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immajustvibehere · 7 months

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Touch Starved Arthur x fem!touchy Reader (Part 2)

Pairing: hh!Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader (fluffly)

Part1 here!

summary: Arthur takes you and Jack out camping for two nights. Both of you have to battle your feelings for each other until you finally....

warnings: one bed trope, fluff, domestic bliss

6000 words

In the manner of Arthur’s approach, you knew he was up to something. His big hands rested on his gun belt, his expression was casual. His attempt to appear relaxed was almost perfect. You weren’t fooled so easily, though. By the smug grin that started to appear on your face as Arthur came closer, he understood that you had sensed his unease from a mile away. Your intuition was exceptional, and Arthur silently cursed himself for his own transparency. And suddenly, there were his subtle tells…the scratching of his neck, the scrunching of his nose, the restlessness of his fingers caressing the leather of the belt.

"Hey, what's up?", you asked and propped your head up with your elbow resting on the table.

"Uhm...I have a proposition to make", Arthur awkwardly sat down at the table. Thankfully, barely anyone else was around to witness this encounter. The sun hadn’t risen yet and people were only slowly crawling out of their beds. In fact, Arthur still saw the remnants of sleep in your features but the steaming mug of coffee in front of you suggested that you were diligently combating it.

"I'm all ears."

Arthur couldn’t help but detect the playful undertone in your voice. You had grown more comfortable around each other the last few days and weeks and some banter and teasing were commonplace by now, particularly in the presence of others. But when you found yourselves alone, which hadn’t really happened since last time, you’d feel like there was a more genuine connection and care for each other than either of you would normally let on.

"Ya can say no if ya don't want to but-...well, I already talked to Abigail. She said she was fine with it", Arthur started. You had no clue what he was on about, but he pressed on, "I suggested we take out Jack for a night or two. The boy needs to see something aside this patch of land and I thought...if you would wanna tag along? You know, I was fine fishing with him but I'm not sure if I'd be any good at the other stuff."

"Yes, of course", you immediately replied. Arthur wasn't sure why he had expected a rejection or a dismissal that he was stupid to suggest such a thing. You actually looked pleasantly surprised about the idea.

You smiled: "It's not just Jack, you know? I haven't left camp since we moved here, so I'll get to see some of the country too!"

"Okay, sure", Arthur said, still somewhat in surprise about what you had just agreed to. But his surprise soon gave way to a sense of anticipation, especially when he noticed enthusiasm. He couldn’t supress a warm chuckle, evidently relieved that everything had worked out.

You briefly discussed the logistics, and Arthur settled on a plan: a night between Dewberry Creek and Ringneck Creek for the first stop, followed by, if Jack was up for it, a night in a room at the Rhodes Saloon.

The following day, you were all packed up. Your horse carried a rolled-up tent, large enough to accommodate the three of you. Jack rode with Arthur, he was the experienced rider after all and would be much greater use in keeping the child from sliding off the horse. It was a fine day, the morning sun was veiled behind some clouds, offering a respite from the usual stifling heat. Rain wasn’t to be expected, the clouds looked like they would clear sooner or later.

For the ride, Jack was dead silent for ten minutes at a time but then asked any question he could come up with. Arthur appreciated your willingness to respond, particularly when faced with Jack’s more challenging inquiries that needed to be tailored for a child’s understanding. Arthur was outright impressed at your skill in addressing his questions, and kept silent, even if Jack wanted his view on something specifically.

It was a smooth ride. Once you had passed the first creek you kept looking for an ideal spot to build your camp. You watched happily how Arthur pretended to discuss the area with Jack, granting him the final say in where to put up the tent. Arthur was responsible for the tent while you went off with Jack to look for firewood. When you returned, the tent had been putt up and Arthur had already gotten out the fishing gear.

"Are we fishing again?", Jack asked with curiously.

"Well, we gotta eat something", Arthur answered.

"But fishing's boring!" Jack said back and Arthur chuckled warmly. The last time he took the boy fishing, it was anything but uneventful, though he understood that a four-year-old wasn't so keen on standing still and waiting.

You squatted in front of Jack: "Why don't you take your toys with you to the water? You can play and Arthur and I'll do the boring waiting."

"Mh, okay."

You walked over to Ringneck Creek. Arthur settled on the same spot he had been to while fishing with Javier a while back. It had a good overlook of the place, so Jack could play in the distance, while still being in eye- and earshot. You and Arthur sat down next to each other, not saying anything and prepping the fishing rod. Even when there were no words exchanges, both of you felt comfortable in each other’s presence. Arthur felt your eyes on him as he pierced a tiny bit of cheese through the hook and handed the rod to you.

“The fish get cheese for lunch? That’s mighty fine, don’t you think?”, you joked.

“This cheese? It has been mouldy for days now. It won’t do us any good. But for fish? The stinker, the better”, Arthur explained and added in a mumble, “Or so I’ve heard…”

You both threw out your line and before you quipped: “So you keep your mouldy cheese in your satchel with the rest of your food?”

Arthur watched the rings expanding around his line, then swallowed quickly before looking you in the eye. Not very convinced he answered: “No…?”

He had expected a lesson on proper food hygiene, but you only grinned cheekily: “Glad I took care of food for this trip. But you really shouldn’t do that, you know? Next time you leave camp for more than a day, I’ll pack you something.”

“Ya don’t have to do that, really”, Arthur replied out of politeness, but the idea of you walking up to him with a sandwich to take on his journeys sent tingles to his chest.

“Mh. I insist”, you said, “I’ll have to take care of you if your stomach goes mad, so I’d rather prevent that. Not that I wouldn’t like to take care of you. Don’t you never keep an injury or sickness a secret in front of me, got it?”

“Yes ma’am”, Arthur said, “You sound like Miss Grimshaw, it’s good yer away from camp for a while”, Arthur joked. Deep down, he knew that you didn’t want to control him, but that you sincerely cared for his well-being. Something Arthur couldn’t quite understand. Of course, he would do the same for you – but that’s different because he had already figured out that he liked your attention more than anyone else. No, that he liked you more than anyone else. Arthur got a little lost in his own thoughts. He wasn’t yet entirely sure about his feelings for you. Mainly because he wasn’t sure how you felt. You were so kind and caring for everyone in the gang, he sadly doubted that he was anything special.

“I missed spending some time with you. Sorry that it’s so hard to sneak away from camp”, you said after a while, bringing Arthur back to reality.

“Doesn’t matter”, Arthur mumbled. He was embarrassed that he felt his cheeks getting warm, “We got away now, didn’t we? I feel almost bad that I take up so much of yer time.”

“Please don’t”, you laughed, looking at the man next to you with a smile.

“I think I saw Sean shed a tear when he heard that you’d be away from camp for two days”, Arthur mentioned.

“Yeah. I think he’s sweet on me”, you said so casually, that Arthur was caught off guard, staring at you in disbelieve.

Arthur cleared his throat before he slowly said: “I thought he and Karen…?”

“Well, Karen is good for one thing”, you said with an ambiguous smile, not meaning serious offence with those words, “I’m good for another.”

From the distance, you heard Jack calling for ‘uncle Arthur’. Arthur sighed with a smile and handed you his finishing rod.

“Yer okay to watch that?”, he asked.

“Sure, go ahead”, you encouraged him.

Jack wanted Arthur’s help to balance on a dead tree. It was wholesome to see how Arthur helped him up on the trunk and then held his hand so he would have an easier time balancing. Then the boy would sit on Arthur’s shoulders and break a smooth looking branch from a tree, using it to play swords fighting with Arthur. You knew that Arthur was gentle with Jack and compared to some men in the gang, even to John if you were honest, he was doing a great job. Still, you hadn’t dreamt that he'd be ready to take on a whole swords fight, pretending to get stabbed when Jack’s twig poked his leg. You noticed Arthur’s stolen glances in your direction. It was as if he wanted to make sure you were watching, though you didn’t have the impression that he only played along to impress you. Arthur seemed to genuinely enjoy it.

“Caught anything yet?”, Arthur’s voice woke you up from your daydreams when he walked up to you after a while.

“No…”, you answered and admitted, “I was a little distracted.”

“Ain’t blamin’ ya. We gave you a hell of a show”, Arthur said and took his spot next to you again. Luckily, a few fish bit later on and by the time you walked back to your tent, a fire could be built and the fish were grilled. A lot of time had passed, and the sun was already low in the sky. Jack demanded to be read to from his favourite book. After you had read a few pages and Jack had settled in to listen to some more, you handed the book to Arthur. He had been busy with stoking the fire and cleaning the grit, so he was a little caught off guard by the action.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”, he asked.

“Read to the boy”, you answered with a grin.

“Why can’t you?”, Arthur asked, his eyebrows raised in wonder.

“My throat is starting to feel sore”, you lied so obviously, that even Jack could have seen through it, “besides; I want someone to read to me too.”

Arthur considered the situation for a moment before giving in. The last time he read a book to someone…well, he wasn’t sure. Was it to Jamie when he was still a little boy or to Isaac? Did he ever even read out to Isaac? Arthur was prompted into opening the book when you suddenly snuggled up to him. But that alone made him lose his voice for a moment, so he had to collect himself before starting to read.

You loved how raspy Arthur’s voice would get when he was nervous, but it soon smoothed out and he had barely read for ten minutes when you had to stop him, because Jack had fallen asleep.

“’s barely even dark…”, Arthur commented after he had carried the boy to his bedroll in the tent.

“He did have an eventful day”, you said, and Arthur had to agree. The bottle of whiskey Arthur had brought was soon opened up and half was gone by the time you could make out the first stars in the sky. A lot of your conversation was just recollecting the day or commenting on happenings on the last few days, but after some silence, Arthur started a new conversation.

"Maybe, if ya told me what the other men ask you to do, I'd feel less a fool for asking ya fer something", Arthur suggested. The undertone of his voice revealed curiosity, but he had tried to keep that intent hidden. You were surprised that he remembered what you had talked about the last time it was just the two of us.

"You're unbelievable!", you exclaimed and giggled so light-heartedly. Arthur's heart melted when he saw the crinkles around your eyes. "You just want the gang's gossip!", you accused him.

"No! I'm just sayin'", Arthur shrugged with a smile, "It would really help a lot."

You looked at him, his blue-greenish eyes staring right back at you. You were an avid eye-contact holder, it was required for your role in the gang. But no pair of eyes ever compared to Arthur's. It was his turn to catch your gaze wandering to his lips, he also noticed how your eyes fluttered, when they looked up again, and then briefly away, as if you considered something.

"Fine. I'll tell you some. But I won't tell you who asked me for what."

"Sure."

"Mhhh...it's not the craziest stuff, if you’re expecting that. Most men like when I play with their hair. Or head scratches. I told you I was good at them! Someone likes it when I feed them. Like...you know...we go pick some berries and I feed them. It can be really,...domestic, I suppose. But then it becomes a lot of fun because we try to throw the berries into each other mouths, trying to catch them. It’s great..."

You got slightly embarrassed. When you spend time with other men from the gang, you always tried to give them an experience that made them happy. Some of it was oddly intimate. It didn't bother you much, but now, speaking about it with Arthur, you somehow started to worry that you'd be worth less in his eyes. Just because you have done those things with his friends. It wasn't like you slept with them. No, none, with very few exceptional instances, have ever been inappropriate.

You were silent for a while, those thoughts taking over quickly. And yet, what should it matter? It’s just Arthur, it was okay if he knew that side of you.

You sighed deeply, still finding Arthur’s eyes glued to your lips.

"Some of them like to show off to me. It's real stupid stuff. Like 'look how quick I can draw' or 'check out this piece of wood I whittled'. I suppose these are just things they are mildly proud at...but embarrassed to show someone. I...like that, though. It's really cute and reveals something about the person. There is always something to praise or enjoy about it. And they really appreciate it."

Arthur stared into the fire, nodding his head slowly.

After a while, he started with: "I ehrm-..." Then he pulled out his journal.

"It's nothing special either...", he flipped through some pages, only to reveal a double-sided sketch of Clemen's Point. A beautiful sketch, well-observed with depth and detail. You knew Arthur kept a journal – you never knew he drew in it! And from all the sketches the other men had ever shown you, most of them could have been done better by Jack, this was honestly impressive.

"Arthur-"

"I know, 's silly", and he was about to close the journal when you snatched it out of his hand and placed it in your lap. Not daring to flip the page but studying the sketch in front of you.

"Are you kidding? It's fucking amazing."

When Arthur looked at you in disbelieve, you doubled down: "Fuck you, man. I can't even pick out things I like to praise because the whole damn thing's just-!"

"Yer teasing me..."

"Am not! When someone shows me a drawing, I often have to guess, like ‘Oh, that’s a nice bison you drew.’ And then they correct me and go like ‘It’s supposed to be a dog.’ and we have a good laugh about it…but this…Is that Dutch's horse?", you asked, pointing at the little white stallion. Arthur confirmed it. You started to point at things, accurately identifying what it was. John's tent, the chicken coop, even the figure in the distance, that only was a vague outline of a person, you identified as if you had been there when it was drawn.

"You have more drawings in there?", you asked.

"Sure. But- wait", he took the journal back, carefully skipping the pages where he had sketched you, which had happened suspiciously often recently, and only showing you the landscapes and animals. You never expected that Arthur had an eye for things like that. A doe was captured perfectly in its shy manner. A funny looking cabin, a crooked tree. For all those things, Arthur stopped and took his time to draw them. It was stunning. You felt like he had given you a better idea of what sort of a man he actually is. To say you liked that version of him, was an understatement and you started to realise this with every sketch of ducks or fish he presented to you.

"When you find someone, someone you really like. And start a family...you could draw and sell those pictures, you know?"

Arthur was shocked. Firstly, why you knew about his wish to start a family, and secondly, that you suggested his drawings are nearly good enough for anyone to pay money for.

"Y/n", Arthur lamented, almost with a painful voice. As if you were that naive girl that had no idea about how life works. That there could never be a family for him, never a different life than shooting and robbing to get to some money.

"Have you ever painted? Like with colour and a paintbrush?", you interrupted.

"Ain't worth it. I'd be no good with colour. And it's too expensive."

"When's your birthday?", you asked out of the blue. You were determined. If you had to work your ass off for it or drop to your knees in front of Miss Grimshaw, you'd get this man a paintbrush.

"No", Arthur said firmly.

"Come on!", you quipped.

"Stop it. It's just a stupid thing I do to pass some time it ain't-"

"But I love them!", you interrupted, "I really do. Every single one you showed me."

"Clearly, something ain’t right in your head then", Arthur joked and put his journal away.

"You are a charming man, Mr. Morgan," you teased back, bumping into his shoulder.

As if your words had confirmed Arthur's accusation, he comically tapped your forehead with his index finger: "Really messed up, aren't you?"

"Why?", you said, switching gears and skilfully capturing Arthur's finger that had went for another tap. It took both of your hands to open Arthur's hand, not that he resisted, but his hands were huge. And with your guidance, Arthur's hand cupped your cheek. "Is it because I like to spend time with you? Do you think one has to be mad to enjoy that? Because if you do think that...I have to give you ten reasons why you are wrong."

Arthur barely listened to your words. His senses were hyper focused on his hand which was touching your cheek. Warm and soft. Not smooth like a perfect hide, but skin isn't perfect. Hell, his hand must be mighty uncomfortable. It was calloused, beaten up, scarred. There was no rational reason why you would snuggle your face into it like it was a pillow you readied for a night's sleep.

With pleasure you watched how often he blinked, how flustered he became, how his hand twitched in excitement under your touch. As careful as you were some butterfly, Arthur’s thumb dared to caress your cheek. The movement was so small, it was like he didn’t even want you to notice that you he had dared to do that. Somehow, this rough and hardened outlaw was a real sensitive guy. A sensitive guy who made your stomach flutter.

"I'll head to bed and join Jack, you coming too?", you asked, guiding Arthur's hand into your lap and holding in lightly with your two hands.

"Imma...t-take care of the fire a little longer", Arthur answered with coarse voice, his throat entirely dried up.

"M'kay", you smiled and stood up without letting go of Arthur's hand. Halfway in the process of standing up you halted, pressing a light kiss on Arthur's cheek and whispered good night, before finally letting go and walking off to the tent.

Though you were exhausted, it was tricky to sleep. You listened to Arthur who was still attending the fire, walking up and down, whispering to the horses and occasionally took a swig from the bottle. Jack slept at the side of the tent, you had taken the spot in the middle. No matter how long it felt until sleep finally took over, Arthur crawled into the tent ten minutes later, only to find out that you had messed with the sleeping set-up. It wasn’t the way he had arranged it, namely, a very inequal distribution of blankets and ‘pillows’ (rolled-up jackets or other garments). Arthur had planned to spend the night without a blanket, so you and Jack had two. But you had given up one of yours, which neatly waited on Arthur’s bedroll for him.

“She ain’t gonna make this easy for me”, Arthur thought, before lying down.

“Uncle Arthur!”, Jack squatted next to the man who was still fast asleep. Well, until the boy started to shake him with all his might, though it barely rattled the man.

“Aunt y/n told me to wake you”, Jack smiled innocently. Arthur was trying to grasp the situation. For a fleeting moment, he thought there was danger nearby. Then he had been confused about why Jack was there. Only slowly, as Jack left the tent and the rays of sunshine hit his face, he remembered that he had went out camping with you and the boy. And clearly, he had overslept.

Arthur crawled out of the tent and stood up with a groan, stretching his tired limbs. The smell of coffee had reached his nose before he looked down to see Jack walking towards him, a half-filled cup in his hands.

“For you”, he exclaimed. Arthur took the mug and mumbled his thanks, looking up a little to finally lay eyes on you. The fire was on, the percolator boiling with water, and he saw that you were in the process of readying a little pan for some eggs you had apparently taken from camp.

“Good morning”, you said with a big smile.

“Sorry I overslept…”, Arthur grumbled, sitting down by the fire.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you could catch up on some sleep.”

Breakfast was nice. You scrambled some eggs, garmented them with herbs you had collected earlier and re-filled Arthur’s mug. Jack was happy after eating a few bites and then playing with his toys in the distance. Arthur and you discussed the rest of the day and decided you would take your time, see if Jack was up for a ride and a stroll through Rhodes and spending another night at the Saloon.

Later, Jack helped you with washing the dishes at the creek. You managed to talk him into throwing a wet rag at Arthur, which he answered by throwing the rag back at you. This started a game of dogde or catch the rag. You laughed a lot. By mid-day you were on your horses, carefully navigating the shadows to escape the relentless sun. After one very slow hour of riding, with breaks whenever Jack discovered something interesting on the ground that needed further investigation, you arrived in Rhodes. After restocking on groceries, you made your way to the saloon, finding it relatively quiet and peaceful still.

“Can I help you, folks?”, the bartender asked, leaning on the counter.

“A room, please”, Arthur stated briefly. The bartender considered you for a moment, his eyes wandered from Arthur to you and finally your hand that rested protectively on Jack’s shoulder.

“We have a special deal for families. Spacious room, enough beds and a discount on a bath”, the bartender explained, opening the ledger where he kept track of which rooms were taken.

“Sounds great!”, you chimed in happily before Arthur could do as much as open his mouth.

“There you go. Walk up the stairs behind there, first door on the right”, the bartender handed you the keys, “Just let me know when you want the water heated up.”

“Will do, thanks!”, you answered. Your free arm was quickly intertwined with Arthur, who was taken by surprise. He stiffened a little but walked off with you and Jack rather convincingly.

“Whoa! This bed is huge!”, exclaimed Jack when you walked into the room.

“Ain’t for you though, little man”, Arthur chuckled. The room was equipped with a bed that was big enough to fit a couple and a toddler, but there was still a children-sized one in the corner. Arthur noticed how your arm slipped away from his as you entered the room, dropping some of your luggage onto the floor.

“Luxurious, isn’t it?”, you smiled. It was definitely better than the rooms you’d get in Valentine and probably even cleaner than the other ones the saloon had to offer. Jack was settling in, testing how bouncy his mattress was and unpacking his toys while Arthur walked up to you, clearing his throat.

“Yer fine with sharin’ a bed?”, he asked.

You raised an eyebrow: “We shared a tent last night, and that was a much tighter fit, wouldn’t you say so?”

“I guess…”, Arthur felt a little helpless. Sharing a bed felt more domestic and intimate than sharing the same tent. Also, Jack wouldn’t be all snuggled up to you, but in his own bed at some distance. Frankly, Arthur was excited. You watched his frown, not quite sure if its origin was because of discomfort or simple nervosity.

“Are you okay with that? I could bring my bedroll and-“, you wanted to suggest, but Arthur was quick to interrupt you: “I just didn’t know if you were fine with it. I don’t want ya to feel uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry about me”, you smiled, “I’ll go down and ask for a bath. Abigail will be glad I we bring the boy back cleaner than he was before.”

Arthur was alone in the room for nearly an hour, before you and Jack appeared with damp hair, smelling of soap. It was decided that Arthur would also make use of the warmed-up water, and as he went off to the bathroom, you and Jack set your plan in motion.

By the time Arthur returned he was met with a sight that initially puzzled him. The two of you had transformed the little corner with Jack’s bed using the limited resources available to you, creating a makeshift fort out of pillows and blankets. Jack’s small bed had been turned into a cozy cave of sorts, sheltered from the outside world to the point where you needed a lantern to read a book within.

Arthur didn’t even see you at first, he only heard Jack’s bubbly giggle and you shushing him. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to play along and pretend that he didn’t know where you were…like some sort of hide-and-seek. But he decided against it, instead sighing happily, and sitting down on the big bed.

“I can hear ya, ya know?”, he said gently.

“No you can’t!”, Jack said back.

“Should have built it bigger, doesn’t look like I’ll fit underneath there”, Arthur commented. Now, you peeked out. Arthur saw how you opened a mouth, but something stopped you for a moment. His hair was wet and slicked back. He hadn’t even bothered putting on his shirt, but instead only wore his pants and union suit underneath. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to button it all the way up. It hugged his muscles perfectly. You knew he was in good shape, but you hadn’t expected THIS.

“Shouldn’t have grown so big then”, you finally said, a fine blush on your cheeks.

As the evening advanced, you had read several chapters to Jack, lulling him into slumber. You then quietly slipped into the bed beside Arthur. After some casual conversation which both of you skilfully and awkwardly used to get closer to each other, Arthur asked something that had been on his mind for a while: "What do you get out of it? All the nurturing and caring for everyone in the gang? Has any one of them ever done right by you?"

"Well...I have a place to stay and sleep. I don't have to worry too much about earning money. And I like making others happy."

Arthur didn't like that. A place to sleep and food, he felt like, shouldn't be things you had to earn by listening to the complaints of others all the time.

"All you get is hearing the troubles of some dirty, foolish outlaws. Ain’t really a life, is it?"

"Some make me happy too", you admitted, quietly. You realised how Arthur tensed up slightly.

"I get to know y'all. Don't you think that's a privilege? For a woman my age? Others can't simply walk around in the street, offer some hand-holding a listenin' and expect this to pay for their meals."

"You want to do this for the rest if your life?", Arthur asked. You scanned his body, focusing on the dark hair that grew on his chest.

"No", you whispered, and gently, you put your hand on his chest. You felt his heart, no, you saw how it beat, the skin of his chest swiftly moving in an up and down movement.

Arthur...was different than the others. You didn't know if it was that there was an actual difference, or if it just felt differently. But the way he treated you, the way he held you...it was so gentle. Like it was touch meant for a lifetime. The others were slightly more prudish, because they knew they had a couple of hours with you and maybe they'd be shot and die the next day. Somehow...not Arthur. When he pulled you closer into a hug, it was always the same, as if it was a welcome back, a coming home. There was no holding onto it, because he sorts of knew you would always be there. And you wanted it to be like that too. Because you, as tricky it was to admit, had feelings for this man.

Now it was you who caught Arthur staring, staring at the unsure movements your lips made as you searched for something to say. Maybe to explain what this all meant to you.

"Do you think it's ridiculous, what I do?", you asked. You wanted to know Arthur's opinion, truly.

"What? No."

"Really?"

"Hell, we'd be a bunch of degenerates if ya didn't keep us together. Yer ignoring Micah. For good reasons, I gotta say, and look what a slimy no-good he is. We'd be all like that if it wasn't for you", Arthur said. There was humour in his voice, but he meant what he had said. You smiled slightly.

"I wish I had come to you earlier", Arthur said.

"We are making up for the lost time, aren't we?", you said and leaned into him. The gesture seemed so familiar that Arthur wrapped his arms around you with barely any thought. Arthur watched your fingers as they trailed through his hair on his chest, never resting somewhere for long but tracing lines from his collar bones to where his beard started on his neck.

“Do you mind?”, you whispered, your fingers resting on a button of his suit.

Arthur subtly shook his head and watched how you unbuttoned one button after another. You had him slip out of the sleeves so the suit could be pulled further down, now exposing his entire abdomen to you.

There was no way he could hide his hitched breath. Your touch tickled pleasantly as your fingers explored his skin. He was enjoying those careful attentions, you'd trace around bruises and old scars, Arthur was focused on how it felt differently, the abused flesh and the scar tissue that had lost sensitivity. He noticed, either for the first time ever, or he had forgotten in the meantime, how ticklish he was on his side, under the ribs. He had no urge to laugh, but his body reacted to your touch differently, squirming when your skin brushed over his. Arthur noticed that you took a liking to those reactions, because he felt the corner of your mouth, which was pressed into his arm as you leaned into him, curl into a smile.

It was quiet. Sometimes the yells of a bar fight could be heard or someone hammering on the piano, but that aside, it was only Jack's silent snores that disturbed the peace.

"Arthur?", you whispered and sat up.

"Mhm?", Arthur looked sleepy. It wasn't even that late yet, but something about the situation was making him sleepy in the best way. You said nothing more. You only put your hand on his cheek, briefly caressing his stubble.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you?", you asked.

For a few moments, Arthur's mind went completely blank. He only breathed a shaky "Yeah" and your lips brushed his already.

Instantly, Arthur's hands pulled you in closer. You were close, lips brushing, breathing each other's air. It was all you needed, before both of you finally pressed into each other.

You knew Arthur was gentle, but this sort of tenderness took even you by surprise. And Arthur- well, he was pretty sure he was dreaming. When was the last time he had kissed a woman? No, when was the last time he kissed a woman and felt like his heart was about to explode in his chest. He had craved this ever since the night you spent together. And by the way your hands wandered to his hair, fingers running through his strands, he knew you had wanted it just as much.

It was a soft kiss and both of you looked sort of surprised when it had ended. Arthur sat up slightly and pulled you on his lap, which earned him a happy grin. You started to pepper the man in front of you with kisses. Super light, as if a breeze was brushing his forehead, his cheek, his nose, under his ear, the corner of his lips. You had lost count, stirred on by a blushing Arthur underneath you.

"D-don't ya think that's enough?", Arthur said, kind of trying to dodge your kisses, but not really.

"Nope. You deserve this!", you said, but when you headed for his nose, Arthur managed to turn it into a proper kiss again.

Then you sank on his chest, lying on top of him with his arms wrapped around you.

For Arthur, this was a weird feeling at first. But he loved how your weight pressed him down into the mattress and how your hands always found a piece of his body to caress and tickle. He was embarrassed about how dry his mouth and throat became again, all of a sudden. He was convinced you realized how often he had to swallow and how hesitant he still was to move his hands any further down than the small of your back. Though if you noticed, you were very understanding. You clearly heard his heart hammering in his chest and waited patiently for it to calm down before speaking again.

"Can I tell you something silly?”, you said, lost in thoughts.

"Sure"

"I liked it when the bartender referred to us as family."

"Me too", and his hold on you became ever so tighter.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

@eyelovie @t3rritorial-piss1ngs @daenerysluvrr @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @tem60 @freshoutthewomb2 @itswormtrain @ineedyoubadly @lea-khena @anawkwardartistandgamer @pheesupremacy @tahitiansiguesss @c2ss1e @alyxhasonsocks @kagemaruzest69 @agaritas @lonesome-ranger @joelmillers-gf

#arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption community #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr #rdr fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

amentomensmut · 3 months

Text

first time for everything pt2

Drug Dealer! Mike Schmidt x fem!reader wc: 5k

this is part 2 to my fic first time for everything! read the first part here.

Summary: After an unforgettable hookup with your friend Sara’s drug dealer, Mike Schmidt, you go to a college party to try and put a stop to your constant stream of thoughts about it, and more specifically, him. However, when you wind up bumping into the man you had been thinking about non-stop at the party, you can’t help but give in to the one person who started it all.

Warnings: 18+ content, so much banter. Like, so much. Mike is a smug bastard, alcohol consumption, swearing, kissing, dirty talk, use of pet names, fingering, cunnilingus, finger sucking, unprotected sex

Note: we are so back. also i really hope you guys like this omg. (p.s. sorry that this part has no cannabis use in it. I know that’s like kinda the whole point, but with the story i wanted to tell i couldn’t find a place to put it and i didn’t just want to shove it in randomly so i sorta just left it out.)

Like smoke filling up your lungs, Mike Schmidt has infiltrated your mind in every way possible.

Thoughts of him invading every corner and crevice of your brain, making them impossible to shake. To say the least, ever since you had the pleasure of meeting him, your mind has been rather occupied.

His lips on yours, the smoke from his mouth permeating your own, his hands on your body, your skin on his skin—it's all too much, you think. In fact, if you could go back and erase the entire interaction, you would. It’s the only thing you’ve been able to think about, and it’s all Mike Schmidt’s fault.

You wonder if he thinks about you too. You know it’s probably unlikely, but you can’t help but feel like he might. Like he also dreams about it. Like he also yearns for you again. Maybe he gets off thinking about it, like you do. You shake those thoughts away, however, when you come to the conclusion that it probably wasn’t as special to him as it was to you.

"Okay, Y/n, what the fuck?” Sara's voice cuts through your thoughts, startling you.

You whip your head around to see Sara standing behind you. Her arms are crossed against her chest, and her face is painted with a worried expression.

“What?” you respond, confusion evident in your voice.

“You’ve been staring at that wall for 20 minutes.” Sara says it with an accusatory tone, like she caught you doing something you shouldn’t be.

“I’m just thinking.” You shrug, trying to play it cool. I mean, you’re not lying. You were trying to do your homework, and then you started…daydreaming. Thinking. Whatever you want to call it.

“Yeah, I know. Thinking is all you’ve been doing this week. What’s going on?” Sara sighs, and you can see the genuine concern in her face. She sits on your bed next to your desk, trying to meet your eyes. You have a hard time lying to her, and catching her gaze will only make you more vulnerable, so instead, you choose to stare down at your homework.

“This isn’t like you. You’re the most studious person I know, and you can’t even focus enough to finish a couple questions. Tell me what’s going on.” She continues. You weigh your options. You could tell her you fucked her drug dealer. She couldn’t be that mad, right? Or, you could keep it a secret, but continuing to lie to her is the last thing you want to do. You let out a deep breath and just decide to bite the bullet.

“Okay, um, remember when I went to your drug dealer's house last week?” You wearily start. Sara nods her head, signalling for you to continue.

“Well, one thing led to another, and we kinda, sorta had…sex?” The room is silent after your confession, the weight of your words hanging in the air. When you look over at Sara, you expect to see disappointment or anger on her face, but instead, she's looking at you with one of the biggest smiles you've ever seen.

“I knew it!” Sara exclaims, jumping up in a rush of excitement.

“I knew there was a reason that you were practically glowing when you got back from his house!” You groan at her loudness, putting your hands over your face to hide your embarrassment. You should’ve known she wouldn’t have been upset with you; she practically shoves you at any man who gives you some sort of attention in the hopes that you’ll break your introverted habits. “Wait,” she excitedly adds. “Does this mean you can get me a discount?”

“No, Sara, I can’t fucking get you a discount. I haven’t seen him since it happened.” You say, and you try your best to mask the disappointment in your tone. I mean, what did you expect? That he’d come running to you the next day, get down on one knee, and propose? You knew it would most likely be a one time thing, so why were you so upset about it?

“So that’s why you’ve been so out of it this week. Plagued by the thoughts of a good fuck. Trust me, I've been there. ” Sara sighs dramatically, shaking her head like she knows this feeling all too well.

“I don’t know... as cheesy as it sounds, I sort of can’t stop thinking about him? It was so good, and now it’s all I think about.” You admit, and Sara takes her place back on the end of your bed. She takes one of your hands in hers, and she nods her head in an understanding manner.

“You know what you need?” She says, and you shake your head, "No.".

“To get your head out of your chemistry books and go to a goddam party! No wonder you’ve been thinking about him; all you’ve been doing is thinking.” She says, motioning to the copious amounts of school-related papers on your desk.

“Trust me, Y/n. The best sort of remedy for this kind of thing is to just let loose and forget about all your shit for a little while, you know?” As much as you’ve tried to avoid parties and distractions during your college experience, you can’t imagine there’d be much harm in going to one party. Besides, if you can get your mind off of Mike for a few hours and just have some fun, it’ll be worth it.

“Alright. Yeah, I think you’re right.” You say, and Sara jumps up excitedly as she begins to talk about one of her good friends that is throwing a party that night, and that it’ll be the perfect excuse to get away from all stress of exams. You nod along, a smile plastered on your face as you try to match Saras excitement. You’re not quite sure if this “remedy” will work or not; however, you’d just about try anything at this point. And like Sara always says, you’re a hermit, so this will be a good way to break you out of your shell. I mean, the last time Sara told you to do something, it ended up going better than expected, so what’s the worst that could happen?

----------------------------------

“Sara, I feel like I’m going to flash someone.” You say as you pull on the hem of your very mini skirt. The walk to the party wasn’t long, but your bare legs are cold and you’re itching to get warm. You’ve never really worn something as revealing as this, but Sara insisted you wear something from her wardrobe.

“Your skirt isn’t that short; don’t be dramatic.” Sara teases as she leads you towards a house that's booming with both music and people. You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. You haven’t been to a party during your time at college, and to be honest, you weren’t ever planning to. Focusing on getting your degree without any distractions was always your goal. An unrealistic goal? Maybe, but it had been working well for you up until a week ago. However, things don’t always go as planned, and now you’re stepping into a house full of sweaty, inebriated bodies and music so loud it makes the entire house shake. The air is thick and humid, and you’d get lost in the house’s dim lighting if it weren’t for Sara’s hand in yours guiding you through the sea of bodies. Your shoes stick to the floor as you walk through the house, and you know alcohol drunkenly spilled from overflowing, cheap solo cups is the culprit. Sara drags you to the kitchen, where all the alcohol is stashed.

“We should do a shot! To commemorate the first party of your college career!” Sara yells over the music, already pouring each of you a shot of tequila. You give a little laugh at Sara’s enthusiasm, and you nod your head in agreement. As you wait for Sara to hand you your drink, you notice just how many people there are. You watch through the kitchen window as someone throws up on the lawn. You wince a little at the sight and at the thought of how much alcohol they probably drank. You briefly wonder if going to this party was even a good idea, but you try to shake away any negative thoughts.

“Babe, you’re thinking too much again.” Sara says, waving her hand in front of your face as she passes you the shot.

“Sorry!” You half-yell, but Sara dismisses your apology with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t be sorry, just have fun!” Sara replies as she effortlessly downs her shot. You also attempt down your tequila; however, it’s not as effortless, and you grimace at the sharp taste of the tequila on your tongue. It takes everything in you to swallow it without gagging, and you wish you had something to chase it with.

“Fuck, that’s awful.” You groan as you pull a face. You don’t typically drink alcohol, and when you do, tequila is certainly not your first choice. Sara laughs and places a hand on your shoulder.

“That’s what makes it good!”

The next hour or so goes by pretty smoothly. You’ve essentially been following Sara around like a lost puppy, accompanying her as she greets her friends, which feels like just about everyone at this party. You watch as Sara effortlessly navigates the room, her laughter ringing out above the chatter and deafening music. As you stand alongside Sara, watching as she converses with a group of people you recognise as being on the school's soccer team, you feel a wave of insecurity wash over you, like an invisible barrier separating you from everyone else. You feel out of place at this party, and in a way you are. You haven’t been to a party in your three years at school, and now you've realised that you barely know anyone around here. You haven’t seen one familiar face, other than Sara, in the past hour and a half since you arrived here. You begin to wonder how different your college experience would be if you just got over your fear of people and parties, and went out like Sara had. You try to dismiss your destructive thoughts, but it’s no use. You feel like somehow everyone knows that you’re not really supposed to be here, and it makes your throat feel dry with anxiety.

“Hey, Sara, I’m going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?” You loudly whisper in her ear, trying not to interrupt the conversation she was currently in. You’re anxiously wanting to get away from the crowd, and your body language shamelessly shows it as you bounce your leg and bite the skin off your lips.

“No, I’m okay,” Sara says, and you watch as her eyes survey your body, her eyebrows knitting together. “Do you need me to come with you?” She bends down to speak in your ear, although her words are slightly slurred, and you softly giggle at the way her alcohol intake has affected her speech.

“No, I’ll be okay.” You assure her as you walk away from the group, giving Sara a little wave as you make your way to the kitchen.

You had intended on getting a drink, but when you got to the kitchen and saw the door to the backyard, your desire to escape the muggy, stale air landed you on the back patio instead. Your lungs thank you for the fresh air as soon as you step outside, and the cool winter breeze feels refreshing on your sweaty skin. There’s still plenty of partygoers outside, but it’s certainly not as packed as it was inside. You watch as people play beer pong on a ping pong table on the lawn, and the sight only solidifies your fear of missing out. The sound of hearty laughter and the smell of weed only make you want to go home more, and you sigh as you push off the patio railing to leave. You turn around to make your way back inside when you see him.

At first, you thought it was your eyes playing tricks on you. Like you had been thinking about him so much that an apparition of him was here to taunt you. Like your thoughts of him for the past week had now turned you delusional. However, his eyes lock with yours, and now you so badly want it to be a hallucination, or your mind playing tricks on you. Dread washes over you and you wish you had never come to this party. You want the ground to swallow you whole when you see him beginning to walk towards you, and for a split second, you consider running away.

You mean for your words to come out nicely; you truly do. However, they don’t come out that way, and instead you say this:

“What the fuck are you doing here?” If your words shock or hurt Mike, he doesn’t show it as he now stands in front of you with that goddamn smirk on his face.

“I have a business to run, Y/n. But you’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?” You’re not sure if you want to kiss or slap him, but you roll your eyes anyway at his smug tone. He gives an unbothered laugh at your attitude and actually, you’d definitely rather slap him right now.

“Your business is selling weed to intoxicated college students?” You retort with a scoff, crossing your arms against your chest like it’s a defence mechanism. You hate that his presence is making you jittery, but you hold your ground, your eyes never veering away from his.

“Funnily enough, they’re my top customers.” Mike smugly says, and you don’t even try to hide the scowl on your face. You squint your eyes at him, trying to read his intentions. He smells like weed and spicy cologne, and it immediately brings you back to his house, and more specifically, his living room. There's a pregnant pause between the two of you, and before you can work up the courage to say something, he speaks again.

“Cute outfit, by the way. Have you dropped the innocent act yet?” He asks, obviously satisfied with his words. He's clearly trying to get under your skin, and you won't let him.

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” You fib, shrugging your shoulders like the question is irrelevant. If he's going to try to tease you about your hookup, you won't feed into it.

“You know, after that night, I don’t think you can really call yourself a good girl. You’d be lying to everyone. You're lying to me right now.”

“Fuck you, Mike.”

“You should come by my house tomorrow. You're probably all out of the weed I sold to you last time you were around, right?” He says nonchalantly, changing the subject. You furrow your eyebrows at the change of conversation, and your stubbornness to let Mike have any satisfaction during this conversation doesn’t falter.

“I don't smoke weed.” You quip.

“Lie all you’d like, Y/n. It doesn’t change the truth.” He says, brushing a stray hair out of your face before walking back into the house without giving you another look.

----------------------------------

Usually people use the phrase “walk of shame” when you’re walking home from a hookup, however, that phrase pretty much sums up how you feel as you walk up Mike Schmidt's driveway.

You’re not sure how you’ve ended up back on Mike Schmidtd’s doorstep again. Maybe it was the satisfying sting of weed going down your throat and into your lungs, or the insatiable hunger for the man who supplied it to you. Either way, the front door is being opened and the man who you’ve been thinking about non stop for the past week is behind it.

“Had a feeling you’d be back.” He says with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you’re high before any weed has even entered your system.

“Don’t cream your pants.” You mutter as you push past him and walk inside. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t know why you were here, you both knew. After Mike left you at the party, you knew you were completely and utterly fucked. That any other attempts of trying to forget him would be worthless. That like a bee to a flower, you’d be back here, in Mike’s house, searching for the one thing you had been denying yourself for the past week.

“So I was right then, you’re all out of weed.” He says as he closes the front door. You take your jacket and scarf off, hanging them on the coat hanger at the door. You face Mike, who's currently leaning against the front door, watching you.

“Can I have a soda?” You ask, and Mike cracks a smile at the familiarity of the situation.

“I would’ve offered, but I wasn’t sure how long you’d be here.” He says, trying to bite back his smile. You follow him to the kitchen, watching as he grabs two cans of soda. Your fingers brush as he hands you the cold can, and you look up at him as he clears his throat.

“So…an eighth again?” He inquires, looking at you over his can of soda as he takes a sip.

“Mike, I’m not here for your goddamn weed.” You laugh. Mike laughs as well, and the exuberant sound is like music to your ears.

“So you came for my soda instead?” Mike teases, and you shake your head with a smile.

“I think you know why I’m here.” You say, and your cheeks heat up at the thought of what happened last time you were in his house. Your fingers tighten around the soda can at the thought of touching Mike again, and you so badly want to reach out for him.

“I’m not sure if you deserve it. You weren’t very nice to me last night at the party.” He smirks, crossing his arms against his chest and leaning against the kitchen counter. He places his soda can on the kitchen counter and tilts his head at you, waiting for your rebuttal.

“I was nice enough.” You simper, shrugging your shoulders. If he’s going to make you work for it, you’ll play along.

“Say please. I can’t believe I have to teach you how to use your manners.” He coos, and you huff when you realise you won’t get what you want right away.

“I'm very polite.” You stubbornly stand your ground, but you can feel your resolve weakening with every word that comes out of Mike's mouth.

“You might be polite, but apparently you forgot how to ask for things.”

“Please, Mike.”

His lips are on yours as soon as the words leave your mouth. All the build up from the past week, all the sexual tension between you and Mike is released into the kiss. The kiss is frantic and needy, like even being this close isn’t enough. His want for you shows in the way his rough hands grab any part of your body they can reach. You blindly slide your soda can on the kitchen counter before threading your fingers through his hair, softly pulling at the root making him moan into your mouth. He tastes like cream soda and weed and his hands caressing your body send a shiver up your spine, and you haven’t felt this way since the last time he touched you.

“You have no idea how much I've been thinking about you.” He says in a gruff voice as he walks you backwards and lifts you up onto the kitchen counter. You spread your legs so he can slot himself between them, and he presses soft kisses into your neck. His hands are on your waist, stabilising you as he kneads the soft skin there.

“I thought you might’ve forgotten about me.” You shyly admit, and he softly bites your neck, almost scolding you for your words.

“Are you serious?” He asks incredulously, removing his head from your neck to look at you. His heavy lidded gaze makes you feel nervous, and his reaction makes you feel like you said something you shouldn’t have. Your silence serves as an answer to his question and he shakes his head at you disapprovingly as he slowly gets on his knees in front of you, never breaking eye contact. You suck in a quick breath at the sight of Mike in between your legs, and an involuntary whine escapes from your lips when he begins to undo the button of your pants.

“Y/n, the only thing i’ve been able to think about is you.” He groans, and you lift your hips off the counter to help Mike as he pulls your pants down over your ass. Your pants hit the floor and Mike is pressing open mouthed kisses into the insides of your plush thighs. He takes his time, kissing and sucking on the expanse of your thighs, and you think you might go crazy if he continues to tease you. Your thighs slightly close around Mike’s head, looking for any friction you can get. Mike lets out a laugh and you throw your head back in frustration.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there something you’d like?” Mike innocently asks, looking up at you as his mouth gets dangerously close to your pantie clad pussy. A sadistic smile paints his face and you put your hands in Mike's hair, trying to pull him closer to the place you need him the most.

“Mike, stop fucking teasing.” You pant, and a dissatisfied sigh leaves Mike's lips.

“I thought we talked about using your manners.” He mocks, and although he's the one on his knees in front of you, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s certainly still in control.

“Please, Mike. Please, I need you.” You beg, and not long after, Mike is licking a hot stripe up your covered cunt. You bite your bottom lip, your chest heaving as Mike continues to press messy, open mouthed kisses to the wet spot on your panties. His grip on your thighs is strong, and the feeling of his blunt nails digging into the soft skin makes your head spin. Soon enough, his thick fingers are hooking into your underwear and pulling it down your legs. He wastes no time, quickly latching his lips to your swollen clit and making out with your pussy like a man starved. Your jaw drops in pleasure, and your hand tugging at his hair makes him moan into you.

“Mike, h-holy shit.” You cry out, as he enters one of his long fingers into you. His tongue swirls around your clit as he pumps his finger in and out of you, and the sounds of him eating your pussy are absolutely sinful. Mike replaces his tongue with his thumb, rubbing your clit in slow circles as he slowly enters another finger into you.

“You’re so tight.” He mutters, and his eyes are glued on your soaked cunt and the way it sucks his fingers in. He begins pumping his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace, curling them upwards, hitting a spot that makes you jerk your hips upward.

“M-Mike, I’m gonna-” You start, but cut yourself off with a moan as Mike reattaches hip lips to your clit. With his fingers rapidly moving in and out of you, and his mouth doing god's work on your clit, you swear you’re starting to hear colours. Your thighs begin to shake as you start to grind yourself on Mike's face as you near your orgasm. You let out a loud moan as you finally release, the only thing you can feel is the pure pleasure surging through your body as you cum, and Mike coaxing you through it. Your breathing is heavy as you come down from your high. Mike removes his fingers and mouth from your pussy, pressing a final kiss to your clit before he stands back up in front of you.

“Open your mouth.” He softly demands, and you do, letting Mike shove his cum covered fingers into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the digits, humming as he lets his fingers travel to the back of your throat, making you gag. “That's it.” He praises, caressing your cheek as you suck his fingers. He removes his hand from your mouth and places them on your hips, helping you off the counter. He turns you around so you’re facing away from him, and he presses a hand to the centre of your back, bending you over the counter. He presses himself into you, and pushes your ass back against his covered erection. Mike leans over you, wrapping a hand around your throat to pull you up against his chest as he brings his lips to your ear.

“How could I forget about you when you look like a fucking angel when you cum.” He confesses in your ear, bucking his hips against you as he releases you, letting you fall back over the counter. The sound of him undoing his belt and pants makes you involuntarily clench your legs together, and you turn your head, watching as Mike spits in his hand and strokes himself a couple times before lining himself up with your pussy.

“Have you been thinking about this?” Mike taunts, teasing the head of his cock up and down your slit.

“You have no idea.” You whine, pushing your hips back in an attempt to just get Mike to fuck you. However, Mike holds your hips steady, restraining you from grinding back on him.

“Enlighten me, then.” Mike responds, like he has all the time in the world. But to you, it feels like the end of the world with the way your pussy is throbbing and in need of stimulation. A defeated sob leaves your lips at Mike’s teasing,

“All the fucking time, Mike. I felt like I was going crazy.” You babble, and your words seem to be good enough for Mike, because he’s filling you up with his thick cock. All your thoughts, any worries you’ve had over the past week are gone. The only thing you can focus on is the way he fits perfectly inside you, and the way the grunts and groans leaving his lips sound like perfect melodies to your ears. His hips snap into yours roughly, and you know you’ll be sore tomorrow.

“I couldn’t get high without thinking about you. You fucking ruined weed for me.” Mike admits with a laugh, like the whole thing is preposterous. His fingers work quick circles on your clit and you shiver as Mike places a hand under your jaw, lifting you so he can press kisses into your neck.

“Good. Maybe you’ll smoke it less. It’s bad for your lungs.” You breathily tease, and Mike sucks a particularly dark spot into your neck in response to your words. Mike continues his rough pace, and you clench hard around him.

“Gonna cum.” You whine and Mike only continues to fuck you, wanting to get you there. You cum for the second time, your body jerking as the overwhelming sensation hits you. Mike holds your shaky body up as he cums inside of you, letting out a strained “fuck” as his own orgasm washes over him. You both stand there afterwards, catching your breath as Mike release slowly begins to leak out of you and down your thighs.

“Did I seriously ruin weed for you?” You hoarsely ask in a disbelieving voice. You feel Mike’s chest rumble as he laughs, and actually, you think his laugh is the most perfect sounding melody.

“Trust me, It’s embarrassing to admit.” He says, and you let out a quick breath as he pulls out of you. He grabs a cloth out of a kitchen drawer and runs it under warm water in the sink before cleaning up the cum between your legs. He tucks himself back into his boxers before pulling his pants up, and you follow suit.

“Maybe I’m rubbing off on you.” You jest as you button your pants.

“Maybe.” Mike says with a smile, and when you look at him, you think you wouldn’t even need weed to get high. You’d just need this feeling.

taglist: @slutf0rmilfs, @angie-likes-to-art, @spenciesprincess, @janitorhutcherson, @leahdhopkins4321, @pickingchoosinglovinghope, @esebabe, @under-sedationnn, @celestbarnes, @brechdan-ham, @souldzaboj, @t0byisher3, @rottingpeache, @joshs-big-toe, @p3talll

#josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson smut #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #smut #fnafmovie #fnaf

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anantaru · 2 months

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hello yoru! do you have some genshin women thrists you can share with us pls <3

including. arlecchino, ei

cw. [ex]plicit, arlecchino is a lil scary but that's how we love her, fem! reader

— ꒰ ARLECCHINO ꒱

arlecchino looks at you through mystical eyes— their origin in every way unknown.

she looms over you, the force of her governing aura directly refuting her head that was craning back to slip a soft, almost loving kiss along your tensed jaw.

you'd like to think you're doing a pretty good job in her eyes, and perhaps you do, but she'll never reveal it. arlecchino liked to keep you on edge, you know, make you wonder if she's actually still fond of you, or wouldn't mind getting rid of you.

with that, she clicks her tongue as she notices how you're trailing into your thoughts and worries, her fingers constantly working leisurely on your clit— pinching the nerves while teasing the responsive flesh with her sharp nails, ghosting the keen, stinging nails over the prickling skin.

arlecchino looks at you, unable to hide a cutting smirk— if you're being honest with yourself, it was bordering on a belittling perception, honed in her elite position as a harbinger. she likes to grin at how your hips squirm against her fingers as she watches your legs twitch underneath her body.

despite the severity of the situation, or the danger you might come across due to coming into contact with a dangerous individual such as arlecchino— the woman was utterly stunning, you cannot deny that fact, she was unbeatable in her level of beauty.

her pale skin was bound with perfection, not one blemish to for you to see, and the air surging through your bodies was dense of her perfume and its expensive taste.

the fourth was dangerous, this much was clear— and she loved you, believe it or not, she adored spending time with you and playing with your body as she pleases. if it's genuine love or rather a fondness you feel towards a pet, a toy or a hobby, such was unclear.

yet there she was now, eyeing you like a predator, recklessly stimulating your clit while at the same time, making sure you won't ever forget that your place, the only position for you to inhabit, was beneath her.

— ꒰ RAIDEN EI ꒱

ei was pretty with her knees pressed into her chest, and her plump pussy throbbing thick beneath your touch, flushed and inflamed as you lick across her folds.

softly beneath each rough exhale, you make sure to catch a glimpse of her— what better was there to take notice of how she's reacting to your slick tongue locating the pleasure spots on her core?

although at the first beat of encountering her gaze, ei suddenly grabs at your shoulders with a strength you simply cannot compare with, afterwards pulling you up so you could rest your forehead against her own.

your chest was tightly pressed into her and squeezing her tits— it made you go insane, you wanted to touch them almost as much as you wanted to touch yourself to the picture of it, simply seeing her divine body was enough to inflict a throb on your pussy, especially when your body was making them spill to the sides.

"i want you... to feel good too," she insists, "is that alright?" ei pouts before placing one hand on your ass to squeeze the flesh while at the same time, lewdly grinding her cunt on your body. you nod before kissing her bottom lip, excitement seeping in your bones as your pussy flutters around nothing.

as evident, her face was all a mess with drool lodging on her mouth, her curves decorated with perspiration as she slides her fingers from your ass to your stomach, playfully pinching your flesh before ultimately settling on your warm cunt that was immediately welcoming her touch.

you were a little clumsy with the new position and felt a bit awkward with your chin being practically full of her slick. although ei did not mind, in fact, she was planning to clean you up with her tongue after she was done making you cum at least twice.

your legs shake like leaves in a hurricane as she slowly pumps one finger in you, just one, pushing up and down, up and down— testing the waters with your body and if it feels good the way she does it.

ei was watching you through a content expression, she loves you so much, although she was obsessed at how nicely your lips part when she touches you like this.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin Impact smut #ei x reader #ei smut #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #genshin x you #raiden ei x reader #raiden ei smut #genshin impact x you #arlecchino x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles

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cumikering · 1 month

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Neighbour Ghost x reader 2

2.1k | fluff You had many dinners with Simon (part 1) (part 3)

Simon Riley white-knuckled the vegetable peeler against the poor carrot in his other hand like it owed him money.

He’d knocked on your door that morning with the full intention of being helpful, but it was painfully difficult to hide the fact that he was beyond clueless as he stood there at the counter. He even dressed for the occasion, wearing a loose black shirt to not dirty his sleeves. It was his first time seeing you in something other than a hoodie, and he caught your momentary gaze on his tattooed arm.

Sure, he kept telling himself each time he came up with an excuse to have you over was for his mum’s company. It made him happy to see the smile on her face as she chatted with you, your laughter filling his otherwise quiet flat. But was it really for her company now, when it was just the two of you as he embarrassed himself?

Regretting what he thought was a brilliant idea, he glanced at you, absolutely horrified of being a hold up and ruining lunch.

You didn’t even look up from the pot you were stirring. “You know, I really don’t like doing the dishes. Would you like to help with that instead?”

A small sigh of relief escaped him as he dropped everything on the cutting board, thankful you spared the sliver of dignity he had left. He did most of the cleaning while he watched you. You said you weren’t the best cook, but your movements were serene, easy. You didn’t look like you were going to chop your fingers off, and to him, that made you far above decent.

Evidently, Melanie complimented the meal generously while Simon simply asked for a third helping. He beat you to the dishes after that, not allowing you to lift a finger after all the cooking you did.

At your door, you turned to him. “In case I don’t see you again before you ship out-“

“You will. I leave Thursday morning.”

“Oh.”

“Can I have your number?”

You handed him your phone and Simon Riley called himself from it.

“I’ll see you around, Simon.” You smiled at him.

Again, he only left when you’d closed your door. When he entered his flat, his mum looked up from wiping down the dining table.

She sighed softly. “How long am staying, Si? It’s been over two weeks now.”

“As long as you want, mum. I’d rather you here.” He walked over to her. “At least I know you’ll be safe.”

“What’s going to happen to your dad?”

“You wouldn’t let me bash his face in, and he’s not my dad. Not sure he ever was,” he said gravely. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I just need to know you’re safe. That’s all I’m asking.”

She turned away, the discomfort evident in her eyes. Simon knew the look to well.

“You need to leave him, mum,” he said under his breath.

“I think I’m going to stay a few more weeks, two months tops,” she finally said. “Until things settle. I’ll look for a job meanwhile.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I want to feel useful, Si,” she reassured. “You’ve been too kind to me.”

“Never enough.”

When's the latest you can have dinner before it's not called dinner anymore? Simon texted you Monday afternoon.

Is this the premise to a joke?

He tilted his head. On second thought, it did sound like one of his dad jokes.

No, was a genuine question actually.

9, maybe. Why?

I'll be home before 7:30. Would it be okay to wait for me for dinner until then?

Who's cooking?

Takeout chef down the street. You pick who the lucky bloke is

You smiled as he stood at your door with takeout in hand. The way you looked at him made him question his clean shaven look that day. Did he look too much like an adolescent with no scruff?

Simon didn’t like making conversation, let alone with someone as sunny as you, but he was surprised to find that he wanted to put himself in a social situation with you. Still, he wasn’t used to it. He tried saying more, he really did, but the most he managed to tell was that he was an apprentice butcher back in Manchester before he enlisted, and that he was a currently a lieutenant in the SAS.

After dinner, you sat facing each other on your small couch sipping on tea, knees almost touching each other’s.

At this point, he noticed you didn’t look away as much as you did the previous instances. Either you’d got used to his unyielding stare or his attempt to appear less scary succeeded. You didn’t ask further about his job, and he hoped it was because you thought it was mostly confidential, not because you were afraid of him. That was alright though, you were far more interesting than his work anyway. He enjoyed watching the way you lit up talking about your interests.

Perhaps it was patronising how he wondered why you could be so much like sunshine in this bleak world, walking around like no one was going to break your heart. He found your generosity reckless, even foolish. Guilt pricked his heart for having these unsavoury thoughts, yet he was still utterly and shamelessly fascinated by your smile.

Despite him not wanting to leave, he excused himself for the night before it was remotely late.

“The day at the base starts early, yeah?”

He gave you a small smile. “Same time tomorrow?”

You nodded.

“Good night, luv.”

On his way to the lift, he knocked on the door of his own flat. His mum answered, clutching her cardigan close to her chest.

“Oh, Simon. I wasn’t expecting you.” She stepped aside. “Are you staying the night? I’ll get the bed-”

“No, ’m just dropping by.” He closed the door behind him.

“Did you need something? Have you had dinner yet?”

“I did, yeah.”

A knowing smile tugged on her lips. “Was it with someone I know?”

“Wanted to say good night and make sure everything’s alright.” A blush might have crept up his neck as he stepped in for a one-armed hug.

But the next night, Simon dropped by again before going back to base.

“Why are you here every day now?” Melanie looked at her son with a teasing smile. “I’m not complaining, but I thought you said you were too busy to come home.”

“Can I not want to see my own mum?”

“Sure, Si.” She gave him a playful side eye. “Let me see what ingredient I’m missing, in case you want to run to the shops.”

He groaned. “I’m shipping out Thursday. Wanted to take you somewhere nice for dinner tomorrow. Get yourself an outfit. Use my card.”

“How nice!” She beamed. “Is she coming with?”

He looked away. “I didn’t invite her.”

“Would you like to?” When he gave her an unsure look, she reassured, “I don’t mind at all. She’s sweet and I’m happy you’re meeting new people.”

Of course it didn’t take any convincing for him to invite you to his favourite steakhouse in the city. In fact, he very much looked forward to having another excuse to see you, especially dressed up. Not like you didn’t look nice, but thinking of taking you out made him giddy. He suddenly didn’t dread the med evals, trainings and briefings he usually detested before each deployment.

When he arrived at base, your reply waited.

Thank you so much for the invite. The place sounds lovely, but I don’t want to intrude. Have a nice evening you both!

His shoulders sagged. Can I at least see you after dinner?

Mrs. Riley beamed when Simon picked her up with a rose in hand. He didn’t remember ever seeing her so dressed up, and he was glad to have given her the opportunity to. She gushed over the delicious dinner, the wine and how polite the waiters were that it brought a bittersweet smile to his lips.

He could tell how much the evening meant to her, and it broke his heart that no one had cared for her that much in a very long time. He held her hand as they walked back to his flat.

“You be safe, Simon. I’ll be waiting for you,” she hugged him tight at the door as her voice wavered, her eyes brimming with tears.

He gave her a squeeze, feeling the emotions rubbing off on him. “Will do, mum. I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he said into her hair.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek before he headed to your flat.

Simon didn’t recall feeling this heavy upon shipping out in recent memory, but as you answered the door in your loose shirt and shorts, his arms ached to wrap around you. Instead, he shoved his hands in his trousers pockets.

“Would you like to come in?”

“I can’t,” he said. Because if I did, I wouldn’t want to leave.

You looked away, seemingly a little embarrassed by his rejection.

“May I ask why you didn’t want to come earlier?”

You stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind you. “I feel your mum would appreciate it more if it’s just the two of you, that’s all.”

“Maybe next time with you then?” he asked hopefully. “Just us?”

You nodded and a smile blossomed on his lips in return. You both lingered a few more seconds in silence.

“I’m wishing you and your unit the very best on your mission. Please take care out there.” You cast your gaze down.

He caught the wobble in your voice and the sincerity was the push he needed. You barely had time to react to him stepping in for a hug. His arms encircled your frame loosely, but tightened as soon as yours wrapped around his waist. He curled over you, inhaling your scent as your breath tickled his neck.

The lack of distance only highlighted how much he towered over you. He was sure you could feel his racing heart under his turtleneck, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to hold you.

“Let me know when you’re back,” you said when he pulled away.

“’course.”

Simon very much looked forward to your texts whenever he had time to himself. While he asked you about your days, he unfortunately couldn’t say much about his. Instead, he sent you photos of the sunrise, or the shit cup of tea he was having. In return, you sent photos of the Hereford sunset and your meals. He said the kind of food he ate would ruin your appetite.

You told him his mum got a job at that bakery you loved – you knew the owner. On some days if her schedule allowed, you could walk back home with her. Simon thanked you for keeping her company, knowing how much she must have appreciated it.

The two weeks seemed to roll by a litter faster than usual. You were the first to know as soon as he was scheduled to fly back. He said he’d probably get home a late, but would love to see you if you had the time.

At his first knock, rapid footsteps came from behind your door which you swung open with a grin on your face. “You’re back!”

“May I come in?”

You made way for him, and when the door closed behind you, he stepped in, arms lifted a little. With a chuckle, you closed the gap, squeezing him tight.

“Are you available for dinner tomorrow?”

You pulled away. “No, going out with friends.”

“Oh,” he muttered. “Sunday then?”

“That’ll do.” You smiled, walking backwards to the kitchen. “Come, I’ll make us a cuppa. Co-worker gave me some oolong tea.”

His eyes softened. “Sorry, can’t stay long, luv. I’m going back to base.”

“But tomorrow is Saturday. I thought you stay home on weekends.”

“Yeah, but it’s too late now. I don’t want to bother my mum.”

You gestured at the couch with a chuckle. “I’d offer you this, but it’s way too small for you.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to bother his mum - he wouldn’t. He could get in and out the place without a sound, nor was your couch a problem. He could sleep on the floor and it would still be better than some of the places he’d had the pleasure to sleep in.

He wasn’t ready yet, especially not when he just got back, with his mind still reeling 1000 miles an hour.

“That’s okay. I can head back.”

Your brow rose at him. He understood how silly it was now, driving all the way to you at this hour to not even stay 15 minutes. It was embarrassing, if he was honest, how much he was transfixed on seeing you that he didn’t even think of the logistics of the visit.

“Sorry, I’m not a late sleeper. I’m dead tired and always sleep like a log the first night back.” His eyes flicked to your lips as he swallowed. “I’ll pick you up Sunday?”

You smiled. “Where are we going?”

“The same place. I think you’re going to like it.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @fruitymoonbeams-blog @ghostslittlegf @luvecarson @sparrowgalaxy @insert-weird-name @nocturnalreader106

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gglitch1dd · 26 days

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Who do you see Toshinori ending up with in the end? Satomi, shotos daughter? Or do you think he’ll meet someone at UA?

What would be his parents and siblings reaction to him bringing someone home? Would he ask Izuku or his mom’s for advice on the first date?

OOOOOOHHHHH I like this one.

Toshinori has quite the eventful love life in my opinion. He's always been a charmer, with that Midoriya smile, but he's also super dense because he never really thinks girls have a crush on him, he just thinks they're being nice. He was raised right so a lot of girls find him boyfriend material.

Satomi, Eijiro's daughter, has had a crush on Toshinori since they were basically toddlers. It's never left and its the most precious little thing. It's kinda why she hanged out a lot with Toshinori and Kane.

But the thing is Toshinori is REALLY close with Mina's daughter, Sero Hina, who is a lot like Toshinori. They both love to dance and they take care of each other a lot because their mothers are so close. And Hina lowkey has a crush on Toshinori but Toshinori is too dense for his own good.

Now in the end, I think it's valentines day when Toshinori is posed with a hard decision. Satomi or Hina. He rejects both initially in first year, but subtly saying "I don't plan on dating in first year" cause he really doesn't. He doesn't see the point of it. He's 15/16 and he just wants to live his best life.

But in second and third year thats when the drama starts cause now he doesn't know. Cause Hina understands him like no other girl and she's his godmother's daughter and he really does care for her, but Satomi just makes his heart flutter and she's so soft and nice and caring.

So he goes and asks the number one Rizzler himself.

Rizzuku Midoriya.

"Dad, you're not helping!" Toshinori groaned as he dropped his head in his hands as his father laughed.

Izuku leaned back in his recliner, finding the entire situation humorous at the fact that his son didn't know who to ask out. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I promise I'll be serious." Izuku stated as he put his hands up. "Son, what have I always told you about relationships?" He asked rhetorically. "You could have any girl that pushes themselves towards you but in the end it might not matter. What matters is the type of woman you see in your future. I've always told you, don't date for the fun of it or because you want whatever experience the world is trying to sell you. I did those things and honestly, at the end of the day, I still lay in bed alone. Until I met your mother that is." Izuku sat up and moved a bit forward. Toshinori lifted his head to look at his father. Izuku had a genuine look on his face. "When you find a girl that makes you think that 'this is it', that she's the one you'd kill for, die for, want to have a family with, a woman who shows that she's not just a girlfriend but a partner... THAT is who you know is the one."

Toshinori looked at his father for a moment before leaning back against the couch he was sitting on. "How... How did you know mom was it?"

Izuku hesitated before looking away from his son, a soft look in his green eyes as he did so. "When I met your mother she was originally dating Uncle Kacchan," At that news of mom lore, Toshinori's eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets.

"WHA-"

"You want to hear the entire story, you go ask mom. Now let me finish," He shut him down instantly, making Toshinori purse his lips together. Izuku let out a breath before continuing. "When I met your mother, she was like the sun. She was so warm and radiant no matter who she was talking too. She was the type of warmth you wanted to wake up beside every morning to chase the coldness of the world away."

Toshinori could see it, hell anyone with eyes could see how much Midoriya Izuku loved his wife. it was so evident in his eyes. Even now. Toshinori turned to look in the direction his father was looking to see that you were in the kitchen cutting sandwiches with Hero, a laugh stumbling out of your lips as you smiled. Izuku's pupils consumed his eyes so much that you could barely see the green.

He turned back to look at his son. "And your mother was the best decision I ever made. She respects me and she honours me, but she holds me accountable too, she reminds me when I'm falling behind but she doesn't shame me for it. At first you might not be sure about who is the one, but I'm telling you, when you know, you know."

It didn't take more than a month after that, when Toshinori came over for another weekened at UA bringing along someone this time. Standing at his side was a chubby little dyed redhead girl with a beautiful sharp smile and soft ruby eyes. "Hello Uncle Izuku and Aunty Y/N. It's so good to see you!"

Now you were surprised your son didn't bring Hina, I mean the both of them were so close.

"I love Satomi, Izuku. You know that. I just am surprised, that's all." You stated as you put away the dried dishes from lunch.

Izuku shook his head as he held a cloth and a plate in hand. He chuckled. "I'm not."

"You aren't"

"My love..." Izuku put down the plate he was holding and motioned for you to look over to Satomi and Toshinori who sat together outside on the steps that led to the gardens.

Satomi held one of the bunnies that were in your gardens, her eyes bright and wide, innocent and pure as she looked so excited to hold the little fluffy animal that sat in her arms, happy to be pat. She seemed to be talking about something, happily chatting away as she looked down at the little rabbit, looking up at Toshinori every once in a while.

However it was your son that really shocked you. Toshinori looked at her with the same look that Izuku gave you. His eyes filled with something he couldn't tell yet and a smile on his face as he leaned forward and watched her talk, not even paying attention to another bunny that sat in his lap.

He was in love.

Your shoulders lowered with a gentle smile on your face. Izuku hummed as he placed a kiss to the side of your face. "The eyes, Y/N... they never lie."

-Glitch1d

#Midoriya Family Shenanigans #izuku x reader #dilf deku #dilf midoriya #dilf izuku x reader

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tired-biscuit · 11 months

Note

stepdad!kirishima who’s so cuddly and sweet <33

fat breeding kink too ofc :p

18+ fem!reader // cw: stepcest, infidelity

oh, goodness; now i’m just imagining him taking you on little ‘daddy-daughter’ dates even if you’re over twenty and he’s nowhere near at being your real dad.

he wakes you up early in the morning, only mere minutes after your mom leaves for work, and tells you to get dressed so that you can start your day together by what he calls the ‘right’ way. breakfast awaits you when you finally sort yourself out and go trudging down the stairs, still so sleepy and with your mind terribly hazy from said slumber.

the second you enter the kitchen, kirishima works hard to impress you, the vast variety of exceptionally-prepared breakfast foods that sits on the kitchen counter makes that evidently clear for you. unlike yourself, he’s chatty and bubbly even if the hour is early; he’s just so nice. he talks to you with a subtle, albeit genuine, smile plastered on his handsome face as you indulge in the perfect little stack of pancakes he’s whipped up for you, and keeps grinning even as you finish drinking the homemade orange juice that he’s also prepared all by himself.

he’s definitely a morning person.

amongst other things.

wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you realize you’re not all that used to being alone in the house with another person, let alone him. back in the day, every morning used to be just you and your mom or just you whilst she was away at work, so this entire thing is just so new; the terrain is left untrekked. so it’s no wonder why your eyelids, despite the fact that they still feel so very heavy, blink profusely each time he establishes eye contact with you and keeps it there. why your pulse sort of speeds up when he leans in to take away your plate and utensils and you can smell just the faintest hint of his bodywash.

inhaling the slightly piney smell, you try not to pay any mind to either of those things because the thoughts to riddle you at the whiff of the scent are stupid anyway, they’re as silly as the girl he probably sees you as. but goddammit; as he turns away from you to face the sink so that he can quickly wash the dishes and leave them out to dry, his back muscles turn prominent underneath the thin white t-shirt he wears, and you can’t help but feel just the tiniest amount of jealousy for your own mother start to plague your mind.

after all, her new husband — your new stepdad, remember that — is just so dreamy. his shoulders are broad, his smile is big and kind. you already know how strong he is, you’ve seen him work out in the basement and come home all sweaty and buzzing with energy after the longest run you’d personally never be able to finish. the life that burns in his eyes makes him look so young, and when he leaves his hair down like this… good lord.

you try to push away the filth that continues to swirl in your head even as you finish up with breakfast and he leads you to his car. the drive is nice, he lets you pick the music and even compliments your taste. you try not to stare at him too much but you simply can’t resist a couple of glances here and there.

he’s a good driver, he knows his road manners well. the third time you look at him from the corner of your eye, he catches you but says nothing. instead, all he does is tap his fingers against the steering wheel in a way you’d almost call impatient. the corner of his mouth keeps kicking upwards. who knows what he’s thinking about.

when you arrive to your first destination, he takes you shopping and lets you buy whatever you want just so that he can make a good, hopefully lasting, impression on you that will make you like him even more than you secretly already do. he’s your new stepdad — your attractive, buff, so big that he could probably toss you over his shoulder with absolutely no trouble — stepdad. you’re still a bit wary around him; eyeing him from the side and acting so adorably bashful as you ask him if it’s all right to buy a new skirt you particularly like.

and oddly enough, he tells you that he likes it as well.

you spend the entire day together by going out and about in the city, not just the mall. he buys you both ice cream and doesn’t mind at all when you ask if you can try the flavour he picked, too. with each hour that you pass in each other’s company, you grow closer. you realize that you get along super well, but it doesn’t come as a surprise because he truly is a people kind of person. so charming.

by the time it gets dark out, he drags you to a diner that’s situated close to the highway that will otherwise take you to your new home. it’s almost along the way, he reassures you. the food is so good apparently — him and his best friend bakugou always grab a bite there. you believe him, of course.

the place is nearly deserted, it’s a monday evening and he’s only off work because he made arrangements specifically to spend it with you, but the food indeed is insanely good; just like he’d promised. you keep chatting as you eat in your secluded booth, still having so many subjects to cover; you never seem to run out of them when you’re with him. he listens intently to whatever you have to say, about how it feels somewhat bitter-sweet that you’ll be finishing your last year of college soon, how you’ll miss your roommates, how you need to start job hunting soon.

his foot keeps bumping against your own underneath the table as you talk, talk, talk, and you try to pretend that the — probably accidental — touch doesn’t faze you, but the icy coke you drink certainly becomes extremely helpful when it comes to cooling down the heat that kindles within you all of a sudden. the ice melts on the flat of your tongue so fast.

what it doesn’t help you with, however, is when it comes to enduring the burn of the stretch that his cock provokes inside your pussy the moment he persuades you to join him in the backseat of his car as soon as you exit the diner. but it’s not like it took much persuading to begin with.

the parking lot is abandoned, dark, sketchy. there are no people nearby besides you and him, but there are shadows that twist and dance all over the concrete. it’s nothing like the radiant, sweet man, who you now clumsily exchange kisses with as a means to quiet down the moan that bubbles up your throat as soon as you start to rock your hips against his own whilst sitting on his lap.

his hands are rough to the touch, calloused from years of hard work, as he grabs handfuls of your ass and pushes you further down so that you can at least try and take him entirely. his cock is as big as the rest of him is and once more you’re not surprised by it, even if you are baffled by the fact that he actually enabled you to learn that particular piece of information in the first place.

so yes, you’re fucking your new stepfather. he’s all deep groans and softly-whispered praises as he fills your belly with not just food, but the girth of his dick as well. you try and ride him just like you rode all your previous boyfriends, but it proves to be unsatisfactory because he’s not your boyfriend, is he? he’s your daddy.

and your daddy reminds you of his role when your mother calls, asking him where you’re at, that it’s getting late. biting back a grunt, he has to pretend that he’s driving you both home instead of watching his stepdaughter ride his cock in the backseat of his SUV. that he’s not listening to the quiet little gasps that you keep letting out as he smears your slick and circles your clit with his thumb. that he’s not making you cum just by bucking his hips upward every so often and kissing you so deep that you’re pretty sure you’ll taste him inside your mouth for ages to come.

and he seems to be a nasty motherfucker just like you are, because the moment he hangs up, he makes you quicken your pace and ride him even harder. you need to get home, both of you do, so he tells you he’ll breed you real quick, that he’ll fill you up just because it’ll make you feel so good. that you’ll feel so complete when a part of him reaches so deep into you that you’ll be branded by him forever.

and he’s right, he makes you gush and tighten around him one last time with that promise before he grabs you by the hips and fills you up to the fucking brim. the ropes of white that paint your velvety walls after a couple more of deep, satisfying thrusts feel so warm; they make his cock twitch and his lips quiver before they spill all the praise you’re hastily growing addicted to hearing again and again and again.

“good lil’ girl… fuck, you’re such a good girl for daddy.”

and that’s that and it’s more than enough. by the time you finally arrive home, most of his cum is leaking from your abused hole; dribbling right down the inner side of your thigh. he can see the droplet of milky white glimmering on your skin when he bends down to take his shoes off in the hallway. it makes him smile so sweetly up at you that it causes you to start thinking that you might have just imagined the entire thing.

nonetheless, you can barely wait for your next daddy-daughter date.

who knows what he’ll come up with next time?

#cw stepcest #kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #biscuit drabbles #cw infidelity

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worriedvision · 3 months

Note

How bout wriothesley x reader angst ft clorinde. They get shipped a lot. But happy ending or sad ending depends on you.

Gender neutral reader, I've decided to go for a sad ending here. Reader's basically the third wheel. I really wouldn't define this as a 'sad' ending, but it's one where the reader moves away to leave Wriothesley.

The constant flirting you had seen from Wriothesley, along with Clorinde, was funny at the beginning. Seeing Wriothesley laugh awkwardly when she scowled at him was hilarious at the start of the three of you making time for each other. Three friends together since both you and Wriothesley met in the fortress- you imprisoned at a similar age at the same time as him, and Clorinde happening upon the two of you on several occasions - and you were happy with being the 'golden retriever' of the group who didn't feel awkward about not being flirted with.

Funny how things change when you begin to feel a tightness in your chest whenever Wriothesley gave a glance at Clorinde before firing a compliment her way. When you picked up on her eyes giving away the fact she was getting flustered before firing back an insult at him, and him joking as he raises his hands.

You recognised, in that moment you knew you caught feelings for Wriothesley, that people who kept looking at your table were merely pitying you.

Pitying you for being the fool that was happy with being left behind in the group when the magnificence of the duo in front of you moved on. Pitying the fact that you were too stupid to realise you were out of place since day one, and you barely spoke because you couldn't do any more than observe.

Once you realised your predicament, you only really had one choice to redeem yourself in your eyes - you had to leave the fortress the moment your extended sentence was completed. You deserved better than to be the third wheel when you thought you were all just friends.

You weren't brace enough to tell Wriothesley, but you had told Clorinde, who respected your decision.

"Don't let your worth be whittled down to an idiot." She shrugs. "I see you you look at him - I don't have any interest, but he hasn't caught on. While I can't convince you without a shadow of a doubt I can stop him, I can tell you that there are plenty of fish in the sea." She continues, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Find someone who loves you. You deserve that much at least."

To your surprise, the sentence you had was lifted. Turns out, you were sentenced based on false allegations - allegations that Neuvilette hadn't known about until Clorinde had literally shoved the evidence in his face. Packing your bags, you knew Wriothesley was the first to be informed of your sentence being lifted.

But he never went to meet you.

In all the years he knew you, he never gave a shit about you.

It stung when you recognised it, but it lifted the only doubt stopping you from leaving. Your singular bag in hand, you take a deep breath to stop yourself from bawling, you walk towards the exit with Clorinde, your best friend leading the way.

Before you could part ways, she pulls you into a hug.

"I'm going to miss you, _. Please keep in touch." She sobs uncharacteristically. "I wished I had seen his true feelings earlier. Maybe then-"

"Don't be silly, Clo!" You reassure her, patting her head as you wrap your arms around her. "If you hadn't spoken to me, I'd still be foolishly telling myself he cares enough about me. Forgetting about him, I know you had produced a very good defence for my actions during the crime I had been sentenced for."

"If it wasn't for you, Clo, nobody would have known that I was merely fighting off an attacker during the night by myself." You smile.

"I promise to keep in contact with you wherever I go - I owe you a luxurious meal at least." You smile.

Clorinde gives you one more hug, and you can tell that she genuinely cares for you.

Wriothesley never even acknowledged you during this whole thing - if he had cared, wouldn't he have approached you to tell you he missed his 'fellow inmate'?

Enough about that, you recognise.

Now that you had on hand Neuvilettes contact details, as well as the details of why you were imprisoned, you had an idea of what you wished to do.

You would move from Fontaine, to another country where people barely knew of your crimes, and upon applying for your educational improvement you would display your current knowledge along with the crime that would show upon a request for your prior crimes.

Anywhere from a different place Wriothesley was in was enough from you, and Sumeru was a good start.

#wriothesley x gender neutral reader #wriothesley x reader #clorinde #gender neutral reader #angst

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anika-ann · 3 months

Text

Back and Forth - part 3.2

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 14000

Chapter summary: In which you have to survive the charity auction and it's not easy... for several reasons.

Series masterlist

Warnings: overthinking, self-doubt and issues with self-image, A+ parenting and its consequences, mentions of (in)human experimentation, alcohol (briefly as a coping mechanism), SPOILER armed assault, language and charming Steve, because he is most definitely a warning

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: Second 'half' of the 3rd chapter. As you might have noticed, this is a long one. But with hints of fluff. So…yay? 💕 If you wish/need to split the reading, I recommend to end a reading session at the second in-text divider 😊

Daisy Johnson, despite being the legendary Quake, did in fact have a moment – which was enough of a shock to stop your headache from getting worse, even if your hands seemed to get a little clammy as your phone lit up with her response.

You would have done just fine without anyone’s input, you considered yourself competent enough to choose an evening gown, thank you very much. But after the day you had had so far – you could hardly believe it wasn’t even noon yet – there was a small traitorous voice of hope in the back of your head. Despite the heavy feeling in your stomach weighing you down, a dull reminder of being alone in this world, it urged you to reach out to the one group of people that once made you believe that you could share more with someone than workload or more than lust that turned into ashes and smoke once the fire had been lit up too strong. Daisy had been in the centre of it – she and maybe Coulson.

It was a dangerous game you played, indulging in the one thing you knew would come back to slap you in the face; entertaining the idea that there was someone who genuinely cared for you regardless of your abilities was setting you up for disappointment. But there was something about Daisy, so honest and sincere, that had wormed its way through the walls you had sworn to keep up for support, several inches thick and vibranium-strong. And that didn’t change, even as you had been given, not for the first time, the evidence of how volatile a faith in friendship can turn just short of two hours ago.

Knowing that Daisy didn’t turn her back to people, not even to her father after all he had done wrong, knowing she chose to see the good in people and to put her heart into nurturing it in them despite the risk of getting hurt in more ways than one, left you defenceless against her powers that had nothing to do with her genetic code. She was, even if distantly, the closest thing to a sister to you, older, due to her experience with Inhuman powers and in Coulson’s team, and younger, due to her pure heart and excitement about new things; once she had managed her powers which she had got about a half a year before you did, she became your guide and confidant; though you hadn’t dared to taint her with the knowledge of your pain.

While you had started search for the dress without her, she texted you barely a half an hour in; fresh out of a meeting, apologizing she’d only have twenty minutes before they’d be in the drop-zone for their current mission. Twenty minutes. And yet, she had made the time for you. Somewhere, thousands of feet in the air, in between preparing her mission gear, she had decided to sneak in a few minutes for you.

The knowledge alone eased the pressure in your stomach and gave way to a wholly different feeling, equally dizzying. She cared. Yes, you could argue that since she had been tasked to lead the division of Inhuman agents of SHIELD, it was her duty to respond – and at times, you reminded yourself of that, that you really weren’t special – but the fact was that she was. And she truly did care. You hadn’t been wrong to call her a friend yesterday; and Daisy-the-teenager couldn’t have had picked a better role-model in life. For most part anyway.

It didn’t matter in the slightest that Daisy Johnson had barely squeezed you into her schedule; it still carried meaning. And it would be enough, because she could be very efficient, sorting through the dresses you had considered so far as easily as if she had been slicing through the security system of the Pentagon – for a person with her hacking experience anyway.

A set of easy questions you yourself had been asking was her effective tactics.

Mission or fun? she had asked first, no doubt already knowing the answer as she went through the early picks. There was a reason why no dress had bare back, while all of them had necklines designed high enough to hide at least a strapless bra.

Me: They call it a mission to have fun, but I’ll be damned if I go without being ready other kind of mission.

DJ: Fair

DJ: Charming or sexy?

Your lips twitched in a small smile, your mind conjuring the image of Daisy’s face when she was typing the question. She was one of very few people – probably the only one – who could make you feel the teenage-like excitement about challenging authority. There was always a reason to the madness of doing so, but there was something about her attitude that always whispered of poking the bear for the sake of fun only.

Charming, you replied, almost regretfully. As much fun as it would be to see brains of some of those pretentious jerks you were about to meet short-circuit just because they were seeing an extra silver of flesh on a young woman – a thing that would make for as much of an icky feeling as hilarity – your mission was to represent, not cause havoc or seduce.

Blah. Colour-coordinating with anyone? she asked then and you chuckled at her poorly hidden attempt to fish for gossip – and at the idea of actually trying to do what she was suggesting. No. You were not going to go and ask Rogers what colour he was about to wear. Less so since chances were high that he was about opt for a traditional black tuxedo suit with a white shirt.

Me: Nope.

DJ: Come on! At least tell me who you’re going with?!!

DJ: You know this is a much of a secure channel as it gets

DJ: And you said it wasn’t really a mission, so it can’t be classified

DJ: …and I can’t find it within the system.

I’ll tell you if we survive it, you replied simply, even as laughter already bubbled in your chest, cheeks beginning to hurt from disuse and the sudden exercise as to stop you from grinning.

You should have known that she’d hack the system and go straight for the mission database unless you told her the details. Tony, bless him, threw a tantrum whenever she did that – which wasn’t too often, but it had happened before. On days when you allowed yourself to ponder, you wondered why he never told anyone – as far as you knew, that was, because no one came down on you, raining holy fire of wrath, despite it being obvious you were the cause of Daisy’s hacks – and why he tolerated it. Some days, you thought he was amused by it and felt bad for you, seeing you missed your former team, granting you connection with Daisy even if the way she went about it drove him absolutely nuts. Other days, you were sure he simply enjoyed a challenge and this was as good one of those as any – and he’d be caught dead before he’d admit in front of anyone that someone was able to crack into his system. Most days, you were content not to look given horse in the mouth.

Like clockwork, FRIDAY’s mechanical voice interrupted your thoughts:

“Agent Spectre, Mr. Stark would like to know if, I quote, you know anything about some punk kid sneaking into the mission logs again, maybe Little Miss Richter Scale, end of quote,” she stated, causing a snort of laughter actually escape you at Tony’s new and dead-on nickname. You’d have to tell Daisy that later – she’d have a good laugh at that

Me: You’re getting better and better.

Me: He’s onto you now though.

DJ: He should, he’s slacking, took him forever to notice

Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if Tony Stark and Daisy Johnson found themselves in one room and she’d tell him that to his face; but that was a thought to entertain another day.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Mr. Stark to relax. We’re safe, it is just Daisy.”

“Very well. Apologies for interrupting your free time, Agent Spectre. However, I was also tasked to inform you that Sergeant Wilson prepared enough lunch for an army and extended the invitation to join him to everyone on the team. Even to those who are currently on a mission out of state, which I find odd and, frankly, despicable.”

Even though the corner of your lips twitched at FRIDAY’s comment, your heart skipped a startled beat, a fist of cold feeling squeezing your stomach. The invitation was a nice gesture, even if not meant for you. You could read between the lines: the family the Avengers team had built themselves into, even if the second strangest you had ever seen, did not involve you. You were barely a part of the team, a temporary loan, so to speak, even as you had signed a contract. Extending the invitation to the team meant extending it to friends, to that very family. As kind and welcoming as Sam seemed, you certainly did not belong to that category.

The vibration of your phone startled you; the message as amusing as bittersweet.

DJ: Fine, keep your secrets, Ms Avenger

Right. Ms. Avenger. Case on point. You might be one, technically, on paper, but in spirit… hardly. At best, you were determined to try and prove that the way you controlled your abilities could be at least Avengers-adjacent. The harsh truth however, was that if anyone from your old team would have had it in them to become a true Avenger, it was Daisy herself. Alas, she was too busy running and flying the world with another team, protecting, teaching, and recruiting Inhumans... and saving the world in the process.

DJ: Crap gotta run

DJ: Number four is the one I think

Whoever you’re going with is gonna lose their shit when they see you, she added, once again making you snort, this time without humour.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. If chances of becoming a friend to an Avenger were astronomical, chances that Steve Rogers would be impressed by you dressing up to the nines were outside of all the realms known to Thor himself. But it was a nice sentiment, you supposed; the flicker of affection towards the optimist in Daisy was a testimony to that.

Me: Thank you for the help. Stay safe out there.

DJ: You too

DJ: But from what I saw about yesterday, you got it

DJ: …Ms Avenger

Shaking your head, this time unable to stop the smile taking over your lips, you set the phone down and ordered the dress to be delivered express, and moved onto shoes and a handbag; you ignored the growling of your hungry stomach and distantly couldn’t but wonder if maybe there’d be some leftovers of Sam’s pasta to have for lunch later.

Tony was not exaggerating when he was talking about the charity auction being a mission. A mission required preparation; having documents land in your inbox along with an alert of high-priority intel relevant to your mission lightning up your StarkWatch yesterday evening, you had never been more grateful for being obliged to read up on something.

As you were putting the last touches to your make-up in the quinjet bathroom, you sent another mental thank you to Tony, because the extensive files on all expected guests, besides having potential to be useful to you during the event, gave you the perfect excuse as to why leave last preparations to the flight.

Naturally, the intel itself was a message with a bitter aftertaste, because it highlighted your role and tasks. Represent. Make small-talk. Show interest. Compliment a healthy amount; meaning bootlick a bit, if necessary. You knew the dance and it had always made your head spin in the worst way. To show enough admiration and knowledge about the world’s finest to look professional and a bit of a fan, but not as a stalker, even as there were people among the attendees tonight who would have probably appreciated a stalker-level interest and considered it a compliment.

But despite the slight nausea hitting you when leafing through the files, you had appreciated the out Tony had given you, whether it was intentional or not; because with an excuse of mountains of intel to try to learn by heart, you didn’t have to sit opposite to Steve in the quinjet in awkward silence. Or worse, trying to make small talk with him, just as awkward. Or, in the worst-case scenario – which would be in the direct conflict with one of the mission’s laughable objectives, specifically trying not to kill each other – fight with him.

And you probably would have done exactly that because there was no way Captain America himself had been wrestled into this the same way you had. They might have had to twist his arm to make him go with you, but not to go. He had been given a choice and chose to attend, despite the concerns you had voiced. And you probably hadn’t been the only one, which meant Steve had to be hyperaware of the potential security issue and he deliberately ignored it. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He was Mr. Captain America and nothing could ever happen to him; be it because he thought there was no danger and you were allegedly making it bigger deal than necessary or – which drove you all high up the wall and made you want to punch him into his damn perfect teeth or at least punch his stupidly firm pec – the threat was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Goddamn him.

You crumbled the fabric of your dress between your fingers in a firm grip as you breathed through the rush of pure indignation with him being a brave stubborn dismissive dumbass and breathed in slowly; you held your breath for a few seconds, and only then released it along with the grip on your dress. You blinked at yourself in the mirror and repeated the action, arranging your face into a neutral expression at least.

Tony might have as well come up with the idea to send the intel solely to prevent you from attempting to strangle Steven Grant Rogers before you even landed, so it would be polite to honour his efforts.

When you finally exited the bathroom and entered the main space, you found Steve in one of the seats with a tablet in his hand, the screen dimly illuminating his face. He looked up as you approached, rising to his feet almost as if on instinct, his lips slightly parted for a brief moment. His gaze glided over the dress from where it brushed your ankles, over the line of the skirt, the slit reaching mid-thigh opening and closing as you walked, revealing a silver of your leg tastefully and covering you again, then over the waist, V-shaped neckline ending mid-sternum, short sleeves with delicate frills. For a moment, the intensity of his gaze surprised you; but then you realized that he was committing the dress to memory to find you easily in the crowd in case any Avengers-related business came up.

Then, an obtrusively gentle thought nudged at your mind; he was an amateur artist. You had got a glimpse of him several times, a sketchbook and a pencil in his fingers, look distant or extremely focused on the paper in front of him. He could appreciate beauty – and the dress you chose was without doubt an embodiment of it. The glimmer of it was subtle and the sparkles sparce; in the rich dark blue blending into a purple just as dark, it resembled the sky just after dusk, with the first stars coming out. Whether he had a sense for fashion or not wouldn’t matter – the dress was, at least in your eyes, gorgeous. Not flashy, not too shiny to attract too much attention, but with an idea making up for the otherwise simple design.

When Steve met your eyes, the light of the quinjet made it appear as if there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks. And there actually might be, since his eyes lingered on the dress for a moment too long; which wouldn’t be a crime if you weren’t already wearing them, making it seem like he was staring.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the soft tone making it sound almost as if it escaped him unwittingly.

It was the most ordinary of compliments and yet, it surprised you that he had even paid it. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, as he was a product of his time – a time in which if men didn’t compliment a woman’s appearance, they were probably called louts. And yet. Even with that knowledge, something akin to warmth fluttered in your chest, a brief smile passing over your lips, the silent ‘thank you’ the least courtesy you could give in return.

If he had tried to commit your dress to memory, you’d allow yourself the same luxury. A quality black tuxedo with a faint navy-blue glint, pristine white shirt, a black bow-tie. His outfit would be but a drop in the sea, nothing that would stand out among those of other men; but you had the advantage of him being easily found in the crowd thanks to his physique alone. The broadness and strength he radiated could carry the weight of the world – and it felt like it did – narrowing beautifully into the trim waist in a ratio not even a loose jacket could hope to hide, let alone such well-fitting one which seemed to accentuate it a little more than was strictly necessary. With him towering over about ninety-five percent of people and having shoulders wider than about ninety-nine percent of the usual present company, he was truly hard to miss.

Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target who was truly hard to miss indeed.

And now you were staring and he was no doubt aware – it was impossible not to, less so with how much attention he paid to things. So you stood there in silence, awkward one, precisely the one you had wanted to avoid and yet managed to reach it in thirty seconds flat – but at least neither of you were yelling. Yet.

As glad as you were to see that Steve Rogers had clearly decided to leave whatever disagreements you had ever had back at the Tower for the sake of this mission, trying his best to be the exact opposite of antagonistic, you were not going to tell him he looked extremely good to make things even more awkward. You wouldn’t even think it, as right as the assessment was. It would be inappropriate, even as he had complimented you first. You needed to be professional. There was a task at hand.

Right. The mission.

Steve was still watching you, something akin to curiosity in his gaze.

You cleared your throat, nodding towards the tablet in his hand.

“You were going through the files on the guests?”

Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.

“Yes. Have you?” he asked as he laid the tablet on the seat, straightening to his full height again; it was ridiculous how tall he seemed in the low-ceiling cabin of this type of quinjets. There was a faint smile on his lips, no tension in his jaw as he watched you; he already knew the answer and he wasn’t trying to provoke you.

Small talk it was.

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. You would swear a little twinkle of humour appeared in his eye – but it was probably just the lights reflecting in his cerulean blues. “Yesterday and today. Should be more than enough to represent properly.”

Alright, it must have been humour, because the corner of his lips twitched now at the lightest trace of defiance in your voice. Then he smiled fully, the spark burning brighter, your stomach somersaulting a bit.

Who were you kidding you had no idea; he looked more than just extremely good and handsome. In a different kind of suit than you were used to, bright eyes with their blue accentuated by the colour of his tuxedo, with uncharacteristically relaxed features and even a smile aimed at you, the beauty of him seemed so surreal you might have as well entered another dimension. Which, given your experience with Coulson’s team, was not unplausible. And yet, your heart fluttering had nothing to with fear as he went to sidestep you.

What was wrong with you today?

“Well… good. I’m sure you’ll have the two remaining objectives handled as well,” he said kindly.

You blinked, neurons firing in all directions, heart leaping to your throat. Surely, he didn’t just—the two remaining objectives. That wasn’t--- that didn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t receive the same documents, his mission package different from yours as he was one of the original Avengers, the strategist.

And yet, a worm of curiosity had already chewed its way through to your brain, an itch you needed to scratch otherwise you’d go crazy. Certainly, he couldn’t have implied-

He stepped out towards the bathroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by your impulsive words.

“Can I borrow your tablet for one more moment?” you blurted out, clearly taking him by surprise; but not unpleasantly. “I just… I just want to check on some of the guests again.”

“Sure.”

With the same faint smile adorning his absurdly handsome face, he took a few steps back to reach for the tablet, unlocking it for you and opening the file with individual documents for you to browse before taking his leave.

You weren’t sure why you needed to check – if you were a sucker for pain, needing to know your assumption he had only received three objectives was correct – but you opened the mission overview anyway.

A lump grew in your throat as you skimmed through the document, your stomach suddenly unbearably warm.

He didn’t mean it. He forgot there were four not three objectives, a sharp voice in your head argued, instantly opposed by another, even if less insistent, reminding you that Captain Rogers was believed to have eidetic memory and you had seen his impressive memory indeed in action before.

It didn’t matter. You were making a big deal out of nothing; and ocne you came back from this excuse of a mission, you needed to have your heart checked, because the irregularities in rhythm and the palpitations upon simply reading had to signal an underlying health issue.

But it was right there, in his device, in one of the documents he had just been reading through. The overview.

Location.

Time.

Two names.

Four objectives.

Four objectives which were no doubt written down by Tony, given the choice of words and their existence to begin with, because no one else would have treated an official document this way.

Make Avengers look good; Look good; Have fun (includes using Stark/Avengers card in the auction); Try not to kill each other.

You felt your cheeks heat up even though there was not a single reason to feel that way. You were a grown woman. You had been complimented countless times before, in much more flattering ways, though less playful ones. Steve was just being… polite. And a little teasing, trying to put you at ease, probably thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, having been informed about your… reluctance to attend the auction. His niceness was in overdrive since he had been literally given orders not to treat you as if he wanted to kill you. He didn’t mean it and even if he did, you had no business reacting this way.

But still. It seemed that Steve Rogers decided that for the sake of the mission, he would more than just leave your differences of opinions behind for the night; he decided to truly work hard on the one single objective that did not come easily to him. There was no other reason for that, but despite your better judgement, it brought a ghost of a smile to your face, one that felt a little stupid.

As you heard him open the door, you were quick to close the document and tap on a random one concerning the guests, just in case Steve would want to check. You pretended that you were too immersed in reading to address him as he walked to you, but there was no need.

The gentle swing of the quinjet slowing down made you forget about whatever he had been trying to imply alarmingly fast.

You were almost there; in the lion’s den. It was time to pull yourself together, be the picture perfect this mission required even if you were not. Just because your idea of a useful mission was different, you wouldn’t treat this one with any less focus or professionalism; even if you’d rather find yourself tied-up and gagged an abandoned warehouse in a middle of nowhere, with no back-up in sight, than kept a fake smile plastered to your face for hours.

Avenger or not, your task was to represent. And so you would, conveniently with the man who represented the goals and values of the team better than anyone else ever could. You’d do your best to support him in that, and you’d do so while fulfilling all the objectives of the mission indeed, even if you doubted that you’d be any better than an accessory the size of Steve’s cufflink. You doubted that Steve Rogers would need the slightest support in charming rich people and the staff alike.

Just for that, you mentally added a fifth objective, an objective anyone drawing up the document should have added themselves. For Steve, it would be not to be a dumbass and not to get himself hurt, hit by anti-serum, kidnapped or killed. For you, not to let any of these things happen to him.

It wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if it was anyone else with you, but since Steve goddamn Rogers had decided to--- no. Not today. He truly was trying to be bearable. You’d meet him halfway; but you’d be damned if you didn’t keep your eyes open.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you murmured as the quinjet touched down on one of the rooftops on a nearby hotel, courtesy of Tony’s negotiating skills – his irresistible charm, as he would say – earning you Steve’s startled look. “You clean up well too.”

His shoulders sagged, eyebrow arching subtly, but his surprise melted into a slight smile again. “Thank you. Shall we?”

Like the gentleman he had been raised to be, he offered you an elbow as the ramp of the quinjet opened for you to step out. There was no need – you had walked on far worse surfaces than this in heels before, you had been forced to run and kick in them too – and you had to physically swallow the remark that would inform Steve about that. But you’d be an idiot to not see that he didn’t offer you an arm to be condescending; he did so to be nice. You could work with nice.

“Thanks.”

And with that, you stepped out, counting steps until you’d walk into the lion’s den indeed.

To say that functions, balls and auctions were not your scene would be a serious understatement. Not in the sense of you being unable to tackle them, no – you had plenty of experience – but in the sense of you absolutely despising them. Specifically, you couldn’t stand what people pretended to be when in that environment; and that included you.

It hadn’t always been like that; visiting events like this started off pleasant. People in luxury robes with wide smiles and subtle laughs echoing in glimmering halls were a thrilling environment before. Before you could fully understand what was happening, before you could read the room. It was only much later when you’d identify these events as necessary evil when working for SHIELD and the time between the two points was a long journey.

Your father would have sneaked into these, either in his own ways or through your mother’s alleged renown status; and you, naturally, went with them. She’d often leave you and your father to your own devices, charming guests into adoring her, speaking of her dedication to both her work and her family, particularly to her daughter, her tone speaking louder than her words in the case of the latter; contempt.

Meanwhile, your father was the complete opposite. He had you joined at his hip, a crutch for when his own tactics of pretending to be someone truly indispensable to SHIELD failed. If people roaming higher circles of society didn’t recognize him as the god’s gift to humanity he hoped to come across as, you’d come in; a charming young lady ready to take the world by storm, his beloved daughter, his pride and joy. Errors made that day, that week or past months didn’t matter – they didn’t exist at the moment, your performance always painted as perfect for the sake of the bragging.

It was a divine experience to receive so much praise, him sounding so earnest in front of all those people; it got sicker and more twisted the older you got, seeing the mask slipping on and off as it suited him, knowing that in the discomfort of home, you were none of what he described you as that to him. And yet. To be finally loved and seen as exceptional by your own father, the one person who had always believed in you and told you so; who wouldn’t want that? Just a taste; like melting hot chocolate on your tongue, thoroughly warming your very being, the softest of blankets that turned scratchy the moment you left the room, snatched away to leave you out in the cold reality of being born a hope and growing up a failure. But those moments, those moments you craved as much as you hated them. Because you knew they would never last.

It was one of the many contradictions of your childhood and adolescence, one of many topics of your therapy sessions that seemed to have no end. It reminded you of what Lincoln always said – that every Inhuman had a purpose and that every Inhuman’s power reflected, to a point, who they were. The way you felt you were often being pulled in two directions, loved and despised, dotted on and ignored, obedient and rebellious, to be exactly who your father had always intended for you to be and find your own path – or pretend you could, for a bit at least, to give him a glimpse of a real disappointment; all goals in direct opposition to each other. You were surprised your ability wasn’t the same as Alisha’s who could literally split herself into several images of herself. But you were hardly an overachiever, were you? You had learned long time ago that perfection was out of your reach, no matter how much you’d cry and bleed and clawed your way through to it, only to see the top of the mountain move when your fingers had almost touched it at last. And on top of that mountain; people like Steve Rogers. The man who could shove it into anyone’s face that it wasn’t that the summit was too high; it was just that they were too small of a person. That you weren’t enough.

It wasn’t fair to despise him for it. But it wasn’t fair that some of these people could insult you to your face and imply you were a lesser Avenger – while representing them nevertheless – and you had no chance to truly fight back without somewhat proving them right.

About a hundred and then some boring conversations later, encounters in which you felt your skin crawl because you hated rubbing elbows, facing fake smiles and carefully crafted politeness with veiled insults weaved between the words of those who could afford it, you were ready to take a break and you were afraid it was beginning to show too.

Captain Steve Rogers, of course, did not seem tired of pleasantries in the slightest; the golden boy still roamed among the crowds, more than willing to engage in any conversation, shaking hands and rubbing elbows indeed as if he had been born to do exactly that. Crowds loved him and that was a fact, whether what Tony had insinuated was correct or not and Steve couldn’t stand this kind environment either indeed.

You had to give it to Steve, however – and truly, you should have expected it, because this was Steve Rogers, originally a little man who could not stand people looking down at others, less so diminish someone’s worth, and he was the protector, the ultimate good guy, the perfection personified – the encounters you had handled side by side with him did not see you neglected. Quite the opposite. If someone didn’t recognize you, which applied to the majority, he was happy to introduce you, or, as it had been in most cases, he had you introduce yourself and only then he highlighted your importance to the team if anyone seemed less that impressed.

Contrary to what you would believe, his words and demeanour, however, pushed the icky sensation of the scene away rather than intensified it. Unlike your father, Steve didn’t have you trail after him. He didn’t belittle you to lift himself up. He didn’t boast about his brilliant decision to reassign you to the team since you were so useful When he spoke of you as the new addition to the team, he didn’t highlight your most recent accomplishment either, not with a condescending or patronizing tone or words that would make it sound as if he as saying oh she saved a few people just two days ago, including Natasha Romanoff, someone give her a candy.

Steve didn’t speak of you as if you were hisachievement, didn’t speak of letting you join the team, of the cooperation being his or their choice.

“We are honoured to have her join the team,” he’d say instead.

“With every mission she takes on, she proves how fortunate we are that she is one of us.”

“Her contributions to our common goal are invaluable.”

“She is an essential part of our team and we are thankful she continues to make this world a safer place with the rest of us.”

On one hand, it was almost sweet; on the other, it was irritating. You didn’t need him to earn you their respect and it should make you livid he was trying to do that, to play the hero who’d rush to your rescue. To a point, it did, because you could fight your own battles; but this battlefield tended to make you slip into a mindset you hated – made you slip into a skin you hated wearing. Still, Steve’s tendency to make it his personal mission that you were not overshadowed by him – a futile effort truly – should make your blood boil, because there he was, the world’s mightiest saviour in action again.

But the way his body language changed when someone eyed you as if you were an unwanted addition to the conversation seemed to whisper of other things than self-proclaimed white knight needing to sweep in; it expressed itself as a personal insult to him that your supposed brilliance was not acknowledged. It seemed almost as if he was gesturing to you wildly with his large palms, his voice as if demanding from the people he spoke to: do you really not see how amazing she is? Are you an idiot? Naturally, he was doing so in much distinguished manner, but that was how it felt.

You were certain someone must have got to you before Tony did back in the park, landing a hit to your head or two, causing a microtrauma that only now manifested in your entirely skewed perception and hallucinations. They must have, there was no other plausible explanation. Or maybe you had actually died; laying your life for Natasha’s would have certainly been a worthy cause. Or perhaps it wasn’t so dramatic and you had simply slipped into a coma and this was some weird manifestation of your brain recovering.

And yet, you had a feeling that if you pinched yourself, you would still feel as grounded in this strange reality as you did now, the intense surge of affection for the man still overwhelming, the satisfaction of seeing the swellheads meek and slightly embarrassed at Steve’s tone upon them dismissing you curling hot in your core. You needed to stop revel in it so much.

But be as it might, despite trying to carefully shield yourself from the effect of Steve’s very public words of appreciation due to knowing it wouldn’t last, you felt yourself grow taller than you ever had been in an event like this. You didn’t feel as obliged to smile politely just for the sake of pleasing others, even as you did smile. Despite the presence of Captain America, larger than life, you felt confident and powerful, even if this kind of feeling normally only came when you were on a mission with the target already in your pocket.

And yet, this surge of courage – and all the wondering about what an alternate reality you had entered – didn’t make the game of social chess less exhausting or brought it closer to your ideas of fun. After almost another hour of wandering on your own, tending to every conversation necessary and even those less necessary, you did find yourself in a need of a break and you liked to think you deserved one.

Naturally, fate – if there was such thing – did not grant you such courtesy.

When you finally did find yourself at the bar, it was one godawful encounter later – a single polite conversation that had sucked all life out of you, all of the little glow you felt you had gathered swept away with a single snap of fingers. It was unfair. It was unfair that your mother still had such hold on you after a lifetime of you being nothing but a bug on her windshield as she tried to drive into the sunset of her own glory, even months and months after her final abandonment.

The matter was only worse since it wasn’t even her. Just a distant colleague – her superior, no less. A few minutes, every second dragging since the moment Doctor Franklin had mentioned your mother, and you were ready to hit the bar for something far stronger than champagne.

“Ah, I knew I saw a resemblance. You must be so proud to wear your mother’s features and name. A strong woman, a survivor, truly dedicated to science, exploring the wonders of the nature of Inhuman transformation. Examining her own genetic code to be able to share fascinating facts of the uniqueness of her case. Even the draft of her study was most intriguing… pardon me, what was it that your abilities are after you, unlike her, simply acquired powers like everyone else?”

It shouldn’t have affected you; but it did. With what felt like chunks of metal in your stomach, the tickle of nausea in the back of your throat, you were almost proud you managed to hold somewhat of a smile, actually uncertain if the woman was clueless in the matter of politeness and tact or whether she was making a calculated insult.

“I’m afraid the exact nature of my abilities is classified, ma’am,” you replied. The words, even if they should feel full of vindication, tasted bitter on your tongue.

Trust your mother to finally find her exceptionality and built the pinnacle of her career on a flaw in her genetic code. Of fucking course. Making herself the centre of attention while being the primary source of that attention at the same time; what a brilliant move. Someone should give her a damn Nobel. You really were doing something wrong in your life.

So truly, you felt like were entitled to a breather as you walked away with a polite nod, trying not to throw up in your mouth as the world got slightly blurry at the edges for a moment, your heart pounding, knees feeling a little weak. You felt the sticky remnants of Doctor Franklin’s words linger on your skin, resisting the urge to rub it off.

You deserved a shot of something stronger. You weren’t sure anything weaker than absinth would do the trick and help you snap from the strange haze your body slipped into; but facing the man behind the improvised bar, you couldn’t make yourself ask for that however.

Well-aware that you needed to keep at least some face since the mission of the evening was to represent, you opted for vodka, small shot only. And despite the weary conversations, you didn’t forget: in addition to representing, you wanted to be ready to fight whoever could possibly go after Rogers. As much as you’d like to get wasted to feel actual nausea instead, something tangible and real like the burn of the strongest alcohol known to mankind, you couldn’t. Vodka it was.

You turned the shot bottoms-up, focusing fully on the hot trickle down your throat, the fire dampening all your other senses; and for a few second, it was bliss.

Until your nostrils were hit by an unfairly familiar cologne and aftershave, a deep timbre soaking into your bones whenever spoken despite how much you tried not to let it do exactly that.

“Having fun as we were ordered?”

You froze, shame, indignation and the alcohol lightning you up like a wildfire.

Great, Mr. Morality is here, you thought darkly, setting the glass down, turning to Steve with poorly masked annoyance. Annoyance which was quickly wiped out, the flames licking at your gut put out.

You expected his face to be full of judgement, anger and disappointment; but much like his voice had been, you realized, it was free of any bite or sting, simply showing light amusement and compassion, a slightly worried crinkle between his brows.

His voice had been quiet, purposely so, as not to attract lookers-on. It was a little naïve – to think he could walk in anywhere without at least ten pairs of eyes following him – but it was nice of him that he was trying not to embarrass you by publicly calling you an alcoholic.

But the gentle mix of emotion adorning his expression only made your stomach twist. It was a great paradox really; it would be so much easier to deal with tonight if he was being insufferable and judged you. But that bastard, the irritatingly handsome bastard, was being simply amazing. A much greater person you could ever be. And he didn’t mean to, probably – but he was just screaming exactly that to your face with every little action he had opted for tonight.

Not his fault, not his fault, you tried to remind yourself as he continued to watch you, curiosity sneaking into his gaze now.

Make Avengers look good.

Look good.

Have fun.

Do not kill each other.

Do not kill each other. Got it.

“Guilty as charged,” you said finally, the light tone you had hoped for not coming out quite right; but he didn’t hold it against you.

“Nothing to be guilty about,” he said, shrugging subtly. “I… might have gone for one of those myself had it had any effect on me.”

Right, you realized. Supersoldier. Accelerated healing, fast metabolism. You did happen to know he burned off most things even faster than other men built like mountains. Shorter and less broad mountains, that was.

You felt you head instinctively tilt to side a bit, contemplating what he said without spelling it out. He didn’t seemlike he needed a strong drink. In fact, he seemed perfectly like a fish in water among the sea of piranhas of people – and yes, you were aware that was a harsh judgement on some of them who were indeed rather pleasant to talk to – but Tony’s words echoed in your head.

He’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it, he had said. Steve was exactly that; but apparently, he was also pretty great at hiding his distaste.

Of course that he was, you thought bitterly, even as a hint of compassion nudged at your mind; just because he was good at disguising it, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel just as sick filling the role of the most excellent companion.

“You could do it just to feel the heat,” you suggested half-heartedly, regretting the words as soon as they left your mind.

You had to phrase it just like that, didn’t you.

Steve watched you with unnerving intensity for a moment, before he seemed to shake off whatever dark thought had occurred to him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“That is true, but somehow it’s even more disappointing if that’s the only consequence, you know?”

“…right.”

He cleared his throat, your gaze falling to his bowtie as he released you from the trap of his gaze.

“Either way. Would you like to dance?”

Your head snapped back up, shock no doubt painting your face, rendering you mute. He wasn’t--- oh he was.

Despite your expression – one painfully resembling of a deer in the headlights of an off-road SUV coming at it at hundred miles an hour – he seemed unfazed, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye barely noticeable in the otherwise genuine demeanour. You frowned, suspicion dying out as fast as it had arisen.

Whatever motive he had to ask, it couldn’t hurt the mission, you supposed. And it would be impolite to decline. You had promised yourself to meet him halfway in his attempts to be civil; and he had gone far beyond that. For the past two weeks, not having confronted you about either the flash-drive situation nor the went-full-spectre-in-a-public-park incident, that had been him being civil. Tonight, he was courteous even. Pleasant. Kind. You had no idea why he hadn’t sought you out to get answers or scold you, nor why he went this far out of his way to treat you like this tonight, but you had enough common sense not to poke even as it had been eating away at the back of your mind.

You just needed to accept it and be thankful, and needed to aid the common goal; and maybe, just maybe, revel in it and store the memory for later, even if such luxuries only burned with emptiness once they were gone.

But how could you do any different?

“Sure,” you said simply. “Why not.”

How could you feel any different when his lips smiled half-heartedly, but his eyes showed true warmth? A startling warmth almost; but it was nothing in comparison to the heat of his body when he offered you his elbow and led you to the small dancefloor in the adjacent room with only a few high tables lining the walls; it was nothing in comparison to the soft jolt of electricity that ran through your nerves all the way down your spine when his hand took yours carefully, eyes fixed on your face, checking for any sign of discomfort when he pulled you close at the first notes of a waltz.

Up close, without either of you screaming into each other’s faces, he was painfully beautiful; you knew that. You knew that already, because you had played the forbidden game of imagining what it would be like to see his face from this distance; but the reality of it was startling, a tingle of a thrill and pain at once. Inches close and miles away from reach. To be at the receiving end of the look in his eyes, painted partly by delusion and the aforementioned hits in the head you had probably suffered, was the sweetest torture.

It was impossible to ignore his firm but gentle grip, his confident lead; a wall of perfectly controlled muscle, hard planes of his body and yet its surprising softness and warmth, leaving your head spinning and sending your thoughts to an indecent dangerous direction; what would it be to feel him even closer? What would it be like to—

You’d never know. For a large part, of your own doing; for another part, of his own, because you had never met a more irritating person in your life and you had met a quite a few. He was impossible in his very unique different way – even as you knew that was tainted by your own perception – he was impossible in a way you couldn’t but want anyway.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, snapping you from your useless musings back to reality.

Yeah, thanks, I was signed up for ballet class about as soon as I could walk, because it should have helped my posture and body coordination in preparation for working for SHIELD before I could attend martial class lessons. Because a kid younger of six years getting punched would have been a bad image for my parents. Not that I knew any of that at that time. Anyway, I had to rediscover my love for dancing much later on-

You cut off your train of thought, swallowing the unnecessarily hostile and dark truth. Instead, you reciprocated his easy subtle smile, something inside your quivering at the casualness and sincerity of the compliment.

“Depends on the lead, right?” you murmured.

Mentally, you sighed, cursing yourself for your loose mouth.

You could have said something along the lines of you too, and it would be an understatement; Steve’s lead indeed was firm but not forceful, elegant ease without a shred of indecency, his sense of rhythm impeccable, which was much more than you could say about some of your companions on the dancefloor. But no; you chose to mention his leading skills, instantly circling back to what was bothering you – you having standing up to his lead as a Captain before and him not mentioning it. He had kept blissfully quiet and here you were, dangling the topic you should have been glad had been put to rest in front of him as if you wanted him to take the bait no matter the cost.

You really must have been hit in the head; or perhaps you were finally returning to normal yourself.

But Steve Rogers was a man of many faces and surprises up his sleeves, apparently. His smile only widened briefly at your note, eyes flashing with amusement, before a little frown creased his brow.

“Don’t sell yourself so short.”

You gulped. Again. He complimented you with such ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; and it seemed like he meant every bit. The way your heart fluttered at that ached pleasantly. Hadn’t it been for the sober voice in the back of your head, telling you were on a borrowed time of this kind of treatment, it wouldn’t ache at all. It almost, almost didn’t.

Because the one word you had left out when thinking about his lead on the dancefloor, having avoided it on purpose, was safe. You entered an uncharted territory tonight; you knew Captain America’s lead from your numerous missions you had been chosen for under his command. And even as you had challenged his leadership before, you trusted him on that front. But tonight was a very different thing; and still, he somehow emitted the same aura, in a considerably more intimate way.

It was terrifying.

But as much as you were taken aback, with no clue how to even respond to that, your instincts – probably all over the place, because had you been in sound mind, you would have run for the hills before accepting his offer in the first place – whispered you were safe indeed.

And if you’d turn it into a joke, you’d be even safer.

“If that was a reference to my height, I’d like to point out everyone is short compared to you. And that is with all the extra inches--- that my heels have.”

Oh for god’s-

Your fingers flexed reflexively on his arm; your hand in his would have twitched if he hadn’t held it so firmly. You did not just say that, did you? Closing your eyes briefly, you felt your face burn hot, the furnace of Steve’s body suddenly feeling like ice in comparison. Why on Earth did you talk about inches? First feeling the heat, then this, damn Freudian slips, damn his well-fitting suit and handsome face-

Bless him, his chuckle was good-natured and not in the slightest dirty – then again, you should have expected nothing less from the golden boy, shouldn’t you? He wouldn’t hold it against you and had it been anyone else, you would have been grateful, much like in any other situation. But this was him and tonight your mission was literally to avoid this kind of embarrassing phrasing.

“You know what I meant,” he said, not unkindly – much to your relief and irritation.

You hummed noncommittally, still processing this was somehow a reality you had found yourself in. A reality in which Steve Rogers was a pleasant company, kept you close and safe enough that you had spent several moments with your eyes closed while dancing without fearing you’d end up with a broken ankle, a reality where-

“I wanted to apologize.”

-he just said he was sorry.

Your eyes snapped open, your step, a second nature you barely needed to think about, faltering just a fraction. You found your footing with the very next step and perhaps not even Steve had noticed; but he for sure must have noticed the undiluted shock that overtook your features.

Yet, he held calm in the face of your awe and bewilderment, gaze fixed on yours whispering of nothing but sincerity and regret indeed.

He was apologizing.The sudden lump in your throat was the only thing in physical reality that felt real at all; the rest truly must have been but a fever dream. That and the frantic beats of your heart.

“For what?” you asked quietly.

You weren’t trying to be petty, if he truly was apologizing. You meant it.

Naturally, you had a good idea what he was referring to, but that was part of the reason why it was so puzzling; more so since he now knew what the intel was about, since he was aware who exactly you put in danger by failing. Then again, the fact you were both here despite it told you all over again that he didn’t let that bother him too much.

But even with him deliberately ignoring the threat…

Yes, he had not acted very thoughtfully, but whether you liked it or not, he wasyour superior, he had put together that mission and so you understood the frustration he had felt at the moment. Hell, you had felt it yourself – you would have yelled at yourself too. And looking back, you knew that some of your momentary view of his behaviour and attitude, of his actions, stemmed from the fact you had been disappointed in yourself too; and that most time, he did in fact realize he could do wrong and that he in fact did care for every single member of the team. He probably did give a damn about the fact that you – your spectre anyway – got shot. He probably cared about the fact that two days ago, you left a big damn opening when you projected in public without making sure you had someone in your corner.

You weren’t sure that there was any need to apologize, even with him yelling at you in front of everyone to the point where you hadn’t been able to stand it and a few tears had escaped you – because damn, did he touch a nerve – even if he had been a bit of an asshole.

Most people apologized because they felt the need to ease their conscience, to keep up appearances; but seeing Steve now, the soft and strict lines of his face, told you that he was apologizing for your benefit mainly. It would be sweet if it was so irritating.

Golden boy. Shoved straight to your face. You could never be as good as him, because he simply wasn’t human – and you were the Inhuman from the pair. God, he had his hands on you and he didn’t even try to cop a feel or anything for crying out loud. He was being kind and respectful and so damn beautiful and tall.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said slowly, gaze intent as if he wanted to make sure you absorbed every word. “I shouldn’t have done that to begin with, but the witnesses made it even worse. And all you did was making a quick decision in a difficult situation, according to your best conscience no doubt. I might not have agreed with it, but you still didn’t deserve such treatment.”

“And you’d do the same,” you added.

You almost slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as the words were out.

This was what happened when you felt safe. You talked back. Dammit.

You could see – and feel, because his chest was practically brushing yours, something you were hyperaware of even as you tried your best not to be– him breathe in to retort.

You really needed to have your head checked out. You should have just taken the apology and cherish it, like any normal person, even if it irked you that Steve Rogers was capable of self-reflection and had enough strength to admit his shortcomings. He was simply better than everyone else. It was easy to see that with no emergency in sight, but that didn’t make it easier to accept that and act accordingly every second of the day.

Yet, you tried at least now.

“Sorry! Sorry. Don’t push it, Spectre. Got it,” you blurted out, fixing a quick smile and you would have sworn you had seen a sparkle on mischief in his blue irises under the indignation. You cleared your throat. “Apology accepted, Captain.”

His relaxed his tense jaw, gaze softening further; painfully so.

“Thank you. And I thought you knew you could call me Steve.”

Golden boy – case on point. You swallowed, unable to keep the swirl of warmth in your chest from creeping into your voice even as you knew you were diving into dangerous waters with reckless abandon by following his request.

“Apology accepted, Steve.”

If your voice was warm, his smile was half the power of the sun, heating your very bones, your heart stumbling in your chest. You should run; you should run because you were never going to receive a gift like that again and the longer you basked in it, the worse it would be when it was gone. But you had already established that sometimes, you couldn’t help but throw caution out of the window despite knowing how much it would hurt later when you’d have to go and scramble to gather it again, hadn’t you?

And so when the song blended into another, the smallest squeeze to your fingers a wordless question, you nodded against your better judgement.

Steve’s smile grew a fraction, feet quick to adjust to the new rhythm, the air around you warmer another few degrees. It was hard to let his apology and kindness linger in the air and not react to it; even as you needed to breathe in and out a few times, eyes examining his face carefully as to predict whether what you were about to say would come back stabbing you in the back.

“I’m sorry for my outburst too. I… acted emotional.” As you recalled the traitorous tears that had escaped you, you thought that to say that was an understatement, but Steve didn’t seem to hold it against you. Instead, he listened with unnerving intent to all you had to say. “Which isn’t an excuse, but I’m still sorry. I… didn’t exactly watched my tongue. I mean, I didn’t-“

-I didn’t mean what I said, you wanted to say, your voice dying in your throat at the startingly gentle blue of Steve’s eyes, your breath hitching at the sudden vice squeezing your chest. This moment, whatever it was, was becoming overwhelming fast; and you found yourself unable to force the words out.

Because they weren’t true; you had definitely meant a few things, your anger with Steve snapping you back when you had been this close to gathering intel on something that threatened, without exaggeration, his life, just because he had been outraged at… whatever, that was very real. Much like him, you had had a reason for your outburst; and for that itself, you couldn’t apologize. Not when you wouldn’t mean it. Not when he was looking at you like he’d trust anything you said. You couldn’t but reciprocate his honesty even if it should earn you an official demerit from Captain America himself.

“…I didn’t mean at least half of the things I said.”

Steve’s welcoming expression shifted in an instant, your heart already startling in reaction to the change, muscles tensing in an instinctual fight-or-flight response.

And then your brain caught up.

Steve was grinning. He was grinning with mischief lightning up his face bright, humour dancing in his eyes – good-natured humour without a single trace of offense, but maybe with a little speckle of surprise; and if you looked close enough and entertained the thought, pride.

And by god he was breath-taking, leaving you feel like you had flown too close to the sun for a moment unaware that the inevitable fall would kill you.

“Well, as long as it was only a half,” he hummed, his amusement audible in his voice too. There was a strange but not unpleasant tilt to it; almost as if he knew that if he simply accepted your apology right away, the situation would have had you run for the hills indeed. “Apology accepted, Spectre.”

You gulped, taking a wavering breath, flying just a little higher. “You know you can call me by my first name too, right?”

That was only fair, no? That was what you told yourself until Steve smiled softly and repeated himself slowly, this time with your name indeed. That was when you realized you really had caught yourself in a foolish indulgence, because the feeling washing over you was… nice. Very, very nice. His tone, his words were both indescribably nice, and so was the way he held you to lead your through the room without an ounce of indecency, and so was his proximity and his warmth. It was dangerously nice and you felt your chest, having briefly be filled with that tender fragile feeling, tighten instead.

And then Steve spoke up again.

“…and you’re probably right.”

Your eyebrows shot up, gasping; and had you any different company than a room full of important or at least self-important people dressed in black-tie attire, you wouldn’t have stopped your jaw from falling.

Did he just-

Stop the presses! you wanted to shout.

Did he just admit he himself was a hothead?

What peculiar kind of an alternate reality had you entered indeed to see Steve Rogers admit he had been a hypocrite?

This was simply too satisfying to be true.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m the best example,” he added.

You found yourself chuckling through your shock, earning a glare that might have no anger in it, but certainly emitted indignation and gravity. Except the corners of Steve’s lips were twitching.

Damn him. Damn him and his charming side. Since when did he have a charming side and engaged in self-reflection so deep?

Since always, an annoying voice whispered in your head, reminding you that at certain times, you were, in fact, very well aware that Steve Rogers was just as golden as people claimed – even if in way they couldn’t hope to fathom and neither could, not fully.

“Nah, I think it’s one of the very rare traits of yours that should definitely be copied,” you retorted cheekily, never having time to wonder if you went too far since Steve simply kept him mouth shut.

It was a good thing he did, because if he didn’t, you might get tangled in your lie; and might have to admit that you believed that while there were a few of those that shouldn’t be copied in order for the world to maintain some shreds of sanity, there were many more of those which, should they be replicated, would make the world a better place. He probably knew that anyway; he strived to be the example to all. He didn’t need to hear it from you, didn’t need to know that despite your disagreements, you felt everything but contempt for him, with respect on top of the list. And then there was the fact that you were not blind to him being literally meant to be built like the peak of man and looked precisely like it.

And still, his silence surprised you. Despite what you thought of him on better days, it was still a wonder he didn’t try to disprove you; he was full of surprises tonight.

Then again, that was probably the point.

“You know, Tony and Pepper would probably have had no problem coming here tonight,” you spoke lowly into to the silence that settled between you. “They just pushed us together to do something like this.”

Steve’s eyebrows jumped a bit, a brief smirk passing his lips.

“Well-aware. Does that bother you?” he asked, head tilted to side slightly.

You pondered his question for a bit, not sure why. You could have easily said anything, the first or the second or third lie popping up in your mind. But his genuinely curious gaze observing you as he waited for your response, his demeanour the whole evening, and his surprisingly open expression made you want to tell the truth again.

“Not that much. You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” you teased him lightly, feeling your lips permanently stuck in a smile now.

His own smirk melted into a smile again as well, soft crinkle in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you. I know I said it before, but you do look beautiful.”

You blinked.

There he went again, driving his point across; he wanted you to think, to believe perhaps, that his compliments were genuine, not a turn of speech. Why? And what could you even say to that when he kept looking at you like he meant it, the world around you blurring a bit, falling into but a background noise, years of training and his confident hold on you leading you through the dancefloor with ease still, even as the song must have changed again. Had it?

You wished conversation would come just as easy, even when emotions swirled in your chest wilder than your skirts around your calves.

“…thanks. Uhm, Tony said to buy something nice-“

“Mission accomplished, it suits you-“

“-I think he was probably sick of us clashing a lot lately,” you added quickly, almost speaking over him.

He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for – after all, he had brought up the topic of your fight in an environment where it would have been rude of you to flee just in case you wanted to and he wasn’t called a master strategist for nothing – so he caught your attempt to deflect. And he graced it with brief silence, not pushing, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. Golden boy. Perfect. Too good.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he hummed, one corner of his lips rising higher, his smile almost boyish now. “Did I mention I was sorry?”

“Yeah... did I?”

“You did.”

“Good,” you muttered, blissfully lost in his gentle gaze, even as you had to crane you neck a bit.

The moment was sweet. Slightly electric. Surprisingly comfortable. Peaceful.

Peace.

That was a specific word. With a pang in your chest, it occurred to you that was precisely what it was that Tony intended to achieve when he assigned you to this. To begin to renew the peace that had been within the Avengers family before your presence disrupted it. And Steve had accepted the invitation with you attached to it because he saw the importance of the team holding together from the strategic point of view.

Tonight was a mission. Necessary networking, even as Steve had tried to make it feel like anything but, and necessary attempt at smoothening the relationships within the team. Yes, it was beautiful, but Tony himself had called you a Cinderella. This was but a fairy-tale. An illusion. A projection.

The very spectre of you and Steve, of you being a full Avenger.

Once tonight was over, you’d have to snap back, like you always did. And like always, the pain of what you had lost as a spectre, be it blood or a warm embrace, would linger too. Back in your cold aching reality.

But not in Steve’s; Steve would remain who he was, to the world, to his team, to his friends. To you. It had been a sweet sentiment, a good-natured attempt; and for the night, it lasted. Once again, you felt played by your own naivety, already feeling your waxed wings melting and slowly prepared yourself for the brutal landing.

You kept up your smile, even as you felt the pleasant hum in your ribcage fall silent, your eyes not burning, because there was no reason for it, was there?

“You have good friends, Steve,” you whispered, the blue of his gaze warming up with fondness as he no doubt agreed. “They might be nosy, but they mean well.”

“And they are your friends too,” he replied softly, the pang in your ribcage stronger this time. He believed that, he genuinely did. Maybe that was why it hurt so much; he had seen the worst of the world and believed in the best still; you could read it in his actions, in his expression right now.

But you couldn’t bear it anymore, your gaze falling to the smooth fabric of his bowtie, contrasting with the pristinely white shirt indeed, just as you had known from the start he would wear. Pure. The symbol of all goodness in your culture. Just like him.

You heard what he was saying and yes, it was a tempting thought you had fallen for before. That you could be friends with the team, that the others cared – but you could count the number of people who cared for you on one hand and still had fingers left. People cared for your abilities, admired them maybe, sure. But you were a realist. Even before the Natasha incident – which truly was just her doing her job – you knew and you kept repeating it to yourself, because entertaining any other possibility was dangerous: your abilities, your results or the lack of them, those were what truly mattered. To everyone. To your father, eventually your mother too, to your SHIELD team, to your fellow Avengers. To Steve too. Had those powers come in a different meatsuit than yours, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were just a casing for what they needed.

It wasn’t okay, but it was alright.

The thing was, you couldn’t make Steve admit that – not him. He was a good man – infuriating one, yes, not without fault, yes, but incredibly undeniably good in his core. All the Avengers cared for people too, you would be an idiot not to see it, but if there was one person who would try to look the furthest beyond the abilities you carried, it would be him. Perhaps that was the scariest part of tonight – of him being not only civil, but perfectly pleasant and meaning it. Because he was just that perfect.

And perfect was never in your reach.

“Sure,” you replied absently as you looked up again.

You could tell his own gaze never left your face; and he no doubt noticed the change. His eyes were roaming your features, searching, wondering and seeing; you found yourself slipping into a neutral mask, your way too relaxed stance straightening, muscles tensing.

You only tensed further when you recognized softness and understanding creeping into his gaze, his voice quiet.

“You know-“

You thanked your lucky stars when the song ended and you were allowed to step back from him with an awkward smile.

“I’m going to find the restroom, excuse me.”

You swallowed heavily upon seeing something akin to disappointment and exasperation on his face; but when you pulled away, he didn’t stop you, didn’t use his strength to keep you in place, leaving the choice – as much as he clearly not approved of it – to you. You tried to force your smile further, grateful for that if not for nothing else.

“Thank you for the dance, stranger.”

And with that, you disappeared to the crowd, well-aware that if he wanted, he could have followed, because even in the sea of robes, his eidetic memory told him exactly what yours looked like.

Getting a fifteen-minute break from people, one in particular, was more than generous and yet you granted it to yourself; because putting yourself back together took time. Not for the first time, you sent a silent thank you to Agent May for having taught you her ways of accepting your emotions as they were, locking them away for later and channel them in the right direction when needed.

If you counted your dances with Steve – even as you tried very hard not to think about them – it added up for almost half an hour of the breather you had planned when getting the drink. You needed to go back to work, back to networking, because it was getting late; you had no doubt there were still people to talk to, no matter how efficient your colleague had been.

As you walked the halls with a smile arranged on your face, nodding politely at people admiring the various pieces of art of all forms, from drawings and paintings to sculptures and installations, your gaze fell on one of auctioned objects.

You smile slipped, your steps faltering along with the steady beat of your heart; and then you forced the corners of your lips back up, nails digging into the back of your hand as you folded them in front of your abdomen, to stop yourself from running to the glass stand where what seemed like a very old artifact was laid proudly on display.

And by old, you meant thousands of years old. And you really, really prayed that you were wrong, that your mind was simply playing tricks on you to avoid the emotional turmoil of today, to-

“Son of a-”

Three more steps closer and the curse was on your lips before you could swallow it completely, heart thundering in your chest against the sudden tightness. You didn’t like to be wrong; but in this particular case, you really wished you had been.

But apparently not.

See, this is why we can’t have nice things, you thought to yourself as you released a wavering breath and took off in the search of Steve, as if you hadn’t run from what seemed to be particularly nice things yourself only a little over ten minutes ago.

You swallowed the panic rising in your throat as you caught a glimpse of him talking to an elderly couple, telling yourself that your discovery was the only reason for that. Because that would be plausible and completely valid; an appearance of what SHIELD called an 0-8-4, an object of unknown origin, was never good news.

Except you were rather certain of its origin and that only made it worse.

Steve spotted you now, a small smile lighting up his face as if you hadn’t just taken an escape from when he tried to convince you were a part of the team in the friendliest sense of the word, gesturing to you lightly so the couple turned to you as well.

You smiled wider, squeezed your hand stronger. Too bad – the Lewises – had seemed nice enough when you had read up on them, were one of the rare attendees who were here for their genuine interest in art.

“Good evening, I am so sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Lewis,” you said sincerely, introducing yourself as the lady already extended her hand to you, followed by her husband’s. “It is a pleasure to meet you and I would be very happy to talk to you if you’d be willing, but I need to borrow Captain Rogers for a little bit-“

“By all means, Agent, don’t let a couple of old folks keep you two,” Mrs. Lewis chuckled, gently touching Steve’s forearm as she smiled at him almost motherly. “Thank you, young man, it’s nice to see bright young minds interested in conversations about thought-provoking art. Do find us if you can spare another minute later.”

“I would personally use the words lovely couple, Mrs. Lewis,” you said warmly before turning to Mr. Lewis. “I promise to bring him back as soon as possible.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Steve added as he covered her feebly hand on his, squeezing gently. “Agent?”

“Just a small issue, I’m sure it can be dealt with quickly,” you assured him in front of them, your face growing more serious the second you turned away, your voice falling so low only his enhanced hearing could hopefully catch it. “Thought-provoking art indeed. There’s an 0-8-4 on the items list.”

The way Steve’s back straightened, a sign of him turning mission-alert in an instant, would have been a treat to watch in any other circumstance, you supposed. But not in yours. And not in this case.

As you walked away, he followed your unhurried tempo, stopping by the displays briefly when you did, as if you were simply admiring the art. His face gave away nothing unusual happening beyond a minor inconvenience; you weren’t sure if he believed you were making a big deal out of nothing or if he was that good of an actor.

“Anything you encountered before? Potentially how dangerous are we talking?”

His voice had dropped too, but barely enough for you to hear. To an untrained eye, it probably looked like a normal hushed conversation, a couple – of friends – sharing opinions on the auction items indeed. Good. You didn’t need to spread panic on top of barely containing your own.

“Yes and no, I only recognize the symbols. And I can’t tell, but I wouldn’t underestimate it,” you uttered as you gradually moved closer, the artifact now in sight.

Steve stood diagonally beside you, barely a step behind your shoulder; he could keep his voice very low that way, practically whispering to your ear, while you could keep talking almost soundlessly.

“Should I recognize this? I’m not familiar.”

You bit back a bitter smile, stepping in front of the display together at last. The item itself looked unassuming; a stabile built of plates of metal, interwoven and reaching out of the tangle like tentacles. Except the surface of the plates wasn’t smooth; an intricate pattern of lines and circles rose slightly above it, a geometrical masterpiece only a few people on Earth knew the meaning of. Outside of Earth, well; you wouldn’t dare to guess.

The good news, hopefully, was that the sculpture meant to be in one piece was broken into two; that meant that if the effect was, like with many others you had encountered, tied to breaking the casing of whatever weapon it could be hiding, it had been out for a while and thus might not pose danger anymore. But you weren’t willing to take that chance.

“I’m not sure,” you whispered, almost choking out the words, wary of one word in particular as not to alarm anyone in vicinity just in case. “It is mostly Coulson’s team that handles all the… Kree mess.”

Short silence followed, only for Steve to draw in a shaky breath.

“…are you positive?”

It probably wasn’t meant to be a challenge, but you took it as one anyway, a flare of anger rushing through your veins, because was he serious? That was genuinely insulting. You spent practically your whole post-academy service to SHIELD with Coulson’s team following the trail of artifacts left behind by the lovely alien race Kree were – in fact, artifacts uncomfortably resembling this one. So yes, you were pretty bloody positiveyou were right.

You turned to Steve and took a step back to throw to his face – in as calm manner as was socially acceptable despite wanting to just spit it out – that you were pretty damn certain, because one did simply not forget a single thing about the literally blue aliens that indirectly gave them powers. Except you never got to make a single sound, because Steve’s eyes widened all of sudden, gaze still fixed on the display you had just turned your back to and his fingers closed around your wrist and tugged you closer to him again with surprising force given how gentle he had held you when you-- so not the time.

“Alright, point proven,” he whispered hastily, stepping back and releasing you before you could question him just turning from a gentleman of the year to a lout who just… grabbed a woman and manhandled her.

Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see a faint light of the symbols dying out, your panic skyrocketing and making you forget all about your exasperation.

Oh. Oh, that was not good at all.

It recognized you. It sensed the Inhuman in you as you had unwittingly moved closer to it. It was reacting even sooner than the Diviner had, the first Kree artifact your team had encountered, whose symbols only lit up upon being touched by an Inhuman, or a person carrying Inhuman markers in their DNA yet to be turned into one.

“Sorry for-“

“It’s fine,” you interrupted his apology, appreciating it nevertheless. Yet, your smile probably turned out to be more of a grimace, bitter sarcasm bleeding into your tone. “Well, Tony said we should bid on something anyway, right? I’ve got my pick”.

Steve’s eyebrow twitched without a hint of amusement, but he didn’t disprove you, moving to scan the room for any vendor to start bidding indeed; you automatically reached for your black-tie-attire-friendly StarkWatch, to alert the HQ.

You never got to finish the message.

Steve never got to even step out.

A tell-tale metallic sound, a clink of a grenade hitting the tiled floor had both of you snap your head to the source, losing two precious seconds by looking for where exactly it landed, startled intakes of breath taken before a scream could gather in your lungs to warn people to get down.

There was no time to react. The screams aligned with the eardrum-rupturing noise of an explosion, a blur of a movement to your right and a force to be reckon with slamming into you.

Even without his signature weapon, Steve automatically threw himself between you and the grenade, pushing you down and shielding you with his body at least. The heat licked at your skin just as the pressure wave slammed into you both, sending you flying and crashing hard into the glass cabinet, Steve’s arm taking large portion of the brunt of impact.

A jolt of electricity rushed through your nerves along with the pain, a dull crack in your head, the edges of your vision blurring. You barely registered the stream of agents in black gear cutting through the clouds of smoke and vapour tear gas. Smell of copper and iron hit your nostrils, strong enough to make you nauseous; blood and fire. Steve’s cologne; then more blood. Lights and shadows bleeding into one, the former too bright for your smoke-filled teary eyes. The noise was deafening too – shouts and shrieks of terror you knew you should respond to, because it was your duty as an agent and as a half-baked Avenger.

But you didn’t seem to control your body for long enough to as much as lift your hand to check if the sharp pain in the back of your head was an open wound or not, let alone to climb to your feet as Steve’s voice echoed in your ears, warm hands firm on your waist, prickling sensations like thousand needles piercing through your skin all over.

The pain tore through every single cell of your body without warning, but you didn’t have time to find the cause or wallow in it; darkness enveloped you completely and you sank into its thick waters without a chance to fight it, until it swallowed you whole.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Hope you don’t mind a little cliffhanger, hehe... as a treat for reading! I wanna say I was really excited about this chapter, sneaking in something soft and fluffy in between the angst, but I’m excited to share everything so... yeah.

I would like to take a moment or two to thank you, again, for your comments. They give me a rush of joy and I read every single one of them more than once; they give me strength to continue even when sudden feeling of ‘this is meh’ attacks me and the thoughts you share ground me back in the story when I feel like I’m slipping away from where I wanted to take it. I cherish your feedback, no matter the form, so much. Thank you 💕

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #agents of shield #inhuman reader #agent reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanficton #back and forth #anika ann

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littlemissaddict · 9 months

Text

No Joke - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: After being asked out as a joke too many times, she turns down the only genuine one out of fear of being laughed at yet again. Angst with a happy ending. Part 2 maybe if anyone wants it.

Word Count: 3321

She flopped back on the bed with the phone in one hand while her free hand twirled the spiral cord around her fingers. As she spoke, she kept a careful eye on her bedroom door, well aware her mother was home and it wasn’t like she didn’t share what happened in her life with her either but today, she didn’t think she could handle the embarrassment of her mother knowing she got asked out as a joke and not for the first time either.

“I don’t know Rob, James just didn’t seem like the type” she sighed and she meant it. Normally they were lab partners and he was quiet, sure but he was sweet and nothing like the rest of the male population of the school that had taken it upon themselves to torment the girls. Although it seemed her feelings about him were very wrong as just before the bell had gone to signal the end of their lunch period, he had asked her out only to laugh in her face when she had accepted.

“But look at it this way, did you actually like any of them enough to want to date them or were you just accepting because you’re desperate for a relationship?” Robin asked, not even trying to sugarcoat her words and the worst thing was she was right, as always.

“I mean I guess so, I could have felt that way about James” she lies, not wanting to give Robin the satisfaction of knowing she was right. The truth was there is only one guy she wishes would ask her out but it’s a wish that will never be fulfilled because he’ll never see her like that, to him she’s just Dustin Hendersons’ older sister. She hears Robin mutter a ‘bullshit’ and she rolls her eyes, knowing that Robin has seen right through her lies, “you know what I’m done with guys from now on I’m not interested in anything other than me” she states with a nod even though Robin can’t see her.

“Yeah I’ll believe that when I see it” Robin laughs, beginning to say something else that she doesn’t quite hear as she’s distracted by the sound of her mom calling her name.

“Honey, could you just get the door, I would but I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment” she calls from down the hall.

“I’m sorry I gotta go but I’ll call you later” she apologises, rushing out her goodbyes before she practically throws the receiver back on its stand and pushes herself up from the bed. Catching sight of her rumpled clothes and mussed hair she attempts to straighten herself out as she makes her way towards the door, knowing how much her mom prides them in looking presentable in others company, even if it is just to answer the door.

Pulling open the door, she reveals the last person she expected to see stood on her doorstep this evening. “Steve?” she asks, shock evident in her tone. “Dustin’s not here, he’s at-” she starts to say but Steve cuts her off.

“Hellfire, I know” he nods with a warm smile but she notices the way he’s bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, almost as if he’s nervous which is ridiculous because he’s been to her house plenty of times before and her mother loves him as if he was her own son. “But I’m not here for Dustin” he clarifies.

“So who are you here for?” she asks, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop herself. They’re still standing on the doorstep and she knows if she’s out here any longer her mom will wonder what’s going on and well she doesn’t want to invite him in because she’s not even sure what he wants or even if that’s what he’s expecting.

“You, I’m here to ask-um” he stalls which she vaguely registers as she’s still focused on the fact that he said he was here for her, “I wanted to- Will you go on a date with me?” he asks finally, eyes widening in panic when her face falls.

She can’t believe the words that have come out of his mouth. No way did Steve Harrington just ask her out, it has to be a joke. Her eyes prickle with tears that she blinks away, not wanting to show him just how much his cruel joke has upset her. She wants to cry. She wants to scream. Anything than to face the boy waiting patiently on her doorstep for an answer. She doesn’t even know why Steve would participate in the cruel prank craze that’s going around and she doesn’t even know how he would have heard about it considering he’s finished with high school now. Probably Robin, she thinks but then Robin wouldn’t tell him to come prank her considering she knows just how upset she’s been when she’s fallen for it the last three times. No, clearly Steve Harrington hasn’t fully changed his ways and is still the king he was back in school, well she’d been broken too many times in the last week to fall for it again.

“No” she says with a shake of her head while avoiding looking at him, not wanting to see the disappointment in his face that she hadn’t fallen for his games. Instead she shuts the door, not caring whether or not he was still standing on the doorstep as she turned and made her way back to her room, ignoring her mom’s questions as she shut her bedroom door before finally allowing the tears to fall.

The tears keep coming and coming until she’s all out of tears to cry. Until all she’s left with is a headache and the empty feeling that follows. Deciding now would be a good time to call it a night, she switches her lamp off and falls back into bed fully clothed as she wishes for sleep to come.

At some point she must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knows, Dustin is barging into her room full force causing the door to bang against the wall which shocks her awake. She pushes herself up onto her elbows as she looks over at his fuzzy form as her eyes are still hazy from sleep, or maybe the crying she’s not one hundred percent sure which.

“What did you do?” he asks with a sudden urgency in his voice and she recognises the annoyance in his tone even in her half asleep state but she doesn’t know what he’s asking her about. He rolls his eyes at her lack of answer coming further into the room until he’s stood at the foot of her bed, “Steve” he clarifies as it all comes rushing back to her.

Squinting at the brightness of her bedside lamp as she leans over to switch it on so they are not talking in the dim light coming in from the hallway and Dustin’s face immediately softens when he takes sight of her obviously still puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. Considering there is about five years between them in age, they are still pretty close as siblings and can be very protective over the other.

“What happened? Do I need to kill Steve?” he asks and she chuckles slightly, finding humour in his words that he would even suggest doing that to his ‘best friend’. “Cause I will just say the word?” he adds, nodding fiercely as he sits down which causes his curls to bounce around as he does.

She shrugs in response, rubbing at her hands over her face before she focuses on him again. “He asked me out,” she says finally, “on a date” she adds as if it wasn’t already obvious from her previous words and Dustin’s face lights up in a smile only to fall again moments later.

“I know,” he replies, which causes her heart to plummet. Dustin knew about the prank and he didn’t try to stop it. She could feel the anger at his betrayal bubbling inside her but before she could react he carried on speaking, “he asked me what the chances of you saying yes would be” he says, looking at her as if he was revealing some big secret, “and I was almost certain you would say yes so what I don’t get is why you’re both miserable”

“He’s probably just disappointed because his prank backfired,” she responds with a roll of her eyes. She was completely done with the conversation at this point and hoped that he would leave so that she could just go back to sleep and try to forget about this whole horrid situation, for a little while at least until she woke up in the morning.

“Prank? What prank?” he asks, confused.

“You know the same one that Thomas and Ben and James and the rest of the male population of Hawkins High thought would be funny” She answers sarcastically, throwing her arms in the air as if to emphasise her words, “you know the one where you ask a girl on a date only to laugh at her when she accepts” she practically yells at him, even though it’s not his fault, she’s just tired and upset and worked up over boys that mean nothing to her.

Her name falls from his lips causing her to take notice of the stunned look on his face which she guesses it’s because of her outburst as normally she’s quiet, calm and never shouts. “That’s not what this was” he says slowly, almost as if he’s afraid she’ll yell at him again.

“How do you know?” she questions, a little irritated by him sticking by Steve when she was supposed to be his sister.

“Because before he asked me what you say if he asked, he asked me if I would be alright with it if the two of you started dating” he reveals as she stares blankly at him, the anger now dissipating but guilt seeping in in place of it. “And just so you know, I would be okay with it if you did want to date him” he adds with a supportive smile and she can’t help but smile back at him until she remembers she'd said no.

“Though I guess it doesn’t matter now anyway” she shrugs, her body slumping back against the pillows.

“Hey don’t lose hope yet, call him because I doubt he's moved on that quick” he scoffs at her dramatics.

And she does, she wastes no time in picking up the phone and calling Steve’s home phone as Dustin sits on watching in amusement at her eagerness to speak to Steve. Though the weight is only momentarily lifted from her shoulders as the phone goes to the answering machine. “What now?” she asks pathetically, feeling like a child.

Dustin’s quiet for a minute as he thinks before he turns to her, “Robin” he says simply and her eyes widen. Of course, Dustin was a genius, not that she tells him that because his ego was already big enough. It doesn’t take her long to punch in Robin’s number but once again her call goes unanswered, “try it again?” he suggests, so she does but gets the same result.

“She’s gotta pick up eventually right?” she asks as she starts punching the number in again.

As it was Steve did go over to Robin’s after his rejection, telling her everything and maybe he cried a little but Robin wouldn’t tell anyone. Robin on the other hand had never seen him so dejected but she did have an inkling as to why he got the answer he did.

“So you don’t think she meant it?” Steve asks, as his hope tentatively begins to return after Robin’s explanation.

“She’s had this stupid school girl crush on you for longer than she’ll admit to” she huffs out a laugh as she remembers all the times she had to listen to the girl in question go on about Steve, “but after you decided to put all that King Steve bullshit behind you, I think it became more than that once she saw the real you” Robin tells him because it was true, somehow the girl had fallen in love with the dingus that she called her best friend.

“So now what?” he asks, sinking back into the couch as a mixture of feelings bubble up inside him. Happiness and relief that she does feel the same about him but he’s still dejected over the fact that she said no while he has no idea of how to prove to her that he really does want to date her. Little did he know that his problem was about to be solved as the phone began ringing. “Are you going to answer that?” he asked, turning his head towards Robin who looked lost in thought.

“Nah can’t be important” she shook her head as the shrill sound stopped only momentarily before starting up again.

“You sure?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows at her, clearly whoever it was wanted to speak to her desperately but instead of answering Steve watched as her eyes grew wide and a devilish smile took over her face. “What?” he asked, very much at a loss for what was happening.

Robin scrambled up from the couch, reaching for the phone just as the ringing cut out again. The missed call didn’t deter her knowing that if she was correct about who was calling, then the phone would ring again. Not even seconds later it did and Robin was quick to pick it up on the first ring, not even getting a chance to speak before her voice crackled through the receiver.

“Is Steve there?” she asked, urgency clear in her tone but Robin, feeling smug about being correct, decided to tease her.

“What no hello for me?” she chuckled and she could picture the eye roll the girl was doing on the other end of the line.

“Please I need to talk to him, I made a mistake and I need to tell him” she pleaded, at this point she was not above begging Robin to let her talk to Steve but she held back seeing as Dustin was still sat on the bed with her and well she’d already embarrassed herself enough tonight so she didn’t want to stoop even lower.

“Okay okay, gimme a second” she laughs at her desperation over such a silly little situation that was all a big misunderstanding in the first place. Robin’s thankful the phone is cordless as it means she doesn’t have to stretch the cord all the way over to where Steve is sitting on the couch as she takes the phone to him. “I’ve played matchmaker enough for tonight so it’s time for you to take over” she winks as she hands him the receiver, earning herself a confused look in response but she only smiles before heading in the direction of the kitchen to give the two of them space to talk.

Whereas she on the other hand doesn’t have the option of privacy as Dustin is still waiting, still listening intently for any sign as to what is going on. “Steve?” she asks after she hears Robin’s voice getting quieter as she assumes she’s handed the phone over to him.

“Yeah it’s me” he replies quickly after hearing her voice but he can’t say he isn’t surprised considering how she left him, “I’m sorry for tonight, I didn’t know” he apologises before she can even say anything else.

She sighs as the embarrassment and hurt of each moment invades her mind yet again, “You don’t need to apologise, you couldn’t have known” she replies as tears prick at her eyes again and she scrubs them away with the palm of her free hand. “If anyone should apologise it’s me, I’m sorry that I thought you were just like them, that you would even think to play such a cruel joke because I know you’re not like that” she says with a small sniffle. Dustin grabs her attention for a minute holding out tissues that he got from god knows where considering he hadn’t left his spot on the bed but she waves him off with a small appreciative smile.

“Hey it’s okay, you’re allowed to be sceptical especially after those idiots and I don’t blame you for trying to protect yourself” Steve reassures, completely understanding her reaction now that he knows the full story behind why she did what she did.

“You know if the offer is still open then I’d like to change my earlier answer” she tells him, her voice barely above a whisper as she prepares herself for the rejection that she thought was inevitably coming.

Steve bites his lip to conceal the grin that is threatening to take over his face, though he doesn’t know what he’s trying to hide it for because he’s alone and well he’s already made a fool of himself plenty of times in front of Robin so what was one more. “So you’ll go on a date with me? But what made you change your mind?” he asked, curious to her sudden change of heart.

“Dustin told me that you two had talked and helped me realise that you are nothing like you used to be” she admits, still annoyed with herself that she would even think Steve, the guy who carts around the kids to school; to the arcade; to Hellfire and pretty much wherever they want to go without complaint. Steve, who also accepted the fact that Robin was into girls and not guys with no judgement and never treated her differently because of it, would actually be anything like the part he played in high school just because that was expected of him.

“Well remind me to thank the little twerp when I see him” Steve laughs, complete bliss filling him now that everything he’s wished for, for who knows how long, seems to be falling into place. “So about that date, are you free now?” he asks.

“You’re joking,” she asks, wide eyed as she looks towards Dustin who was looking at her expectantly, “Steve, mom would kill me if I was to go out this late” she replies finally, eyes still fixed on Dustin expecting him to back her up yet his face showed nothing.

“Nope it’s not up for discussion, get ready I’ll be ten minutes” he adds before the line goes dead.

“He’s coming isn't he?” Dustin asks as she puts the phone down with a dejected sigh as she nods. “Thought so, now come on chop chop you’ve got a lot to do to sort-” he waves his hand vaguely gesturing to her appearance, “that out” he finishes with a laugh.

She gawkes at him, almost not believing that he’s telling her to break the rules. “I can’t go mom’ll-” she tries but he shakes his head.

“Nope you're going, I’ll cover for you,” he smiles, “just sneak out the window and mom won’t know any difference” he nods, standing up from the bed and walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.

She stares at the door in silence once it’s closed, still hesitant to make a move and get ready although she knows the longer she leaves it the more chance Steve will turn up on the doorstep again and the less chance she’ll have to sneak out without her mom knowing. So she does and ten minutes later, she’s washed up the best she can, snuck out of the window and is waiting curbside for Steve to show up, which he does moments later.

“Are you ready for a night to remember?” he jokes as she climbs into the passenger seat next to him before driving off before her mom can find out she’s gone.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington angst #steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

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sminiac · 6 months

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hii i was wondering if you could do bf!hyunwoo, like or similar to what you did with minjae and sumin??

💌 — Hello, I absolutely can!! I swear he’s not talked abt enough🙏

Bf!Hyunwoo who 100% has this odd inclination for play fighting, and it always ensues from such a trivial topic that the two of you keep butting heads on, still, he’s finding an excuse to pin you down and tickle you until you’re barely able to form a coherent sentence, threatening you with empty promises, and he’d say it all without an ounce of seriousness, his laugh cutting through his struggled words. He always gets a kick out of it, laughs just as hard— if not harder, just loves seeing your smile, hearing your laugh :,)

Bf!Hyunwoo who is very serious about taking your pictures for you, Seeun’s offering to take them? No he isn’t, the phones already in his hand. He puts in the same amount of effort that a high in demand photographer does, and is always equipped with a multitude of angles to experiment with. Words of encouragement? Are you joking? He’s praising you so much, tells you how beautiful you look every single time, a lot of the pictures end up capturing how touchy he gets, absolutely unable to resist you + so, so many candid moments of you!! Whether it’s small videos or just pictures of your back they’re in his album dedicated solely just for you:b

Ex: There’s for sure some shots you sneak into your photo dumps of his hands grabbing at your waist, ass, face, neck to pull you into a kiss, you’re just so unreal, he can’t help but grab at you wherever he can, the photos after definitely have a little evidence of him literally jumping you with his lips, and per his request he isn’t cropped out of anything, loves the baffled reactions in your comments, eats them up every single time like “yeahhh, and what about it?”

Bf!Hyunwoo who loves keeping said pictures of you in his phone case, has a little collection that’s still growing, he switches them out occasionally and lovesss bragging about you to both people who don’t know you and the boys. Once he starts there’s no stopping him. Shoving his phone into whoever’s face as he goes on a tangent about how pretty you are, how kind you are, he’s also talking about whatever embarrassing habits you have that he finds adorable, it’s like whatever picture of you he’s pulling out there has to be a random fun fact about you too, he loves showing off that he knows you personally like that :b cause who else knows all of the little things you do like he does?

Ex: The back of his phone is a frequent guest in their YouTube videos, a big grin on his face as he points to the picture of you, “My girlfriend isn’t here to watch us perform today, so I cloned her and stuck her in the back of my phone. No she can breathe. I miss her a lot, I’ll do my best for her out there, I hope she’ll be watching from her phone.” He’s such a my girlfriend my girlfriend type 😣

Bf!Hyunwoo who admittedly sometimes gets a little shy calling you pet names in front of his members (Baby, babe, sweetheart, darling) instead he’d come up with a personal nickname for you, like a shortened, distorted, added letters that aren’t originally there kind of nickname, and it’s so cute because maybe it’ll sound a little unserious, a little silly, but he’ll say it with such a genuine tone when referring to you by it in a conversation (because he’s always talking abt you😋). And whoever he’s talking to will be like “Who?” And he’ll be like “My girlfriend??? Who else would I be talking about???” Since it’s something he created just for you he’d be a little bitter if his members started to use it, because they aren’t your boyfriend??? He is??? That’s why he made it???

Bf!Hyunwoo who doesn’t let you say ‘love you’ without the ‘I’ first, because if you don’t he’s immediately stopping you to ask if you’re okay, if he’s upset you in any way, and he always has this cute pout on his face, it’s his ‘serious’ face… that you can’t help but want to squish until his skin is stressed red. If it was merely just an accident, telling him it slipped your mind, he always lets out the biggest sigh of relief, carefully grabbing at your face to pull you into a kiss. Along with this he doesn’t like the word ‘too’ like, “I miss you too.” and “I love you too” it sounds forced to him, like you’re saying it back only because he said it first, he needs to know that it’s an authentic ‘i love you’ and not a pity ‘i love you’😞

Bf!Hyunwoo who is so stubborn that if you get into the smallest of disagreements he’s immediately quiet, face of stone, but is still bulldozing his head into your chest so you can cuddle. He’ll only hum his answers out if you’re asking him any questions, fingers threading through his soft hair, eventually he’d crash out from this and would wake up like nothing ever happened🙄 he’d start talking though, so you know it was never that serious, he just likes being dramatic so you’ll smother him in your love after.

Bf!Hyunwoo who sings/plays the piano for you any chance he gets, he loves being your background noise + it’s a good excuse to be in your presence while you’re studying, reading, doing any of your hobbies that don’t involve sound. I think he’d also make these silly songs for you that consist of what you’re doing at that exact moment, and he’d keep going until he gets a smile or a laugh out of you :,)

NSFW under the cut!

Bf!Hyunwoo who at random will only slightly lift your shirt up so he can press small, wet kisses to your stomach, you’ll be on your phone, one hand petting at his head in acknowledgment of his presence, he’d get a little carried away, purposely or not, shifting down the band of your pants so his kisses can reach lower, and lower until your phones shut off, thrown to the side and his tongue is dipping out to run hasty licks at your clit, he likes the way you whine, begging for “More, please.” Until he caves and is making the most obscene, wet noises with his mouth as possible as.

Bf!Hyunwoo who is always so, so vocal!! “Doing s’good baby” “Shit— ‘s embarrassing, gonna make me cum already” “God you feel so good, I love you so much” UGH. He’s so loverboy, heavy on holding your hand as he’s thrusting into you, his strokes heavy and paced just right. Wet kisses against your collarbone, neck, face. Eye contact always!! And he’s always got this little smile on his face when your eyes peak up at him, looks at you so lovingly🫠

Bf!Hyunwoo who loves the thrill of potentially being caught, @ntoniac who has plans to further delve into this hc sometime soon😋

Bf!Hyunwoo who is so hallway/airport/cafe crush that it’s making my head spin😡

#bf!xikers #choi hyunwoo #choi hyunwoo x reader #choi hyunwoo xikers #xikers hyunwoo #Xikers choi hyunwoo #hyunwoo #hyunwoo x reader #bf!hyunwoo #xikers #xikers imagines #xikers x reader #roady #hyunwoo smut #xikers smut

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bohemian-nights · 10 months

Text

Rant ahead: it seems like certain fans are trying to give Rhaenyra certain characterization out of spite and/or to slight Nettles.

What characterization you may ask? Well, things like claiming Rhaenyra is the youngest dragonrider, to counter the claim that Nettles is seemingly the only non-Valyrian dragonrider, when there is no evidence to support the former:

(Me literally typing the words into my e-copies of Fire & Blood, The Rise of the Dragon, and The World of Ice & Fire and getting, surprise surprise, 0 results).

This is what the actual text says about Rhaenyra(first highlighted passage) vs Nettles becoming a dragonrider(second highlighted passage):

Nettles is the only seemingly non-Valyrian dragonrider(there are 36 dragonriders in total, and all at least have evident Valyrian heritage) that we know of in the entire ASOIAF universe:

(*Aurion was a dragonlord and rider from Valyria who was last seen in 102 BC. Jaenera was also another Valyrian dragonrider from before the Doom).

Keep in mind that Nettles was not born into a royal dragonriding family, the sole surviving Valyrian dragonriding family, where it was expected that she’d eventually claim or hatch a dragon. She was not born with a dragon egg. She tames a wild dragon who even the likes of Alyn Velaryon, who has obvious Valyrian heritage, could not tame. She’s an “unlikely dragonrider.” Certain characters, cough cough Rhaenyra, have a hard time believing that she could even tame a dragon unaided in the first place due to her dubious heritage.

Now, let’s get into how certain fans like to claim that Rhaenyra is oppressed when she is in fact the most privileged woman* in Westeros at the time(see the first highlighted section of the prior text and these passages):

(*Yes Rhaenyra experiences misogyny, but most certainly not in the way that Nettles does. She is very privileged being a highborn Valyrian royal woman in comparison to Nettles who is a lowborn non-Valyrian bastard woman. If you want a real life comparison, think of the misogyny Black women deal with as opposed to white women).

She actually uses her privilege as queen and as a Valyrian to try and murder Nettles:

Who is spared mainly because people feared what Daemon would do to them if they hurt her(first highlighted passage):

Even among Nettles' defenders, she is not thought highly of. I.e. Corlys Velaryon referring to her as “dirty and ill-favored,” while trying to save her life(second highlighted passage above).

Those more ambivalent towards her certainly do not have many kind words to say about her. Archmaester Gyldayn tries to insinuate that she is “lifting her skirts for some shepherd” in order to bind Sheepstealer to her. (In all likelihood, Nettles chose to live on the streets instead of following in her mother’s footsteps). The Archmaester also mentions how she might have been too ugly (while referencing her skin tone) for Daemon to be attracted to her(third passage).

Whether by Andal or Valyrian standards, Nettles is actually someone who is looked down upon due to the circumstances of her birth, breeding, and complexion. She’s a Black brown-skinned bastard girl born to a whore who grew up on the streets and can barely get a kind word to be said about her.

Rhaenyra on the other hand is a white blonde haired high-born woman who is recognized as queen by many in spite of the fact that she has younger legitimate brothers whose claim to the throne is greater than her own(by the laws of the land). She’s beloved by the realm for much of her life and only becomes genuinely unpopular after the standard of living lessens under her reign.

Moving on, how can we forget the claim that Daemon would die for Rhaenyra. In actuality, he was willing to give his own life to save Nettles when he most certainly did not have to, but love often includes sacrifice:

Daemon left Rhaenyra out to dry and never looked back, but saying that is the eighth deadly sin according to a particular segment of this fandom. Keep in mind, the text clearly states his “final act” was an act of betrayal:

(Before anybody tries to use this as “evidence” for Daemon offing himself cause he couldn’t handle Nyra not loving him no more, which is another lie, Rhaenyra doesn’t think Daemon has betrayed her until she learns that Nettles got away. Up until then, she thought Daemon was under Nettles' “spell,” see the passage on Rhaenyra ordering her death, and that he’d be “freed” once she was dead. She lets it be known that she wants him alive and back with her, but Daemon himself did not want that after she tried to murder the woman he loved).

Lastly, even the nickname Nyra which is a fandom invention seems to be a play on Netty which is as canon as canon gets:

(I’m bringing the nickname up because I don’t even see people refer to any other character in HOTD by a fanon nickname at near the frequency that I see people refer to Rhaenyra as Nyra. Someone, please correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m not seeing it).

Obviously, I’m not saying that people are trying to copy Nettles' story word for word. Still, there are some headcanons that are being peddled for Rhaenyra that line up with Nettles' characterization. Enough to make one pause and ask what’s really going on here.

#hotd commentary #nettles #hotd meta #anti rhaenyra stans #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #daemon targaryen #netty #bncommentary #way to go team feminism 👏🏽#this fandom is a mess🤦🏽‍♀️#meant to post this ages ago #anti rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen

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avatar-anna · 2 years

Note

please may you do some blurbs on professor yn she's my fav !!

this had no business being as long as it is, but here we are. enjoy!

The Professor Series

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tell me a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yeah. Something no one else knows about you.”

You wracked your brain for something to say, searching for something that Harry didn’t already know about you. It was difficult, seeing as you shared everything with him.

“I’m not sure there’s anything you don—”

Harry understood your pause perfectly. “You found something, didn’t you?”

You shook your head, perhaps a bit too fervently to appear genuine. “I didn’t.”

“You did! What’s got you blushing so hard, love?” Harry asked, poking your reddened cheek with his index finger.

You curled into his chest and began to plant kisses along his skin, hoping to distract him. For a moment it worked. Harry held you there, his hand tracing patterns over your sleep shirt and humming contentedly. Eventually, though, he seemed to realize what you were doing.

“As good as this feels, now I’m really curious.”

Sighing, you resigned yourself to the fact that he wasn’t going to let this go. So instead of kissing his chest, you poked it. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Harry drew an X over his heart with his finger. “Promise. Now what has you so flustered?”

“My...favorite movie is Footloose, but the remake not the original.”

“That’s not embarrassing, is it?” Harry asked, looking perplexed. “I mean your movie taste is questionable, but I wouldn’t call it embarrassing.”

You leaned your forehead against his chest, astounded that you were about to unearth something you’d long buried into the recesses of your mind. Something that wasn’t an easy task for you.

“Give me your phone,” you said, sliding off the bed. You and Harry had been reading before going to sleep when he asked his question, and now here you were.

“Why?”

“There will be no evidence that this ever happened,” you said seriously.

He seemed to find your serious tone amusing, but when you pinned him with a stare, he sobered up. “Yes, ma’am.”

Harry handed over his phone, and you used it to queue up a song, skipping the first verse and going straight for the chorus, pausing once you found it.

“So, you know I’m from the South, and that I—I had a lot of time to myself growing up, and this was one of my favorite scenes, so I, um, I memorized it.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, darling, but don’t you memorize everything?”

“You’ll see what I mean,” you said, trying not to feel so nervous. This was Harry after all. You were pretty sure there was very little you could do to turn him off. And he wasn’t the type to judge either.

So before either of you could say anything else, you played the song and began to dance.

“Hey mister won’t you sell me a fake ID. There’s a band in the bar that I’m dying to see...”

You hadn’t line danced in ages, but the muscle memory came back to you like you’d done it last week, each movement easier than the last.

It was embarrassing how obsessed you were with this movie as a kid, but your dad loved country music, and the movie itself was like a small taste of home without actually having to go back. And the lead was cute, so there was that.

It was a fast paced dance and had a lot of complicated footwork. You’d always been terrible at sports and couldn’t actually dance. Except for this dance. You practiced it for hours and hours when you weren’t locked in a lecture hall doing marh. You had your own dorm at the university because you were so young, so you had no one but yourself to entertain you.

One night you even snuck out to a bar that had line dancing, just to see if you could keep up. It was much different than the movie, of course, but you ended up learning a couple steps before people noticed you were much too young to be in a bar.

That was it. Your deepest darkest secret. Not only could you line dance, but you weren’t half bad at it, either.

“Hey mister won’t you sell me a fake ID.”

You were quick to pause the song once the chorus was over. Chancing a look over at Harry, you saw that his expression was one of utter shock and disbelief. He was looking at you like you were a completely different person.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, quickly scrambling back to your side of the bed and pulling the covers over you completely.

“That was...” Harry started to say, but it seemed you had left him speechless.

“I said I don’t want to—”

“Hot.”

That made you peek your head out from beneath the covers. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘What?’ are you kidding? That was so fucking sexy I don’t even know where to begin.”

You frowned at him. “I looked ridiculous.”

Harry’s grin softened as he pulled you over so that your chests were flush against each other. As you inspected his face, you saw that his smile wasn’t one of teasing like you automatically assumed it would be. He was telling the truth. He actually liked your little dance.

“You, my love, looked anything but ridiculous. Almost got hard just now.”

“Harry!” you said, slapping his chest lightly.

You didn’t necessarily have a problem with your looks, but sometimes it was hard viewing yourself as sexy, or someone to be desired. You knew the stereotypes around “nerds” and inexperience and lack of inherent desirability, and you had your own track record to back that up. You’d had two boyfriends besides Harry, and even they only wanted to pick apart your brain, their compliments having to do with your intelligence rather than looks. It was fine, you supposed, but it would’ve been nice to be called beautiful or pretty or hot or something.

Harry was always more than eager to compliment every single thing about you, and he didn’t shy away from his obvious attraction to your body or your mind. But sometimes it was hard to believe him when he said things like that, to believe that you turned him on.

“I’m serious! Seeing you sway your hips in nothing but my t-shirt...” he said, trailing off as he replayed your little performance in his head. “I might need you to do that every night before bed.

“That will not be happening. I can’t even believe I did it just now.”

“Special occasions, then?” Harry asked, green eyes pleading with yours.

He looked too sweet to resist. Eyes wide, hair falling over his brow, freckles smattering across his nose. His hands had gone back to tracing mindless patterns on your back, but now they traveled lower and lower with each swirl and loop.

“Fine. But only on special occasions. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.”

“Deal,” Harry said, leaning up to seal it with a kiss.

It was easy to get lost in him when he’d already been tracing your back and slowly scrunching your shirt up. Your leg slotted between the two of his, your fingers finding purchase in the silky strands of his hair as he nibbled on your bottom lip before moving to kiss along his neck.

He giggled for a moment, the quick rise and fall of his chest making you pause and quirk a questioning brow.

“Sorry, I was just picturing you dancing in cowboy boots and denim shorts like they do in that movie. It’s my new fantasy now.”

“New fantasy?”

“Yeah, it used to be you lecturing me in your classroom, but that is now a close second,” he admitted.

“Oh,” you said. Harry went back to kissing you, taking the time to flip you over so that you were beneath him and spreading your legs nice and wide so he could fit comfortably between them.

For a moment, you got lost in him as he left sloppy kisses all over your chest, but then his confession hit you all of a sudden.

“Wait, what?”

“Shh. We’ll talk about my secrets after.”

You let him distract you knowing that you would remember to question him about his fantasies later.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“You’re ruining her, you know.”

Harry looked over to where your mother appeared at his shoulder. “Sorry?”

“You. You’re holding her back. She is one of a kind, has a gift that no one else has, but you have clipped her wings, and now she will never reach her full potential.”

It wasn’t Harry’s choice to visit your mother, but you begged him.

“She promised me she’s going to try to be better,” you told him, a hopeful look on your face. Harry wasn’t convinced, but he wanted to support you either way, so he agreed. A trip to the town where you grew up to meet your mother.

It had gone smoothly for about an hour.

“Keep your voice down,” Harry demanded, trying to quiet his own. You were cooking for him and your mom, and he didn’t want you to hear this conversation.

“You baby her. Coddled her so much that she probably doesn’t know left from right. Do you know how much I gave up so she could succeed, so that she could reach her full potential? And now you cart her around the world like a piece of arm candy, like a trophy you won.”

“That is not—” Harry didn’t even know where to start. Gave up? More like what she got. You told him early on in your friendship that your mother sent you off to some school, had been paid handsomely for it, yet your mother had the gall to act like it was some big sacrifice.

“I don’t cart her around. She works, she has a job that she loves, one she chose long before she met me. Why can’t that be enough for you?”

“That psychology nonsense? Anyone could do that. My daughter is an exceptional human being, but she prances around like everyone else when she is not. And you let her. Take responsibility and do what’s right for her, for all of us. She could be the thing that cures cancer, that—”

“See, that’s your problem,” Harry seethed, trying hard not to lose his temper. “Y/n is not a thing, she is a person, and the fact that you can’t differentiate that is disgusting.”

Your mom looked affronted, offended by Harry’s words and tone. “How dare you! This is my house and I will not allow you to—”

“It’s mine actually. I paid for it with the money I made from my nonsense job.”

Harry’s heart broke when he heard your voice. He hated that you had to hear what your mother said.

Even though he never liked the woman, he knew how optimistic you’d been about mending your relationship with your mom. It was clear now though that she’d had no change of heart.

“Y/n, is this the kind of man you bring into my house?” your mom said, completely disregarding what you said. “He is rude, he—”

“You were rude first. To Harry and to me,” you said, your voice painfully void of any emotion.

“You seem to think that because we’re dating, Harry controls what I do, but that is not the case. He supports me and I support him. I enjoy traveling with him and seeing the world, something I never got to do because you sent me away before I was old enough to get my own passport.

“And my work isn’t nonsense. I save lives, and I teach others how to do the same. Perhaps I could’ve been the person to cure cancer, but if there is anyone to blame for not doing so, it’s you,” you said, your voice breaking on the last word.

Harry wanted to reach out and hold your hand, but he knew he didn’t need to. Despite what your mother thought, you could stand on your own two feet just fine.

“It has taken me a long time to be happy, to rid myself of the belief that I was put on this earth to ruin myself trying to improve the lives of others, including yours. It’s time you learn the same. I suggest you start packing your things, because I’m kicking you out. You will no longer benefit from me or the work that I do, neither of which you have ever loved or supported.”

It was like a grenade had been thrown between the three of you. No one spoke for about five seconds, and then your mother erupted.

“You can’t kick me out! This is my home! I’m your mother, Y/n! Do not disrespect me like this!”

“You are no mother to me,” you said softly, and Harry could hear the wobble in your voice.

“You’d really kick me out? Onto the street? After everything I did for you? You never would’ve even met this man if it wasn’t for me!”

Now your mother was just spewing nonsense, doing anything she could to make you change your mind. She tried to reach out to you, but Harry was there to block her, shaking his head as a warning.

“If it was always true to say that it was or would be, it could not not be, or not be going to be. But if something cannot not happen, it is impossible for it not to happen; and what cannot not happen necessarily happens. Everything, then, that will be will be necessarily,” you said out of the blue. And when your mother looked at you confused, you continued.

“Are you not brushed up on your Aristotle? Let me explain. Things that happen in life are a necessity, that’s why they happen, but not every necessary or unnecessary event eventually plays out in actuality.

“I would’ve always met, Harry, I think. It’s a necessity. But how I got there,” you shrugged. “Not a necessity. You can watch the show Loki. It’s explained better there.”

You took Harry’s hand and led him out of the house. It wasn’t the one you grew up in, but he felt like you were leaving all those terrible memories behind you.

Silence filled the car as Harry drove to the nearest motel. You were supposed to stay at your mother’s house, but that was clearly not an option anymore.

Harry chanced a look at you as he drove down empty streets. You were staring ahead blankly, your hands folded nearly in your lap.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked. He wanted to rest a hand over yours, but you refrained, knowing you probably wouldn’t want that right now.

You shrugged, a very rare movement for you. “Disappointed, I guess? I don’t know why I thought she would be different.” You looked at him, but Harry had a hard time reading your expression. “I know you didn’t really want to come. I’m sorry for dragging you out here.”

“It’s not that I didn’t—I just didn’t want to see you get hurt,” he said turning into the motel parking lot.

“I can’t believe I actually thought she would change,” you said, looking down dejectedly at your hands. “I guess that’s why the saying is that a tiger can’t change its stripes, right?”

“Hey, look at me. Y/n, look at me,” Harry said.

Your lip was quivering and your eyes were lined with tears. When you sniffled, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours.

“You are a remarkable person, no matter what that woman thinks. If she can’t see that, then that’s on her.”

“But she was right, wasn’t she? I could be doing more—”

“Y/n, what you do is enough. You are enough. And if you don’t believe that, I’ll believe it for you until you do.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Now, what do you say to a hopping on the next red-eye out of here?”

“Back home?” you asked with a sniffle.

“Anywhere,” Harry said. “Let’s just go somewhere. You and me.”

His heart swelled when a smile flickered on her lips. You were hurting, but that pain wouldn’t last forever. Harry would make sure of that.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Y/n! Y/n! Over here!”

You looked over to where a couple of girls were calling out your name. It was a hard thing to get used to at first, people suddenly recognizing you, whether it was for your educational videos or dating a celebrity.

All your life you could count the number of friends and family you had on your hand, and now you had hundreds of thousands of followers on something called a “TikTok.” You didn’t really know how to manage it but your partner for making your videos did, so now you made short, one minute videos about whatever popped into your head, something you used to be bullied for growing up but were now praised for.

Hesitantly, you went over to the girls, clearly fans of Harry in their tour shirts and custom made merch. You’d been taking your cats for a walk, all three of them. Harry had gifted you a kitten for your birthday a few months ago, and you welcomed him with open arms into your home.

In a past life, someone calling out to you on the street would’ve made you run in the opposite direction, but now you just smiled and said, “Hello. How are you?”

“Where’s Harry?” one of the girls blurted, which made her eyes bug out with embarrassment. “Sorry, that was so rude! I’m just really nervous and I say stupid shit when I’m nervous, and obviously you guys are together, but you’re also your own people so you—”

“Jen, shut up!” one of the other girls hissed with a quick smack to the arm.

Your eyes were wide during the whole exchange, but you weren’t offended. You could tell this girl, Jen, meant well. And you also knew what it was like to nervously babble and blurt things.

“It’s okay. He’s actually in California right now,” you said, adding the last bit as an afterthought. He had business to take care of, and you had work at the university. Sometimes your schedules didn’t add up the way you and Harry didn’t like, but you made the most of your time and tried to see each other as much as possible.

“Oh. That’s—That’s so cool!” Jen’s friend said, looking a little disappointed.

Feeling bad for the girls, you slipped your phone from your pocket, telling them to wait one second.

Dialing Harry’s number, you waited for Harry to pick up. He usually only let it get to about two rings before he—”

“Darling!”

You blushed at the girls hearing Harry’s pet name for you, but you tried to ignore it and their giggles so you could respond. “Hello.”

“I was just thinking about you, actually,” he said.

Frowning, you replied, “You always say that.”

“Well, I’m always thinking about you.”

One of the girls couldn’t hold back and, “Aww,” which helped you remember why you called in the first place. “Hey, so I ran into some fans of yours, and I thought you would like to say hello to them.”

“I’d like nothing more!” Harry said.

You let the girls say their hellos, not really listening to their conversation until you heard, “She’s with the cats, isn’t she?”

Harry said goodbye to the girls soon after that, thanking them for listening to and enjoying his music, and once the call went dead, you quickly said your own goodbyes so you could be on your way.

As you left the fans behind, your phone buzzed again. “Hi, Harry.”

“I was so wrapped up in conversation, I forgot to talk to you! How was your day, love? How is Marcus Arugula?”

“Aurelius, Harry. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

You let it go with a roll of your eyes, knowing this particular conversation could go on for a good long while.

“We’re all fine,” you said as you pushed your cat pram towards your townhouse. “I’m going to try out a new recipe and prep for the new semester.”

“A riveting evening indeed,” Harry said, and while he was joking, you knew he enjoyed a night in with you. “It was nice of you to call me so I could talk to those fans.”

“I’m a nice person,” you replied.

“You are,” Harry agreed. “But you’ve also never done that before.”

You hummed. “You know me, H. Sometimes conversation is hard. Especially if I’m not expecting it. Might as well let them talk to you instead of me.”

“I think you’re a great conversationalist.”

“I’m comfortable around you.”

“An honor I carry with me proudly.”

He was talking funny, or just not like himself. “What’s up with you?”

“Oh nothing, just waiting for you to get home so we can have dinner together.”

“How is that possible? You’re—Wait, did you fly home?”

“Got in ten minutes ago,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Come home, Y/n. I’ve missed you too much.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“Y/n? Is that you?”

You turned around, wondering who could possibly be calling out to you, but when you saw his face, you immediately clammed up.

It was Peter. You went to high school together, though you weren’t even a preteen. He was one of the only kids at school who didn’t bully you and was very handsome. He still was.

“Peter. H—Hi.”

Why you were speechless after all these years was beyond you. But being here, at your high school reunion, brought it all back. Like the rest of your graduating class, he was older than you, but time had been kind to him, unlike some of your other classmates, who didn’t even recognize you.

“How are you?” he asked.

You felt like a kid again, blushing at his question. You weren’t into him, but it was like you’d been zapped back to the past, all of that kiddish admiration surging back.

“I’m good. And you?”

“Me? I’m good too, I guess. Surprised you came, though.”

“Me too, but, I don’t know. I thought I’d show everyone I’m not eleven years old anymore.”

Coming to your high school reunion was a last minute decision. You hadn’t been back in your hometown since you officially cut ties with your mother, which had been years ago. You were perfectly content and fulfilled, but when you received an invitation in your school mailbox, you didn’t what to think or how to feel.

“You actually do that?” Harry asked when you showed the invitation to him over facetime. “I thought that was just a thing in movies.”

“Oh, it’s real,” you said. “Is it bad that I want to show you off to all of my tormentors?”

“Not at all. I don’t mind being a trophy boyfriend.”

So here you were. Harry ran to the bathroom less than five minutes in, which was when Peter found you.

“It’s hard to look back and think that you were only eleven,” Peter said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, I suppose it’s—”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, cutting you off.

Tilting your head to the side, you asked, “For what?”

“For the way you were treated at this school. It was awful, and I’ve felt guilty about it for years.”

“You didn’t do anything,” you said with a frown.

“Yeah, but I didn’t try to stop it either,” Peter said. “I—I have a daughter now, and to even think about the things that were said and done to you happening to my daughter just fills me with so much anger, and I just—I guess I’m just glad you were able to move on from it. From all of us. And I’m truly, truly sorry.”

You blinked, not sure what to say. You hadn’t really spoken to anyone else, but you couldn’t even fathom any of your former bullies apologizing. Yet here Peter was, apologizing for being a bystander.

“Thank you for saying that. It means a lot,” you finally said.

Peter nodded, realizing that the conversation was pretty much done. “Well, it was good seeing you, Y/n. Or Dr. Y/l/n. My daughter watches your videos all the time, so I know that much.”

You smiled, watching him walk away. When he disappeared into the throng of people, you remembered that you did not come to this reunion alone.

“Where’s my Harry?” you muttered you yourself as you walked out of the gym towards the hallway where the bathroom. You’d spent many hours in these halls. Not walking up or down them. No, you were actually stuffed in a locker on occasion until someone realized you were missing.

As you reached the end of the hallway where the boy’s bathrooms were, you saw Harry. “There you are!”

Harry looked up as he wiped his hands on his trousers, and you couldn’t help but shake your head at his outfit choice.

For one his shirt was see-through. A knitted long sleeve shirt that did very little to hide tan skin and tattoos underneath. And it was barely buttoned too, but when you asked him about it, all he said was that if he was going to be arm candy, he was going to choose what flavor.

“And what flavor are you supposed to be?”

“Boyfriend of a well respected professor, with just a hint of slutty. But just a hint,” he said, pinching his thumb and index finger together.

Sometimes you swore he said things just to see how you would react.

“Here I am,” he said. “Ready to—”

“Let’s get out of here,” you said suddenly, taking his hand in yours.

“Where?” Harry didn’t even question it, just trusted your desire to leave.

Where did you want to go? You thought for a moment, then pulled him along through your old school until you were outside and on the football field.

“People used to come out here and...do things,” you said, staring at the red and white hash marks on the turf.

“What kind of things?”

“Nothing I was supposed to know about at eleven.”

“Scandalous.”

“Very,” you agreed.

Time passed in silence, Harry content to just hold your hand while you gathered your thoughts. He was used to it by now, as you often took long pauses to think before speaking.

“I had a crush on this boy while I was at school here.”

“Cute, but...he didn’t have a crush on you...did he?”

You shook your head. “No, no, nothing like that. He was just cute and...nice to me, you know? He made my life here just a little less miserable. I never held anything against him, but he—he apologized to me.”

“When?”

“While you were in the bathroom.”

“Well...that was nice of him...Wasn’t it?” he asked, not sure where you were going with this.

“Yeah, I just—I don’t know, I just wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t blame him. I hardly even thought about him until today.”

Harry draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side. You’d been through so much, and he didn’t even think you realized it.

But that was the marvelous thing about you. Despite everything, you were still happy, still living life how you wanted, and Harry couldn’t have been prouder. To know you, to watch you grow and flourish, to just be around someone incredible.

“Did you know that Greek philosophers believed that humans were originally made with four arms, four legs, and two faces?” he asked.

He knew you knew, but he wanted to be the one to share the knowledge about philosophy. Just this once. He read up on it just for you.

“I did, but tell me more,” you said, wanting to know his take on it.

“Well,” Harry said. “They were so powerful, that the gods separated them, and the two halves spent the rest of their lives searching for each other, and if they did, there was just this...this cosmic understanding that they were soulmates.”

Harry’s tale was a little bit more romanticized than the original, but you liked it better than way. “Are you saying we’re soulmates?”

“I’d like to think so, yes. Do you concur?”

You smiled at his use of the word “concur.” You affected each other in practically every way possible, and vocabulary was no different.

“I do concur. Your argument was very sound.”

“Why thank you, Doctor.”

You kissed him then, making him stumble with the force you used to lean into him. But Harry was always quick to catch you, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tight, almost uncomfortably so. Almost.

Harry was usually the one to take the lead with these kinds of things, and you were more than happy to let him. Now, though, you were spurred on by nothing but the desire to let him know how much he meant to you.

You did all the things you knew he loved—sucking his lip between your own, rubbing your hands from the top of his head all the way down until they were sneaking beneath his shirt, tracing his tattoos with your fingertips, nibbling gently on his ear until his knees were so weak he had to sit down on the bleachers.

“Love you,” you mumbled against his neck, sucking a mark there for good measure. You were usually careful about giving Harry hickeys because he was constantly being photographed, but at the moment you didn’t care, and neither did he. Holding his face in your hands, you peppered it with delicate little kisses, all over his cheeks and nose and eyelids. “Love, love, love you.”

“Love you too, darling. With all my heart,” Harry panted, not even bothering to open his eyes. “But let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”

Kissing him one last time for good measure, you said, “Lead the way.”

#harry styles #harry styles x professor yn #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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owmylasagna-blog · 2 months

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What do you think of this scene where Lee embraces Eddy near the ending of the movie, and then try to fight Bro to defend him? I found this really cute, and kind of conviced me Lee genuinely likes and cares for him (even if he don't return it, probably never will). I find a shame how many people don't talk about this.

You see… I start answering these questions and then I spiral out into analysis nobody asked for. Here goes!

I had to go back to rewatch these ending scenes of BPS to jog my memory and I can see what you’re talking about. Lee hugs Eddy, picking him up like a cat by the armpits. It’s brief but she’s drawn with little animated bubble hearts. This honestly surprised me, I’d sort of forgotten them from the scene. In this instance it does seem she is genuinely crushing on him. Or maybe she is enamored with how cute he is - I can’t overstate how comically tiny Eddy looks when she is holding him. I’d agree too that Eddy is less than thrilled. Very in character as usual.

Now Lee’s reaction to Eddy getting walloped by Bro is SO interesting. And not from any romantic or shipping perspective in my opinion. Honestly, all the Kankers witnessing Eddy’s abuse (EVERYONE witnessing Eddy’s abuse) is wildly transformational. I’m amazed by how much character analysis you can pack into this 2 minute scene just based on each characters’ reactions but I’m gonna try and stay focused on the task at hand. Lee.

I really admire Lee springing into action here. I think it speaks so much to her bravery, hard headedness, and role as a protector and leader of the pack. Throughout the show we see how she is the typical Oldest Sister and this shines through in how ready she is to defend Eddy. I always interpreted Lee as maybe the most hardened and cynical of men among her sisters, possibly because she remembers the most when it comes to her dad and stepdads. As the eldest, her mother probably levels with her the most about how men are good-for-nothin’, backstabbin’, two timin’, free-loadin’... you get the idea. I have no evidence of this but let's just indulge my inference.

Lee projects a lot of these ideas onto Eddy (the Kankers all do more generally with the Eds), often treating him more like a “boy toy” or thinking that through enough coercion and beating into submission he’ll become the semi-servile husband of her dreams. There is a lot to be said about the tension and toxic hetero relationship dynamic going on here but I can’t blame Lee for grabbing the bull by the horns, taking her control. Unfortunately for Eddy she chose Eddy, and she’s unaware and uninterested in how he feels about it all 99% of the time.

So you can imagine when she sees Eddy, the neighbor boy she has been tormenting because of all these mixed messages about men, getting abused by his brother, an older male family member. The pieces really have to be coming together for Lee of who the real enemy is in this situation. She has to relate and sympathize with Eddy at that moment. For the first time Lee humanizes Eddy, finally seeing him as just another kid that’s been wronged by the men in his life. Like, my heart aches thinking about this. Her blood must be boiling. She comes to his defense in a way we’ve only seen for her sisters. It’s very moving! I love her righteous feminine rage!

This brings up a bigger point of how BPS deviates in some ways from the typical dynamics of the show. The fact that the Kankers are banding together to protect their “boyfriends'' from the rest of the cul-de-sac kids is sort of new. Most episodes are Eds VS cul-de-sac kids or Eds VS Kankers or the occasional Eds VS cul-de-sac+Kankers. It’s nice to see one group of outcasts coming to the defense of another (despite likely not having the best intentions). It takes the Eds royaling pissing off the cul-de-sac kids to catalyze the solidarity between the two trios. And when Bro comes on the scene they get to redirect their antagonizing towards someone who deserves it a bit more.

I’d like to imagine after BPS there is a major shift in the way the Kankers treat and view the Eds. Maybe it’s the eddeddy blinders or maybe I’m still not 100% convinced Lee really has a crush on Eddy but this feels like it could be the start of a more amicable relationship. Or they silently respect each other from afar, Eddy still being tentatively terrified of her ferocity or ever getting on her bad side. But more generally Lee would back off on her antagonizing, and maybe unpack whether or not she likes Eddy or she liked the idea of Eddy. I really can’t see her being very interested in him romantically after BPS but she could have more sympathy and understanding than before.

Anyway it was nice to have a reason to talk about Lee more, so thanks for bringing it up!!! This is just my little interpretation that got way out of hand.

#yap yap dribble dribble #lee #eddy

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thelunarfairy · 4 months

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Genuinely no jshk ch has ever made me this puzzled that the new 27 After school hanako kun made me!?!

That was so creepy wth

What do you think that was all about??

Hanako definitely knows something we don't about that "other" world

I think it's like the Picture perfect arc ?? You get what I'm saying??

Is this the continuation or spin off of Pilot??

But honestly I would love to see that AU where all the supernaturals like mei , sumire , mitsuba etc etc are all in school

Like this chapter

And why the hell nene didn't realise all the normal kids and supernaturals were here together until the last panel?? That would be like the first thing to notic damm 😭

Yes, i agree with you! This one made me create several crazy theories in my head XD

It felt like Aidairo was telling us a secret

"Pay attention, the secret is between the lines…"

Now, I didn't focus on it too deeply because it's a spinoff, but it's still directly related to the pilot. Nene coming back to consciousness in the classroom doesn't seem like she was woken up from a dream, you usually wake up in the sleeping position, she was already sitting up as if she had been suddenly pulled from there.

It happened to Kou in the red house.

That seemed to be a doppelganger, as Mitsuba mentioned

Hanako pulled her just as Nene was going to look at the other Yashiro on the other side of the door, then she would disappear, in fact, Nene returned to reality, while the doppelganger stayed there.

Supposedly, if the real Nene looked she would die and the doppelganger would take her place.

All of this is intriguing, especially the "new student" part reminded me of that mysterious hand.

This all seems to show us that there are several timelines in JSHK, in one of these lines (multiverse) everyone was friends and the supernaturals were ordinary students, Nene was the one who was out of place, she was the "new student", as if she had left the her timeline and gone to another one she doesn't know.

You know, JSHK likes to play with time, and playing with time is including temporal paradox, timelines, multiverse, butterfly effect. It appears that JSHK included the multiverse in the paradox. There are stories in which there is only one timeline, if you change the past, the future changes, and there are other stories in which if you go back in time and change something, the future remains the same because a new timeline was created, and the timeline in which the character lives has not changed.

Did you understand?

Nene has this ability to float through the flow of time, we saw it happen several times and none of it was intentional, it just happened….

Maybe Aidairo is trying to say that the one who is the cause of all the chaos, destruction, death of the twins, etc., is Nene, for some reason I keep thinking about that too.

You know, it would be surprising if the culprit of everything was Nene, there is another version of her out there causing chaos and she doesn't know hahaha but I don't know if I should delve deeper into this XD

I think about it all the time but I don't have enough evidence to talk about it, but sometimes I think that Nene is to blame for all this, that she is a special type who somehow controls some events. I've thought about the possibility that somehow she could also be used by the creature under the house or that…… there is a Nene from another timeline…. I'm rambling too much….

Ahem, can there be a creature that takes the form of other people?

Is there another Yashiro who is causing chaos in the timeline?

There are so many possibilities…. 😵‍💫

Maybe they are trapped in the red house and live under the illusion that they managed to get out of there and live a normal life.

OK I stop.

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #amane yugi #jshk #tbhk #hanako kun #yugi twins #aidairo #hanakokun #jshk spoilers #jshk theories #jshk amane #jshk hanako #yashiro nene #tbhk manga #ashk #jshk yashiro #nene yashiro

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cleoluvrr · 1 year

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The Last Days of Summer XVIII (Rafe Cameron x Heyward!OC)

Warnings: violence, underage drinking, drug use, verbal abuse, jealousy, forbidden relationship, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, gaslighting + manipulation

Synopsis: Stuck in a situation she never dreamed of, Neriah Heyward blurs the line between Kook and Pogue; Rafe Cameron a witness.

masterlist

word count: 5.5k+

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“...your little pogue brother and his friends don’t know how to butt out.”

“I’m sorry about your brother, but he was just collateral damage.”

“You’re really pretty for a stuck up, pogue, bitch, y’know.”

“Poor little Pogue girl can’t remember her place and needs someone to remind her…”

As the hot water rains over my skin and rinses the evidence of the previous days away, I can’t help but to think about all of the times Rafe openly talked about his disdain for the other side of Kildare. I already knew about it, it was impossible not to. He wasn’t the only one like that, however, so I never gave it much weight.

When you go to school with Kooks, when you run in the same circles as them and hang out at the same spots as them, when you befriend them, you tend to take the casual classism on the chin. You shouldn’t have to do that, but it’s what one does to live a decently pleasant life on Figure-8.

However, when you make a Kook, the Kook, your boyfriend, you shouldn’t have to do that. You would think that he would accept the fact that you’re not rich, that you live on the other side of the island. You’d think that your Pogue status would be an absolute non-issue, because why else would he make you his girlfriend? You shouldn’t have to take any of the constant quips about your place in the hierarchy of Kildare that you hear from your peers.

And yet, I do.

I think I let myself get too used to it, let my mind become clouded with Rafe’s change in behavior. I let myself believe that he was genuinely trying to become a good person, that he wanted to change for the better. The rose-colored glasses were strapped on tight.

It was hard to let myself think logically about everything when things were moving so fast. He never gave me time to think about what I really wanted to do, but at the end of the day, it was ultimately my choice whether or not I wanted to give Rafe a chance. It was my decision to look past the way he treated me because he gave sweet kisses and promises backed by nothing. The way he treated my brother and his friends.

I think back to a conversation we had when we first began dating, one that should’ve been much more of a red flag than I treated it then.

“I’m also a Pogue.” I point out. He shakes his head again and reaches to twirl the ends of my braids with his finger. “You can pretend that I’m not, but you see what side of town you’re on. And I am also friends with John B in some capacity.”

“You aren’t like them.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I say scoffing.

“You’re better than them. You’re smart, and kind, and not a criminal.” He explains. “You’re even better than I am, and I love that about you.”

“That doesn’t make me not a Pogue, Rafe.”

“I know that, but you are more than just that.” He places a hand on my cheek softly, thumb caressing the skin beneath it. “So many of them are just that and nothing else. They have nothing going for them. Being born a Pogue isn’t their fault, but they don’t even try to change anything for the better. But you? You want to get the hell off this island and make a life for yourself, and that makes you different.”

I should’ve known by the way he tried his damndest to separate me from the identity of Pogue that it was a bad idea to give him the time of day.

He didn’t like me for me, he liked the idea of me. He picked out the parts of me that he liked the most and decided that was the girl he wanted.

I felt so stupid for falling for him so quickly. I should’ve been smarter than that, I am smarter than that, but I let my feelings cloud my judgment. The feelings of frustration and anger with my brother for choosing his friends over his blood, the feelings of being doted on in a way that I’ve never experienced.

I’m not even sure if the moments of vulnerability he shared with me were even real anymore. If he truly wanted to be open with me, or if it was just a manipulation tactic. It’s not like he wasn’t smart enough to do that, he may be mentally unwell but he wasn’t incapable of using my empathetic heart and mind to his advantage.

The betrayal I can take. I can take the manhandling and the yelling, having my autonomy taken away. Crazily enough, I can handle being taken to a remote island against my will to fulfill whatever sick fantasy of a happy family Rafe has dragged me into. The criminal aspect of it all didn’t make me flinch as much as I thought it would.

What I couldn’t take? Watching my brother drive off with his friends and leaving me in the hands of a man on the borderline. That betrayal was something that hurt me almost more than anything else, but I couldn’t even be that mad about it. I betrayed Pope just as much for choosing to even be with Rafe. The situation was complicated.

Rafe’s blatant disregard for the lives of innocent teenagers was the one thing that hurt me more than that. Listening to him brush off the possible death of my brother and his friends, of his own sister, and treat it like it was nothing serious made my stomach churn.

Sighing heavily, I shut off the water in the now lukewarm shower. My skin felt clean but my brain was weighed down by a plethora of thoughts that only brought down my already poor mood.

Rafe wasn’t on the bed when I exited the bathroom, nor was he downstairs when I went to go find something to eat. I hadn’t touched food or water in days and my body was beginning to feel the effects of it, but I didn’t trust that family to throw me a cracker if I were starving to death.

I stole a few days worth of food from the pantries to take back to the room so that I could avoid contact with them for as long as possible.

I hadn’t left the room more than a handful of times in about a week, not that I could really count the days, and the only contact I had with the outside world was Rafe coming back to shower or sleep. Whenever he did those things I would make my way to the balcony overlooking the yard, avoiding any effort Rafe would make to speak to me.

I’m sure it was beginning to drive both of us crazy. Me because I hadn’t had human contact in possibly over a week and I had nothing to keep me occupied outside of staring out the window for hours or reading the book I packed in my bag over and over. The white walls of the room were beginning to feel less like prison and more and more like an insane asylum.

Rafe, however, was going crazy for a much different reason.

He hated nothing more than when I ignored him, and going a week without my attention while being in the same room as him was starting to have some effects. He would slam every door he used, became short with Wheezie anytime he spoke to her, and he barely treated Rose like a respectable human being anymore. Not that she was, anyway.

I think he spends most of his time at home in his dad’s room. I walked past the room a couple times on my short journeys around the house, the door wide open as he sat next to the unconscious man just watching him.

It’s hard for me to not feel sad for him. He lost his dad once, though he was alive the whole time, and he might lose him again. If Ward were to never wake up, it would not make my life any worse, but it would probably destroy Rafe. I shouldn’t care about him after everything he did to me, but I do. I wish I was telling the truth when I told him I hate him on that ship, but I wasn’t.

In the days that I spend alone I often think about what I’d be doing if I hadn't given into Rafe that night. If I told him I couldn’t come over, if I slept in my own bed and woke up the next day in my own room. If I would be eating lunch with my best friends right now, if my parents would yell at me to stop slacking off while working Heyward’s.

I wonder if Rafe and I would have lasted back home. If he never revealed his true self to me, if I would still be head over heels for him.

I am snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of footsteps thundering through the house. The familiar sound of Rafe’s footsteps stomping up the stairs disturbs my peace as it does a least twice a day.

Rafe left earlier in the day to run off to some mysterious place once again. I’m sure he told me before he went out, but I can never find the energy to listen to him for longer than three seconds before drowning out his voice with my own thoughts.

The door bangs open suddenly, the loud sound of the knob slamming against the wall making me flinch. My head turns to Rafe annoyedly at the disturbance, but the sight leaves my eyes wide and jaw resting in my lap. I can’t help but to gawk at the blonde, his appearance eliciting a feeling in me I hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“What the fuck?” I say quite loudly. The sound of my voice captures his attention almost immediately, neck nearly snapping to face me completely.

In front of me is a very bald Rafe Cameron, atop his head a fresh buzzcut that was not there this morning.

“Neriah.” Rafe sounds surprised that I spoke in his presence, as if the sound of my voice is unfamiliar to him.

The strong features of his face are emphasized by his cropped hair, jaw sharp and cheekbones high. He looks much more mature with the haircut, the length of it suits him better than the usual state of his blonde locks. His blue eyes look lighter without his hair overshadowing his face, two perfectly shaped eyebrows framing the sockets they sit in.

Dressed in a pair of vineyard vines shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt, his tanned arms looked even more bronze than before. The natural tan of his skin brought out from the bright island sun and his long days out of the house.

I stop my eyes from wandering any further and bring my gaze back up to his face.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I…cut my hair?” He answers, unsure of if that’s the response I was looking for. He closes the door behind him and steps into the room further. My eyes follow him as he approaches the bed cautiously, body tense as if I’m going to lash out and attack him.

“Why?” I study his face again, drawing my lip into my mouth to chew on subconsciously. He stands by his side of the mattress and looks down at my questioning figure, a well-read book resting open in my lap as I lean against the headboard.

He shrugs, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. He reads my face too, well aware of my unmasked ogling. I don’t bother to stop, the part of my brain that instructs me to have some shame long gone.

“I can’t cut my hair when I want to or something?”

I release my lip from my mouth and purse them together instead. Nodding my head, I drop my eyes back to the book in my lap and pretend to read the page that I had been stuck on for the past thirty minutes. I flip to the next page loudly, the sound of the paper filling the air as it faces the abuse from my irritated fingers.

“I forgot I’m not allowed to speak, sorry.” I say shortly.

Rafe sighs heavily and runs a hand over his semi-bald head. I feel his eyes on me, his heated gaze leaving my body feeling warm and vulnerable under his watch. Shaking his head, he ignores my comments and walks around the bed to disappear into the bathroom.

I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Rafe for days.

My usual daydreams of home had begun to become mixed with flashes of him and his new appearance. I was truly starting to feel just as crazy as him, the once plain, four white walls of the bedroom that I would stare at blankly for hours became blank slate for me to imagine his face plastered all over them. My book was no longer entertaining to me, the words on the off-white pages becoming unrecognizable as they were slowly replaced by Rafe’s name in my unwell mind.

When he would come into the room for a brief shower or a few hours of sleep, I could barely control the urge to keep my eyes off of him. I’m sure he could feel the tension in the air when he exited the bathroom, chest still damp and warm from the shower with a towel draped around his waist. Only when he would enter the closet to dress himself did I allow myself to outwardly react, hands for the nearest pillow to smother myself with silently.

I should have more shame, really. The man abducted me and told me in so many words that he’s glad my brother and his friends might be dead. But he was my boyfriend only a week ago, I can’t pretend I don’t find him attractive. The butterflies that took home in my stomach didn’t just die off because he was no longer in my good graces.

Was my boyfriend…Did we ever technically break up? Sure, I told him I hate him, but we both knew I was lying. No, I don’t particularly care for him right now, but it’s not like my feelings for him just went away.

God, I’m so pathetic.

After that week of silence that I punished Rafe with, I would never know peace again. I was forced to eat at the dining table with everyone else, my self-isolating behavior no longer being tolerated to the extent that I took it. I didn’t mind Wheezie’s presence, and Rose I could ignore like it was my job.

However, I hated the heat that rose to my face when I would raise my eyes from my dinner plate and catch Rafe already staring at me. I couldn’t focus on anything when his eyes were on me, appetite disappearing immediately when I noticed the feeling of his eyes on me. And it wasn’t only at the dinner table.

While I could just barely keep myself from ogling the eldest Cameron child, he had absolutely no shame. The feeling of someone watching me never went away if we were in the same room.

Like right now, for example.

I feel Rafe’s burning gaze on the top of my head as he watches me skin over my book for the hundredth time that week. His towering frame leaning against the railing of the balcony on the opposite side of the room, his view of me unobstructed. Every time I lifted my head, I would catch him staring shamelessly, expression stoic as his crossed arms flexed against his chest. I could feel his frustration from here, my blatant refusal to interact with him willingly finally starting to make him crack.

Tearing my eyes away from my book, I make eye contact with the blonde once again. His stare was unwavering, and it was making it terribly hard to focus on anything else. All I could focus on was keeping my breath steady to mask how nervous his watchful gaze was making me.

“Can I help you?” I say, finally breaking the silence. I shut my book and set it on the nightstand before locking my fingers together, hands resting tensely in my lap.

“Hm?” Rafe hums. His face doesn’t move, the sound leaving his throat lifelessly.

“Can I help you with something?” I repeated to him. “You’ve been sitting there staring at me like you have a problem.”

Rafe shrugs in response and tilts his head to the side. The wet, pink muscle of his tongue slips out of his mouth to moisten his lips as his eyes rake over my face once again.

“I can’t look at my girlfriend now?”

My head jerks back at the G word, the mention of our relationship leaving me puzzled. Rafe looks at me expectantly, not so patiently waiting for an answer to a question that was clearly rhetorical.

“Girlfriend?” I raise my eyebrows far into my hairline. “I wasn’t aware we were still together.”

“I wasn’t aware we ever broke up.”

Rafe steps into the room from the balcony and shuts the double doors behind him. It was a beautiful day, the mid-afternoon sun was sitting high in the sky and casting a warm light on the house. The white room practically glowed from all of the sun shining through the windows.

He looked so intensely handsome.

“Well...you kidnapped me, for one.” I point out obviously, tongue poking through my cheek as I squint my eyes at him. He slowly approaches until he reaches the end of the mattress, legs pressing up against the foot of the bed.

“I didn’t kidnap you.” The blonde rolls his eyes at the claim. He was either delusional or in denial of how I ended up here.

“Okay.” I say shortly, not willing to argue with him about it right now. “I definitely told you in very simple terms that I hate you. Multiple times, in fact, you stormed out of the room right after. I think that qualifies as a breakup.”

Rafe folds his lips into his mouth and tilts his head again. His eyes squint in a way that mirrors mine as he shakes his head no at me in disagreement. He releases his lips with a from the confines before he starts tsking at me as if I’ve said something incorrect.

“We aren’t done until I say we’re done, and I never said we were.” He sounds like a typical control freak, and it makes my head hurt. “And we both know you were lying, so don’t–don’t even do that right now, okay?”

“Do you know how mental you sound right now? Not that it’s out of the ordinary for you.”

Rafe scoffs at me and runs his hand over his semi-bald head. He really has no room to feel offended at all, it’s not like it was a lie. Sure, maybe it was a low blow, but it was deserved. The blonde hits himself on the side of his head with the heels of his hands like he’s trying to beat the thoughts out of it. It was something he did when he was too frustrated to form a proper sentence, when he couldn’t think.

“Please…Neriah.” Rafe says. Putting his hand to his mouth, he briefly chews on his thumb nail before dropping it back to his side. He takes a deep breath before continuing to speak. “Don’t, don’t make me mad right now. I–I don’t want to get mad at you, you know that. You know that right?”

“I don’t even know how you can be so delusional, Rafe. Really, I don’t.” I continued on. I knew that I was going to strike a nerve by implying that he’s crazy, it was something he hated to hear. “I think you were more sane when you were a drug addict-”

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up!” Rafe interrupts angrily. He takes a few long-legged strides to reach my side of the bed, the speed in which he appeared beside me inhuman. His hand flies out from the side of his body and snatches up my face, strong, tan fingers digging into the flesh of my cheeks.

It was an aching pain, the feeling of his thumb pressing deep into the bone of my mandible. His eyes held a burning, blue fire. A special anger that could only be triggered by questioning his sanity.

He forces my head back to raise my eyes to head, the rough motion straining my neck uncomfortably. He lowers his face to meet mine and our breaths mingle together. My jaw clenches down on nothing, eyes burning just as hot as his.

Being this close to him was hard. I felt weak when his skin was on mine, when his lips were so close to mine. I hated being able to breathe in his scent so easily, I hated the way it made me feel. I hated the hammering of my heart; it only reminded me that I feel something for him that I know I shouldn’t.

“You don’t talk to me like that. Ever.” Rafe says lowly. He speaks through gritted teeth, voice rough and teetering on the edge of sounding dangerous. “I’ve been very nice to you, very…very respectful. But I’m not gonna let you walk all over me like I’m a little bitch. Is that what you think I am?”

I don’t verbalize an answer, letting the silence speak for me. I guess that wasn’t acceptable enough for him.

“Huh? You think I’m a little bitch, Neriah?” He repeats, the pads of his fingers gripping my face even tighter. I wince in pain for a second, but it looks more like a sneer than evidence of my discomfort.

I feel gross for the way it makes my body tingle when he looks at me like that, when he speaks to me like that. The longer I’m stuck here with him, the sicker I become. I don’t know why his manhandling suddenly makes me giddy, why I purposefully provoke him just to see what happens. It made my brain feel like it was going to combust.

I would never let him find that out, however. I don’t know what would happen if that became known. If it would ruin the fantasy of me being his perfect little doll and put me in more danger than I may be already.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that.” The sentence is slurred together as it leaves my mouth due to the lack of mobility in my jaw, the hinge of it held prisoner by Rafe’s hand.

“You think you’re funny?” He says, eyebrows pulling together in faux curiosity.

A smile plants itself on my lips, a dry laugh itching to climb up my throat and right throw itself into Rafe’s face. I’m not sure what will happen if I laugh directly in his face, and I don’t care to find out while he’s so unstable, so I settle for the small grin that has found home on my face.

The smile is short lived, the expression wiped clean off my face when he opens his mouth.

“Do you like acting like such a fucking cunt?” He says, hand pushing my face away roughly. The vulgar language leaving his mouth makes my jaw drop in shock.

Instinctively my hand shot up from my lap, the sharp sound of skin on skin echoing off the walls. Rafe’s head snaps to the side at the violent contact, the force of the slap producing a pink mark on the side of his face. My own palm stung from the impact, the sensitive skin tingling with a continuous stinging pain.

Rafe doesn’t move for a few seconds, shock rendering him completely frozen. Slowly his head turns back to face me once again, the movement reminding me of an owl. Eerie and unnatural.

His jaw is clenched tightly, the muscles stretched over his mandible flexing tightly. His hand reaches up towards his own to wipe at the spot where I struck him. He pulls it away to examine his fingers, digits rubbing together as if there was residue left behind.

My heart pounds against my chest, instant regret filling my body. It was a rare occasion that I was genuinely afraid of Rafe, and this was one of those moments. Swallowing dryly, I watch Rafe closely as he looms over me silently.

Nodding his head a few times, his gaze finally lands on me.

“Because I’m a nice guy, I’m going to give you a chance to apologize.” Rafe says calmly. I rip my eyes away from the reddening print on his cheek to meet his eyes. He was very obviously furious, moments away from snapping if I said the wrong thing.

I care more for my pride than my safety in moments like this.

“Are you gonna apologize for calling me a cunt?” Is what I choose to say instead. I can still feel the ghost of his fingers pressing into my face though they are long gone.

“No.” He doesn’t explain himself any further, leaving me with a single word answer.

I shrug my shoulders at the response and cross my arms against my chest. Rafe looks down at me expectantly as he awaits my apology.

“Then you deserved it.” I say boldly. Swinging my legs off of the bed, I push myself into a standing position directly in front of Rafe. Though my stomach was churning I wouldn't allow him to know that I was all but terrified of what his retaliation may be. “You deserve a lot more than that, actually. You wanted a Pogue girl, so you’re gonna get a Pogue girl.”

Pushing past him I enter the walk-in closet, the mirror at the very back of the small room showing Rafe’s still back facing me. I searched through my side for a change of clothes, the shower sounding like a perfect escape from the ominous blonde just a few feet away.

I brush past him once again to enter the bathroom, the feeling of his eyes hot against my back as I move silently throughout the room.

It’s when I enter the bathroom that I finally hear him move. His feet lead him into the bathroom with me, eyes weighing heavy on my back as I adjust the temperature of the shower. After a minute of pretending to wait for the shower to heat up to my liking, I turn to face Rafe with exasperation covering my features.

“Can I help you?” I make my annoyance clear, not letting my voice waver despite feeling quite apprehensive. “You see I’m trying to do something.”

He says nothing in response. Instead, he fully enters the bathroom, the door shutting behind him loudly as he shoves it closed. I flinched from the loud sound, the force of the door shutting gently shaking the room.

He advances quickly, cornering me against the glass of the shower door and leaving me with no clear escape route. I swear in my head as my back presses up against the cold glass, Rafe showing no signs of stopping as he travels in long strides. Our toes touch as he presses himself up against me, the material of his boots firm against my bare feet.

“You’re so ungrateful.” Rafe says with a pout. I eye him warily as he brings his hand up towards my face. He runs the back of his fingers over my cheek softly, something he always does when he’s trying to intimidate me. “I do so much for you, I’d do anything for you, and this is how you think I deserve to be treated?”

“I’ve never asked you to do anything for me, Rafe. I never wanted any of this!”

“Stop!” He shouts directly in my face, anger finally boiling over. “I’m talking now! It’s not about what you want, it’s about what's good for you. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be in the cut with–with a bunch of fucking drug dealers and low lives.”

“You mean your drug dealer?” I knock his hand away from my face, the feeling of his skin on mine making my heart race faster. “Y’know, Rafe, maybe I like the cut! At least I can do whatever the hell I want instead of sitting in here all day like I’m living in a dollhouse! What do I have to be grateful for?”

“I buy you nice things, I take you nice places, I treat you like a fucking princess, Neriah!” He exclaims. “You asked me to stop doing drugs, I did that. You wanted me to leave your brother alone, I did that! Anything you want, I do. But-but what do I get in return? You treat me like I’m some piece of shit! Like-like what I do means nothing to you. All I ask is that you listen to me, that you behave. That’s it, that’s all I want!”

“I’m not some docile, little fifties housewife that you can order around, Rafe! You can’t dose me up with barbiturates, and–and give me fancy things in exchange for my obedience. I’m a human being.” I push him away from me roughly, the lack of space between us and the steam building up in the closed-off bathroom beginning to clog my mind.

I look down at the tiara-shaped ring adorning my hand, the stones glinting in the white light of the bathroom. I rip it off my hand and throw the jewelry at Rafe’s feet, the ring sliding across the tile floor and stopping abruptly by the toe of his boot. He looks like an angry cartoon bull, nostrils flaring wide at the sound of the metal clattering against the floor and invisible steam blowing out of his ears.

“And you know what…Here, Rafe! Take your fucking ring back!” I yelled. I’m sure Wheezie was eavesdropping, something she was notorious for, but I didn’t care. I was angry. “I don’t wanna be your ‘princess’ anymore. I never wanted any of this shit! Matter of fact, take this fucking necklace too.”

Before my hand gets too far up my neck to yank the chain off, Rafe rushes me. He presses me up against the now warm shower door again and smacks my hand away from my neck. His hand flies up to my neck faster than I can blink, the warmth of his fingers engulfing my whole throat rather firmly.

The new necklace sits a thousand pounds heavier than the diamond one resting between my collarbones.

I gasp quite loudly, the contact far too sudden for me to be prepared for it. I’m sure Rafe can feel me gulp against his palm, the blood pumping through my jugular pulsing against his fingers.

“Don’t you ever take that off.” He whispers harshly.

The churning of my stomach has turned into a tingly feeling, the butterflies that take residence fighting to fly out of my mouth to a world of peace away from Rafe.

“You ignore me for days, you can hit me, you–you can call me names, I don’t care.” His hand drops down to the piece of jewelry, the pendant of his initials embraced tightly by his fingers. “But this? You don’t touch it.”

I have no response, voice stuck in my throat when his gaze catches mine. His eyes are stormy, as they always are, the color of the ocean just outside this house. My chest rises and falls intensely against his hand, our closeness and the thickness of the foggy air rendering me speechless.

Swallowing thickly, I push him away from me again for a second time, eager to make some space.

“Get out.” Is all I can find the strength to say.

He stands there for a long moment, just watching. His hand runs over his face roughly, the movement breaking the staring contest between us. Finally he turns around and heads for the door, the white wood slamming shut behind him.

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding, hand shooting up to cover my mouth.

I felt sick.

I was allowing myself to feel anything but disgust when Rafe touched me, feeling everything but disgust, while my brother could be out there dead somewhere. I wanted to lobotomize myself.

My body takes me to the mirror on its own, and the girl I saw in the reflection looked every bit dazed and confused. Reaching up towards the diamond encrusted RC, I hesitantly graze it with cautious fingers.

“You were mine a long time ago, I’m just glad you finally realized it.”

I’m reminded of the moment in my room back home as I watch myself play with the necklace, the words meaning something more now than they did then.

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