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scuderiahoney · 1 month

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Oscar Piastri x Reader // In Motion Pt. 5

Summary: one plane ride, a little sunburn, and far too many margaritas to count. 6.0k words

Warnings: alcohol, mention of previous sports injury

It’s a lazy Saturday morning. You’d showed up at the house an hour ago and planted yourself on the couch. Charles had been in the overstuffed armchair, and he’d barely batted an eye when you walked in, too engrossed in his TV show. Lando and Max had wandered downstairs eventually, and piled onto the couch with you. One by one, everyone else wakes up and comes downstairs. They have practice in a couple hours, but none of them are in a rush. Instead, they all choose to scatter around the living room. Charles turns on Planet Earth. Everyone’s engrossed by it.

“Hey, my aunt wants to know if we still want the house for spring break,” George says, looking up from his phone as a school of fish swims by on the TV screen.

Lando, whose head was previously buried under a pillow, sits up. “Obviously.”

“The house?” Oscar asks, and when everyone turns to look at him, he deflates. “Sorry, none of my business.”

George’s phone rings, and he answers and wanders off into the kitchen, chattering away. You’re perked up now, blinking around the room. There are smiles on everyone’s faces, now, at the mention of spring break. You’re all in desperate need of some time off.

Max turns to look at Oscar, arms raised above his head in a stretch. “Piastri. D’you have any plans for the break?”

“Not really?” He says, shrugging.

Max nods. “Cool. You do now.”

Max flops back over onto the couch, and so does Lando, effectively burying you once again.

Oscar turns to look at you, brows furrowed. “What did I just sign up for?”

You sit up from underneath Lando and Max, who groan loudly. “George’s aunt has a really nice beach house. We go there for spring break.”

Oscar raises his eyebrows. “Oh. You know, I didn’t mean to invite myself, and you guys-“

“Shut up,” Lando says, face half buried in the arm of the couch. “You’re going. It’s tradition.”

…..

The only thing worse than navigating an airport is doing it early in the morning with 6 hockey players in tow. You’d think they’d be good at travel with all the away games, but they’re not used to having to get themselves places. Lando almost leaves his luggage at the house, Max almost forgets his whole wallet, and you’re sure Alex would’ve been left behind completely if it wasn’t for Lily. Oscar’s the only self sufficient one, likely because he’s been living on his own for so long now. You think of him having to travel to games with his old team, wonder if he wandered around airports alone, and your chest aches. But he’s next to you, smiling brightly, suitcase in hand and clad in a hoodie and sweatpants. Lando’s ordering a beer from the bar. It’s 6am.

Max tries to usher the whole group towards the gate, like he hasn’t been the most scatterbrained person all morning. You let him feel like he’s in charge. It helps his ego. It’s not long before people get distracted- George wants a bagel, Charles wants to look at souvenirs, which is ridiculous considering you haven’t left yet, and Lily wants coffee. Max looks panicked as everyone starts to wander.

You clear your throat. “Okay. Lily, George, and I are going to that coffee shop,” you say, pointing at the one nearest your gate, “to get breakfast and coffee. Charles and Max will go in the shop. The rest of you can join whichever group, or you can wait at the gate. We’ll all be back here in 20 minutes.”

Max looks relieved, even as Charles drags him towards a stand full of license plate magnets with names on them. You head for the coffee shop, and find Oscar’s opted to join, too. Lando and Alex stay at the gate, guarding all the suitcases.

An hour later, you’re all seated on the plane, much to your and Max’s relief. George booked the flights for everyone so he could use his parents’ airline miles, and so you have no idea where you’re sitting until you actually get on the plane. You slip into your window seat, and Oscar stops at your row with a smile. He’s in the middle. George is on his other side. Up ahead, you see Lily, Alex, and Charles, and Max and Lando in front of them. You pity whoever the stranger is that will have to put up with Max and Lando in their row. Oscar helps put your carry on up above, and everyone settles in for the flight.

After takeoff, you push the window shade up. The sun is just barely starting to rise, and you’re already exhausted. Oscar leans close to peer out the window. He hums softly, pointing down below.

“You can see the house from here,” he points out, and you laugh.

He’s right. You can. The house, the ice rink, the soccer fields, they all disappear below. You wave goodbye, and Oscar laughs and does the same. Then you lean over and fall asleep, head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind.

…..

The eight of you descend on the beach house in a flurry of activity. It’s bright and sunny out, and you all wear sunglasses as you haul the luggage into the house. George points everyone to their rooms- you’re glad to learn you have the same one for the third year in a row, up on the second floor, with a nice view of the ocean and a room to yourself. Lando and Oscar are sharing, as are Max and Charles. Lily and Alex get a room, and George gets his own room. Charles offers to take your luggage upstairs for you, and you accept happily.

By the time everyone returns downstairs, you’ve made a grocery list. Max looks at it over your shoulder and nods in approval. There’s a little store within walking distance that should have everything you need. When Max suggests you all go to help carry bags, Lando groans loudly, already complaining about a headache or a sore back or whatever ailment will get him out of it. In the end, it’s you, Max, Charles, and Oscar who head off to the grocery store.

When you get back, you unload things in the kitchen, the four of you moving around each other with ease. Oscar drops the juice and you giggle, Charles hugs the bag of cheese puffs to his chest like a little kid, and Max starts pulling ingredients to make a late lunch.

“M’hungry,” Lando calls out.

“Thought you had a headache,” you call back, smirking as he walks into the kitchen.

“Back ache,” he corrects, smiling sheepishly. “Come on, you know plane seats suck.”

You roll your eyes at him, but you hand him the bottle of painkillers you picked up at the store. He gives you an easy side hug in thanks. Lando offers to help Max make lunch, and you retreat to the back deck for the first time this trip. You breathe in deep as the sun hits your skin, as the sound of the ocean fills your ears. It feels like the whole world is in front of you, stretching on and on.

Oscar walks out behind you, doing basically the same. “Wow.”

Alex and Lily are down near the water, and when he spots the two of you, he waves you over. “Low tide!” He calls out, grinning widely. “There’s starfish!”

You turn to Oscar with a grin, and then the two of you run down the shore to meet them. The stress of the school year starts to slip off your shoulders. For now, it’s just sun and sand and nothing else.

…..

Spring break, as it always does and definitely should, tastes like pineapple and coconut rum and frozen margaritas made in the ancient blender that somehow still works. It smells like sunscreen, the reef safe kind that Oscar insists everyone uses. It feels like sand stuck between your toes, like the crash of the waves against your legs, like the heat of the sun on your skin.

“Why couldn’t you guys be, like, professional surfers?” You ask, face half pressed into the giant beach towel you’re laying on. “This is where I’m supposed to spend all my time, not in an ice box.”

Max laughs and tosses a foam football at you. “You chose the school, too, you know. And you love watching hockey.”

“Max would be shit at surfing,” Charles pipes up, and though his eyes are hidden behind sunglasses you can tell they’re crinkled with amusement. “He is not very good at balance. Like Bambi.”

Max scoffs, picks up the ball he’d thrown at you, and chucks it at Charles’ head. Charles dodges it with a squeak and runs after it in the sand. Max follows, likely afraid of the retaliation that’s coming his way.

“Osc, you’re from Australia,” you say. “Have you surfed?”

Oscar’s laid out next to you, in the shaded portion of the blanket thanks to the umbrella George put up. He burns easily, apparently. You’d told him that you weren’t surprised, based solely on the pale tone of his skin, and he’d glared at you unhappily and then chased you into the waves. Now he lays there, face smashed against the blanket, same as you. It’s mid afternoon. He’s usually a bit sleepy in the afternoons, you’ve found.

He nods, prying one eye open. “Not any good, though.”

You scoff out a laugh. He grins back at you. There’s sand stuck in his eyebrow, and you’re about to reach out and brush it away when a shadow falls over you. You look up and find George standing there. Lily, Lando and Alex are following him up the beach.

“Margarita time?” George asks, grinning happily. You push yourself halfway up, propping up on your elbows, and nod your head. “It’s always margarita time, Georgie.”

Dinner that night is grilled shrimp and veggies and bread warmed up in the oven that all the boys eat too much of, promising not to tell their coaches. Someone asks Oscar to say “throw another shrimp on the Barbie,” which then devolves into bad attempts at Australian accents, which then further devolves into bad attempts at everyone’s accents. You’re left laughing so hard your stomach hurts, the sun setting, the warm ocean air washing over your arms on the back deck.

Oscar’s sitting next to you, and he wipes your tears of laughter away with a napkin and says, “You alright, love?” in what can only be a bad attempt at Lando’s accent.

You snort with laughter. The noise sends Oscar into a fit of giggles, too, and soon the two of you are bent over in your chairs, heads bumping into each others, as Lando tries to insist he doesn’t sound like that and Max assures him that he definitely does. When you finally catch your breath and sit up, they’re moving on to mocking Sebastian’s accent, because they always start making fun of their coach eventually. Lily’s watching you, though, a knowing look in her eyes.

You sit on the beach blanket next to the water after dinner, another margarita in your hand. There’s far too much salt on the rim- courtesy of Alex, who’d coated nearly the whole cup in it- which makes it taste a bit like the ocean. Oscar’s sitting next to you, a cup of his own in his hand. The sun is low in the sky, the horizon turning the lightest shade of purple as it turns to night. Oscar’s bare thigh brushes against yours, and you hold your breath.

The back door to the house slides open, and you turn to look. It’s Charles. “We are going to the store,” he calls out. “Are you coming?”

You wrinkle your nose. “None of you are driving, right?”

Charles shakes his head. “We will walk. We want snacks, and we are out of tequila.”

You nod. “I’ll stay here!”

“Me too,” Oscar adds.

“Okay, I am trusting you two,” Charles teases. “Don’t burn the house down.”

Charles calls out something unintelligible and probably not in English. Inside, you hear Max yell for him, also not in English. The door shuts. Oscar sucks in a sharp breath. There’s tequila in your bloodstream and salt on your lips and the heat of his leg next to yours. You close your eyes, the sea breeze dancing over your skin, and you can still feel his lips on your cheek after that game, weeks ago now. You sit for a while, basking in it.

A few minutes later, present day Oscar’s shoulder bumps against yours. You open your eyes and turn to look at him. His cheeks are rosy pink. You wonder if he’d put enough sunscreen on.

“This is really nice,” he says, softly.

The sand is turning cold beneath your feet. You shiver slightly. He leans into you, warm arm pressed to yours, thigh pressing tighter against your skin. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Mhm,” you agree, blinking softly at him and biting your lower lip, just to watch and see the way his eyes dart across your face. “George’s aunt is a sweetheart for letting us stay here.”

Oscar hums in agreement, but he shakes his head, hair flopping over his forehead in a soft swoop. “I meant… this.”

He nudges his leg against yours. Your stomach lurches in the best kind of way. He’s leaning back on the heels of his hands and staring at you while the waves crash onto the shore. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, tiny grains of sand rolling between his skin and yours. You feel the electricity simmer up your arm and zap down your spine.

“Oh. Yeah,” you say, nodding in agreement. “It is.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry or scream. He’s so close you swear you can feel his heartbeat, or maybe it’s just yours, pounding in your chest, going wild over the way he’s staring at you. He lifts his hand from the sand, the one farthest from you, keeps his other arm pressed to yours as he turns just slightly. When his hand comes up to cup your cheek, it feels so familiar. You remember blue paint on his thumb, brushed off on his pants, the poster leaning against the wall and his lips on your cheek. You want it again. You want more. You swear he leans in.

There’s a loud noise from inside the house, and he drops his hand into his lap. Your heart twists in your chest. You can feel the ghost of his fingertips on your skin when the back door opens. George yells something about playing flip cup. You don’t want to play flip cup- you want to stay here with Oscar and let him kiss you like you thought he was going to. But his hand is in his lap now, and he smiles sheepishly and starts to stand up, and you wonder if you imagined all of it.

…..

Two nights later, when everyone has gone to bed, you find yourself still wide awake. You’re buzzing, probably from the afternoon coffee you grabbed with Charles and Oscar at the cafe down the street. Max had said it was a bad idea. Charles is dead asleep upstairs, because caffeine has never really affected him. You’re busy thinking about two nights ago, Oscar’s hand on your face and the way he looked at you. You know it happened. You swear it happened. He’d been about to kiss you. Right? Maybe you're imagining things. Maybe it’s all in your head.

You’re sitting on the couch near the window, the glass of water Max poured you before he went to bed sitting half empty in your hand. You nearly spill it when someone clears their throat. You know without turning to look that it’s Oscar.

You stare out the window at the ocean. “Might go take a walk down by the water,” you suggest, just to see if he takes the bait.

Oscar hums. “I’d better go with. For safety, you know.”

You nod in agreement, not really seeing the need to protest. It’s a silly excuse, but you want him to come with. The two of you head for the doors, slipping in sandals along the way. The night air is cool, and you shiver slightly as you make your way down the beach. The sand is still sun warmed but cooling fast. The crash of the waves against the shore makes you sigh softly.

Oscar’s only a few steps behind you. The moon isn’t out yet, but you catch sight of a few stars in the sky. You stop at the spot where the waves meet the sand, and he walks up next to you. When you turn to look over your shoulder, all the lights in the house are off except the living room light the two of you left on. Oscar looks, too, and then steps closer. You feel like you should hold your breath, but you don’t. The air smells like salt. You wonder if the smell has seeped into Oscar’s hair and skin, or if he still smells like his shampoo and body wash. You hate that you know the scents of both.

“I love the ocean,” Oscar says, not for the first time that day.

You nod. “Me too.”

His fingers brush against yours where your hands hang at your sides. It sends a zap all the way up your arm, straight to your spine. Does he feel it too? That giddy feeling in your chest? The anxious feeling in the back of your brain? The want, deep in your gut, that makes you want to turn and press your lips to his. Does he feel it, too? You’d take a kiss on the forehead. Or another kiss on the cheek. Or just- if he would just move his hand a couple inches, just intertwine your fingers with his-

Like he’s read your mind, he does. He twists his fingers between yours loosely. You nearly choke on your own breath. Get it together. Your heart aches. You need, you want, does he?

“I…” he starts, then stops.

You turn. He’s already looking at you, face half lit up by the light on the back deck of the house. His lips look soft. They were, the one time you’ve felt them, pressed to your cheek in that hallway. His fingers fidget in yours, but he doesn’t pull away. You don’t either. The waves crash onto the shore over and over again. The sleeve of his hoodie brushes against your jaw when he cups the side of your face in his other hand. This time, you’re sure of it. You know what’s coming. He leans in, and you close your eyes.

If a kiss on the cheek sent butterflies wild in your stomach, this sends them through your whole body. Every nerve is on fire when his lips meet yours. Maybe it’s just because you’ve been waiting for so long. He’s warm against you, and his hand leaves your wrist to wrap around your waist and pull you close, and he tastes like rum and salt and smells like sunscreen. You tilt your head and let him deepen the kiss, let him take the lead, let him in. He’s smiling into it, and it makes your heart ache. When you tangle your hands in his hair, you can feel the sand stuck there, can feel the salt that still coats the strands from his swim earlier in the day. His hand slips to the back of your neck to hold you closer, and you melt for him, for the way he holds you so carefully and so surely, the warmth of him burning up your skin. He giggles into the kiss, light and airy and so Oscar it almost hurts, and you can’t help but match it.

He kisses you for what feels like forever. You can’t find it in you to complain.

…..

The rest of spring break tastes like coconut rum and tequila and Oscar. It feels like sun and sand and his hand wrapped up in yours, sneaking away at any chance you get. It smells like sunscreen and his cologne on the hoodie you stole from him, and it sounds like seagulls and his laughter, and the words he whispers into your ears when nobody’s nearby.

He steals you away while you’re in town, wandering the shops with everyone. He’s good at melting away into a crowd- and it is crowded, it’s spring break and everyone’s had the same idea as you. You hide in a souvenir store while you watch your friends disappear, and you don’t even feel guilty about it. You can’t, not when Oscar’s tangling his fingers with yours and pointing at a little beaded bracelet he says would look good on you. When he takes it up to the counter and buys it, and then loops it around your wrist for you, you feel absolutely giddy. You feel it even more when he kisses your temple sweetly. You rejoin the group a while later, just as they’re starting to worry. Nobody notices the bracelet, but you run your fingers over the beads all day.

Later in the week, he suggests a trip to the ice cream shop when everyone’s half asleep, mid afternoon. You’re tired, too, but when he says it, you suddenly feel wide awake. Once the two of your are out of sight of the house, he pulls you under his arm, hand squeezing at your shoulder the whole walk there. He buys you ice cream and shares his with you, too, and when he stops to kiss you on the walk back he tastes sweeter than ever.

There’s a lot of that- kissing. Anytime the two of you are alone. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Like the two of you have been holding back for so long that you can’t quite find it in you to stop. You sneak out of your rooms after everyone has gone to bed and meet on the beach at night, just the sea and the stars bearing witness as it all falls into place. You point out constellations, and Oscar tells you about the night sky in Australia, and how it feels different here. He finds you seashells admiring the way and gives them to you at night, and you start doing the same, each of you building up collections. They cover the empty space on the nightstand in your room.

One afternoon, you walk to the park nearby, all together, with a little picnic. It’s sweet- Max and Lando throw a football back and forth, and you sit in the grass and have cheese and crackers and fruit and watch people pass by. Eventually, George, Alex, and Lily head back to start dinner, and then Max, Lando, and Charles leave to pick up drinks on the way home. You and Oscar linger, though. They make it so easy to sneak away, really. You take the chance to lay on the blanket with him, your bed on his stomach, staring up at puffy white clouds in the big blue sky. His hand draws patterns on your shoulders.

When you finally head for the house, you walk past a set of soccer goals on a patch of grass. It’s easier, now, especially because it’s not the field where you got hurt. Oscar squeezes your hand anyways. It’s sweet. Something makes you slow to a stop. There’s a ball sitting there, in the middle of the field, black and white in stark contrast to the green. You drop his hand, and he makes a mild sound of protest. You walk over to the ball and toe at it gingerly, feeling the way it rolls under your foot.

He just eyes you carefully,

“We’ll take it easy,” you promise, and he nods. “I just…”

You can’t explain it. For years, you’ve never wanted to go near a soccer field or goal or ball. For years, this idea has brought tears to your eyes. But right now, you want to try. Oscar takes a step closer. He’s smiling.

You kick the ball at his feet. He passes it lightly back to you. The two of you exchange a look and take off down the grass together. You zig zag to every corner of the grass, not trying to get anywhere in any sort of hurry. You build up speed as you get closer and close to the goal, passing the ball back and forth with him. It feels good, to move your body and feel the grass beneath your feet. To feel the ball bounce off your shoe, to watch him accept the pass that you’ve placed so perfectly. You’re rusty, stiff, out of practice, but a little part of this still feels like home. There’s an achy feeling in your body that starts to melt away.

You don’t even realize what you’re doing, at first. He passes you the ball, and you’re in range of the net, and- you dart around him, eyes on the prize, now. He laughs, tries to go after you, catching on nearly immediately. But you’re too good at this, too fast- he’s used to blades on his feet and ice beneath him, not tennis shoes and grass and a ball rolling in front of you. You look up, find the goal, see your spot, and kick.

It sails through the air, hits the net, and falls to the ground. Goal. Behind you, Oscar cheers loud enough that when you close your eyes, you can imagine it’s all still there. That you’re really playing soccer, in front of a crowd again, scoring a goal, taking your team to a victory. You soak it in, for just a moment.

When you open your eyes, you’re on your back, staring at the sky, Oscar’s face looking down at you. His brows are furrowed.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks.

You shake your head. You know the tears in your eyes must contradict that. Oscar shifts on his feet for a second and then collapses to the ground next to you, legs kicked out away from yours, his head right next to your shoulder. The two of you form a little v on the grass, staring up at the sky.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed that,” you admit. “The… running, and the chasing, and the… scoring.”

His hand brushes against yours, then comes down to lay flat atop the back of it. His palm is warm and soft. You try to breathe normally. It’s easier said than done.

“You could always try again,” he says, quietly. “Do a club sport, or a league of some sort…”

You shake your head. “Nah, my knee is already starting to hurt.”

You rub your fingers against the ache. He sighs, heavily, and squeezes your hand. You turn your head to look at him. He’s close, closer than you realized. It wouldn’t take much for you to lean in, and nobody else is here, so you do. Just a short kiss, because you’re laying on a soccer field and there are kids and families nearby. But you want him to know how much this means to you. When you pull away, his cheeks are pink, and you think he understands.

Eventually, you know everyone will start to wonder where the two of you are. So when Oscar stands up and offers you a hand, you let him pull you up off the ground. He brushes grass off your back, and when you get back to the house, you head upstairs to change and hope nobody questions the grass stains on your shirt.

One night, after everyone’s in bed, you curl up on the beach on a blanket, your head against his chest. You listen to the waves and stare up at the stars. He draws lazy patterns on your back, his hand against your bare skin under the sweatshirt you stole from him.

“This is a real thing, right?” He says, quietly. “Not just a spring break thing?”

You smile into his chest, your cheeks suddenly warm. “God, I would hope so.”

“Okay, cool,” he says, in a very calm voice, like you can’t hear the thud of his heartbeat. “Cause I‘ve wanted this for a while.”

“Me too,” you murmur back.

Then he kisses you again, hand under your chin to pull your face to his. He’s a little sunburnt, and you can feel the heat of it on his skin when you brush your lips against his cheeks. Then again, maybe he’s just blushing. The way he smiles makes you think that might just be it.

…..

Keeping it from the rest of your friends is sort of… unspoken. It’s easy, like this, just the two of you. Easy to kiss and hold and talk and laugh without the pressure. You try to remind yourself that it’s okay to take it slow. That you have time to figure things out. And it’s easier to figure things out when you don’t have 6 other people’s opinions on it, let alone the whole team’s once they all find out. Whenever someone walks into the room and Oscar pulls his hand from yours, he scans your face, like he’s checking to make sure it’s okay. You always smile in return, and he lets out a little relieved sigh.

The very last night, you all order large amounts of pizza and breadsticks, and you spread out on blankets on the beach for dinner. The sun is low in the sky, and everything is golden. Oscar finds a spot next to you, laid out on the blanket. Max is already talking hockey plays, Lando listening intently while Alex rolls his eyes. George, Charles, and Lily are chatting about starfish. And Oscar is watching you, eyelashes fluttering against pink tinged cheeks. He’s being painfully obvious. When you smile back, you know you are too. For a moment, though, it doesn’t matter. Nobody’s paying attention anyways, as he brushes his fingers against the back of your hand where it lays on the blanket. It’s just you and him, for just a moment.

The next morning, before you head to the airport, you wake up early and find Oscar in the kitchen, cutting up fruit. His hair is a tousled mess, eyelids heavy, but when he sees you, he smiles, bright and warm and sweet. You walk over and slip between him and the counter, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I was busy, you know,” he mumbles, though he doesn’t pull away when you lean in to kiss him.

“Mm,” you sigh. He tastes sweeter than normal. He’s definitely been sneaking bites of fruit as he goes. “Mango. My favorite.”

His cheeks are flushed. “Thought I was your favorite.”

You shrug and wink. “Close second.”

He swipes a piece off the counter behind you and presses it to your lips. You give him a closed lip smile as you eat it, feeling warm all over. He leans in and kisses you again when you’re done chewing, and you have the sudden, strong urge to pull him close, to press your hips into his, to let him pin you against the counter. But your friends are probably all about to wake up, so instead, you pull away and press a finger into the swell of his cheek. He laughs and kisses the furrow between your brows.

“Heading home today,” he mumbles, smile falling slightly.

You nod. “But it’s not just a spring break thing, remember?”

He nods again, the smile coming back to his lips. “Yeah. Just. Do you think we need to tell them?”

You know what he’s talking about. Or who he’s talking about, really. You tilt your head, chewing on your lower lip. “Do you think we need to?”

He sighs, nose bumping against yours. “They’re your best friends.”

And. Oh. Right. You hadn’t really thought about it like that, that it’s not just his teammates and your friends. It’s Lando and Max. Your chest twists. You like that it’s just you and Oscar, but you think about them, about how you share everything, and you wonder if they’ll be upset. Not even that it’s him, but just that you didn’t tell them. On the other hand, they’re likely to get overprotective and weird when they do find out. Max banned a guy you went on a date with from all parties your sophomore year, until Charles told him off for it, but by then it was too late. The guy was a jerk, which was half the issue, but still.

You blow out a puff of air, and then you have an idea. “I might… tell them I’m seeing someone, to start,” you suggest. “Just not who. Just… someone. Is that okay?” You ask.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he says.

“Okay. Cool. Me too,” you say with a nod.

Oscar giggles. You hear a door open, and footsteps. He groans, and you lean in one last time to press a kiss to his lips before you slip away. You sit down on a barstool just before George walks in, scrubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning,” he says, voice scratchy. “Ready to go home?”

“No,” you admit, and Oscar hums in agreement.

When he dishes out the fruit to everyone later, he gives you most of the mango. You grin up at him, wide eyed and feeling so, so happy. When you break his gaze and look across the table, you find Charles staring back at you, a knowing smirk on his face, and you wonder if you’ve been caught. Maybe you just look like a girl with a crush. You still feel like one, really.

You all walk down to the water one last time, dipping your feet into the waves as they crash against the sand. Oscar’s hand brushes against yours as he does the same. You don’t want to ever lose this feeling. The sun on your skin, the water tugging at your feet, and Oscar, next to you, feeling the same way you do.

When you pack the bags into the Uber to head for the airport, you feel a wave of sadness wash over you. You want nothing more than to stay, to never worry about school again, to let Oscar wrap you up in his arms and never leave. You pout, and Max catches you, laughing and pulling you into a loose hug.

“It’s okay, Bunny,” he murmurs, ruffling your hair. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

You don’t say it, but you think it- he and Lando are graduating this year. There’s a good chance they won’t be back next year, too busy with work or real life or whatever comes after college for them. Your heart twists. And Oscar- will he still be yours by then? Not just a spring break thing, you remember, but you have a strong urge to plant your feet in the sand and try to keep them all here. You watch your friends pack bags in the trunk and tease each other and laugh and your chest aches.

“Hey,” Lando says, quietly, sneaking up on your other side. “We’ll be back.”

He knows. Max does too, but Lando really knows, because you think he feels it too. Max is trying to play hockey after college, but beyond beer leagues and pickup games, this year will be it for Lando. Senior year is exciting, but it’s a year full of lasts, too.

“Promise?” You ask, quietly.

He links his pinky with yours. “Promise.”

So you climb into the car, and you end up wedged between Oscar and Charles in the row of seats at the back of the car. Max is in the front seat, chatting away to the driver, and Lando’s already leaning his head against the door, half asleep. You press your shoulder into Oscar’s. He spots your hand on the seat between you and reaches out, brushes his fingers against the back of your hand. When you lean your head on his shoulder and let your eyes fall half closed, nobody questions it- you do it to all of them, all the time.

The beach house disappears in the rearview. Oscar presses a kiss to the top of your head when nobody’s looking, and you start to believe everything will really be okay.

bunnyrabb1t

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen33, and 53 others

bunnyrabb1t truly a spring break to remember forever

landonorris still annoyed you and @/oscarpiastri didn’t bring me ice cream back :(

oscarpiastri You were invited & you called our ice cream trip dumb

landonorris doesn’t mean i didn’t want ice cream

lilymhe always a trip to remember with you babe!

bunnyrabb1t ilysm bb 😘

alex_albon hey. back off 🤺

oscarpiastri 🩵☀️🌊⛱️

bunnyrabb1t 🩵🌅🐚🕶️

charles_leclerc 🤨

carlossainz55 charles you are just jealous he is actually on her instagram before you

part 6, back to course, available here!

notes: hiiiiiiii hope this one was worth the wait!! if you are one of the people who told me you were staying up late for this: go to sleep! this is me tucking you in! see ya soon!!

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @ggaslyp1 @putting-it-into-parc @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @sakuramxchii @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @colmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main @ellen3101 @k-pevensie28 @ninifee1802 @not-nyasa @pleasecallmeunhinged @andruuu28 @aceofwordsandarrows @dreamsarebig @secretunnels @ginsengi @yayahnaise @f1petra @lovecarsgoingvroom @lalloronaisreal @fangirl125reader @tpwkmera @booksandflowrs @elizanav @lightsoutletsgo @meko-mt @customsbyjcg-blog @bingussthirdtoe @sideboobrry11

(crossed out means i was unable to tag!)

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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 2 months

Text

Mentions of being drunk.

Thinking about baby daddy!Miguel O’Hara who showed up at your work in the morning with your bagel and coffee like he did every time when you had Gabriella for the week. Knowing how you hadn’t eaten anything, waving off your concern about him going out of his way to bring it to you.

Baby daddy!Miguel who, despite knowing he will probably be late to work due to traffic this morning being abysmal, he still lingered around your work desk after dropping off your food. Not-so subtly hinting about talking about what happened during the weekend. Shooting him a glare to shush because you know how nosy your coworkers can be.

Baby daddy!Miguel who finally leaves for work, but not before you agree to discuss the unignorable conversation, later on of course, away from the ears of your coworkers and definitely not around the nosy girl that was your daughter.

—

Once the elevator doors closed behind him, you haven’t even gotten a chance to blink, let alone gather your bearings before your coworkers started up.

“Who was thaaaat?”

“Her ex-husband.”

“No, they never got married, remember? That’s her baby daddy.”

“Giiiirl, a man like him? One can dream.”

“I know right? Those muscles put my husband to shame, and he’s a firefighter. Why does a scientist need to be that jacked anyways.”

“Okay are you guys done ogling at my ex?” You finally spoke up, irrational so apparent that it made the other three girls quiet down almost immediately. You couldn’t help but feel your chest burning a bit as you took a bite of your bagel.

—

Baby mommy!Reader who finally got to clock out after a long day of work. One foot already out the door once the clock struck 5pm so she could go pick up Gabriella from after school soccer practice.

Baby mommy!Reader who listened to her daughter rambling about her day at school and practice, telling her all the juicy middle school gossip she learned on her first day while the two sat in the afternoon traffic.

Baby mommy!Reader who felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up when she turned the corner into her hallway and saw her ex sitting in front of her front door. Clearly not sober.

No, not Miguel, the other ex.

Baby mommy!Reader who hurriedly guided her daughter back towards where she came off the elevator, thankfully he didn’t see either of them turn the corner. Ignoring Gabi’s voice questioning why she turned away once she saw Henry, rather than walk up to him and greet him with a hug and a peck on the lips like Gabi had grown used to.

Baby mommy!Reader who assured her little girl that she’ll explain later. Before pulling out her phone, and opening up the messages app.

—

Miguel. -You

?? -Miguel

can you do me a favor? -You

What’s the favor? -Miguel

Henry is camping outside of my front door and me and Gabriella can’t go inside without facing him. He looks drunk. -You

I’ll be there in 20, stay in the lobby. -Miguel

—

Ten minutes later, Miguel came marching through the front door of the apartment building. Letting his scowl fade away so as to not let his daughter catch it. She didn’t need to know what he was about to do to Henry.

“Hey honey,” he scooped down to give Gabriella a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, before standing up straight to look at you. Pulling you into a hug as well so he can whisper his next words. “He didn’t touch either of you, did he?” You quickly shook your head no.

“Didn’t even see us.” You whispered back.

“Good.” He finally let his arm leave the small of your back, leaving the cold air to hit your back once more. “ Gabriella, you and mom are gonna go down to that nail salon down the street, and get some manicures and pedicures. We’ll explain everything when you get back.” He explained calmly, too calmly, as he reached for his wallet and pulled out a few twentys from it, handing it to you. You didn’t even get a chance to protest the action because he started to gently push you both back out of the complex building.

Now I can deal with this stupid rat once and for all.

—

Part 7<

Part 9<

Not proofread.

Word count: 700

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!!

Taglist: : @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush @queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout @reader-1290 @laysmt @migueloharasoulmate @fruityfucker @pigeonmama @scaryplanetdestroyer @migueloharastruelove @krentkova19 @genny1019 @maiyart @stressed-cherry @scaleniusrm @ginnysculture @mishaglass @wusyanmee @bunnibitez @miguelzslvtz @dahehow @sinners-98-world @othersideoftheparadise @toyfortoji @yeshajane @yvesbi @hanjisgf @deljojeisbackagain @safixiovi @emmalandry @maxinemus3 @lauraolar14 @aaaaslaaaan @kenz-ee @esmedelacroix @whattheshock @syler-griffin @comeonatmebruh @xwonderlandresidentx @m4dyy @the-pan-liquid @lilbrababe99 @jxstanemo @badbitchhour @freehentai @sillysillygoofygoose @nj452896 @jadeloverxd @faretheeoscar @ce3stvu @scorpihoooe @blossomofbismuths @nxxav3rs3 @ilovespiderverseeee @ghost-lantern @saaaaaaaaaaaamiiiiiiiiiiiira @lavenderslemonade @rinnako @reirain @nommingonfood @miguelsfavwife

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shurisneakers · 4 months

Text

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything.

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt.

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime.

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality.

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable.

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open–

There’s no one on the other side.

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order.

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in.

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state.

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity.

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss.

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not.

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already.

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.”

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do.

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him.

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied.

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked.

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches.

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest.

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way.

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’.

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big.

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity.

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it.

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes.

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation.

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.”

So Bucky gets his makeup done.

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms.

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.”

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’.

Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him.

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin.

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.”

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces.

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.”

That sounds…doable.

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate.

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead.

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned.

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this.

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table.

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t.

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you?

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further.

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue.

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit.

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest.

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless.

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.”

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening.

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated.

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top.

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion.

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens.

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago.

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this.

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.”

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.”

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?”

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs.

You look like you’re going to lose your mind.

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?”

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?”

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better.

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch.

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers.

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone.

The video goes up that weekend.

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies.

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved.

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name.

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt.

Motherfucker.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #unsolved fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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thewulf · 1 year

Text

Unexpectedly || Aaron Hotchner

Request: The reader is a member of BAU, but nobody knows her dark past. She's running from her abusive ex. Once he hurt her so bad (fractured skull, several severe injuries) he left her to die in their apartment. Nowadays she keeps that past hidden, as good as she can... See rest here

A/N: This was SO much fun to write. Took me a little bit to get used to the writing style but once I did it flowed so well. There is A LOT going on in this one (make sure to read the full request!). Timeline is a little wonky – Season 3ish but we’re pretending George Foyet already happened, and Haley has already passed. I also just made reader 28 years old – you can pick whatever age you want!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Y/N

Word Count: 10.1k + (Probably should've made this 2 parts)

TW: Abuse. Both physical and mental. General Criminal Minds TW – talk of blood/gore/death/stabbing etc. AGE GAP between reader and Hotchner, reader is implied to be younger 25-35.

Life was good, great even. For the first time in a long time, you felt free, like yourself again. You weren’t sure how, but you managed to convince the BAU that you’d be a good communications liaison while JJ was out on maternity leave. Speaking in front of people never bothered you, it came naturally to you. So, when your manager mentioned an opening in the BAU for your exact job all the way across the country it piqued your curiosity. It piqued your curiosity so much that you ended up applying, interviewing, and accepting the job within a few days. On Monday you were an FBI agent stationed in Los Angeles and by Friday you were meeting your new team.

Hoping to make a good impression on your first day you brought in bagels and coffee just praying they would like you. You met your ridiculously good-looking boss that Thursday night after his team got back from a difficult case, his words not yours, and he showed you around the office. He had given the team the weekend off to relax. Something that wasn’t terribly common around there you had picked up.

Laying out the bagels on conference room table you were so in your own head you hadn’t heard the door open and close

“Well, what do we have here?” A smooth male voice came from behind you breaking you right out of your thoughts.

Spinning around on your heel you took the man in. Tall, handsome and had a devilishly cute grin across his face. Was everyone that worked here hot as hell? If that were the case you might be in trouble, “Oh hi! I’m Y/N. Agent Y/L/N. I’m covering for JJ while she’s out.” You flashed him a nervous smile hoping he wouldn’t be able to read you as easily as you thought it was. See, you never worked with profilers before this. Sure, you’ve worked at the FBI for years, but profilers made you nervous. Profilers seemed to know more about you than even you knew about yourself. And profilers at the BAU? This team was the best of the best. Better than any team you’ve worked on, that’s for sure.

He shot you a ]smile that would’ve taken you out in a previous life, “SSA Derek Morgan. Are these for the team?”

You nodded feeling his eyes surveying you, profiling you, “They are, if you want them.”

Nodding his head slowly he took a step forward to grab one, “Are you trying to butter us up?”

Giving him a small laugh, you continued, “Depends, is it working?”

His smirk grew into a full-on smile now, “Yeah, you’ll fit right in newbie.” He pulled out a chair for you to pop a squat next to him, “They’ll be in soon. Just slow on Friday mornings.” He commented after seeing you look out for anybody behind him.

Sitting down next to him you were sure you looked like a nervous mess. You were confident in your role. You knew you were damn good at your job too. But who wouldn’t be nervous walking into a room of profilers for the first time? Especially ones that could read you like an open book so quickly, “Thanks,” You gave him a quick nod, “You must be good at your job.”

Derek set his coffee mug on the table turning towards you, “We are. But that’s beside the point. You’ll learn quickly.”

Before Derek could continue the door opened again revealing your stern looking boss who gave the two of you a nod before taking a seat at the table.

“Bagel?” You offered.

With a quick look up and a quick head shake he continued scanning whatever he was looking at. Looking over at Derek curiously he just gave you a tight-lipped smile shaking his head. Deciding to just drop it you waited patiently for whatever the hell was about to happen. Hotchner briefly went over your responsibilities when he walked you through the BAU, so you were flying blind.

Slowly the team started trickling in making sure to give quick intros and thank you’s for the bagels. You sat back and observed what was going on. A quick conversation around the weekend turned to a squeal as on overly pink dressed woman came bounding into the room with a very big smile.

“You must be Y/N! It’s so nice to meet you.” She clapped her hands grabbing a bagel for herself, “Don’t worry honey I only read your file. I didn’t go digging. I’m Penelope but this fine human specimen calls me Penny.” She gave Derek’s arm a squeeze.

“Or baby girl.” Derek through her a wink. A few others walked in quickly introducing themselves to you. Each team member more kind than the next welcoming you with open arms.

At Penny’s comment you felt you blood run cold. Of course, the bureau would have somebody like her on the team. It was stupid to think that this team wouldn’t have one. They needed her. Sitting in a room full of profilers who were watching the exchange was a bit unnerving too. Every expression on your face being hyper analyzed to profile you.

Raising your eyebrows in curiosity you could only ask, “Digging? What for?”

She giggled taking a seat next to Derek on his other side, “Anything dear. I can find any secret if it’s been on the internet. Maybe some that haven’t been.” She laughed.

Your heart started racing knowing she could figure you out completely. It was easy enough to get your file cleared of your past life once you changed your last name, but this? This was a problem. You couldn’t bury police and court records. Those would live for forever.

Smiling and trying to play it off as cool as possible you nodded your head along, “Noted. That’s a nifty little skill you have their Penny.” Her face lit up as she agreed with you. It wasn’t often she got complimented for her skills, so she took it when it was given.

Cool. You had to play this cool. You couldn’t let your emotions expose you now. This scenario ran through your head a hundred times before you came. You knew they were going to ask about your past. It’s not like anything was in your file other than you being from the middle of nowhere Colorado. You made sure to have it scrubbed before you came.

Hotchner cleared his throat letting the team know he was ready to go, and that work was what was important, not you at the moment. Silently thanking the man, you turned your full attention to him.

“Now that you’ve met Penny and the team has met Y/N, let’s get started.” The man was all business as he nodded to Penny. She passed out the case file to each team member, including you. Visibly fighting back your reaction to the pictures in the file it dawned on you how fucked this job was going to be. Shit, what in the hell have you gotten your sorry self into?

“Dayton, Ohio” She spoke after taking a seat again, “Four young women have gone missing and found dead near Eastwood Lake just north of the city. A fifth just went missing last night.”

“They went missing from local bars?” Spencer asked as he set the file down.

Penny nodded, “Each one from a different spot but all within a 5-mile radius downtown.”

“Ligature marks around the arms indicate being chained up or bound for some extended period of time.” Spencer rattled off studying the pictures. Taking a shallow breath, you looked back at the pictures of the young women. You’ve seen some fucked up things working with the FBI, but this was next level. These women were clearly tortured before whoever finally decided to kill them. The bruises, cuts, blood, and broken bones were not a sight many people could handle. A sight that reminded you of your past.

Acutely aware you were around profilers you lifted your head up to listen to the conversation that was unfolding around the table. You watched how they bounced ideas off of each other so effortlessly. How each idea was taken into consideration. They worked so flawlessly as a team. It was something you had yet to come across in your time with the Bureau.

“Lacerations to the left cheek on all of them.” You vaguely heard from Rossi as they all continued to converse. You watched in awe as the team did their thing. No wonder they were so well regarded. This felt like magic. They knew each other so well.

“No racial preference either. Seems to be targeting age. 25- to 35-year-old women in the Dayton and Beavercreek area.” Spenser’s voice chimed in again.

“Cause of death, asphyxiation to all the women. Possibly getting off to the torture?” Emily spoke up.

“What time did they go missing?” You asked skimming the file unaware that they all stopped their chatter keying in on you, “What? Did I do something wrong?” You asked noticing the silence.

Derek shook his head with a little smirk, “Hardly.”

You looked back down not enjoying the attention, “Okay.” You were sure your face was beet red.

“Okay.” Hotchner brought his team back on track, “Jet’s leaving in 20. Y/L/N stay back for a moment.”

“Sure.” You nodded waiting for the team to disperse. Swiveling your chair back and forth you felt overly nervous to talk to the man. You’d heard the rumors about him before you got the BAU, and they seemed scarily accurate for the man. A hard ass that expected a lot from his team but would have your back in an instant, no questions asked. But what everyone failed to tell you was just how handsome the damn man was on top of it all. He was striking to you, exactly your type with his chocolate eyes and dark hair. It made talking to him a very nerve-wracking experience.

Just don’t think about how attractive you find him, and you’d be just fine. Easy, right?

When Penny walked out you turned to him, “What was that about?” You asked your boss as he took a seat next to you.

He gave you a look you couldn’t figure out before continuing the conversation, “It’s not often that somebody comes in and contributes right away. Much less a communications liaison.” You knew he wasn’t criticizing you for not being a profiler as everybody had their roles, but it felt like you’d overstepped.

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

He shook his head interrupting you, “No, we need every idea out there. That’s the difference between brining somebody home to their family or not.”

You scanned his face quickly, hoping you weren’t caught studying him. But he was the infamous Aaron Hotchner of course he would notice. You needed to get your stupid brain in check, but damn did he have a nice jawline. A nice everything really.

Giving him a small smile, you nodded, “Gotcha.” You wanted to call him Hotch, but it felt too soon, like you were trying to be a part of a team that you weren’t apart of just yet.

He gave you a curt nod before standing, “Grab your go bag and follow me.”

Following him out to the jet you couldn’t take your eyes off him. His suit tailored to his body in all the right places was sending you into overdrive. You should not be having these unsavory thoughts of your fucking boss that you’ve known for less than an hour of your life. But you had to give credit where credit was due. He was fine. Far too fine to be your boss. You were just thankful that he didn’t have eyes on the back of his head.

You quietly followed him onto the plane spotting Derek and Emily sitting on the couch. You opted to sit across from them running fast from your boss. He was fine as hell but boy was he intimidating.

“Y/N.” Emily nodded, “Welcome to the team glad to have you. Even if you’re like… twelve years old.” She sat back smirking, proud of herself for that one. You weren’t giving much up and this was her solution to that. Get under your skin. She knew nobody could resist.

Derek snorted quickly placing a hand over his mouth, “Hey! I’m 28.” You shot a glare at Derek already feeling far too comfortable around the man. But that was just Derek, open and welcoming. An easy-going great man.

“I told you she was over 25!” Emily pointed at Derek.

He shrugged, “I was off a little.”

You stared at them with a wide-open mouth, “I’m sitting right here.”

Derek turned towards you, flashing you that brilliant smile, “That’s a good thing Y/N. Younger than you look.” He threw you a wink.

“Shut up pig.” You crossed your arms over your chest blankly staring at him.

Emily laughed happily at that. She loved when women shot Derek down. So often they were throwing themselves at him that it just caught her so off guard.

“I’m going to close my eyes over there.” You nodded to the back of the plane where the curtains were drawn. Making it a bit darker than the rest of the plane.

Derek looked at you with a slight glare, not a fan that you were bowing out so quick. He wanted to get to know the new girl, “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a headache.” You gave him a small smile, “Happens sometimes.” You tried to give him as little information as possible. As soon as you opened the can of worms you knew you were toast. You were walking a literal tightrope right now. One little slip up and the entire thing would come crashing down on you.

“Alright, new girl. Go rest up. We aren’t done talking about you though.” He raised a brow as if to challenge you. Emily nodded glancing up from the magazine she decided to pull out a few moments prior.

Nervously laughing you stood, thankful that these guys didn’t really know you just yet or they’d see right on through you like the profilers they were, “I’m not that interesting Derek.”

“Au contraire.” Rossi spoke up setting his book down. Spinning in the seat from not that far away. This caught Hotch’s attention. He looked up from the files he was studying to see what the commotion was about. Damn, they really were always listening, weren’t they? “The less you say the more we want to know.” Rossi finished spinning back towards Hotch. You watched as they seemed to have a silent conversation with their eyes.

You felt your heart rate pick up speed, why didn’t you think of a better cover? “I promise you both, I’m kind of boring.” Was all you could think to say. Just digging yourself into a deeper hole.

“So, you think.” He picked his book back up not sparing a glance back in your direction.

You found a seat that butted up against the airplane wall that let you close your eyes in peace. It felt like a jackhammer was pounding into your head. The stress of the situation raised your blood pressure which meant your head was more susceptible to the piercing migraines that were new to your life. What you didn’t see was your boss watching your every move in quick glances, not going unnoticed by his confidant Rossi.

Ever since the attack you got headaches and migraines all the time. When you were stressed, or your blood pressure started to increase the migraines hit almost instantly. The doctors told you it was due to the increased blood flow to that area of the brain that will likely never heal completely. This was something you just had to live with.

The migraines you could deal with. What really sucked was the bouts of dizziness and nausea that often followed a severe migraine. It got so bad on a case once you ended up fainting from the dizziness that clouded your eyesight. You just had to keep your stress under control. That’d be easy to do at the BAU right? Sure.

You opened your eyes when the plane started to descend into Dayton. A bit shocked you actually fell asleep. Often you struggled falling asleep on a plane or in a car. Instead of joining in on the conversation between teammates you opted to listen in, instead of contributing. The migraine was faint but still there. Maybe this wasn’t the best switch for you. Maybe coming to the BAU was a mistake.

The team exited the plane quickly getting into the escort vehicles taking them to the police station. Enamored with the entire process you zoned out as the team did their normal routine. This was all so novel to you. The jet, the escort, the prestige of it all. You came from a low budget office in the high budget city of LA. This was nothing short of fascinating.

The day you had to ran started just like any other one. Your boyfriend of a few years was off to work early in the morning. He was a detective at the same police department you worked at working as the communications lead for the precinct. You went to work, did your thing before coming back to the shared house. When you walked through the front door it was eerily quiet. Seeing your boyfriend’s truck in the driveway you knew he was home though.

“Honey?” You called out while setting your bag down careful not to make too much noise as you knew he didn’t like it.

“Kitchen.” Your heart dropped out of your chest hearing the tone of voice that came out of his mouth. It was his ‘you fucked up you’re going to pay voice’. Looking down at your hands you noticed that the trembling had already started.

You felt so weak. You couldn’t stand up for yourself, defend yourself. You tried to get away, but he found you. You tried to get the people you worked with to understand what you were going through but they didn’t see it, they didn’t get it. They didn’t want to see it. They wanted to protect him. Your very own coworkers, literal police officers, wouldn’t even help you. You were stuck with him. You knew you had to get out you just couldn’t figure it out. He was going to kill you if you didn’t.

Walking slowly, you peeked your head through the entryway spotting your boyfriend sitting down at the table. You knew you were in trouble for something you just hadn’t a clue what set him off this time, “How was work?” You spoke up knowing this was happening one way or another.

He stood walking over to the sink, staring right at you, “It was great until I got home and found a fucking dish in the sink.” He nearly growled, irritation coursing through his veins.

Fuck, did you really forget to put your glass away? What a dumbass mistake, “I’m sorry I…”

“What did I fucking tell you about the dishes Y/N? Or are you just too fucking stupid to understand what I’m saying?” Raising his voice he took a step towards you, toying with you. Your whole body was trembling now. He was so terribly scary when he wanted to be and right now, he wanted to scare the living daylights out of you.

“No. I’m sorry I just forgot.” You looked down knowing it wasn’t a good excuse. Nothing was a good excuse when he wanted to hurt you. You knew he loved it. The sick bastard that he was.

“You forgot?” He laughed. A deep belly laugh that sent a shiver rippling through your entity. Feeling your hair getting pulled from above you let out a small yelp as he forced you to look at him, “Like the dumb bitch you are.” You felt the pain before it registered in your head what had happened. He threw a punch to the side of your face dropping you to the ground almost instantly. Feeling blood trickle down your face you couldn’t bear looking up at him. That’d leave a nasty bruise.

He placed his boot on your abdomen pressing down a little too hard. “Pathetic. Can’t even stay standing? Hmm?” His boot connected with your rib cage. A nasty crack and the immediate searing pain started radiating immediately. A small whine emanated from your mouth as you tried to take a breath, but the pain almost felt too unbearable. He definitely cracked a few of your ribs.

“Going to remember to put your fucking dishes in the dishwasher next time?” He let out a low chuckle. You were in trouble. This was different. He normally stopped before it had gotten this bad. He knew he couldn’t hurt you to the point you couldn’t work so that usually meant your face, arms and legs were off limits. Yet, he went for it this time. He never dared to used such force that bones actually broke.

“Yeah.” You mumbled out finding it hard to even breathe at the moment. Not that he would take that as an excuse.

“What was that?” He grabbed you by the hair again pulling you to your feet. You were sure he took a chunk of hair out as he did so.

“Ow, fuck!” You cried feeling your vision start to blur from the force of the pull. The cuss word just slipped out, but you knew better than to use that ‘language’ in front of him as it wasn’t ‘lady-like’ at all.

A look crossed his face that you were sure you’d never seen before. One that looked like he wanted to kill you right then. To get rid of you, “That’s it. I’ve tried with you. You’re hopeless.”

He grabbed you by your shoulders grasping down hard making sure it would leave marks, “You are nothing Y/N. Absolutely nothing.”

“Then why won’t you leave me?” That might have been you’re biggest mistake to date with him. A slight twitch of his nostril made you realize just how fucked you were.

“Don’t you ever talk back to me.” Another punch but right to the nose sent you backwards into the wall. Black dots started dancing in your vision as you tried to stay upright. Blood started flowing down your face coating your shirt in the bright crimson.

“Then leave me.” You tasted the metallic blood that was pouring down your face. You were begging him now. It was now or never for you. He was either going to kill you or leave you. You couldn’t keep doing this.

Forcing you up against the wall with his hand around your neck he leaned in hard, making it hard to breath, whispering into your ear, “I’m never leaving you Y/N.” If you had any energy left tears might have rolled down your face but there was nothing left. You could hardly breathe from the kick to the ribs. He was restricting your airflow and you were starting to get faint, “You’re mine for forever, my dear.” He let his hand go from around your neck holding you up by the chest now. You sucked in a big breath only to be met with the excruciating pain radiating from your ribcage.

“Please.” You managed to look at him. Hoping to see any form of humanity behind his eyes. A small sob erupted when you realized how dark he had become.

Shaking his head he grabbed your upper arm, “No.” He squeezed forcing another short whine to escape your mouth, “Now, Y/N. You need to learn to not talk back to me. Do you understand me?”

You nodded your head trying to reserve talking for only when it was needed as it hurt, “I asked you a fucking question!” He yelled in your face continuing to clamp down on your arm. Your hand began to tingle from the lack of blood flow.

“Ye.. yes.” You mumbled out feeling yourself about to slip into unconsciousness.

“Good girl. Now, time for your punishment.”

Eyes widening a bit you couldn’t comprehend it. Wasn’t this the punishment? Before you could speak up you felt him pull you away from the wall. Completely at his mercy you didn’t even have the strength to stand anymore let alone try to argue with him. He was literally the only thing keeping you standing as you moved away from the wall.

He didn’t think it all the way through this time though. When he threw his last punch to your abdomen, he didn’t account for you not having any strength to stop yourself. So, when he punched you, you went flying backwards right into the corner of the kitchen island countertop. The back of your head connected with the stone instantly knocking you unconscious instantly.

Waking up in a puddle of your own drying blood was something you wouldn’t have wished on your worst enemy. The metallic stench of the drying liquid sent chills down your spine as you took in your surroundings. Blinking rapidly a few times you realized it was eerily quiet again as you regained consciousness. The house was dark. Too dark to see anything.

A shallow breath in brought in pain which caused you to wince opening up the raw head wound that had sealed itself shut. Rolling onto your stomach and holding yourself up with your palms you saw how bad it really was. Blood spattered the white cabinets while there was a literal pool of blood that came from your head. It was a miracle you were even alive.

It felt like every nerve ending in your body was on fire as you attempted to stand only to be met with jelly legs. A quite cry broke from your chest realizing just how bad this really was. He just left you for dead. He didn’t even call an ambulance. He was just gone.

He never took it that far in the past. He had an appearance to uphold at the police department and you showing up with any sort of visible bruises would shatter that illusion. It was usually just slaps across the face or shoves into furniture. Never had he actually made you bleed like this, on the brink of death.

The worst thing about all of this was that in the beginning of your relationship he was one of the best partners around. You loved him with your life. Then the stress and the cracks started to form. At first, he found other outlets like video games or going to the bar. Then it became you. The hitting only started a few months prior. But this, this was exceptional. This was a crime scene.

Thanking your lucky stars that you never took off your jacket, your phone was still in the pocket. With your very last ounce of strength, you dialed 911 before succumbing to the darkness again.

Instead of actually finding him, the cops said he ran away. That all they could do was put some feelers out. You used to think the world of these guys but then you realized he was their priority. They would protect their brother before you. You were just a woman. He was their brother.

After spending a week in the hospital due to fracturing your skull you were immediately transferred to another department about three hours away. That was all they offered, a measly transfer. With a head raging of migraines that never seemed to leave you decided you’d have to take matters into your own hands. Coming across a Bureau job in Los Angeles you jumped at the opportunity and was hired almost immediately. You opted to hide your past from your coworkers, changing your last name was the easiest way to do so Sure, the FBI knew about the incident but not your co-workers. The less it was brought up the less you had to think about it.

You were running from your past and you didn’t really give a damn. It made you realize just how fucked up the situation you were in really was. You weren’t anything to anybody at that police department. Just a woman who happened to be in a relationship to one of their police brothers.

Lucky for you, you loved your job at the Bureau. And you excelled at it quickly. Often picking up extra work for your coworkers. When the job at the BAU opened up you jumped as quick as you could. The BAU was coveted in the FBI. If you could make it there you could make it literally anywhere.

The case was tough on you. Just yesterday they found the fifth victim. It was only a matter of time until the sixth was taken. The killer was picking up speed at an alarming rate. Going from once a month down to every other day. You were doing a decent job keeping your stress down and your migraines somewhat at bay. But any of these women could be you on a given night. It hit you like a truck when the fifth woman was found in a park. She was wearing an outfit you would’ve worn to go out with friends. She was out living her life twelve hours prior and now she was just gone. How sick life was.

Time for the worst part of your job, telling the police and the public in a press conference. Even though it sucked it needed to get done. The more that young women knew that this was happening the more alert people would be. You gave the profile during the press conference that the team had come up with. White male, in his early 30’s, likely of shorter and heavier build with deeply rooted emotional trauma due to growing up without a mother or mother like figure. His mother probably left him when she was in her early 30’s thus the reason for the victim age range. So typical. How often you ran across cases like this. This guy was just a little sneakier. Not as dumb as your typical run of the mill criminal.

You sat in the conference room studying the white board with all the victims posted across with all the fine details of their short lives. The rest of the team stepped out for lunch, but you just weren’t hungry. Not after delivering that news to the Dayton Ohio area. Opting to just lose yourself in your thoughts instead.

You weren’t given much time to lose yourself before you heard a chair scrape the ground next to you. Looking up you were surprised to see your boss sitting down next to you with a snack in hand.

“No lunch?”

“No, not hungry.” You gave him a half smile trying to knock yourself out of this mini funk. You thought you were prepared. You read all the case files. You talked to all the experts. But damn, when you were middle of doing it, it was like nothing you could’ve expected.

Feeling your personal phone buzz, you looked down while the two of you sat in comfortable silence. Opening your phone and clicking the little messages icon you frowned not recognizing the number that texted you. Your mouth immediately ran dry as adrenaline started pumping through your body. One text. One fucking text you never ever wanted to see.

‘I know where you are.’

Your heart rate sped right up which would lead to inevitable migraine. Fuck. There was a chance it wasn’t him but who else could it be? He loved to do this kind of shit to you back when you were together. Completely fucking with your mind.

“Everything okay?” You heard your boss faintly ask as you couldn’t rip your eyes away from your phone screen. Blinking rapidly, you had to remember where you were. You were working. You couldn’t worry about that right now. This was a later problem. Block it and move on. Besides, it was getting embarrassing how many fucking times the team had to ask if you were okay. You needed to knock it off and soon.

“Y/L/N.” You heard more sternly this time.

“Yes?” You locked the screen shoving it into your pocked. Out of sight out of mind. Right?

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head trying to play it off as cool as you possibly could, “Nothing Hotch.” You finally felt comfortable enough to call him that. I suppose when you hunt killers and study dead bodies you tend to bond faster than you would in any other job.

He gave you an exasperated look, “You do realize I profile people for a living.”

A sigh escaped your lips, “It’s nothing. They’re just so young.” You pointed your head towards the white board. You couldn’t let him know about your past. It was almost too fucking embarrassing to admit. You thought you were strong. Clearly not strong enough to leave him before he nearly killed you. And Aaron Hotchner just might be the strongest person you have ever met in your life.

In the brief time that you’d known him you’d learned all about his past from his coworkers. How he was stabbed, lost his ex-wife and was still here doing this damn thing as a single father. His strength was unparalleled to anything you had known. So, to admit your past to him was something you were far too scared to do. The worst thing would be to be seen as weak to Aaron Hotchner.

He nodded looking you over. Something he seemed to do far too often that made you feel things you really shouldn’t be feeling, “Is that all?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded refusing to look at him but instead at the victims. Hoping you were selling yourself well enough. He didn’t believe you. He was a profiler, a damn good one at that. He knew something was on that phone. Something you were refusing to tell him.

“It’s tough.” He admitted setting his cheese crackers down turning his body towards you, “This is not and will never be an easy job Agent Y/L/N. It’ll probably be some of the most gruesome work that you’ll be in the thick of. But let me tell you something. When you get to save one of those girls or any innocent victim it changes you. You know you saved them from something so horrific, something that no innocent human should go through. And that makes it all worth it. I can promise you that.”

A little shell shocked that he dropped that bomb on your lap you took a moment to collect your thoughts, “Thank you Hotch.” Looking up to him you continued, “Really, thank you. This is… brutal. I thought I knew what I was signing up for.”

“You can step away at any time. There wouldn’t be any judgment, but we really did hire you for a reason. I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think you could do it.”

Those damn butterflies erupted in your stomach as he looked you over to make sure the message really sank in, “I can do it. I just have to adjust.”

A small smile formed on his face. You had to assume that was a rare sight for the team as it caught you off guard. He looked so damn handsome with a smile on his face. Something you wanted to see far more than you already had in the few days you’d been on the case with the team.

He stood grabbing his crackers, “Good. If you need anything. Really. Anything. Please, don’t be afraid to ask. Alright?”

You nodded rapidly, “Got it Hotch. Thank you.”

“Sure. I need to go talk to the chief. Try and grab some food?”

“Yeah, sure.” You threw him a smile as he walked out of the room. God, you were fucked if this was how we was going to treat you. Already so attracted to just his physical appearance and then he pulls that out? What’s not to love.

Deciding to listen to him you grabbed an apple and a snack from the vending machine to suffice his request. Sitting back down you opted to refresh your conference notes, getting prepped for your next press conference. You needed to get in contact with the latest victim’s family for Hotch too. Spending the rest of lunch, you decided to knock out your needed tasks to make him happy. To let him know that he did hire the right person. You could do this.

“How was your date with Hotch?” Derek asked as he and Spencer walked back into the conference room after they got back from lunch. Completely interrupting your silence that you were enjoying.

Rolling your eyes, you knew he was only trying to work you up. You quickly learned that Derek was the type to tease you. His form of love.

“What are you on about?” You gave him a quizzical look. Hoping to come off as dumb as possible.

“Don’t play dumb.” He sat in the chair right across from you.

Cocking your head to the side you only looked at him curiously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Derek.”

This time Spencer spoke up, “It is uncommon that Hotch stayed back. But you are brand new. He could have just been checking in on her.”

“See,” You raised your eyebrows to let him know Spencer was the right one, “Dr. Reid is correct. He was just checking in on his new employee.”

Derek rolled his eyes this time, much more dramatically than you, “Sure, whatever you say Y/L/N.”

“Although,” Reid spoke up again. You snapped your head around in a panic. He was not supposed to say anything further to egg Derek on, “He has been watching you quite a lot. I noticed it when we were back at Quantico. Then when you were asleep on the jet. And really during this whole case…”

“Boy genius!” Derek laughed clapping him on the back. Spencer just looked back and forth between the two of you knowing he said something you didn’t like as you gave him a less than impressed look. Derek was grinning ear to ear, eating all this shit right on up.

You shook your head, “Because I’m new!”

“And oh, so pretty too.” Derek’s smile only grew wider, if possible, when you blushed a bright shade of tomato red. You just loved how your body exposed you of your emotions.

“Shut up. Does not. Drop it.” Grumbling, you turned away from both of them.

Spencer leaned back silently observing Derek’s picking on you. He didn’t really think much of it at first. But once he saw Hotch’s wondering eyes over and over again, he had to make a mental note of it. He didn’t act this was when he started or when Penny started. It only seemed to be reserved for you.

Spencer had a silent conversation with Rossi as he caught Hotch staring at you when you were sleeping on the plane. Rossi only smiling. Rossi knew something.

“Seems like you might have a little crush too.” Derek made a kissy face. This was a nightmare. Sure, you may have a small little crush, but he was your fucking boss. Hell would have to freeze over before anything could happen between the two of you.

“Do not.”

“Yeah see,” Derek leaned forward, “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

Derek only smiled, “We’ll be watching.”

“Go for it.”

Your personal phone buzzed in your pocket. Not thinking much of it you pulled it out of your seeing that same number from earlier pop up again. Opening the message your heart might’ve stopped right then and there.

‘You can’t hide Y/N. I know where you are and I’m coming. Virginia? Really?’

You forgot the two of them were sitting there as you read the text over and over again. Burning the God forsaken image into your mind. How? How could he have found you. Why now? Why almost a year later? You wanted to block the number, but you knew he’d just find another way to get ahold of you. You also knew you needed to show the police and fast. But then that’d expose you completely. Open up everything.

“You good Y/N?” Derek asked ripping you right back into the present.

“Yeah, just thinking about those girls.” You lied hoping you were a good enough actor to get you out of this one.

He nodded, “it’s hard. To view them as both human and try and distance yourself. You’ll figure it out. We all did. It might be tomorrow. It might be in a few months. But you’ll get there.”

“Thanks Derek.” You sighed fully accepting their fate. That you could move on from. But the horror of being stalked by your ex unfortunately loomed in the back of your mind.

Spencer smiled enjoying the interaction between new friends. He liked you. Derek seemed to like you. Hotch seemed to like like you. And Rossi was bound to adore you if Hotch did. Emily of course would hate you at first and then grow to love you. You were in.

The rest of the team worked tirelessly until the sun went down. Hotch ordered the team back to the hotel demanding a good night’s sleep. You knew it wouldn’t come. It hadn’t come in the almost week you’d been in the horror show.

After tossing and turning for what felt like forever you knew you had to get out. Get away for a moment. Everything felt so suffocating. You guys couldn’t do it. Weren’t able to save the fifth girl. She showed up that morning and you knew that night he’d probably have another. Fuck, why was the world so cruel?

So, you might’ve done the dumbest damn thing that you’ve ever done and called an Uber to take you to the bar down the street. You knew you shouldn’t of. Or at least let somebody know where you were going but you just needed to get away. One or two drinks couldn’t have hurt.

That was until you were sipping on your third drink feeling a little too good. You were people watching enjoying the music that was pumping throughout. Eyes on the group of young women having a good time you didn’t see the man come sit next to you.

“Come here often?”

Turning to your right, the man sitting on the barstool next to you waited for your response. Giving him a quick once over you knew something was not right with him. Your gut was screaming at you to turn the other way.

“No.” You tried your best to ignore him, but he just kept talking. Not taking your silence as a no.

“That’s a shame. So pretty.” His slimy eyes trailed your body. A small shiver went down your spine. Trust your gut. If there was one thing you were taught, it’s to always trust your gut. You took a peek at the man. Young man who was short, fat and creeping on a young girl at night? The same night your unsub would be hunting his sixth victim? Could it be him? Could you be so lucky?

“I’m not interested.” You kept your eyes forward carful now. You had to figure out if it was him.

He really didn’t know how to take no for an answer, “Don’t be so harsh beautiful. It’ll only age you quicker.”

“Look I don’t need some guy with mommy issues telling me how I should live my life. Please just go away.” Moms made him mad. This had to be it.

He gave you a sickening smile, “I didn’t have a mommy. So how can I have mommy issues dear?”

This was your unsub. Had to be. Trust your gut, right? Of all the fucking people in the world to get approached by it was him? Jesus. It then hit you that you were his next victim, or so he thought. He targeted you to take down. Damn, what were the odds of that?

“That’s exactly the problem.”

“Oh, come on beautiful. Let me buy you a drink. It’s free and if you want me to leave after I will.” You needed to keep him talking. If he was talking to you that meant he wasn’t talking to another girl.

“Sure, let me just go freshen up really quick while you get the drinks.” You gave the creep a half smile deciding this would be the perfect time to call Hotch. The longer you took his attention the better chance that he wouldn’t escape. It had to be him. His profile down to his absent mother was nearly perfect.

Hands shaking you begrudgingly typed in Hotch’s number. He was going to absolutely lose it. But you were sure, this had to be the guy. He was short, stalky, and talked like the most misogynistic fuck you’d ever been around. It had to be him. You so wished you weren’t three long island iced teas down though your brain felt a little hazy. Hitting the call button, you knew it wouldn’t be long before he answered.

“Hotchner.”

“Hey.. hey boss.” You sucked in a breath knowing how awkward you sounded. Fuck, why was this so hard?

“Agent Y/L/N.” He sounded more alert now. You glanced at the time only to curse that it was already one in the morning. You’d been out far too late, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m at a bar and…”

“You’re what?” He sounded pissed raising his voice only a little. Oh well. This was more important.

You sighed and continued. Letting him know you were irritated that he interrupted you, “I’m at a bar. I needed to clear my head and I think the unsub might or might not be trying to take me home. If you know what I mean.” You wanted to giggle but you knew that’d set the overprotective man off. You weren’t feeling so hot.

You heard rustling in the background. He must be getting up, “The unsub? What? Stay there. Send me your location.” He was trying to process all this information as you so casually told him what was going on. How were you so calm? Were you fucking with him?

“Yeah, okay. I’m in the bathroom, I…”

“Stay there. Stay on the phone.” It sounded like a growl. He was pissed. More than pissed. You didn’t even know the man that well and you knew he was going to lay into you for this.

“Okay.” You felt the alcohol kick it into high gear now. At least, you’d hopped it was only alcohol that was making it hard to concentrate. But this didn’t feel like an alcohol buzz. This felt like your body slowly shutting down.

“Y/L/N!” He yelled on the phone. You must have spaced out. Fuck. Maybe he did put something in your drink. You weren’t usually so spacey.

“Yes, sorry?”

“I asked you how you know it’s him? The unsub?”

“Oh, uhm yeah.” The walls started spinning. Trying to regain your focus only to be met with a splitting migraine, “Shit.” You groaned. Your head felt far too heavy for this just to be alcohol.

“Y/N. What’s going on?” He sounded a bit panicked. You felt horrible for doing this to him but boy were you glad he was on the other end of this phone call right now.

You sat yourself down on a toilet locking the door in front of you hoping this would pass soon, “Hotch, I think he drugged me.” You were so good with your drink though. Never letting it out of your sight. How in the hell could he have slipped something?

You heard some muffled sounds from the other end of the line. It only sounded like him though, “I’m three minutes away. Are you in a safe spot?” His panic ridden voice almost sounded like it was going to break. You’d only known the man for a week now, but you’d grown somewhat close to him. You probably talked to him more than anybody on your team, being the communications liaison and all. Not only did you guys just click it felt so natural and normal to want to be around him. To push his buttons in the best way.

“Yeah, yeah,” Your head began slumping against the stall feeling heavier than it really was. Fucking fuck. What in the hell, “Locked in a bathroom stall.” You mumbled knowing you weren’t going to be terribly coherent here soon.

Moments felt like a lifetime. Then the bathroom door flew open. It didn’t feel right though. Didn’t feel like Hotch.

“Hotch?”

“Who in the hell is Hotch?” That voice from the bar rang out. Eyes wide you knew you didn’t have much time or quite frankly any strength to fight this guy off. Even if you were the same height.

“What are you doing in here? Get out!” You managed to spit out. The brain fog seemed to momentarily lift in the sheer panic of the situation you managed to find yourself in.

“I thought you ran off on me. It’s time to go.” You heard the door handle jiggle back and forth. Pulling your legs to your chest you sat all the way back on the toilet seat. Fucking hell. How was this your life?

“I’m not leaving with you.” You tried to sound confident, but it came out sounding weak and afraid. Just like you were. Terribly weak. Horrifically afraid.

“Oh honey. But you are.”

“She’s not.” You heard your bosses voice and the click of a loaded gun, “You have the right to remain silent…” Hotch went off on his spiel only for you to lose yourself to your thoughts again. Taking big, ragged breaths it hit you just how close to death you were yet again.

“Y/N, can you open the door?” It was him. Hotch. Thank God.

You weren’t too far gone just yet. Lifting your head from the stall door you managed to stand on your own. Slowly you unlocked the door. Hotch nearly kicked the door into you as he was eager to check you over. He needed to confirm that you were okay. He knew he had to reprimand you for this behavior, but it wasn’t the time. You looked petrified. Scared. He knew you’d never really be the same. How could somebody be once they know they were the target of literal murder? Hotch just didn’t know you’d been through this before though. That this wasn’t even the craziest thing that had happened to you this year.

After checking you over and not saying a damn word he ushered you to the ambulances that were lined up outside. You felt a disgusting wave of embarrassment knowing they were called for you. If there was one thing you had hated it was being the damn center of attention. Fucking hell. You had to talk about this in a press conference too. Your job just got a whole lot more interesting.

“Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“Hotch, I don’t need to go…”

“Not a word Agent.” He shut you down so quickly and harshly you shut right on up. The man of very few words was giving you even less than you were used to. You royally fucked this one up. Hopefully you had a job once you got back to Quantico.

Your hands trembled before you knocked on his office door. Hotch had asked you to hang back and meet him in his office after the jet had landed. The team gave you sorrowful looks as they exited. You knew you were in trouble. But damn, did they have to look like they were going to your funeral.

You heard a faint, “Come in.” Only to be met with a stoic Hotch sitting at his desk.

Quickly, you sat in the chair in front of him just waiting. Fuck. This almost felt worse than disappointing your ex. Hotch actually meant something to you.

“What were you thinking?” He asked far too calmly.

“I wasn’t sir, I…”

He stood up not daring to look down at you, “I told you all to go to bed. To get some sleep. And you go to the bar? What the hell were you thinking?” He undid his tie. Already frustrated

“But sir I..”

“I’m talking.” He raised his voice a notch. Enough for you to back down. Not daring to look up to him your heart began to race. How awful this all felt. It was one thing to upset you ex but to disappoint Aaron Hotchner.

“I’m sorry... I”

He raised his voice, a little too loudly now, “You disobeyed direct orders Agent! Do you know what that means? That means you could have died out there. Do you understand me?”

You shrunk within yourself brining yourself right back to that night. God how you wish your brain didn’t work like this but here you were. You weren’t in Hotch’s office at the BAU nope, you were in that kitchen. The night you almost died. The night your ex tried to kill you. You heard those chilling words.

“Now, Y/N. You need to learn to not talk back to me. Do you understand me?”

Bringing your knees to your chest you couldn’t stop the stupid fat tears that raced down your face. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. But God damn did it hurt. Your ex said those same damned words right to your face.

“I’m so…” You tried to breath, but you couldn’t. You took short rapid breaths just trying to fucking breath. What in the hell was happening to you? It felt like your lungs were collapsing in on you.

Aarons eyes softened as he saw the tears begin to flow. He didn’t mean to make you cry. You were so different than the rest of the team. The rest of the would have brushed him off or rolled their eyes. But then you broke down. You looked panicked. Like you were in a different world.

“Y/L/N?” He asked hoping to bring you back to this planet. But you were gone.

He walked over to you crouching down, “Y/N.” He knew he couldn’t speak to loudly. That seemed to set you off the first time. He had to go about this differently. He began to reach out to touch you only to met with the panicked version of you he’s seen.

“Don’t touch me!” You jumped out of your chair somehow finding your breath after all of this. You couldn’t let him get near you. He’d hurt you. Just like your ex. Just like the guy at the fucking bar the other night.

“Y/L/N.” He backed off putting his hands above his head as you sat down against the wall, “You’re having a panic attack

“Just stop!” You covered your face with your hands bringing your knees close to your chest. It felt so hard to breath.

Aaron took a few steps closer careful not to overstep but when you saw him you about lost him. He wasn’t Hotch he was your ex coming to take you out for good this time.

“Please.” You put your hand up to stop him. He noticed your trembling hand that asked him to stop. This was a response he never had expected. You’d been so guarded he hadn’t a clue what this could be from. Aaron was used to trauma. That was his field. Trauma and more trauma. It saddened him to know that you’d been through something that could make you so blasé to the fact that you’d almost been kidnapped, tortured, and murdered the other night. Whatever it was he had a sneaking suspicion that this was a response to that same trauma.

“I’m sorry.” He stopped again sitting on the ground. He watched as you struggled to breathe. He wanted to wrap you in his arms so desperately it hurt. It was painful to watch you struggle. God, he wanted to be there for you. He shouldn’t have felt this way about a subordinate. About one his employees. About somebody so much younger than him. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Ever since you came in for that damned interview he was hooked.

He wasn’t mad at you more so the situation. He knew the odds of that happening were one in millions. But of course, you were that one in a million chance. He knew how gorgeous you were. It wasn’t a surprise per say but the thought of actually losing you after not even getting the chance to know you hurt him. He only scratched the surface of you, and he was enamored. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to get to know the real you.

All you saw was him. Your stupid ex sitting there taunting you. Waiting for you to slip up. You just kept trying to fucking breath, but it wasn’t happening.

“Y/N.” He spoke again.

Shaking your head you couldn’t take it, “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Oh, Y/N.” He frowned letting himself become small now, “It’s me. Aaron. Aaron Hotchner.”

Your eyes flicked up to him as you cowered against the wall. He was Aaron. Not your stupid fucking ex. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“It’s me. Can I please come closer?” He begged sitting there waiting. Waiting for the second you would let him.

You nodded continuing your short breathes. Aaron Hotchner. He was a friend. He was okay. God damn. You couldn’t believe you were reacting like this. It just happened. You didn’t even have a thought to stop it. Your mind took yourself back to that kitchen a year ago.

Slowly he scooted closer reaching out to you, “it’s okay. I promise. Try and take a deeper breath, okay? On the count of three?”

You nodded waiting for him to continue.

“One. Two. Three.”

Somehow, someway he was able to get you to calm down. With slow counts and patience, you eventually managed to get your breathing back to normal. Taking long slow breaths you couldn’t bear to look up to the man. How fucking embarrassing was all of this.

“I’m so sorry.” You barely spoke.

“Nothing to apologize for Y/N. Can I touch you?”

“Yeah.” You still couldn’t look up. So ashamed.

Feeling his arm wrap around your back you closed your eyes letting him take you in. He pulled you into his chest wrapping his arms around you. Squeezing tightly, he dropped one hand brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into your hair trying to make you feel a bit better. He couldn’t imagine the agony you must be in. He wished he could just take it and throw it all away for you. He was in far too deep. He couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“It’s okay.” You replied softly letting your head fall against his chest. Whatever embarrassment you felt washed away as you breathed him in. He just felt like comfort.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

“But” you paused taking another breath. Whatever, he should know why you were as fucked as you really were. So, you told him everything. All the nitty gritty details. He listened. Squeezed you when you were slow to continue. To encourage you.

Once you finished, he paused taking everything in. He was shocked the world could be so cruel to someone as gentle as yourself. How could anybody be so awful. How could they not see how wonderful you really were?

“Thank you for telling me.” You nodded, “Sure. Just don’t think any less of me?”

“Never. Come on, let’s get you home.” He stood reaching his hand out to you.

You nodded letting him pull you up, “Thank you Hotch.”

“Jack’s gone for the night. Stay with me tonight in my guest room? I think you’ll sleep better.” He asked which came out more as of a demand.

You could only nod letting yourself fall into him, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Good.”

“Can you walk?”

You smiled softly, “Yes, Aaron. I’m not inept.”

He chuckled softly, “That sounds nice.”

You turned towards him with a big cheesy grin feeling stupidly giddy all of the sudden, oh how this man got you so quickly, “Oh yeah?”

He nodded reaching for your hand, “Come on now.”

“Sounds good, Aaron.” You took his hand happily.

Part 2

@senjoritanana @ssaddyhotchner @realdirectionx @mojo366 @2234world @tonys-bitch @gspenc @life-of-music3 @topguncultleader @whyislenaluthorsohot @givemeth @alex-1967s-blog @montyfandomlove @roastyyytoastyyy

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loveandmurders · 2 years

Note

Hi I like to look at your page and I was kinda wondering if you do the slashers reacting to their victims hurting their s/o like they are are looking for them and they see their s/o on one knee in the ground and blood while the victim is standing there (Poly! Ghostface Stu & Billy, Thomas, Michael daddy Myers, Vincent, ChromeSkull)

Here’s apple juice and a bagel w/ cream cheese 🧃🥯

Hello there, thank you for the request and food :) <3 It was really nice to try to write for several slashers for one request tbh! I never wrote for Ghostface or Chromeskull before so I hope it is okay. Actually, it made me start a poly!Ghostface AU series and I’ll post it soon I think. Oh and I added Bo to your request because I feel he would have been sad to be excluded! Hope you’ll enjoy!! <3

Gender neutral reader and no physical description.

Warnings: Blood, mention of killing, violence, reader is hurt.

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

You weren’t yourself Ghostface, but the victim had high suspicion against you because no matter where you were, Ghostface never seemed to attack you.

You had no idea that Ghostface was Stu and Billy, but you had to admit you had noticed that somehow you seemed off limits.

(Once Ghostface even waved at you from far away before leaving to kill someone else, but you never talked about it to anyone)

So the victim attacked you, and you were bleeding on the ground.

They were ready to hurt you even more, in order to make you talk but one of the Ghostfaces would show up just in time after having heard noises of a fight.

It would be Billy behind the mask, and he would be really not happy about this.

He wouldn’t even bother to talk to the victim, or toy with them (even though it was his favourite hobby).

He would just attack them and protect you right away, too possessive to let anyone hurt you without consequences.

Stu would arrive soon after, wondering what Billy was doing, because he was suddenly not following the plan.

And then he would see you, on the ground.

The sweet boy would worry instantly and he would grab you and help you back on your feet so you could both leave.

Despite the pain, you would notice how Stu didn’t seem to care about Ghostface, or didn’t seem to have any will to help the victim.

He would settle you upstairs, in a bed and he would look after you and fuss over you.

Soon after, Ghostface would find you, and remove his mask, revealing Billy, who would join you on the bed to make sure you were fine. He would also calm down Stu.

You would be shocked to understand who your boyfriends were.

Billy would sweet talk to you and kiss you to make you forget about it, and Stu would do anything to cheer you up and make you admit you still loved them.

And of course you did.

After that, they would keep you away from their crime scenes at all cost so it wouldn’t seem too obvious that Ghostface was in love with you.

Thomas Hewitt

You were helping to prepare dinner in the kitchen, when a victim attacked you from behind.

They had stabbed you, forcing you to fall on your knees in front of them, your hands on your wound, as you were heavily bleeding on the ground.

Thomas would arrive just in time before the victim could kill you.

And no need to say the man would go feral and insane, unable to stand the sight of you like that.

He would instantly turn on his chainsaw and jump on the victim with all his strength and speed, like a cannonball aiming to violently kill.

The victim would have no chance of survival at all, because Thomas believed he was born to serve his family and protect the people he loved.

And he loved you more than anything else in his whole existence. And this person dared hurt you, which meant no mercy.

His bloodlust rage would only quieten down when he would see you falling on the ground, passing out from the pain and the blood loss, softly whispering his name for him to help you.

It would only then he would stop cutting the already dead body in pieces to check you up, turning off his chainsaw and letting it fall on the ground without any care.

Afterward, once the rage would be gone, he would be so panicked.

He would scoop you up and place you on the couch before looking for his Mama so she could patch you up or tell him what to do.

The man would also beat himself up for having let that happen to you and then he would act like your guard dog, making sure no one could hurt you again by keeping you by his side or asking you to lock yourself in your shared bedroom.

He would be paranoid and even more overprotective after that.

He would have nightmares about losing you and he would bring you closer to his chest in the night, making sure you were all safe and sound. No that you minded the attention at all.

Michael Myers (RZ)

Michael hadn’t thought one of the victims could escape him and find you watching TV in the living room.

And no need to say, he had never thought you would get hurt, no matter how many times you told him you didn’t like when he was bringing victims inside the house to play.

When he would see you, laying on the ground, hurt and unconscious, it would definitely break the remains of sanity he had inside of him.

His fist would tighten around his knife and before the victim could run away, Michael would grab them and pin them on the wall before stabbing them over and over again in the stomach.

If Thomas was full of rage, Michael was also the kind of slasher to not be able to stop himself. But unlike Thomas, it would be a very cold rage.

He wouldn’t express any emotions behind the mask, or he wouldn’t say anything or even groan in anger.

He would simply stab the victim until he would feel better about the situation, and then he would plunge his knife deep enough into the body for it to stay pinned on the wall.

His attention would then get to you, and he wouldn’t know what to do at first.

He would be afraid to hurt you, but at the same time he couldn’t stand to see you on the ground, so he would eventually carry you to your shared bedroom, undress you and take care of you.

Because he had lived a great part of his life in an asylum, he knew how to take care of wounds and it worked in your favour.

He would never bring any more victims back home, and he would actually never let anyone in.

If someone was getting too close to his property, he would get out and kill them right away.

Killing to keep you safe was his new love language and you could only appreciate it because you had never been so safe in your whole life.

Vincent Sinclair

He had asked you to stay in the basement, where he thought you would be safe.

But of course, one of the victims had found the secret gateway leading the House of Wax to his place.

And when the tourist saw you there, minding your own business with a book in one hand, they had guessed you weren’t another victim.

They wanted to hurt you, like the masked twin had hurt their own people so they didn’t hesitate to jump on you and to beat you.

When Vincent would arrive, panicked after he had realised one victim was missing, you would be on your knees, trying to get up to fight back.

But your head would be throbbing and you wouldn’t be sure you wouldn’t fall if you went back on your feet.

Vincent would know better than panicking or going insane.

Like Michael, cold and silent rage would rise inside of him like a wave ready to destroy everything.

But unlike Michael, rage wasn’t equaling chaos to him.

Vincent was an artist who spent his days creating and who needed the tourists for his creations.

So he didn’t jump on the victim to cut him into pieces, he would really silently move behind them before they could strike again, and then slice their throat open.

He would take a lot of pleasure to kill them and he would make sure his movements were slow and precise so the tourist could have the time to feel the pain and to realise they were going to die before ineed dying.

Once done, he would let the body loudly fall and then his rage would be replaced right away by worry and tenderness for you.

He would be your special doctor and take care of you until you were fully healed. He would even make sure Bo left you alone for that time and he would ask Jonesy to stay with you when he couldn’t.

At night, he would cuddle you with extra love to make you forget he failed you.

Bo Sinclair

One of the victims had been able to get inside the house and had been smart enough to stay silent, so you didn’t notice them at first.

When you would, it would be too late already, and you got hit on the head.

You fell on the ground instantly, only half conscious anymore and unable to move.

Bo would have noticed that one of the tourists was heading to his house, but he was already busy with another one, so he simply hoped Vincent would protect you, like he always told his twin he needed to, when he couldn’t do it himself.

Unfortunately Vincent was in the House of Wax, also dealing with tourists.

Bo would finally run to the house, and would find you laying on the ground, the soon-to-be-dead tourist ready to beat you again.

Bo wouldn’t even need to think, he would act on pure instinct to protect you.

Even if he could be sometimes a little bit harsh with you, like he was with everybody including himself, he would do anything to keep you safe and happy.

You were part of the family and it meant no one was allowed to touch you.

If he had his gun on him, he would do an absolutely perfect headshot. If he didn’t have his gun, he would jump on the tourists and beat them with his bare hands until their head would be smashed and his own knuckles bleeding and hurt.

Once the tourist would be dead, his whole attention would be on you. He would place you on the couch and look after you before finishing off the killing.

When he would be back home, with Vincent, you could hear him yelling at his twin for having let anything happen to you.

And while checking on you, he would also be pissed at you for not having been more careful.

But you knew the man had just been very worried to lose you.

And at night, he would hug you even closer than usual.

ChromeSkull

Jesse was always proud to believe he was in control, especially when it was about killing or about you.

You were his, and he needed to make sure you were fine, hence he had settled cameras inside your shared house so he could keep an eye on you when he was away.

It was how he saw a man getting inside his place and attacking you; you were an easy target to get after Jesse; he should have seen that coming.

No matter what he would be doing, he would let go of it right away, even if it was a killing. (If that was a killing, he would throw the victim in his car trunk to deal with later).

In no time he would be back home, and ready to slaughter whoever dared to touch you.

His knives would be already ready to strike as he went right where you and your aggressor were, with the same violent cold rage that Michael could have.

For once, he wouldn’t play, he wouldn’t torture, he wouldn’t even try to understand who this person was, he would just kill as roughly and painfully as possible, because someone who hurt you just couldn’t continue to live in the same world as you.

Once the killing would be done, he would then carry you somewhere comfortable and take care of you obsessively.

Until you would be fully healed, he wouldn’t let you leave your bed and he would threaten to tie you up there if it meant you stopped fighting his will.

His paranoia would have no limit after that event, and he probably would insist for the two of you to move out somewhere else, more secured.

There was also no way you would ever leave the house after this and you would live like his personal little doll, all safe and sound in a golden prison.

No need to say that no one else ever touched you again, as Jesse would kill whoever even pronounced your name his way.

Taglist:

@feathery-ass

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kiankiwi · 3 months

Note

Husband Jacob comforting hormonal pregnant reader 🩷

You had no ideas why you were crying. You just were. There was often no point to your tears at this point in your pregnancy so you often just had to feel your feelings until you calmed down and were able to go about your day.

Jacob was up and on set before you even got up so you were used to waking up alone. Because he didn't get to see you in the morning, he would facetime you to say good morning and have a little chat because he had missed out on his morning with you.

He just so happened to call when you were mid sob. "Baby? What's the matta?" (his R's sound like a/aw to me lol) He asked, his eyes filling with concern. "You just--" You continued to sob and Jacob put his hand up, "Breathe baby, you're okay, breathe with me." He helped guide you through a few deep breaths so you weren't choking and coughing as you cried anymore.

"Just give it a second and then tell me what's up okay? Do I need to come home?" You shook your head in silence as you put your sleeve over your hand and wiped your face. "Take a deep breath." He took a breath with you to calm you even more so you didn't feel as silly.

"It's stupid..." You chuckled, laying back down in bed. "No, no baby, your feelings are never stupid okay. Can you talk to me, tell me why you're so sad?" That made you chuckle again because you felt so silly. "I'm not even sad! I just... you didn't wake me up when you left so I didn't get a goodbye kiss and then when I went downstairs to make a bagel, we're out of cream cheese and I'm too tired to go to the store and the store feels too public anyway, I feel like everyone's gonna be staring at me with this huge bump and I just.... argh!" You screamed out your frustration into Jacob's pillow which of course smelled like him and that sent you into a new wave of crying.

"What baby, what?" "Argh, your pillow smells like you!" You yelled, frustrated still. Jacob couldn't help but smile at that.

"Here bub, I see your water bottle is behind you on the nightstand can you take a drink please?" You nodded, guiding the straw into your mouth and taking a long pull. "Good, good job, keep doing that today okay?" You nodded.

Jacob got closer to the camera of his phone, so close that you could only see his mouth and facial hair. You laughed. "You wanna know a secret?" He asked, looking off somewhere on set so now you could only see one of his eyes. You grabbed Jacob's pillow and cuddled it. "What?" "I did give you a kiss goodbye, I tried to wake you but I knew you were probably gonna be sick as soon as you woke up so I left you be. I still gave you a forehead kiss though, I promise." You nodded. He was right, you did puke as soon as you got up for the day. "Thank you. I was really tired, I was up late reading again." Jacob smiled. "Is the book good?" You nodded, grabbing the 800 page monstrosity off your nightstand and showed it to him where you had left off.

"Damn baby, you can kill someone with that thing?" You quirked your eyebrow. "Don't piss the pregnant lady off." Jacob nodded. "Here how about I send an uber eats out for the cream cheese and maybe some chocolate too and they'll drop it off so you don't have to go anywhere?" You nodded, wiping at your eyes again. The nice gesture caused your eyes to well up again. "I'd really like that, thank you."

"I'm happy to help baby, is there anything else you want?" "Nutella... and maybe some cheetos? The jalepeno ones..." Jacob expected some weird items to be added to his shopping list. "Got it bub. I gotta get back now but by the time I get home, I want you to have drank that whole water bottle okay?" You nodded and just to make him smile took another long drink from your straw.

"Thank you, I'll see you in a few hours okay? Go and get my Rugby sweater if that'll help too?" Your eyes lit up at the mention of his old sweater. He blew you a kiss "Love you baby! Give the bean my love."

"We love you too!"

***

I meant for this to be a ficlet but then I got inspiration and it was quite fun! I hope you liked this

@eee-lordy @mooodyblue

#dad!jacob elordi #dad!jacob #x pregnant reader #jacob elordi fanfic #kiwiswriting #kiwisblurbs

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 5 months

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No Place Like Home

Request: So I just finished watching this movie with my grandparents it’s a black and white movie 😂 but I loved the story line so the summary of the movie was “A Christmas angel is sent from Heaven to help a desperately stressed frustrated businessman by showing him what life would have been like if he had never existed after the things he said to his wife out of frustration but he didn’t mean but he was to stubborn to apologize and it went with he will apologize tomorrow but he wakes up to the angel instead”

I could definitely see this with jack being like this and being a pain in the ass when being stressed and saying things he didn’t mean like “well you don’t gotta be here for me I’m fine alone” or something like

Warnings: language

A/N: this is an adaptation of 'It's a Wonderful Life' from Jack's perspective. Jeff Probst is the host of Survivor, one of Jack's favorite shows. This is a work of fiction and does not portray any real life events or the people mentioned in the work.

Jack never really cared much about Christmas until he met you. Sure, he loved the holiday just as much as the next guy, but besides spending time with his family, it never went deeper than a holiday where you exchanged gifts for him.

You on the other hand loved Christmas, it was your favorite holiday, and a reminder of how lucky you were to have the things you had and people who truly loved you in your life. You made every day leading up to Christmas special, and throughout your relationship, some of your cheer started to rub off of Jack.

This year, though, he was really struggling to get in the holiday spirit. It seemed like no matter what he did, or how hard he tried, things just weren't going his way. He hit a creative roadblock, he liked to refer to it more like a giant brick wall, in the studio, and there was no way he was going to make his end of the year deadline to put out a new single.

At home, baby boy was close to arriving and you were on doctor mandated bedrest, so Jack had to pick up all of the slack, taking care of the house and getting the girls back and forth from their many commitments. He really didn't mind it, but it was obvious that he wasn't the primary caretaker, and he was struggling with the smallest things. The girls had their set schedule, and without you, things were just a big mess.

Add to that the fact that the two of you had been at odds lately, and Jack wasn't sure how much more he could take. You could blame it on pregnancy hormones and Jack could blame it on his stress, but you weren't talking unless it was absolutely necessary, and the silence was killing him.

There wasn't even a tree up in the house, and if he didn't think too hard about it, it felt like just another Tuesday.

In short, Jack couldn't wait for Christmas to be over.

****

"Ok, we need to leave for school in five minutes, so eat quick." Jack let out a stressed huff as he placed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Aaliyah at the dining table. "I don't wanna eat that", she pushed the plate away with a look of disgust on her face. "What? Since when?" Jack would honestly admit he had no culinary skills, and cooking eggs was his limit. "I wanna have a bagel."

"We don't have any bagels, baby. Now eat." He paced around the kitchen, haphazardly throwing a sandwich and some snacks into Brooklyn and Aaliyah's lunchboxes.

"Dad, I need you to sign this permission slip." Brooklyn waived the paper in front of Jack's face, already dressed and ready for school. "What's this for?"", he asked, running a hand through his messy curls.

"For me to play soccer. I told you about this. Tryouts start today." Jack could barely remember to brush his teeth lately, Brooklyn playing soccer had completely slipped his mind. He scribbled his signature down, handing the slip back to Brooklyn. "Don't forget. You have to pick me up after the tryouts. 5:00."

"Yes, I will be there." Jack nodded, making a mental note of the time. He checked his phone. "Fuck", he swore under his breath. "We're gonna be late. Alright, lets' go." He ushered the girls out of the door, slamming it shut behind him.

"Daddy, you said a swear word." Aaliyah chastised him as she climbed into the back seat. Jack let out a huge sigh, feeling his chest constricting. He just really needed to get through this morning.

****

"I've got some bad news, man." Angel turned to Jack, nervously messing with the buttons on the control board. Jack went straight from school drop off to the studio, knowing he needed all of the time he could get to work on this song.

He was distracted on his phone, searching for last minute Christmas gifts for you. You had taken care of the girl's presents throughout the year, but he was struggling to find something to get you that would make up for all the fighting the two of you had done lately.

"Jack." His head shot up at Angel. "Sorry, what's going on?"

"The single, the record label didn't approve it. Its a no go."

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me." Jack's jaw angrily flexed at the news. "Did they say why?"

"Drama said it wasn't fresh. The same thing everyone is putting out right now." Angel hated to be the barer of bad news, but Jack wasn't willing to listen to any of his feedback, and unfortunately, he saw this coming from a mile away. "I've got this sample I think would be-"

"No, I wanna go with the original beat I chose. We just need to keep working it until we get it right." Jack knew he was being stubborn, but he needed this song to be perfect, and he was a control freak. "We're not leaving here until we get this song right." Jack stood up to head back into the booth. He closed his eyes as the track started, sound coming in through his headphones. He just really needed to get through this song.

****

It was after 9:30 when he finally got home, and when he spotted you in the hallway, visibly upset, he knew he was in trouble. "What are you doing up, you're supposed to be in bed." Jack slipped off his shoes and jacket and walked toward you. You held up a hand when he tried to lean in for a kiss, moving to rub your hand over your overly pregnant belly. You could have burned holes through walls with the glare you were giving him. "What's wrong?"

"Did you forget something today?" You tipped your head waiting for his response. Jack could only stare at you, his mind was truly blank. "Brooklyn, Jack." The reminder hit him more like a bat to the head than a lightbulb turning on. "Oh fuck." Jack shut his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I forgot to pick her up today."

"Yes, you did, Jack. I had to get out of bed and pick her up. She was inconsolable." It was unlike Jack to forget something as big as picking up his own daughter, but lately it felt like he was missing a lot of the important things. "Why didn't you pick up your phone? I tried to call you." Jack pulled his phone out of his back pocket, completely forgetting he had put it on 'Do Not Disturb' while he was in the studio.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Time just got away from me. I'm under a lot of pressure to get this song done." You let him put his hands on your bump, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Go apologize to your daughter please", you sighed. Jack nodded, rushing up the stairs to Brooklyn's bedroom.

He laid a couple soft knocks on the door. "B, baby, daddy's sorry. Can we talk?" He listened as he heard her get up and the door swung open. She still had tear stains on her cheeks, her eyes red from crying.

'Where were you? Did you forget about me?", Brooklyn asked as she wiped her face with her sleeve. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I just got caught up at work."

"I was so embarrassed! Having to sit there while all of my friends were getting picked up", she cried out. Her face broke Jack's heart. "I know, I'm so sorry. It will never happen again."

"It doesn't matter. I didn't make the team anyway." She gritted out before shutting the door in Jack's face. He raked his hands down his face, his stomach twisting with guilt.

You were in the bedroom, tucked under the covers, reading a book when Jack came in. You could see his shoulder slump over as he sat at the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands. "I really am sorry about forgetting to pick up Brookie." His voice sounded so defeated, and you couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

You got up on your hands and knees to crawl over to him, sitting back on your haunches. "Jack, I'm not sure what's going on lately, but it seems like you've got your priorities all mixed up." You laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. He let out a curt laugh, nodding his head. "You're right. I can't even disagree with you."

"Maybe you need to take a break from working for a little bit." His back tensed up at your suggestion. "Just until things settle down."

"Why is that always your answer for everything? For me to stop making music?" Jack stood, turning on his heels to face you, his face contorted with frustration.

"Its not. You're overreacting." You both felt another fight coming on, and Jack was really too tired to get into it right now, but it was like he couldn't stop himself.

"Oh, I'm overreacting? It's like nothing is ever good enough for you." He had no control over his words, weeks, no months, of frustration bubbling over. "I stop touring as much because you asked me to be around more, but that's not enough for you, so I cut back on my studio time, but oh no, that's still not enough for you. Now you want me to stop making music all together?" His throat was dry as he spoke, desperately trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Jack, that's not what I mean. I just think that you need to look at how important other things in your life are now. Its not just us anymore, we've get kids to think about. They always come first." You ignored a cramp in your back as you stood up.

"Baby, I am always thinking about them, and I always put you first, but my career is important to me. Its a part of who I am." He pushed a finger in his chest to solidify his point. "Why do you want to try to take away the one thing that I've always been so sure about?"

"I don't. Its just sometimes", you took a deep breath, "sometimes I wish you weren't 'Jack Harlow'. I just think things would be a lot easier if you had a different career. It makes everything so damn hard." You bit at your bottom lip realizing that wasn't what you meant to say, but it was too late to take it back.

"What are you saying?", his brow furrowed with anger as he took a step back out of disbelief. "Are you saying you wished that things were different? That all of this was different?" He was for sure jumping the gun, but that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew louder as you spoke. "No, Jack. That's not what I mean at all."

"Well, that makes one of us." He took in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. "What are you saying?", you pushed back.

"I'm saying that sometimes I wish I could go back. I feel like I made a lot of mistakes that I wish I could fix." He grabbed his keys off the dresser. "I'm gonna go back to the studio, don't wait up." You felt tears sting your eyes as you watched Jack walk away. He just really needed to get through the night.

****

A couple of hours had passed and Jack was no closer to finishing the single then he was when he arrived. He could barely keep his eyes open as he tried to fix the arrangement to no avail.

"Why can't I just get this shit right?", he pulled at his curls before roughly shutting his laptop closed. He wanted to go home and crawl into bed next to you, but it felt like the wrong thing to do, so he would have to settle for the crappy leather couch at the back of the room.

Every muscle in his body hurt, but he was tired enough that as soon as he closed his eyes, he could feel himself drifting off to sleep.

"Hey, Jack. Jaacckkk. Its time to wake up." Jack stirred in his sleep to the sound of a voice. "I just need 5 more minutes, okay, Liyah, and then I'll make you breakfast, okay?" He turned on his side, trying to go back to sleep.

"I really think you should get up, Jack."

Jack's eyes shot open when he realized the voice didn't belong to his little girl, but instead a grown man.

"Aah! What the hell?" Jack jumped up off the couch, hurrying to his feet at the sight of Jeff Probst standing over him. "How did you get in here?" Jack rubbed his eyes just to make sure he wasn't dreaming, but when he opened them, the host of Survivor was still standing there.

"I mean, people usually are a little happier to see me, but given the circumstances, I won't take it personally." Jeff shrugged, giving Jack his signature host smile.

Jack began to pace the room, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "Oh my god. I'm going crazy. I have truly lost my mind. You have to be some kind of figment of my imagination." In his mind, there was no other explanation.

"You're not going crazy, Jack. If anything its the exact opposite." Jeff sat down in one of the chairs by the control room, his hands gesturing in the air. "This is your moment of clarity and I am here to guide you."

"So what? You're my guardian angel or something?", Jack asked with an incredulous look on his face.

"Sure, if that's what you want to call me. Its your story."

Jack shut his eyes tight again. "I have to be dreaming. Maybe if I lay down again, I will wake up and you won't be standing there." Jack quickly swung his feet up on the couch, scrunching up his face as he tried to go to sleep. He thought he was coming back to reality after a couple of seconds.

"Are you done freaking out now? You're right, though, you are dreaming. Unfortunately for you, you're not gonna be able to wake up until I've shown you everything. ", Jeff remarked, pushing a variety of buttons on the control board.

Jack let out sigh, allowing the insanity to sink in. He really didn't want to move, but his guardian angel was annoying the shit out of him putting his hands on everything.

"Can you stop doing that? You don't even know what you're doing." Jack stood, turning off all of the equipment.

"Oh good, now that you've acknowledged me, we can get to work."

****

Jeff snapped his fingers and suddenly Jack was standing in the middle of an empty school hallway. He glanced at a banner that read "Highland Middle School" and he realized he was standing in his old junior high. "How the hell did we get here?" Jack was more scared than interested.

"Relax, its all just a dream. Do you know where we are?". Jack nodded, "We're in my old middle school."

"Yep, were it all started for Jack Harlow. The start of your music career. It was here that you used to pass out your CDs and people started to figure out who you were." Jeff let out a whistle that echoed through the empty hall. "This is a piece of history for you."

"Okay, so what?" The point was lost on Jack. He remembers that time as being very difficult, he was relentlessly bullied by his classmates that thought he was a fraud. "You said you wanted to go back and change things, so let's see what would have happened if you never believed in yourself." Jeff snapped his fingers again and the hallway filled with teenagers rushing to get to their respective classes.

"Coming through!" Jack braced himself when he saw a kid running toward him full speed, but he passed right through Jack like an apparition. Jeff chuckled at Jack's shocked face. "I guess I should have laid down the ground rules. None of this is real, just a figment of your imagination. We're strictly here to observe. Now." Jeff turned Jack to face the opposite direction. "Do you recognize anyone there?"

Jack blinked a couple of times to clear his vision. At the end of the hall, a couple inches shorter and with much longer hair that hung over his glasses, stood a younger Jack. He was passing out CDs to everyone who passed him. Most people blew him off or chucked them in the trash when he was out of view, but Jack was relentless, his music blasting over a small stereo he borrowed from his mom. "I would hardly say this was the start of my music career. The music I made back then was shitty." It was mostly ripoffs of popular songs at the time that Jack would put his own lyrics too.

"Sure, I guess you could say that", Jeff shrugged, "but it was the start of your confidence as an artist. It was this and all of the shows where only a handful of people showed up that gave you the drive to keep going." Jack still wasn't convinced.

"I think if I could go back. I would have quit while I was ahead. Things only got harder from there." Jack sighed,

"If you insist." Jeff snapped his fingers and Jack jumped at the sound of a loud crash. He looked over at his younger self who was trying to pick up all of his CDs as a much larger student stood over him.

"Harlow, you actually think people are going to listen to your shitty music?" The bully pushed him against the wall hard, making his glasses fall to the ground and shatter. "Stay out of my way, or your glasses won't be the only thing I break." Young Jack cowered as the bully bucked at him, his friends behind him roaring with laughter.

"Hey! We can't just let him, I mean me, get bullied like that." Jack tried to take off but Jeff stopped him. "Its not real, remember? You can't interfere." Jack let a sharp breath out of his nostrils. "I remember that guy, Tim Hudson. He used to make my life a living hell. Last time I heard he was at some dead end job, and never left Louisville."

Jeff nodded. "Yep, works as a mechanic." They both watched as young Jack gathered all of his CDs, most of the cases shattered and threw them into a nearby trashcan. "If you never kept handing out your music and making a name for yourself, Tim eventually graduates and becomes pretty successful actually."

Jack let out a humorless breath. "So its my fault that he ends up the way he does in real life? C'mon, you can't make me believe that I'm responsible for anyone else's future."

Jeff sighed, giving Jack a contenfull smile. "You don't get it, do you? I think its time we go to our next stop."

****

Jeff snaps his fingers, and Jack doesn't recognize the building lobby they're standing in. "Where are we? i've never been here before." Jack's head is on a swivel as he looks around, a bunch of businessmen in suits rushing past. "Just wait."

"Can you just take me back-" Just as Jack was losing his patience, a man that looked a lot like Urban walks by. "You have to be kidding me." Jack scoffs as he recognizes his best friend, undoubtably looking a lot different, his hair cut short so he blends in with every other wall-street prick here, dressed in a plain black suit, briefcase in hand. It was like all of the life had been sucked from him. "There's no way that's Urban. I can't believe it."

"Oh, believe it. If you never started working on your music, you and Urban never really hung out anymore, and while he tried to keep working on his photography, because you never got signed for a record deal and started touring, you didn't need a photographer and he had to get another job. Got into law school and everything."

"Law school?" Jack couldn't believe what he was seeing. Urban always thought not following your passion meant selling out, and this went against everything he believed in. "So, because I didn't give out CDs in the hallway back in middle school, my best friend becomes a lawyer?"

"Oh, the two of you aren't friends anymore. You haven't talked in years. After high school the two of you drifted apart and eventually went your separate ways. Urban got married, and moved to New York." Jack's head was starting to spin. No matter what happened, Jack always thought that Urban was going to be his best friend. Still, if it meant that Urban was successful in his own right, he was right to quit his music career. "Well, as long as he's happy, that's all that matters."

Jeff sighed, realizing Jack still didn't recognize his impact. "Jack, happiness isn't everything. Its fleeting, just a feeling, not always something you can count on. Urban loves working with you now. It wasn't always glamorous, especially at the start, but the two of you were facing the world together, following your dreams. There's nothing greater than that. C'mon, we've got places to be."

****

The third location Jack recognized immediately. "This is my wife's first apartment." It was exactly as he remembered it. Decorated a little too girly for his taste but smelled exactly like you; he had a lot of good memories here. His mouth hung open as he saw you walk into the living room, dressed in an evening gown. Even in his dreams you took his breath away, you were so beautiful.

"Let me guess", he turns to Jeff, "because my music career never took off, the two of us never met."

"Now you're getting it. You never met her at that industry party years ago, never had a first date, never had your first kiss at that door right there, never got married, never had kids together." Jack's stomach turned at that last thing. "We never had Brooklyn and Aaliyah?"

"Now are you seeing how everything is connected?", Jeff asked. Jack's ears perked up as he heard a knock at the door and you walked past him to open it. You smiled when you saw Drake standing on the other side of the threshold. "Ready to go baby?" You gave Drake a quick kiss before grabbing your clutch. "Yes, ready to go."

"Wait a fuckin' minute! You're telling me if I never met my wife she ends up with Drake?"

"No, I was just messing with you. Guardian angels need to have a laugh now and then too." Jeff lets out a hearty chuckle, but Jack doesn't find the humor in it. Jeff snaps his fingers to restart the scene. This time, when you open the door, Copeland is standing on the other side, sans arrow tattoo. "I think I'd rather she be with Drake.", he scoffed as he watched you walk out of the apartment.

"It doesn't really matter who she's with, the point is, she's not with you. You never meet, and you miss out on the greatest love of your life."

Jack had to sit down, he felt so lightheaded. "I don't know what you want me to see here." Jack admitted, his head beginning to pound. "Sure, things are different, but they aren't bad. If anything, these people aren't affected by me and my career, so their lives have to be better."

Jeff sat down at the chair opposite of Jack. "I have to say, out of all my clients, you have to be the most difficult. You really don't see what's happening here, do you?" Jack shook his head, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "All I see are a bunch of people who I haven't disappointed in one way or the other."

"Okay", Jeff nodded. "I've got one more thing to show you, and if you still don't believe how much of an impact you've made on other people's lives after that, I'll let you wake up." Jack hung his head in his hands, his gaze to the ground. "Fine." Jack didn't bother to look up, hearing the snap of Jeff's fingers.

****

Jack stumbled when he realized he was no longer sitting, concrete beneath his feet. It was dark now, the only thing illuminating the darkness a neon sign. The building in front of him looked abandoned, the windows boarded up.

"The Neighborhood House, its one of the charities your foundation has funded. Without your donations, and the attention you've brought to this organization, they had to close one of their locations. That's one less location where kids can go to for after school care and family services. A lot less kids helped in the community, Jack."

Jack ran his fingers through his hair. "Is this supposed to be a guilt trip or something, make me feel bad for not doing more to help?" If it was, it was working, the guilt was eating him alive.

"Jack, your life hasn't always been perfect, but its always been good. You may not realize it, but by following your dreams and never giving up, you've given a lot of other people hope and purpose."

Jeff continued, starting to see Jack's face soften. "Without you, there is no foundation that has been able to donate to improve Louisville, Urban doesn't continue to follow his passion in photography, your wife never becomes a mother to two wonderful children with a third on the way. There is no The Homies because you never gave them the platform to promote their music. So many people won't have you to look up to when deciding whether they want to pursue their own dreams." Jeff placed a hand on Jack's shoulder.

"You say you've done a lot of things wrong, but Jack, you've done a lot of things right, too." Jeff's words hung in the air for a second. Jack never thought about the impact the good he did had on other people, he was only worried about disappointing them. "So what now?"

"Now, you get to wake up, and try to make the best out of the life you currently have. Its worth it. Good luck."

Jeff snapped his fingers for the final time.

****

Jack awoke with a a gasp, clutching his chest. He was back in the studio, and this time, there wasn't a TV host in the room with him. It had all been a dream, but he'd never been more sure in his life that this was the only reality he wanted to be in. He checked the time on his phone, realizing it was the next morning, and grabbed his things before running out the door.

The girls greeted him at the front door as soon as he walked in. "Daddy!" Brooklyn wrapped him in a tight hug, making Jack stumble back. Aaliyah was holding tightly onto his leg, the weight of her little body making it difficult for him to stand.

"We didn't know where you were." Brooklyn mumbled into Jack's sweater, pulling him tighter. "Yeah, Uncle Lay said Santa kidnapped you so you could go work with the elves." Jack laughed, picking Aaliyah up.

"Uncle Clay is right", Jack decided to play along for Aaliyah's sake, giving Brooklyn a wink because she no longer believed in Santa. "Santa called me up to the North Pole to help with the presents." He pushed a stray curl out of Aaliyah's face. "Did you tell him I wanted a new Barbie house?" Aaliyah whispered in his ear. "Jack chuckled. "I didn't leave until I knew he had it all wrapped up for you."

"Jack, baby?" You hobbled over to your husband as fast as your body would carry you, grabbing Jack's face in your hands. "What happened to you? I was so worried." You didn't even care that you were crying as your eyes searched his face. "I'm okay. I didn't mean to scare you." He pressed a kiss to your palm, giving you a small smile.

"Daddy! We have a surprise for you!" Brooklyn grabbed Jack's hand, leading him to the living room.

"The girls spent all day decorating. Your mom and dad even came over to help.", You smiled, rubbing Jack's back affectionately. The living room was beautifully decorated, the tall Christmas tree covered in lights and ornaments.

Jack looked at you when you grabbed his hand, his eyes glistening from the lights. "I'm sorry, baby. I should have seen that you were struggling. I don't want to change anything about the life that we've created together." You stroked his cheek with your thumb as you spoke.

Jack wrapped you in a tight hug. "I'm the one that needs to apologize to you. I took all of this for granted, but baby, you are the best wife and mother, and you're right, I always need to put you and the girls first."

"You do, baby. You always do." You pulled him in for a kiss, Jack careful of your burgeoning belly as he held you close. "I have to tell you about my crazy dream later", Jack whispered as the girls tried to get your attention.

"Daddy, we have one more surprise for you." Aaliyah swayed back and forth as she spoke.

The girls led Jack into the family room, where they had set up a movie night, complete with snacks and pizza. "We thought we could watch your favorite Christmas movie."

"Harry Potter?" Jack asked, a playfully surprised look on his face. You nodded, moving to sit on the couch. The family all got comfortable under blankets, Jack's arm around your shoulder while Brooklyn and Aaliyah clung to your bump.

You could feel Jack's eyes on you as you watched the movie. "Something wrong, baby?", you asked, turning to him.

"I just love you so much. Never forget that." He uttered out, and pressed a kiss to your temple.

Thinking back on it now, Jack realized he was foolish to ever wish for something other than the life that he had. It wasn't perfect, but it was his, and it was so much better than he could have imagined.

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#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jackman harlow #jack harlow x reader #jackharlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow imagine

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darlingmbappe · 1 year

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The Loneliest [4] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Kylain has shown you just how much he wants you and him to work out, initiating a second chance you weren’t sure you’d give.

Warnings: Angst? Very minimal. Little bit of fluff. Hangovers, cussing, chef!kylian, mentions of insecurities in a relationship, and that’s about it. Let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

Masterlist

The afternoon sun steeped through your closed eyelids, immediately you felt your head beginning to pound, your pupils felt like they were throbbing. Even with your face now stuffed into the pillow, it was still too bright, and you were still too damn comfy.

You tugged the comforter over your head, letting it engulf you entirely. What the hell did you drink last night? There was maybe a 5% chance of you leaving your extra snuggly bed today, and that percentage is reserved for peeing and taking a giant Advil. Memories of flashing club lights and loud house music rushed through your tired mind, and you muffled a loud groan into your pillow, wondering why you decided that buckets of alcohol would somehow make you feel better about telling Kylian about your night with Haaland during your heart to heart after training… Damn you, tequila.

Alas, the time came where you couldn’t keep holding your bladder and you ripped the sheets off of you like a bandaid, looking up at the ceiling… except it was not the ceiling you expected to see. The flood of confusion that took over your brain was palpable as you stared up at the familiar high walls and designer light fixture dangling above your body. Your heart rate increased as it dawned on you that you were not in fact in your new bed in your new apartment, but your old bed (albeit, much more comfortable bed) in the house you used to share with the very man you were trying to forget.

“Goddamnit.” You blurted into the air, noticing that you're wearing his old Mickey Mouse shirt you left behind. Looking next to you reluctantly, you thanked god that Kylians side of the bed was far too undisturbed for him to have possibly slept there with you – but maybe you wouldn't rule anything out just yet.

You sat up slowly, noticing your old nightstand provided a tall glass of water, two headache relief pills, and your phone on the charger. 1:30 pm. Holy shit. The last time you slept in that late was when Kylian gave you the flu last year. Poor thing felt so bad… as he should. It was a miserable four days of nothing but puking and Netflix. It’s not a very fond memory and it was definitely not the best idea to think about at this moment because you had to sprint out of bed like it electrocuted you, beelining to the toilet, barely making it before you began to throw up nothing but clear liquid that stung your throat as it shot out.

Kylian heard your footsteps from the floor below you, his heart rate increasing. Finally, you were up. He would have been concerned if he hadn’t been listening to your soft snores whenever he passed by the door, not noticing how he grinned stupidly every time. He stood from the couch and made his way to the kitchen to cook the only thing he knew you ate while nursing a hangover; two eggs and cheddar cheese on a multigrain bagel with a side of turkey bacon.

He felt like he had his in. He felt like today was finally the day that he could start trying again with you… really trying. Getting through to you has taken time – which is fair enough and he understands your reasons behind waiting – but all he wants is to show you that he’s changed. That he won't revert back to the aloof asshole of a man that wouldn't listen to you. He wouldn’t take you for granted for a second. Losing you was so painful, he couldn't possibly do that to himself again. He couldn't do that to you again.

As you started descending down the stairs, Kylian set you a placemat at your favorite spot by the window, a small bouquet of flowers sat in the center, a glass of orange juice, water, and a mug full of coffee all snuggly placed next to your breakfast… Well, lunch.

The second he saw your sweet frame enter the room with his old shirt and sweatpants, hair disheveled, all pouty and squinty, his stomach did flips. You looked so beautiful to him, all he wanted to do was hug you tightly and pepper your face with kisses. One day…

“Hey, sleepy.” He grinned at you, standing next to the table nervously, now feeling like he’s overdone it with the display, twiddling with his hands.

“Is that for me?” You tiredly asked, rubbing your eyes and trudging over to your usual breakfast spot, sitting comfortably in the seat.

He sat across from you, moving the flowers slightly to the left so his view of you wouldn't be obstructed. “Yes, I… um...” He looks at the neat placement of the meal, slightly embarrassed, “If you're not hungry you can save it for later, or… I don’t know.” He waves off, trying his hardest to be cool and nonchalant.

“I’m starving.” You calmed his anxiety, immediately grabbing the hot coffee cup, sipping it and instantly feeling some life make its way back into your veins, humming out in satisfaction.

He mentally fistbumped himself after hearing your thankfulness for his perfect cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” His hands were neatly folded in front of him, attentive and genuine.

“I think I went brain dead for a while. I forgot how comfortable our mattress is.” You say without noticing you called it our mattress, but Kylians heart pitter-patters inside of his chest at the slip of the tongue. He watches you as you take the first bite out of the bagel sandwich. “My god…” You grumble with a mouth full of the food, chewing every bit with your eyes closed. “This has to be from Tatianos.”

Titianos was the bagel shop just a block down from this home, a shop you two would frequently walk to together when the busy streets looked calmer than usual. “Of course.”

“And the flowers?” You poke, pointing to the daffodils placed between the two of you.

His face cringed slightly. “Too much?”

You couldn't help but smile, shaking your head and shrugging. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Oh.” He blushed, biting his cheek in efforts to not look like a doofus. “Sweet, huh?”

“Don’t get cocky.” You tease, playfully tossing a piece of your bacon at him, which he caught and ate happily. It was scary how comfortable you felt around him on this strange morning, especially since you had only the vaguest memories that flash in and out of your head. “So, last night… what happened exactly?”

“Between us? Nothing, if that’s what you’re asking.” He confirms. “You called me super drunk at like 3:30 and said you were alone, so I went looking for you. You didn’t know your address and your phone was dead, so I brought you back here.”

You nod along, remembering some hazy moments as he reminded you. “Did you make me waffles last night?” You ask once the recollection of something crispy and delicious popped into your head.

“You remember waffles before you remember hitting on me?” He baits, quirking an eyebrow.

Oh, god. You cover your face with your hands, embarrassed. “Did I really?” You whisper, peeking an eye through the space in your fingers. Kylian laughed, nodding in confirmation. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Kylian.”

“Don’t be sorry. You can flirt with me whenever you want.” He beamed, pushing the idea of holding your hand so he could see your face to the back of his mind.

“No, I just mean…” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I really appreciate how respectful you’ve been with not pushing my boundaries since the breakup, and me flirting with you probably didn’t help you.”

He shakes his head. “Seriously, don’t be sorry. I can handle it.” He assures, a sly grin forming in his features. “I know I’m irresistible. It’s been a struggle my whole life.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling at the goofy side of Kylian, missing his overly confident commentary. “Well, then… I’m sorry about telling you about me and Haaland last time I saw you… I would have kept it to myself if I knew that it would affect you on the pitch–”

“–You don’t need to apologize to me for anything, (Y/N).” He established, looking you in the eye. You stared back, lost in the deep brown of his eyes, reeling you in with how warm you he made you feel with just some simple eye contact. Kylian cleared his throat, he himself feeling exceptionally vulnerable. “So, I was thinking…” He stopped, gulping and toying with a napkin sheepishly. “Maybe, only if you're ready… would you like to go on a second first date with me?” The words came out slowly as Kylian subtly shrinks into his seat, looking up, then looking away.

You pause and you swear you are able to hear the thump of his heartbeat from across the table. If you were ready to go back to him or not really was a coin toss. It’s only been two months, but in those two months, you have seen the change that Kylians made in effort to get you back. You never stopped loving him, never. And he certainty has shown you that he never stopped either.

“When?” You speak up, catching his wide eyes.

“Whenever you’re free.” He breathes out. You give him a look as if to scold him for not taking charge – a hint he understands instantly. “Tonight.”

You gulp down the last of your coffee, wiping your mouth with a napkin. Unashamedly, you enjoyed the power of making him sweat, tapping your finger pensivly on the wooden table. It provides some weird satisfaction after you hurt for so long. It sounds bad but it’s not something you can help. You hint at a grin, tilting your head to the side. “Okay.”

Kylians lungs deflated in relief, not being able to hold back a goofy and wide smile, wishing he could celebrate this moment as if he just scored a last minute goal in the world cup. “That’s great!”

“Nothing too over the top, though, alright?” You request, feeling your cheeks wanting to dimple upon seeing the happiness radiating from the man in front of you, but needing to keep your composure more.

“I promise.”

“Good.” You leave it there, taking a couple more bites of the sandwich until you were too full to continue.

Kylians smile was like it was tattooed, eyes glimmering. You gave him a weird stare, wiping your mouth. “What? Do I have something on my face, or…?”

He shakes his head, laughing off the question while looking down. “No, no. Sorry.”

You knew he was just happy about finally getting you on a date. Honestly, so we’re you. Obviously it was a bitter sweet thing. The feeling of missing Kylian was like nothing you’ve ever felt in your life. Not even when you’ve broken up with your past partners has it felt this empty, this lonely. You hoped it wasn’t just the hangover sabotaging you into feeling a little extra needy… but you needed him. You really did.

Even while you gathered your things together, you were feeling apprehensive over going back to your new place, wanting nothing more than to sink into your spot on the couch in Kylian’s living room — the spot that you fall into so perfectly after years of claiming it as yours.

Though Kylian offered to take you home, you insisted on just Ubering (which he insisted he pay for). It’s difficult to find a way to say goodbye to him as you found yourself in a position you've been in before, hating the pit in your stomach as you stood in the familiar spot by the front door, ready to leave. Facing Kylian as he watched you go put a bad taste in your mouth, reminded you of your birthday. Reminded you of the most painful night of your life.

He sensed that you two were on the same page, shuffling uncomfortably in his place. “So…” He filled the silence.

“Um, I’ll just meet you here?”

“Yeah, that works.” He nods. “6:30?”

“Okay. 6:30. I’ll see you later, I guess.” You let out a dry and awkward laugh as you opened the door. Kylian watched your every move with the worst case of deja vu turning his stomach over and over, having to look away. Your feet stopped you from walking to the Uber waiting for you, turning around. “Kylian.” He instantly met your eyes. “Um... Thank you.”

Kylian froze, engrossed in the genuine way that your words came out. They felt heavy, meaningful. He wanted to tell you he’d do anything for you, that you didn’t need to ever thank him because he just loves you; but the door shuts behind you before even a sound could escape his lips.

It was like the air went stale the second you walked out the door, he physically felt how much he missed you already. But he knew he’d see you in just a few hours, and he had some prepping to do.

Your new apartment wasn’t exactly… nice. Or safe. Or spacious. Or free of roaches. The handle of your door always got stuck and you were left foolishly jiggling it until it gave way. Your asshole of a landlord has yet to respond to your multiple texts about it, much less anything else you’ve filed complaints about in the short time you’ve occupied this space.

The water pressure was shit, but the boiling stream that relaxed your muscles felt like heaven, anyway. It washed away the thick layer of the Sunday-scaries that weighed you down on this strange day. Shower thoughts overtook your brain, and you got to thinking about Kylian.

The months of doubt he put you through were unbearable. You constantly felt like a burden in his life when all you wanted was to be there for him. The sleepless nights you spent pondering over where it all went wrong and nothing ever coming to mind… The anxiety of every argument or uncomfortable prolonged silences that left you confused and insecure… These moments weren't few and far between, but a steady new normal you'd convinced yourself would eventually get better. Those moments showed you what he was capable of turning into.

On the other hand, you knew the other side of Kylian. That side is the one you knew in your heart was the real him. He loved the fact he knew all your quirks, your routine, your favorite brand of cereal, your deepest worries. It was just easy with him, just like it should be. The compatibility was undeniable from the get-go. He was always so affectionate before, having to hold your hand in public or smack your ass in the kitchen or else he'd implode. He always reminded you how much you meant to him. That you were the love of his life. Kylian would say this with eyes that glimmered, confirming that his intentions were true. It's like whenever he spoke to you tenderly it went directly into your heart until it began beating just for him. You always thought dependency in that way was unhealthy... but you still found yourself to place Kylian in the category of necessity.

Living without him was a life you weren't sure was possible for you.

It was almost four o'clock when you got out of the shower and you had picked out a nice little casual outfit to wear. He better have kept his word about the 'nothing too over the top' promise because if he surprised you with tickets to the opera, you'd surly be denied entry in jeans and a tank-top, even with your nice leather jacket you purchased in Italy.

You were nervous. Of course you were nervous. This night could go horribly wrong. Maybe he'll show that he's still the Kylian you left two months ago. Maybe you'll spot signs to not go through with this. Maybe he'll forget about these plans altogether and leave you stranded once more on a night you expect him to be around for.

But, even worse... It could go wonderfully right. He could be a gentlemen and woo you. He could say the all right things and make your heart swell at his addictive laugh. That's scarier than any worst case scenario you could possibly come up with.

The time came to drive to Kylains apartment, and as you got closer, the familiarities of the roads brought you back to happier times. The way you avoided every pothole and recognized peculiarities you'd become accustomed to seeing every time you would go home felt like a heavy sentiment you didn't have time to explore before arriving at the large home. Before you knew it, you were kocking on the door, anxiously wiping your sweaty hands down the material of your jeans.

Through the window, you saw Kylian jogging to answer, abrupty opening the door with the biggest and most authentic smile you'd seen him exhibit in a while... including the months leading up to your separation.

"Bonjour." He quips, cloth towel tossed over his shoulder and the smell of something delicious had your mouth watering.

"Hi." You smiled back, stepping into the home as he stepped aside, allowing you to come in. "Are you cooking something?"

"Yeah. I thought we could have dinner here. I hope that's okay." He explained, wiping his hands.

His nerves were undeniable cute. "That's perfect." You begin walking toward the kitchen, setting your purse down and peeking at the simmering food on the stove. "What's on the menu for tonight?"

"Well, to start, french onion soup. Then we have coq au vin with caprese salad, and for desert, crème brûlée. Hope you're hungry."

"That sounds... amazing." The kitchen was messy, but you could tell he did some quick tidying up before you got here. Kylian never closed the cabinets, and you couldn't stop yourself from chuckling when you noticed every door was wide open. "So, you took up cooking, huh?" You say as you close the doors that hung from the hinges quickly before leaning over to sneak a peak at your dinner.

He shuffled around to stand next to you, stiring as an excuse to be close. "No, not really." He laughed. "I've been following a recipe and I've been on facetime with my mom the entire time."

You wanted to coo at him, your feelings of fondness bubbling like the sauce on the stove. "How is Fayza? Aw, I miss her." She was such an angel to you, always. You'd become so close to her, especially since you'd been living so far from your family for so long now. She truly made you feel like you were part of the family. You wished you'd called her or Wilfreid or Ethan after the break up, but it was just so painful.

"She's good. Dealing with some rabbits in her garden but... she misses you. Like, really misses you." He says the last part lowly. He didn't want to make you feel bad, it's just that his mother hadn't taken the break up very well. She was so excited for the wedding, to watch her son get married to the love of his life, to officially have you be a part of the family. It'd been years you'd spent Christmas with them perfecting a triple chocolate cookie recipe. Years of sitting with you in the stands of Kylians matches. Years of watching you be so good with her grandchildren, getting ahead of herself and thinking about obtaining a few more.

You couldn't say anything back, hearing the timer beep. Kylian put on your strawberry-patterned oven mitts and took out two ramekins from the oven.

"Wine?" He offered, picking up a bottle of red and topping off his own glass.

You shook away your distress about Fayza and the family, sucking in a sharp breath. Wine sounds amazing. "Please."

He poured you a glass, handing it to you and placing himself comfortably in front of you, tipping his own toward you. "Santé."

You clicked your glass together with his, taking a bigger sip than you probably would have in a normal situation. Kylian kept eye contact with you, but you looked away with a bashful chuckle. His eyes were too versed in the language of how to make you melt. Maybe wine wasn't a great idea.

Kylian lifted the lid on the large pot, stirring for a second before turning off the flame. "This looks about done... I hope."

You press your side to his, reaching over to grab a spoon and finding a carrot. You felt Kylain's stare, the warmth he provided with the minimal contact made you flustered. You bit into the perfectly seasoned vegetable, tender and buttery. "Mhm..." You muttered. "Damn, Ky. You should've been cooking for me years ago."

"Well, I'd be happy to be the chef in this relationship from now on." He said with a bold blush.

Relationship.

He heard it the second the word slipped from his mouth. You froze, blinking at Kylian who also seemed to stop all movement. "I'm sorry. I wasn't... I–I didn't mean to–"

"It's fine." You waved off, setting the spoon down and giving him a reassuring smile.

He nods apologetically, taking the spoon from your hand, purposefully brushing his fingers with yours and dipping it in the saucy dish. He hums at the taste. "Is there anything I can't do?"

You laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully. "Shut up." He laughed along, loving the flow of the light banter... how it was before.

You sat at the table when he said he needs to plate the food, watching him scramble around the kitchen ungraciously, reopening every cabinet door and leaving it that way. He made quick time, balancing two soups and a basket of buttered baguette slices.

"You ready?" He nodded toward the patio door, opening it expertly with his elbow.

"Um... are we not eating at the table?" You question, confused but getting up anyway, grabbing both your glass and his, seeing as his hands are full.

He holds the door open for you, grin tattooed on his face as he see's your eyes light up at the setting he's created on the patio. The outdoor dining gazebo was decorated with strung up lights, candles lined up in the center of the table. There was a pattered tablecloth covering the hardwood with two chairs facing each other, the warm light created a sense of romance and intimacy. The sweet gesture showed how much effort he put into this simple date.

"You did all this for me?"

"Of course." He chimed, placing the small bowls of soup and bread down. You watched tenderly as he pulled out the chair facing the beautiful view that overlooked the gorgeous city, the sun had just started it’s descent into the horizon, painting the sky with hints of orange and pink. Your smile was flirtatious as you sat down and he tucked your chair in, taking the opportunity to be close to you.

This was always your favorite place to watch the sunset. You missed that view, your eye never leaving the skyline as you sat with a bashful blush. Your apartment now faced the brick wall of the building next to you. The closest thing to a view you get now is your neighbors golden retriever barking at the cyclists that ride by.

He sits across from you, placing a napkin on his lap. "Bon appétit."

He watches intently as you spoon your first bite, getting a bit of everything. "It's good?" He asks impatiently, trying it himself.

"Mother of god, Kylian. What the hell. It's delicious." You say approvingly. He gets a big head easily, so usually you kept your compliments subdued to avoid him becoming competitive with you in every aspect of your lives, but that soup brought you somewhere else.

The sun was setting slowly, as if the sky was begging you to appreciate this beautiful moment, savor it as long as possible. Halfway through the main course, the sun broke through the clouds that had occupied the heavens all day long. You audibly gasped at the phenomenon, feeling the golden sun warm your face, squinting slightly as you tried your best not to look directly at it.

“Oh, wow… Kylian. Look at the sky.”

He didn’t want to. The way the light illuminated your features, it was like he was seeing you in the highest definition. You might as well have had a filter on, because to him, you look supernaturally perfect. The slight breeze tussling your hair, the way your irises saturated in color with the suns natural light, the shadow just above your cupids bow drawing his attention to your undeniable lips… his heart grew in size, swelling and beating just for you. He was happy you were here. Happy he didn’t just give up on you. He wanted this feeling forever.

He stood up, reaching his hand out to you from across the table. You took it willingly, letting him lead you to the large patch of grass just a few yards from where you ate.

With your eyes hypnotized by the swirling clouds of colors, you sat on the slightly overgrown greenery, feeling the cold blades tickle between your fingers. Kylian sat with you, pinky finger brushing yours, enjoying the natural silence that was drowned out by ambiance. Birds chirping, tree branches rustling, your soft breathing, and his heart pattering.

He did his best to keep his eyes forward, wanting to enjoy the same sky as you were, but your beauty trumped even the most beautiful of sights. You were so mesmerized you didn’t even notice the way he gazed at you, feeling himself fall deeper in love, knowing that might cause him more troubles but found nothing inside of him that cared.

“It’s incredible.” You murmured. It really was the most fantastic sunset you’ve seen. One of those that sucks you in, the subtle changes overtime darkening the sky until you can spot the stars. You miss it when it’s ending, knowing you’ll only get a couple more minutes of this view.

As he looked up and around, Kylian suddenly felt the weight of your head resting on his shoulder, stiffening for a second before relaxing his tense muscles to allow himself to enjoy the contact. Minimal, intimate, familiar… the simplest things about you were always his favorite. His head lulled until his cheek hit the top of your head, remembering the sweet coconutty scent of your shampoo. Everything about that moment was nostalgic… perfect. Absolutely perfect.

When the moons shift began, you thought about lifting your head, but the comfort of having him back forced you to stay. You scooted closer, initiating him to do the same. Cautiously, he moved an arm behind your back, allowing you to rest against him almost completely. You melted into the gesture, relishing in every ounce of this moment in time.

“Kylian…” You whispered.

“Yes, bébé.” The nickname rolled off his tongue as if the word was created for only you.

You hesitated, focusing your eyes on the waning moon. “I don’t wanna regret this.”

Kylian felt your worry in his own chest, bringing his arm around yours, pulling you into him more. You let him hold you, you let the heat of him overtake your senses, your brain, your emotions. The feeling of his lips pressing to your temple was fleeting, but the aftershock sent waves from the spot, forcing your eyes to close in contentment.

He dipped his head slightly lower to speak to you, to whisper to you. There was no one around, no one to listen into the words he was going to say, but they were meant for only the woman he adores. Even the wind was a threat, not wanting them to get lost and blown away. “I could spend my whole life searching for someone else, but my heart will only ever be yours. You are irreplaceable, mon amour.” He hugged you tighter. “I’ll never make you wonder again. I promise.”

Your body turned, your head dipped into his chest, and suddenly, you were engulfed in him — both arms securing your body inside of his. You allowed yourself to fill your lungs with his aroma, something ineffable coursing through your body. It was like a switch flipped and your heart just knew that this was right. This was it.

Kylian felt it to. Fireworks burst inside his chest and the feeling was so overwhelming he worried he’d become embarrassingly emotional. Holding you again felt like home, like the stars aligned, like everything was suddenly okay again.

The pair of you sat there for a while, Kylian thumb brushed against your arm soothingly, once in a while clutching you. It was like he was scared you’d slip right out of his arms, like he’d wake up any second now and realize you were never there at all… but you were. Your nuzzled face in his neck fit like the last bit of a puzzle. The serenity that stood still against the breeze was just pure confirmation that you belonged together. That this relationship could be mended, healed, saved.

“Thank you for not giving up on us.” He placed the words carefully on the top of your head, this side of the world now dark, colder, but he’d never felt warmer in his life. The affection radiated and kept him cozy against you.

You look up at him, and even though you’d had a peek at the stars scattered behind the evening clouds, they were all held in his eyes. He was yours. He was yours.

You wanted to say so many things, but found yourself leaning forward instead, eyes flickering between his eyes and lips. The pull was just as natural as gravity, just as logical as a magnet. Kylian’s heart thumped so viciously against his rib cage. So much so that you felt it against your own — pressed deliciously against him, knocking the air out from your lungs.

Your lips had yet to touch, finding that you needed time to soak in every movement and breath that radiated from your bodies. You closed your eyes as his nose touched yours, his slow actions coming to conclusion as your lips finally met again, molding into the most intimate kiss you’d ever shared. You were sure of it.

You exhaled together, feeling lighter and more alive. You’d shared millions of smooches, pecks, make outs… you’d seen each other completely naked, explored your bodies like knowing every inch was a life or death matter… but none of it has ever felt this exposed. This was vulnerability at its finest. You’d never felt such a rush of emotion like this. It was electric but calming. An indescribable wave of raw emotions and needs.

You deepened the kiss slightly, shifting so he could lay you down. Kylian hovered over you, lips never leaving yours, wanting to make up for lost time. You tasted better than he remembered. You felt softer than you ever had. He couldn’t hold you closer if he tried.

His hand gently soothed your cheek in a romantic gesture, moving his lips against yours as if they’d planned and practiced for this moment. You put your hand in his cheek, pulling away but not being able to regain control of your closed eyes, the happiness threatening to spill out of you like a sink overflowing.

He touched his forehead to yours, nothing to stop him from placing a meaningful last peck on your puffy lips. His thumb continued to smooth your hairline and a genuine smile was tenderly illuminating his face, the tiniest shadow forming from the candles still burning near your unfinished dinner.

He couldn’t stop the fondness that was about to come out of his mouth, words forming against his will. “Je t'aime tellement. Tellement.” I love you so much. So, so much.

His eyes already told you everything, you didn’t need the verbal confirmation to understand how true those words were, how much he really meant them.

“You don’t need to say it back right now.” He murmured, still flickering down to your lips every other second, missing the feeling of them already. “And that’s okay. I’ll love you forever. I have time to prove it.” He pecked you once more.

Your hand wrapped around to the back of his head and you scratched the nape of it, instantly feeling the goosebumps rise out onto his skin. It made you giggle, sending Kylian to do the same by proxy. “I know.”

You pulled him down and give him one last meaningful kiss. He didn’t want it to end, but you stood up from under him, on your feet as you looked down at the man who just wanted to look at you.

He mentally took a photograph of you and how you looked at this very moment. The moon shining behind you against the faint stars. He wished he could frame this moment in time and keep it in his wallet, show you off to anyone he’d come across.

You reached a hand down. “I believe I was promised crème brûlée?”

He took your hand, but just held it, tracing his thumb over your knuckles. Slowly he sat up so he could kiss each one of them and you found yourself giddy, excited for the sequel of a novel you thought had a finite ending.

How reliving to know there was more to come. How relieving to know there was a future with this man — your wonderful Kylian Mbappé.

A/N: Okay okay okay OKAY you guys... I'm happy with this "ending" :). That being said, I will write an epilogue bc I know I love knowing what happens way after, besides I already have so many cute little ideas for it.

Thank you guys so much for reading this fic, it's the first multi-part fanfiction I've ever written (yes, even in my One Direction phase), so it means so much to me that it had such an overwhelmingly positive response. If I could kiss every single one of you on the lips, I so would. MUAH. MUAH. MUUUAAAHHH!

Taglist: @trentione @mentalbaddie @neymarsrealgf @akiraquote @mrswhitethornbelikov @kymb-10 @formula101x @photmath @marcelineslove @tsikik @iheartkyky @freshfraise @jokertbh @germanapples @urfuturesoccerwife @nightlockcornucopia @laylaynaynay130 @starlight8374 @depressoesssspresso @mbappesbae @ maddyperrezz @gigiboss @xanjoy @lovekm @jkkiks @vvbasmavv-blog @suzysface @ lolarmy72 @lizzz2967 @kylians-world @superswaggycooch @shashla @mehrmonga @abayo222 @missmo79 @tties24-7 @gurleenkl @drewstarkeysbae @ vibinwkay @ctn26 @ippid @i0veless @abayo222 @http-isabela

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arlana-likes-to-write · 8 months

Text

Lighting Bug - Chapter 22

Masterlist

Warning: guilt, form of self-harm, swearing, mention of death, Bucky needs a hug, mention of nightmares and past abuse

Relationships: Wandanat x daughter!reader, Maria x reader (platonic), Sam x reader (platonic), Bucky x reader (platonic), Rhodey x reader (platonic)

Word count: 3.5k

You were exhausted right down to your bones as you sat at the counter with a cup of tea in your hands and stared into the green liquid. There was no way you were falling asleep with those images moving in your head. “Hey kid,” Sam said suddenly. You jumped at the unexpected voice. “Are you okay? Your bagel has been done for a few minutes.” You forgot you put one in there. You stood up to grab it but Rhodey held out his hand to stop you. He grabbed a plate and placed the bagel on it then spread on it that you must have gotten out. Gods, you were beginning to lose it. You smiled as he sat in front of you.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” You answered Sam.

“Nightmares?” Rhodey guessed.

“More like a memory,” you took a bite of your bagel, hoping they wouldn’t ask more questions.

“Rhodes and I haven’t gone to the batting cage in a while. Do you want to join us?” Sam asked. You stared at him, slowly chewing on the bagel. You had no idea what a batting cage was. “It’s a baseball thing. You go and hit baseballs and pretend to be a pro athlete.”

“Ohhh,” you said, standing up to throw the other half of your bagel away. “You could have just said that.” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Sure I have nothing planned for today.” Plus it would be nice to get out of the tower. “FRIDAY, can you tell Natasha and Wanda where I’m going to be?” You made a mental note to ask Tony for a new phone.

“Of course, Miss. Y/n,” the AI said. “Have fun you three.” It was a 45-minute drive from the tower in a part of town you had never been to. ‘Caesar’s Bat and Pizzeria.

“Can we get pizza after?” You asked as Rhodey parked the car and you unblocked your seat belt.

“We can get whatever you want,” he said. The three of you got out of the car and walked over to the building. Sam held open the door for you. The sound of loud arcade machines and laughter made you jump.

“My favorite Avengers!” A man said from behind a counter. “Where the hell have you two been? Thought you forgot about ol'Casear.” Sam chuckled.

“Hard to forget you, big man,” Caesar glared at him.

“Are you calling me fat?” You tried to cover your laugh with a cough but Caesar glanced at you. “You guys adopt a kid or something.”

“Eh kind of,” Rhodey shrugged. “You got a spot open for us.” The man continued to stare at you but you smiled and gave him a small wave.

“Yeah, same spot as always,” he said. “Come find me if you need anything.” You followed the two Avengers to a stall in the corner, there was no one next to you, and you were grateful to look like an idiot in front of some strangers. The space reminded you of the shooting range at the tower but instead of targets at the end, there was a screen.

“Wait,” you said, sitting down. “How is any of this safe with it being inside and this close to one another?” Sam smiled.

“It’s all VR,” he pulled out his wallet and pulled out his wallet, took out a car with the shop’s logo, and scanned it at the table you were sitting at. The table changed to a TV screen and it showed a baseball stadium. “You can change the stadium where you are hitting. We’ll keep it at Yankee for now.” Rhodey appeared with a bat and goggles. “Watch this.” You watched Rhodey put on the goggles and stepped into the open space. The screen changed to a character stepping up to bat. “You can change the speed of the ball pitched, complete challenges, and set up tournaments.” He began and he hit the first ball pitched to him. It sounded like you were at a baseball game.

“This is cool,” you said. “Is this place new?”

“Sort of,” Sam looked around to make sure no one was near and leaned closer. “Caesar isn’t from here.” What the hell did that mean?

“Come again? Like he’s not American.” He glared at you before rolling his eyes.

“No, like not from Earth.”

“He’s an alien?!” You half shouted in surprise. Sam put his hand over your mouth, still glaring at you. You pulled his hand off. “You just told me a man isn’t from Earth, how did you expect me to react?”

“With a little more respect and dignity,” you punched him playfully. “Besides he’s not an alien, he’s a Skrull,” you stared at him, head tilted to the side. “Oh my god,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Skrulls are shapeshifters and their planet was destroyed so until Fury and Carol can find them a new home, they are living here,” you frowned.

“Why can’t they just live here?” You asked.

“Because humans aren’t known to accept those who are different,” Rhodey said, taking off the googles. Well, you knew that firsthand. “Do you want a turn?” He asked you.

“Uh maybe I’ll watch Sam then I’ll go.” While Sam was taking his turn, you went to get drinks from Caesar’s daughter. Her name was Jasmine and you liked her, her smile was infectious but you couldn’t help but watch the father-daughter duo. If anyone but Sam told you they weren’t human, you would think they were crazy. You guessed that was the problem with the world you lived in, some people had to hide their true selves just to survive.

“Alright, kid, batter up,” Sam said, handing you the VR set. You smiled, taking it from him. Oh, you wished you could make the world a better place.

While Sam and Rhodey were waiting to get their pizza from Jasmine, you were sitting at one of the empty high tops and eating away at one of the cheese slices. You tried to wait for the two Avengers but the smell was making your stomach growl. “I know you,” Caesar said, walking over to you as you sipped on your blue Gatorade. You stared at the man as he sat in the empty chair next to you. You hopped he knew you, you spent like 2 hours at his fine establishment. “Hey,” he stuck his finger at you. “Your that teenager that can cast spells and shit.” You blinked at him.

“You mean conduct electricity.” He snapped his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he tapped his fingers against the table and looked at you then to the Avengers. “People are talking about you.”

“Me?” You questioned. “Whose talking about me?”

“The type of people you ain’t want talking,” Oh. Well, that sort of answered your question. “Look, kid, something ain’t right. People are talking, then disappearing, and ol’Caesar is just trying to run a business, you hear?”

“Why are you telling me this and not the two Avengers behind you?” You hissed, leaning closer to him.

“Hey, watch the attitude, short stuff,” you leaned back in your chair, mouth slightly open. “Just because I listen don’t mean I know what’s going on,” you rolled your eyes. “My advice is keep your ears open and listen. Maybe you can figure out what’s going on before everything goes to shit.” He mumbled the last part and left before Sam and Rhodey joined you.

“Don’t listen to anything that nut job rambles about,” Rhodey said. “He’s got a few screws loose.” You smiled, giggling slightly. But what he said rattled you to your bones. What the hell was going on?

Caesar was saying goodbye to Sam and told him to not be a stranger. Your eyes wandered to the small arcade they had. There was a crane game filled with small rubber ducks. You walked over to it and looked at all the different duck variations - one was dressed like a police officer, and another had a book. But one that caught your eye was a duck wearing a green jersey with a soccer ball. It looked familiar. There was a memory deep within you but everything you tried to grab onto it slipped out of your fingers like water or smoke, the longer you stared at the dumb duck. “Hey, kid,” Rhodey said. “Are you ready?” You nodded, walking over to him.

“Bye Caesar,” you waved as Rhodey held open the door for you.

“See you around, short stuff,” you rolled your eyes and walked to the car.

“Short stuff, eh?” Rhodey teased. He got into the driver’s seat. You huffed, buckling into the back.

“Don’t even start,” he laughed as Sam finally got into the passenger seat.

“Sorry about that. Caesar likes to talk,” you giggled and Rhodey started the drive back home.

“That was a lot of fun,” you said to Sam as you exited the elevator to the common floor. “We should do that again.” Your smile faltered as Bucky turned around from his conversation with Maria. The color drained from his face as if he were looking at a ghost. He left without another word to you, Sam, or Maria.

“Okay,” Maria slowly said. “I wasn’t done talking to him.” You sighed.

“Not your fault, kid,” Sam smiled, resting his hand on your shoulder. “He just needs to get out of his head. I’ll go talk to him.” Before he turned to leave, he reached into this pocket and handed you a rubber duck. The same one you were looking at. Before you could say anything, he smiled and left.

“What was that about?” She questioned. You looked at the duck and put it in your pocket.

“It’s a long story,” you said. “Do you want the spark-notes version of the story?” She nodded. So, you gave her a short-handed version of the story you gave to the other Avengers. It was surprisingly easier.

“Shit,” you said. “I missed one hell of a party.” You rolled your eyes with a smile. “So,” she leaned back in her chair. “A little spider told me that I’m going to be training you. Are you thinking about joining this ragtag group? Fury said you did well in Overwatch .” You shrugged, tracing the random designs on the table.

“I don’t know,” you said. You weren’t against being an Avenger, maybe in a year or two but right now you weren’t ready. “I just want to get my powers under control so I don’t hurt myself or anyone else.” Maria smiled.

“I can help with that but I’m not gonna go easy on you just because you are Romanoff’s kid,” it wasn’t the first time someone at the tower referred to you as Natasha’s or Wanda’s kid but every time a warm feeling spread across your body. Your parents were never proud of you. They barely gave you enough to survive.

“I expect nothing less,” you said. “Can you teach me how to shoot a gun?”

“Stop asking people that,” Natasha said before Maria could answer. The Black Widow appeared behind you. You pouted which caused her to roll her eyes.

“Awe come on Nat,” Maria said. “Let the kid learn how to shoot. Are you afraid she’ll be better than you?” Natasha ruffled your hair.

“Yeah,” she deadpanned. “That’s exactly why I don’t want her shooting a gun,” you pushed her hand away and fixed your hair. “But we can teach her how to be safe around one.”

“How about we stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Maria hushed you.

“I’m wheeling and dealing for your benefit so hush,” she teased. You stuck out your tongue at her. Maria gasped. “Do you want to start training right now?”

“Children,” Natasha warned. “No fighting on the common floor. The last time a fight broke out we needed a new TV and a couch,” you giggled. “Come on, kid. Tony wants to have a meeting about your schooling.” You nodded. “We’ll figure out a training schedule that won’t conflict with her classes.” She said to Maria.

“Aye, aye captain,” she gave the Black Widow a salute. You smiled at the interaction.

“See you around, Maria,” you said and followed Natasha to Tony’s lab where Wanda was already there. You weren’t nervous. The test was the hard part of all of this and they were proud of how you did. But it was nice having the couple on either side of you as Tony rattled off a plan. The textbooks you needed were already ordered, minus a math textbook that he already had, and if you needed additional books for essays or projects he gave you a debit card to buy them. You didn’t bother putting up a fight with that. As for your ‘teachers’, Vision was going to help you with history, Bruce and Tony were for math and science, and your training with Maria counted as your physical education credit. The extracurricular would be business with Pepper and art with Steve, the two agreed to shadow you during those times. It seemed like a lot of work but you were ready to finally go to school and learn.

You had to get out of the tower. Every room you entered and Bucky so happened to be there, he left. It was a little maddening. So, you sat on the balcony with a textbook in your lap and the rubber duck in your hand. There was a part of you that was associating this duck with Bucky. But that couldn’t be correct. “Hi,” you spun around to see Steve walking over to you and hiding the duck underneath the book. You smiled at the blonde and looked at the book. You figured he was here to talk about Bucky. God, it felt like when you first moved to the tower. Instead of you running away, it was him. Steve sighed and sat down next to you. “Beautiful view,” he said, looking towards the city. “What are you doing up here?”

“Just reading,” you gestured to the book in your lap. It wasn’t the full truth but it got the point across.

“It’s about Buck, right?”

“I just don’t want him to be uncomfortable in his home,” you shrugged.

“It’s your home too,” he sat down next to you. That was true. You tapped your fingers on the page you were reading.

“He was here first,” Steve nodded and put his arms on the back of the chair. He didn’t continue the conversation so you went back to reading about ration language and how it was used to describe the association between two or more qualities. You were learning that you did not like math.

“Do you blame him for what he did to you?” Steve broke the silence. The question made you look up at the city. “It’s okay if do. The whole situation is so complicated. Complicated. That was one word that barely touched the surface to describe the relationship you had with Bucky Barnes.

“I don’t,” you softly said. You saw the super solider look away from the city but you kept your eyes trained on the skyline. “At first I did but we were both just trying to survive. It’s not our fault that some of the world is evil and we were subjected to it.” Steve chuckled and you looked at him.

“You’ve changed so much from that little girl that Wanda and Natasha brought to the tower,” he said while standing up.

“Wait, is that a good thing?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he kissed the top of your head. “A very good thing.”

As night fell on the tower, everyone seemed to be asleep except you and the former Winter Solider. His back was to you so he didn’t see you, which didn’t give him a chance to run away. “Do you want some hot chocolate?” The soldier jumped and spun around to look at you. “Don’t run from me, please,” you pleaded. You heard him sigh and stand up to join you in the kitchen. He sat on the island with his hands folded on the counter. You began the process of making the hot chocolate in silence. But you noticed he wasn’t looking at you, he stared at his hands as if he was afraid he was going to snap and hurt you. When the hot chocolate was done and topped with marshmallows and cinnamon, you pushed his mug over to him. He wouldn’t take it. You sipped on yours. “Are you okay, Bucky?” You asked. “I want to help but I can’t if you don’t tell me what I can do.”

“How can you be in the same room as me?” He softly asked. “After everything, I did to you.”

“That wasn’t you,” you simply said, sipping on your hot chocolate.

“I could have killed you,” he finally looked at you. Since last night, Bucky wouldn’t allow you to get this close to him. His eyes were bloodshot.

“No,” you firmly said. “The Winter Solider almost killed me. Bucky Barnes would never.” You held his stare, blue eyes locked onto yours until he looked away. “How much do you remember about our time together?” You asked. Bucky sighed.

“It comes and goes,” he said. “Like waves, crashing into me and I’m drowning.” You smiled, tracing the rim of your mug. The marshmallows were melted and stuck to your finger.

“Me too,” you admitted. “It wasn’t all bad.” You licked the marshmallow off your finger and put your hand in your pocket. “My brain clouded all the good with the bad. Do you want to hear one of the good ones?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “Please.” You smiled.

“I hadn’t seen you for a few days and I knew better than to ask about you because that resulted in a punishment,” he chuckled slightly. “One day I was brought into a room and you were there. I think they wanted you to train me and you did but I hurt my shoulder. I tried to hide my tears but you knelt at my level, whipped away my tears, and reached into your pocket,” you mimicked this part of your story and held out your hand. “And when you opened it, there was a little rubber duck.” You showed him the duck.

“What?” He questioned. “A rubber duck?” You smiled as the confusion was all over his face. “You’re making this up.”

“I’m not,” you laughed at the deadpanned look he was giving you. “I swear! Look I was equally confused when you handed it to me. It was a rubbed duck just like this one,” you placed it on the counter between you and him. When your laughter died down, your smile became sad. “When I destroyed the faculty, I tried to find it but it was destroyed in the fire.” Finally, he took a sip of his no longer hot chocolate and picked up the duck with his flesh hand.

“I need time to process the new memories,” you nodded.

“I got nothing but time,” you said. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “For the talk and the hot chocolate.”

“Of course,” you cleaned your mug. “Try to get some sleep. Good night.”

“Night, doll,” he said. But you knew sleep wasn’t going to be an option for you. Every time you closed your eyes, your past played out in front of you. It was like Yelena said, there was a scab over a wound you had and although it was healing every time you rubbed against it it hurt more. Your feet led you to the training area, and the sound of your footsteps echoed against the quiet room. It was weird being here when no one else was here. You could do anything without the watchful eyes of the Avengers. You could train, lift some weights, or go for a run. Instead, you walked over to the machine Tony and Bruce built you.

It was in the corner of the room, a white sheet over it that you took off and stared at the machine. Fingertips tracing every part of it. With a sigh, you took a few steps from it and faced the machine. You closed your eyes and let out a few deep breaths. When you open your eyes, you let out of stream of electricity towards the target. You only cut it off when the batteries were full but it wasn’t enough. So you replaced the full batteries with empty ones and did it again. And again. And again. Until your chest was heaving and your legs felt like jello. A yawn escaped your lips and you took it as your sign to be done. You recovered the machine and took a long walk back to your room.

As soon as your head hit the pillow, you fell into a dreamless sleep.

taglist: @aestruvx, @toouncreativeforausername, @modedddd, @julilamoment, @mythixmagic, @yourmamacom, @vicmc624, @cherlenovix, @liliesandrosies, @whitewidowsbite, @clintsbigtoe, @blackbirdv98@arualdcg@yoyo-w @natbelovasblog, @johnnyhulu, @blackwidow-3, @theenglishswiftie, @faith-olsen

#lightning bug #wandanat x y/n #wandanat x reader #wandanat x daughter #wandanat x you #wandanat x daughter!reader #wandanat #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #wanda maximoff x daughter!reader #maria hill x reader #sam wilson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #bucky barnes x reader #rhodey x reader

151 notes · View notes

chlorinecake · 9 months

Text

ੈ♡ “do you actually hate me? so, enemies to lovers?”

🧩 N.RK 🐈‍⬛

pairing: flirtatious!stranger!riki x tsundere!fem!reader 🍵

synopsis: after calling the mysterious airport boy’s phone number, you’re left to make a decision that could quite possibly change everything between you two

cw: language, mentions of food, lots of teasing, crack, ft. riki’s big sister [Konon]

wc: 1.9k — part 1 ✈️ & part 2 💌 & part 4 🥟

You stared at the yellow sticky note in your hand, reading Riki’s letter for what felt like the hundredth time. By now, you had fully memorized his number, but you still glanced at it as you typed the series of digits onto your phone.

Boop, the dial tone sang eerily.

“Hello,” the cheerful speaker said from the other side of the phone.

“Hey, this is ____ from the airport. I just wanted to say thank you for returning my…item,” you chuckled.

“Uhh, I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.”

“Oh,” you almost frowned, “then who is this?”

“This is Café Royale on Olive Street. Wait, what did you say your name was again?”

“____.”

“Ok, cool! We were told to expect a call from you! You have a table for two reserved at 8:30am with Mr. Riki N.“

“I do? I mean, is he there now?” You asked, looking at the time that currently read 8:19am.

Ding.

“Yeah, he just came in,” the call cut out.

After getting dressed in casual apparel, you arrived at the café around 8:35am, spotting Riki and the female cashier chatting things up. He whipped his head at the sound of the door bell chiming, smiling at the sight of you.

“Wow,” he remarked, taking in your frame.

“Skipping straight to the corny stuff, I see,” you teased, sticking your hands in your pockets.

“No? I’m just surprised you actually showed up,” he said as the waitress made her way over.

You weren’t too sure why Riki wanted to meet with you so soon. Though, it surprised you how much thought he put into arranging everything.

“Hello again! Feel free to check out some of our options and see what you like before ordering,” she chirped, looking back and forth between you and him. “He’s my little brother, by the way, so don’t try anything fast unless you wanna be scalped,” she snapped, passing you a menu.

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just stayed quiet, following Riki’s lead as he guided you to the reserved table by your hand.

His grip was protective yet gentle, you felt like you could hold his hand forev-

What am I saying, you thought to yourself.

He pulled out your chair before sitting beside you, propping his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers.

“That’s Konon, my older sister. She wasn’t trying to threaten you. Just think of it as a friendly warning,” he nodded as if accepting it himself.

“I understand,” you smiled, analyzing the menu. “You two look very alike. Do you have similar personalities, too?”

He giggled, “We have similar interests, but different character’s. She’s obviously the cold type when it comes to meeting new people. I’m more…”

“Flirty,” you answered, meeting his eyes.

“So I’ve been told,” he hummed.

The waitress came over to your table with a note and pen in hand, “Alrighty, kid’s. What can I get ya?”

“I’ll have a matcha boba smoothie,” you answered plainly, suddenly becoming shy in front of his sister.

“And for the gentleman?”

“I’d like a matcha latte, with a sharing platter of chocolate filled shortbread cookies…and maybe a few breakfast bagel bites… ooh! With fresh strawberries on the side, microwaved please.”

Konon didn’t bother writing down his order, tucking the notepad in her apron pocket. “Fantastic! I’ll be back with your order in just a few minutes,” she said sarcastically, side-eying Riki as she walked away.

A different waiter brought out your order, placing a wooden platter down on the table, along with a few napkins.

“Thank you,” you and Riki said in unison, bowing his head slightly.

You immediately took a sip of your boba, a few drops of the sugary green liquid dripped from the straw, seeping through your top.

How lovely.

“Uhhh,” you looked down at your chest, the imprint of your bra starting to show.

“Looks like you’ve got a hole in your lip,” he teased, moving a thumb to wipe the drink from your mouth and then tasting it himself. “Hmm, she never makes it that good for me,” he pouted, using a few napkins to wipe at your chest.

You could feel your face growing hotter as he continued to dab at the stain, your mind still stuck on the image of him tasting the tea from your mouth with his thumb.

What was this boy doing to your heart?

“Gosh, Riki, maybe if you stopped thinking about my melons, the universe would stop drawing attention to them!” You raised your voice at him accusingly, swatted his hand away from you. Luckily, Konon had her back turned and didn’t notice the commotion.

“I can’t believe you just called your boobs melons,” he judged. “Did you give each one it’s own name, too?”

“You’re a foreign breed, Riki,” you said, failing to get the green out of your shirt.

He sighed, “Here.” Looking up to face him, your eyes darted to the view of his abs that poked from underneath his shirt. “What’re you doing,” you asked, trying to mask how you were literally just checking him out.

He took off his hoodie, revealing the white tee he wore underneath. Running a hand through his bleached hair, he handed you the hoodie to cover your stained shirt.

“Riki, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, it’s alright,” he smiled, snaking your head through the hole.

You still had to get used to his strange personality, but you were growing more and more fond of it with every second that passed.

“What do you think?” He asked, sitting back down before flashing you a shit eating grin.

“What do I think of what?”

“The way I smell? I’m sure you took a whiff. Weirdo.”

Ouch. You never would’ve thought getting a taste of your own medicine would be so painful.

You paused in thought, “Well, it smells a little off, actually. Like reptilian eggs and ear wax, but I’ll get over it, I guess,” you teased back, eliciting a fit of laughter from him.

He was hysterical, hair tussling all over his head as his body followed the sounds he made. It’s not that Riki found your joke all that funny, but it was how small you looked in his hoodie that really tickled him. He let out a sigh, reattaining his composure.

“Can you pass me a few cookies?”

You nodded, handing him three.

“Excuse me? I’m a cookie short, ma’am.”

You scoffed. “What’re you talking about?”

“I asked for a few cookies? You only gave me three.”

“Yeah, because a few IS three.”

“Okay, everybody knows a few is four. A throuple is three”

“Throuple sounds so dumb. And for the record, a couple is two, a few is three, nobody knows what four is, and a handful is five, because you have five fingers.”

“I’m sure I could hold a lot more than five cookies in one hand, just saying.”

“That’s not the point, Riki!”

“Whatever, ____,” he shook his head, taking a bite of the crisp cookie. “Words aren’t a valid way to measure numbers anyway.”

“Change the subject or I’m leaving.”

He rolled his eyes, dipping one of his cookies into the warm green latte. “Have you ever experienced a ghost poop before?”

You choked on your boba. “A what?”

“A ghost poop. It’s when you feel the urge to poop but you don’t actually have to poop, so like, it’s just your butthole going through the motions of pooping but you’re not actually pooping? I know you know what I’m talking about.”

You shook your head in horror, offended that he brought up such a thing while you were eating. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What? You told me to change the subject!” He defended, picking up one of the mushy strawberries before savoring the tartness in his mouth, reaching to add a cookie to the mix.

You blinked at him. “I hate you.”

He moved the biscuit from his face, “Wait, like… actually?”

“Yes, actually.”

“No, I mean like deadass?”

“Actually, deadass, for real, no cap, whatever,” you exaggerated, picking with a loose thread of his hoodie.

He finally bit into the cookie, munching and nodding at your response. “Hmm. So, enemies to lovers?”

“I’d rather die.”

“Woah, that’s a pretty big step, ____, but if you’re ready for that kind of commitment, so am I.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a smile wavering over his features. “Can I call you ‘baby’?”

“I don’t think you should order caffeinated drinks anymore.”

“As a soon to be legal adult, I’m allowed to enjoy as much caffeine as I please.”

“So- wait, how are you qualified to work as a tsa agent if you’re a minor?” You asked curiously, trying one of the cookies yourself.

“Don’t you know my last name?”

You swallowed, “Obviously not.”

“Well, my father owns the airline organization you went to the other day. I’ve been working as an agent since I my sixteenth birthday, but before, he had me on window cleaning duty a few days a week. He says it’s his way of making me into a ‘good-for-something man.’ Working with him has its perks though.”

Riki Nishimura, you pieced together in your mind. A name that sounded so lovely on the tongue and so fresh in the mind. Why was he so dreamy?

“Does he pay you?”

“Pfft, no. He lets me travel once a month, instead.”

“No way. Where’ve you been?”

“Uhhh, the Philippines, Japan, of course, because I have relatives out there, Australia, Spain, South Korea, Brazil, Poland, Canada-”

“Paris?”

He paused for a moment. “No, actually. I was never really captivated by the place. Not until I met you, that is.”

What the? That was such a direct comment! Does he find you “captivating?”

He dug into his leather shoulder bag, pulling out an envelope and handing it to you.

“You’re really the old fashioned letter and notes type, huh?”

“Yes, and you love that about me,” he winked, “among others things, I’m sure.”

You scoffed, “Like what?”

“Well,” he began, leaning back in his chair with folded arms, showing off his toned muscles. “I’m mysterious.”

“Mysterious?”

“Mhm,” he nodded confidently, “And attractive.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I always say silly things that you find endearing.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself Rik-”

“You’re in love with my name.”

You wanted to kick him for how flustered you suddenly felt.

He continued from your silence, “You say it all the time like you’re scared to forget it. Like I’m gonna walk away if you don’t keep calling me.”

You dusted a few crumbs from your hands over the table. “Would you?” you asked, meeting his piercing eyes.

“Would I what?”

“Walk away.”

He leaned forward, looking down at the empty mug before him.

“Maybe if you were to reject my offer,” he finished, gleaming at the sealed envelope that sat on your side of the table.

Biting a lip with anticipation, you tore an end of the white rectangle, revealing what was inside:

A plane ticket.

To Paris, France.

With Riki.

Tomorrow!

You shook your head in disbelief, meeting his desperate yet patient features.

“I… this is… Riki-”

“See? There you go saying my name again,” he set his hand over yours, “I’m right here, ____. All you have to do is say yes.”

You took a deep breath, trying to rationalize between your heart that screamed yes and your mind that howled no. It’s not like you didn’t trust him, but you still weren’t sure how you felt about him yet, and something like this could change everything between you two. From a cute stranger that gave you hell at the airport to potentially travelling the world with him.

What do you say?

ᴀ/ɴ 𓂋 I hope you all enjoyed reading this piece as much as I did writing it! ~ love always, @chlorinecake 🎂

☆ ☆ ☆ taglist: @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @yngwife @fanficfactoryfoxxx @ashgonedash @wzy3ka @j-wyoung @stinkoscope @cloudylino

301 notes · View notes

mysticalsoot · 1 year

Text

marry the idiot on the stage (request)

Request; You're backstage at a Lovejoy gig, you and Will have been together for abt 3 yrs now (some backstory)and at the end of the gig he calls you to the stage and proposes to u - @tobyloveswilbur

A/N; thank you for the request btw! I started this Saturday and somehow managed to finish it today whilst in the hematologists office. they sung the no more chemo song for a kid while I was there too, I did cry. anywho, I struggled a bit w making it super mushy so I had to throw in calling Wilbur an idiot and a dumbass so I didn't cringe so much I deleted it lmao. anyways, I hope you enjoy it!! (also did change the whole backstage thing a bit but it still holds the same concept!)

TW; none besides like swearing!

Pairings; Reader x CC!Wilbur

Pronouns; not mentioned but uses of y/n and l/n (last name)

Words; 2,041

masterlist here

—★—

When you started dating Wilbur you had no intentions of becoming Lovejoy's travelling techie that designed and programmed their lights and projection visuals. And you especially didn't imagine yourself being ushered on stage in the middle of the show by Wil himself. This was not what you had in mind by any means.

The day had started off slow, pulling yourself out of the hotel bed (and Wil's stupidly tight grasp on you) so you could get ready for the day. It took a good thirty minutes to coax Wilbur to let you go, and bribery did have to be involved. Once you had convinced him, you were up and attom, rushing about the room, grabbing clothes, brushing teeth and hair, tying shoes, packing up your bag for the day—you were like a chicken with it's head cut off but in the most organized way. Wil found it endearing—seeing as he woke up shortly after your tactical escape from his arms (he would say "his love" but he is one for the dramatics) he layed in bed watching you go about your tasks.

He found it oddly domestic, despite how not domestic touring Europe for an entire month away from home was. The thought of you getting ready in the morning after peeling yourself away from him, every day, under the same roof—the concept was magical. But he had already realized how much he wanted it. He knew it and he wasn't afraid to show it.

You stuffed a bagel you had saved from the day before in your mouth, holding onto it before you grabbed your computer bag and slung it over your shoulder. You saw Wil leaning against the headboard, watching you with bright eyes and a soft smile. You walked over to the bed, took the bagel in your hand and placed a kiss on his forehead.

"I'm gonna go work on the set up for the show tonight, I'll be back later." You smile down at him, the only time you can barely tower over him is when he's in bed, partially because he slouches so much.

He wraps his hands around your waist, "Can't it wait?" He whines, pulling you closer to him.

You laugh, "No, it can't. You know how long this tech shit takes." You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss the top of his head. You pull away.

He sets his hands on either side of him and swivels his legs to dangle off the bed, "I love you."

"I love you too," You're already halfway headed out the door, bagel back in your mouth, and you take a bite before holding in your hand. Not too long after, you shut the door and head down the hall to the elevator.

Wilbur didn't particularly mind being alone, but he found you always managed to minimize the coldness that lone silence seemed to have. You warmed him, and when you weren't there, he was cold.

He hoped that cold wouldn't be felt for much longer as he was going to propose today. Yes, there was a gig that evening and there wasn't much time for a private well thought out proposal speech, but he was determined this was the day. This was right.

He had everything planned down to a T, he had already talked with the band of wanting to propose sometime while on tour. The Eiffel tower during their France gigs was an idea thrown into the air, another idea was a private picnic on the roof of one of the hotels you were going to be staying in—they were all great ideas but Wilbur was determined. He would propose during a gig.

Everyone was on board, Joe was baffled at how he didn't think of that while the rest of them teased Wil on how dramatic it would be, in the best way.

His plan was simple, halfway through the setlist, he'd ask the audience if he could invite a special guest onto the stage—he figured he wouldn't have to ask since his fanbase loved you so much but he planned to anyway; it was polite. Then he would look to you in the crowd (he already established with their other tech guy for him to usher you into the crowd for you to "enjoy yourself"), and ask you to join him on stage. Once you did, he'd pop the question. He didn't have a plan for a speech like most proposals and despite the other's protests, he assured them he would be fine. He would let it happen as it happened.

While the band was going through their usual soundcheck, you were backstage getting everything for your side of the gig set up. You went through your light programs and made sure they were all set up and not corrupted—unfortunately the file has corrupted before and you did in fact cry alot. Once all the light setups were checked, the cords were plugged in and the programs were running, you hurried back to your computer to check the animations you set up. It was a simple addition you had suggested back in the early days, before you were even a member of Lovejoy's backstage crew. It was the idea that made them practically beg you to join their crew, and you couldn't pass up their pouts and puppy eyes. So here you were, rewatching your own animation that you made for your partners little indie band and checking wires and connections. You've had issues with the projector not wanting to connect before so you were very thorough with how you checked wire and wireless connections—and making sure it was even plugged in at all.

The ruckus of soundcheck dies out a few minutes later and the band comes rushing back stage, Wilbur's curls already beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat. They all chatter amongst themselves, you keeping yourself busy at the computer. A few tweaks to the animation later and you're preparing to set it up for projection. The tweaks were small, little things you noticed last minute but you decided since you had time, it wouldn't hurt to fix them now.

You don't notice the band has vacated the backstage area until a while later, when you realized Wilbur didn't stop and say hello. He usually does when they go backstage after soundcheck, he'll stop over by wherever your spot at the computer is. He'll use some random pet name he wants to use that day and then he'll sit there, his arms around you and his eyes trained on what you're working on. He didn't do that today.

"Hey, I can take care of the rest of the show if you wanna go watch in the crowd for a bit. Is that cool, with you?" The other backstage tech, Dave, asks. He's flat with his delivery, not meaning any negative or positive tone to seep into his words.

"Are you sure?" You're weary, you know he knows the gist of everything just as much as you do but you still worry something will glitch and he won't know how to fix it.

The other tech nods, and gives you a curt smile. You nod back to him and quickly head out the side door and through the hallway, there's another door just ahead and it leads you to the main floor where everyone is meant to stand, not many people are here yet so you get one of the first dibs on barricade. You go ahead and take a seat close to where Wilbur and Ash would stand, more to the right of the stage, and you go ahead and open your phone.

—★—

"Before we continue, there's one little thing I want to do first—" Wilbur looks around in the crowd for you before spotting you standing in front of him, smiling ever so lovingly. "Y/N, would you do the honors of joining us on stage?" He asks, softly bowing and putting his hand out to help you up. What a true gentleman. The crowd all simultaneously gasp, and then all chant your name in that typical Lovejoy fanbase way. Cult-like is the word for it.

"Of course," you smile and take his hand into yours and he pulls you up onto the stage.

"I have something to ask you, love." He grins, his eyes soft with love.

"You're so fucking dramatic, Wil. You're pulling me on the stage to ask me a question?" You laugh, smiling from ear to ear. He's always been one for thematics, big and grand gestures. And they're often enough meant for you at the end of the day.

"Yeah, yeah, maybe?" He pauses, a smirk curling up on his lips. The rest of the band is watching, Joe and Leandra giggling together on the farthest side of the stage. Ash and Mark give each other knowing glances..and you know you're in for something ridiculous now. Wilbur reaches forward and takes your hands in his, "Y/N L/N, you're my best friend, my partner, and despite our sometimes turbulent history—we hold a deep love for each other, and so,"

He pulls out a ring box before going on one knee—you notice how the box is painted, half teal and half your favorite color, initials written poorly on the top. Wilbur and his stupid chicken scratch. Seeing the outside of the box makes you want to cry at that alone, forget the fact you're being proposed to infront of hundreds of people. This man made you a ring box! How fucking cool is that?

"Will you marry me?" He opens the box to show a thin sliver engagement band, a vine engraved all the way around it. The audience whisper-chants say yes together, the band joins in shortly after.

"What do you think?" You pause, eyes squinting by how wide you're smiling, and the crowd erupts into excited whispers. Wilbur looks to you expectantly, his smile not dropping once—he knows the answer, he just wants to hear it, "Yes, I'll marry you, Wil." Saying those words broke something in you, in a good way, and you began to cry. You swore to yourself you would never cry if you were proposed to—but you couldn't help it. Seeing Wilbur so giddy to ask the question, noticing the time and work he put into the fucking ring box—it pushed you over the edge. He was so thoughtful about it that the idea of all that he went through to make this happen seemed to trigger the waterworks.

He jumps up off his knee onto his feet, he gently puts the ring on your left hand and you wrap your arms around his neck. He pulls you in for a kiss, soft and sweet. His hands are on your back and he's just barely lifting you off the ground. The audience cheers and laughs, clapping excitedly. There's "Congratulations" being yelled and you swear you heard someone yell "my streamer finally gets bitches!" somewhere in the crowd. The band joins in the celebration, clapping and cheering just before Mark yells to get a room.

You pull apart, slightly out of breath, but still smiling as wide as ever. "You're a sap, you know that?" You tell him, your hands holding onto his shirt where it rests on his side.

"Yeah, but you love me for it." He leans his forehead against yours, noses touching.

"I sure do, Mr Soot." You laugh a moment, before pulling away, "Now get back to your show, dumbass." You lightly smack his chest and he holds his heart in fake offense.

"You're so mean." Wilbur gasps, his tone betraying his attempt at hurt.

"Oh but you love it," You smirk, holding up your left hand that he just put a ring on.

"I do, don't I?" He smiles just before turning back to the crowd to start the gig back. You sneak off stage and back into the crowd, easily blending in for the most part, aside from the few whispers from the people just around you. Congratulations and I'm so proud of you's are thrown around and you smile. You're happy, you're content and you're so excited to marry the idiot on the stage.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot #cc!wilbur #cc!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur soot #wilbur x gn!reader #i have a hard time writing mush #so i called wil an idiot to counteract it

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livehorses · 11 months

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The Spot and Disability

It's very interesting to me how ATSV told Spot's story. At a start he's handled as a joke in the movie. Even Miles and the audience with him laughed at the new villain in his introduction. I was personally disgusted when the bread goes across him. Also, the guy isn't good at being bad and stealing an ATM, so he can be considered as a joke.

But it's hard to admit that we as an audience, and Miles did wrong laughing at his face about his new condition. We often mock him when it comes to the bagel joke, but he clearly suffered a lot, and lost it all after the accident. He was being mocked, rejected by everyone, even by his own friends and relatives. He evidently couldn't do anything without any of his holes getting in the way (which is the thing that makes him disabled), he lost his job and was forced to do illegal stuff in order to survive. That left an irreparable emotional damage that shaped him permanently. These are actual motivations for a person to take the wrong path, and even more when you discover you have a power that could give you some advantage over the others.

All of his story is clearly similar to what many disabled people live on a daily basis. "Unfortunately for me and you, this is skin." Sounds familiar? Reminds me of people that have vitiligo, which isn't exactly an illness and it isn't contagious, but common people think it is, and they fear, avoid and reject anyone who has it. Even in these modern days, where society supposedly is for everyone and everyone matters, disabled people are still rejected and disrespected, victims of bullying, mockery and exclusion. They don't get a chance to adapt to this world, not meant for them, and they miss so many opportunities of having a job, to form a family and go places adapted to their unique conditions. This world still needs to educate its people on respecting the disabled. That doesn't mean that disabled people are doomed to become villains, no! That would expand more the prejudices towards them. But what most of Marvel villains, and more, Spider-Man villains, have in common is having an accident that left them disabled: Flint falling on a sand dispenser, Max on a pool of eels, affecting their entire lives. (Not to mention that Doctor Connors was already disabled when he recurred to a not so ethic way to recover his arm, turning him into a lizard-like humanoid)

And yeah, every Spider-Man has a similar (canon) event, they're bitten by a radioactive spider. But rather to turn them onto something horrible, they hit the jackpot instead isn't it? They get attractively buffed, they get cool super powers, they become popular and loved by most people. But the others are treated as villains, and it's true, Spider-Man has to combat crime, and in the end, he shows mercy towards them. But in the end, most of the time their condition is treated as menacing and villanious. That's why No Way Home, brings a fresh vision on helping the villains to get cured or at least treated. (Although, that's not always realistically possible for disabled people, and most of them don't need to be cured or treated like their condition is bad for them)

But the movie leaves it clear it was a mistake to not take Spot's situation seriously. The man might've taken it chill at a start, but the more he was mistreated, the more he got resentful especially with Miles, wrongly considering him the source of all his disgraces, and more when the Super-Hero laughed at him. His power grew at the same time as his anger, and by the end of the movie, Miles admits it, he's his nemesis, they're mutual enemies now, and he's dangerous. If Spot was treated better from the start, with dignity and if he was given a second opportunity, support and optimum laboral conditions, maybe Spot would be now an ally.

How wrong we were, by taking him for granted...

#SpiderVerse #CW: Flasing #Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse #The Spot #SpiderVerse The Spot #Miles Morales #No Way Home #Disability #Jonathan Ohnn

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suzdin · 10 months

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Two For One

(Dave York x Max Phillips x f!reader)

Summary: You move from Texas to Boston to live with your boyfriend, but he dumps you soon after the move, and you’re forced to find your own place and get a job. You meet two men a few months later, Max Phillips, a regular at the coffee shop you work at, and Dave York, your neighbor. Things begin to heat up soon after.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, small age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, some angst, mention of self-unaliving, mention of divorce/familial trauma, mention of weapons, romance, no fluff, alcohol use, drug use, smut, graphic depictions of sex, rough sex, bondage, degradation, dubcon?, dom!Max, spanking, fingering, public masturbation, stalking, I’m not used to doing warnings I’m sorry if I missed anything, Max is an asshole and Dave is creepy, forgive me idk what I’m doing 🤷‍♀️

——

Dave York is an empty husk of a man ever since the divorce. Even more so since he had sunk all of his life savings—what little was left of it, after all was said and done—into some shitty, grossly overpriced apartment in Boston just so he could give Carol and the girls the space his ex-wife had specifically requested.

He wasn’t fool enough to believe he and Carol could somehow recuscite what once was there and now lost. That was a bridge that had been crossed and burnt to cinders years ago, little more than dust in the wind at present.

In spite of himself, the desire was still there on the longest, loneliest stretches of nights, lingering; hardly a flicker, but it was there.

Not to mention his girls. He missed Mollie and Alice so goddamn much. Twice a month visitations were not enough to diminish his need to be near them, protect them. It was even harder on his daughters, which was plain enough to see by their tear-streaked faces at the beginning and end of every weekend, with the middle being some kind of hazy, unsatisfactory torpor.

If not for them, he would have chosen somewhere cheaper to live. Mexico, maybe.

But he hadn’t. He’d chosen Boston, because it was just close enough to be within a day’s drive of the home they once shared in Virginia, but far enough for Carol to be satisfied that he wouldn’t randomly show up outside of scheduled visitations.

The reality of it all was enough to make him want to say fuck it and put a gun in his mouth. He’d do less damage to the girls that way, he thinks. A one and done.

That was until he met you.

He first noticed you at the bagel shop across the street, smiling pleasantly at the man handing you your everything bagel with extra cream cheese. Then again at the laundromat down the street, trying but failing to hide your lacy underthings from view; he was impervious to stop himself from stealing a glance at them when your back was turned.

It didn’t take him long to deduce that you lived in the building next to his. It was smaller, with only eight units, unlike his, which happened to be twelve. He’d learned that you lived on the top floor, in the smallest unit: a studio apartment at the end of the hall, which faced the street.

You were always so polite. Buttoned up, almost. You weren’t the typical, loud, crass Bostonian he was used to: you weren’t a local. The slight sweetness to your voice suggested maybe you were from somewhere in the south. It was faint, but it was there.

He would catch you carrying in groceries to your building sometimes. He always asked if you needed his help, but you never did, because you never had more than one or two bags worth. He never saw you with anyone, and the meager amount of groceries you had only cemented the idea that you lived alone.

He would occasionally find you bringing home liquor bottles, usually tequila or vodka, but even on those nights…it was only you.

In fact, in the weeks since he had first laid eyes on you, he hadn’t recalled ever seeing you with anyone.

It unsettled him to think of you up there, in your tiny studio apartment, drinking alone. Was there something—or someone—you were trying to forget?

He should be the one drinking with you.

There’s a small window in his bathroom where he has a scant view into your apartment, facing your front door. There isn’t much to see—fleeting glimpses if anything, a blue wall with pictures he can’t quite make out—but it’s enough for Dave. He likes to watch you leave for work, as he can often see your hand reaching for the keys you have hanging by your front door.

He’s gotten himself off a few times just seeing your soft, lovely hand, imagining how it would feel wrapped around his cock.

Dave doesn’t think he’s wanted anyone as much as he wants you.

——

You work at a coffee shop about three blocks from your home called The Beanery.

A dumb name, in your opinion.

You’ve only been working there about six months, but you’ve already been promoted to manager. It isn’t exactly the lifestyle you had envisioned when you made the trek from Fort Worth to Boston, but it pays your bills.

You’d been forced to get a job there when Jonathan—whom you’d moved to Boston for not even a year ago—had left you for another woman in upstate New York, leaving you to fend for yourself in an unfamiliar city.

You were only working there until you could make enough money to move back home. That’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway. It was hard to save when rent in this city was astronomical.

Dave is on one of his early morning runs past the coffee shop the day he finds you telling a man in a cheap looking business suit, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off.

Until now, he had never worked up the courage to go inside; to talk to you. He often saw you behind the counter, toiling away, a look of rumination gracing your features, as if you’d rather be somewhere else.

He’d always wanted to go in and order something overpriced that he didn’t even want…just to have the chance to talk to you more than a few mumbled words at a time.

But he never had, because he didn’t want to be a burden to you. Another faceless customer to make your day feel longer, harder.

That was until he saw you confronting a man who was easily twice your size. You were on the other side of the counter now, staring the man down, a fire blazing on your countenance that Dave couldn’t deny made him want to make the man disappear for good.

He’d made many men disappear. Men who were far more dangerous and terrifying than whoever this pathetic excuse for one was.

He’d never seen you this worked up before. You were always so quiet; so polite and unassuming.

You’re pointing at the door and telling the man to get the fuck out and never come back.

The man—whoever he is—squares up to you. Leans over you, trying to intimidate you as you stare each other down. His face is close to yours—too close.

It makes Dave sick. He wants to break the fucking man in half.

“What do you plan on doing about it, sweetheart?” the man asks you. Challenging you, with a crooked, shit eating grin on his face.

That alone is enough for Dave to do something about it. His need, his desire to protect something, someone—which he hasn’t been able to do in so long—now focused into a tight arc, right at you.

He swings open the coffee shop door, little bells chiming from somewhere above him, and closes the ground between himself and the other man faster than you think should be possible.

You see Dave before Max does. You recognize him from your neighborhood, and from all the times you’ve watched him jog past the coffee shop. You’d swear he had a crush on you, if you didn’t know any better.

He grabs a fistful of Max’s suit and yanks him back. It’s absolutely effortless for him—you’ve never paid much attention before now, but he’s tall. And broad.

It makes your breath catch in your throat.

He spins Max—who is now furious—to face him directly. Max looks as though he wants to throw a punch…until he gets a good look at Dave.

“Hey! What is your fucking problem, pal?” he fumes.

“I think the lady asked you to leave,” Dave states plainly. There’s an edge to it.

Max scoffs, inclining his head toward you now, smirking. “Is this white knight your boyfriend, or something?” he asks, his tone thick with consternation.

“No. Just…a friend,” you say, looking at Dave, who still has Max in his clutches. Dave stares back. You swear there’s something there.

“And if I don’t leave?” he asks, and you’re not sure if he’s asking you or Dave. You answer him anyway.

“I’ll call the cops,” you reply. Dave nods in silent approval.

Max rolls the edge of his tongue over his perfect white teeth, holding up both hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. Don’t have to ask me twice,” he says with a sardonic grin, turning to leave. “Coffee tastes like shit anyway.”

Dave releases his grip and Max turns toward the door. The two men shoulder each other as Max passes, and for a moment, you think there may be a fight. They stare at one another, sizing each other up; Dave’s face is stone while Max smirks, tauntingly.

It makes your skin prickle and your core flush with heat all at once, watching the two men posture like animals right in front of you.

Thankfully, they manage to restrain themselves and Max leaves without another word; you release the breath you realize you’ve been holding in all this time.

Dave’s face softens as he steps towards you, raising his hand to brush against your upper arm in consolation. He thinks nothing of it—an instinct from having maintained a protective role for so long—but the small touch causes you to flinch away.

“Sorry,” he says softly. He wishes he could touch you more; pull you into his arms. “I just— Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answer. Physically, you’re okay. Mentally, however, you still want to murder someone.

You look over your shoulder in time to see Audrey—your new hire, and the reason you forbade Max from ever returning—push open the door to the back room, wiping her face as she does so.

Max had made her cry, and you couldn’t afford to lose another barista.

“I’m sorry, I need to handle this,” you tell Dave. You look to Vincent, who’d watched the whole thing unfold from behind the counter without so much as an offer to help, but you suppose he isn’t paid enough to care. Hell, you barely are.

“Let, um…” you look at Dave, gesturing at him with a flat, open palm, and you hope he understands what you’re insinuating.

“Dave,” he replies.

“Let Dave here order whatever he wants. On the house,” you tell Vincent, who nods.

“I’m sorry again, but it was nice to meet you, Dave,” you say, introducing yourself, as if he can’t read your name tag. “Thank you so much…for helping.”

You smile meekly and wave goodbye to Dave as you head to the back to hopefully calm Audrey down before she quits.

Your back is turned by the time Dave proffers his own weak smile and wave. He watches you go, mapping every delicate curve of your backside with his eyes.

He doesn’t take you up on your offer of a free item.

He has a man to track down.

——

You find Audrey in the back room, hunched forward on the edge of a metal folding chair, palms pushed into her eyes.

You really can’t lose another barista. You’re overworked as it is and Maurizio cut everyone’s hours a couple of months ago, causing several of your best workers to quit, bringing you back around to square one. If she goes, you’ll have to work doubles for the unforeseeable future and, well, that wasn’t exactly ideal, considering Maurizio was constantly bitching at you about overtime…as if you could even help it.

You’d quit yourself if that was in the cards right now.

“Hey…” you offer, softly. “You okay?”

Audrey has only been working for you for three days; Maurizio hired her. She wouldn’t have been your first choice, since she was a little slow to pick things up, the job itself seeming to overburden her—but you couldn’t afford not to give her a chance. You need to tread lightly to keep her from bolting.

“Hey,” she replies back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lose it like that. It’s just—well, I’m going through a bad break up right now…” she admits, raking thin fingers through bright pink hair. “And him yelling at me about his drink being wrong was just…y’know. Last straw,” she laughs nervously.

You nod, feeling a little bad about passing judgment so quickly, knowing you know exactly how she’s feeling, since that was you only a few months ago. Still is, probably.

“I understand completely. I just got over one of those myself,” you confess, crossing your arms. “It’s fine if you need a minute. Vincent and I got the front,” you say, trying to articulate things in a way that will make it less likely she’ll walk—at least, that’s the hope.

You had been here since 4AM and your head was steadily pounding. You hadn’t had a cigarette in hours. And then Audrey had gotten the drinks mixed up—it happens—causing Max to lose his temper and call her a string of things you didn’t want to repeat, even in your mind.

Max had been a regular as long as you’d been employed, but he was also an asshole. A regular asshole. You wouldn’t miss him, his tacky suits, or his penchant for cutting in line anytime soon.

You had to admit it gave you a little thrill to finally stand up to him, the pull you felt between your legs an undeniable tell. You think he felt it, too. Not that it matters.

Audrey nods, rubbing at her eyes again. “Yeah. I’ll be up in a bit,” she says, and you try to hide your sigh of relief. “It’s just—is it okay if I um—take half an edible? To take the edge off?” she asks.

You could give two shits what people do in their free time, but at work? You almost say no—almost—but change your mind quickly when you see the grief still playing on her features.

Truth be told, that sounds nice right about now.

“Sure,” you tell her. “But only if you give me the other half.”

——

Blessedly, Audrey doesn’t quit. The edible elevates her mood—like, a lot—and yours, as well. You feel great the rest of your shift, finally getting off work at two, when Sarah relieves you of your managerial duties for the day.

She notes your change in attitude, which you have to admit has been pretty dour these past few weeks. You lie and tell her it had been an easy going day, purposely neglecting to mention Max. No need to bring your elation back down.

You gather your things to leave, exhaling a long, exasperated sigh as you go. You’re going to enjoy the fuck out of this.

As an added bonus, you have tomorrow off, which you’ll undoubtedly spend sleeping in. And tonight—drinking your weight in alcohol, most likely.

Whatever passes the time.

You’re almost all the way to your apartment, puffing on the cigarette perched between your lips, slipping into the breezeway that shoulders your building, when you hear a voice from behind you that you could discern out of a line up.

Dark, crooning, dripping with condescension.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

It’s Max.

You almost think you heard wrong, your mind still hazy from the cannabis in your system. Surely it isn’t him—that would mean he followed you here, which is just goddamn creepy.

Yet you’re not at all surprised when you turn and see him standing there with his hands in his pockets. He’s shed his jacket since you last saw him, now clad only in a crisp white dress shirt, gray slacks and yellow tie, the look finished off with some plain brown dress shoes.

You aren’t sure what Max does for a living and you’ve never cared enough to find out, but he has all the characteristics of a corporate vampire: nice pressed suits, pristine grooming, preternatural cunning and arrogance out the ass.

You find yourself palming the pepper spray you keep in your purse. You’d bought it after Jonathan had left. You had yet to use it, but today might be the day.

“Max, I’m sorry, my decision is final—“ you start to say.

“Is it?” Max asks you, cutting you off. “Because last I checked, the shop belongs to Maurizio, not you, darling,” he says, sauntering steadily closer.

“And I don’t care. I’m the manager, I have the right to ban you,” you respond, trying your damndest to cling to your convictions.

“Uh huh. We’ll see what Maurizio has to say about that,” he replies, grinning crookedly as he stares down at you with shimmering dark brown eyes. You aren’t sure when it happened, but somehow Max has gotten a lot closer, the wall of the building almost at your back.

He holds up his cell phone so you can see the screen: Maurizio Bernardi, saved as a contact, plain as day. You feel your face go slack with realization.

“You… how do you know Maury?” you ask, flabbergasted. Your head swims, and everything suddenly feels bright and fuzzy at the periphery of your mind; you must be coming down from the THC.

“We went to school together! Isn’t that wild?” Max responds with a snorting laugh, slipping his phone back into his pocket. You’re fully pinned against the wall now by his breadth alone, and he hasn’t even touched you.

You could end this easily in two seconds flat with a blast of pepper spray straight to his face. There might be some blowback with the light breeze whipping through, and you’d most definitely lose your job since he’s friends with Maury, but it would be worth it knowing you put Max in his place once and for all.

Right?

He’s so close that you smell the faint scent of cologne mingled with the underlying odor of sweat. You feel your heart beating at your temples. You hadn’t been with anyone since Jonathan left, and you couldn’t deny you were touch starved. You swallow and stare back, your eyes searing into him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says, softly gripping your arm to remove your hand from your purse, as if he’s reading your mind. Your fingers go slack around the can of pepper spray.

“Wasn’t gonna do anything,” you snip, yanking your arm out of his grasp. “Can I go home now?”

Max crowds into your space, pushing you into the wall, gentle enough not to hurt but forceful enough to press your back to the rough of the brick. He plucks the now neglected cigarette from your other hand, which is burnt nearly to the filter.

“Filthy fucking habit,” he chides, placing it to his lips and taking a drag before discarding it between the two of you, where he snuffs it out with the sole of his shoe. “Didn’t figure you for the type.”

“You know nothing about me,” you retort.

“I know you tried to humiliate me today,” he says quietly. “I don’t appreciate being humiliated.”

“I don’t appreciate you yelling at my workers,” you bite back. You aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of intimidating you. “Do you know how understaffed we are right now as it is? I’m exhausted!” You attempt to duck under an arm; he blocks you.

“You manage—what? Six, seven people?” Max asks.

“Four,” you correct. “Because we’re grossly understaffed.”

He smirks. “That’s cute. Try three hundred. Then we’ll talk.”

“Okay, I get it. Point made. Can I go?” you ask, attempting to duck him again. He grabs your wrist this time.

“Not until I humiliate you like you humiliated me,” he threatens, locking eyes with you. His other hand drifts to the curve of your waist, almost swallowing you with the size of it. Your breath catches. He takes that as invitation.

“And just how do you plan on doing th—“

Your words dissipate mid sentence when aforementioned hand untucks your shirt from your pants, creating just enough of a pocket for it to slide in between.

You take in a deep breath as his fingers slowly glide up the plane of your stomach and rib cage; he reaches the swell of your breast, not hesitating at all to grab you there, reveling at the soft depth of it against his wide palm.

It’s fucked. Utterly fucked. A small part of you wants to kick him in the balls and run, but you can’t help but go boneless and pliant like fresh clay under his touch.

If you’re being honest with yourself, as much as you loathe him, it isn’t like you hadn’t thought about Max before today. He always looks so nice and sharp in his business suits; not to mention it’s been so long since anyone has put their hands on you. Your toys just aren’t doing the trick anymore.

You whimper and arch involuntarily into him. Judging by the flash of triumph in his eyes, he liked that.

“By making you scream my name so loud right here in the street, the entire state will know who I am by the time I’m done with you,” he taunts, accentuating his point with a tug of your nipple through the fabric of your bra.

“M-Max, I…” you half protest, half moan.

You what? You can’t? You don’t want to? You can hardly remember to breathe at this point.

“Yeah. Just like that,” he laughs softly. “You’ll be reduced to a quivering puddle by the time I’m through.” His other hand toys dangerously close to the waistband of your pants.

Your eyes flit to the street, which isn’t even twenty paces from where you’re wedged between him and the wall. No one is currently paying either of you any mind, but you have no doubt that would change if what he’s saying is true. You have zero reason not to believe him.

“Max, we can’t do this,” you say, finally able to find your voice. “Not here,” you add, so that he understands that you do want it, regardless of how fucked it may be.

He pops the top button of your pants. You do nothing to stop him.

“Then say the word, sweetheart. Tell me I’m not banned,” he whispers into your ear. “You’ll do that for me, right?” His hand skims lower, undoing a second button.

“You s-said… Maury…”

“I need to hear you say it,” he responds pointedly, grinding his pelvis into yours; the firm press of his cock dividing you at your center, pushing against your clit.

“Jesus… fuck…” you babble, your head falling against the wall with a painful thud.

You don’t need Audrey, right? Or time off, like…ever? The extra pay from overtime is nice…and Maury can bitch about it all he wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s his fault, anyway. Not yours.

Nothing matters right now aside from the man rutting deliciously into your lap.

You aren’t sure what’s come over you. It could be the THC still firmly rooted in your brain, or the stress of the job getting to you, or both. Whatever the reason, you’re impervious to resist him and his off kilter, douchey kind of appeal.

“Say it,” he whispers, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your flesh.

“My apartment is up-s-stairs,” you reply. He snaps his hips aggressively into you in retaliation, and you squeak.

“Say it,” he growls.

“Shit, Max! Fine! You win, you— You aren’t banned.”

“Good,” he responds with a wry smirk, dark eyes sparkling with gratification. You only just realize that your hand is twisted up in his tie, and his gaze follows your grip, fingers brushing along the inner line of your wrist. You shiver.

“Take me to your apartment,” he says. You let the words hang in the air between the two of you, eyeing each other; silently scrutinizing which one will break first.

Of course it’s you.

You don’t worry about fixing your clothes as you make a beeline for the side door of the building, Max trailing closely behind. They won’t be a problem in just a few minutes, anyway; hopefully you won’t run into anyone in the hall on the way up.

His hands are on you again by the time you reach the elevator, pushing under your shirt, pants riding down your hips when they have nothing to cling to. He presses you against the far wall of the elevator, teeth raking over your pulse point and bearing down. You moan.

“Knew you were a dirty fucking girl,” he groans into the curve of your neck.

You reach for his tie again, the other hand absently dragging his thigh for purchase. His hands squeeze your breasts, rolling them under the flat of his palm. You can barely breathe, let alone speak; you’ve never let someone manhandle you so brazenly before. And you kind of like it.

Finally, the elevator dings for your floor; Max pulls his hands free of your shirt and grabs you by the wrists, yanking you into the short and narrow hallway. You fall into his chest and he steadies you, hands bracketing around your hips.

“This one is mine,” you say, pointing to the faded green door over his left shoulder. For a moment, he steps back, allotting you the space needed to access your apartment.

You can barely get the key to slide into the lock you’re shaking so fucking bad, but you eventually get it to work.

Your apartment isn’t exactly tidy. You’ve never had company over before in all the time you’ve lived here, much less unexpected—you suppose it doesn’t matter, as he probably won’t even notice, or care.

You flick on the light and the small space is illuminated in dull fluorescence, revealing the whole 322 square feet of it, save for the bathroom. You toss your purse onto the couch, turning to face Max.

You start to open your mouth to offer him a drink—an engrained habit leftover from your upbringing—but he stifles the words before they can even be borne on your lips, a hand coming up to loosely circle your throat as he walks you backwards to the bed, his eyes hued inky black with lust.

It’s not at all surprising that he isn’t a man of formalities if his presence at the coffee shop is anything to go by. You would wonder if he’s this ruthless at his job if you didn’t already have a good inkling about that.

You jolt when your legs make contact with the mattress. He doesn’t waste time in removing your clothes once he has you there, beginning with your shirt, relieving you of the burden. Your bra is next, and as his eyes hone in on the hardened peaks of your nipples, you think to yourself you’ve never seen him look this pensive before.

“Fucking — perfect,” he whispers, rolling his thumbs over the stiff buds, eliciting a moan from somewhere deep in your chest.

The rest is a blur up until the moment he’s almost pushing inside of you, so desperate in his need to remove any offending article of clothing he somehow manages to do so in the space of a few seconds, your mingled clothes a discarded pile of rubbish on the floor next to the bed.

He’s more fit than you expect, the bulbous cut of his arms leading into sharp lines of pectoral muscles. His stomach is defined enough, in your opinion—a man doesn’t need rock hard abs to get you off, after all—the lower half of his torso curtained in a swathe of dark pubic hair.

His cock hangs low amid his thighs, already fully engorged, the head an angry shade of pink and weeping for you. You try to tear your gaze away as you take in the sight of him, and are only vaguely aware that he’s asking you something.

“—I said, do you have any condoms?” you realize.

Odd time to worry about condoms, when he had plenty of time to stop at the store on the way to you. It’s fine, though — you have some left over from Jonathan.

“In the drawer behind you,” you tell Max. He reaches around behind him, pulling one out a moment later, breaking the wrapper open with his teeth and rolling it over himself with expert finesse.

You scoot back on the bed, every nerve ending in your body on fire, your head falling back into one of your pillows as Max mounts and straddles you, caging you in with his long limbs.

He peers down at you, eyes shining dark with desire, his mouth so close to yours you can inhale his breath if you were so inclined; you want him to kiss you, to bite your tongue and lips with those perfect white teeth, but he seems to be intentionally avoiding doing so.

Keep it business. Keep it casual.

“Roll over,” he says softly, moving off of you, and for a fleeting moment, you’re nonplussed. You note a faint flash of yellow at your peripheral, and it takes you a moment to register what’s happening; you crane your neck over your shoulder to confirm your notion, spying the pale yellow shine of his tie unraveling between both fists.

“Cross your wrists at your back,” he quietly commands, his voice low and even, leaving no room for debate. A man skilled in so few words in the art of persuasion—of seduction.

You’ve never been tied up or restrained before—much less by a man you have absolutely no sexual experience with, one you probably shouldn’t put any faith of your safety in at all—but you obediently lattice your wrists at the bend of your spine, taking in a prolonged breath as your core thrums in anticipation between your legs.

Although you can’t see him, you can practically feel Max grinning at your back. You hear the smooth slide of silk between his fingers. A moment later, he’s slipping the tie under your linked arms, spiraling it deftly around your wrists until you’re completely bound together and the grip holds true.

You flex your hands against the makeshift cuffs, testing them. You’re surprised at how comfortable it is and how you can still rotate your wrists; only your arms are immobile—which is exactly what he wanted.

“On your side now,” he commands coolly. You don’t dare dawdle, scooting to one side as best you can, albeit with some added effort without the aid of your hands to push you over.

He slides into the bed next to you, pushing himself as flush as he can against your back since your arms are now in the way, pulling your leg up and over his hip, butterflying you open.

He reaches around to cup your sex, middle finger riding your seam until he reaches your expectant opening, pushing himself in to the first knuckle. He slides in easily and you can’t hide the fact that you’re already soaked.

“Fuck,” he whispers raggedly, his voice thick against your ear. “Somebody wants this.”

His erection drags over the hill of your ass. You’re breathing hard and your heart is racing a million miles an hour. You feel as though you could combust at any moment.

His finger slips further into your depths, languidly pumping until your arousal coats all the way to the final knuckle. He adds a second finger then, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear.

“You ready to take me, sweetheart? Fair warning—I don’t do soft.”

As if you had any other expectations after he just finished binding you with his fucking necktie.

“Y-yes,” you whisper, hoarse and oh so needy. His hand snaps against your exposed ass, your body recoiling at the sudden lance of pain.

“Beg me for it.”

“Please, Max, I need it,” you plead, your voice feeling small in your throat. You writhe against him to accentuate your point, your wrists flexing against the binds.

“Good,” he says softly, spitting into his palm and coating himself with it, sliding the head along your folds and notching himself at your entrance.

Your breath stalls when you feel him. He isn’t even in and it already seems like too much.

“Breathe,” he tells you, giving you a moment to pull fresh oxygen into your lungs. When your response is sufficient enough for him, he’s suddenly pushing into you, cleaving you in two; there’s a dull sting from how much he stretches you apart, and you’ve already lost your ability to think, to power your lungs.

“Breathe,” he says again, a venomous edge to his tone. “Don’t need you passing out on me.”

Cue your surprise when unresponsive isn’t really his thing. You’d always figured him as a much bigger creep than this, despite the fact that he literally has you pinned like prey.

You suck in more air as Max buries himself all the way to the hilt, softly spurring his pelvis deep, deep into yours from behind. “So fucking tight,” he rumbles against the rim of your ear, teeth scraping along the ridge of your jaw.

And then the onslaught begins. He’s right—he doesn’t do soft.

The first few gyrations, he’s pulling almost all the way out, only to crack his hips back into you as hard as he can, the head of his cock bumping the sensitive flesh of your back wall with each ministration. The sound that resonates is louder than expected and more than a little obscene, strangled whimpers escaping with each snap of his pelvis, skin slapping skin.

Each time the room goes silent in those void spaces between utterances, you almost think you hear something—or someone—in the hall just beyond the thin barrier of your door. Your neighbor, Mrs. Tobin? Hopefully she hasn’t heard anything. She’s already reported you in the past for watching your movies too loud—

But just as swiftly as the thought occurs to you, it’s just as easily dissipated, Max’s fingers digging into your hip to hold you in place as he begins to rail you as hard and fast as any man reasonably can, his breath hot and wet against the nape of your neck, every rough smack of his hips into yours a thinly veiled threat to unravel every last fiber of your being.

The sounds that you make in return are not human.

His other hand comes up to cradle your chin, bowing your neck to a barrage of pearly whites, bearing down on the delicate crossroads of your neck and shoulder. The sting of incisors making purchase with your flesh causes you to yelp, your head misty from the feeling, toeing a line between pain and pleasure.

“Good girl, sweetheart. Taking me like a champ,” he growls breathlessly.

The hand riding your hip slithers around to where he’s currently splitting you open, gathering your natural lubrication on the pads of his fingers as he begins to slowly admonish attention to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck!” you yelp, bucking involuntarily as you chase the feeling. That solicits a laugh from Max, who seems quite pleased with himself.

“You like that?” he asks you, all the while still pumping into you from behind with everything he can muster; you have to admit his stamina is admirable.

You make some kind of inhuman mewl in reverence. His touch stokes fire deep within you, your pleasure mounting to dizzying heights, and you can’t remember the last time a man made you feel so coveted.

You can’t believe you could have been doing this all these long and lonely months. You should bar him from your shop more often.

“Kiss me, please,” you whine, folding your head behind you to lounge against his shoulder. The grip on your chin tightens, fingertips digging in, almost painfully so; there might be bruises there later.

“You take what I give you,” he tuts, gnashing his incisors along the soft of your throat.

If it’s possible, his grueling, punishing speed increases to near paralyzing, and you’re close to seeing stars. His fingers swirl lazily around your clit by comparison.

And then, without preamble or warning, he stops, pulling himself free from you. You chirp in protest at the loss, your walls clenching around nothing.

“What? Max…”

“Face down,” he instructs. “Quickly, now.”

You shoulder the mattress for stability as you roll yourself over without use of your arms, hands straining against the necktie still spooled around your wrists.

He enters you from behind the moment you assume the position, pumping into you at a far more leisurely pace than only seconds ago.

The wide breadth of his palms splay across your ass cheeks, spreading you apart as he watches you swallow him from behind. He’s much deeper at this angle, the head of his cock kissing your g-spot with every slow thrust.

You flinch when you feel his thumb graze against the muscular ring of flesh between your cheeks. He chuckles darkly.

“Bet you’d let me fuck your tight little asshole, wouldn’t you? Such a supplicant little cock sleeve for me.” You moan at the derision. “Yeah, you are. Glad we agree.”

His hands bracket your hips with stupefying strength, which will most assuredly brand you with the lines of his fingers, but you’re sure that’s what he wants. He pulls you back into him, spearing you onto his length. The new angle makes you scream.

“That’s it. Take it all,” he rumbles, resuming the previous breakneck speed, railing you with such ferocity there’s no way in hell half the city isn’t aware of Max’s presence in your pussy right now.

“F-fuck, Max—“ you bite, the mention of his name only furthering him along.

He rewards you by moving his hand back to your swollen clit, fingers flicking over the sensitive nub until you’re gasping for air, a string of curses and otherwordly noises escaping your lips. You’re staggeringly close.

“That’s it. You gonna come for me? Come on me, sweetheart. I need to feel you.”

He impales you with uninhibited exuberance from behind, your bed shuddering from each impact, and you know you’ll be feeling him between your legs for a week.

A few more hard, rough administrations and the tether abruptly snaps, your orgasm washing over you, ripping through your entire being with a scream-strangled-moan that your neighbors will definitely hear if they happen to be home.

It doesn’t take Max much longer than you to come apart in your wake, his breath stuttering in his chest and a loud, guttural snarl bursting forth, and for several prolonged seconds as he milks the remaining traces of himself into the condom, you can hear just how easily he fell apart inside of you.

You press your face into the cool of the sheets beneath the pillow, breathing hard, waiting for Max to untie you as he pulls himself out of you with a grunt.

You think you hear a faint noise in the corridor again; it almost sounds like the squeak of sneakers on linoleum. And then it’s gone.

You really, really hope it wasn’t your neighbor.

——

Dave doesn’t have to track Max down; the contemptuous man practically delivers himself to your front stoop.

How convenient.

He first hears you in the small slice of courtyard that divides your buildings, his window always propped open at this time of day so he can watch for when you inevitably return home from work.

The sight of him instantly makes Dave bristle; moreso when Max crowds into your space, and it takes everything in him not to rush to your aid again, saving you from Max for the second time in the span of a day.

But it’s your receptiveness to Max’s attention that gives him pause before he has a chance to act brash. You were ready to string Max’s entrails from the streetlights this morning—and now here you were, moaning and arching into his touch. What changed?

Dave feels a lance of jealousy and in spite of the sweet sounds you’re making, his trigger finger twitches more than a few times.

He keeps his eyes trained on your face as he watches you, studying you from afar; the way your eyelids flutter shut, the small bite of your own lip. The image forever burned into his brain, going straight to Dave’s cock.

He should be the one making you feel good, making you make those pretty sounds; not some guy poorly portraying the role of a cheap car salesman.

He pulls his cock free from his pants while he keeps his eyes locked on you, stroking himself in semi-circular motions as you are subjected to being handled by another man, glimpsing a small flash of skin as Max lifts your shirt to fondle your breast.

Again, it should be him. Dave would treat you right. He would make you come so many times you would forget your own name by the time he was through.

And then you’re disappearing into the confines of your building with Max in tow before he can blink.

——

It isn’t difficult to get into the building. It’s actually alarming how simple it was for Dave to decipher, simultaneously compressing the pound and asterisks keys on the keypad next to the door until the light flashes green and he hears the click of a lock disengaging.

Too easy.

He finds your apartment just as readily, having memorized its location from watching you as frequently as he does. He takes the stairs rather than the elevator so that the sounds of the rickety old bucket don’t alert you to his presence, pausing at the top stoop of the stairs which just so happens to face your door.

Number 8. Your apartment is number 8.

He listens for any sign that he’s given his location away. When he’s convinced he’s safe from being discovered, he creeps closer to your apartment.

It isn’t what it seems like, he tells himself. He just wants to make sure you’re safe. That this guy doesn’t hurt you.

He wants to be there to protect you. At least, that’s what Dave tells himself.

He sits on the dirty linoleum floor next to your door, his back facing the wall. For the first several minutes, he’s able to contain himself, listening for any signs of distress.

That is, until he hears your sweet moans and whimpers, the sounds of rough sex drifting with very little left to the imagination into the corridor. Dave’s jaw clenches and he breaks into a sweat just from listening to your high, keening revelations of sex.

It should be him. It should be him.

He understands how wrong, how perverse and reductive it is, to be listening to you like this. To impede on your privacy for his own personal gratification. To be so fucking turned on by it. He knows this.

And yet he doesn’t give it a second thought when he slips his hand into his pants to fist himself, pressed up against your door, fucking into his clenched palm like a teenager with their first porno mag, at the lascivious sounds of you being fucked by another man—a man that should be him.

He has enough sense to check for cameras, at least. Doubtful they would even review the footage without cause, but a cursory sweep of the area doesn’t hurt.

There are none. Now it’s just a matter of not getting caught by one of the other residents.

Dave thinks of you. He pictures the face you were making in the courtyard, imagining himself in Max’s stead. He’s getting off to your beautiful noises, and god, are you good at making them. He wonders how high your whimpers could get if he were the one fucking you. How you would look sheathing his cock.

If you were his, there wouldn’t be a single day you didn’t know his touch.

It’s all too much. His head swims, his vision goes white. You make a particularly raucous moan and that’s all it takes, a sound escaping his lips before he realizes he’s making it, thick ropes of spend spurting onto his stomach beneath his shirt. Thankfully, you don’t seem to hear him, his own utterance of ecstasy drowned out by the cacophony of your own and Max’s as you each come mere seconds after Dave does.

He doesn’t have any way of cleaning himself up like this, and a heavy blanket of shame settles over him within moments of coming down from the high of his climax. He does what he can, rubbing the thick globs of semen into his skin until it disperses.

He registers a sound then—someone getting off the bed, he surmises—and quickly climbs to his feet, the sole of his sneaker betraying him in a rush of movement. Shit.

He makes a beeline for the stairs, hoping you didn’t hear. When no one says anything, he supposes you didn’t.

——

Dave finds you on the street later that night.

He can tell by looking at you that you’re freshly showered, your hair shimmering in the faint glow of the setting sun. You’re dressed comfortably in a plain black tank top that swoops down to reveal the barest hint of cleavage—lest you decide to lean over, that is—and bike shorts that are meant to replicate leopard spots, only in purple.

You have one of your reusable grocery bags slung over your shoulder, the large one with all the pictures of fresh produce printed on it, and Dave can tell by the heft of it that you’ve just come from the grocery store a few blocks down.

He can’t ignore you anymore. Not after rushing to your defense this morning, and especially not after hearing you getting fucked on the other side of the door while he came hard for you. He has to talk to you. He needs to talk to you.

He steps into your line of sight a moment later, apprehensively lifting his hand in a wave. You spot him right away.

“Oh. Hey,” you say. “Dave, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. His eyes rake over you. You swallow.

“I just wanted to check on you. You know, since this morning,” he continues. “I know we see each other around a lot.”

You nod and take him in; he’s massive this close, with broad, muscular shoulders. He’s wearing a Boston Celtics shirt and loose Nike shorts. Judging by the semicircle of perspiration flowering out from the V of his armpits, you deduce that he’s been jogging again. He does that a lot, you think.

And you would be right. His climax earlier wasn’t enough to quell his desire for you, to hamper the gnawing restlessness he constantly feels. He needed to expend his anxious energy somehow.

Jogging wasn’t working either.

And now that he’s this close, he wishes he could touch you. Pull you into his arms and kiss you—since Max hadn’t.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you for asking…and again for this morning,” you say.

He places his hands on his hips, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, of course. It isn’t—it’s not a problem,” he says. I always want to protect you, he wants to add.

An uncomfortable silence settles in the space between both of you. You think you should probably leave.

“Would you like to get dinner somewhere?” Dave suddenly blurts out, a desperate tinniness to his voice. He looks at the sad boxes of mac and cheese in your grocery bag—not even name brand, since you’re doing all you can to save money.

You almost say no. Truthfully, it weirds you out that you had sex with another man not even hours ago, and now your neighbor is asking you out to dinner when he’d barely spoken to you before today.

It’s not like the sex meant anything. Max had made that abundantly clear and besides, you still hated his guts. But two men in one day, while still struggling with a messy breakup? You aren’t sure if you can handle that.

You almost say no. Almost.

Dave offers to carry your groceries for you.

You let him.

Part Two

#fanfic #pedro pascal #max phillips #dave york #female reader #bloodsucking bastards #equalizer 2 #pedro fanfic #romance #writing #author

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