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, no foreplay or lube (because it's fiction), mentions of being cheated on, pining and some angst, Keeley is determined to get Roy laid

@agentstarkid is always the best at letting me ramble and plan ❤️

Series Masterlist

Wednesday morning, Roy stood on the pitch, watching the Greyhounds amble out of the tunnel for training. He snuck a glance at his phone; still no new messages. He thought back to that morning in your bed. Yeah, he’d put in his number on your phone correctly, he was sure of it. You’d had a good time that night. You definitely came- multiple times, in fact. And you looked almost disappointed when he had to leave to be a responsible baby-sitter for his idiot team.

So why the fuck hadn’t you texted him?

“Mornin’, Coach!” Jamie chirped, his stupid pink headband giving Roy a headache. “Alright?”

Before Roy could open his mouth for some expletive-laced response, the mobile in his hand buzzed. Unable to help himself, he quickly opened the incoming message.

There you were.

Gorgeous as ever in a dark pair of leggings and a Ferrari t-shirt, you leaned against your beautiful car, cocky grin and mischievous eyes threatening to give Roy a hardon. The attached message made things worse:

She’s purring 😼

“Whoa there, Grandad.”

Realizing that Jamie was still over his shoulder, Roy stuffed his phone into his pocket with a scowl. “Go get warmed up, Tartt.”

Jamie’s eyes were bright with amusement. “You made her purr?” he scoffed. “The fuck did you do to her, Roy? And please, draw me a diagram or some shit.”

Roy’s face was bright red; whether from annoyance, embarrassment, or arousal he wasn’t quite sure. “Her fucking car,” he muttered.

“You fucked her in her racecar?” Jamie looked like a child who’d been visited by Father Christmas. “You are a god, Roy Kent-”

Roy threw his head back with a loud groan. “She’s talking about her car,” he barked. “Purring means it sounds good or whatever.” He pointed towards the pitch. “Now fucking go on before I have you tie a string around your prick again and give the other end to the mascot.”

With Jamie still laughing but finally gone, Roy snuck another glance at his phone, that horny little voice in his head telling him not to care if he popped a boner in front of the whole team. To his surprise, there was already another text waiting for him.

The car, I mean. You’ll have to make something else purr yourself, Kent.

Fuck. He bit his lip and tucked his phone away, wondering how the hell he was going to focus on training, or anything really, after reading that text.

You were going to be the death of him.

~

Eying Roy carefully over her salad, Keeley opened her mouth. “So how was your night with the Empress?” Her deepened, teasing voice had Roy scowling.

“Fuck are you on about?” He narrowed his eyes at the blonde who was perched on his desk after insisting they have lunch together. “I walked her to the hotel, apologized for the way the guys were all over, and went the fuck to bed. It was well past my bedtime.” He took a particularly aggressive bite of his own salad.

“Well, that’s disappointing.” Keeley pouted. “I think someone like you’d be good for her.”

Roy sighed and slammed his salad onto his desk. This conversation clearly wasn’t ending anytime soon. “Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

A moment passed in silence as Keeley pursed her lips and studied Roy’s sullen face. “Well… about a year ago she had this beautiful, vile boyfriend. A model. Built like a Greek god or something. They were very hot and heavy, very public, for about three years. Aaaaaand he cheated on her. Quite publicly.” Keeley’s expression was heavy with sympathy. “Ever since, she hasn’t been seen with the same guy for more than two weeks.”

Color flooded Roy’s face. “And why the fuck d’you think I’d be good for her or whatever?”

Keeley reached out and touched Roy’s cheek, smugly noting how unusually warm it felt. “You’re a good guy, Roy. A damn good boyfriend. Probably the best one I ever had.” She shrugged and withdrew her hand. “She could use some of that.”

Roy stared at his salad. No wonder you were keeping him at arm’s length, leaving things up in the air about seeing each other again. He was just another fun time you were using to help you get over some other prick.

He hated how badly he wanted to let you use him.

“Who the fuck did he cheat with anyway?” Roy spat, ignoring the knots in his stomach. “Liz Hurly in the 90s?” His mouth moved ahead of his brain. “Because I can’t think of anyone who’d be worth losing- I mean, she’s just so fucking badass and gorgeous-”

“That, that right there!” Keeley lit up, pointing at Roy’s red face with her fork. “That’s why I think you’d be so nice for her. Look at you, already gushing over her. It’s kind of cute.” She tilted her head, reminding Roy of the poodle his great-aunt Natalie used to keep. “And I think it’s mutual,” she added slowly. “The couple of times you two’ve been in the same room, it’s obvious. There’s an attraction there. And I mean, you’re both legends in your sport, you’re both fit, you’re both full of white-hot passion-”

Roy rolled his eyes. “You trying to set me up on a date, or are you trying to cast a commercial?”

Keeley grinned. “Alright but think about how hot the two of you would look in a magazine- The Empress and the Greyhound.”

Pretending he didn’t love the sound of that, Roy picked a piece of shredded carrot out of his salad and tossed it at Keeley’s open mouth. “Eat your fucking lunch.”

~

You probably weren’t supposed to be in this hallway. You had promised to meet Keeley and Rebecca in the owner’s box, fully intent on drinking your weight in champagne while cheering on the Greyhounds. But you found yourself wandering down an empty hallway, wondering which way it was to the changing rooms, despite your inner voice scolding you about how you were getting far too comfortable with finding Roy Kent in your bed and reminding you not to start any bad habits with that gorgeous man who you had texted far too often this week.

“Oi.”

Heart skipping a beat, you turned around. All thoughts of not hooking up with Roy Kent again were immediately silenced when you caught sight of those trackpants, already starting to look tight as he quirked an eyebrow at you. It was kind of stupid of you to think you’d be able see him without your thoughts turning dirty, because there you were, face to face with the man and practically drooling in more ways than one.

“Roy Kent,” you greeted, at least appearing cool with your little smirk.

Roy’s eyes scanned your body slowly, unabashedly, taking in your tight red pants and low-cut tank top, all the way up to your Ferrari cap. Almost as if he knew you’d picked out this outfit hoping he’d see it. “Thought you were supposed to give me a heads up next time.”

You shrugged as you closed the distance between the two of you, barely resisting the urge to totally press your body to his. “Wasn’t sure if I’d see you this trip,” you admitted.

“What, already tired of sharing your hotel whiskey with me?” Despite his teasing voice, his furrowed eyebrows exposed his disappointment.

That sweet disappointment had you tugging at his open jacket with a little pout. “No hotel whiskey this time,” you purred. “Only here for the afternoon. I’m flying out after the match.”

“What’s with the quick turnaround?”

You smiled, wishing you could reach up and ease the wrinkle between his brows, instead choosing to use your grip on his jacket to tug him a smidge closer. “I was just here to meet with Rebecca. Keeley heard someone was selling a few shares, and Becca’s hoping I’ll scoop them up. She’s wining and dining me during the match today.”

His confidence returned, a smirk forming on those lips you wanted to feel on every inch of your body. “What, you think if you become an owner, you can boss me around?”

Completely ignoring that gnawing feeling deep in your gut telling you to turn around, to walk away from this beautiful man and find a less secluded hallway, you giggled and let one hand wander to his bicep. “Roy Kent, I don’t need to be an owner to tell you what to do.”

“Oh really?” His eyes darkened as he took another look up and down your body, lingering on all of his favorite parts. “Prove it.”

You stood on tiptoe, bringing your lips to his ear, savoring his shiver as you whispered, “Fuck me.”

In no time his hand was scandalously low on your back as he steered you to a nearby door, practically shoving you inside. Once the door was closed and locked behind you, Roy set to work making sure the boot room was empty- no Will Kitman hiding in some corner, too scared to move from his post- locking every door and shutting every set of blinds he could find. Roy Kent was a rather selfish man when it came to you; he wanted the delicious sounds of your moans and whimpers all to himself.

Satisfied that the two of you had the most privacy possible in a stadium packed with athletes, fans, and the press, Roy pulled you to himself, roughly pressing his mouth to yours, wasting no time before sliding his tongue inside. Somewhere in the kiss, your cap fell to the floor. Sighing into his open mouth, you wrapped your arms around his neck, wondering how you ever thought you’d be able to come to Nelson Road and resist him when he on his home turf.

He walked you backwards until your back hit a counter and let his hands wander down to the button of your red jeans. “Don’t have much time,” he mumbled, lips roving to your jaw. “Gotta be quick, alright?”

Eyes fluttering shut, you nodded, desperate for anything he’d give you. “Quick,” you breathed, already feeling yourself turn to putty under his rough hands.

Roy made quick work of your jeans, tugging them down your ankles, along with the pretty panties you’d picked just for him. Eyes on your glistening sex, he wiggled down his trackpants, revealing how hard he already was. Gripping your hips, he helped you hop onto the counter, where you spread your legs for him. He pressed his forehead to yours as he slowly slid himself into your entrance, bringing himself to a stop at the first whine that slipped past your lips.

“I know,” he cooed, bringing down one hand to soothingly rub your clit as he resumed inching into you. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well, taking me so fucking well.”

Your breath caught in your throat, this time from his words more than the burning feeling of his cock stretching you. Baby. You hated when men called you that, men who hadn’t been around long enough to call you such a sweet, gentle name. It was an instant turn-off. Too loving, too intimate.

But when Roy Kent said it? It sounded like heaven.

The feeling of him filling you up brought your thoughts back to the moment. He froze, letting you have a moment to get used to the sensation- as if you could ever get used to being fucked by Roy Kent.  You wrapped your legs around his waist and brought your lips to his, letting your rough kiss give him permission to move again.

He started with slow, dragging strokes, watching your face with an intense gaze as you gripped his arms. You threw your head back against the wall, the pain giving way to familiar pleasure, especially with the way Roy expertly massaged your clit.

Feeling the needy way your cunt clenched around him, Roy picked up his pace, roughly thrusting into you. When a loud moan escaped your lips, he instinctively brought his free hand to your mouth, shaking his head.

“Gotta keep quiet, baby,” he growled. He could practically feel your pussy throb at the word. “Think you could do that for me?” When you nodded, he removed his hand and brought it to your clothed breast, squeezing it roughly through your top. “Good girl.”

Fuck. Was he trying to make you moan again?

Desperate for something to occupy your mouth, you latched your lips to his jaw, pressing slobbery kisses there as Roy drove into you, biting his lower lip to hold in his own moans. When his cock hit that perfect spot deep inside you, you whined against his skin and began sucking on the spot. Part of you scolded yourself; you were definitely going to leave a mark on his jaw. But the part of you that was drunk off of Roy’s cock hoped you left him with a reminder of this romp.

His garbled moan told you that he was close, so fucking close. Determined to be a gentleman, he quickened his strokes on your clit, bringing his free hand to your hip to attempt to hold you as still as possible so he could absolutely pound into you.

“Roy,” you whimpered against his jaw as that coil in your tummy wound tighter and tighter. You felt yourself start to spasm around his cock.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” he whispered, his thrusts becoming sloppy. “Come for me, baby. Fucking come for me. I need it. Need you.”

His words made you snap. You gripped his biceps as if your life depended on it, and your teeth sunk into that spot on his jaw you’d been sucking to muffle the moan you felt sure the entire building could hear. He fucked you through your orgasm, wishing more than anything that he had time to make you come over and over again instead of having to savor this one like the treasure it was.

Your body spasmed beautifully against his until you looked up at him through your eyelashes, eyes glossy, completely fucked out. The sight only had him pounding harder, determined to give you something to remember him by before the two of you parted ways.

“Fuck,” he hissed, releasing your clit so he could grab your face and tilt it towards his. “Want me to fucking come for you?”

All you could do was nod and capture his lips with yours, your kiss sloppy and wet, tongues wrestling, teeth knocking carelessly. Your legs pulled him deeper, your fucked out mind desperate for him to fill you up.

Finally regaining some control of your still very horny mind, you brought your lips to his ear. “Roy,” you cooed, giving a little nibble to his lobe. “Come for me, baby.”

That fucking did it.

Roy’s whole body jerked as his cock spasmed and emptied inside you, your name softly falling from his lips like it was the only word he knew. Your eyes rolled back at the overstimulation, grateful that you were sitting because your knees were beyond weak, even weaker than your resolve had been when you’d first laid eyes on Roy in the hallway.

It felt much too soon when the two of you collapsed in each other’s arms, panting quietly. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, intoxicated by the scent of sex and Roy; fuck you wished you were staying in Richmond tonight. But the part of you that knew you were starting to get needy for Roy Kent was grateful you were leaving as soon as the match ended. This was getting far too easy.

With a quiet groan, Roy pulled out of you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, almost as an apology for having to rush things. As much as he needed to be inside you, he regretted that it was so sloppy, so hasty. If there was anything he wanted to take his time with, it was you.

He offered you his hand and helped you off the counter, which you couldn’t bring yourself to look at, fearful that you’d left a puddle behind. The two of you quickly fixed yourselves, pulling up pants and fixing hair. Roy bent down and picked up your hat, handing it to you with an almost bashful look on his flushed face.

“That was…” He raised his eyebrows, question marks in his eyes.

You let out a breathy chuckle as you put your hat back on, grateful that it would hide some of the mess Roy had made of your hair. “Yeah.” You ran your hands down your body, smoothing out your clothes. Fuck, you felt ready to pass out. Or ready to ask Roy to fill you up again.

“C’mere.” Roy grabbed your hand and pulled you to himself, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You better stay overnight next time,” he murmured, his thumb stroking a small piece of your exposed skin. “Because I want to take my time with you, got it?” He kissed your lips deeply. “Fucking Empress deserves to be treated properly.”

If the fucking hadn’t weakened your knees, Roy’s words sure would have. All you could do was kiss him back, wishing you had more time and wishing that you weren’t wishing that. Roy Kent had a reputation. Models, actresses, an heiress or two. And now, thanks to you, he could add F1 Driver to his resumé. Back at Silverstone, you figured he’d be fun, another nice little distraction, good for the weekend and maybe another hookup in Richmond if you ever came to a match. You’d promised yourself you weren’t stupid enough to actually fall for the footballer whose Chelsea kit still hung in the back of your closet somewhere.

But you also weren’t expecting those brown eyes to have that look as he gazed down at you.

“I better go,” you murmured, equally desperate to stay and get as far away as possible. “Becca and Keeley’ll be sending a search party soon.”

“Right.” He pressed another kiss to your lips. “Enjoy the match, yeah?”

You offered him a ghost of a smile as you tiptoed out of the boot room, trying to look as if you were supposed to be there, not that you’d snuck in for a quick fuck with the manager.

As you strode down the hall, walking quickly to get to the owners’ box before the girls could begin to wonder where you were, it dawned on you. This being a quick trip, you had no change of clothes. Meaning you were now stuck with a soaking pair of panties that would slowly fill with everything Roy had just given you. As annoyed as part of you was, knowing it was going to be an uncomfortable as hell football match and flight, some dirty little part of you couldn’t help but feel turned on at the thought.

Fuck. You liked shagging Roy Kent a lot more than you should.

Taglist: @hotdoglamp @daydreamgoddess14 @klaine-92 @gibby31 @anonurs @taytaylala12 @unholyhuntress @thatonedogwithablog @seacactusplant @e-mmygrey @jane-dough

#roy kent shut up and drive #roy kent x f1! reader #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent smut #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 19

Hey, guys. Sorry it took so long to get this out. The chapter was fighting me and I have had the absolutely worst week. However in slightly happier news, my partner got a new job and that means I should be able to quit mine and go back to writing full time. I'll let you know more when I do, but it's looking more and more likely.

I realized it had been a while since we had an Eddie centric chapter and decided this would be the one. And I left it on a cliffhanger again. But don't worry next chapter will see more than one villain vanquished.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

***

Eddie was seething. He hadn’t been this mad since he learned Max was moving to New York. Actually. No. He was madder then that. He was pissed.

Gareth grimaced. “They won’t do anything?”

“No,” Eddie growled. “Because he technically hasn’t violated the protection order, according to them.”

“If he can’t get with in five hundred feet,” Brian said, “then how did he find out about Steve.”

Eddie threw up his arms into the air. “That’s what I asked.”

“I’m betting,” Mandy said, “that they didn’t have a good answer?”

“Apparently since Seth showed up at Hopper’s,” Eddie snarled, “and not Steve’s shop, that he was just going around to all the tattoo parlors and threatening everyone.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “I bet they didn’t even check with other tattoo shops and just made that shit up.”

“I even talked to Officer Callahan who was in charge of the original case file because he’s not supposed to be out of jail yet,” Eddie said, beginning to pace. “He never went.”

“What?!” came the shocked cry of outrage from everyone.

“Yeah,” Eddie continued. “Apparently he made a deal with the DA and they didn’t tell me. He got two years probation.”

“That’s bullshit!” Mandy hissed. “He was going to kill you.”

“Criminal mischief,” Eddie said. “Domestic abuse down to criminal mischief. $300 fine, two year probation, and forced to take a class about how not to be a violent offender.”

“It’s because you’re a man, isn’t it?” Gareth asked, licking his lips slowly. “These fuckers don’t think a man can be abused.”

Eddie pursed his lips into a line and nodded.

“Hop’s calling in a couple of favors to keep Steve safe,” he said. “But that does jack shit about me. And this isn’t me calling out that shit. That’s Hop’s prerogative but he’s my dumb ass ex, who’s protecting me?”

“We are,” Jeff said. “You don’t go anywhere without one of us. Garth, since you’re the only one without a roommate at the moment, Eddie’s going to stay with you. Brian, talk to Cecil, he’s studying law. See what he can recommend.”

Gareth and Brian both nodded.

Eddie buried his head into his hands. “This is such bullshit.”

Mandy came up and gave him a hug. “We’ll get through this. We did before and we will again. And this time we have more people that would be willing to help. Steve, Robin, Chrissy, hell the whole of the Royal Pain would throw hands for you.”

Eddie chuckled. He knew that too. “Well, maybe not Erica.”

Brian snorted. “That girl would sell her own mother for a cookie.”

“Not even a Girl Scout cookie,” Jeff agreed. “That girl is bound for world domination.”

“No doubt.”

*

“You tell me right now,” Wayne said when Eddie had called that night, “do you need me up there? Because work be damned, boy, I’ll be up there in two shakes of lamb’s tail.”

Eddie chewed on his nail. He felt like that little boy all over again. Being given the choice between being with his uncle or being put in a foster home. He didn’t want to be a bother to anyone, but he knew. He knew that Wayne was someone that wouldn’t care. That he could be as big a bother as he wanted, he would still be loved.

He let out a shuddering breath and like that little boy all those years ago said, “Yes. Please.”

“I’ve got some vacation time coming,” Wayne said as if he didn’t have weeks and weeks of it stored up because he was never sick a day in his life. “I cane be up there for as long as you need me, you hear?”

“I’m staying with Gareth for the time being,” Eddie said solemnly, “because Jeff is worried that Seth will follow me home.”

“Smart man, your Jeff,” Wayne agreed. “I have a friend in Indy I can crash on the sofa of for a couple of days until I can find something a little more permanent.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Let me know when you get into town and we’ll meet up for lunch.”

“You can finally take me to that pizza place you’ve been going on about for months.”

Eddie laughed, a knot loosening in his chest. “You’ve got it, old man.”

*

A few days later Steve was waiting for the pizza he had ordered for the shop, playing silly games on his phone when the bell announced new arrivals. He looked up instinctively and grinned.

He waved. “Eddie!”

Eddie lit up with a big smile. “Stevie?” He hopped over, an older man following a little slower behind.

“Hey!” Steve greeted. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Eddie’s smile turned into a grin. “DiMaggio’s is the best pizza place in Indy, not coming here is a crime.”

“If it’s not it certainly should be,” Steve agreed with his own answering grin.

“Steve,” Eddie said, “this is my uncle, Wayne. He’s staying in town for a few days.”

Steve’s mood was dampened a bit, knowing why he was in town. “Nice to meet you. I was planning a trip back down Hawkins at the end of the summer so that Eddie could introduce us, sorry we had meet under lesser than ideal circumstances.”

Wayne blinked at him for a moment before turning to Eddie. “This one is a keeper.”

Eddie blushed, shoving his hair in front of his face, ducking his head to hide his embarrassment.

Steve just smiled fondly at him. “I think that’s up to him.”

Wayne’s eyebrows shot up. “I like him.”

That surprised a laugh out of Eddie causing him to drop the hair. “Me too.”

“Let me just go order our pizzas,” Eddie murmured and darted for the front counter.

“He’s cute,” Steve said, waving his hand to the chair in front of him for Wayne to sit.

Wayne took the seat and smiled. “He certainly is. I’m glad the world didn’t beat the silliness out of him.”

“Me too,” Steve agreed. “I love how earnest and outgoing he is.”

Wayne hummed. “He tell what was going on?”

Steve nodded. “I’m afraid it’s my fault. Seth came after me at a friend’s shop, tried to threaten me into leaving Eddie alone.”

“I don’t think being threatened is the fault of the victim,” he said, his voice a deep comforting rumble.

Steve blushed. “That’s what Jeff and Robin said.”

“Jeff I know,” Wayne said, “Robin I don’t, but it sounds to me like they both have their heads on straight and you should be listening to them and not that voice in the back of your head.” He tapped Steve forehead for emphasis.

The bell above the door rang again and Mike and Will walked in. Steve raised a eyebrow when he spotted them.

“DiMaggio’s is certainly hopping for a random Thursday,” he commented dryly to Will when he lead a slightly reluctant Mike over to their table. Eddie arrived at the table just moments later and there are hugs and greetings all around.

“You caused quite a stir at the latest family dinner,” Will said with a huge grin to Steve.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, how did that happen?”

“Jonathan is back on Mom’s couch,” he said with a smirk.

Steve reared his head back. “And how did that involve me?”

“Argyle kicked him out of the apartment because him and Nancy lied to him about who’s fault your and her relationship ended.”

“Nancy is furious at them both,” Mike said with a half shrug. “I’m not sure their relationship is going to survive that little revelation.”

Steve winced. “Yeah...that’s on them though. How was I to know that Jonathan hadn’t been honest to Argyle about that.”

Eddie bumped his shoulder. “You weren’t.”

“Oh we are totally on your side,” Will said.

Mike nodded. “Yeah, man. It was straight up bullshit all the lying they did.”

“Mom’s pissed because she really liked you,” Will continued, “and believed Jonathan about how things went down. Like of course she did. He’s her son, but she should have tried to get your side of it.”

“Those eight years are totally on her,” Steve said, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’ve been trying to tell her for years to at least talk to me about it.”

Will and Mike nodded.

Mike chewed on his lip as he played with the loose string on the hem of his t-shirt. “Is it bad I hope Nancy and Jonathan break up?”

The table got silence for a moment.

Wayne lifted his chin. “Why’s that, son?”

“Because I don’t think she wants a relationship. I think she was only with Jonathan and Steve,” he said waving at him with his left hand, “is because that’s what you’re ‘supposed’ to do.”

“Steve!” the counter called.

Steve got up to get his pizza order, he stopped back at the table. “I don’t think it’s a bad you want your sister to learn how to be herself without a partner. I think it shows that you’re more mature then she is. You’re a good man, Mike.”

He clapped Mike’s shoulder and then waved goodbye to everyone. He pulled out his keys and walked out to his car, flipping the key ring around as he thought.

He never intended this to happen when he saw his ex at the grocery store, but honestly? Maybe it was a good thing to get all those wounds brought to light so that they could heal properly.

For all their sakes.

*

Steve was ready for the weekend. His week had been a literal hell. But Eddie had promised that he would have fun. The band had been practicing a couple of new songs and were debuting them Saturday night.

He sat at the curve of the table, sandwiched between Robin, who wouldn’t care, only to tease him mercilessly later, and Mandy who got it, how fucking sexy Eddie and the band was when they were on stage.

Steve wished he could say he was better prepared every time Eddie got on stage, but every week Eddie went out of his way to drive Steve absolutely wild.

“He does this on purpose doesn’t he?” Steve asked after a particularly hot number where Eddie fell to his knees grinding on his guitar.

Mandy laughed. “I would like to put you out of your misery and say yes, but no. When Eddie gets on stage he loses all connection to the audience and just rocks out. His fans love it.”

Steve looked around the dingy bar and had to agree. They were just as turned on as he was. He shifted uncomfortably in his jeans, clearing his throat. “If we...” he cleared his throat again. “I mean if Eddie were to–if we were–”

Mandy took pity on him. “If you two were going out would the fans tear you to pieces for touching what they can’t?”

Steve bit his lip and nodded, looking at his hands that were twisted in lap.

She gave his knee a squeeze. “I honestly don’t know what the fans would do. But Eddie wouldn’t give a damn what they think. He’s been booed before for a song that they didn’t think was metal enough and he didn’t let that stop him. Not once.”

Steve let out a breath. It was always something that worried him. He knew he went against the grain in everything he did, but he didn’t want that with Eddie. He didn’t want to be with Eddie just because it went against the norm of what was expected of either of them.

They arrived at the club and already Robin was on the dance floor. She loved dancing and soon Mandy, Chrissy, Jeff, and Brian were out there with her. Gareth, Eddie, and Steve watched in amusement as their friends let loose on the dance floor, living it up under the rainbow lights and the thumping beat of the music.

Steve turned around and Eddie wasn’t there.

“You seen Eddie?” he shouted at Gareth.

Gareth shot up and looked around. “Shit.”

Somehow during their watching of their friends cutting it up, Eddie had slipped away.

“You check out back to see if he’s gone for a smoke,” Steve said.

Gareth nodded.

“I’m going to check the bar.”

Gareth nodded again.

Across the crowded room, a man in a tailored white suit grinned as he moved to the back of the club where the restrooms were, eyes glittering with want and rage as he scented his prey.

***

Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​ @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @aizawa-emma @redfreckledwolf @thesuninyaface @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @archermightbegay @hallucinatedjosten @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bestwifehaver @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @oldwitcheshat @nightmareglitter @tinyplanet95

#stranger things #steddie #my writing #tattoo artist steve #ladykailtiha writes

[mariejordans]

can u recommend some good aus and fics about jordan and marie I'm begging you plsssssss

*gasp* oh my goodness i love this questionnnnn!

okay, i’ll give you my current top five limoreau fics uploaded to ao3, but honestly there’s so many good ones for you to pick from, you really can’t go wrong with anything. also, these aren’t ranked in any particular order just my top five in general!

(warning: a lot of these are smutty bc it’s the most common rating in the marie/jordan tag at the moment, so if smut’s not ur thing, let me know and i can do a top 5 of non-smutty limoreau fics!)

1. you can take my flesh if you want, girl by stormbxrnbitch

rating: E

this author has only two limoreau fics out right now and both are SO GOOD (seriously, i can’t recommend this author enough) but i’m obsessed with this au which is why i put it on the list!

this specific fic is a vampire au in which marie herself is a vampire (a cool take on her canonic bloodbending powers) and jordan’s kinda (super) into it. it’s a three-shot, kinda marie-centric, and just all around super interesting and compelling to read. it’s still a wip and it hasn’t gotten smutty YET, but the author has promised lots of it for the final chapter!

2. Want Want? by Cherrydrama and Levie101

rating: M

i’ve recommended it on here before but seriously, IT’S SO GOOD!

it was written before episode five came out, so it’s a jordan pov, canon divergence fic on what happens after limoreau wakes up in the bed together, and i don’t want to spoil it too much, but i will say one thing: SPARRING/TRAINING AU.

this one isn’t super smutty iirc, it’s rated M, so it’s good if you like spice but not a lot of smut in your fics.

3. The Weight Of You by Georgiathewholedaythrough

rating: M

another canon divergence fic! written before episode five, it’s also a take on what happens after they wake up in bed together, only this time things get…smutty. it’s marie pov, very sweet, very romantic, and funny too.

4. two timing by diaphanouspages

rating: E

this is a slight au (described by the author as “has a weird relationship to the show’s actual canon, but just accept the violent canon divergence and move on”) in which jordan attempts to make marie jealous, which works and then they end up in bed together. starts off angsty and kinda smutty, but also turns sweet towards the end.

also slight praise kink for jordan, so if you’re into that…

5. Reluctant Study Buddies by MercutioTheVelaryon

rating: M

another canon divergence fic taking place after episode 4 ending, but they all go in different directions i swear!

this is a study partners/study buddies au (as stated in the title) in which marie and jordan are assigned to be partners on a project for one of their classes. it gets a bit steamy, but it fades to black so if you aren’t comfortable with explicit smut, this might be for you! also, very funny and the banter between jordan and marie in it is *chef’s kiss*

(also this author has a bunch of other limoreau fics uploaded, which i also really loved, so i recommend you check those out as well!)

THATS IT THATS THE LIST! i genuinely hope it helped even a little bit, and that it gives you the mariejordan fix we’ve all been craving since thursday 😭 also, let me know your thoughts after you’ve read if you want, i’m always down to ramble on about gen v/limoreau nonsense!

#but seriously #to all the limoreau writers out there: KEEP DOING WHAT YOURE DOING #AND YOURE ALL AMAZING #AND I LOVE YOU #gen v #gen v fics #marie moreau #jordan li #mariejordan #limoreau #gen v asks

[oddinary4bts]

The Forgotten Spaces | ch 4 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there will be mature content in later chapters)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: nausea, hangover, the park jimin effect, drinking, cursing? a time skip of a month

☆word count: 9.6k

☆a/n: why is posting making me anxious? fun fact, I'm posting from New York City this week! Went to the two first Agust D concerts ayyy

☆a/n pt2: always and forever thankful for @moonleeai and her dedicated work as my beta reader <3

☆series masterpost here

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, May 19th

                Jungkook feels sick. Sick of everything, but mostly sick because his hungover has kept him in bed all day. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to pull up for dance practice later. All he knows is that his room has been spinning whenever he wakes up from naps, and that he fucked up majestically last night.

He doesn’t quite remember everything he said. He just remembers you, in his room, and then you being gone, replaced by Jimin and Taehyung.

The only thing he knows is that you know. The text that’s been sitting on his phone all day is reminder enough.

[11:12 am] You: hey, i hope ur okay this morning.. if u ever wanna talk about last night, we can grab a coffee or smth😌

He doesn’t know what to say, so he hasn’t replied. Because he’s not okay at all, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. Especially not with you.

Especially not when he hasn’t been able to eat anything since the first time he woke up today. It’s nearing 4 pm now, and he technically needs to be at the studio in two hours. Hobi already said he’d pick him up, but he’s still far from being presentable right now.

Jungkook groans, hiding his face in his pillow. You come up in his mind, the look of horror on your face last night making everything spin around him twice as much as before. Whenever he closes his eyes, you’re there, and he almost hopes to go blind.

Though he’s pretty sure you’d find a way to haunt him even if he was blind.

Another groan escapes him, and he turns his head to the side as someone knocks on his door. “Uh?” he lets out, loud enough for whoever it is to hear.

He’s surprised to see it’s Yoongi as the man opens the door. “I made you soup,” Yoongi says, and sure enough he is carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup on top of it.

Jungkook expects the thought of eating to make him feel worse, but surprisingly enough, no nausea rises inside of him. Instead, he realizes his stomach feels dreadfully empty, so he forces himself to sit, wincing at the throbbing pain at his temples.

It’s almost enough to make him forget the pain in his leg.

“Did you take any painkillers?” Yoongi asks as he puts down the tray at the foot of the bed. “And have you drank any water?”

“Yes and yes,” Jungkook replies, voice raucous from disuse. “Pretty sure I could use some more painkillers though.”

Yoongi nods, watching his younger friend carefully. “Do you need me to go get you some?”

Jungkook slowly shakes his head no. “I need to get out of bed if I want to make it to dance practice.”

At that Yoongi laughs. “Good luck with that.”

Jungkook frowns, glaring at Yoongi. “I’m very capable, I’ll have you know.”

“Your room smells like someone died in here.”

Though he’s usually sensitive to smell, Jungkook’s hungover state keeps him from being able to tell if the room really does stink. “Tae and Jimin cleaned up.”

“Then you must be the dead body,” Yoongi says, in that deadpan kind of way of his. He shrugs his shoulders, before adding, “Anyway, just eat and then take a shower. I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

Jungkook nods and watches as Yoongi makes to move out of his room. Yoongi’s at the door when Jungkook says, “Hyung?” Yoongi turns around, a quizzical look on his features. “Thank you for the soup.”

A smile breaks out across Yoongi’s face. “Anytime.”

And then Yoongi leaves, shutting the door softly behind him, and Jungkook is left alone once again. He looks down at the soup, and he realizes he really is hungry. He pulls the tray closer to him, making sure the soup doesn’t spill over the rim of the bowl, before grabbing the spoon.

The first spoonful of soup has his eyes fluttering shut with delight. Yoongi’s always been an amazing cook, and he hasn’t disappointed today. It awakens Jungkook more than anything else could have, and he’s finished the bowl of soup so quickly he almost considers eating the tray.

He’s still famished, but at least he’s got something in his stomach now. It’s enough to get him to stand from his bed, and though everything wobbles for a few seconds, he’s able to start gathering what he’ll need for his trip to the shower.

The shower really helps make him feel human again, and he’s relieved. As he steps out and looks at himself in the mirror, eyes dipping to his scars, he feels ready to confront the whole world if need be. He won’t have to bail on dance practice after all.

He’s down in the kitchen, eating some reheated pizza from last night, when Hobi arrives. His older friend pats him on the back, before putting down a Gatorade in front of him.

“Thought you’d need this,” he says, before climbing on the stool next to Jungkook.

Jungkook chuckles, immediately uncapping the Gatorade to take a long swig. It’s the last thing he needed to feel as good as new, and he offers Hobi a wide grin as soon as he puts the bottle down.

“I sure did,” he says, and the two friends laugh.

One thing that doesn’t change though, is the heaviness in Jungkook’s heart. Because if you know, then it’s just a matter of time before the rest of the crew knows. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to deal with everyone pitying him at the same time.

Maybe then he’ll just have to dip again.

Jin comes into the kitchen, and he stops as he sees Jungkook and Hobi at the counter. Valeria trails behind him, and Jungkook is struck dumb once more.

He never thought Jin would be able to pull the girl. He’s still surprised that she does exist, and whenever he’s alone with Jin he makes it a priority to remind his older friend.

“Sup’ losers,” Jin says as he starts moving again, heading towards the fridge to store the bottle of rosé wine he’s holding. “Surprised you were able to get out of bed.”

He says that over his shoulder looking right at Jungkook, who rolls his eyes. “I’m not a senior citizen like you, I’ve still got youth on my side.”

“Listen you little shit,” Jin bursts out, and Valeria starts laughing. It has the effect of a calming shower on Jin, who only glares at Jungkook. “You’re lucky the lady is here. Otherwise you’d be dead.”

“If you’d be able to catch me, that is.”

Jin looks towards Hobi.

“Don’t ask me for help,” Hobi says, raising his hands in defense. “You’re all alone on this.”

Jin’s head turns towards his girlfriend next. She’s shy, and Jungkook has never really talked to her before. So when he and Hobi look at her too, she blushes, before shrugging.

Jin lets out a childish whine, before saying, “Alright then, I’m old.”

“We like you like that.” Valeria is the one that speaks, and Jungkook chokes on a laugh as he turns back towards Jin.

“You heard her.”

Jin is fake-glaring at his girlfriend, but then his features soften. “Yeah, but at least she’s pretty.” And just like that he moves out of the kitchen, pulling Valeria behind him.

“I’ve been told I’m pretty too,” Jungkook yells behind Jin, and Hobi laughs next to him. “He’s so whipped,” Jungkook says after a few seconds, just to make sure Jin is out of earshot. His comment makes him think about another couple that’s starting to form, and he turns to look at Hobi. “And you? What’s up with Jiho?”

Hobi chokes, flushing fully red, up to the top of his ears. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows as he tries to hold in the shit-eating smirk that wants to form on his lips. “What do I mean? Why did you invite her yesterday?”

“I –” Hobi says. “I just thought it’d be fun to hang with the crew…”

“The crew?” The smirk has won now, and it breaks across Jungkook’s lips.

“Well, you know, just like…” Hobi falls silent, before letting out a strangled laugh. “I honestly didn’t see it coming.”

It’s cute, and Jungkook’s smirk turns into a softer smile. “To be honest, me neither.”

“She’s got balls though,” Hobi says, laughing lightly this time. “She’s the one who suggested we should go on a date, after dance practice last week.”

All that Jungkook remembers of that night is that he walked with you after. The rest is a blur of anxiety and his leg hurting. But he’s not surprised that Jiho’s got balls: she has to be your closest friend for a reason.

“You said yes, I hope,” Jungkook says.

Hobi slowly nods. “Yeah. But I invited her yesterday because of that too. And we’re going to a restaurant she suggested tomorrow.”

Jungkook doesn’t have to fake the happiness that takes over him right now. He’s happy for his friend, he really is. For his friends, plural. Because Taehyung, Jin, Yoongi and now Hobi… They’re all happy. They all have met someone, someone to care for them where no one else can. Strangely, it’s something Jungkook doesn’t really want for himself right now, maybe because he’s too stuck in the past.

Too stuck trying to heal from the crash, knowing some parts won’t ever heal and refusing to give up the fight for now.

It brings him back to you. To last night, and to whatever he said. He wishes he could remember the words, just to know how bad he fucked up, but he doesn’t. He won’t remember, and he won’t ask you.

He won’t take you up on your offer for coffee. He knows pity when he sees it, and he abhors it. Especially when it comes from you.

Instead, he focuses on Hobi, on the smile that lights up his friend’s face as he tells him about Jiho, about how they’ve been texting almost constantly. It’s all Hobi talks about on the ride to the studio, as he mentions stuff Jiho told him.

Stuff she told him about her when she was younger, but also about you. About how you’ve been friends since the first day of kindergarten, when someone pulled her braids and laughed at her and you punched them in the face.

He’s not surprised child you would punch someone that deserved it in the face. He’s pretty sure adult you would do it too.

Hobi parks his car next to the studio, and they are getting out of the vehicle when Jungkook notices you walking, hands buried in yet another oversized sweater. You’re wearing yoga pants underneath, and your hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. You catch his gaze a few seconds after he notices you, and he’s about to smile at you when you just look away, walking in the building without once glancing back.

What the fuck?

Jungkook frowns, especially as Hobi says, “What happened with Y/n last night?”

For some reason, Jungkook immediately grows defensive. He shrugs, a little vehemently before starting to walk towards the door. “Nothing happened. Just let it slip that I got into a car crash.”

“So she knows?” Hobi asks.

Another shrug of Jungkook’s shoulders. He buries his hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, just to hide the way he’s clenching his fists even though he’s trying to stay calm. “Yeah. So everyone will know.”

“I don’t think so,” Hobi says, and Jungkook glances at him, brows knit together. “I mean, she’s good at keeping secrets.”

“She’s probably already told Jiho,” Jungkook points out as they reach the door. He doesn’t see you on the other side, and that’s the only reason why he opens it.

“Well, Jiho didn’t say anything about you, if that can reassure you.”

Hobi has felt the switch in his mood, hasn’t he? Because his voice is careful, as if he’s afraid to spook him.

“I don’t care,” Jungkook lies. Because he really does care. He doesn’t want everyone to know. Because it makes it too real, and for now he still can pretend it hasn’t happened.

He wishes for it to stay that way.

Hobi doesn’t push him more, and a tense silence moves between them. Jungkook wishes he could go back to his previous good mood about his friends’ happiness, but he’s back where he was last night. Somewhere in the dark of his own mind.

Not a good place to hang, if he’s honest.

He already knows he’s going to see you when he reaches the studio. Somehow, it still makes his heart constrict in his chest, that same way it did last night. As if someone is clenching their fist around it, and it makes it harder to breathe. He shrugs it off, taking a deep breath to calm down, before looking around.

Everyone but Heather is already here. And no one is looking at him, no one seems surprised or seems to be pitying him. You don’t even act like you noticed him entering – you take off your sweater, dropping it in a corner of the room with your phone and your keys. He hates it, but his eyes follow the curves of your body, and he wants to curse you for only wearing a sports bra.

Your body is lean, the results of dancing for most of your life with a mother that used to be a ballerina. Jungkook is pretty sure she’s controlled everything you ate growing up, and drilled it so hard into your head that you can’t stand bad food now. He remembers, when you were younger and someone brought cake to practice to celebrate a birthday, you always barely took a bite before saying you were full. You claimed you didn’t like cake, but he always noticed the way you eyed it while everyone else ate.

He used to make fun of you for it, and today he knows he was an asshole. All he can hope is that your relationship with food is better now. And it looks like it is – you’re not as thin as you were before. You look healthy, and your skin and hair are glowing.

It takes him a few good seconds to realize he’s staring, as if something about you has changed. And he doesn’t know what changed, just knows that he feels struck.

You notice him staring, and you furrow your brows. “What are you looking at?”

It’s said aggressively. As if you’re angry. He only then realizes that you might be, and maybe that’s why you ignored him outside. He can’t for the life of himself figure out why you’d be angry – did he say something yesterday?

“Nothing,” he replies, and he looks away as his heart beats out of his chest.

You act like that for the whole of practice. For all the pity looks Heather throws his way, you send twice as many glares. It feels like last night never happened, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just a nightmare, and he never told you everything.

He knows you know though, because whenever he puts too much weight on his leg as he demonstrates the movements he has in mind, you clench your jaw. A muscle feathers under your skin, and then you look away. Shame passes on your features, and then it’s gone to be replaced with a scowl.

He’s getting tired of it by the end of practice, so he pulls you aside to talk. Jiho stubbornly stays next to you, until Hobi walks up to her and asks if he can talk to her, probably sensing that Jungkook needs some time alone with you.

You both glare at each other while the others filter out, wishing you good night. Jungkook hears Scottie teasing Lance about meeting up with a girl, and the last thing he hears is Lance telling him to fuck off before everyone is finally out.

It takes almost twenty seconds before you blink and say, “What do you want?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, folding his arms on his chest as he cocks an eyebrow.

You scoff. “With me? Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

Do you know or do you not? He’s a little confused as you just look at him, clearly expecting an answer. He’s dumbfounded – the last thing he expected from telling you everything was you being furious at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

It’s just a back and forth of questions at this point, with no visible answers in the distance. Indeed, you just say, “Do you think you did something wrong?”

It’s absurd, and it makes him laugh. Which, he reckons, might be taken as insulting. And of course you take it the bad way, because how else would you take it?

“You’re so fucking oblivious,” you grumble.

He’s still laughing. He wants to stop, but for some reason he cannot.

“What’s so funny?” you enquire, and your cheeks are turning red.

“Just,” he starts, “I don’t know. The last thing I expected from last night was you getting angry at me.”

You roll your eyes. “If you were looking for pity you won’t get any from me.”

That’s the thing. He doesn’t want any pity from you. And you saying so makes something warm blossom in his chest, and it sobers him up. His face falls serious, and he holds your gaze long enough that you raise your eyebrows in question.

“Thank you,” he says.

You scoff. “You’re fucking weird, Jeon.”

He shrugs. “That’s why you like me, uh?”

Your eyes widen, and you look so appalled he just starts laughing again. “Quite the opposite actually,” you say even though he’s laughing. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “I’m just relieved you haven’t changed.”

He really is. You have no idea how much.

“Okay?” you let out, and it sounds like a question. You scoff again, before adding, “Why didn’t you reply to my text?”

Oh, so this is what it’s about. You’re upset because he ignored your text. It feels absurd and stupid and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, so Jungkook just smiles and shrugs. “I genuinely don’t really want to talk about last night. I’m all okay today.”

And he does think he is, now that he’s talking to you.

You remain silent for a while, pulling at some dry skin on your bottom lip. You then brush a strand of hair that’s fallen from your ponytail behind your ear, nodding your head. “Understood. Won’t be nice to you again.”

“Oh please,” Jungkook teases. “You can’t resist it.”

He’s happy. The more he talks to you, the happier he is. He feels like he’s floating, and he wishes you’d both stay right then and there, in the studio, until the end of time.

He hasn’t felt so light in forever.

“Oh, I can, Jeon.” You fold your arms on your chest, imitating his posture. “Watch me.”

But there’s a teasing glint in your eyes, probably awakened by his own teasing demeanour.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your text,” he apologizes, because he feels like he needs to clear the air with you. He doesn’t want you to be upset with him anymore. “I genuinely didn’t know what to say, and I figured I was going to see you tonight anyway.”

You look away for the first time in the conversation. Your eyes move down, and he’s pretty sure you’re looking at the scar on his stomach. It makes it itch, and if he weren’t with you, he’d scratch it. But he resists, offering you a tight-lipped smile as you look up at his eyes again.

“Well, forget I suggested coffee then,” you say. You wink at him. “I’ll start being a bitch again now.”

“Please do.”

You look startled. “You want me to be a bitch?”

He laughs, scratching the nape of his neck. “No.” He scrunches up his nose, thinking really hard about what he wants to say. Only he doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he’s never talked to you before in his whole life. He can barely remember breaking down in front of you not even twenty-four hours ago. “Yes? Just be your same usual self.”

“Noted,” you say, nodding your head forcefully.

It’s cute, and it makes your ponytail swing behind you. He has half a thought to reach and pull on it, just to annoy you, but he resists.

Instead, he looks around, before resuming his attention on you. “Just, one thing.”

You hold his gaze, cocking an eyebrow in question as you purse your lips. “Mmh?”

“Please don’t tell the others,” he says. It’s a little more serious than he was just a second ago, but he feels like it’s needed to get the point across. “I’d prefer if they didn’t know.”

The corners of your lips stretch into a small, soft smile. “I didn’t plan on telling anyone. I figured you’re the one that should tell them if you want to.” You glance towards the door, and you’re not watching him when you add, “I think Bridget told Heather though. And I don’t know if Heather will remain silent”.

He doesn���t care if Heather tells the others. He just doesn’t want you to do it. It makes no sense, but at the same time it makes all the sense in the world to him.

“Yeah, I think she knows too.” He pulls at his piercing, letting out a small sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

You nod, and the room falls silent. He wishes he had more to tell you, but it seems you’ve run out of conversation topics, because you eventually wet your lips and say, “Well, I guess I’ll be going home now”. And then you laugh, shaking your head. “I was supposed to leave with Jiho, but I’m pretty sure she’s gone with Hobi.”

“Hobi talked about her for like an hour before we got here,” Jungkook admits, relieved that you provided a topic. “They’re going on a date tomorrow.”

You smile, widely, and he reckons you’re like him. Your friends’ happiness makes you happy, and happiness truly looks good on you. It makes your eyes sparkle, and you look like a kid who’s just received the perfect gift on Christmas morning.

“I know!” you yelp, taking him by surprise when you even clap your hands. “They’re going to the restaurant I suggested.”

There’s something warm in Jungkook’s chest. It just becomes stronger and stronger the more he looks at you, and it makes him feel wary. Enough so that he looks away and tries to tame it down.

“I hope everything will work out for them,” he says, and he scrapes his throat because the warmth is choking him up now.

“I’m sure it will”, you reply, confidently. “Jiho has been into him for like three years now.”

Jungkook feels bad for her, because three years ago Hobi was still with his ex. But it seems patience makes miracles, because she’s getting a date with Hobi now, isn’t she?

It makes Jungkook realize that sometimes, the right person for someone might have been around all along. They’ve just been blind to it. Now, that’s a thought that makes him want to get out of this room. To flee this cloud before it breaks, and he meets your gaze.

You’re watching him already, with a wistful look on your features. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He hates it. Hates everything that your little sentence makes him feel, so he just nods his head, before saying, “It’s getting late, I should hurry if I want to catch the bus”.           

Your eyes widen. “I’ll order you a Lyft, come on.”

“No!” he refuses. “It’s all good.”

“But it’s late,” you insist, and you bend down to grab your phone on your sweater.

It offers Jungkook a straight view to your cleavage, and he freezes, right as pink dusts his cheeks. “I swear,” he reassures you, adding your name before continuing, “I’d rather take the bus. But thank you for the offer.”

You fake-glare at him. “Right, I’m supposed to be a bitch anyway.” You fold your arms on your chest, cocking an eyebrow arrogantly, and you look just like you’ve always looked when you say, “What the fuck are you still doing here? You’re wasting my oxygen.”

It makes the both of you laugh, and Jungkook just shakes his head. “Please, I know you love looking at me.”

You look offended, somehow, and you scoff. “I’d rather gouge my eyeballs out of my head instead of having to look at you for a second longer.”

“Ouch, that was rough.”

“You deserved it.” You shrug your shoulders, before motioning at the door in a swooshing motion. “Now, go lick your wounds somewhere else.”

“Aren’t you leaving too?”

You glare at him now, and you’re so good at it he almost thinks you’re angry. “Why, do you want to walk me home?”

His mouth falls open. Would you let him walk you home? For some reason, he’s pretty sure you’ll punch him if he even suggests it. So instead, he chooses to say, “And suffer the whole way? Nah, I’m good.”

It’s a low-key mention of his injury. You immediately catch on to it, and Jungkook hates the look that takes over your features. He thought that you didn’t have pity for him in you, but it seems you do. You do and it feels like the fist around his heart is back, and the air burns a little.

You seem like you want to say something, but he’s quicker than you.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Jungkook.”

“No, I’m serious, don’t you fucking look at me like that.”

And just like that the light atmosphere shifted back into darkness.

You scoff, shaking your head. “And here I was starting to think that you’re a decent guy. Never mind, Jeon.” You scoff once more, and the corners of your mouth are pulled down in a look of pure disgust. “I’m going home.”

He lets you go. He doesn’t even look at you as you pick up your stuff and leave, not once glancing back.

No matter how enjoyable this interlude in your usual relationship was, Jungkook prefers the usual hate. It’s safer, more comfortable, and a habit that protects him from the vulnerability.

Why then is he staring at your text two hours later in his bed at home, unable to fall asleep, wishing he didn’t say what he did?

In all truth, he knows why, he just doesn’t want to formulate the thought. Doesn’t want to give it the power to exist in the confines of his brain. So he ignores it, shoves the warmth in his chest so far down in the hole occupied by his lost dream that he can’t really feel it anymore.

Only then does he feel safe again, but he still can’t fall asleep.

He hopes you’re not struggling with insomnia as much as he is.

Thursday, June 28th

                The auditions for nationals are in a week. Seven days, and you’re still not sure you’ve mastered the choreography well. You’re anxious – have been for weeks now – and all you want is to lie down on the floor until everything is over.

Which, coincidentally, is what Lance has been doing for the last fifteen minutes, claiming he needed a break from Jungkook. Because Jungkook is worse than Hobi, making you repeat the choreography for stupid unnecessary things like Jiho’s hair was in her face or Scottie’s shirt rode too high while he was doing a certain move.

In May, when you learned about what happened to Jungkook, you had a few days of feeling bad for him. Wishing you didn’t get in a fight with him during that dance practice, wishing your relationship with him wasn’t just hateful.

It feels like there’s been too much history between you for it to ever change. Because you saw a glimpse of something else, for a few minutes that night. Jungkook was more open, calmer, and his expressions were set in a softer look. It was easier to be around him, more enjoyable, and you wished for a fleeting moment that it could last.

Alas, it only lasted a few minutes before he moved back to the harsh look he reserved for you, only because he assumed you were pitying him. Which, maybe you were. You don’t know. It’s hard to tell when you haven’t been through what he has, and when you can tell he suffers.

But you’re not sure if it’s pity or concern. You don’t think he can tell the difference either.

“Lance,” you grumble as you finish the choreography, heart beating out of your chest. “Get the fuck up we need you.”

Lance mumbles something incoherent, before turning his head away from where you’re glaring at him. It makes you look up to catch Jungkook’s gaze, and he immediately looks away the moment your eyes meet. He’s been doing that a lot now too. Where he used to glare at you or smirk insufferably, Jungkook just ignores you.

You don’t think you like it. But you’ve gotten used to it over the course of the last few weeks, so you just roll along with it now.

You’ve kept his secret safe. You thought it would be hard, especially to hide it from Jiho, but after a few days it just became normal. Jiho has more to tell you about Hobi anyway.

Because they’ve found time to go on dates every week since then. Sweet dates, with him picking her up and bringing her flowers and doing things that he knows make her happy. Even at dance practice, everyone can see how they are sickly into each other. You’re happy for Jiho, you really are, but it’s starting to feel a little lonely.

At least you’ve got Jo and the other girls now too. You’ve met the mysterious Kiko now – a sweet girl with the voice of an angel – and your girl’s nights with Jiho have turned into Thirsty Thursdays. You haven’t understood the meaning of the Thirsty yet, considering all of them are dating now, but you just roll along with it.

It’s led to fun nights, and that really is the only thing that matters, right?

Tonight makes no exception. Jiho, Heather and you have dance practice until 10 pm, and then you’re supposed to meet with the girls at a bar on their side of town. Which means you’re already dressed up, though you put on a sports skirt to avoid showing off your ass to the rest of the boys. Not that it would matter – Scottie is not interested in women at all, Lance only has eyes for Chaeyeon now, Hobi is way too respectful for that and Jungkook doesn’t even look at you anymore.

You scoff, glancing away from Jungkook to settle your gaze back on Lance. “Get up,” you repeat, before walking over to him to kick him in the ribs. “Or I’ll tell Chaeyeon how much of a loser you are.”

He fakes offence. “Me, a loser? Nah, we’re going to win this shit.”

The sudden confidence is a boost to everyone’s mood, and soon enough you’re back to dancing, with a much-needed vigor. It’s enough that Jungkook lets you go after you’ve done the choreographies two times more, telling everyone they did a good job.

“Same time Saturday,” he says.

You think you notice him looking at you in the mirror, but as soon as you turn your head in that direction he’s already glanced away, focusing himself on typing something on his phone.

“We know,” Lance says jokingly, before punching Jungkook in the shoulder.

Jungkook snickers, and he deadpans, “You were two hours late last week because you were too busy with your girlfriend”.

“Can’t blame me,” Lance says, shrugging his shoulders. “Chae comes first, the rest of you can suck it up.” It’s cute and endearing, and your heart feels warm as Lance glances your way. You have no idea what brings him to think of that, but he scans the whole room before suggesting, “We should rent a cottage. After the auditions. We should all get shitfaced for three days straight.”

Hobi laughs from where he’s standing next to Jiho. “Scottie is too young for that.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-two!” Scottie exclaims. “I can get shitfaced.”

“You’re a baby,” Heather puts in. “Just accept it. I refuse to acknowledge the fact you are major now.”

Scottie rolls his eyes, placing a sassy fist on his hip. “Then sucks to be you because I am, and I’m going to get shitfaced with Lance. Right?”

Lance has a large grin on his lips. “Damn fucking right.”

“As long as we get a cottage with a hot tub I’m in,” Jiho says innocently. Hobi cocks an eyebrow as he looks at her, as if he didn’t just say Scottie can’t go. “What?” Jiho adds, shrugging her shoulders. “A cottage weekend does sound like fun.”

It does. It really does. You haven’t gone to the countryside in years now, and you can already picture a cute, picturesque cottage on the side of a lake, with a long quay you can lie on and stargaze. The cottage has a fireplace, a circle of rock in the middle of which flames burn at night until they turn to embers and you roast marshmallows on it. You can almost feel the warmth of the hot tub, and the laughter of friends seems to almost overtake your ears…

Yeah, you’re due for a trip out of the city.

“I want marshmallows,” you say, sighing dreamily. “I haven’t had marshmallows since like…”

“Since the camping trip when we were thirteen? When Jisung got shit on by that seagull?”

You burst out laughing at the same time as Jiho does, right as the memory comes back to you. It had been a fun camping trip, with Jiho’s parents renting a camper. They had invited you along on their trip, and you had gone to the beach with them.

Good memories indeed.

Your laughter recedes, and you notice everyone is looking at you. Even Jungkook. His eyes are a little widened, as if he’s surprised, and there’s a light flush on his cheeks when he looks away.

It’s the strangest sight to see, and you’re unable to shake the feeling away while you get ready with Jiho later to rush to the bar where Jo and the others are already waiting for you. Jiho notices your unease as she applies your eyeliner.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you immediately say, way too fast for it to sound casual.

She just cocks an eyebrow and keeps applying the makeup. At least she has the decency to ignore the blush that creeps on your cheeks.

“It’s just…” you sigh, and turn your head when she starts to work on your second eye. “I don’t know.”

“Jungkook?”

You want to kill her for knowing you so well, so you remain silent, choosing peace over violence.

“I’m going to say something right now that might make you want to kill me,” Jiho says, lips pursed.

“I would advise not saying it,” you mumble and she playfully pats your cheek.

“Don’t move.” You pout, but obey nonetheless. She continues working in silence for a time, before saying, “I know about the accident”.

Your heart stops in your chest, and you’re pretty sure all colours have drained out of your features. You still try to play it cool, saying, “What accident?”

“February last year? Jungkook got injured, then ghosted us. Ring a bell?”

You can’t really pretend you don’t know what she’s talking about, can you? “How do you know?”

“Hobi told me,” she admits. “He made me promise to never talk about it, but he mentioned you knew already.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” she reassures you, having sensed your discomfort. “Actually, it tells a lot about your relationship with JK that you respected his decision.”

You scoff as she pulls the eyeliner away from your face, putting it down on her vanity to grab her La Neige lip tint. “My relationship with Jungkook? We’re not even friends.”

“Why though?”

It’s a good question that just pisses you off further. “Because he’s a dick. He told me about the accident and got angry at me for looking concerned and then he started ignoring me.” You chuckle bitterly. “It’s not like I’m going to try and make him talk to me. I don’t give a shit about him.”

Jiho is silent for a long time. Far too long for it to be normal. Like she doesn’t believe you at all and is waiting for you to realize. You’re just as stubborn, so you don’t say anything as she puts the lip tint on her pretty lips.

It makes for an awkward two minutes, but she’s the one that breaks first. “You don’t believe that.”

You furrow your brows. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

She laughs. Not in a mean way, probably just because your cheeks are burning and she believes she can read you like the back of her hand. “Because you don’t believe that.”

You fold your arms on your chest, sitting back in the chair she’s forced you to sit in while she did your eyeliner. You remain silent once again, clenching your jaw as you choose not to get upset. You’re not sure it works, and Jiho just playfully punches you on the shoulder.

“Calm down, babe,” she says. “He’s changed.”

“He’s still an ass with me,” you point out. “He’s changed with the rest of you guys, but he’s even worse with me. He’s been completely ignoring me for weeks.”

“Because he’s scared of what you think about him.”

“He doesn’t give a shit about what I think of him? He’s made that clear enough.” Jiho goes back to her infuriating silence. And you don’t want the conversation to keep going in that direction, so you ask, “How has it been going with Hobi anyway?”

She flushes red as she always does whenever Hobi is mentioned. “Do not think this conversation is over,” she says, threatening you with the lip tint bottle. “But it’s been…” She chuckles. “It’s been great. I think we’re pretty much official now.”

It’s disgustingly cute. It makes you think of Lance and Chaeyeon, of Heather and Bridget, Jo and Taehyung and Kiko and Yoongi…

It makes you feel lonely, like Lance did earlier. It’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to growing up, so it’s easy to let it slide over you instead of letting it fester inside.

“Look at you,” you say teasingly. “Who knew you’d pull your lifelong crush?”

“Lifelong?” she snickers. “I’ve had a crush on him for like two years.”

You throw a no-bullshit look her way.

“Okay maybe three…”

It makes you both laugh, and it diffuses the situation that was escalating just a moment ago. You’re relieved, because you’re pretty sure if she mentioned Jungkook just once more you would have blown up in her face.

You take shots downstairs with Jisung and Felix before going, and you giggle in the Lyft on the way to the bar the other girls chose. As per usual, you’re the two last to get there – fashionably late is the way to go, right?

It takes you way too long to realize girl’s night will in fact not be girl’s night. Yoongi is the first you notice, maybe because he’s looking at the exit when you walk in, as if he’s just waiting for the right time to bail. He nods as he sees you, and Kiko turns. She smiles her shy smile, the one that doesn’t show her teeth, and she nods as well, almost a copycat of her boyfriend.

Then it’s like a domino effect, and everyone turns to look at you. Nine pairs of eyes, all on you: Jin, Valeria, Taehyung, Jo, Bridget, Heather, Kiko, Yoongi and Jimin. The latter offers you a secretive smile.

You might have been texting him a little. Nothing serious, but he does appear in your dms once in a while, replying to a story you posted. You always decided to ignore him, only liking his replies, but tonight there’s something in the way Park Jimin is looking at you, sitting there, that makes something warm trickle down your spine.

Maybe because of your conversation with Jiho. It’s hard to tell, and your best friend pulls you towards the rest of the group before you can figure it out. The feeling only increases tenfold when you stop next to the table, and Jimin gets up to greet you, quickly followed by the others.

You hug everyone, and Jo holds you a second longer. “Sorry for inviting the rest, Tae begged and I figured…” You pull away from the hug, and she does have a sheepish look on her features. “Thirsty Thursday doesn’t mean no men?”

You laugh at that comment, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

And really, you don’t mind. You like hanging out with them all. You’re relieved they didn’t think to invite Jungkook though, because one thing you’ve figured is that, where Jimin goes Jungkook usually follows.

The night starts off with talking and a few drinks with the group, until you find yourself intoxicated more than you have initially planned to. It doesn’t really matter – you have a day off tomorrow at the internship. Indeed, it only goes from Monday to Thursday, since the lawyer you follow takes the day off on Fridays for the whole of summer.

So you drink, and when they clear a spot for the dancefloor, you let Jiho pull you to it. Let her dance with you, like you usually do when you’re trying to get a guy’s attention. You reckon she’s drunker than you – she’s a giggly mess and she keeps stepping on your feet, which she never usually does. It’s fun, and you feel some anxiety peel away from your skin as if you’re an onion and someone’s about to cut you up to pieces.

You do feel like somebody is about to cut you up to pieces when Jimin moves closer to you, and the smirk on his lips sets something on fire inside of you. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. It doesn’t matter because you pull away from Jiho to move closer to him, almost instinctively.

It’s like he fits like a glove. You face him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him into the dance as his hands find your waist. One of them slips to your back, and he presses you against him as you move to the music, the rhythm a sensual dance between the two of you.

“Hello, you,” he purrs, and you look up at him.

“Hello,” you reply in the same tone, and he makes you spin until your back is facing him. He’s impossibly close and as his hands guide your hips, your eyes trail up.

You entirely stop moving when your gaze meets Jungkook. He’s standing near the door, clad in different clothes than earlier today, but in that same black shade he seems to adore. He also has a chain, with large links that give a rougher vibe to him.

The look on his features is rough too, especially as Jimin leans to speak into your ear. “I thought you might want to piss him off.”

You chuckle, turning your head to gaze at the man behind you over your shoulder. It brings your face way too close to his, and you have to resist the lava in your blood that makes you want to close the gap.

It’s the self-destructive kind of magma, and you don’t feel like indulging in it. Instead, you purr, “Why do you think I’d want to piss him off?”

Jimin chuckles, and you turn your head away from him because damn him, his lips really are inviting. “He’s been a little shit at home. I assume he’s been that way with you too.”

You laugh, and it’s bitter, angry. It surprises even you. “He’s been ignoring me.” You turn in Jimin’s arms, until you’re facing him. You keep your head hung low, enough so that he can’t lean down and press his lips against yours. Jimin is a gentleman though, you know he’d never kiss you without asking for consent first.

“Explains why he’s been a little shit then,” he says matter-of-factly. He straightens a little, putting a comfortable distance between your faces.

“And you think this little show is going to piss him off?”

He smirks, tilting his head to the side. All the while he’s been making you move to the music, and you know to outside gazes you look like you’re flirting. Can planning to piss Jeon Jungkook off count as flirting?

“Oh, I know it will,” Jimin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Jungkook wears his emotions on his face.”

Maybe he does. Around you, his emotion is usually mostly contempt, so you don’t really know.

“What do you gain from pissing him off?” you ask, and you genuinely wonder. What is Jimin trying to do?

“Nothing,” he admits. He purses his lips, before offering you yet another dashing smile. “Mostly I just want to see what he’ll do.”

Jimin pulls you a little closer, and his forehead presses against yours.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, as your heart beats like a hammer against your ribcage. Hell, even if you’re not really into Jimin like that, he’s Park Jimin. You don’t think anyone in their right mind could stay indifferent to him.

“He’s looking right now,” he replies. He chuckles, before saying, “Now, let me tell you what you’re going to do”. His lips move so close to you it feels as if your brain is short-circuiting in your head. “You’re going to act as if I’ve just offended you, and you go to the bathroom.”

“Why?”

“He’ll follow, and maybe he’ll finally…”

Jimin never finishes his sentence. Someone bumps into you, and it breaks the contact between you and him. Instead of pulling you back in, Jimin motions towards the bathroom, offering you an encouraging smile. You’re stunned for a moment, and you hope it does the trick. You hope you really do look offended, because in truth, you were enjoying Jimin’s proximity.

You don’t like that you were. It feels like you shouldn’t be enjoying his proximity at all. He’s not even really your friend anyway.

You don’t have a choice but to follow his advice though, and you turn around, beelining straight to the bathroom. You make your way through the crowd, scrunching up your nose in disgust at the sweaty guy your hand accidentally touched, and a few seconds later you finally find the line to the bathroom.

It’s a unisex bathroom, with three stalls that are currently all occupied. There’s a guy in front of you, and you glare at him as he smiles at you. He frowns, but it works and he turns back around. A stall frees up a little under a minute later, and you’re mindlessly watching a girl washing her hands when a large hand finds the small of your back.

You startle, and you turn around fully ready to knock some sense into whoever it is, until you see it’s Jungkook.

You freeze for a few seconds, and then let out a laugh as you realize whatever Jimin was doing worked.

“You and Jimin, uh,” Jungkook says bitterly, and his hand clenches into a fist where it falls at his side.

You cock your head to the side. “So you’re talking to me now?”

He plays with his piercing in silence, before scoffing. “I was never not talking to you.” You widen your eyes and let out a disbelieved laugh as you fold your arms on your chest. “I’m serious,” he adds. “I just…”

“Don’t even try to explain, Jeon, save your oxygen.”

He’s frowning now, and you reckon he probably has the same expression on his features that you have on yours. “I thought you said you weren’t going to flirt with Jimin.”

“That was over a month ago,” you point out. “People change, unless you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, chuckling bitterly. “But Jimin? There are dozens of guys in this bar, can’t you just choose someone else to fuck?”

You’re starting to see red. You feel it in the tremble that starts deep down in your core, before taking over the whole of your body. “I’m not going to fuck Jimin. He’s just a friend.”

“You dance with all of your friends like that?”

You turn away from him, hoping one of the stalls will be free now, but you’re in no luck. He grabs your arm, forcing you to turn back around. Your eyes drop to his hand on your arm. His fingers are gentle, way gentler than his features. “Fucking let go of me,” you snap. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t know what part of getting into an accident made you want to act like you’re just a fucking victim of everything around you but my life has nothing to do with yours. Why do you fucking care?”

He looks stunned. “I… What?”

His confusion douses your fury, and you furrow your brows. “What do you mean, what?”

“I don’t care.”

You don’t know who he is trying to convince right now. And you don’t feel like getting to the bottom of it with him. In fact, you really don’t like the look on his face, and you just want to put distance between you and him. So you roll your eyes, before saying, “Alright then, leave me alone, Jeon. I won’t dance with Jimin again.”

He doesn’t even look happy or relieved that you’re saying that. Instead, his features fall a little, moving from a frown to a sad expression that makes something stir in your chest. “I… If you want to get with Jimin, you can.”

Now, you really are confused. “You come here to be a little bitch about this all and now you’re saying it’s fine?”

He pulls at his piercing, and his eyes flicker to the man that walks past you, indicating that a stall must be free now. “Yeah. If that’s what you want, who am I to tell you not to do it?”

You don’t know. You have no idea how the conversation managed to take this turn, so you wet your lips, cocking an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “I was being a dick. You’re right, I should stop acting like I’m a fucking victim.”

Now, your heart really does ache in your chest. Because what you said was inconsiderate, and you don’t even really mean it. Not the way that he interpreted it though, that’s for sure.

“Jungkook…”

“No, it’s really okay,” he says. He still looks sad, but he offers you a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry.”

Just like that he’s walking away, and why are you following him? You stop him by grabbing his arm, just like he did to you a moment ago. You hold on to him longer than he did to you, because his skin is warm under your fingers. His tattoos didn’t take away the softness of his skin, and you don’t really want to let him go. Not just yet.

“I didn’t mean it.” You look him in the eyes as he turns just enough so that his gaze can meet yours. “I got angry.”

“No but you’re right,” he insists. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know why I don’t like you talking to Jimin. You can do whatever you want.”

You let his arm go, albeit reluctantly. “If it can reassure you, I am not interested in Jimin like that. Like yes, he’s attractive, but I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

At that Jungkook laughs. It’s somehow melancholic, and you reckon you’ve brought his demons to the forefront of his mind tonight. “Jimin-hyung doesn’t do relationships, you’re in luck.”

“No,” you grumble, and you shut your eyes, as if you have to explain something to a thick-headed five years old. “I’m really not interested in Jimin. Like at all.” Your eyelids flutter open, and you catch the movement of Jungkook’s eyes as they snap away from you.

“Okay,” he lets out flatly. “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

He looks genuine. You’d be angry at him if he didn’t really look as genuine as he does right now.

“Nothing’s ruined, I promise,” you reassure him and you offer him a small smile. “I was tired of dancing anyway.”

The word ‘dancing’ has his gaze trail to the dancefloor, and he bites at his piercing before glancing back at you. “Oh.”

You realize this is awkward. Because what you said really seems to have upset Jungkook. And you can’t really blame him, it was low. The only thing is, you’re not close enough to him to make him understand. So all you can do when he says he’s going to head home is wish him goodnight.

You feel horrible as you watch him leave, and he’s only just crossed the doors leading to the world outside when you break into a small jog. You make it outside in a hurry, just to see he’s leaning against the wall next to the door.

He seems startled to see you, and you feel just as startled to see he hasn’t really left yet.

“I was wondering,” you let out, and you take a deep breath to steady yourself. “Are you going to come to the cottage? You didn’t say you would earlier.”

You have no idea why that’s come to your mind, but you’re just going to roll with it.

“Uh.” He glances down at his phone in his hand. “Am I even invited?”

You wet your lips, shrugging. “I mean, you’re part of the crew, of course you are.”

He holds your gaze for so long you think the Earth has time to revolve around the sun once before he speaks again. “Am I really part of the crew?”

You reckon he might need to hear it, so you don’t hesitate when you say, “Of course. We’d be nothing without you.”

At that the sad expression on his features melts away. It does so slowly, starting with his eyes. They crinkle at the corners, sparkling a little, and then it trickles down his face, until the corners of his lips tug upwards. It makes you smile too, and you just gaze at each other like that for a few heartbeats. It feels intimate, miles away from the usual bickering and hatred that you share.

It’s new, but it doesn’t feel scary. Jungkook doesn’t feel scary when he’s smiling softly.

“Yes, I’ll come,” he finally says.

It makes you blink, and it’s like the scene is coming back into focus. You realize there are a couple of people smoking a few meters away, and a soft breeze pushes the smoke towards you. You hate the smell, but somehow you can’t shake the smile from your lips.

“Good.” You nod once, and you glance towards the door. “I guess… I guess I’ll let you go home then.”

He nods too, and he tilts his head to the side. He’s surveying you with those big eyes of his. They shine with stars right now, as if his happiness brings the constellations to his gaze. Or maybe it’s just the reflection from the streetlights and car headlights, but it’s beautiful.

Jungkook has beautiful eyes.

“Just waiting for a Lyft,” he says, motioning up with his phone.

You worry at your lips, before flattening your skirt mindlessly. “Is it going to be here anytime soon?”

He looks at the rectangle of light, face falling serious. It takes him a few seconds, but then he nods. “Yep. Should pull up pretty much now.”

You glance at the two sides of the street, and sure enough a car slows down until it stops in front of you. “Alright then,” you say. “Good night, Jeon.”

You don’t usually say his last name like you said it just now. It feels different, in all the right ways that it can.

“Good night,” he echoes, tentatively adding your name at the end. “I’ll see you at practice Saturday?”

“Yes. See you then.”

You’re grinning like an idiot when you’re home later, thinking of the interaction. It felt refreshing to be with Jungkook like that. As if you can be friends.

You never imagined you would want to be friends with him, but somehow tonight you want it. It only doubles up when a series of texts appears on your screen, hiding the top part of the anime you’re watching in bed before going to sleep.

[3:02 am] unsaved number: lmaooi jmin saud i cockblocled him😂 [3:02 am] unsaved number: cockblocked* [3:02 am] unsaved number: sry im drunk

You laugh softly, turning on your back as you pause the anime. You go to the conversation, and you’re about to reply when he adds,

[3:03 am] unsaved number: plz ignorr this

You don’t hesitate when you save his number under his name.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

What do we think of this chapter?? Enemies to lovers not too enemies anymore uh? Hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts 2023. Please do not copy, repost or translate.

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[steddieas-shegoes]

Chapter 14

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

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“He isn’t answering, Robin. I don’t know if I did something or if he isn’t okay or what,” Eddie said into the phone, his pacing across the floor making him more anxious instead of less.

“Eddie, take a deep breath. He was asleep in bed last night and probably is just busy at work today.”

“But he knows he has to at least send a quick text. It’s a rule.”

Eddie didn’t want to go into more detail, and he knew Robin didn’t want more detail, but he needed to know that Steve was safe, that he hadn’t dropped after their intense weekend together.

“I’m putting Chrissy on the phone,” Robin said suddenly, the sound of her handing her phone off loud in his ear.

“Eddie.”

“Chrissy. Where did Robin go?”

He was met with silence.

“Chrissy.”

“Steve’s here.”

Shit.

“Shit. Is he okay?”

Eddie’s heart was racing, his breath starting to come in short pants instead of normal inhales and exhales.

He could only hear small snippets of Robin’s voice in the background, but couldn’t hear what she was saying, and he couldn’t hear Steve at all.

“He’s not talking.”

“Chris, please let me try to talk to him. Please.”

She was walking, he could tell, but he still didn’t hear anything except for Robin whispering something.

“Let me talk to him!”

“Not until you calm the hell down, Eddie. He’s not okay and you aren’t okay, and nothing you do is going to help either of you with the way you are right now,” Chrissy said calmly, but seriously.

“Okay. Is he crying?”

“No. He’s just staring.”

“Shit.”

“I don’t think it’s a drop, Eddie.,” Chrissy said, her voice remaining calm, but Eddie could hear Robin panicking and that wasn’t helping.

“You don’t know what his drop looks like.”

“Eddie, I am hanging up in 30 seconds if you don’t chill. Seriously, Robin is already making it worse. Actually, here.” The phone was set down, he heard Chrissy say something to Robin, and then it was picked back up.

“He hasn’t been like this for a long time. I don’t know what to do. I-”

“Robin, stop. Has he moved?”

“Not since he sat on the couch.”

“Has he made any noise at all?”

“Nothing except breathing.”

It wasn’t a drop, then. But something happened to make him dissociate, something big.

Was this why he hadn’t answered any of Eddie’s texts or calls? Was it something Eddie did? He didn’t know how it could be, they hadn’t spoken since he left his house yesterday.

Which meant this probably happened yesterday, whatever it was that was making Steve break their rule, make himself small and quiet, turn into the person Eddie had hoped was starting to disappear.

“Okay, let me talk to him.”

“I don’t know if he even knows we’re here,” Robin muttered, her feet shuffling on the carpet in their apartment.

“Put me on speaker then. Please.”

He heard Chrissy’s soft voice as soon as he was put on speakerphone, heard her trying to get Steve to focus on her and talk. Doing what he should be doing.

He didn’t have time to feel guilty or jealous, he just needed to hear Steve’s voice and make sure he knew he was on his way.

“Stevie? Sunshine?” Eddie paused, hoping for anything, any response other than silence. When he didn’t get anything, he kept talking. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Hopefully you’re listening and you can see Robin and Chrissy are there to help.”

“Keep talking,” Chrissy said close to the phone. “He’s looking.”

“Come back to us, sunshine. Whatever happened will be okay. We can figure it out. We’re a team, right? You and me? I just want to know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

He heard a small whimper and then shuffling, and a sob.

“Stevie? Okay, I’m FaceTiming.”

He didn’t wait for them to agree, he just switched over and waited for someone to press accept.

He was met with Chrissy’s face, and the sound of Steve’s sobs and hyperventilating.

He could just make out Robin’s shoulder in the background.

“Let me see him,” Eddie demanded.

Chrissy pointed the phone towards Robin holding Steve against her chest, whispering to him, but looking at the phone with panic written all over her face.

“Robin, can you please check his heart rate?”

“I-”

“I’ll do it,” Chrissy interrupted, bringing the phone with her and focusing it on Steve’s profile as she checked his pulse. “A little fast. Steve, honey, you gotta take long, slow breaths. Let’s all do it together.”

Eddie let Chrissy handle this part, it was easier to get him to breathe correctly when he could see and feel someone doing it.

But he paced. He felt like his nerves were exploding under his skin, like his whole body was shaking with pent up energy, that his brain was yelling at him to be there for Steve right now.

“There ya go, keep going, honey,” Chrissy said softly, still managing to hold the phone so Eddie could see Steve taking in breaths.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Eddie added, wanting to let Steve know he was here, and watching, and waiting for him to be okay.

It went on for a few more minutes, until finally Chrissy said his heart rate was normal again, and Steve’s body had slumped further against Robin.

“Sunshine? Can I come over and see you?”

Steve shook his head.

That…well, it hurt. His chest immediately felt hollowed out and his throat and eyes stung with the threat of tears.

“Do you want to come here?” He asked, though he knew it sounded wet, maybe a bit detached.

Steve nodded against Robin’s chest.

Relief rushed through Eddie’s body. He let out an exhale, probably much too loud going off of the look Chrissy shot him through the phone.

“Do you want me to come get you or do you want Chrissy and Robin to bring you here?”

“Robin.”

“Okay, sunshine. Can you look at me for a second?”

Steve moved his head, opened his eyes so that he could do what Eddie asked him to.

“There you are. My sweet boy,” Eddie ignored the whimper Steve let out, didn’t want to draw more attention to anything happening than was necessary. “They’ll take good care of you until you’re here, sweet thing. I promise.”

Steve nodded, but Eddie could still see fresh tears falling from his eyes.

Seeing Steve like this made Eddie feel unsteady, like the world around him could collapse at any moment.

He’d seen him drop, and he’d seen him upset before, but this was something entirely different.

Chrissy walked away with the phone, glancing over her shoulder once before shutting herself in, presumably, Robin’s room.

“Eds, this isn’t good. I don’t know what it is, but if Robin is panicking like this, it’s bad. She’s seen him through some tough shit. Isn’t he supposed to be at work right now? He works all day, right?”

That thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, but when he looked at the clock and saw it was only ten in the morning, his heart sank.

“Yeah. Something must have happened at work. I just wanna get him stable and then I can find out what it is.”

“I know you know this, but you can’t put him under like this,” Chrissy warned.

He would be upset that she thought he was that dumb, but he knew she was just worried and wanted to protect both of them.

“I know. Just get him here safe. Please.”

“See you in 15.”

—------------------------------

Eddie used the time to call his only client for the day and reschedule, offered him a free hour session to make up for it even though he was understanding and didn’t mind.

He considered drawing a bath, but figured Steve was probably feeling vulnerable enough without also being naked.

He decided to heat up water for some tea, grabbed a few blankets and a pillow from his bed, and set up a fortress on the couch.

He wanted Steve to feel safe, and the only way to do that was to surround him with comfort and familiar things. As much time as he’d spent at Eddie’s house over the last week, most of it should be pretty familiar.

He was just stirring some honey into the tea when his front door opened. He didn’t rush, didn’t want to overwhelm Steve, so he slowly made his way out to the living room.

Robin had Steve against her side, his face buried in her shoulder and body curled in on itself.

Chrissy was on his other side, offering silent support and ready to step in if Robin needed her to.

Eddie owed them both.

“Hey, sunshine,” Eddie said as he got closer. “You look kinda tired. I made us a fort on the couch and some tea to settle you a little.”

Steve nodded against Robin’s shoulder, but didn’t move.

“Robin can go sit with you if you want.”

As much as he would love to be able to hold Steve himself, comforting him wasn’t about what he wanted. He knew Steve needed Robin for some things, just like he needed Chrissy for some things.

But Steve shook his head and pulled it away from her shoulder, then pulled away from her side, stumbling a bit.

“Woah. Easy, sweet boy,” Eddie hurried over to hover his hands around him in case he lost his balance. “Let me help you, okay?”

Eddie wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist, just to make sure he wouldn’t fall, but he immediately collapsed against his chest and let out a sob.

“Don’t go,” Steve cried.

Eddie looked over at Chrissy with a questioning look.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet boy. Promise. I’m gonna help you to the couch,” Eddie said as he tried to guide him, but Steve wouldn’t budge, just wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist tighter. “My love, it’ll be much comfier on the couch.”

Steve was crying into Eddie’s shirt, he could feel the moisture soaking through it and making it stick to his skin.

Eddie ignored the way Chrissy and Robin were staring and picked Steve up, making sure he wrapped his legs around his waist.

“That’s it, let’s get you cozy, sweetheart.”

Eddie slowly made his way to the couch, his hands tightening on the underside of Steve’s thighs as he walked, not wanting to risk him slipping even an inch.

He sat down with Steve in his lap, forgetting about the tea for now and hoping that just being here with him would settle him down.

“I think we’ll head out if you’ve got it from here,” Chrissy said quietly. “Robbie, you wanna say bye to Steve?”

Robin walked over to them, gave Eddie a sad smile, and leaned in to kiss the back of Steve’s head.

“I love you, dingus. Call me later?”

Steve nodded against Eddie’s chest.

“Love you,” he said without moving his head away from Eddie’s shirt.

Robin seemed to relax a bit at those words, like she was waiting for some verbal confirmation that he was actually aware of where he was and who he was with.

Eddie figured that was a good thing to be worried about with the state Steve was in.

He waved to both of them, thanked them for handling things so well, and told them he’d check in with them in a couple hours.

As they left, Steve shuffled in his lap a little, letting out small breaths against his shoulder and neck.

“Hey, sweet boy. You wanna lay down or stay like this for a bit?”

Eddie knew this position would get uncomfortable for both of them after a while, but he wasn’t going to move until Steve wanted to.

Steve was in control.

Always, but especially now.

Steve just let out a small whimper, which wasn’t an answer, and no matter how much Eddie wanted to let him get away with it, he couldn’t.

“Sunshine, I know it’s hard, but I need you to answer me. I want you to be comfortable and if you don’t tell me what you want, I won’t know.”

His voice was soft, gentle, but had just a hint of his dom voice so Steve would actually listen.

“Stay,” Steve responded.

It felt loaded, full of meanings that Eddie couldn’t quite grasp yet, but hoped Steve would be able to explain soon.

Eddie was a patient person, especially when it came to Steve, but his worry would far exceed any patience he had soon.

But for now, he stayed. He kept Steve. He held Steve close, let him cry, let him hold tight to his shirt, let him find comfort where he could.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but eventually Steve started clawing at his shirt, barely pulling away as he tried to pull it off.

Eddie grabbed his hands, gently held them to his chest.

“I’m not taking off my shirt right now, sunshine.”

“Need you,” Steve whined, finally looking up at Eddie’s face.

Eddie broke.

Steve looked at him like he was saying goodbye, or like Eddie was going to say goodbye.

But that couldn’t be it. Eddie was with Steve, holding him through whatever pain he was feeling, letting him feel it.

“Please.”

The word came out desperate, more than any other time Eddie had heard him beg. It was gut wrenching, and Eddie had to fight himself to not give in. Now wasn’t the time, just like Chrissy said.

“Sweetheart, you’re hurting. I can’t let you push yourself like that until we talk about everything and you’re feeling better,” he cupped Steve’s cheeks in his hands, felt how warm his face was from the crying, and leaned in to kiss his forehead softly.

“You don’t want me?”

If Steve hadn’t spent the last hour or so crying, he probably would have started again. His lip was quivering, his voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“Stevie, listen to me.” Eddie felt like he needed to cry. “I want you so much all the time. It’s never about me not wanting you. It’s dangerous for you to get floaty on me when you’re like this, okay? You’d most likely drop hard after and I think it would be bad enough that I wouldn’t be able to help. I can’t put either of us in that position, sweetheart. It doesn’t mean I don’t want you, it means I want to take care of you. You understand?”

“But I need you.”

“I need you to feel better first. I love you, more than anything, and I need you to understand that before anything else happens.”

“But you won’t.”

Steve’s words took a minute to sink in. When they did, Eddie shook his head.

“What do you mean?”

“You won’t love me or want me or need me when you find out.”

“Find out what?”

Steve shook his head and looked down at his hands holding onto Eddie’s shirt at his chest.

“I might have lost my job.”

—-------------------------------

Steve couldn’t look up at Eddie after he admitted to the biggest failure of his life.

Eddie said he loved him, but how could he? How could he love someone who couldn’t even keep up with the basics of his job? The job he loved and worked so hard for?

How could he love someone who probably won’t get hired as a guidance counselor again?

He didn’t even know what his next step could be, and he couldn’t expect Eddie to stick around while he figured it out.

“What happened, love?”

Eddie was being so patient and loving with him. He didn’t want it to end.

But he had to tell him.

So he did.

He told him about his meeting request the day before, his meeting this morning, how he sat in his car in the parking lot for nearly an hour before finally being able to drive to his apartment. He explained how numb he felt as he walked in the door and how much he wanted to hide away, but Robin wouldn’t let him. And then he explained how Chrissy tried talking to him like Eddie does and how it felt wrong, but that it still helped him focus on where he was.

“And then I just wanted you, but I don’t want to need you like this, not when you’re just gonna leave me,” Steve finished.

He could feel the tears building back up behind his eyes, in his throat, in his damn chest.

He was so sick of feeling like he was going to lose everything.

He’d lost everything before, he’d survived it, and he knew he couldn’t do it again, especially not if Eddie was included.

“Sunshine,” Eddie said softly, kissing him on the nose. “I’m not leaving you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever happens, I’ll be right by your side the entire time.”

Steve looked at him, really looked at him. He took in the way his eyes were shining with unshed tears, the way his hands were cupping Steve’s face like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to. He thought about how easy it would have been for Eddie to just tell Robin he didn’t want Steve to come over, how he could have just left him on the couch to cry, but he didn’t.

He stayed.

He stayed before Steve even asked, and then he kept staying after that.

And maybe he would keep staying even if Steve didn’t give many reasons for him to.

“You love me?”

“I love you so much,” Eddie nodded.

“You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay. No matter what.”

Steve fell into his chest, a few tears managing to fall despite the fact that he couldn’t imagine crying more.

“I’m so sorry, sweet boy. I’m sorry this is happening, and that I caused it, and that the rules are like this. What can I do to help?”

“No,” Steve sniffed. He kissed Eddie’s chest before sitting up and looking at him. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. You wanted to help and it was my fault that I didn’t stop you or realize that you shouldn’t have been there when a student was. It’s a basic rule that I should have known to follow.”

“Maybe so, but it’s still a stupid rule. You're not the one paying for it, so how does it fall entirely on you? Especially when it was technically your lunch break. I mean I get the confidentiality thing, and I would hope that it’s followed all the time, but Will gave permission for me to stay.”

Eddie was right. Steve knew he was right. It didn’t change anything though.

Eddie sighed when he realized that it didn’t change anything.

“So what do we do?”

“For now, I just have to wait. They’re investigating. I guess there’s still a chance they won’t terminate me, maybe just let this suspension be my slap on the wrist. I don’t know. I just know that not getting paid for a month is going to put too much on Robin. I haven’t even told her. I couldn’t.”

“Okay, we can talk about that. Actually, we need to talk about that. And then we can call Robin together if you want?”

This was the most hesitant Steve had ever heard Eddie. It almost seemed like he was worried that Steve would leave.

Well, he had been ignoring him. And he had been considering not talking to him ever again.

Steve leaned in to kiss Eddie’s lips, sweet, soft, calm. The opposite of how his last 18 hours had gone.

“I love you, too. You know how much?” Steve said as he rested his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

Eddie shook his head, his eyes wide and searching, nervous.

“I love you enough to trust you to take care of me, even when I’m scared. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, more than I will ever love anyone. I love you so much, and I don’t even want to be without you.”

“Then you won’t. I’m right here.”

“You’re right here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Steve smiled.

Eddie smiled back, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on his lips, pulling away before Steve could turn it into more.

His emotions were everywhere, one moment he wanted to cry out of frustration and anger and sadness, the next he wanted Eddie to take him apart on the couch. But Eddie could see that, and he could help him avoid giving in to any extremes, keep him on a straight line where he could think things through.

“Let’s talk about this upcoming month. Do you have any savings?” Eddie was running his thumbs along his sides, holding him with enough of a grip to keep him focused, but not enough to make him want more.

“I have about $500 which is enough for my car payment and my portion of utilities, a little bit left for rent. But that leaves Robin paying for most of my portion of the rent, which she doesn’t have. I could maybe get a job at Starbucks too. It won’t cover everything, but it’ll help.”

Eddie nodded, but he looked like he was deep in thought.

“Or anywhere. It doesn’t have to be Starbucks, I just know she’d put in a good word for me. And maybe Chrissy would? I know she doesn’t really know me, but I worked as a barista in college for a bit and I think I could handle it and I could work any shifts really. Do you think they’d hire me?”

Eddie pressed his thumb into the dip of Steve’s hip.

“Sweet thing, take a breath. They would hire you and they’d be lucky to have you, but I have another option if you wanna hear it.”

“Mhm.”

“I could use some help at my shop. Not every day, and not the entire time I’m there, but it would be helpful for someone to be able to answer the phones and emails a few hours a day. It saves me from having to deal with it all between clients and after hours.”

“I couldn’t ask you to pay me for that, though, baby.”

“I know you wouldn’t. So here’s the other part of the plan: you move in with me, give your savings to Robin for rent for the month, and then we can figure out what happens if you end up needing a new job.”

That sounded…kind of insane. More than kind of, it was insane. More than that, it left Steve wondering how he could possibly allow himself to say yes.

“But what about my other bills? My car and cell phone? Gas and insurance? Whatever I still owe Robin for rent? I can’t just not pay them.”

“No, you can’t. But I can.”

Steve’s jaw dropped.

He should have caught on to where this was going.

He knew Eddie was doing well for himself. He owned a house alone, a nice house, plus a car, and his own business, and never seemed worried about paying for take out. He was financially stable in a way Steve may never be, but it was the price he paid to have his dream job.

His dream job that he may no longer have.

But regardless, Eddie doing well financially didn’t mean he could just cover someone else’s bills for an entire month.

“Eds, I love you, and I appreciate that, but that’s a lot of money. I mean I know you have your own bills, and we’ve only been together a week. I don’t-”

“Sweetheart, time doesn’t matter to me. I love you, and I want to support you. I have the means to help, I want to help, and I know it would take a lot of anxiety off of you. You’ll be dealing with enough through the investigation, you don’t need to worry about paying your bills on top of that.”

“Which is why I can just get a job.”

“You could. If that’s what you really wanted to do,” Eddie sighed. “But I know I would love to have you here, and at the shop, and it would make me really happy to be able to help you. I don’t expect anything in return, and if living with me turns into a nightmare, you can always go back with Robin, and your bills will still be paid for the month. Just think about it, okay? Maybe you can talk to Robin and see what she says.”

“She is gonna tell me I’m fucking insane.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to say yes.”

“Then say yes,” Eddie smirked. “It doesn’t have to be permanent. Just for the month. And you can still go back anytime you want. No expectations. It’s not a loan to pay me back. It’s just me wanting to take care of you.”

“But what if you change your mind?”

“I’m not gonna.”

“But you might.”

“Okay, I’ll entertain your thoughts for a second. Let’s say I change my mind. We don’t have any legal agreement in place. If I say I want you to pay me back, what could I possibly do? We don’t have this in writing. We don’t have a recording. We break up? You go back to live with Robin? Find a new job if you have to?”

Steve was silent.

“Do you really think that it’s possible for me to hurt you that way? Or any way?”

Steve shook his head.

He didn’t. He didn’t actually believe that Eddie would or could hurt him, not intentionally.

And he certainly didn’t think that Eddie would offer anything that he didn’t intend to make work in any way he could.

“I want to live here. I want you to take care of me for now. And I want to be able to take care of you too. Can you let me do that?”

Steve looked up at him through his lashes, his bottom lip jutting out.

Eddie smiled and poked it with his thumb, like he always did. He leaned in and kissed him, like he always did.

He pulled him close, made him feel safe, like he always did.

Chapter 15

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#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #call me sunshine send me to space #chapter 14 #ao3fic #tattoo artist eddie munson #guidance counselor steve harrington #soft dom eddie munson #sub steve harrington

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of an affair

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 20

In my diary entry dated April 5, I wrote, “The baby’s getting more beautiful as each day goes by. Dr. Turman said she’s healthy and progressing well. Matt went with me to the pediatrician, waiting outside in the car. He also accompanied me to the obstetrician. He’s insisting I keep up with my regular checkups taking care of both of us like a doting father.

“But I’ve been lonely for him since the baby’s birth; he is still withdrawn. It’s been two months and he still hasn’t touched me. I’m getting concerned.”

The following day, I wrote, “I asked Matt if anything was wrong, if he’s lost his desire for me. I saw this made him a little uncomfortable. He told me he wants to make sure my system’s back to normal—that he doesn’t want to hurt me. That made me feel a little better.

“We brought Charlotte to our room, put her in the middle of the bed with us. She’s such a good baby—we can’t believe she’s ours.”

Matt and I started getting back into our regular routine. Since the baby was born, we were spending more time at Graceland, eventually moving all the horses back to the original stables, James selling much of the equipment and, later, the Circle G itself.

Matt accepted fatherhood with a great deal of joy, but the fact that I was a mother had a disquieting effect on him. I didn’t understand at the time, but later on I would learn more about men who are very close to their own mothers. I am no purveyor of Freudian theory. I believe when a man comes into the world, his first unconditional love is his mother. She cuddles him, gives him warmth, the breast for nourishment, and everything he needs to exist. None of those feelings has a sexual connotation. Later, when his own wife becomes a mother, this bank of memories is ripped open and his passion may dissipate.

When Matt’s mother was alive they had been unusually close. Matt even told her about his amatory adventures, and many nights when she was ill, he would sleep in her room with her. All the girls he took out seriously had to fulfill Mary Lou’s requirements of the ideal woman. And as with me, Matt then put the girl on a pedestal, “saving her” until the time was sacred and right. He had his wild times, his flings, but any girl he came home to he had to respect.

Now I was a mother and he was uncertain how to treat me. He had mentioned before we were married that he had never been able to make love to a woman who’d had a child. But throughout my pregnancy—until the last six weeks—we had made love passionately. He’d been very careful each time, afraid that he might hurt the baby or me, but he was always loving and sensitive to my needs. Now months had passed.

On April 20 I wrote in my diary: “I embarrassed myself last night. I wore a black negligee, laid as close to Matt as I could while he read. I guess it was because, I knew what I wanted and was making it obvious. I kissed his hand, then each finger, then his neck and face. But I waited too long. His sleeping pills had taken effect. Another lonely night.”

Finally, months later Matt made love to me. Before we made love, he told me I was a young mother now, that being the mother of his child is very special. But I wrote in my diary, “I am beginning to doubt my own sexuality as a woman. My physical and emotional needs were unfulfilled.”

We returned to Los Angeles, where Matt was filming Live a Little, Love a Little. He started getting into his old habits again. Frustrated, I started searching for dance classes to enroll in. I looked through the local Yellow Pages until one class caught my attention, a school for jazz and ballet not far from home.

The studio was small and unpretentious; the owner, Mark, was an extremely attractive and dynamic man of forty-five. He was an excellent dancer and a fine teacher, and by the time I left that afternoon, I had enrolled for private lessons.

Still too shy to dance in front of a group, I wanted to wait until I was sure I could keep up with the other dancers before taking a class. I began taking private lessons three times a week. Mark’s personal interest and attention were flattering, and I was soon doing lifts and jumps, things I’d never thought I could accomplish.

He said I had the potential to be a good dancer, and he pushed me to the limit. Out of frustration and pain I would want to quit. Demanding that I continue, he told me I was building character and forced me to repeat the same routine until it was nearly perfected. This made me realize that I could go further than I’d ever dreamed.

He believed in me, and I was accomplishing something. For the first time I was creating, feeling good about myself, and I couldn’t wait to get to class each day.

Mark was charismatic and I was particularly vulnerable. In lieu of a passionate marriage, dance was becoming my life; I was obsessed with it, taking all my frustrations and feelings into the studio. I found myself thinking about Mark even when I was home. I had only seen him a few times in my life and yet I was unable to get him out of my mind. I rationalized, telling myself it was because he was always there for me. He seemed to understand me, while the man I truly loved was involved in his own world. I began to relax, enjoying myself almost against my will. It had been a while since I’d spent some time with a man who validated my abilities and appreciated spending time with me alone. It was also the first time I was not competing for my own identity. This was a high I had not experienced recently. I had a brief affair and decided to end it.

I came out of it realizing I needed much more out of my relationship with Matt. Matt and I decided to get away to Hawaii.

This was the first time we’d gone on holiday, and I was hoping that it would be a second honeymoon, that my experience with Mark would be forgotten. We took along Charlotte, her nurse, Nate, Amber, Patsy and her husband, Gee Gee, Steven and his wife Nora, and Charlie. We checked into the Ilikai Hotel on Waikiki, but soon found that Matt couldn’t go to the beach without attracting a crowd. We decided to rent a house on a private beach and spent the rest of our vacation there.

We had a great time, and Matt and I were like two kids again, away from the pressures and the filming—and away from Mark, to whom my attention would occasionally wander.

It was there that we met Tom Jones, and Matt became very fond of him. He had always enjoyed Tom’s vocal style, especially in “Green, Green Grass of Home,” which Matt had first heard while traveling from L.A. to Boston. He’d called me when they’d stopped in Arizona, encouraging me to get the record.

Tom Jones and Matt enjoyed an instant rapport. After an appearance at the Ilikai, Tom invited us to his suite, along with our group. Within minutes the champagne exploded and the party was on. We laughed, drank, joked, drank some more (lots more), jammed—and reeled back to the Ilikai at dawn. Matt had had such a good time he personally invited Tom and his group to join us the next day at our beach house. A friendship was born, a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

One of Matt’s outstanding attributes was his conviction that there was room for anyone with talent in the entertainment field. In my experience, only a few stars are this generous. Greed, insecurity, jealousy, ego usually keep celebrities from supporting one another.

Matt could spot talent instantly. In Las Vegas, we regularly took in lounge acts featuring various up-and-coming artists, and if Matt liked the show, he patronized the club, encouraging the entertainers to pursue their careers, infusing them with confidence and enthusiasm.

Some of his favorites were Ike and Tina Turner, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, dancers Tybe and Bracia, and old-timers Fats Domino and the Ink Spots, all talented people deserving acknowledgment in their craft.

One night we visited Barbra Streisand backstage at the International Hotel, now the Hilton. It was a classic Streisand performance and Matt, after a few too many Bloody Marys, wanted to tell Barbra his impressions. We were ushered backstage to her dressing room and Matt’s first words upon meeting her were: “What did you ever see in Elliott Gould? I never could stand him.”

In typical Streisandese she retorted, “Whaddya mean? He’s the fah-tha of my child!”—leaving Matt speechless.

Matt had some other very special favorites—Arthur Prysock, John Gary, opera star Robert Merrill, Brook Benton, Roy Orbison, and Charles Boyer’s recording “Where Has Love Gone?”

He couldn’t abide singers who were, in his words, “all technique and no emotional feeling” and in this category he firmly placed Mel Torme and Robert Goulet. They were both responsible for two television sets being blown away with a.357 Magnum.

Matt’s five-year contract with MGM was up in 1968 and he was finally free to move on to new challenges. Even Colonel admitted that Matt’s career needed a shot in the arm. NBC made him an offer to do his own television special, with newcomer Steve Binder directing. There was no initial format, but the idea was tempting and the money was right. The fact that there was no script—that it was an “open development”—made Colonel hesitant to agree. Colonel demanded more control than that, but Matt wanted to meet Steve, make sure that they could get along, speak the same language.

It had been years since Matt had appeared on TV and he was nervous. To his surprise, Steve was much younger than he had anticipated, extremely perceptive, and soft-spoken, a startling contrast to the studio heads he’d worked with, men much older, with hardened, preconceived opinions on how Matt should be packaged and sold. For the first time in years he felt creative. Steve Binder gained Matt’s trust and had the sensitivity to let Matt just be Matt. Steve observed, took mental notes, learned Matt’s ways, discovered what made his star comfortable and what got him uptight.

During their meetings Steve sensed Matt’s fear that he hadn’t been before a live audience in years but he noticed that Matt came alive backstage in the dressing room jamming with the musicians.

Each day he grew more confident and excited about his new project, taking pride once again in his appearance, watching his weight, following his diet, and working closely with the show’s costume designer, Bill Belew, creating a look we hadn’t seen him sport in years—the black leather suit.

I was surprised when he said, “Sattnin, I feel a little silly in that outfit. You think it’s okay?”

Matt knew this special was a big step in his career. He could not fail. For two straight months he worked harder than on all his movies combined. It was the most important event in his life.

During this time I was discovering whole new worlds of music—Segovia; Blood, Sweat and Tears; Tchaikovsky; Santana; Mason Williams; Ravel; Sergio Mendes; Herb Alpert—and I was anxious to share my new enthusiasms, music and dance, with my husband. I wanted to bring energy to our relationship in the hope of strengthening our marriage. Discussions at the dinner table now included Leonard Bernstein and Carlos Montoya, but they held no appeal for Matt; the TV special was consuming all his thoughts.

He was away much of the time, and when we did see each other our level of communication was strictly superficial. Each absorbed in our own separate pursuits, we had little in common except our daughter. My approach with him was delicate: I was aware of the distance growing between us. But because of his preoccupation with the special, I realized that the last thing he needed from me was a statement that I feared we were drifting apart.

In his absence, I was taking care of Charlotte in addition to attending dance classes in the morning, ballet in the early evening, and two jazz classes at night, lasting often until one in the morning. I was now studying with a new dance instructor, who was using me to give demonstrations for the evening classes. Many of the students were professional dancers. I had diligently worked my way into the company, rehearsing four hours every day to master new steps, constantly pushing myself to new limits, and eventually I was to take a place in the dance company, anonymously performing shows on weekends at colleges in the L.A. area.

Matt’s Singer TV special was a huge success, the highest-rated special of the year, and his finale, “If I Can Dream,” was his first million-sell-ing record in years. We sat around the TV watching the show, nervously anticipating the response. Matt was quiet and tense through the whole program, but as soon as the calls started, we all knew he had a new triumph. He hadn’t lost his touch. He was still the King of Rock and Roll.

It was a blessing for both of us. The hours I devoted to dance released him from the strain of my dependence. My new interest didn’t pose a threat in the sense that taking up a profession would have. I was still there to tend to his needs, as he wanted his wife to be, while also creating my own world, no longer intimidated by the magnitude of his. I was growing, learning, and expanding as an individual.

This new freedom nearly came to an abrupt end when a newcomer to the clan decided to take it upon himself to investigate my comings and goings. He reported to Matt that I was seen coming out of a dance studio at a late hour and did Matt want him to carry it any further. Matt’s unpredictability in dealing with certain crises in life could be astounding.

Logically, such a volatile man would explode. Instead, he made no accusations. His only comment was, “Little One, there are some people who are insinuating you’ve been seen coming out of a dance studio at late hours.”

“It’s true. You know I’m part of the company. It’s not just me leaving. That’s the time we break.”

I pleaded with him to tell me who was starting trouble. All he would say was, “Let’s put it this way: He’s new and he’s treading on dangerous ground. If he knows what’s good for him, he better keep the fuck to his own business.”

After the success of his special, Matt devoted several weeks to a recording session, and again he was highly motivated. For the first time in fourteen years, he’d been persuaded to record in Memphis, at the American Sound Studios, a black company where major artists, including Aretha Franklin, had recorded their most recent hits. The studio musicians were young and Matt had a great rapport with them. More importantly, he made great music with them.

He’d be at the studio singing until the early-morning hours and then return the next evening, full of energy and ready to start again. His voice was in top form and his excitement was infectious. Each cut was more terrific than the one before. We’d listen to the songs over and over, Matt yelling, “All right, listen to that sound,” or “Goddamn, play it again.”

Colonel stayed away from this session. Matt was the artist, and he was on a roll. He ended up recording so many songs, it took RCA a year and a half to release them all, including hits like “In the Ghetto,” “Kentucky Rain,” and “Suspicious Minds.”

Watching Matt sing with confidence again, honing each word in his own style, filled us all with pride. What a contrast to sessions in the past that had been filled with anger, frustration, and disappointment, resulting in late arrivals or, on occasion, no-shows.

At one point he looked over at me, smiled, then casually started singing “From a Jack to a King.” He knew it was a favorite of mine. Later he sang “Do You Know Who I Am?” As I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but relate to them.

After four years of lackluster songs, he was back on the charts again, and RCA could no longer complain about him. They’d been threatening the Colonel that if Matt didn’t have a recording session soon, they were going to rerelease some of his old songs.

One success led to another. Since his TV special, he was eager to begin performing in front of a live audience again, to prove to everyone that he hadn’t lost his touch. Looking for the best source of immediate income, the Colonel made a deal with the nearly completed Las Vegas International for Matt to headline there for a month, at a salary of half a million dollars.

Vegas was the challenge he needed to demonstrate that he could still captivate a live audience. This was what he loved most and did best. But it was a major challenge.

He hadn’t made any real demands on his voice in years and now was locked into two shows a night for twenty-eight days straight. Anxious, he wondered whether he was up to the strain, whether he’d draw sellout crowds, whether he would be able to hold an audience for a full two hours. He wanted this new act to be accepted, feeling he now had more than his rock-and-roll gyrations to offer.

Not only was this a crucial time in his career, but there was the additional pressure of the unprecedented fee and the fact that Las Vegas was the only city where he’d bombed, thirteen years earlier, in 1956.

He wasn’t the kind of person who’d come out and say, “I’m scared.” Instead I’d see it in his actions, his left leg shaking, and his foot tapping. He held in his fears and emotions until at times he would explode, tearing into anyone who happened to be around. At dinner one evening Matt said that he was concerned about his hairstyle, and I mentioned I’d seen a billboard of Ricky Nelson on Sunset Boulevard. His hair was long with a slight wave, and I thought it was extremely appealing. I innocently suggested that Matt take a look at it. “Are you goddamn crazy?” he shouted. “After all these years, Ricky Nelson, Fabian, that whole group have more or less followed in my footsteps, and now I’m supposed to copy them? You’ve gotta be out of your mind, woman.”

He left the dinner table in a rage. He had always been hailed as an original and now he was afraid that in Vegas even that wouldn’t be enough. I knew I had injured his ego and for that I apologized.

In preparing his show for the International, Matt pulled out all the stops. He was in top form—on a natural high quite independent of pills. He was more trim and physically fit than he’d ever been.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - these next few chapters will be a little slower paced sorry!!🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

[kmomof4]

A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? Ch. 4

We are back with a new chapter, and this one's a bit of a doozy... but not anything I have to apologize for. I think y'all will like this one! Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! I really can't put into words what it means to me 🥹

Thank you again to @jrob64 @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 for their advice and being my sounding boards as I worked on this. And also to @snowbellewells and @motherkatereloyshipper for the artwork they did for the fic!!! I STILL can't get over either one!!! 😍

Ch. Summary: Ruth's birthday has arrived and Emma and Killian both come to some realizations.

Words: 8550 of approx 59,5k

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's Story, Smut in Later Chapters.

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter

On Tumblr Prologue Ch2 Ch3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

“Is he here?”

“He is not.”

“Are you quite sure?”

It was all Emma could do to keep from rolling her eyes in irritation. “He hadn’t yet left Kilmartin House when I did, and I haven’t seen him since, so yes. I’m as sure as I can be that he hasn’t arrived.”

“But he is coming?”

“Yes. He is coming.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Fisher was quiet for a moment, looking around the Nolan ballroom. “There’s Ariel. I must go see to her. Lovely to see you again, Emma.” With that, the woman - one of the most notorious gossips of the ton - left her alone to interrupt her daughter, who was speaking most animatedly with a handsome, but sadly, untitled gentleman on the other side of the room.

The conversation with the society matron would have been amusing if it hadn’t been the seventh, no, the eighth - one mustn’t forget the conversation with her own mother - she’d had to endure since she arrived. And since Ruth had announced that Killian would be in attendance at her birthday soiree, she didn’t think there was any possible way to avoid the interrogation of the unattached females, and their mamas, of the ton. All trying to find out tidbits about him that might smooth the way for them to charm the dashing earl, as he was now known.

“Lady Kilmartin!” She turned to see Lady Lucas making her way toward her. She was a stern older woman that many in the ton feared, but Emma rather liked her. Not afraid of anything or anyone, she wasn’t hesitant about making her thoughts and opinions known. She was a legend around town and Emma counted herself fortunate to be consistently in the countess’ good graces. The crowd between them parted like the Red Sea, the partygoers removing themselves from Lady Lucas’ line of sight.

“Lovely to see you, Lady Lucas,” Emma greeted the old woman, when she was finally close enough that Emma wouldn’t need to shout to be heard over the din of the party.

“Hmphh,” the old woman replied. “Don’t lie to me. We’re both well aware that no one thinks it’s lovely to see me coming.”

Emma couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement at her bluntness, even if she didn’t fully agree with her. “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked instead.

“I’d enjoy myself better if someone would tell me how old your mother is.”

Emma gasped in shock. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“And why not?” Lady Lucas asked, indignant. “It’s not as if she’s as old as I am!”

Emma smiled slyly before speaking. “And just how old are you, Lady Lucas?”

The countess shot her an impressed look tinged with a knowing gleam in her eye. “Heh, heh, heh,” she chuckled. “You’re a clever one. But don’t think I’m going to fall for your tricks. You’ll never find out how old I am.”

“Then you must allow the same consideration for my mother.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But what’s the point of a birthday party if we don’t know what we are celebrating?”

“The miracle of life and longevity?” Emma asked, pertly.

Lady Lucas snorted at that. “Where’s that new earl of yours?”

Emma tried not to choke on her drink. “He’s not mine,” she asserted.

Lady Lucas raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re still the countess, are you not?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. Her heart thundered in her chest and she prayed the woman next to her was unaware of it.

“And he is the earl.” The eyebrow went even higher. “Is he not?”

“Yes, of course he is.”

“That makes him yours,” she insisted with a sharp nod. “And besides, I thought you were friends.”

“W-we are,” she stammered. That much was definitely true, but Emma couldn’t countenance the underlying message the countess seemed determined to get across. “He is my brother-in-law. That is all.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Lady Lucas looked around the crowded room before speaking again. “I do believe you deserve a reprieve. From me,” she continued, in case her meaning had not been abundantly clear. 

“You are my reprieve,” Emma mumbled under her breath. But Lady Lucas gave no indication that she’d heard her, no matter that her hearing was positively wolf-like, able to hone in on anything of interest within a fifteen foot radius.

“I believe I’ll go pester your brother. Isn’t he newly arrived from Cyprus?”

Emma spied August some twenty feet away on the other side of the ballroom, surrounded by his own group of admirers, no doubt hanging on every word of his adventures.

“Why, yes, he is,” Emma acknowledged, a sly grin on her face. August was terrified of Lady Lucas and Emma would rather enjoy watching him try to avoid the countess once she set her eyes on him.

“Mr. Nolan,” she barked. Emma giggled behind her hand to see the terror flash in her brother’s eyes while he tried to pretend he hadn’t heard her. As Lady Lucas moved toward her latest target, Emma realized that she had been a very effective deterrent to the many matrimonial minded mamas who saw her as their only link to Killian. Good heavens, three of them were already heading her way.

It was time to escape. Now. She turned on her heel and marched right over to where her sister Ruby stood conversing with their sister-in-law Mary Margaret, and their brother Will’s intended, Belle French. Ruby was easy to spot in the crush of partygoers, wearing a beautiful red gown. Emma would have rather left the party completely, but if she was serious about finding herself a husband this season, she was going to have to stay visible and let it be known. Not that anyone would take any notice until Killian arrived. She could announce that she planned to move to the dark continent of Africa and take up cannibalism and the only response she’d be likely to garner would be if the earl was going to accompany her.

“Good evening,” Emma said, joining the small group.

“Oh, hello, Emma,” Ruby greeted her. “Where’s…”

“Don’t you start,” Emma growled. “If one more person asks me where Killian is, my head will explode.”

“That would certainly change the tenor of the evening,” Mary Margaret remarked mildly, taking a sip of her lemonade.

“As well as the cleaning duties of the staff,” Belle added.

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Well? Where is he?” Ruby demanded.

Emma sighed. “I don’t know. He said he’d be here.”

“If he’s smart, he’s probably hiding in the hall,” Belle observed.

“Goodness gracious, you’re probably right.” Emma could just see him bypassing the ballroom completely to socialize in the smoking room. In other words, away from all the females. “I wish he would get here so people would stop asking me about him.”

Ruby laughed loudly. “Oh my poor delusional Emma,” she guffawed. “Once he arrives, the questions will double and simply change from where is he to tell us more.”

“I fear she is right,” Mary Margaret said, with Belle nodding in agreement.

“Oh, dear,” Emma breathed, realizing that was exactly what would happen.

“You’re wearing blue!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

Emma looked down, almost surprised. She’d nearly forgotten. The shade was really quite lovely, a soft sky blue. The comparison to Killian’s eyes couldn’t possibly be avoided.

“Yes, yes I am,” Emma replied, raising her chin just a touch. 

“You’re out of mourning, then?” Belle asked gently.

Emma couldn’t meet her eyes and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, I’ve been out of mourning for quite some time.”

“Does this mean you’re wanting to remarry?” Trust Ruby to get straight to the point.

“It has been four years after all,” Mary Margaret added.

Emma couldn’t hide her wince. But there was no use denying it.

“Yes.” 

For a moment, there was silence from the ladies. Then they all spoke at once offering their congratulations and bits of advice that she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear.

“We shall have to spread the news, of course,” Mary Margaret said, excitedly.

Emma gasped. “You can’t be serious!”

“Of course I am! The blue dress is an excellent signal of your intentions, but the only ones astute enough to notice are fellow females. The men of our acquaintance are simply too obtuse. Don’t worry,” she continued, laying her hand on Emma’s arm, who was feeling rather ill at the prospect. “We will be the very model of discretion and tact.”

“Trust us,” Ruby interjected, the smirk on her face inspiring the very opposite. “Oh, look. There’s Killian.”

And so he was. The ladies all looked toward the entrance to the ballroom to see Killian already surrounded by a gaggle of women. Not that Emma was surprised in the least.

“My goodness,” Mary Margaret breathed, “I forgot how handsome he is.” Emma’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“He’s very tanned,” Belle added.

“He was in India for four years. Of course he’s tanned,” Emma snapped.

Ruby’s head jerked toward her. “You’re of rather a short temper tonight, Emma,” she observed.

Emma tried to school her features into a more neutral mask. “I’m just weary of being asked about him all the time. There are so many other more interesting topics of conversation.”

“Did you two have a falling out or something?”

Emma’s breath caught as she realized she’d left the wrong impression. “No, of course not,” she assured her sister. “But he’s been literally the only thing I’ve talked about all evening. At this point, I’d be delighted to comment on the weather.”

“Hmmm.”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

Emma had no idea who said what as they were all once again staring at Killian and his crowd of admirers - about half pursuing him for marriage, either for themselves or their daughters, while the other half were young and already married, obviously pursuing him for another reason entirely.

“He is very handsome,” Belle commented. “All that black hair.”

“Belle!” Emma exclaimed.

“What?” she replied. “It’s true!”

“You’re to be married!”

“Well, I’m not yet!” she exclaimed. “And even then, I’m not blind!”

“Does that mean that Emma and I are the only ones allowed to comment on how handsome he is? Spinster that I am and unattached as she is…” Ruby asked.

“Killian is the last man you’d want to marry, Ruby,” Emma said.

“And why is that?” she asked. The words had been out of Emma’s mouth before she’d even had a chance to think, and now all three of them had their full attention fixed on her, awaiting her answer.

“‘W- well,” she stammered, her eyes widening as she cast about for something to say. “He’s just a terrible rake, is all. And you know his reputation. He could never remain faithful to one woman.” As she watched him charm the masses, her heart squeezed at her flippant words. He may have been a rake and a scoundrel, with no real responsibility, but the way he’d dutifully stepped into the role of the earl since being restored to health had been unexpected to say the least. She had a feeling that the change she’d sensed in him since their reunion a month ago, may very well extend to matters of the heart, as well. Or, maybe not necessarily matters of the heart - it was still very difficult to imagine Killian falling in love - but matters of duty to crown and country. The duty to marry and produce an heir. And Killian’s heart of honor would likely not allow him to break his marriage vows.

“Rake or not,” Ruby mused. “He’s terribly handsome. No wonder he attracts so much attention.”

“He’s always attracted female attention, but not from the marriage minded,” Emma said. “The fact that he’s an earl is the only reason he’s the catch of the season.” 

“You should go greet him,” Mary Margaret said, nudging Emma with her elbow.

“Why on earth should I do that?”

“Because he’s here.”

Emma gestured around the room as she spoke. “So are a hundred other men,” she replied. “All of which I’d rather marry.”

Ruby turned her shrewd gaze on Emma for a moment, making her want to squirm. “Mmhmmm,” she hummed. “Don’t know why,” she continued, now rolling her eyes. “Killian is far more handsome than any of them.” Emma turned her head sharply at her sister. Of all the Nolan siblings, Emma and Ruby were the closest in age, exactly one year apart. And while, of course, she’d give her life for her sister, more often than not, she felt like strangling her. Like now. Especially right now. “There’s only three here that I’d even consider obeying. And I’m not even sure about them…”

“Be that as it may,” Emma replied, desperate to redirect Ruby’s thoughts, “spending time with Killian will not help my prospects in finding a husband.”

“And I thought we were here to celebrate Mother’s birthday,” her sister quipped with a smirk. Emma glared.

“But Mary Margaret is right,” Belle said. “You should go over and greet Killian. It’s only polite and will signal to the ton that you fully accept him as the earl and that there is no rift between you. Which everyone will think, if you don’t.”

Emma sighed. Belle was right. Killian deserved a proper and formal welcome to London society and if she didn’t do it, it would be gossip fodder for weeks. And that kind of speculation at the moment would not help her. Not when she was trying to find a husband.

She’d always found Killian’s reputation to be amusing. Probably because she was rather removed from it all. What did his reputation matter to her as a happily married woman? But she was no longer a married woman. She was in the market for a new husband and to see Killian flirt and charm so effortlessly irked her for some reason that she didn’t want to look at too closely.  

“I will go greet Killian,” she promised. “Just as soon as I see to myself.” If she was going to fight her way through all the ladies surrounding Killian, she’d rather do it without having to hop from foot to foot.   

As she passed Ruby, she could have sworn her sister whispered coward under her breath. Emma inhaled sharply and walked faster instead of turning and lobbing back a scathing retort. Because Ruby just might be right, and that was terrifying to consider.

~*~*~

He was aware of her from the moment he entered the room. Emma stood on the other side of the ballroom conversing with her sister and sisters-in-law; or nearly, in the case of Belle French, Will’s betrothed. He couldn’t hide the small smile that touched his lips when he saw what she wore. Light blue silk glowed under the light of all the candles, and while she was too far away for him to experience the full effect, he still had to catch his breath at the picture that formed in his mind's eye.

Even four years away from her hadn’t changed that one whit. And he didn’t suppose it ever would. At least in India, she wasn’t around for him to be aware of her. But now that he was back, it was as clear to him as it ever was. He’d never be free of her. And she’d never be his. His heart clenched at the thought.

Within seconds of entering the room, he was surrounded by no less than half a dozen debutantes, and their mamas as well. As he suffered through each introduction, and re-introduction of the ladies, he blessed his ability - gift, really - to charm and appear wholly focussed on those seeking his attention, even if that attention was truly elsewhere. Emma suddenly left her family and was making her way toward the side entrance, no doubt seeking the ladies retiring room. Once she was gone, he announced his intention to locate his hostess to offer his thanks and best wishes, and excused himself.

When Emma arrived back in the ballroom, he hadn’t yet spoken with his hostess, being waylaid by Lady Lucas and Emma’s family. Not that he minded the Nolan ladies, since Ruby was the only one among them unattached, and she was as much a sister to him as anything. Killian immediately changed direction and caught his breath yet again, as the full realization hit him of exactly what it meant for her to be dressed in blue at a social event, even if it was her mother’s birthday fête.

She was out of mourning. Officially. She would flirt. And dance. And laugh. And find herself a husband. And it would probably happen within the space of a month. Because once her intention became clear, she would be flooded with suitors. After all, who wouldn’t want to marry her? She was beautiful, vivacious, witty, and had an air of maturity the younger debutantes didn’t have. And as her highest ranking male relative, he’d have a front row seat.

A soft, knowing smirk adorned her face as she approached him. He responded in kind as he met her halfway.

“Lady Kilmartin,” he murmured with a bow, taking the hand she offered him and brushing his lips across the knuckles.

“Welcome back to London, my lord,” she replied, curtseying properly. The moment they were both upright again, giggles and a full bodied laugh burst from them. The utter ridiculousness of the formality of their greeting was not lost on either of them.

Killian held his arm out for her. “May I have this dance?” She took his arm, the knowing smirk back on her face as he led her to the dance floor. He took her in his arms, his necessary mask when in her presence firmly in place, and began to lead her in a waltz. “You look lovely this evening, Emma. The color looks splendid on you.” 

Her cheeks flushed prettily and she demurely looked down. “Thank you. I see you did make time to see the tailor. You look quite handsome as well.”

They continued the waltz for a few moments before he spoke again. “So, are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Belle all said I should greet you properly, since this is your formal entry to society. Can’t let the ton think there’s any issue between us.” Killian swallowed hard, as he spun her and then drew her close again. “No matter that we’ve been living in the same house for weeks.”

“What issue could they possibly think may be between us?” he asked, honestly puzzled.

“I haven’t a clue,” she replied, “but that’s never stopped them from wagging their collective tongues, speculating about a non-existent scandal.”

“This is true.” Even in the few minutes he’d been the center of attention, he could plainly see the essence of the ton was unchanged since he’d left four years ago. He wasn’t sure if it was amusing or hell. Amusing, at the moment, he decided. Next week, it’d likely be hell.

“And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself, Killian?”

“Of course.”

“Of course?” She raised her eyebrow as if she didn’t believe him. “Even dancing with me, instead of being surrounded by a whole host of giggling young ladies hanging on your every word?”

“Why, Emma,” he said, waggling his brows, “Is that a note of jealousy I hear in your voice?”

Emma blanched and her eyes widened. He’d only been teasing her, but her response, quite honestly, startled him.

“O-of course not!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming again. “Why would you think I was jealous? I’ve never been jealous of your admirers before. Why would you think I am now?”

“Calm down, Emma,” he cajoled. “I was only teasing. I know you’re not jealous.” Even if the most fervent desire of his heart was for her to love him as he loved her, he couldn’t wish the torment of jealousy upon her, not when he himself had lived with it day in and day out for so many years.

She was still flustered and wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Killian couldn’t help the way his heart leapt with hope. “You must be careful though. These ladies are not your usual ladies.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I wasn’t aware I had a usual.”

Emma finally looked at him, though the color was still high on her cheeks. “Oh, come now, Killian. You know what I’m talking about. Four years ago you had standards. You didn’t seduce anyone who’d be irreparably harmed by your actions.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to start now?” The hope that filled his heart moments ago, plummeted. He brought them to a halt in the middle of the dance floor and led her to the edge of the ballroom and out onto the blessedly deserted terrace. He knew exactly what she was saying and he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been very conscious and purposeful to flirt and seduce where either Emma could see it or she’d hear about it later, all so she’d never know the truth that lay buried in his heart. And now his reputation as a rogue and scoundrel diminished him in her eyes. And that was the last thing he wanted. Bitterness and resentment rose up within him as he turned back to her, and he couldn’t keep their bite out of his words. “Tell me, Emma. Just who do you think I am? Do you really think me so dimwitted or careless that I might accidentally ruin some young lady?”

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her pale so quickly and he immediately regretted what he’d said. “O- of course not,” she stammered. “I’m just afraid…”

“Afraid of what?”

Her chin trembled slightly. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to count the number of hearts you’ll break this spring.”

His voice was quiet but hard. “And why are you so concerned about that? It’s not your job to count them.”

“I know.” Her voice was nearly a whisper and he had to strain to hear her. “But I won’t be able to help myself.”

He had nothing to say to her. Her words and posture had his mind spinning. Why would she concern herself with how many hearts he might break? He certainly didn’t set out to do so. But the fact that she expected it of him hurt. 

“You should dance,” she burst out.

“We just finished a dance,” he informed her, testily.

“I meant with someone eligi…” She cut herself off before finishing the word, and Killian couldn’t help but wonder why. There was no possible way she might have guessed that he’d consider her eligible. He’d kept his feelings too well hidden for that. “Someone you might marry.” 

Someone he might marry, he thought irritably. To her mind, anyone but her.

“As a signal to society that you are looking for a countess.” He made no comment, but he could feel the muscle in his jaw twitching in his agitation. “You are… looking for a countess… are you not?”

He shrugged, flippantly. “If you say so.” 

“Someone who won’t fall in love with you.”

He turned sharply toward her and raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Heaven forbid I fall in love.”

She turned her head more fully toward him, her mouth open in a soft O of surprise. “Is that what you want? To fall in love?” 

The joy and delight on her face was too much. Surely there was no more perfect irony in the universe. God must be sitting on His throne having a good laugh at how tied up in knots he was.

“Killian?” she asked when he didn’t answer right away.

She wanted him to find love. She wanted him to be happy. And all he wanted to do was scream.

“If you will excuse me,” he said, his voice cold and formal, “I must go find someone with whom to dance. Someone I might marry. But someone who will absolutely not fall in love with me.”

“Killian, please,” she said in a whisper. “Don’t be like this. I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, I understand exactly what you mean, Emma,” he stated. “We must preserve the delicate and pure hearts of the ladies of the ton, since my heart is far too black to be helped.” 

With those words, he turned back toward the ballroom and left the terrace.

~*~*~

The next morning, Emma felt perfectly wretched. She couldn’t shake the guilt that clung to her like a blanket, even though Killian was the one who was so cold and heartless the evening before. 

What had she done or said to provoke such an unkind response from him? He’d never been interested in love and marriage before, and while she knew he’d eventually fulfill his duty to marry and beget an heir, when he’d said what he did about falling in love, her heart had beat double time. She wanted that happiness for him, but his cold and callous words towards her, and then his actions the rest of the evening, showed her plainly that his words about love were just that. Words.

When she went back into the ballroom from the terrace, she’d been inundated with dance requests and spent the rest of the evening dancing with this gentleman, or that viscount, and even a marquess. But Killian still commanded her attention. And she was painfully aware of how he charmed every single female in attendance. It got to where she was quite disgusted with herself for not being able to put him out of her mind. 

Every once in a while, his eyes would meet hers and they would turn hard and cold, but with an edge of mocking as he moved on to the next conquest. It was obvious to her that he knew exactly what he was doing. After her whispered confession about counting his broken hearts, he rose to the challenge with alacrity. She still wasn’t sure why she’d said that. Or even what exactly she meant. The words were past her lips before she could really think about it.

But they were true nonetheless. She had counted. But why? What did it matter? She’d never cared before! And it was only going to get worse. The women of the ton were mad for Killian. If the rules of courtship were reversed, the drawing room of Kilmartin house would be overflowing with flowers of every description. All addressed to the Dashing Earl.

But it was still going to be dreadful. She expected numerous female callers today, all hoping that Killian would walk through the drawing room. But even if he didn’t, she’d still have to answer numerous questions about him…

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, looking into the drawing room. “What’s this?” 

Flowers. Flowers everywhere. Flowers of every description on every available surface.

It was her nightmare come to life! Had someone changed the rules of society and failed to tell her?

Lilies, orchids, tulips, violets. Roses. Roses everywhere. In every color. The scent was overwhelming and nearly sent her running.

“Tom!” she called the butler. She heard a loud sneeze and then he appeared in the doorway of the room holding a vase of daisies, his nose red and eyes watering terribly.

“Oh, Tom! I’m so sorry! All these flowers must be terrible for your allergies! But where did they all come from?”

“They are…” sneeze “for you…” louder sneeze “milady.” three sneezes in remarkably quick succession.

Emma blinked.

“For me?” She couldn’t fathom it. She was a widow. Men didn’t send flowers to widows. Did they?

Tom sniffed loudly and blew his red nose on his ever-present handkerchief. “I left the cards…” sneeze “on each arrangement…” sniff “so you would be able to identify each sender.” More sneezing.

“Here,” she said apologetically, “let me take those and you go take care of yourself.”

He handed the vase over and hurried off, no doubt thankful to be away from all the flora in the room.

Emma walked slowly into the room, and set the vase of daisies down on the nearest empty surface, too overcome by the lavish display. She came to an arrangement of tulips in the brightest of colors. Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady the card read. It was signed Viscount Trevalstam. He’d lost his wife two years ago. Everyone knew he was looking for a new bride to give him an heir. 

A delicate purple orchid was the next vase she came to. From Baron Whale.

“Who could these be from?” she mused, approaching an arrangement of yellow roses. She couldn’t keep the giddiness inside of her hidden as a wide and delighted grin spread across her lips. A Shakespearian sonnet, if she wasn’t mistaken and signed by Earl Stone. They’d only been introduced the evening before and shared a single dance. He was quite handsome, but since she had a full dance card, she hadn’t had the opportunity to converse with him after their turn on the floor. 

“Good heavens!”

Emma turned to see Alice in the doorway. Her mouth hung open slightly, much as hers had been upon discovering the floral display. 

“What is all this?”

“I believe those were my exact words when I came in,” Emma laughed. Alice approached and Emma handed her the cards she’d already read. She watched her mother-in-law carefully. She’d lost her firstborn son when Liam died. How would she react to Emma being pursued by other men?

Alice’s eyes were soft as they rose to meet hers after reading the cards.

“Oh, my,” she breathed. “You seem to be the season’s Incomparable.”

Emma felt her cheeks heat. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she protested. “I’m far too old for that.”

“Apparently not,” Alice replied. “Have you looked at all of the cards?”

“Not yet,” Emma said. “But I imagine…”

“They’re more of the same?” 

Emma met Alice’s gaze and slowly nodded. “Does that bother you?”

Alice’s smile was sad, but her eyes were kind and wise. “Do I wish that you were still married to my son?” she asked. “Of course, I do.” She laid the cards down on the table and took Emma’s hands in her own. “Do I wish for you to remain married to his memory? Of course not. You are my daughter, Emma, and I want you to be happy.”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I would like to have a child,” she said, feeling the need to explain to Alice that she wanted to be a mother, not necessarily a wife. 

Alice nodded and dabbed at her own eyes before turning toward another arrangement, a delicate and lovely arrangement of grape hyacinths and stephanotis. “We must read the rest of these cards. And then prepare ourselves for a flood of afternoon callers,” she said, her tone brisk, clearly communicating her wish to move on from the heavily charged moment.

“I rather think the callers will be women,” she murmured, “inquiring after Killian.”

“You may be right,” she agreed. She held up the card. “May I?”

Emma nodded and Alice opened the card. Her mouth dropped open slightly as she read the words.

“What is it?” Emma asked, almost dreading her response.

“Cheshire.”

Emma gasped. “As in the Duke of?”

“The very one.”

Emma raised a hand to her heart. “The Duke of Cheshire,” she breathed. “Oh, my…”

“Oh my, indeed,” Alice agreed. “You, my dear, are clearly the catch of the season.”

“But…”

“What the devil is all this?” Both ladies turned to see Killian standing in the doorway of the drawing room, looking exceedingly cross.

“Good morning, Killian,” Alice said cheerfully.

He nodded in response then looked at Emma. “You look like you’re about to faint,” he said, waving his hand around aimlessly. Emma dropped her hand back to her side, having forgotten completely she still held it over her heart. He came further into the room and raised his eyebrow. “Are we opening a flower shop, then?”

“We clearly could,” Alice answered him. “They’re for Emma.”

“Of course they’re for Emma,” he replied. “Who else would they be for? But good God, how many roses are there? And who would be idiot enough to send them?”

“I like roses,” Emma protested.

“Everyone sends roses,” Killian groused. “They’re trite and old and… who sent these?” he asked, motioning to a display of white roses she hadn’t yet read the card for.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t seen the card yet.”

He plucked the card from the arrangement and opened it. “Lord Gaston,” he read.

“You will under no circumstances marry him. He hasn’t two shillings to rub together.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open in shock. “And how do you know that?”

He fixed her with an unamused look. “I’ve been to my club.”

“That may be true, but it’s hardly his fault.” She may not have seriously considered marrying him, but she did feel compelled to defend him since everyone knew the young Lord had spent the last year trying to repair the damage his father had done to the family finances.

“You’re not marrying him, and that’s final,” Killian announced.

She should have been annoyed by his arrogance, but in truth, she was only amused.

“Very well,” she replied, a smirk on her lips. “I’ll choose someone else.”

“Good,” he grunted.

“She has many to choose from,” Alice supplied, helpfully.

“Indeed,” he said caustically.

“May I take these daisies to my room?” Alice asked suddenly. “They are my favorite flower.”

“Of course,” Emma agreed quickly. Alice picked up the arrangement and left them alone. It was only a moment later that Killian let out a violent sneeze. As soon as he recovered, he glared at the display of gladiolas next to him that prompted it.

“We shall have to open a window,” he groused.

“And freeze?” Emma asked.

“I’ll put on a coat,” he ground out.

“Are you jealous?” she asked coyly. He snapped his head toward her so fast, she quickly backtracked. “Not over me,” she clarified, mortified to feel her cheeks heat. “Heavens, no. Not that.”

“Over what then?” he asked, his voice quiet and clipped.

“Well… just…” she stammered, gesturing aimlessly toward the ostentatious display around them, “I mean, we’re both after the same goal this season, aren't we?” 

He stared at her blankly.

“Marriage?” Good heavens but he was obtuse this morning.

“What of it?”

She let out an impatient breath. “I don’t know if you’d thought of it or not, but I rather assumed you would be the one to be relentlessly pursued. Not me. I never dreamed that I would…”

“Emerge as a prize to be won?” He lifted his eyebrow at her knowingly.

“Well, yes… I guess.” It wasn’t the nicest way to put it, but she couldn’t argue the point.

For a moment, he was silent. His clear blue eyes never wavering from hers. “Any man who doesn’t want to marry you is a fool.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “Oh… well…” She was quite at a loss for words. “I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Emma,” he sighed. Emma couldn’t look away from him. He looked tired, and sad, and something else. Regretful, maybe? No, Killian didn’t regret anything.

“I would never begrudge you this, Emma. You…” he cleared his throat, “deserve to be happy.”

She had no idea how to reply. Especially after their words last night.

“We both deserve happiness, Killian. Your turn will come.”

He turned questioning eyes upon her.

“It already has really,” she continued. “Last night. I was besieged by far more of your admirers than my own.”

Killian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t look angry, just… hollow, almost. And it struck her how odd an observation that was.

“Speaking of…” he began, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “Last night. I must apologize for my behavior. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

“Everything is fine,” she assured him.

“Nonetheless,” he said gruffly, “I’m sorry.”

She watched him intently. His face was so dear to her and she knew every last detail of it. But something was different about him now. And she wasn’t sure what. And she wasn’t sure how it’d come about. She was also quite sure there was more he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t find the words.

“Everything is fine, Killian,” she repeated. “We’re fine.”

He nodded sharply, turned on his heel, and left the room.

~*~*~

Later, Killian sat in his club, a tumbler of rum in his hand. He grit his teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he reflected on Ruth’s birthday party. He didn’t enjoy acting like an ass, but he truly had, and the guilt ate at him. He couldn’t really blame Emma. She’d always wanted to see him happily married. As happy as she’d been with his brother. But when he’d uttered the L word the previous evening, the joy on her face at the prospect of him finding love was just too much and he’d snapped. At least he’d apologized, and she’d forgiven him, but the maelstrom of the feelings he held for his sister-in-law almost guaranteed that it would happen again.

Once she was married and out of the house, and he wasn’t sitting across from her for every meal, he’d be better. They’d remain friends, of course. Emma wouldn’t allow anything else, but her new husband would certainly not allow her to spend so much time in his presence, brother-in-law or no.

“Jones,” a voice called, before Killian heard a clearing of a throat. “Er, Kilmartin, rather. So sorry.”

Killian looked up to see Baron Victor Whale, an acquaintance from Cambridge. “Think nothing of it,” he said, motioning to the chair across from him.

“Splendid to see you back in London,” Victor said, taking his seat. “I trust your journey home was uneventful.”

“It was,” Killian replied. “Thank you.” 

They exchanged the most basic of pleasantries until Victor got to the point. “I understand Lady Kilmartin is in the market for a husband.”

It was a very good thing Killian was so well versed in keeping his true feelings hidden, because the baron’s words and the gleam in his eyes made the alcohol in his stomach sour, and he had to fight to keep his countenance even. No matter that he thought of little else in the last few days, hearing others speak of it was the very last thing he wanted to hear.

“Er, yes,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “I believe she is.”

“Splendid.” The smile on Victor’s face grew and Killian steeled himself for his next words. “Will you dower her?”

Killian’s eyebrows jumped on his head in surprise. “What?” It hadn’t even occurred to him. Good God, he’d probably have to give her away at the wedding.

“Will you dower her?” he repeated.

“Of course,” he bit out, holding on to his temper by the most tenuous of threads.

“Her brother said the same.” Killian feared for his teeth if he ground them any harder. If Victor thought he had any chance of gaining Emma’s hand and her apparently double dowry, he had another thing coming. He’d been a frequent visitor to the track back in their university days, and he doubted that had changed appreciatively since then. He was very likely impoverished and looking for an heiress to save him from ruin.

“The Jones’ will care for her,” Killian replied through grit teeth.

Victor shrugged. “Apparently, the Nolan’s will as well. Well, good seeing you again, Kilmartin,” he said, standing. “I must be off to tell Cheshire the news. Not that I want the competition, but this won’t stay under wraps for long. Might as well be the one to start its spread.” He laughed and Killian glared as he walked away.

Killian looked down at the empty glass in his hand. Damn, he’d already drunk it all. He signaled for another and then heard his name again. He did his best to hide his irritation, but this time wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded.

“Good evening, Kilmartin.” The voice belonged to Earl Arthur Stone. The man was familiar to him, of course, enough that a friendly conversation in the club wouldn’t draw undue attention, but he often reminded Killian of a strutting peacock, and after his floral delivery this morning, there was little doubt why he was seeking Killian out this evening.

“Stone,” he greeted, motioning to the chair Whale had recently vacated. He was only a bit more circumspect than Whale had been, engaging him in pleasantries for a full five minutes before bringing up his true purpose.

“I called upon Lady Kilmartin this afternoon,” he informed Killian.

“Did you?” he replied, nonplussed. He may not have been in the house when Stone called, wanting to spare himself the parade of suitors that seemed inevitable after the floral display that morning, but he wasn’t a fool.

“She’s lovely,” Arthur continued, when it became clear Killian had nothing else to say in light of his revelation.

“She is indeed.” Killian swirled his fresh drink and brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving the man across from him. 

Stone cleared his throat and spoke again. “I intend to court her, you know.”

Killian pierced him with a stare and was gratified to see just a slight bit of discomfort at his scrutiny. 

“Well, if I didn’t, I certainly do now.”

Stone pulled at his cravat. “I wasn’t sure whether to inform you or her brother.”

Killian had no doubt David Nolan, the viscount and Emma’s eldest brother, would have no trouble determining the worth of potential suitors. But as her higher ranking relative, it’d be customary for him to be informed first by those same suitors.

“I am sufficient.”

“Excellent.” He took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat, a bit nervously in Killian’s opinion.

“Stone!” a rather jovial voice called. “And Kilmartin, too! What a surprise to see you!” It was Lord Cassidy. And if he wasn’t drunk yet, he was close to it.

Killian refrained from rolling his eyes at the man’s statement, as he took a seat between himself and Arthur. 

“When did you get back to London?” Cassidy asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“I’ve been back about a month,” Killian replied. He realized his glass was empty again and signaled for another. He was going to need it.

Cassidy nodded several times in quick succession. “And Lady Kilmartin, as well, I see,” he continued. “Finally out of mourning, yes? She wore blue last night,” he said, answering his own question. 

“She looked quite lovely,” Stone added.

“Indeed, indeed,” Cassidy nodded again. “A fine woman. Why, I’d go after her myself if I wasn’t already shackled to Lady Cassidy.”

Small favors, Killian thought, barely able to keep himself from rolling his eyes in annoyance. He couldn’t imagine being faced with a potential suit from the buffoon in front of him.

“How long did she mourn the old earl?” he asked and Killian bristled.

“Four years,” he bit out. “My brother died four years ago.”

“Whatever,” Cassidy replied, blatantly ignoring Killian’s emphasis on his relationship to the old earl. “It was a bloody long time.” He shrugged. “All the same to us though. She wasn’t looking for a husband until now.”

“No,” Killian said. If only because Cassidy had actually stopped to take a breath.

“The men are going to be after her like bees to flowers.” He drew out the s so that it sounded like a long zzzzz. “Beezzzz to honey, I say. And there hasn’t been a hint of scandal about her in all that time.”

“Of course not!” Stone sounded shocked and Killian ground his teeth wondering where Cassidy was going with this.

“Not like some of the widows out and about, eh?” he continued, elbowing Killian and shooting him a significant look. “If you know what I mean.”

Killian looked him square in the face and speared him with a stare that would have sent his underlings back in India scurrying, but which he was afraid Lord Cassidy was a bit too obtuse, or a bit too drunk to notice.

“What, exactly, do you mean, Cassidy?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice.

“It’s like…” He leaned in conspiratorially and his grin turned salacious. “It’s like…”

“Oh, for God’s sake, man. Spit it out,” Killian growled.

“I’ll tell you what it’s like,” he repeated, his grin turning into a leer. “It’s like you’re getting a virgin who knows what to do.”

“What did you say?” Killian’s voice was deadly quiet.

“I said…”

“I would take care to not repeat what you just said, if I were you, Cassidy,” Stone tried to warn him.

“Eh? It’s no insult, I assure you,” Cassidy continued before finishing off his drink. “I mean, she’s been married, so you know she’s not untouched, but she hasn’t gone off and…”

“Stop now,” Killian ground out.

“What? Why? Everyone is saying it.” 

“Not to me, they’re not.” If Cassidy was too dense to take the warning, then Killian was just going to have to cut his tongue out of his head. Or strangle him. “Not if they value their head.”

“Well, it’s better than saying she ain’t like a virgin,” Cassidy chortled, “If you know what I mean.”

Killian lunged.

“Good God, man,” Cassidy choked out, his back on the floor. Killian didn’t know how his hands came to be around the bastard’s neck, but he found he rather liked the way they looked there. “What… the hell… is wrong with you?”

“You will never,” he hissed, his face inches from Cassidy’s, “speak her name again. Do you understand me?” Cassidy tried to nod, but it only cut off his air supply more.

Killian released him and stood, wiping his hands on his pant legs as if wiping away something foul. “I will not tolerate Lady Kilmartin being spoken of in such disrespectful terms. Is that clear?”

Cassidy nodded and so did several onlookers.

“Good.” Killian decided now was a good time to vacate the premises, and so strode out of the room. Once in the hallway, he heard his name yet again and wondered who’d be so idiotic as to approach him when he was this angry. Will Nolan. Emma’s older brother. Damn.

“Kilmartin,” Will said, his customary knowing smirk firmly planted on his face.

“Nolan,” Killian greeted.

“I was having a quiet drink when I heard the commotion,” he said, motioning to the room Killian had just left. “Come join me.”

Killian may have wanted nothing more than to leave, but Will was Emma’s brother, so they were relations of a sort and he couldn’t get away with snubbing his invitation. Will had always unnerved him. They shared the same sort of reputation, that of the devil-may-care-rogue, but where Will was always cooed over by the society mamas because of his charm and wit, Killian had always been treated much more suspect. At least until he came into the title.

But Killian knew the man was sharp as a whip, and he had long suspected there was quite a bit of substance underneath Will’s always jovial exterior. If there was anyone in Emma’s family who might accurately guess Killian’s true feelings for Emma, it was Will.

Killian intended to share one drink with the man and leave.

“Fine evening, don’t you think?” Will asked, motioning for their drinks once Killian was settled in his seat, pretending to be comfortable. “Aside from Cassidy, obviously. He’s nothing but an ass.”

Of course, Killian agreed with the sentiment, but with Will watching him so carefully - even under the guise of friendly conversation - he could manage no more than a terse nod. Will cocked his head to the side just a bit and narrowed his eyes slightly. Almost as if to get a deeper look into his soul. Killian fought the urge to squirm.

“Thank you for defending Emma’s honor,” Will said quietly.

Killian didn’t know what he expected Will to say to him, but it certainly wasn’t that. It was his place to defend her honor, just as it would have been if any of the Nolan brothers had heard Cassidy’s despicable words.

“Emma deserves respect,” Killian replied, equally as quietly as their drinks arrived. Killian gave a nod of appreciation and took a sip. “I will not countenance anything less. From anyone.”

There was silence for a moment between the two men as they sipped their drinks.

“You could marry her, you know,” Will said easily. Killian nearly choked.

“I beg your pardon?” Killian was sputtering. Killian never sputtered.

“Marry her,” he repeated, moving forward just a bit, his gaze intense. 

Killian realized it was too much to hope that Will was referring to anyone else except Emma, but he had to try.

“And who am I supposed to marry?”

The look on Will’s face was condescending in the extreme, mixed with a fair amount of pity as well. “Do we really need to play this game?”

“I can’t marry Emma!” he exclaimed.

“And why not?” He looked honestly puzzled and Killian felt his jaw opening and closing, not a word coming out of it. 

“Because…” he trailed away, completely at a loss. Because that one simple statement made Killian realize that he could marry Emma. There was nothing illegal about it. There was only his own damn conscience. The conscience that maintained there was everything immoral about it. 

She’d been married to his brother. The brother whose death gave him money, power, prestige, and a title. And if he compounded the utter betrayal of his brother - loving his wife - by then stealing her for his own, didn’t that mean he had somehow wished for Liam’s death? 

And how could he possibly live with himself then?

Will sat back in his chair, his dark eyes still on Killian, watching and cataloging every muscle twitch, every eye movement, every emotion Killian was too shocked to keep hidden that worked their way across his face.

Will waved his hand dismissively, but without looking away. “I can see it’s a moot point anyway.” 

That brought Killian’s swirling thoughts to an abrupt halt. There was something in the tone of his voice. Something biting and provoking. He met Will’s stare with his own, searching for clues as to the other man’s agenda. “And why is that?” he bit out.

Will took his time answering. He toyed with his glass, took a small sip, and continued to scrutinize Killian. 

“Why is it a moot point?” Will finally repeated, his eyebrow raising in intrigue, just like Emma’s sometimes did. “Because you’re so clearly not interested in marrying her.”

Killian’s mouth opened for a quick, biting retort, but he shut it just as quickly when he realized he’d been about to say, Of course, I am.

He’d very nearly confessed the deepest desire of his heart to the brother of his beloved. And as he searched Will’s face, he knew that the man had somehow seen into the depths of his heart and mind and knew precisely how Killian felt about his sister.

“I must be going,” Killian blurted out, finishing his drink and rising to his feet.

“Of course,” Will said, affably. As if their conversation had been about nothing more important than the weather. “Think about what I said,” he murmured, as Killian strode purposefully toward the door.

As if he’d be able to think about anything else. For the rest of his life.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! New ch will be up Wednesday!

#a scoundrel... or a gentleman? #krystal writes #inspired by francesca bridgerton's story #banner by snowbellewells #ch art by motherkatereloyshipper