Tumgik
#it’ll be three to six hours
lovelyisadora · 2 months
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it isn’t the end of the semester but i’m already having my end of the semester breakdown oh my GOD I am going to have a heart attack. sprite save me
#nothing is done!! not my applications not my interviews etc#I am running out of time to graduate in June and I could just graduate in august but then I have to admit to my family that I fucked up bad#it takes 3-6 weeks to get IRB approval I need to step on it#it’ll take at least 4 for my paid leave forms for work to go through and I don’t know if it’ll get approved#and if it does when do my benefits start#I feel like an idiot where those forms are concerned because it needs an occupation code and I don’t know if it’s specific#or if I can just select the one that best matches my job description and I can’t find that info anywhere#my body is literally shutting down I have two golf ball sized tumors and I can’t get out of bed but I can’t sleep#my car is kaputt and I have to call several different shops to get it seen because the one I took it to couldn’t fix it#and is any of it worth it!! is any of it!!#I cried for like three hours today bc I tried to talk to my mom about it and. well. she was very much a mom about it and not helpful#like yeah! obviously I want to graduate in June! but my research isn’t even approved because I haven’t been able to get myself#to complete the application for the last six months! Jesus Christ!#I can’t sleep and I’m so tired I’m so so tired my brain just straight up isn’t working!#I swear to god if I finally meet with my advisor and he does his well you don’t seem to need my help bullshit again#I’m gonna actually snap and kill him#anyway. need to do three things by end of Wednesday. just three things#clean. irb. and paid leave. that’s it that’s all.#it’s what I’ve tried to do the last four days and I’ve accomplished none of it but. Jesus Christ it’s gotta get done#FOUR THINGS I have to call the shop to get an estimate for a car I’m not even going to bother to fix#ok vent session over#delete later#fkdjdjshhaa im a MESS#sprite save me 😭#save me sprite. save me
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afterthedreamer · 1 year
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amberofzo · 9 months
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i just responded to a job posting to work in the bakery section of a train station grocery store… i love how specific that sounds
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chuluoyi · 4 months
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I'm thinking about Megumi's sister, who went to magic school with him. who was trained by Gojo. who fell in love with Gojo. who dared to confess her feelings to him. and which Satoru rejected, saying that he was too old for her
it doesn't have to be something obscene… so if you like this idea, then please write something!
belong with me
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- gojo satoru x reader
the strongest sorcerer is your savior. you know he is far from your reach... but is it so wrong to love him—after the years you spent by his side?
genre/warnings: angst to fluff, a bit slow burn, reader pining on gojo, mentions of injury, comfort
notes: omg omg i actually really like this idea!! i had wanted to write this since you sent this ask but i was struggling with the setting, so i tweaked minor things so that it’ll fit the canon timeline—reader is megumi’s cousin rather than sister.
and *sigh* it somehow turned out into a 4k+ word🤧
series masterlist | oneshot masterlist
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What is Gojo Satoru to you?
If asked that, Megumi would definitely say that he owed both of your lives and his sister’s to him. Following the chaos too complicated for you to understand that left the three of you orphaned at the age of six, Gojo Satoru, who were just barely an adult himself then, was the one who stepped in to take all of you in.
But to you, he was more than just that. He was many things. Your savior, mentor, friend, and... you daresay, first love.
And because of that, you would never thought that there’d come a time when your heart was really broken by him.
At first, Gojo Satoru felt like a big brother to you. Megumi was suspicious of him since the very beginning—his skepticism was funny sometimes—but you and Tsumiki weren’t as much.
He easily became your friend. You would laugh for hours to end after he cracked the stupidest or lamest of jokes. He made the fact that curses exist and that you were somehow able to keep them at bay more bearable.
And when Tsumiki fell into her curse… Gojo was there to bring you comfort.
“Why isn’t she waking up?” Your hands were shaking as you frantically poked and nudged your kind cousin from her peaceful slumber at the hospital bed. The smell was suffocating—the sight was unbearable. Tsumiki was supposed to be bouncing up and keeping both you and Megumi at bay, not lifelessly lying here like this.
Facing Gojo, who had a tight-lipped expression beside you, you pleaded, "Gojo-sensei—" your glassy eyes welled up, voice choked with tears, "—make her wake up, please..."
And that was the first time he broke your heart. Even the strongest couldn’t lift this cruel curse posed upon your kind sister.
Your throat tightened, choked with painful whimpers as tears flowed uncontrollably. Sudden grief overwhelmed you, making you sway and shake like a leaf. At first, you didn’t notice how a pair of warm hands enveloped you, drawing you close for comfort.
Gojo allowed you to cry against him while you pounded on his chest. Not a word came out of his lips, a telltale sign that he was taking the situation seriously—something you, above anyone else, understood well.
From then on—ever since the tragedy that befell Tsumiki, it seemed like Gojo became even more protective of you but stricter with Megumi. The two of you eventually pursued the path of jujutsu, driven by one wishful thinking in mind—the possibility to break Tsumiki’s curse.
Encountering Gojo became a daily routine when you lived at the dormitory as a first year at Jujutsu High. He frequently dropped by just to greet you, or give you some things he got from his missions.
"Here," Gojo handed you the package of a popular kikufuku store. With that blindfold on and a shit-eating grin split his face, he actually looked so ridiculous. "I got you all their available flavors! Trust me, you'll like them!"
Against your own will, you felt rosy blush spreading across your cheeks. "Oh, thank you... I'll give some to Megumi as well, he's been working hard lately..."
"Ehh?" he pursed his lips. "No, no, no—they're for you! Don't give them to that emo kid!"
There was absolutely nothing significant about how he worded it. You were well aware of that—only a fool wouldn't be.
So why are you so giddy? Hah, why do you feel like you're... special?
"Don't call him emo," you chided, trying to suppress your smile.
"But he is! He's always grouchy with me without reason!"
Throughout your childhood, and now as you were entering adulthood yourself, Gojo's presence in your life still felt like a comforting, warm blanket—a dependable presence you could rely on, someone you could trust completely.
And apparently, someone you had unwittingly given your heart to.
It was a gradual process. You didn't fall for him at first sight or anything of the sort—it took years of being under his protection. Even as you watched him pursue one girl after another from the sidelines, you couldn't deny it—your heart was already his since then.
He always knew what to say, how to cheer you up.
"What's got you so down, huh?" Gojo asked, tousling your hair gently as you slouched. "Is it because of earlier? Don't be so down, you're doing great."
You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the sting of failure twisting your gut. "I held everyone back, sensei. That's not great at all."
In the last mission, you nearly put Yuji and Nobara's lives in danger. You had taken the initiative to step into the cursed room, and had it not been for Megumi who came to your rescue, any one of you could have sustained significantly more severe injuries.
Gojo offered you a lopsided smile. "You couldn't have known that. Don't beat yourself up so much. The most important thing is that all of you are safe."
"But we might not, all because of my daring ass."
"Look."
He squatted to meet your eye level, and it dawned on you that he wasn't wearing that blindfold. "The fact is that everyone is good. And no, even if Megumi wasn't there, you wouldn't have been doomed. I would have been there, I always have, yeah?"
He was truly a sight, with that sparkling eyes even more so when he smiled unabashedly, voice not as playful as his tone usually was.
"That doesn't make me feel better," you replied, forcing out the words even as you were somewhat awestruck. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm inadequate."
"You're a first year," Gojo pointed out. "Everyone is bound to make mistakes. You just have to learn from them."
"In our line of work, those mistakes can cost us lives." You chewed your lip, looking down. "I—I don't want to be responsible for someone's death."
Your words left Gojo momentarily speechless. His blue eyes blinked several times as though he was taken aback, and you felt even more small—you had just revealed your deepest fear to him.
But suddenly, he laughed right in your face, prompting you to shoot him a glare. Just as you were about to retort, he rested his palm on your head.
"Do you seriously think I will allow that to happen?" Gojo queried with a wide grin and snarky tone. "To you, out of everyone else?"
You gazed at him in a daze, feeling self-conscious with his warm hand on your head. He'd likely done this a hundred times already, but you could never get past the sensation of his gentle touch on your skin. You yearned for more—for him to cradle your face, to caress you, to draw you closer—
“The obvious answer is, I won't,” he declared so surely, exuding unwavering confidence. You blinked, marveling at how his words made your heart soar and your breath catch. “So stop thinking about scary things. I'm here, remember?”
How was there a person who was such a perfect blend of the man of your dreams—smug, but also funny, caring and strong, like Gojo Satoru was?
Was it a sin to harbor these feelings for him? He has always been kind to you, and if you daresay it, fond of you as well. Is there a possibility—
Really, you should have known your boundaries.
"I think..."
And yet your heart screamed, for whatever it's worth—
"...I love you..."
Why couldn't you see that this was doomed right from the start?
"—Gojo-sensei."
You were breathless. Your wildly thumping heart drowned out almost everything else. Your hands were sweaty, and you braved yourself to meet his eyes.
And when you did, you knew heartbreak for the second time—
The way his smile faltered a bit, yet he forced it upwards, perhaps to spare your feelings.
Just as he always has. Ever since he rescued you back then, he would do these silly things so you would feel better.
"I'm flattered, you know?" Gojo gazed at you genially. "But I think—"
"You don't understand." What am I even insisting? "I... like you so much, Gojo-sensei. All this time."
It was supposed to be your final card. Baring everything to him. How grateful you were that he took you in, the kindness he showed you, Megumi and Tsumiki, those sleepless nights after Tsumiki fell into coma that he spent with you, sharing shaved ice on the hottest, cruelest summer...
"You're almost half my age," he stated matter-of-factly, and a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "You're mistaking love for admiration. That's it."
"No! I know how I feel—"
"You should find someone your age," Gojo added while maintaining his smile. "There are good guys out there. Toge is nice—ah, but his cursed technique might be a little troublesome. Yuji is earnest and honest..."
You have never thought that there’d come a time where your heart was really broken by him. But he just did, as he listed all your friends without any regard to your feelings.
Suddenly, a wave of resentment surged within you, prompting you to hiss and cut him off.
"You're always like this," your eyes had started to well up with tears, but you ignored it. His puzzled expression only fueled your frustration.
"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"
You felt ashamed, but in hindsight you should've probably expected this. You didn't have anyone else to blame but yourself. You knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame on Gojo like now—he was merely on the receiving end of the brunt of your heartbreak.
You hated this. You hated yourself. And you couldn't help but to hate him too, despite knowing that you shouldn't.
With that, you dashed away, tucking away your first love to the furthermost part of your heart, swearing that you'd never, ever revisit that chapter of your life again.
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Ain't that just the worst thing to hear?
Witnessing your tear-streaked face as you hurried past him left him stunned, rooted in place.
In no way was Gojo Satoru going to romance his own student. You were quite literally his protege and his other protege’s sister. That was simply out of the question. Not that he was the model of propriety, but even he knew that was not right.
And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact whether he did see you as a woman or not, because even if he did, it shouldn’t make a difference.
Right? It won’t change anything.
Because it was how it was supposed to be.
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It was probably one of the forms of tantrum—or whatever it was labeled—in the end, it was simply a reaction to not achieving what you wanted.
For years, Gojo had shielded you and Megumi from the Zen’in clan. They were horrible people, and you were eternally grateful that Gojo went to great lengths for you, always swatting them away before they could get close to either of you.
Now that you thought about it, who they really wanted was Megumi. Your cousin held the quintessential Zen'in talent, while your modest Projection Sorcery wasn't particularly rare among the clan. Still, they sought you as well, merely to bolster their prestige with another member.
Normally, you wouldn't think such things. But you weren't in the best state of mind, muddled by your blind heartbreak. It skewed your mindset to one of the extremes.
And then you got this terrifyingly brilliant idea—what if you turned yourself to them? Surely the Zen’in would be sated for a while and stop bugging Megumi.
And you didn’t have to see Gojo as often too.
This went against everything he had done to ensure your safety. But that was the first thing that entered your mind when Zen’in Naoya accosted you by chance.
"We're family," he stated with a smirk, sending a shiver down your spine, an unsettling feeling washing over you. "We wouldn't harm you. Why waste your time being Gojo's little errand girl, huh?"
This was easier, or at least that was the illusion you attempted to persuade yourself with.
Naoya left with you with a meaningful "Think about it."
And the more you thought about it, the more you leaned towards the scenario you had thought to be unimaginable before—leaving Gojo behind.
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Two months had passed since then, and it was time for the Kyoto Goodwill Exchange event. Gojo remembered this being one of the most exciting moments during his youth, and he sincerely wished that you would have fun too, even with all that had been going on between you.
He knew he was the one who said Yuji would be good. But he wanted to backtrack when he saw him getting punched by Todo. Nah, Yuji was too stupid, he wouldn’t want that for your match. Must be someone else… who was stronger, better.
And then he was even more beside himself when he saw you with Mechamaru.
Like really? That tin soldier? You could definitely have someone more human. He surely didn’t approve of the sight of you getting friendly with that suspicious scrap of metal!
"Hah," he grumbled to himself. Was it just him or were young boys these days simply too subpar?
Yuji is too risky, after all, he is also Sukuna's vessel. Todo... no way, he can crush you with one hand... Panda is a panda...
As if the roster wasn't bad enough, he was met with the most bewildering sight.
Never would have Gojo thought that someway or another, he would see you with that obnoxious Zen'in spawn who called himself the heir.
Before he could grasp his actions, he stomped right into the midst of where the two of you were—
. . .
You were a step away from agreeing to a whole load of new mess, until wind got knocked out of your lungs as you were harshly yanked from behind—
—and the next thing you knew, a broad back was in front of you.
“What do you want?” a low voice, almost foreign to your ears. But this man before you was Gojo Satoru himself, just way sterner than he usually was.
You were caught off guard by his tight grip on your wrist, his dark gaze fixed on the Naoya.
“Ah, don't be like that, please.” Naoya dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I'm just saying that it's been too long already for you to play the benefactor. She ought to be with the family, where she rightfully belongs."
Gojo seemed to grow more imposing, his sneer deepening. "And by family you mean you?"
The atmosphere grew tense as the exchange between them continued, each word laden with underlying tension.
"Hah, Gojo-sama, you really think you're so high and mighty, don't you? I'll have you know that she, and by extension, the Fushiguro boy, are Zen'ins. No matter how—"
Naoya's words seemed to falter as Gojo's presence intensified. There was this thick electricity in the air, and you almost shuddered when he spat, "Leave."
He couldn't possibly murder another great clan's heir, no matter how much he might have been able to. It would incite a strife that would make his eyes hurt. He just had to scare him off.
And he did. Naoya went with his tail tucked behind him, and that was one problem taken care of. Now Gojo just had one other thing to deal with—
"What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone sharp and accusing, before he even properly faced you. "Since when did you start meeting up with him?"
You hadn’t talked to him ever since your botched confession, but with the way it seemed, he was acting quite normal. It irked you.
"That's hardly your business," you retorted with a hiss.
Your responses seemed to grate him. "Oh? What do you mean it's not?"
"He is right, isn't he? I'm a Zen'in. There is no need for you to go out of your way to keep me under your wing. I can always go back to them."
"Are you—" His frustration was evident and it was quite possibly the first time you saw him direct this at you. "You can't go to them—"
"Sure," you mocked, wrenching your wrist away from his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not a child, Gojo-sensei. Please stop telling me what should and I should not do."
"That's not what I'm getting at. I've told you how horrible that place is, your place definitely isn't there."
"And? Where should I be?" you huffed challengingly. "Please, don't tell me that it's your cue to say that it's by your side. Because both of us know it's not."
Gojo didn't know what frustrated him more, the fact that you somehow fell into whatever it was that Naoya had whispered to your ear or how bratty you were being right now. Unwittingly, he let his own pettiness slip out, "You know what? You're being quite childish right now."
He convinced himself that, having practically raised you, he was entitled to have a say in major decisions in your life. He wouldn't let the Zen'in take Megumi away, let alone you.
Your face went scarlet with repressed anger. "So be it then."
With that, you stalked away, and just like how you went away from him the first time, Gojo could only stare at you in silence.
How had your relationship with him turned this sour? Was it the wrong thing to not acknowledge your confession before? He sincerely thought you would realize the implications behind your own words and snap out of that ideal version of him you had in mind—because he knew best that he wasn’t made for this.
Girls your age must want a taste of young love. He understood that, but it couldn’t be with him. It had to be someone else.
He resumed his musings earlier before he found you out with Naoya. And he finally came to a conclusion, that Yuta was the best match. Shame he was still away somewhere in Africa.
When Yuta got back, he would introduce him to you. Yuta was strong, kind, and he wouldn’t hurt you. And it would do him good too to have someone who cares about him.
Gojo Satoru never made flawed judgements. He knew this was the best approach, and yet why was there still this stifling feeling in his gut… at the idea of you being with someone—god forbid—who isn't him?
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Not long after, a sinking feeling gnawed at him at the chaotic mess surrounding the Kyoto Goodwill event.
At first Gojo thought it was the standard worry. He chalked it up to all of his students were trapped inside this curtain that specifically forbid him to enter. Naturally, he would worry for his students; after all, he was their teacher.
But when he saw you fell on your knees with what seemed like a stem of cursed flower perched on your chest, he knew it was something else.
You were gasping for breath, clutching your chest in pain while Panda supported your weakened form, and seeing you like that apparently was too much for him. For the first time, Gojo regretted his decision. He shouldn't have pursued the enemy first. He should have gone to you first.
His instinct took over as he swiftly tore you away from Panda’s arms, drawing you close to his chest. His mind went blank, but he forced himself to focus on you, on what was causing you pain. "Y/N, calm down—"
"It hurts—!" you whimpered, digging your nails into his arm tightly, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts so much... I-I..."
For Gojo, this was a form of torture he hadn't realized before. For him, seeing you smile should have been the default, not this sobbing, injured, vulnerable state you were in now.
"I'll take you to Shoko. You'll be fine," he murmured decisively into your ear as you slumped against him. His grip around you tightened, and he repeated, "You'll be fine, I promise."
In the midst of your foggy mind, a realization struck—this was the second time you were ever held in his arms. And much like the first time, you felt an overwhelming sense of security.
Ah, but he had rejected you. You should know your place. You really should because pining on someone who didn't want you wasn't a wise thing to do.
But just this once...
Stupid. You were stupid indeed.
Because you chose to bask in this very short fantasy, fervently wishing that the heavens would grant you this sweet dream of him holding you in his arms like just this for a little longer.
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As Gojo quietly observed you resting after being tended by Shoko, numerous thoughts swirled through his mind.
"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"
That was not true. He didn't mean to treat you like a child, because you were indeed not. You were a grown woman now, no longer the crying child consoled by Tsumiki and protected by Megumi as you were back then.
Once, you were this young bud he was meant to nurture into strength, but now despite himself, he saw you more as a woman rather than his protege. He wanted to see you bloom into this pretty girl he had always known you were, always innocent and protected—and a selfish part of himself would add: preferably by himself.
You were so serene. You looked so soft too as you laid there. Gojo thought this wasn't quite right and he couldn't quite get the image of you screaming in pain out of his peripheral thoughts.
Had he truly fallen? This strong urge to protect you, ensure your happiness, see you always smiling—it was as if these emotions were suddenly planted, but immediately establishing themselves like deep-rooted feelings that wouldn't fade away easily.
No, actually... who was he kidding? It was what he had kept to himself for a while now. He just refused to acknowledge these feelings out of the misguided sense of propriety.
It was all he could think of from the moment you passed out until you awakened. He pasted a smile on his face when you opened your eyes to his face.
"Ah, Gojo-sensei..." you mumbled, still disoriented. The way you looked at him was as if you were spooked, to say the least, and it bugged him. "Sorry, how long have I passed out?"
"Just a few hours. Are you okay? Do you still feel the pain?"
"Uh... a bit, but I'm okay..."
Normally, he never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you. This was too obvious. You were uncomfortable with him, and he noticed it.
You also seemed acutely aware of this immensely awkward situation. Having spent the majority of your life with him, you used to be open and at ease around him. But now, it wasn't the same. All because of your reckless confession before.
You spent the first few hours with occasional silence. Eventually, Gojo stepped away for a while, leaving behind a lingering sense of discomfort instilled within you.
You remembered the feeling of being in his arms. Once again, he saved you. The least you could do is to express your gratitude.
I don’t like this. It had been two months already. You had to put an end to this unbearable tension. You couldn't force him to return your feelings—you understood that now. And to make it to the way it used to be, you had to make it clear to Gojo too.
And so when he was back to your room, you braved yourself again. For the second and last time.
"Gojo-sensei," you breathed out, willing your shaky hands at bay. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable. Please forget what I said before."
What is this now? Gojo blinked, stopping right in his tracks, somehow hearing how you started with a "sorry" didn't sit well with him.
You continued. "Maybe you are right. I'm grateful for you, I look up to you... for the longest time, I might even have idolized you."
Wait...
"But it isn't love," you said with finality, looking away. "This is me admiring you, for all things you have done for me. And even if it is, I still can't force you to look at me in that way."
Gojo could only gaze at you in silence, a storm raging inside his chest. This was what he had hoped you would realize when you confessed your feelings back then, but now—
"I don't like how... we are now," you gulped. "And it's my fault. So I'm taking it back—"
“No, just—” This wasn’t right. Gojo knows it, but why is he saying this? “Just wait for a minute.”
You started as someone he wanted to protect, along with Megumi and Tsumiki. And then you grew up right in front of his eyes. Someone like you, who had gone through many horrors in life ever since young should have someone dependable and strong who could make you happy.
But then Gojo thought, he didn’t like how others looked at you. Heck, in his eyes, they were inadequate for you, if anything.
“Sensei?” you looked up to him with that doe eyes of yours, and Gojo Satoru felt like this was enough.
To hell with you finding someone your age.
He was strong—the strongest, and if it’s him, he most definitely could protect you far better than anyone.
He could make you laugh—had been for years already, and nothing would stop him now.
He would be damned should you somehow go to the grubby hands of the Zen’in.
“Keep your eyes on me,” his somber voice said then, causing your heart to skip a beat in response.
In short, he was better-suited for you more than anyone else ever could, in every possible aspect.
Apparently he was right. Your place was by his side, after all.
“…because from now, I might start looking at you too.”
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stylesharrys · 6 months
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Private Show
A/N: i literally wrote this about four years ago, but it’s all been edited and freshened up a little for you guys! i hope you’re staying safe and if there’s any writings in particular you’d like to see, send me a message! anyway, enjoy this smutty piece:)
WC: 3,938
You strip from your outfit and open the shower door, Harry turning to look at you with a little mohawk he’d styled with the shampoo. You snort out a laugh and shake your head, standing in front of him so the water falls down on you.
“Well, hello there,” Harry grins cheekily, eyeing your breasts as your nipples pearl. You blush and lean your head back, soothing the water through your hair but Harry can’t keep his eyes off your chest, not when it’s right there.
“Stop staring.” Your eyes are closed as you massage the shampoo into your scalp, but you already know he’s drooling at the sight of you. He always did have a thing for your chest, even if you argued they’re not your best asset.
or
You miss Harry’s concert but half of it isn’t your fault.
//
The car broke down. You weren’t sure how it happened, or why, but the engine wouldn’t start and your dad suspected the battery died.
You’re in London with Harry for a few days, Harry performing and you visiting your family in a small town a few hours out of central London. You’d come by late afternoon yesterday and now you’re stuck.
You’re meant to be going back to London in time for Harry’s show, but with no car and none of your family having one to lend, you’re shit out of luck. You didn’t have the money or time to get the battery recharged or get a new one, and in all honesty, you didn’t know what you needed to do for it anyway.
So, with your little suitcase and your purse, you got yourself a train ticket straight to London. You missed the first train, the bus getting you to the station three minutes late. So you had no choice but to wait in the warmth of the sun for seven minutes until the next one came.
You only stayed on that one for three stops, staring at your phone screen when the rail app told you that you’d need to get off. And you did, sat down for twenty minutes while you waited for the next one that took you straight to Greenwich.
By then it was already 7 pm and you knew you’d most likely miss his entire show at this rate. And then the train showed up and you hopped on it, squeezing between the standing people and you shoved your earphones in, playing an old playlist Harry had made you.
And that’s when you get the text.
iMessage from H💞
Hey. You close, I’m on in an hour x
You sigh and rub your forehead, flicking back to the app on your phone and groaning when you realise you’ll be twenty minutes on that train and then need to get another Bank one for six minutes, then a thirty-minute walk, and then the underground.
iMessage to H💞
Just left for the Greenwich line. Car broke and I don't have time or money on me to get it sorted. Taking the train and it’s insane how many connections you have to make. I don’t know what time I’m gonna be there. Does security know I’m coming in backstage? Xx
You lock your phone with a sigh and turn up the volume of the music, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to calm your nerves and anxieties.
Soon enough, you’re getting off at Greenwich and onto the Bank train. Only when you go past Heron Quay do you realise that you’ve missed your stop and, essentially, gotten yourself lost.
Your panic only grows when Harry stops answering your calls and texts and then you realise it was 8:31 and he’s already on stage, performing, without you supporting him on the side stage.
You try to call Jeffrey, but of course, no answer. Matt, no answer. Mitch, no answer. Jasmine, his opener, no answer. It’ll be useless to call your parents, neither of them know the train lines and can’t come and pick you up anyway because they don’t drive.
You struggle to ask people where to go, most people pushing past you in their own hurry to get to their destinations, and you’re shocked to not see any rail workers anywhere on the platforms to offer assistance.
So, you do what you do best. You panic. You slump down on one of the cold, metal benches with your suitcase by your side and purse in your lap. Tears are quick to prickle at your eyes and the air grows colder, bitter.
If you had just got off at your stop, you would’ve been with the others by now, watching your man perform on stage and become one with the crowd. But, here you are, cold, alone, and lost.
Your little denim jacket is doing nothing to conserve heat and your legs bounce as you try to warm yourself up. Your achingly cold fingers struggle to type up a route you could take and before long, thirty minutes have passed and it’s 9 pm.
And then, the worst possible thing happens. Your phone dies.
You panic even harder now, your chest constricting and you struggle to catch a breath. It isn’t until you see an older man slowly walk the yellow safety lines of the station in a high-vis train rail jacket that you calm just a little.
You shoot up from your seat, hands clammy and shaking as you pull your suitcase with you. “Excuse me!” You call out to the older man, the station much quieter now.
He turns to you with raised brows and a friendly smile, and you’re more than relieved that you’ll be getting some help.
“I’m not from around here and I missed my stop and ended up here.” You explain as calmly as you can, taking deep breaths and swallowing back the lump in your throat.
“Okay. Where are you heading?” The older man asks, sliding his silver-rimmed glasses up the smooth slope of his nose.
“I’m trying to get to the O2 Arena.” Your heart’s stammering in your chest and you explain how your phone had died and you have no way of contacting anyone or getting routes.
The man, Barry, assures you it will be fine. He writes down the trains and stops you need to make and where to go from there, then offers you his battery pack to charge your phone for a few minutes.
You check it when you get on the next train, a message from Jasmine on your screen and the time’s now nearing 9:34 pm.
iMessage from Jasmine X
Hey!! Where are you?? Everything okay? Call me!!
You sigh and quickly begin typing, trying to explain what happened and that you’re on your way, but before you can ever send the text, your phone freezes and cuts off dead.
You take another deep breath, trying to keep calm, and shove your phone into your pocket. Your ears focus on the voice through the speaker, listening closely for your stop and staring at the piece of paper in your hand so you know when to get off.
By the time you reach the O2, it’s 10 pm and you're certain the show’s over. You sprint to the doors, unsure where you’re even meant to go. You don’t have a ticket and Harry has your backstage pass.
“Can I help you, miss?”
The security guards eye you cautiously, somewhat alarmed by your frantic state. To them, you look just like every other fangirl they’ve ever met.
“I’m meant to be meeting Harry’s team backstage. Do you know how I get there?”
You’re breathless, body somewhat numb from the sudden drop in temperature and pure anxiety you’ve suffered over the past two hours.
The man squints at you. “Do you have a pass?” Great.
You sigh. “No, his manager, Jeffrey, has my pass. I’m Harry’s girlfriend. Look, you can go and ask on your walkie talkie. I have ID, but I don’t have my pass.” You try to explain.
He shakes his head, tries to hide the amusement on his face. “Nice try, kid. Go home.” He turns his back, wandering away but you shake your head and follow after him.
“No, I’m being serious! Jeffrey has my backstage pass. My phone is dead so I can’t contact them! Please, just radio it through. I promise you! My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please. He’ll tell you!” You beg, tears pooling in your eyes in panic.
This can’t be happening, how has it even come to this? You’ve been through the works already, and now, you look like nothing more than a desperate fangirl.
“Listen, miss. If you don’t leave right now, we will escort you out ourselves or call the police. It’s your choice.” He all but growls his words, an effort to scare you off.
Your shoulders slump and tears spill from your eyes, anxiety consuming you. “This isn’t happening,” you whisper to yourself, breathing unevenly and your knees buckle slightly.
You can’t even go back to the hotel as you don’t know where you’re all staying, seeing as you stayed with your parents last night. You’re done for.
You’re about to turn away, search for someone with a charger maybe, when a ruckus of cheering and talking catches your ears and the doors to the arena open. Hundreds of people flood out of the doors, eager to get themselves home and you wonder how you’re going to get to Harry.
“Oh my God! It’s Y/N!” Is all it takes for everyone to spot you and scream, hurtling toward you and calling your name.
You grab the security guard's arm and frantically beg for his attention. “Now do you believe me!? Please!” You cry out, but he continues to look at you sceptically as the other security members calm down the fans.
You try to talk to the fans, to have them prove that you were Harry’s girlfriend. And even though they agree and show security pictures and proof, they refuse to let you back because you don’t have a pass.
“Here, use my phone to call someone!” An older woman from behind security offers you her phone, her daughter (you presume) staring up at you with big doe eyes.
You smile and take the mobile, punching in Harry’s number that you’ve had memorised for moments like this. You ignore the security guard that continues to ask you to leave and when the ringing stops and a ruckus on the other end is heard, you let out a sigh of relief.
“Hello?” Harry answers, sceptical from the other end.
“Harry! Oh thank God, it’s Y/N.” You sigh out in relief, the fans screaming when they hear you on the phone with him.
“Babe, what the fuck is going on? I’ve been trying to call you! Where are you?” His words are laced together in panic and you can hear him shushing his team.
You sigh. “I’ll explain later but I’m with your fans outside the doors and security won’t let me through to you because Jeffrey still has my pass.” You explain, pinching the bridge of your nose.
Harry tells you to sit tight and that he’ll fix it, tells you he loves you and ends the call. You sigh in relief and quickly delete the number from the call log, handing the phone back to the woman and thanking her profusely.
You feel awful, really. It’s bad enough that you missed Harry’s show, but now you’re holding up all of his fans from going home because security is keeping them away from you and not letting you through the doors.
You speak to a few of his fans while you wait, asking how they found the show and answering some of their questions about Harry when another scream is heard and Jeffrey wanders out toward you with a security guard.
“Y/N!” He calls out, speaking with the other security for a second before showing them your pass and explaining you are who you said you are.
You say goodbye to the fans, dragging your suitcase over to Jeffrey and he pulls you in for a hug, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. You thank him and wave goodbye, following him through a hallway and you disappear.
“What the hell happened?” Jeffrey asks in concern, brows furrowed and you sigh while explaining about your car, the trains, and your phone. Jeffrey listens closely and throws his arm over your shoulder as you walk, pulling your suitcase along.
Security leads you through another corridor and another, opening doors and scanning his ID on certain parts to gain access. A few minutes of walking and a burst of soft laughter can be heard, your heart skipping a beat.
Jeffrey's hand rests against your back as he leads you through a room and another curtain, and there Harry stands; pacing back and forth and biting at his nails. The sound of the door opening catches his attention and he spins around to you.
“Honey...” he whispers, pacing toward you and scooping you into his arms. You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder. Harry cradles the back of your head, gently cooing you and whispering reassuring words into your ear.
“You’re okay, baby.” He whispers, kissing your temple and you pull away sniffling, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath. Harry cups your clammy cheeks in his hands and leans down a little. You lift onto your tiptoes and kiss his lips softly, not even a little bothered by the taste of sweat on his lips.
You sigh into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed and a cheeky wolf whistle from behind him catches your attention. You pull away and peer over his shoulder, blushing at the sight of his entire team grinning at you both and Lloyd facing his camera at you.
//
You’re curled into Harry’s side as you wander down the hall to find his room. His arm is around your shoulder, yours behind his waist as he pulls your little suitcase along.
His skin is still sticky with sweat and his clothes stained with a salty scent, but somehow, he still smells like vanilla and his stupid cologne. “I can’t believe you had to do all that,” he murmurs out after having listened to your travels of the day.
You hum back and yawn, pulling away from his side when he reaches into his pocket for his key-card. You both stand outside the room before he unlocks the door and he drags you in behind him.
You flop straight onto the bed, the sheets still a mess and Harry’s suitcase sprawled out over it. He sighs and kicks off his boots, wiggling his toes and standing between your legs.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says softly, head tilted as he watches you sit back up and take his hand in yours. “You wanna join?” he wiggles his brows playfully and you let out a tired laugh, nodding your head nonetheless.
“You go ahead, I’m gonna put my phone on charge and clear the bed.” You tell him, earning a little nod and a forehead kiss before he’s taking off to the bathroom, turning on the water.
You stand from the bed with a sigh and plug Harry’s charger into your phone while kicking your own shoes off. Your feet were no doubt blistered and you knew it’d be a pain to walk for the next few days.
Looking back at the bed, you sigh. Harry had always been messy when it came to getting ready for events. But you weren’t sure why, considering he had a stylist so Harry never had to find something to wear for his shows.
Nevertheless, you shake your head and begin to refold his clothing, setting it neatly in his suitcase. You brush the creases out of the sheets and fluff up the pillows before making your way to your bag to pull out your toiletries and one of Harry’s shirts you’ll sleep in.
You take them with you to the bathroom, soft melodies slipping past Harry’s lips as he washes the night away. You smile to yourself, the mirror and windows fogged by the heat of the shower that you’re eager to climb into.
You strip from your outfit and open the shower door, Harry turning to look at you with a little mohawk he’d styled with the shampoo. You snort out a laugh and shake your head, standing in front of him so the water falls down on you.
“Well, hello there,” Harry grins cheekily, eyeing your breasts as your nipples pearl. You blush and lean your head back, soothing the water through your hair but Harry can’t keep his eyes off your chest, not when it’s right there.
“Stop staring.” Your eyes are closed as you massage the shampoo into your scalp, but you already know he’s drooling at the sight of you. He always did have a thing for your chest, even if you argued they’re not your best asset.
Harry whines and nibbles on his plump bottom lip. “But, baby, they’re like begging me to love on them.” He argues, paw-like hands holding your waist as his thumbs gently caress the bottom of your breasts.
You snort out another laugh at his reasoning and wash the shampoo away, slathering on some conditioner and turning you both around so he’s now under the water. You guide him to sit on the little seat beneath the shower and adjust the head so the water can reach him.
Harry’s face is now completely level with your chest as you wash the shampoo from his hair. He whines at you with a little pout and you gently massage his scalp with your fingertips.
“I know this usually makes me really sleepy, but with your tits in my face, it's really fucking turning me on.” He rasps out, voice low and suggestive and you have to fight back a little whine of your own.
“You’re such a boy.” You breathe, slathering his luscious locks in your conditioner and leaning down just enough to kiss his swollen lips.
It was only intended to be a peck, but Harry wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you between his legs, lifting your thighs so you straddle his lap.
Your fingers slide through his curls, breathing heavily and you moan softly against his lips. His hands smooth over the curves of your ass, kneading the flesh with little force and you pull away to catch your breath.
“I’m proud of you.” You whisper against his lips, your core bumping the head of his cock and he strains out a laugh.
“You’re proud of me? Babe, you got lost on your own, almost got kicked out of the arena, and you didn’t have a panic attack once. Shit, I’m the proud one here.” Harry argues with a little smile.
You purse your lips to hide your smile and kiss his lips softly again. He kisses you back for a moment before pulling away and squeezing your ass.
“But seriously, I’ve had a raging boner ever since you sent me that naughty pic last night, and I am dying to get lost in that puss-” You cut him off with a heated kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth as your own massaged it.
Harry groans and lifts you both, your legs around his waist as his heavy cock bumps your ass. Your back presses against the shower wall, Harry’s lips chasing the water that drips down your neck.
You tug on his hair, eager to feel him inside you and you know he’ll be giving you what you both want in a matter of seconds. He holds you up with one arm and uses his free hand to grip his cock, pumping himself before he swirls his tip around your entrance.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry whines out, teasing himself against you and you huff, tugging on his hair and sucking his bottom lip into your mouth.
“I feel better once you’re in me,” you remind him, a taunting smirk on your lips, but it’s quick to fade when Harry thrusts his hips into yours, his thick cock stretching you out and you shriek in pleasure.
“Shit, H.” You moan, head thrown back as he slides in and out of you at a delicious pace. The running water is long forgotten, the sound of skin slapping and your arousal squelching being the only sounds you can focus on.
Harry pants in your ear, small grunts sounding through the bathroom as you whine and moan for him. He grabs your ass and spreads your cheeks, knuckles white as he grips you harder.
“So good, baby.” He moans into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe and your eyes roll back.
You can feel him deep in your stomach, feel him throb between your walls and you’re certain you’re about to explode any second. You grip his shoulders, circling your hips on his dick the best you can.
Harry rests his forehead against yours, his eyes focusing on the way his glistening cock slips in and out of your swollen pussy with such ease. “Such a good girl for me.” Harry praises, your pussy clenching around his cock and he chokes out a moan.
“Only for you. O-only good for y-you,” he grins against your lips and picks up his pace, hitting your G-spot with every soul-shattering thrust.
Harry feels you begin to spasm, can feel your body losing its strength and he cups your face with his hands, forcing you to look at him -- your noses bumping while he does so.
“Look at me, baby. Wanna watch you as you cum all over my cock.” He gently coaxes, pinching your nipple with his other hand and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.
“I’m gonna cum,” you cry out, eyes wide and jaw slack. Harry watches you with hooded eyes, jade clouded with lust and with one final thrust, he pushes you over the edge, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and body falls limp.
The choked cry of his name is all it takes for him to paint your walls with his pleasure, a rugged groan slipping past his lips as he cries out your name, collapsing slightly into you and trapping you completely against the wall.
“Holy shit,” you breathe out, head falling back against the tiles on the wall and Harry gently eases out of you, slowly kissing every inch of your face before his lips meet yours in a tender encounter.
“I love you so much,” he breathes against your lips, easing your legs back to the ground and keeping his arms around your waist.
“I love you, too. And hey, I might’ve missed your main show but fuck me, this private show was just as good.” You joke, an angelic laugh sounding through Harry’s throat as he kisses you again.
His arms ease to rest on your ass, soothing over the tender skin he had been gripping. “Let me clean you up,” he mumbles, giving your bum a little tap before he pulls you back under the water.
Harry washes both of you, peppering your skin with gentle kisses before you’re both completely clean and drying off, brushing your teeth side by side. Harry throws on a pair of sweats while you steal a pair of his boxers and his shirt.
Sliding into bed, he curles up behind you, spooning your back and kissing your shoulder. “I’m sorry about missing your show and being so stupid that I got on the wrong trains and stuff.” You huff out.
Harry shakes his head and kisses your shoulder again. “Don’t be. None of it is your fault. Jeffrey should’ve given you that backstage pass yesterday. I’m sorry you had to go through all that on your own, but I’m so fucking proud of you, honey.”
You smile to yourself and hold his hand close to your chest, wiggling back so you’re snug against his chest. “I’m so happy I fell in love with you,” you whisper into the darkness, eyes fluttering closed.
Harry smiles into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as he kisses the crook of your neck. “I’m happy I fell in love with you, too.”
//
if you enjoyed it, please give it a reblog! your feedback and comments are appreciated more than you’ll ever know — i’d love to hear what you thought <;3
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soobnny · 8 months
Text
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voicemails park sunghoon leaves you while he’s on tour — fluff, established relationship, tiny angst
heeseung | jay | jake | SUNGHOON | sunoo | jungwon | ni-ki
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one. hi, baby. how are you? what did you do today? tell me all about it, okay? i love hearing you talk.
two. you know, every single time i finish a show, i just think you’re backstage somehow. that you’re there and waiting for me with the biggest kiss, and you’ll tell me you’re proud of my performance. and then i get upset when i remember you’re oceans away from me. i forget that you aren’t with me right now. i wish it wasn’t like this all the time.
three. (monkey noises) baby, i’m at the zoo! and, oh my god, earlier i saw the cutest otters. you would love them. the tour guide told us that they hold each other so they don’t drift apart in the sea. that’s literally you and me. i’m sending you a hundred pictures when we get back to the hotel.
four. 33 more days, pretty girl. ready up those lips! they are not catching a break when i come home.
five. baby, baby, baby. look, i learned to imitate the sound of a pigeon. wait, listen. (poor pigeon imitation) i did well, no? did i do well? heeseung says it’s absolutely horrible, but i don’t think it’s that bad. anyways, what’s your favorite animal these days? i’ll learn that next!
six. babyyyyyyyyy. i miss you so much, this isn’t fair! i’m actually going to ask bang pd to let me take you with me on the next tour. i cannot do this again. i feel like i’m gonna die if i don’t have you in my arms in the next 24 hours. i hate being far away from you.
seven. hey, are you having a hard time right now? call me back, please. i’ll talk to you until you fall asleep. just know you’re already doing so well, okay? and i can see the efforts you’re making to go on. you’ll get through this, like you did so many times before. it’ll all be better soon. it’ll only get better from here on out. i’ll make sure of that.
eight. i learned a couple magic tricks backstage these past few days. i can’t wait to show them to you!
nine. (kissing noises) (sunoo saying gross!)
ten. let me know about your day. i wanna hear everything. it makes me feel like i’m there with you too
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unholyhelbig · 4 months
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request: single mom reader decides to loan shark from natasha’s mob. when reader can’t pay back the loan, natasha’s men capture and beat her. natasha sees reader among the criminals and drug dealers who also haven’t payed back their loans, and excuses her, forgiving her debt.
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Title: The Oversight
Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff
Wordcount: 2799
Warnings: Drug use, kidnapping, guns, choking, threats, blood, horrible grammar.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
[a/n: Yeah, I kind of feel like this needs a part two. Let me know what you guys think and if you're interested]
Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests
Each breath you drew in spurred a sharp stitch in your side. They came in rapid succession, even as you struggled to recall the fuzzy details that usually calmed you down. Your first street name. What you called your first pet. The name of your second-grade teacher. They all swirled foggily, unable to recall.
Your mouth tasted metallic cotton and your heartbeat was pulsing through your entire body. Counting the thrums hadn’t helped either, you gave up as you rolled your neck in a snow circle. The dried blood that hardened against the side of your face, your cheek, and down the expanse of your collarbone crackled at the soft movement.
The room that housed you was pitch black. It was hard to tell when you opened your eyes, tears welling up and dripping down your face onto your uniform. Your arms were bound behind your back, shoulders screaming in protest and fingers going numb from the cold. Your small noises echoed. Wherever you were was impossibly vast.
The next breath that escaped you was deeper than the rest. Not necessarily calm, but enough for you to take stock of the situation; there were flashes of you leaving the diner where you worked nothing short of twelves. It had just rained, and the air was humid. You dropped your keys and bent down to pick them up.
Before you could insert them into the lock, something hard had come down on your temple. There was a rush of heat sloshing down your face and a moment later, as you looked up at the sky, the steel tip of a boot took the rest of your consciousness.
That didn’t bother you. You were fine, a little banged up, but fine. Your daughter was left with the sitter. It could have been hours, maybe even a day. Your stomach clenched in hunger, and you drifted in and out of lucidity. They’d left you un-gagged but you didn’t have it in you to scream. You had a sinking feeling that no one would hear you anyway.
You’d flinched when the first 500-volt lamp let out a sharp hiss before flipping on. You shrunk into yourself, blinking away the sudden burst of white light that filled the room. It was directed towards you, and the rest of the space was still a frustratingly thick darkness. You couldn’t see who had turned them on, but they could see you.
The boots that walked across the floor were loud. They echoed like your earlier sobs. A metal chair was being dragged, and the sound was piercing. It did nothing to aide your aching head. You were thankful to see something other than pitch black, however big the danger.
You recognized the man who was in front of you. His outline flickered solidly. He looked rougher than you did; dirty-blonde hair, and stubble. There was a bandage across the center of his nose, on his fingertips, as if he’d fisted the razor while shaving. His purple T-shirt was covered by a dusty-brown leather jacket. His stare was hard, emotionless.
“You’re awfully quiet for a hostage.” He said, straddling the chair he had dragged over. His chest rested against the metal backing. “You can scream if you want. Wear yourself down. It’ll make this a lot easier.”
“What is this?” You asked instead of taking him up on his offer.
He was familiar to you. Clint. He came into the diner every Wednesday and Friday night like clockwork. He’d order a roast beef on rye with Swiss cheese and extra dressing on the side. He’d suck down two beers with his meal and tipped generously.
Sometimes he was with the man they called ‘The Winter Soldier’. You’d always found the name laughable, but the rumors about him were enough for you to hold your tongue. He never ate but would sometimes order a diet coke and sip it while Clint spoke through large bites of food.
Law enforcement wouldn’t’ touch Bucky Barnes, and your boss would typically comp whatever he ordered. A few months ago, you had shared your first words with him behind the diner. The air stunk of rotted food and hardly counted as fresh air. However, it was a few degrees cooler than the kitchen.
He had offered you a cigarette, one already perched between his lips, a zippo lighter at the ready in his other hand. You declined with the shake of your head, and a quiet ‘no thank you’. There was an uncomfortable silence, but it was better than the damp warmth of the kitchen. A sweet, burning scent filled your nose when he lit his cigarette and let the smoke curl around the two of you like a slack rope.
“You work hard in there.” Bucky said, taking a long inhale. He held it within his lungs, voice pinched. “Harder than anyone else I’ve seen in a while.”
You weren’t about to tell him about your daughter, not with his reputation, or the small smattering of pink scars across his chiseled features. So, you nodded instead. The number of tips you got in the broken down, greasy diner was the difference between two meals and one. So, you smiled sweetly and laid on the southern accent even though you’d only spent a short stint in Georgia when you were eighteen. It was easy to perfect.
“I bet you could name my order right now.”
“You don’t order.”
“I don’t trust the food.” He shrugged listlessly, a lazy smile against his lips. You couldn’t help but smile back.
“That’s a good call.”
He laughed at your honesty, and it was a nice sound. He disarmed you and that was worrying. Bucky let the cigarette sizzle out in a puddle at his feet. He used the tip of his steel-toed boot to grind the paper into damp ash.
“You wouldn’t’ have to work so hard if you had some extra cash, would you?”
The question caught you off guard and you couldn’t stifle the vicious glare that you gave him. Your break was almost over, and you could have, should have, walked back into the restaurant to finish the rest of your shift. Bucky lifted his hands up as a peace offering.
“Look, lady, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. All I’m saying is, you’re not blind to what happens in there, the type of people that frequent this place. You’ve always turned a blind eye and that’s something my boss appreciates. Something she trusts.”
“And who exactly is your boss?”
He tsked “I can’t tell you that, sweetheart. But she wants to make you an offer, she wants to offer you a loan. You’re what? Three months behind on rent? She’ll front that for you and the following two.”
You took a deep breath of stale air. It was a tempting offer, even if it came in the form of a seedy enforcer in an even seedier alleyway. You were three days from getting evicted. Three days from ending up on the streets in a neighborhood that didn’t’ have a single safe one.
“What’s the catch?” You asked.
“Catch? There’s no catch. This is a friendly loan. All you’ve gotta do is pay it back when you’re on your feet again.”
It was an oversight, not asking for a concrete timeline. You hadn’t paid Bucky’s boss back yet, and over the next few months, there were stifled threats, and both Bucky and Clint watched you carefully at the job that you still worked like nothing had changed. The feeling of being indebted lingered, but this time, it was to an unknown entity instead of a landlord that was ultimately harmless.
Everything needed to be paid back in full. These were thousands you didn’t have. And now, two weeks after the initial threat, you were strapped to a metal chair with blood dripping down the sound of your face, in despite need of a drink of water.
Clint was harmless compared to The Winter Soldier, but his muscles still flexed under his shirt as he pulled his jacket off and let it fall to the dusty floor illuminated in blue light. “I would prefer not to get that dirty. It’s genuine leather, you know?”
You glowered at him as he stood and took a few more steps towards you. He looked relatively harmless each time you’d seen him in the diner. Sometimes he had a girl with him, a slight thing that was just as littered in scars as he was. She would order a plate of bacon that was cooked to a crisp and split it with a golden retriever that laid at their feet.
When his wrapped knuckles made contact with your cheek, your head clocked in the opposite direction. There was a sharp pain in your jaw, a ringing in your ear. He had slammed into the same side of your face as earlier, and you lost vision for a second.
Blood filled your mouth, and you spit the mix of saliva, bile, and blood onto the floor. There was a drain in the center and that worried you more than anything else. Your breathing came fast and hard and you glared at him, teeth stained pink.
“Is that all?” You asked him.
It was stupid, you knew it was stupid. But it bothered you more than anything that you had gotten yourself wrapped up in this. Your father was no stranger to the mob, and you should have seen it from a mile away. The fear he lived with. Until the day he died, he would look over his shoulder and you refused to do the same.
Clint grabbed your face, squeezing hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. “You’re a tough chick, huh? I think we both know why you’re here. All you have to do is get the money and all of this vanishes.”
“I don’t have the money.” Your words were garbled between his fingers. “You’re sure as fuck not going to get it if you kill me.”
“Kill you?” Clint unhanded you and let out a laugh. “Kill you, she says. No, we’re not going to kill you, she would never get her money that way… your daughter on the other hand.”
You pulled against the ropes, and they dug painfully into you. The chair was liable to break, but it had been bolted to the floor. It was much stronger than the one he’d dragged over. The mix of anger and fear that had rushed over you pulled away any thought of lingering aches and pains. Be damned to the head trauma.
Your teeth were gritted, voice a low hiss “Leave her the fuck out of this.”
“Did I strike a nerve?”
“I swear to you, I will get your money, I just need time. I’m not… You can keep me under surveillance as collateral, take my car, my apartment- just leave her out of this.”
Clint gripped your throat with his calloused hand, your ability to breathe became more difficult, half-moon nails digging into your flesh. It stung fiercely, and you let out a gurgle in response. “Or she could be our collateral. I think she’d make a great enforcer, with the proper education, that is.”
Is that what happened to the girl that ate lunch with Clint at the diner? She didn’t looked like she was there against her will, but there was an immense sadness to her eyes. Clint hadn’t released you yet and your vison was growing fuzzy at the edges.
“Let her go,”
Your chest was burning at this point and when he pulled his hand back you tried desperately to regain your sense of lucidity. You coughed, nearly vomiting as he took a long stride backwards, seemingly put into his place with a simple sentence.
Over the ringing of your ears, you heard the sharp click of heels. They were confident, and your chin dropped to your chest as you panted in succession, spit dripping in strings from your lips. You didn’t have the strength to look up, your head was pounding.
“I think that’s enough,” Her voice was smooth, just the smallest bit of an accent in her words. You couldn’t place it, but you couldn’t tell which way was up at this point. “You’re dismissed.”
“Oh, come on Natasha, I was just having a little fun.”
“Dismissed, Clint.”
There was a labored sigh and the sound of his footsteps retreating. It brought little relief to you, however. You felt as if you had traded one evil for another. Eventually, you lifted your head to stare at the ceiling. The stranger hadn’t said anything, and the pitch dark above was more desirable to the unknown.
You heard her sit down and felt her eyes watching you. The swimming in your head started to dissipate so you clocked her with a stare. The woman in front of you was angelic, in such a way that you figured Clint’s choking stunt had actually done you in.
Her stare was an unripe green rimmed in gold, her cheekbones carved from marble. There was a beautiful softness to her expression, and her deep red hair flowed over her shoulders in a waterfall of color. She was studying you, not phased by the cold of the room.
The woman wore a black t-shirt, deep slashes of ink peaking from the dip of the V-neck. You didn’t’ let your eyes linger long. It was a marking that you’d seen on Clints bicep and on Buckey’s hand. You hadn’t gotten a chance to clock it on the girl that was kept in their company.
“Is this the part where you come in with your good cop schtick?” You mumbled.
“Darling, Clint is the good cop.”
“Nice, I like it.” You rolled your shoulders back, fighting the stiffness “Bad cop and worse cop is much more effective.”
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you for someone in your position. Thousands of dollars in debt and seemingly no way to pay back my money. It’s not a good spot to be in, Y/n.”
Natasha stood from the chair, her muscles straining at the action. In a fluid motion, she pulled a black standard issue handgun from the space between her skin and her jeans. She pumped the shaft, the sound echoed more than your quickened breathing.
She used the tip to push your chin up, forcing you to look into her unblinking eyes. You were a dead man, you knew that from her cold stare. You couldn’t look away, even if the option was given.
“Baby, I’ve been in this business for a long time.” Her breath was hot on your collarbone, a mix of mint and tobacco. “I know exactly the type that you are. I cater to your kind. More often than not, my clientele need a little bit of encouragement.”
The tip of her gun traced your jaw, her finger loosely on the trigger. It was cold against your collarbone, down the center of your breasts. She held it there, jaw set in stone.
“We’ll keep you here for a few days. Once you dry out a little, I’m sure you’ll suddenly come into the cash.”
“Dry out? You think I’m on drugs?”
The tip pushed hard enough into your sternum to make you let out a grunt of pain. “You hide it quite well, pet. I’m sure it won’t be as simple when you start to feel those withdraw symptoms. Money flows simple in this town when those cravings kick in.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at her, despite the weapon that she was packing. A frown creased between her eyebrows, but she held it in place. “The hardest thing I’ve ever hit is a blunt in a high school rotation. That was your brilliant plan? Dry me out and then what? Search my backyard for jars filled with money. I don’t have it. I make 2.50 an hour at a diner.”
Natasha scrutinized you, eyes hard. She righted herself and pulled the gun away from your center before flipping on the safety and shoving it back into her jeans. She started to pace the length of the light.
“Bucky, he offered me a loan and I took it so I could pay the rent on an apartment for me and my daughter.” You said, voice quiet “I work thirteen hour shifts six days a week, and it’s still not enough. I’m not… I don’t know who you cater to, but I have a feeling it’s not someone like me.”
“No.” she crossed her arms over her chest, “It seems as if you’re an oversight.”
“Great,” you flexed your numbing fingers, “An oversight you’ll let go?”
Natasha shook her head, clenching and unclenching her jaw. “No, I’m afraid not.”
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pascallftv · 3 months
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Girl Next Door
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Next Part Series Masterlist
Dbf!Joel x F!Reader AU
Word count: 5.6k
Summary: You move back into your dad’s farmhouse in the serene countryside after you graduate college. Your dad hires Joel Miller, his best friend and neighbor, to remodel your private bathroom. Your dad is a truck driver and leaves for a work trip for several weeks, leaving Joel in your company to do his renovations and watch over you. Unbeknownst to you, Joel is just as much infatuated with you as you are with him.
Content: This fic will last multiple parts along with plot. It will be slow burn but I promise it’ll be worth it.
Warning: This first part contains mature content but is mostly plot based. (Mentions of masturbation (m and f), dirty thoughts)
This fic will contain a relationship with a 22/48 age gap. Some parts will contain mature content. There is a plot but chapters may be read separately if desired.
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“Hi, babygirl.” Your dad said, pulling you in for a tight hug, swinging back and forth in your driveway.
You had just gotten back from your six hour drive home from your university in Chicago. The past four years of your life were stowed away in your little white compact SUV. Your college career had flown by in a blur; it felt like just yesterday you were a mere freshman on campus without a clue in the world as to what you were doing with the rest of your life. Fast forward and you were moving back home to stay with your father as you began your new fully remote digital marketing job. You were lucky enough to land a full-time position with a digital marketing company after completing an internship with them the summer before your senior year of college. Eventually you saw yourself living in a big city like LA, but for the time being, you decided to move back home to your dad’s house to save up some money.
Besides, you hadn’t seen your father in months. He was a full time truck driver, so your schedules clashed terribly. Over your breaks at school, your dad was conveniently scheduled to do month long drives. You missed him terribly, so you moving back home was going to allow you to rebuild your relationship with your father.
“I’m so happy to see you. I’ve got your bedroom all clean and ready to go.” Your father said as you pulled away from your hug. His eyes were beaming with excitement. Growing up, you had always been extremely close. When your mother left him when you were just three years old, he took on the job of raising you as a single father. Eventually when you were old enough to be left home alone, he landed a job with a trucking company to deliver supplies across the country. The decision was tough because the last thing your dad wanted was to leave you for weeks at a time, but the salary was too good to pass up with you eventually wanting to attend a four year university. Your college education was extremely important to your father, so seeing his baby girl all grown up with a degree and a full-time job made him so proud.
“Great!” You said, looking back at your car. “I have so much shit to carry in. Mind giving me a hand?”
“I guess.” Your dad said, his tone laced with mock dread.
You and your dad spent the next hour and a half carrying all of your belongings to your bedroom. You hadn’t realized how much shit you had collected over the past few years. By the time you were finished, you were both exhausted. You both sat in the living room sofa, biting into delivery pizza and sipping on soda. You sat with your legs perched up on the sofa cushion, and you felt so homey and accomplished. You started your first day of work at the start of next week. You were incredibly nervous for your first day, but you decided to shift your focus on spending time with your dad.
“So,” he began, “you remember Joel, right?”
Of course you remembered Joel. Joel Miller moved into the house next door the summer you graduated high school. You’d see him occasionally that summer, typically when you’d go outside to sunbathe and he was working on various chores in his yard. You both lived in farmhouses on expansive land in the middle of the country. He spent his time doing yard work and various home renovations when he wasn’t doing contractor work for his clients. You’d spoken to him on various occasions when your dad would invite him over for cookouts or to watch football games. He was a rather reserved man, something in his past making him an abrasive person. Joel had never been rude to you, but he hadn’t been overly kind either. However, that was his normal to you.
“Of course.” You said, taking another bite of pizza. Your dad sat his plate down on the coffee table, then settled back down into his couch cushion.
“I decided since you’re going to be living here full time again that I’d hire Joel to renovate your bathroom. It’s so outdated and I’d rather you have a space that’s fully functioning for when I’m gone. Besides, I want your space to be the best it can be.” Your dad explained. You smiled at him setting your pizza crust back onto your plate.
“Aw, well thank you, Dad.” You beamed up at him, setting your plate next to his on the table. “So what will the renovations consist of? Will it be functional or is he ripping it out completely?”
“If he’s going to do it, I’d rather him start from scratch and build you the bathroom to your liking. I’ll have you two sit down and discuss what you want done so he can go shop from supplies and get an idea of what you want. He’s going to get started at the beginning of next week.” He explained further. “But— I leave for a work trip on Monday and I won’t be back for at least five weeks. I figured you two can handle it and Joel is my buddy, so I trust him.”
Your dad went on about how if you needed anything while he was gone with work, that Joel had offered to help you out. Whether that was if you had any issues with repairs in the house, errands, or simply just someone to confide in. It was summer, and the weather typically got bad in your area. Tornadoes and severe weather weren’t strangers in your region, and it made you and your dad feel safer that someone like Joel was on standby.
“Already, honey. I’m beat. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” Your dad said, standing up from the couch. You stood up next to him and reached out for another hug.
“Goodnight, Dad. Thank you for helping me today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said, your dad squeezing you tight.
Your dad normally wasn’t an affectionate guy, so you knew he was ecstatic for you to be home. This warmed your heart.
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The next day, you spent most of the day unpacking most of your belongings. You started with your clothing, and ended with your toiletries and other essentials. When you were finished, you decided to throw on your bikini to go sunbathe in the backyard. It was a beautiful summer day, and you wanted nothing more than to relax and catch a tan before you spent most of your days inside on your computer. You slipped on your black bikini. It was simple, but it was flattering on your curves and showed off your patchwork tattoos. You threw on your black sunglasses, making sure to grab your headphones, then grabbed a towel from your bathroom. Your dad was right— it was very outdated and your shower and sink were showing signs of age. You were surprised both of them still functioned properly.
When you walked outside, you caught eye of your dad sitting across from someone on the patio. The figure sitting in the chair across from your father’s had ashy brown hair with streaks of gray running through it. He was wearing a washed out denim button up and a pair of dark washed jeans, acccompanied with a worn out pair of work boots. You quickly realized it was Joel.
Your dad’s head turned at the sound of you opening and closing the patio door. He immediately cracked and smile and waved at you.
“Hi sweetie.” He squinted at you, the midday sun bright against his bare eyes. Joel turned his head to to the side, locking eyes on you. He observed you with his dark brown eyes and a knit brow. He ran his calloused fingers over his salt and pepper beard as he took in the sight of you in just your skimpy bikini. Your dad introduced you as you walked towards them, you suddenly feeling insecure under his friend’s gaze. You hadn’t realized Joel was over, otherwise you wouldn’t have stepped out in minimal clothing.
“I’m sure you remember each other.” You dad continued, gesturing between the both if you. Joel nodded, his eyes baring into the dim lenses of your sunglasses.
“I do, you’re much more grown now than the last time I’d seen ya.” Joel said, his voice deep and gruff. Your stomach did a flip at his words. Why were you feeling this way?
Get a grip. You told yourself.
“Yeah.” You breathed out. “18 to 22 is a lifetime within itself.”
Joel nodded then looked back towards your father.
“I told her that you’ll be working on her bathroom for the next several weeks while I’m gone. She might run into a hiccup here and there where she might need to call you over for some help. Shouldn’t give ya too much trouble.” Your dad teased, his eyes dancing between the two of you. Joel nodded and took a sip out of the beer bottle in his hand then dropped it to rest on the arm of his chair.
“I won’t have any other gigs lined up while I’m working here. I should be around if you need me.” Joel spoke, his gaze finding yours once again. You sent him a gracious smile.
“Wonderful, thank you.” You replied. After a moment, you glanced down at your attire and cleared your throat. “I won’t keep you. I came out to get some sun before I’m stuck inside working next week.”
Joel’s eyes were still locked on you, his gaze flickering down your body and back up to eye level. Your skin felt on fire under his stare. There was something about how stern and rigorous his aura was that held your attention captive. The newfound attraction you were suddenly feeling for Joel had you puzzled and almost appalled at yourself. He was definitely a handsome man, but he was over twice you age and he was your father’s best friend. You internally scolded yourself. You weren’t sure why you were suddenly feeling this way towards Joel, but you knew you’d have to shun those thoughts away. It was preposterous.
“There’s a chance for storms next week, get that sun while you can.” Your dad said, your eyes moving from Joel to him. You frowned and adjusted the towel in your arms.
“Great.” You said sarcastically. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”
You sent them both a smile and your father waved you off. You ventured off the patio and onto the trimmed green grass of the backyard. You father and Joel’s properties were gorgeous. The expansive land overlooked a spacious field with a forest in the distance. Just before the unruly tall grass of the field was a large manmade pond with a dock that Joel had built the summer he moved in. The country was serene and beautiful. The only sounds were those of the wind whistling and the occasional airplane flying overhead.
You laid your large beach towel down on the grass. You put on your headphones and carefully laid down on your back. The sun already felt amazing on your skin. During the school year, you hadn’t had much free time to do little self care things like this. You knew the sun wasn’t great for your skin in the long run, but it wasn’t often you got to bask in the sunshine.
As you sunbathed, your dad and Joel engaged in random conversations. They discussed the weather, recent football news, the bathroom remodel, and various other things. Your dad did most of the talking while Joel tried his best to interpret what he was saying. Joel’s gaze was fixated on how perfect your breasts looked as you laid on your back taking in the sunshine. Your nipples were peeking through the thin fabric of your bikini top, not leaving much to his imagination. He adjusted in his chair. He felt his cock hardening inside of his jeans, and mentally he was punching himself. You were way too young for him. Not only was the age gap an issue, but you were his best friend’s daughter. Despite how morally distraught these feelings were making him, Joel couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes off of you. He’d avert his gaze to the pasture every so often so your father wouldn’t catch on, but every time he felt his attention reverting right back to your body.
“I hate that I won’t be here when you’re remodeling.” Your father said, rubbing the bottom of his beer bottle in circle on the wooden arm rest of his chair, observing the stains the condensation from the chilled glass left. “But I trust your judgment. And I trust her taste.”
“You know me. I’m a perfectionist.” Joel’s lips twisted into a half smile, lifting his beer to take another sip. Your father smiled back at him, chuckling and shaking his head.
“You’ll probably drive her crazy with how particular you are.” Your dad joked. It went quiet for a second, the both of them sitting in the peaceful quiet in thought.
“You know, I really thought she’d be engaged and off in some big city somewhere by now.” Your dad spoke, his head leaning back and him closing his eyes to feel the sun beating down on his skin. Joel swallowed hard, looking back towards you. You’d flipped on your stomach, your ass on perfect display for him. His cock twitched in his pants, and he quickly adjusted himself before your father reopened his eyes.
“Why’s that?” Joel responded.
“She’s always been such a romantic. Dunno where she got it from, sure as hell wasn’t me. After her mom left, I didn’t even try to date.” He began. “When she was teenager she was obsessed with romance films and novels. She was always crushing on someone.”
Your dad ran a hand through his graying hair and sighed.
“She got her heart broken pretty bad her senior year of high school. She was dating this asshole for two years and then he cheated on her. Since then, I don’t think she’s even tried to date. Makes me sad for her, but then again I guess it let her focus on her school work.” He explained. Joel felt a tightness in his chest at his words. He was almost jealous.
You were one of the most beautiful women Joel had ever laid eyes on. Not only were you pretty, but you were a kind, wise soul. In the times he’d been around you before you left for college, you acted beyond your years. You were intelligent and engaging to speak to. His infatuation with you had started when you were eighteen, but he had always shunned away his attraction for everyone’s sake.
Joel did know one thing for sure. He didn’t know how in the hell he was going to hide his feelings for you for the next several weeks.
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Monday came sooner than you had anticipated. You had said goodbye to your father the night before because you knew Monday was going to be chaotic with him loading up his luggage for his trip while you were making sure your setup was flawless for your first day of remote work. You’d spent the rest of the weekend rearranging you bedroom and workspace while also prioritizing spending time with your father. You were used to rarely seeing him while you were away at college, but it still pained you to see him leave for the next several weeks.
You began work at nine in the morning. You were a digital marketing assistant for a company within the entertainment industry, so your daily tasks consisted of editing social media content. As long as you got your tasks done for the day, you could take breaks and technically end your day whenever you wanted. By two in the afternoon you had already finished your first day of work, and you immediately felt a weight lifted off your shoulders. You were worried for no reason. You were more than qualified and you enjoyed your work.
You and Joel planned to sit down and discuss the plans for your bathroom remodel that evening, so you spent a majority of the rest of the afternoon researching renovation inspiration. You saved several pictures of showers, sinks, and layouts that you liked to show Joel. You were nervous to see Joel. You were normally very good with hiding your attraction for people, but something about Joel made you extra nervous. You were terrified you were going to act weird and make it painfully obvious. You sighed and stood up from your desk, deciding to take one last shower in your bathroom before it was out of service for the next couple months.
You grabbed your waterproof speaker and connected your phone to play some music as you showered. You decided to shuffle your classic rock playlist and turned the water as hot as it could go. One of your flaws was needing scorchingly hot shower water. You hummed along to “Beast of Burden” as you brushed through the tangles in your hair. Your thoughts began to run crazy as you disassociated while prepping for your shower. Your mind drifted off to Joel. You couldn’t help but wonder about his personal life. Was he seeing anyone? Has he ever been married? If so, what happened? Your thoughts were running wild as you stepped into the shower, the water almost being too hot to withstand, but it felt perfect on your skin.
The water ran off your skin, your hair soaking as you emulsified shampoo between your palms. A scenario began to play in your head. You imagined it were Joel’s large, coarse hands scrubbing the shampoo into your scalp. You closed your eyes and parted you lips as you imagined him towering over you from behind, his front touching your backside as he massaged the shampoo into your locks. The shea butter scent filled the steamy shower stall, the suds falling down the soft skin of your body. You felt a rush of arousal send a tingle down your abdomen into your core. You felt naughty having such disgusting thoughts about your dad’s best friend, but you hadn’t felt this aroused in months. You hadn’t had sex since your last high school relationship. You’d gone on a few dates in college, but none of them ever led to anything. The furthest you’d gone with anyone was a few steamy make outs at the club on the weekends when you got a little too drunk, but you never ended up taking anyone home.
You nipples began to harden under the flow of water from your shower head. Your eyes flickered up to inspect the shower head. It wasn’t detachable. You groaned in disappointment. You needed friction immediately. Your hand reached up to your breasts, softly toying with the supple flesh of your nipple. You ran gentle circles around the raised skin, pinching the mound between your fingertips. You exhaled deeply, your folds slowly begging to become coated in arousal. You squeezed your thighs together to try and relieve the discomfort. Your clit was throbbing at the crest of your folds. You slowly lowered your hand down your torso to your clitoral hood, lifting it up ever so softly to graze your sensitive bud. Your legs jolted at the sudden wash of pleasure in your lower abdomen. You carefully danced circles around the bundle of nerves. After teasing your clit for a moment, you lowered your fingers to swipe up your vulva, then teasing the soft skin around the opening of your vagina.
You inserted your index finger into your opening, curling it upwards to run over the rough skin of your g spot. You moaned softly as you began to pump your finger in and out of yourself. You added a second finger as your canal adjusted to the girth of your first finger. You couldn’t remember the last time you masturbated, so the intense pleasure was overcoming your senses exceptionally fast. You free hand moved downwards to press against the flesh of your pelvic bone, pushing your g spot further against your fingertips. You gasped as you felt the estranged feeling of your orgasm creeping up on you. The white heat of you climax was in the distance, and you moved your outer hand to run circles around your clit. The added pleasure of the clitoral stimulation sent you into pure euphoria. Your orgasm hit you suddenly, your pussy clenching around your fingers. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your climax hit you like a train, your legs losing their strength beneath you. You moaned audibly, your hand jutting out to stabilize yourself against the wall of your shower.
What you didn’t realize as you were pleasuring yourself in the shower was Joel had entered your house to meet with you about your bathroom. He’d figured you were finishing up your work day, so he took a seat on the sofa downstairs. He had texted you several minutes ago and you weren’t responding. He tapped his finger against his thigh, soon realizing he could hear the shower running upstairs. His mind drifted off to imagine how your naked body would look covered in suds and glistening from the water in the shower. He felt like a horny teenage boy. You had been infiltrating his thoughts like crazy since the day you sunbathed. Embarrassingly enough, Joel had jacked off two nights in a row over the sight of your tits and ass in that tiny bikini. He wanted nothing more than to explore your body without the obstruction of clothing. He felt vile and disgusting thinking so animalistically about you, but the infatuation was overcoming him.
Joel’s ears perked up when he heard your muffled moans coming from upstairs. His brows knitted together as he tried to decipher what he had just heard. You couldn’t be, could you? His suspicions were confirmed when he heard you moan again. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and his mind began racing again. You were masturbating not even twenty feet away from him. He felt his pants begin to tighten, and he let out a breathy moan as he palmed himself over his jeans. He felt so dirty and desperate. He longed to bound up the stairs and join you, fucking you against the wall of your shower, your soapy breasts shoved up against the glass door. He tipped his head back and he squeezed his penis through his jeans, the tent struggling against the tight material. He could feel himself leaking into his boxers. In a quick decision, Joel pushed himself off the couch and made his way to the downstairs bathroom. He wasn’t sure how long you would take to finish your shower, but he knew he’d have to relieve himself to be able to have a normal conversation with you about this remodel.
Joel closed the bathroom door, locking it behind him. He wasted no time unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, letting them fall to his ankles. He gripped the sink with his free hand, reaching into his boxers to pull out his throbbing cock. Just as he thought, his tip was leaky and sensitive. He ran his middle finger and thumb in a tight ring around the ridge between his mushroom tip and shaft, stroking it firmly. He breathily whimpered as he gripped the counter harder, his knuckles turning white. He began to pump himself up and down, picturing your breathtaking body in that god for saken bikini again. He imagined pushing you back onto your bed in that skimpy little suit, the ties around your hips loosened. He visualized untying the strings, slipping the material off to expose your perfect pussy to him. God, and your perky tits were enough to make his length twitch in his hand. He stroked himself faster, feeling himself getting closer to release. He replayed the sweet sound of your moan in his head, the small detail being enough for his release to jump in hot spurts against his hand. He moaned as he came hard, his abdominal muscles clenching as his climax overcame his senses.
Joel took a moment to catch his breath and come down from his high before grabbing a tissue to clean up his hand and tip. He exhaled deeply as he tucked his softened length back into his boxers. He wondered if you had finished as he washed his hands with citrus scented hand soap.
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You had come downstairs nearly an hour after Joel had finished. That orgasm was exactly what you needed to relax before facing Joel. Sure, you were consciously fighting the remorse after cumming on your fingers to the thought of your neighbor, but you weren’t nearly as nervous as you had been previously.
You’d gotten Joel’s text, and you internally cringed knowing that he was in the house while you were masturbating to the thought of him. You hurried down to greet him, finding him sitting on the sofa. You noticed his cheeks were more flushed than usual, but you assumed he had just been outside doing chores that day and had gotten a little too much sun.
“Hi, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I was in the shower and got carried away.” You apologized, sitting down adjacent to Joel. He glanced up at you with his big brown eyes, an emotion running through them that you couldn’t put a finger on.
“No worries.” Joel responded with his gruff voice. He cleared his throat. He seemed stiff, as though something was bothering him. You kept your suspicions to yourself and opened your laptop to show Joel the inspiration pictures you had saved.
“I have a few inspiration pictures for the bathroom.” You said softly, your finger dragging gently across the touchpad of your laptop to navigate to the file where you compiled several pictures of bathrooms you found online. You wouldn’t be very helpful with the actual construction of the bathroom, let alone the shopping for parts, but you had an aesthetic in mind. You turned your laptop so it would be easier for Joel to see, and scooted closer to him. Your thighs were inches apart, and Joel swallowed when he noticed he could feel the heat radiating off your bare thighs. You smelled lovely, like warm vanilla and cashmere. The smell was intoxicating and Joel longed to reach out and touch the soft skin of your leg, but he knew he couldn’t.
The first picture you showed Joel was of a bathroom with white and black checkered floors with forest green tile walls. Your favorite color had always been green, and you loved the retro feel of the checkered flooring. Joel was a very simple man when it came to designs, but he found himself loving the pictures you’d chosen. They were very much you. You swiped through the pictures, briefly explaining what you loved about each one. Joel observed each photo carefully, taking into account what stood out most to you.
“I love the gold and black accents.” Joel said at one of the pictures you showed him. You glanced up at him with a toothy grin.
“I was worried you’d hate it. But I’m so glad you agree.” You beamed, looking back towards your laptop. Seeing your smile made Joel feel warm inside. Something as simple as seeing you smile really made Joel realize the effect you had on him. His attraction was undeniable, but the realization of the situation sent a pang of disappointment through him. You were so young with so much life ahead of you. You’d never settle down for someone at his age. He couldn’t give you the typical life you deserved; he couldn’t bring you kids, and you were just starting your career. He was nearing the end of his. It would be selfish of him to ever try and hold you back from experiencing life. Joel tried his best to push away those dreadful thoughts for the time being and focus on the present. He enjoyed being around you, and he was going to make the most of it without letting his newfound feelings interfere.
“I’ll have to go to the store and scope out some materials. There’s a chance they won’t have everything we need in store and I might have to order online. If I end up ordering online, it won’t be a big deal considering I’ll have to tear out most of your bathroom first.” Joel explained. You listened attentively as he spoke, you gaze focusing on the way the lines in his face moved as he spoke. You could sit and listen to him speak for hours and not get bored.
“Do you mind if I go take a look at your bathroom and take some pictures?” He asked, leaning back to take his phone out of his front pocket. You swallowed hard as your eyes drifted to the crotch of his jeans, observing the protruding outline. You quickly looked back towards his face, but he had noticed. He decided to not address it, but he couldn’t help but feel the electricity strike through him. Maybe he was overthinking it; you were probably looking innocently to see what he was reaching for.
“Oh, yes of course. Help yourself.” You responded, closing your laptop and placing it on the coffee table in front of you. As you leaned forward, Joel’s gaze fell to watch the way your ass peeked out of the bottom of your shorts. He couldn’t help himself. He averted his eyes as you sat back up. He cursed at himself mentally when he felt his dick begin to harden in his boxers.
“Lead the way.” He said, pushing himself off the couch.
He followed you upstairs, his hand immediately falling to his crotch to adjust himself. The friction only made things worse. It didn’t help that he had a perfect view of your ass as you climbed the stairs. He could only hope you wouldn’t notice the tent in his pants once you got to the bathroom.
You lead him through your bedroom, apologizing quietly at the mess since you were still in the process of unpacking all of your belongings. Your room smelled heavenly. It smelled exactly like you and your delicious vanilla perfume. The smell itself made Joel feel weak. When you made it to the bathroom, you stepped aside to give him room to take pictures and observe what needed to be done. You took a moment to really take in his appearance. His shoulders were wide and his muscles were practically protruding through the short sleeves of his button up shirt. His jeans were tight against his muscular thighs, and even tighter against his crotch. You could’ve sworn the bulge in his pants was even larger than you’d observed downstairs, but you looked away quickly. You felt it deep in your core as you thought about the possibility of him being hard around you. You convinced yourself it was impossible.
Joel began snapping pictures of your bathroom, taking close ups of any details he found important. He opened the stall door to your shower, investigating the impurities in its design. It was definitely aged and needed repairs. It was a good thing he would need to rip out the shower entirely to remodel it to your desired design. This remodel would probably take him a couple months. He knew it would challenge his abilities, but it wasn’t anything impossible for him. He knew it was going to take extra time considering he wanted nothing but perfection for you.
“I’ll probably start tearing out the shower and sink tomorrow. I’ll need to go ahead and replace the toilet too. It’ll take me a few days to tear everything out.” Joel exhaled, taking a step back from the bathroom and peering down at you. “I’ll need to go to the store today and order some materials to make sure they’re here by next week. Would you like to come with me to pick out what you want?”
Your belly fluttered at the idea of running to the store with him. It would feel very domestic spending time with him outside of with your father and this remodel. Although it was still for the remodel, you would be able to spend time with him in public and get to know him better.
“Sure, I would love to.” You said, grinning up at him with your doe eyes.
You were close in proximity, and his musky aftershave was intoxicating. If the circumstances were different, you’d waste no time in pulling him into you and kissing him, but you couldn’t do that. You looked away to locate your purse.
“Do you want to go now? Maybe we can get something to eat on the way back?” You said, wandering over to your desk to grab your purse.
“That works.” Joel said, his voice deep and rich. He ran hand through his hair and put his phone in his pocket, replacing it with his keys in his hand.
Joel was nervous. Nervous to spend time with you outside of this project. You were wonderful and he wanted nothing more than to spend time with you, but he knew how dangerous that was for him. He feared the more time spent with you, the more he was going to become infatuated with you. But nonetheless, he led the way to his truck.
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dirtytomatoedwrites · 10 months
Text
Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 1
Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader
Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.
Warnings:  18+ Smut. Dark!Rafe. Virgin!Reader, Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering, squirting.  Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.
Word Count: 9k words (Yo it took me months to write but I finally did it) 
Author Note: Hello lovelies! So this is an original idea I’ve had for a while now... and this is the longest fanfic I’ve ever written for a character. Who did I write this tale about Rafe motherfucking Cameron of course. HA!  I may do a part 2 but we’ll see based on the response it gets.  Love you all and thanks for reading and listening - there’s music in there too so if you can listen to the tracks as you read it’ll heighten the experience. 🫶 Enjoy!
Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.  
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Rose, elegant and poised as ever, fiddled with Ward's bowtie. It was a futile attempt to straighten it, and you wondered if the Kooks knew how ridiculous they looked, their privileged lives spent fussing over trivial things.
"Do you play?" Ward's voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of interest. He had seen you eyeing the piano in their opulent living room before, and it was clear he suspected you had a musical inclination.
"A little," you replied, shrugging nonchalantly. You didn't want to give too much away. The Kooks had a tendency to pry, and you had learned the hard way that it was better to keep your guard up.
The Camerons were pleasant enough, but like the other Kooks on Figure Eight, they didn't really care about the Pogues. You had grown up being told that Pogues were different from Kooks, but as you got older, you realized it was more complicated than that. The Kooks were narrow-minded, lacking empathy and understanding. They saw the Pogues as nothing more than servants, there to cater to their every whim. It was a toxic dynamic and one that you had learned to navigate with caution.
The key to survival on the Outer Banks was invisibility. You had learned that early on. The less you revealed about yourself, the safer you were. So you didn't tell Ward that your father had started teaching you piano before you could even walk. You didn't tell him that music was your escape, your solace, your everything.
"Well, a bit of something is better than nothing," Ward chuckled, his eyes flickering back to you. "I bought it thinking it would be nice to have music in the house that wasn't rap or pop, but you know how kids are." He chuckled again. "No one seems interested in learning how to play it. If you want to try it out, our door is always open."
The Kooks were the quintessential chameleons, expertly donning the cloak of benevolence and charity. But behind the facade lay their self-centered motives, concealed in plain sight. In their company, you had to be just as duplicitous as them, your true self lost in a sea of artifice. So you donned your own mask of deceit, feigning a grin while burying your true feelings behind a veneer of politeness.
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As the grandfather clock in the hallway struck six, Rose and Mr. Cameron stepped into the warm North Carolina evening, dressed to the nines for their elegant black-tie affair. You were left behind in the kitchen with Wheezie, chatting aimlessly about everything and nothing. A comfortable silence settled between you.
"Want to watch a movie, Wheezie?" you asked, but you already knew the answer.
"Maybe next time? I'm having a Stranger Things watch party with my friends. We're on season three, actually," she replied as she pulled out her phone and began texting.
"Oh, that's cool. Sure, let me know when you're hungry and we'll order in."
A few minutes later, you were left alone in the kitchen, grappling with the void of the next five hours stretching before you. Your gaze was inexorably drawn to the open double doors of the living room, and a force beyond your control tugged at your heartstrings.
There, in the corner of the Camerons' living room, stood a magnificent black Steinway & Sons piano. A work of art that you had only seen in fleeting glimpses on the internet, played by virtuosos with mastery beyond compare.
The Camerons' piano was an exquisite piece. Valued upwards of forty thousand dollars, it was a show-stopper that begged to be played in a prestigious concert hall. And yet there it sat in their living room, untouched and unloved.
With a fluttering heart, you approached the baby grand piano, drawn by an unconscious force beyond your control. As you lifted the fallboard, a heady scent of wax and mahogany wafted into your nostrils, creating a longing you could barely contain. Your fingertips brushed against the smooth, pristine ivory keys, unable to resist the urge to touch. As you pressed down on one, a crystalline note filled the air, flawless and true. Before you could even think, you were seated on the bench.
Back straight and feet planted firmly on the floor, you thought about all the classical pieces you had practiced over the years and loved to play. How each piece would sound hollow on your cheap, antiquated piano in your small family home. Music was your first love, and you longed for the day to play on stage accompanied by the New York Symphony Orchestra.
Closing your eyes, you allowed your mind to wander, imagining a sea of faces, a packed audience hanging on your every note. In your mind's eye, you saw your dad sitting in the front row, his gaze filled with pride and love. The thought of his reaction, a validation of all his sacrifices over the years, filled you with purpose.
Driven by your distant dream, you let your fingers glide across the keys, effortlessly weaving a tapestry of sound that flooded the Camerons' living room with music.
With meticulous attention, you listened closely to the dynamics of the piece. You noticed the way the Steinway amplified the subtlest variations in volume, imbuing the composition with a melancholic mood. Your fingers moved with practiced ease, executing intricate runs and arpeggios with fluid grace.
Enraptured by the music, you let the notes wash over you. Every facial expression was a reflection of the emotional journey unfolding before you. As the piece reached its crescendo, your fingers moved faster, striking the keys with greater force, a physical manifestation of your emotions. Your hands flowed in flawless harmony with the rhythm, pouring your soul into the music. And with the final notes, you laughed breathlessly, basking in the afterglow of your musical outpouring.
But your blissful moment was cruelly interrupted as you suddenly sensed you weren’t alone. Your eyes snapped open, and a cold wave of fear washed over you.
“Shit! I am so sorry,” you stammered, your voice trailing off in a rush of apologies as you gingerly lowered the piano fallboard.
“You know,” Rafe’s words were laced with honey, each syllable slow and sweet, yet there was no mistaking the menacing undertone to them. “We don’t take kindly to people touching our things,” he drawled, his intense gaze locked onto yours, a warning glimmer lurking within his dark eyes.
“I… I had permission from your dad,” you insisted, your words barely audible above a whisper as you tried to defend your actions.
His response was a dismissive chuckle. The atmosphere was taut with tension as he nonchalantly propped his golf bag against the wall. Leisurely slow, he sauntered over to you, his hands casually tucked away in his pockets.
“What were you playing anyway?” he inquired, his tone deceptively relaxed.
“You mean the name of the piece?” you swallowed hard, fear palpable. “It’s called Nocturne in C-sharp Minor.”
The tall blonde squinted at you, and you could not decipher his expression. Wanting to avoid further irritation, you slowly rose from the piano bench and dusted it off.
“What kinda name is that?”
“I… I…” you stammered, blood surging in your ears from fear as Rafe suddenly leaned in and lifted the fallboard. He scanned the keys, perhaps checking for any scratches. You took a deep breath. The scent of his expensive cologne and freshly mown grass overwhelmed your senses.
“I don’t know. It worked for Chopin, I guess.” You said quietly.
“Chopin…” he said with his lip jutted.
“He’s the composer. He wrote it and-”
“I know Chopin,” Rafe interrupted, his eyes suddenly locked on you. Up close, you could not deny that they were a striking shade of blue, if not for the death glare he gave you. “Chopin, Beethoven, Einaudi, Bach…” He backed away and sat in a nearby chair. “Brahms… I’ve been to enough of those long-ass concerts to at least know their names.”
You felt a confusing mix of awe and jealousy as you listened to Rafe’s words. The pit in your stomach proved this. You had never been to a proper symphony concert, and the school concerts you had attended were barely amateur. The thought of your dad’s broken promise to take you to one was a constant source of frustration. However, Rafe’s casual disdain for the very concerts he was lucky enough to attend seemed to be a new addition.
“Well… I’m not getting paid to mess around on your piano,” you said with a wry smile, as you tried to mask your emotions.
“You’re right. You’re not,” Rafe retorted while he twisted the gold signet ring around his index finger with his thumb. Head tilted to the side, his eyes raked over every inch of you, from your hair, your oversized sweatshirt and jeans to your worn knockoff Converses. You felt self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. He made you want to crawl into a hole and hide.
“I… I should check on Wheezie,” you whispered, eager to escape the tension in the room.
“Why?” Rafe asked, halting his twirling of the signet ring. His face appeared bemused until a sly grin tugged at his lips. “Weeze is a big girl, right? Might as well… play Chopin while she’s doing her own thing…”
As you babysat for the Camerons, you occasionally spotted Rafe in the vicinity. Sometimes, he was accompanied by a striking beauty, while other times he hung out with his friends. Even when he was alone, his body language was a clear warning: "Keep your distance." His piercing gaze made you feel diminutive and unimportant, as if any attempts at interaction would be met with cold indifference. In his presence, you felt like you were navigating hostile terrain, just a misstep away from a precarious situation.
"Well?" he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his lower lip with a finger. The gesture seemed to carry a message, but what message you weren't sure. What was certain was that his expression of amusement made it evident that the outcome was secondary—he was simply enjoying watching you squirm.
Your tongue darted out to moisten your parched lips, while anxiety twisted in your gut as you stared nervously at the grand Steinway piano and Rafe. The weight of his words lingered in the air, causing you to hesitate and consider the potential consequences of your answer.
Every which way you looked at it, you were fucked.
Rafe was bound to tell his parents, and you were sure enough about to lose your job once they found out. Despite Mr. Cameron's outward kindness and willingness to accommodate, you knew very well that playing their piano without supervision was not within the bounds of your permission. And he certainly would not appreciate you lying about it either.
Still, you were determined to make the most out of a shitty situation. You weren't trying to prove anything to Rafe, but if this was going to be your last time playing a Steinway, you would go out in style.
You had chosen a haunting, evocative melody,  a tale of lost love and longing. The notes rang out, clear and true, as your fingers danced over the keys. 
Closing your eyes and shutting out the world and Rafe, you allowed the music to flow from your fingertips, guided by instinct and emotion. Your touch was delicate yet confident, breathing life into the haunting melody.
After the last notes of the piece hung in the air like a delicate mist. You held your breath, waiting for some kind of response from Rafe, but all you got was a deafening silence. The room felt like it was closing in on you, and you couldn't help but cast a quick glance in his direction.
Rafe's eyes bored into yours with an intensity that made your heart stop. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. When you finally lowered the fallboard, the tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.
"I should check on Wheezie," you whispered, breaking the silence.
Rafe made no reply, and you took that as permission to leave. When you returned downstairs a half hour later, Rafe was nowhere to be seen and you sighed in relief.
In the best-case scenario, Rafe would keep your little transgression to himself. In the worst-case scenario, you could explain to Mr. Cameron that curiosity got the better of you and seek his forgiveness. Either way, you vowed never to touch their piano again.
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"What's on your setlist today, piano girl?" Rafe's voice caused your heart to skip a beat, and you nearly spewed out the orange juice pooling in your mouth. A mere week had passed since your previous babysitting job at the illustrious Cameron residence. Yet here you were once again, feeling a pang of anxiety at the mere sight of him. You had desperately hoped to avoid any interaction with Rafe for the remainder of your shift, but fate had other plans in store.
There he was, sauntering into the kitchen, sporting an obnoxiously bright salmon polo shirt that clashed horribly with his teal shorts, and finished with a backwards baseball cap. Despite his frat boy appearance, you couldn't help but admit that he looked undeniably handsome. The realization hit you like a brick and left you feeling inexplicably uneasy.
"Excuse me?" you sputtered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
Rafe's gaze shifted towards the living room, where the Steinway was waiting behind closed doors.
"No, I don't think it's a good idea," you said, your voice trailing off as you watched Rafe roll his eyes.
"Whatever," he drawled with a dismissive flick of his wrist, exuding an air of nonchalant superiority as he strode out of the kitchen.
You parroted his words under your breath, feeling frustration boil inside you. Despite his insufferable demeanor, you chose to let it slide. After all, you needed this job, and with a week of smooth sailing under your belt, you suspected that Rafe had kept your little piano incident under wraps. You weren't about to jeopardize your livelihood over a petty disagreement with Rafe Cameron of all people.
Just as you were considering taking refuge in the kitchen to avoid Rafe, the sound of a key being struck on the Steinway echoed through the kitchen, beckoning you towards it.
You stepped into the living room, a bundle of nerves and anticipation, only to find Rafe sprawled in the same chair as before. The piano's fallboard was already raised. Its ebony and ivory keys gleamed in the warm light of the setting sun. Rafe's piercing gaze locked onto yours, then flicked towards the piano.
"Do you want me to play something?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Rafe shrugged, looking uninterested. "Do you want to?" he asked, his voice dripping with boredom.
"I don't mind, I guess," you replied, chewing your bottom lip.
If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you were desperate for another chance to play the Steinway. There was a piece that you couldn't get out of your head, and you knew it would sound magnificent on it. You did not need to be asked twice. But at the same time, you were no fool.
You had heard whispers about the "Kook King." Infamous for settling disputes with his fists, not for acts of kindness. You had no idea what was taking place here or why Rafe was suddenly allowing you to play the Camerons' prized possession. But despite your internal warning bells that this could be a trap, you put your glass of orange juice on the floor next to the bench. Consequences be damned.
Taking a confident breath, you aimed to kill.
As you hit the final notes of the composition, the silence was shattered by Rafe's ragged breaths. Your eyes locked onto his, and you saw a flicker of something in his gaze that was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"I've been working on that one for a while," you said, trying to sound nonchalant despite his stare. "I know it's not perfect, but I-"
"No, it's good," Rafe interjected with a croak. "You're good."
His words validated your talent, and a rush of excitement surged through you, causing a grin to spread across your face as you basked in his praise. But the moment was short-lived as Rafe pulled out his phone and started scrolling, his demeanor shifting from impressed to cold indifference. Without warning, he abruptly rose from his seat, an air of superiority emanating from his towering frame.
"Tell Rose I'm having dinner at Top's," he drawled, his voice dripping with aloofness as he looked down his nose at you.
"Sure, okay," you stammered, still reeling from his sudden change in behavior.
Without another glance in your direction, he strode out of the room, leaving you to wonder what the hell just happened.
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It became routine. A ritual. Embedded in your weekly visits to the Cameron residence.
Each time you babysat Wheezie, the air would fill with the soothing sound of classical music, as you took your place at the Steinway and brought the keys to life. Rafe, either in the background or seated nearby, listened intently. His brooding demeanor was a stark contrast to the beauty of the music.
As the weeks went by, playing the Steinway became a treasured routine, and it wasn't just the music that captivated you. With every note played, the invisible barrier between you and Rafe seemed to thin. Despite his reserved exterior, there was a subtle shift in the room when he was around, a magnetic pull that drew you closer to him until one evening, a simple question from him sparked a conversation that would change everything.
"Where did you even learn to play like that?" Rafe asked as the sun cast its final rays of light into the opulent living room, painting the space with a breathtaking array of orange, pink, and purple hues.
You had just finished playing a piece by Bach. The air was still thick with the lingering notes of the Prelude as you closed the Steinway lid.
"There's barely electricity on the cut. Far less for piano classes, and even if there was, you can't—you can't teach this, know what I mean? Well, not the way you play it anyway." His tone shifted, taking on a new quality of—dare you think it?—admiration. You couldn't help but wonder if the beer he was drinking had anything to do with his slip of the tongue and the emotions that seemed to seep through in his words.
You cast your eyes to find Rafe leaning forward in his chair, said beer bottle in hand, his hair falling into his face and his eyes laser-focused on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that made you feel like you were being seen, truly seen, by him. But as much as you were flattered by his attention, something lurking in the depths of his gaze made you feel uneasy, and you weren't entirely sure why. You brushed the stray thought aside.
"My dad taught me." You said with pride in your voice. "Did you know they used to have jazz nights at the Wreck?" You turned your body towards Rafe, eager to share this piece of history. "Back then, it wasn't called the Wreck. Anyway, my dad used to play there every night from seven until midnight until the Carreras took over. Now he works on the big oil rig in Burnsville."
"Does he still play?" Rafe asked.
You hesitated for a moment, realizing you were oversharing with Rafe Cameron of all people. But something about his presence made you feel comfortable enough to continue. "No, after my mom left," you trailed off, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "He just gave up on music altogether."
Rafe looked down, his expression unreadable.
"I guess I'm trying to keep the tradition alive, in my own way. It's not jazz, but he approves." You smiled softly. "Anyway, what about you?"
Arresting blue eyes flicked up at yours, and your stomach flipped.
"What about me?" he asked, his voice low and husky, dripping with curiosity and challenge. He leaned back in his chair, the rattan creaking beneath him. He lazily ran a hand through his blonde hair, revealing his chiselled features. You weren't sure why, but the gesture felt calculated. As though it was meant to entice you. And yet you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest as you drank in the sight of him.
"No offense, but you don't look like the type to be into..." you waved your hand towards the piano, trying to deflect his gaze and lighten the mood.
"Yeah? What do I look like I'm into?" Rafe purred seductively, his tongue swiping his top lip. His eyes fixed on you. You didn't miss his tone. The double entendre just beneath the surface, if you were bold enough to respond to it. You were sure the alcohol running through his veins had something to do with his sudden flirty behavior. Tomorrow, he'd probably forget the whole thing. But it still didn't stop the butterflies from dancing in your stomach.
"I...I..."
"Go on, don't be shy," Rafe coaxed, his eyes dark and intense, almost daring you to take the bait.
"I don't know," you breathed out a laugh, suddenly feeling flustered and self-conscious.
"Yeah, you do." Rafe said, his tone low and teasing. "Saying I don't look like the type means you have a type in your head. So, let's hear it. What kind of man do you think I am, Y/N?"
You were certain this was not about music anymore, and you felt way out of your element. What were you supposed to say about that? You decided to keep the conversation neutral and err on the side of caution.
"Okay," you nodded as you shifted on the bench. "You look like the type to be interested in other types of music, you know like rap or hip-hop, rock— even country and western, anything but this."
Rafe looked away with a chuckle, a deep rumble that made your skin tingle. He nodded slowly, pondering your words.
"Does that sound bad? I know it sounds awful. I'm sorry." You cringed.
"Nah, it's pretty tame actually... innocent even..." Rafe murmured more to himself than to you. You shivered as his piercing blue gaze met yours, then slowly traveled down to your lips, neck, and every inch of your oversized t-shirt and cardigan to your jeans-covered body.
He cleared his throat, his voice low as he spoke. "And you're not wrong. Classical music was my mom's thing. She loved it." He said taking a swig of his beer.
"Oh," you breathed out, taken aback by the unexpected answer. Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Why Rafe was always so engrossed in the music each time you played. The wistful expression that crossed his face whenever he heard familiar pieces of music. It was like a window into his soul, a glimpse into a hidden part of him that he kept from the world. And just as you pieced together your thoughts, Rafe spoke, confirming your suspicions.
"We used to go to the mainland to see 'The Four Seasons' or 'Carmen' or some other shit like that. I don't know, it reminds me of her, I guess. Takes me back to happier times." Rafe shrugged, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he sipped his beer.
"I'm sorry..." you whispered.
"Nah, don't be. She was sick for a long time, and now she's... Anyway, It's all good now." Rafe replied with a forced nonchalance, a fragile façade attempting to conceal his true emotions.
"So, you listen to classical music for nostalgia..." you whispered, your voice tinged with a touch of melancholy.
“I guess you could say that,” Rafe said thoughtfully, tilting his head from side to side as he considered your words. He scrunched up his face, eyebrows drawn together as if he had tasted something bitter. “But I'm not a classical music aficionado or anything. It’s not like I’m requesting it in the club. Can you imagine that shit? Right after 21 Savage fuckin’ Mozart on blast. I’d get jumped.”
"I don’t know, you might start a trend," you smiled.
“Sounds like you want me to get jumped”
You outright laughed at that one. “Well, it depends, do you deserve it?”
“Oof” Rafe countered, clutching his chest faux wounded. “That was good.”
You shrugged with a smile, feeling an unexpected kinship with Rafe of all people. Here was this tough, brooding guy who, beneath the surface, was incredibly sentimental and even had a sense of humor. It was a sweet and surprising discovery.
"What about you? Why do you play?" He asked, his blue eyes roaming across your facial features slowly, curiously, when your laughter had died and all that was left was contented silence.
"Good question. Why do I play? Well, I guess for me... it's about the emotion," you replied, your fingers tracing the Steinway keys without pressing them. "Each note, each chord, each composition tells a story. It's like I'm a part of that story, and I get to bring it to life. You don’t need words you just… feel it.”
Rafe nodded, understanding. "I get it. You're the storyteller. The piano is your instrument channelin’ that shit.”
"Exactly!" you said, touching your nose and pointing to him with an earnest laugh.
"Exactly," Rafe repeated with a soft chuckle, his gaze fixated on you.
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“Hey, how come I never see you at bonfires?” Rafe asked, a mischievous glint in his eye one sunny afternoon when Rose and Mr. Cameron went out for drinks with friends, leaving Wheezie in your care.
“Bonfires just aren’t my thing,” you replied with a shrug.
“What, no friends to hang out with?” he teased.
“I have plenty of friends!” you retorted, a hint of a smirk playing at your lips.
“Friends that I’ve never seen you with,” he pressed.
 “What do you mean ‘friends I’ve never seen you with’ are you stalking me around town?” 
“Maybe I am...” he shrugged a small devious smile curled his lips. “Whatever. Well, my friends and I clearly hang out when you’re not around,” you shot back, a playful smile lighting up your face.
“Sure you do,” he drawled, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.
Rafe leaned forward against the piano, the sun casting a warm glow on his handsome features. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, and how the muscles in his arms flexed under his t-shirt while he absentmindedly tapped his index finger on the piano lid.
“You know, there’s more to life than playing music,” Rafe said, his voice low and smooth, as he turned the words over with his tongue. His finger tapping the lid, became slower, more measured.
“Oh, I know that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I have plenty of other things going on.”
“Yeah? Like what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Like studying,” you said, trying to keep a straight face as Rafe scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m actually quite serious about my grades.”
"I wouldn't expect anything less from a good girl," Rafe chuckled. Once again, his comment caught you off guard. Although you knew he wasn't mocking you, it still felt strange that he felt the need to mention what he perceived was good girl behavior. “Seriously though, you should have some real fun too. Do some shit you probably shouldn’t do. Life’s too short to be cooped up not living it.”
You shrugged, unsure of what to say. Rafe had a point, but you weren’t sure if bonfires were the kind of fun you were looking for. Still, there was something about the way he looked at you that made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but swallow nervously. As if reading your thoughts, Rafe leaned closer.
“You know, I could show you a good time if you want.” Rafe’s voice was low and husky as he leaned in close, his minty breath fanning your cheek. While he had flirted before, this time there was a sober earnestness to his words that made your heart race. But before you could even formulate a response, the front door's slam cut through the thick tension.
Rafe straightened himself, briefly glancing towards the hallway before fixing his gaze back on you, his jaw tightly clenched in irritation. With determined strides, he purposefully walked away, the sound of his long steps resonating down the corridor, while you unintentionally caught snippets of his familiar argument with Sarah.
It seemed Sarah had developed an interest in John B, a guy you had seen around town, but Rafe vehemently disapproved due to his “pogue” status. You couldn’t fathom why he held such strong opposition, especially considering that you, too, were a Pogue. Had he conveniently forgotten? Or did he consider you an exception?
As you closed the lid of the Steinway, an inescapable curiosity filled your mind about what set your relationship with Rafe apart. Maybe he only saw you as a friend rather than a romantic interest the way Sarah felt about John B.
Reluctant to admit it to yourself, the thought pierced through, leaving you with a confusing mixture of disappointment, anger, and self-annoyance for even entertaining the idea that Rafe could ever feel that way about you.
As Rafe persisted in berating his sister, you dismissed any contemplation of what might have happened between the two of you if she had arrived just a few minutes later.
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“Hello?”
“I'm in here.” Rose’s voice, sharp as a razor’s edge, resonated through the foyer of the Camerons’ residence. As you entered the kitchen, you discovered her gingerly picking up the remnants of a shattered vase from the tiled floor. You offered to help her, but she brushed you off with a dismissive gesture.
“No need, honey. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” She said, smiling unconvincingly.
Mr. Cameron burst into the room a few seconds later. His dominating presence charged the atmosphere, his eyes glinting like ice. It was only when his eyes landed on you that his demeanour changed.
“Oh, Y/N. Thanks for coming on such short notice. We’ll only need you for two hours. Sarah should be back by then.” He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.
“Uh, sure. Of course.” You replied. You scurried out of his path as he snatched a file and car keys from the kitchen table.
“I’ll be in the car.” He informed Rose tersely, eliciting a stiff nod from her.
Feeling Rose’s disquiet, you intervened to clear the shattered vase. “I can pick these up for you, Rose.” You said warmly.
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” You assured her with a nod.
“Thank you.” She murmured, her smile returning. “Wheeze is upstairs doing her homework. I’m sorry about all of this. Things are a bit crazy today.” She said, her grip on her bag and sunglasses tightening as if she were holding onto her sanity by a thread. And with that, she vanished, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the shattered pieces of the vase.
Having cleared the wreckage, you climbed the stairs to find Wheezie immersed in her studies in her room, her headphones firmly in place. You inquired if she needed anything or was okay, but she appeared blissfully unaware of the chaos that had unfolded. You marvelled at her ability to concentrate amidst the turmoil, yet you couldn’t dispel the nagging suspicion that the Camerons hid a dark secret beneath their façade of rich superiority. With a sigh, you left Wheezie to her schoolwork and descended the stairs as the sound of the living room door being opened roused your suspicions.
As you passed the living room, your heart sank at the sight of Rafe. He was sitting on his usual chair, swaying back and forth, lost in a jumble of incoherent words. His eyes were bloodshot and streaked with tears. You hurried towards him, your mind racing with worry and fear. You sat down on the floor in front of him, your heart pounding in your chest.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
He responded with a roar that shook you to your core. The words that spilled out of Rafe’s mouth were like knives, cutting deep into your soul. He berated himself with a ferocity that was frightening, how he was a failure in his father’s eyes, how he was nothing but a disappointment. You placed a comforting hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, trying to offer some solace amidst his torment.
His eyes flicked to your hand, then to your face, as if seeing you for the first time. Rafe’s jaw tightened, his eyes raw with emotions you couldn’t decipher. There was anger there, yes, but there was something else too – something deeper, more primal.
“Play something.” He suddenly demanded.
“I can- I can get someone for you. Do you want me to call your-”
“No. I don’t want that. I want you to play.” He almost sneered at you.
“Okay.” You whispered tentatively.
You made your way to the piano, your fingers trembling with anticipation. As you began to play, the haunting melody flowed from your fingertips.
As the tender notes from the piano enveloped you, the outside world ceased to exist. Within the protective cocoon of the Cameron's living room, you hoped your music might be a balm for Rafe’s pain. But this sanctuary of sound was violently shattered when an aggressive tug at your hair ripped you from your reverie.
Suddenly, Rafe was there, his fingers cruelly ensnared in your hair, exerting a force so savage it wrenched your head backward, choking off your breath and stilling the music in one brutal tug. The once harmonious room was now charged with an electrifying tension, your eyes captured and held hostage by the ferocity in his.
This was not the Rafe you knew.
The Rafe towering above you appeared utterly transformed. Unrecognizable in every way. Gone was the Rafe who had shared countless evenings filled with laughter and sharing stories. Gone was the anchor that made you feel connected and safe.
Instead, frustration etched itself onto his face like a battle scar, while his dilated pupils revealed an intensity you had never witnessed before, oscillating between your fear-stricken eyes.
His gaze dipped to your parted lips as you let out the breath you were holding, and before you could react, before you could appease him, Rafe captured your lips with his.
You froze. Paralyzed against Rafe's lips. Shock stole your breath away.
Time stopped in an instant as you grappled with the thought that this was a dream, a surreal nightmare. But that fragile notion shattered like glass as Rafe's movements became evident. His lips melded against yours like clay taking form. Hard and desperate, his kiss abruptly catapulted you back into the chilling reality that this was, without a doubt, happening.
Your instinct for survival surged as your fight-or-flight response kicked in. You attempted to push him away, but Rafe tightened his grip on your hair and yanked harder, forcing your submission, his tongue plunging into your mouth when you whined in protest.
The taste of alcohol on Rafe’s tongue was bitter and overwhelming. You tried to convince yourself that this was the reason behind Rafe's behaviour. Any moment now, he would realize his mistake, any moment he would let you go. But instead, Rafe's fingers sank into the hollow of your jaw, holding it open while his tongue explored the warm interior of your mouth.
You whimpered softly as his tongue twirled against yours with ferocity. Rafe adjusted his hand in your hair and gripped tighter, making you cry out as pain surged through your scalp and neck. The sound didn't deter him, as he forced your head back drinking from your mouth greedily.
Discordant notes rang out as you lashed out wildly, reaching for anything you could hold onto for balance. Your hands found Rafe's bicep and you dug your nails into his skin, trying to pull his hand away as he kissed you like a man possessed.
Your entire body was inflamed with sensations you had never experienced before as pleasure and pain bled into one. Your scalp ached yet your body felt hot. Your nipples were suddenly sensitive to your sweater's scraggly wool while you ached between your legs for something you had not experienced before. The whirlwind of sensations new and overwhelming within you made your eyes flutter shut on their own, your hands sliding up Rafe's wrist as you held on for balance.
Rafe's mouth worked over yours with an intensity so raw that your protests turned into breathless moans and frantic gasps as you succumbed to his kiss.  Your tongue tentatively meets his stroke for stroke.  Rafe growled in approval and you could feel him smile into the kiss, his tongue stoking the fire deep within you and just as quickly as it started, Rafe abruptly pulled away leaving you shaking and struggling for air.
Your heart raced within your chest as you abruptly pushed yourself off the piano bench, nearly causing it to tip over in your haste. Hand clutching your chest, you struggled to catch your breath, hastily wiping away tears that had unknowingly streamed down your cheeks. 
A fleeting glance at Rafe revealed his heavy breathing, his mouth agape in quick, shallow pants, and his pupils dilated, tinged with a faint hint of blue. Yet, it was the expression etched upon his face that sent a wave of terror crashing over you. 
Rafe's eyes showed no remorse.
Instead, you saw an overwhelming hunger within them that made your blood run cold. Rafe’s gaze moved down from your stunned face over your trembling body.  The danger that emanated from him made your knees buckle.
You took a step back, your mind whirling with fear and apprehension. But Rafe stepped forward, his eyes locked onto yours with determination.
"I-- I need to check on Wheezie. See what she'd like for dinner," you whispered, your voice shaking as you inched backwards toward the door. You turned to run but it was too late.
Rafe reached out and snatched the hem of your sweater, yanking you towards him. You struggled to break free, twisting and thrashing like a scared kitten in his grip but Rafe was relentless. His other hand reached for your waist as he pulled you close.  His nose and lips trailed the back of your neck and into your hairline and he groaned as he breathed you in. With a jab of your elbow into his rib you wriggled free.  It wasn't enough to wound him but it gave you the head start needed to run.
You dashed from the room, Rafe's pursuit relentless. His outstretched fingers grazed your sweater, narrowly missing its mark. It wasn't until you sprinted up the stairs that he abandoned the chase. You didn't need to glance back to feel his gaze on you.  The tendrils of his breathless laugh reverberated down the corridor.
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You burst into Wheezie's room, a hot mess of tears and fear. You made up some excuse about feeling unwell and had to go home immediately. After calling Rose and arranging for a replacement babysitter for Wheezie, you sat in her room and waited for the sitter to arrive.
You didn't see Rafe when you left, and you thanked God for that. You knew that if you saw him, you would break down crying, and you couldn't bear to show him any more weakness. But the tears came anyways, hot and heavy, as soon as you got home. How could you have been so stupid? You knew all the rumors about him, knew that he wasn't a good guy, and yet somehow, you thought in your warped mind that he was different. A decent human being who was simply misunderstood.
It wasn't like you didn't see the signs. They were always there, staring you right in the face. The blatant flirting, the staring, the way he undressed you with his gaze. You dismissed every red flag, thinking he couldn't like you in that kind of way because you were not the type of girl Rafe Cameron would go for and you certainly weren't the type of girl Rafe Cameron would kiss.
And it wasn't just the kiss that scared you. It was the fact that Rafe had no intention of stopping. It was the way he held onto you, the way he made you feel like you were drowning in a sea of desire. He was a predator, relentless in his pursuit of you, and as you thought about how he grabbed onto your clothes his lips tracing your neck even as you protested you couldn't help but cry even harder.
No. There was no way you were setting foot in that house again. Not after the way Rafe kissed you, not after what he was determined to get out of you.
Over the next few weeks, Rose's texts kept coming, each one more insistent than the last. But you knew better than to give in to her demands. You couldn't go back to that house, not after what had happened with Rafe. It was too dangerous, too risky, and you couldn't afford to let your guard down again.
You thought about telling her what had happened with Rafe, but the thought of it made your stomach turn. How could you explain what had happened without sounding like a fool? That you had been hanging out with her stepson for months, that you had let things get out of hand?
You had every intention of never setting foot in that house again. But then Rose sent you a text, asking if you were available on Saturday. They were desperate, she said, and willing to offer triple what they usually paid. Rafe and Sarah were going to a game and the lady who was supposed to look after Wheezie had a family emergency.
You were going to turn them down, again, but the truth was that since you had dropped them as a client, it had been difficult to find other work. So, against your better judgement, you agreed, but only after Rose confirmed that she and Mr Cameron would be home long before Sarah and Rafe returned.
As the day of the babysitting gig approached, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew that you shouldn't go, that it was too risky, too dangerous. But the promise of easy money was too tempting to ignore. And so, against your better judgement, you found yourself standing in front of the Cameron's house once again, your heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation.
As you approached the front door, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Rose had texted you on your way over, telling you that she would be getting ready and to let yourself in. But when you rang the doorbell and received no answer, you began to worry. Still, you didn't think anything of it when you turned the door handle and found that it was unlocked. You stepped inside and called out for Wheezie and Rose, but the house was silent.
Making your way to the kitchen, you put down your bag and pulled out your phone. You texted Rose and Wheezie to let them know that you had arrived and were in the kitchen, just in case Wheezie was plugged in. But as you waited for a response, your heart sank.
Something wasn't right. You could feel it.
You had been to the Camerons' house many times and had let yourself in on a few occasions when they were too busy to answer the door. None of this was new but it felt different. An ominous feeling washed over you. But just as you began to worry, the sound of footsteps in the hallway interrupted your thoughts, and you sighed in relief.
As you called out for Rose, a sudden hush fell over the room, broken only by the sound of footsteps approaching. You looked up, hoping to see Rose's familiar figure, but instead, your eyes met the last person you expected to see: Rafe.
His presence was jarring, like a thunderclap on a clear day. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to make sense of his unexpected appearance. But before you could utter a word, Rafe's murmur cut through the silence like a knife.
"Nah, not Rose," he said with a smile.
Fear took hold of you as you realized that he must have had something to do with Rose's texts in the first place. You stepped back, fear making your knees buckle.
"Where's Rose?" you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively, as if shielding yourself from him.
“Don’t worry about it,” he drawled, his voice low and dangerous.
“Don’t come near me,” you said firmly as Rafe rounded the kitchen island towards you. Immediately, you moved in the opposite direction away from him.
“I… I just… I needed to talk to you, like, a little bit. Is that okay?” he said, opening his hands to placate you.
“Did Rose actually text me?”
“She did,” Rafe soothed. “But then I, uh… I heard you’d be here tonight instead of Pat, and well… seeing you was more important to me than some game.” His eyes trailed over your face, studying your every reaction.
“Where’s Wheezie?”
“With Sarah.”
You shook your head, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could Rafe have orchestrated this situation for you to be alone with him without any of the Camerons noticing? But as if he heard your thoughts, a sly smile curled his lips and he chuckled softly.
“I told Rose I’d watch over Wheeze so she could catch an early ferry,” Rafe explained, his hands moving in slow, deliberate gestures, connecting invisible dots as he spoke. “After Rose left I gave my ticket to Wheeze.”
You felt like you were going to be sick.
“Look, I know I was a little… a little intense…”
“Intense!” You choked. You would have laughed if the whole thing wasn’t so heartbreaking.
“Yes, and I’m -- I'm really sorry about that, okay? I really am.”
"You tried to ra-”
"No! No, no, I would never..." Rafe rushed towards you and you immediately backed away. He froze mid-step as you cowered, his hands still raised in surrender.  "I’m sorry things were confusing and it looked that way but I wasn't trying to hurt you. God, I- l’m-" Rafe sighed, deflated his hands landed on his hips, he looked away as he pressed his tongue on the inside of his cheek.
"You're sorry it looked that way?" you whispered your voice trembling. Rafe's words echoed in your mind while memories of that day in all its menacing glory flooded back. You looked at him flabbergasted.
"Rafe...you... you were kissing me-”
“I know but I-”
“And touching me--"
He breathed out a laugh "Come on, you know I was only-,"
“Without my consent, Rafe.”
He was silent with that and you hoped your words had finally sunk in, had finally made him understand how terrifying he was in that moment.
“Then you chased me.  You chased me like some...” you couldn’t even finish the sentence.  You didn’t know how to finish the sentence.  You were so hurt and confused.  That your friend could do something like that to you. “I don’t even know who you are. I- I don’t think I ever did,” you whispered.
Rafe's eyes landed on yours with that. His gaze was dark and intense, and for a moment, you thought you had gotten through to him because he nodded slowly. But then he let out a humourless chuckle, reminding you of the one he gave post-chase, and any hope of reaching him dissipated.
"You know, it’s funny ‘cause you say that...” Rafe said coldly, a hand gesturing to you as if trying to grasp his own thoughts “But you’re not entirely innocent in all of this, are you?” 
“I don't-- I don't understand."
“Do you have any idea what you're doing to me, huh, Y/N?
"Raf—"
"What kind of mental shit you have put me through? Nah, you don't. You don't think about that, do you?" he asked, his hands gesturing toward you as his eyes narrowed and he stared you down. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you realized the gravity of Rafe's words. It was as if he was confessing to a darker truth, a mental anguish that he had been helplessly consumed by, something unintentionally sparked within him by your actions.
"I have my dad on my back talking about legacies, our family business and preparing me for that shit meanwhile Sarah’s running around town doing god knows what with some loser fucking up our family name. I have real shit to deal with...” he gave out a bitter laugh his hand clutched to his chest as he confessed.
“But even with all of that all I can think about every minute of every fucking day, is you.” Rafe's voice was raw and anguished. His hand moved up to his ear as he slowly walked towards you.
"It's like you've crawled into my brain, you know? Like I’m under some fucking spell with your music and your voice and your-" His eyes trailed down your body just as his hand followed the motion, and you shuddered. He was consuming you with his gaze every sinful thought etched across his features.
"Nah, you made me do this…” he said bitterly, his jaw clenched tight.
“Rafe--”
“You did and now I'm the bad guy because I had a moment of weakness. But you know what? Fuck, it.” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Fuck it, i’ll take responsibility for my part in this--”
“Rafe--”
“That’s what real men do, right? Take responsibility for their shit and I’m all about being accountable, so yeah, I kissed you.” He said nodding slowly. “But I’m not sorry.”
His words made you recoil, disbelief etched across your face as you stared at him.
“Yeah, you want me to pretend like I am. Act apologetic but I won’t. I'm not sorry and you should quit actin’ like you didn't enjoy it."
His words were like a punch to the gut, and you could feel the weight of his accusation settling in your stomach. Stunned, you opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. A dry, humorless laugh left you instead. Rafe simply nodded slyly as he resumed his steps towards you, and as you stepped backwards, your back collided with the kitchen counter.
“That’s- that’s not true.”
“No?” he asked faux confused.
“It’s not- that’s not fair”
“Isn’t it?” he tutted.
"Rafe, listen to me," you whispered shakily, but he was already leaning in, his eyes dark and clouded.
"No. No, no, you listen.”  he rasped, circling in and looking down on you, his lips pouted as he leaned into the shell of your ear, “You were moaning Y/N- No, don’t do that.  Don’t shake your head, and act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Don't stand there and pretend this whole fucking thing is one-sided. You were moaning into my mouth… and you...you held on to me, yeah? I didn’t force you to do those things."
"Rafe--”
“That was all you princess. So you gotta ask yourself. What kinda girl are you to be into that, hm?” Rafe whispered as he leaned into you.  “What kinda girl would moan like a whore when a guy manhandles her…”
“I didn’t- I wasn’t. I wanted you to stop Rafe and you-”
Rafe chuckled before you could even finish your sentence.
“Is that what was happening while you were kissing me back? Nah, see I know what your problem is. I know, I know, I know…” he repeated softly, as he gently rested his hands on your hips. “I know why you ran when deep down you wanted it.”
You opened your mouth to protest only for Rafe to push his body up against yours.  The hard wall of his body renders you speechless. “We eye fucked each other for months,”  he whispered, as he looked down at you.  His eyes darted to your lips as he licked his own.  “You wanted it.” He said coldly.
"But I get it. It was overwhelming... too much... too soon... hm?" he murmured as his nose grazed yours. "I should have approached you more patiently. I realize that now," he acknowledged with a slow nod. "I should have been gentle with you, and I had every intention to. But I -- I wanted you so bad that day that I couldn't think straight. I'm thinking straight now, though."
“Rafe...” you breathed out, your hands on his chest to push him away but not quite having the strength to do so.  Rafe must have picked up on this because he leaned in, his lips close to yours.
“You keep saying my name but you’re not telling me to stop...” Rafe whispered as his fingers caressed your cheek.  With a gentle touch, he lifted your chin, and you willingly yielded. His caress made you sway, your mind growing hazy and confused. To regain your balance, you closed your eyes.
“Why aren’t you telling me to stop, hm?” he whispered.
You could feel the electricity between you as Rafe leaned in, lips hovering over yours and you tilted your head up slightly, closing the distance, only to be met with nothing. When you opened your eyes, you were met with Rafe’s hooded ones a victorious smile creeping across his lips.  
“Come on” Rafe whispered, and before you could protest Rafe laced his fingers in yours and gently tugged you towards the living room.
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Seated at the piano, Rafe smoothly lifted the fallboard with ease.
"Play something for me," he husked, gesturing for you to take a seat beside him on the bench. You felt a flutter of nervousness as you perched yourself next to him, unsure of where to start. You couldn't comprehend how you had gone from rejecting his advances to this moment of willing compliance and acceptance.
Rafe watched you intently. You had been up-close to Rafe before, but never this close. Not this intimately. Your mind became blank, overwhelmed with the prospect of playing for him.
"I...I don't know what to..." you stuttered.
"Anything, anything at all," Rafe whispered, his eyes studying your every move.
Taking a deep breath, you steadied your trembling fingers on the keys and began to release the notes,  slowly at first, but gaining confidence with every passing moment.
“I noticed you, you know,” Rafe rasped. His knuckles suddenly grazed your cheek, and you flinched. “The first time you came to babysit Wheeze, I noticed you.” Rafe followed his knuckles as he moved them across your jaw.
“I remember thinking you were beautiful… shy… innocent…” Opening his hand, his fingers trailed down your neck, and your breath hitched.
“You were wearing this exact sweater…” His fingers splayed over your collarbone as they moved slowly down to your chest.
“What are you hiding under here, hm?” he asked softly. “What are you hiding under these baggy clothes?”
You shied away from his touch, your hands withdrawing from the keys of the piano.
"No. None of that. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he said his voice stern yet soft.  Your eyes glanced at his as Rafe inched closer.  “I’ll tell you when to stop.” he iterated slowly. “Start again.”
Swallowing you placed your hands on the keys while the music resumed from your fingertips.
Rafe shifted closer his leg flushed against your own.  He wrapped his arm over the back of you and hooked it to the other side of the bench. Leaning in, his nose ghosted your neck.
“Raf-”
“Shhhh…”His nose nudged into your hairline.  His other hand on your chest continued its exploration.  It moved lower cupping your tit over your sweater.  The gasp you make made Rafe breathe even heavier, a deep pur coming from the back of his throat.
“Please-” you whispered shakily.
“I’ve always wanted to touch you, you know that?  Every time you played I’d think about what you’d feel like... what you’d look like, moaning for me.  I wanna hear you moan for me.”  
Determined Rafe’s hand moved lower until it dipped under your sweater. Deftly he fumbled under your t-shirt and you gasped when his warm fingers brushed the skin of your stomach. His other hand let go of the piano stool and was now under your sweater squeezing your tit through your bra.
“Rafe--”
“Keep playing” he whispered against your neck and you did. His hand at your stomach moved lower, finding the button on your jeans he unbutton it with one deft move and your hands falter.
“Keep playing” he murmured, face nudging into your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses to your throat.  “I wanna hear you play while I touch you”  
The sensation of Rafe's hands on your body was almost lost in the overwhelming numbness that had taken over you. His strong hand leisurely tugged at the waistband of your panties seeking to touch what lay beneath, while his other hand snaked under your bra. He caressed and teased your nipple until a soft sob erupted from you as pleasure surged through your veins.
Rafe moved his hand lower, slipping it between your wet folds and pushing his middle finger inside of you. You cried out, the intensity of sensation causing you to clutch onto Rafe's arm for support, music abandoned.
“It’s okay “ Rafe breathed deeply into your neck, as he roughly peppered your neck with kisses.  “You're okay. Just breathe...” and as he said those comforting words he gently wormed another slender finger passed your slippery folds and into you.
You hissed, trying to move away from the burning stretch of his long fingers. Your nails dug into the flesh of his wrist with enough force to draw blood but Rafe determined as ever slowly moved his fingers in and out of you, each time inserting them a little deeper until it reached his signet ring.  
"You've had more than one finger before?" he asked hotly against your neck. You shook your head no, gritting your teeth in an effort to endure him stretching you further still. Rafe groaned and nipped softly at your jawline, "Fuck, I can tell. I can barely move them. But you're a good girl, aren't you? You're taking them well and afterwards, I'm gonna train you to take all of me."
Rafe's lips trailed tender kisses down the length of your neck, then his mouth closed hungrily around the sensitive skin. His two fingers moved inside you and each slow thrust drew a soft moan from your lips.
With surety, he curled his fingers in a come-hither motion, barely grazing your clit with his thumb. The sensation was overwhelming and foreign, causing you to gasp and cum embarrassingly fast. Your pussy contracting around his fingers, milking them for all they were worth.
“Oh Fuuckk…” Rafe hissed. “You liked that, I can feel it.“ He sighed utterly mesmerised. “Well, if you like that...” Rafe groaned resting his forehead against the side of your face and planting soft kisses on your cheek. “You’re gonna love this.”
With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Rafe's probing fingers started their relentless hunt for something deep within you. Suddenly, those searching digits found what they were looking for - a spot that caused you to arch over and clutch his hand as you cried out despite your best efforts.
“Oh- there it is” he chuckled softly, shunting his hand and hitting that spot over and over again with a speed and force that knocked the breath out of you, while his thumb expertly rubbed your clit and the fingers of his other hand mercilessly pulled and twisted your nipple.
“OhmyGOD!” you cried.
“That’s it, baby. Fuck my hand. Just like that.”
Rafe kept at it, even as your nails scraped along his wrist and arm for purchase.  Even as you screamed and tried to scissor your legs closed to shut him out. None of it mattered as your eyes crossed and you felt your orgasm raw and violent crash over you. 
Bucking violently into Rafe’s hand, you could feel your release seep through your jeans and onto the piano bench. Pooling and overflowing you could hear it trickle onto the hardwood floor like raindrops and still, Rafe kept going, kept finger fucking you.
Lost in a sea of agonising pleasure you could do nothing but slump against him and take it, your hips stuttering, your mouth sagging as you whimpered and gasped.
Rafe moaned against you, planting soft kisses on the column of your throat. He stilled his hand, his fingers buried deep inside while you desperately tried to catch your breath.
"Seems my fingers are just as talented as yours, hm?" he said with a breathless chuckle. His nose trailed along your neck, while his tongue darted out to capture the perspiration nestled there. 
Gently, Rafe removed his digits while you gazed in shock, unable to voice a single word as he brought the wet fingers to his lips and ravenously lapped up your fluids with a contented hum.
“It’s too much.” you said hoarsely  “I can’t-- I can't do this. No more, Rafe. No more,” you said weakly, trying to remove his hand from your breast and move away from his hold only for Rafe to seize your wrist painfully in his grasp.
"No more?" Rafe chuckled darkly, his gaze fixed on you with dilated pupils. "No more?" he repeated, inching closer as he shook his head. "Nah, baby. No. We're just getting started..."
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Thank you for reading.  Thanks for liking and reblogging. PART 2 / MASTERLIST
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My fucking apartment is getting renovated so they want me to move out all my stuff for three fucking weeks!! Do they have any idea how much shit I’ve got in my room??!!!
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drabblesandimagines · 3 months
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Dove (part six)
Leon Kennedy x female reader - the slowest, slow burn I swear Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five.
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After the two of you had finished dinner, you’d began clicking through the channels in search of something to watch. It was far too early to go to bed, or even pretend to go to it - you’d just be staring at the ceiling, alone with your thoughts. Leon had insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen despite your offer to help, said he’d leave them in the sink to soak. You know that’s a task you’re not going to be able to handle until your arm is free of the sling, fingers unsplintered. You want to say you’ll do all the cooking and cleaning when you can, but that implies that you think you’ll still be in the safe house, with him, in however long it’ll take to be free of the sling...
By all intents and purposes, Leon had planned to wait until you’d gone to bed to pull together his report, but the fact that Hunnigan hadn’t replied to his text yet was giving him an unsettled feeling in his gut. Maybe she was doing it on purpose, tit for tat - no information for him until he gave information to her.
After setting the dishes and pan in soapy water to return to later, he’d come back to the sofa and picked the laptop up off the coffee table, almost reluctantly.
“Er, I’m gonna start my report now, if that’s all right?”
You look at him, noting the laptop now tucked under his arm. The report, of course – he hadn’t typed it up yet, couldn’t have, not when you’d sobbed and then napped all over him.
It’s like emotional whiplash - the soft, almost domestic moments where you could pretend this whole situation was normal - it’s dinner and a movie with a friend, first date vibes but both of you too cautious to make a move.
And then there’s the startling reminder that, no, actually, you’re not even home, in a one-bedroom bungalow, no idea where you are in the state, or what state, with a man, a bodyguard you hardly know, after very nearly being murdered the day before and could possibly be murdered in the days to come.
You must’ve stared too long in response as he raises his arm to rub the back of his head – you wonder if it’s a nervous habit.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Dove. The report’s just a formality after the interview earlier, and it’s better that I submit today. It’s fine if you’d prefer not to be in the room, though. If you’re not comfortable, I can wait until you’ve gone to bed.”
“Oh… No, go ahead.”
“Are you sure? I’ll be listening over the audio again but I’ll use headphones, so…”
“Yeah. It’s fine – needs to be done, as you said.” You smile, turning your head back to the TV to end the conversation.
Leon had sat on the other couch, laptop resting on his knees, plugged in a pair of in-ear headphones. For over an hour, you’d heard him tap away at the keys, brows furrowed in concentration when you’d chance a look his way. The last few times his eyes haven’t been on the laptop screen but that of the TV, watching the dumb romance movie you’d settled on during your channel searching, hoping it would prove a good distraction.
“Leon…” You feel rude for interrupting his work, but he’d tugged out an earbud, hasn’t typed anything in a good while now, definitely not since the last ad break.
Not that you were keeping track.
“Mm?” He hums in response.
“Can I…?” He looks over as you clear your throat - start over. “Can I ask you something? If you’ve got a minute.”
There it is - the encouraging smile. “Of course, Dove.”
“It’s going to sound stupid, but those things – were they BOWs?”
“The Lickers?” The smile drops as he tugs out the other earbud. “Yeah, they are.”
“Lickers?” It sounds too cutesy for what they are, like a lollipop brand for kids and not indescribable monstrosities.
“There’s probably some scientific name that Umbrella would use, but that term came from a cop that first saw them in the Raccoon City Police Department. I guess we kinda kept the name as a weird tribute.”
“Right.” Maybe it was the cop’s way of trying to make them less terrifying on first sight.
“Why do you ask?”
“I didn’t think BOWs were actually…” You swallow, though you know it’s not going to dislodge the lump in your throat now. “..things, if that makes sense. Like, I knew we were trying to protect the public from biological warfare threats, but I thought it was man-made diseases, or poisoning the water supply… That sort of stuff.”
“You’re not wrong. Those things were once human, mutated by a man-made virus. I’ve had a fair amount of experience with different iterations of the virus over the years, unfortunately.”
“Mutated…?” You feel sick as the image once again flashes in your mind’s eye, the grotesque features of the Lickers juxtaposed with those of humans, your colleagues… “Fuck.”
“Yeah - fuck.”
“God,” you exhale, but it doesn’t feel enough. “I’ve been so naïve to what I’ve even been doing all these years - I didn’t know what we were actually trying to prevent.”
“You sound like you think you’ve been doing something wrong.”
“Well, maybe I have.” You protest. “What if I missed something that led to that the other day?”
“You did not miss anything.” He says firmly, closing the laptop – you’re not sure if he’s concluded his report or not. “Is that what happened to everyone - they were infected and then they mutated into those… those things?” You can’t bring yourself to say the identifier out loud.
“No, Dove, the… The bodies they recovered matched with the amount of people signed into the premises. Excluding you, obviously.”
“So, someone brought them there and set them on us?”
“Maybe. They’re still working on how they got in the building. They don’t exactly use doors, so…” He laughs, though it’s half-hearted.
The lump feels too big in your throat, tears burn at your eyes as you drop your head down but you know you’re not quick enough.   
Leon stands, soft footsteps on the carpet as he circles round the coffee table and sits down a cushion’s width away from you.
“Sorry – it was a bad joke.”
You shake your head, sniffling a little, eyes fixed on your thighs. “No, it’s not that, or you. It’s so stupid, but I wish I could go back and stop it…”
“I know.” He places a hand down on the sofa, swivels his knees in your direction. “But it doesn’t help to think like that – trust me. And I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to keep going.”
“And you’ve faced those things before.”
“More times than I’d like to count.”
“How do you stop them?” You look up then, wiping away the tears from your cheek with the heel of your left hand.
“You couldn’t have done anything differently back there, if that’s what you’re thinking. A couple of gunshots to the head or an explosion is the only thing that’ll stop them.”
“You can’t… you know, turn them back?”
He shakes his head, looking solemn. “Afraid not.”
“Maybe for the best. I don’t think I’d want to be turned back if I’d…” If you’d ripped off your colleague’s head.
“Hey, that is not going to happen to you.” He leans forward, places his hand on your knee - having you fall asleep in his arms earlier has removed all sort of boundaries, it seems. “I promise.”
You shake your head then. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can. I am going to keep you safe.” He pauses – wind it in a little, Kennedy. “And if it makes you feel better, you won’t be the first. Want my credentials? I rescued the President’s daughter from a cult, got her home safe.”
“The President’s daughter?” You hadn’t heard about that, but then again why would you? Probably wouldn’t want it announced to the world that the leader of the free world’s daughter had been abducted.
“Mm. She had a codename and all – Baby Eagle.”
“But you would know her name.”
“Yeah, but still used codenames on official comms.”
“So, what would happen if I told you my name?”
“Er, well, I’d…” There’s the arm raise, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I’d have to report in to HQ that your identity had been compromised, I’d be redeployed elsewhere and you’d get a new security detail.”
“Why?”
“Part of your protection is that I’m not a risk of revealing your identity if hostile forces used… certain methods of interrogation if we were to be captured.”
Your stomach twists at the code. “Torture?”
“I suppose.” He shrugs, like he’s going to collect your mail or water your plants when you’re on vacation as a favour.
“No, you can’t… How can you shrug at the prospect of being tortured for me? You don’t even know me.”
Leon wants to say he does know you, not completely but there’s things he’s picked up over the course of the day that he feels reasonably confident on. You don’t do good with sitting idle, has the feeling you keep yourself busy when you’re not locked in four walls. He got the feeling you’re thorough and proud of your work, or you were before this doubt crept in.
You like coffee with a splash of creamer, honey in your oatmeal. You don’t have any close friends or family nearby that will be wondering why you’ve gone AWOL just yet… ..and you’re definitely single, because if you had someone waiting at home you would’ve mentioned it they spoke about whisking you away to a safe house, or when Hunnigan said she was going to search your place.
He smiles. “I know you don’t deserve any of what’s happened to you over the last 24 hours, and that’s reason enough.”
“How can you be so sure I don’t?”
“Experience, Dove. Been in this line of work for a long time and, more importantly, I’ve been where you’ve been, okay?”
“Okay.” You nod, relenting. “Sorry, my head’s just…”
He squeezes your knee. “I know.”
--
You leave the bathroom later that evening – Leon had ducked in at some point and prepared your toothbrush again – and find him leaned over the sink, scrubbing at a pan and a cloth draped over his shoulder. He’s left out the medicine – two painkillers, two sleeping pills - on the counter, next to a glass of water. It feels oddly domesticated again for what all of this is.
You walk over to the counter, slowly, as he continues washing the dishes.
“I forgot to ask earlier. Have there been any updates?”
He turns, gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not yet. But it’s only the first full day of the investigation, so I’m sure I’ll hear something soon, especially since I’ve sent the report over.”
He’d sent it whilst you were in the bathroom, half-expected Hunnigan to ring right there and then but his cell had remained silent, so he’d moved his attention to the dishes.
“Yeah, suppose other things will take precedence too.” Other things meaning families to inform… What would they tell them?
You take a swig of water before picking up the pills, swallowing them all down in one. Knowing how quick the sleeping aids helped yesterday, you’re aware there’s only a limited time before you’ll feel the effects kick in.
“Well, goodnight, Leon.”
“Wait a sec.” He pulls the cloth off his shoulders and hurriedly dries his hands as you watch on, curiously. He fiddles with the watch around his wrist, pressing a button on the side, then undoing the strap before he holds it out to you. “Here, so you can tell the time. I know there’s no clock in there, so…”
You stare at the offering, not raising your hand to take it. “But what about you?”
“Got my cell.” He pats his pocket, then holds the watch out again. “It’s yours, if you want it.”
You step forward to take it, gripping it a little too tightly in your fingers. It must be your imagination because it feels warm, but that can’t be right.
“Sleep well, Dove.”
Without another thought, you lean up on your tip-toes and press a kiss on his stubbled cheek.
“Thank you.”
You swivel on your heels and walk into the bedroom, closing the door without looking back, missing out on the sight of a flustered DSO agent in the kitchen.
If it wasn’t for the sleeping pills now coursing their way through your system, you would’ve been up for hours longer, heart pounding at what you just did. Instead, you climb into bed, close your eyes and it isn’t long at all until sleep washes over you, his watch still clasped in your hand.
--
Leon’s phone finally vibrates with Hunnigan’s caller ID as he enters back into the living area after finishing his perimeter check. Had to do two rounds of the building because he knew he was too distracted on the first by your kiss, admonishing himself for being so put out of joint by a simple gesture. After his second, more thorough check of the area and confident there was still no sign of any unwanted guests, he’d headed back into the building, making sure everything was locked up before he answered the call – placing the phone up to his ear on the opposite cheek that you had kissed.
“Hunnigan!” He answers, a little too jovial, would lower if his voice if he wasn’t confident you’ll be fast asleep by the amount of time that’s passed since you took your medication. “I was getting worried you’d forgotten all about me.”
“I’m sure.” Her voice is a little tense, but he can tell she’s tired. “Just finished your report.”
“And?”
“Well, it’s not exactly airtight.”
He rubs the bridge of his nose, holding in a sigh. “What happened to innocent before proven guilty?”
“That’s why I’ve put Dove in a safehouse with you, rather than in a cell.”
“So, restrictions remain?”
“Restrictions remain.”
He rolls his eyes, grateful it’s not a video call. “Did you search her place?”
“Unfortunately not. The President wanted the surveillance department back up and running ASAP, so all available manpower had been diverted to that. The tech analyst, however, has confirmed that the breach on the database yesterday wasn’t what you’d call successful.”
Leon walks around the sofa, drops on it a little too heavy. “You don’t sound particularly thrilled by that.”
 “I’m not - the attempt itself was successful, but as soon as the system detected the forced entry, it wiped itself. Every subject that was still under surveillance has been lost.”
“Maybe that’s what they were trying to achieve.” He frowns. “Is there seriously no back-up server?”
“Analyst seemed to think it was their protocol, but it’s just a theory. Everyone who knew exactly how that division had their server set up is no longer with us.”
There’s a pause and he can hear Hunnigan tapping away at her keyboard as usual. “There is something I need to inform you of, though.”
“Right.”
“The tech analyst found the CCTV feeds have been tapped. They couldn’t trace where the feed was being diverted to, but it was definitely a system not within the DSO infrastructure. It’d been active since the attack, but they cut the connection when they discovered it.”
Leon frowns. “So, you’re saying that whoever orchestrated the attack could’ve been watching the cameras since.”
“Mm.”
“And if their objective was to leave no survivors…” Leon’s eyes focus on your bedroom door.
Hunnigan stops typing. “They’ll know they’ve failed.”
--
Part seven.
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undercoverpena · 7 months
Text
xi. hold her, and tell her everything's gonna be fine
javier peña x f!reader | chapter eleven of late night texts
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summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.
chapter warnings: sad!reader, talks of jobloss, comforting!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love ✨ wordcount: 3.3k. an: i know, when will jo stop changing the banner, but I love this so much and feel it encompasses everything for these two.
text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi
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I have one last thing to research and then I’m all yours.
have you eaten
There is a piece of fruit in my hand, as I research.
you said you were gonna order
In my defence, I’m not super hungry.
if I was there id hide your notebook and make you eat tamales my mama taught me to make
Make me, ay?
oh baby normally i would be so down to talk dirty with you and make you blush but only when youve eaten
I really want this job, baby.
i know but i really want you to not be ill
Because you really really really like me?
i heard that in your voice and yes because I really like you
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In the last few days, the two of you have managed to complete three crosswords. Something he’s impressed with and you’re disappointed in.
“So, another one—I’m still unsure what this even means.”
Laughing, he hears you crunch another piece of fruit—thankful to hear you eating. “What’s the clue, baby?”
He’ll never tire of it, hearing you call him that. A sweet sound, all wrapped in kindness—floating down the phone line all the way to his ear.
“‘Not a company man’, six letters,” he says, fingers rolling the bridge of his nose.
“Hermit,” you say, calm, casual. “Or, you know, me if I don’t get the job.”
“Baby,” he warns, pen scratching the paper as you try to laugh.
Then you asked to change the conversation. Something he was more than happy to oblige, capping the pen, shoving the book away, leaning on the counter as you tell him about a new recipe you like. Talking fast, busy—almost far too energetic, but he knows why.
It’s all because of today.
The interview—the things he’s heard you jump through hoops for—arriving sooner than he could have relaxed you for.
You’d practised elements of your presentation and called him more than you usually would. Something he liked, enjoyed. The feeling of being needed. That his opinion mattered. It all weaving within him, stitching the parts of him that had weakened since the goodbye, since the drive home—alone and without you.
After a quick text in the morning, Javi had known not to expect to hear from you for a while. Likely not even immediately post your interview, probably needing a coffee—a breather.
If he lived there, where you were, you’d likely need him. Meet him outside, coffee in hand to give to you, a comforting hug, your breath on his neck as you let the tension out.
But he wasn’t there.
And he had thought he might have heard from you an hour later.
let me know how it’s gone baby
Javi tries not to be needy.
A battle he finds easy to lose when it comes to you. Digging his phone out the back pocket of his jeans periodically, ignoring the animals nuzzling their noses at him for food as he checks his battery, texts, calls…
Then the hour bled into two. Your interview was two-hundred and thirty-nine minutes ago, to be precise.
By now, he’s expected to have heard something, anything.
you still want me to call tonight
He tries not to worry. Even as his tasks dwindled, the sun beating down, his stomach growling and sweat building in parts of him that he should shower off.
But a part of him thinks if he goes inside, it’ll layer on top of him: the loneliness. The thing he feels, but pretends isn’t there.
Because normally, he’d have heard from you at lunch—if not more frequently throughout your day. The silence expected, very out of character. Which turns some cogs in him that twist and tighten, forcing his throat to burn and his stomach to flutter with a nervousness he can’t explain, except that:
Javi wants you.
Not just in the sense that he wants to run his fingers up and down your side, to crush his lips over yours, to bury himself inside of you as he feels himself falling, freely, and happily. But more that he wants to wake next to you, see you smile and laugh amongst the field, show you the water’s edge—feel some contentment there rather than boiling anger at the boats.
You could wear your jacket as the weather cools, and spread your warmth from the photo strip to the rest of the ranch.
youre doing that thing where you make me worry, baby
Eventually, after much internal fighting, he heads in and showers.
Hands washing the day as he hopes the water will take away his worries too. Pressing his palm flat to the tiles, he allows the water to beat down on him—eyes occasionally glancing to the phone on the windowsill, willing it to light up.
He suspects it’s why he stays in a bit longer.
Allows the soap suds to have long since vanished down the plug hole, letting the water begin to go cold as he uses all of the water up.
It’s only when he’s dried off, thrown some comfier clothes on—sunk into his usual chair, does he rotate the phone in his hand. His fingers slid along the underside of his chin, eyes fixated on a photo of him and his parents—their faces beaming, smiling, his hands in theirs.
even got me using punctuation and everything
Please, he whispers.
To no one. Not his Pop in the next room, some show bleeding into the air. Just to himself, as he works the spot on his forehead.
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You don’t text him back, but you do call bang on time.
He’s spent the last half an hour pretending he wasn’t loitering, while his pop pretended he wasn’t coming in to make drinks to check on him. Giving him that look, the one Javi had seen so often when he’d first come back from Cali.
All concern, all deep lines embedded with worries as he ticks, tick, ticked.
This was different. Something in his gut telling him that you weren’t okay, a need inside of him to get to you—pack a bag, head to the airport and hope there was a flight or something.
He only hadn’t because a part of him, small—but loud—hummed that it could be him. He could be the reason, the cause. It all too good to be true. His fingers pressing keys to read back his texts, see if he can find the cause—the moment it all began to spoil and undo.
The last hour of investigation led him to nothing. Irritation threading into his muscles until he heard the phone ring—loud, punching holes with its noise into his unravelling.
Smirking, he wipes his hands on his jeans, cocking his head around the doorway—checking for the flickering television and no lurking pop, before he unhooks the ringing phone from its place.
“Took you long enough, was about to ring you and ruin—”
“J—Javi?”
Sniffle. A sob. The beginnings of you splitting in two.
That’s what he hears—clear as anything. It cuts straight through his attempt at teasing and slices through him as though the sound was laced with the edge of a knife.
It’s instant, barely explainable, the way his stomach falls to his feet. His smile vanishes, stolen and robbed, as another sob expands in the space of your two’s silence, making his throat dry, and the phone crunches a little under his grip.
“Baby. Talk to me, what’s happened?”
You swallow, all thick, as though it's a struggle. “I… I—I didn’t g-get the job-b.”
Slowly, his eyes close. Hearing you cry again, louder, less restrained and more freely, them rolling and rolling from you like a wave. The depth of it travels freely down the phone, in the same way, he usually craves when it’s your voice, noise, or presence.
“I’m… cariño, I’m so—”
“—I’m s-sorry, Javi. I’m so sorry…”
Frowning, he slides the fingers down his nose as you continue to apologise—them merging with your hiccups and tears.
“Cariño, wait. Stop.”
And you do. Your sniffles all of a sudden ceasing, more restrained—practically swallowing another one back. Trying to keep it on your tongue, rather than let it escape.
“Why are you apologising to me?”
You’re quiet for a moment, a second. Then you seem to let out a strange noise, before clearing your throat. “The job… I… we’d have been seeing each other more, and I’ve ruined it—I ruined-d it all.”
Frowning, he opens his mouth. Confusion there, all evident and brimming. Because he hasn’t got a fucking clue what you’re talking about. His brain runs, dashing through the notes it’s been making, the snippets here and there you’d spill about your day and your work.
“It was-s in Houston. I’d have been able t-to move. We’d have been c-closer.”
And then it lands.
The realisation. What it would have meant.
It appears in front of him before it slams straight into him. Forced his head to drop, sight lowering to a mark on the wall as his chest tightens. His eyes fixated, unable to tear his eye from the stain on the off-yellow wall—one likely made from him sitting on a stool or chair, maybe even his knee when he’s stretched, when minutes have quickly tumbled into an hour.
Even if he’s reeling, your ramblings have continued. They’re all in various pitches, spluttered and painted in painful cries and strangled sniffs.
“—I—I didn’t want to tell you at first, in case we didn’t, you know, get on.” You continue, some words slamming into the next as you try to level out your cries. “Then I didn’t want to tell you in case you got excited, and I fucked it up—and I did, didn’t I? I fucked it up. And now we won’t live closer, and—“
“Baby—“
But you’re tumbling, rolling right off the emotional cliff you’d been on the edge of. Thick, horrid sobs that shake his foundation and dart cracks through all of him continue to travel from you.
And it hurts. Makes him feel both horrid and weak—helpless. Unsure what he can say, do.
So he offers, “They’ll be other jobs.”
And as soon as it unfurls from his tongue, he wants to drag it back. Swallow each syllable, and letter, and never let you hear them again.
Because he’s sure you cry harder, louder. Even if it appears like you pull the phone away so he can’t hear how deep they go.
And you keep trying to spill out his name, a sentence here and there, trying to form as he pushes the phone against his ear, palm flattening against the wall—balling his fingers up—
“There won’t be…”
Sighing, he lets you take a breath. “Baby, of course, there will be. You’re good, I can tell, alright? And you’re brilliant and just cause those fuckin’ idiots can’t see—“
“I quit, Javi.”
The words he’d been about to say, fizz out on his tongue, die, fade. And it seems to only make you cry harder. His mind trying to catch up, to follow on with what is happening as you explain, in broken sobs, how your entire life seems to crumble apart all around you.
“I… I couldn’t take it. The reason, the explanation. How they gave it to the new guy, the one who doesn’t even know how Houston operates—and I just saw red, Javi. And I quit. Me? I… I just packed my desk up, left….”
He bites the inside of his cheek, listening as you take a breath—it sounds so much like defeat has replaced your sorrow.
“Then I just wandered. A box under my arm… and… I wanted to reply, but I didn’t know where to start. Like, ‘I miss you so much, but by the way, I didn’t get that promotion, and I snapped because they treat me like shit, so I quit. That my best friend is so excited because they’re paying for her to move this month for her new job, and my lease on my apartment is coming up’ and…”
“And what?”
It’s your turn to sigh, it more shaky and still embezzled with sniffles—fluttering down to his ear. “And…” you pause, his pulse suddenly quickening, waiting, mouth opening and then closing. “And, the person who would make me feel better isn’t even in the same State as me—because, I know this sounds crazy, but as soon as I heard why I didn’t get that job, all I wanted… well, all I wanted was you.”
Me?
His lips curl, sliding up into his cheek. His eyes look up, dancing around the marks on the wall as he straightens his spine, and swallows back whatever lump had been forming.
“I just…” you continue, “wanted to be back in that hotel room. Curled up in your arms.”
“You….” Clearing his throat, he tries again. “You know how we could solve that? You could come here—clear your head… just for a minute. Get all the hugs you want.”
You let out a noise, low, shifting it from it to a breath in record time. “Well, I wouldn’t be much fun. I’d just spend it in your bed.”
“That doesn’t sound all that bad, baby.”
“Sleeping and crying, do it for you, charmer?”
He grins, before rolling his lips. “Not if it’s not from how good I make you feel, no. But. I just—want you to have options.”
You go silent, far too quiet for his liking, until he hears the sound of movement, shuffling. His ears honing in, trying to work out what it is you’re doing, could be doing.
“What am I actually gonna do, Javi?”
Fuck. It suddenly dawning on him how unequipped he is for this. For comfort—for being there for another person. He barely looked after himself before, never mind since he came home. He hasn’t got a fucking clue what to say to even begin to make someone feel better, never mind someone who means as much to him as you.
“I… I quit my job. Without even finding another one—that’s… that’s crazy, insane—I don’t do these things and-and—“
Rolling his head on his neck, he ran a hand over his face. Trying to buy a second or two, digging deep for an answer—something comforting that would help.
“You, baby, are gonna get some sleep, and tomorrow we’re gonna sort it.”
He hears you swallow. Loud, followed shortly after by a sigh.
“We?”
You say it quietly, full of disbelief.
Because only you still wouldn’t realise how deep he is in with you. If he could, if he could risk hijacking the moment to explain, he’d tell you how worried he’s been, how he’s been obsessively checking and clicking, to the point he’s pretty sure he’s taken some life of his phone battery for it.
Swallowing, he bites his lip, nodding to himself. “It’s you and me, ain’t it, cariño? You’re not… you don’t have to figure this out alone, is all I mean.”
It’s soft—the way you reply, okay. Delicate. He’s hopeful it’s accompanied by a smile, one with a nose scrunch.
“Javi?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?”
Pulling a stool over, he sits himself down on it. The ache in his chest widened, a lump in his throat forming. “Sure, baby. You want me to talk about anything in particular?”
“Not sure…”
“What would you do if I was there?”
He swears he hears you smirk.
“I would cook you almond saffron chicken.”
Shifting on the stool, he adjusts the phone in his hand. “Yeah? How come?”
“It’s the first dish Aish taught me to make, and I think you’d like it. And, I’m quite hungry, I… I didn’t really feel up to food before. But maybe, y’know, if I came to see you, had the chance to cook, maybe over a long weekend?”
Smirking, he lets out a content breath. “I like the sound of it already…”
“Because of me cooking in your kitchen?”
Laughing, he rolls his lips. “No, because it would mean you were here, cariño.
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Morning baby, hope the cows aren’t trying to eat your shirt.
morning hermosa why are you up so early
Well, I thought of having a lie in but decided to grab a coffee, print off some CVs and not look as desperate as I feel.
if it makes you feel better im pretty sure my pop would hire you in a heartbeat
Bet I’d look real good in dungarees.
fuck baby
Could even wear your shirt, tie it so it’s a crop.
youre killing me
I’ll leave you with that, I have a list of places to beg to give me a chance.
wouldnt need to beg me
Stop, baby. Save it for later.
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He’d barely dried himself off before your text came through.
Javi had found that the one upside to you being unemployed was the amount of time you had to reply or call—something he wasn’t complaining about in the slightest.
In a way (a small, acceptable way), it felt like a taste of what it would be like if the two of you lived closer. If there weren’t towns, cities and states between the two of you. If you lived close by, or better yet, on the ranch with him.
Across the last few days, while you’d seemed upbeat through text—just as you were when the two of you were in Houston—he quickly realised how much of a mask that was when he had you on the phone.
If not for the fact that when you ended the call, you seemed more yourself than when it started, Javi would have already begged someone from a ranch or two over to help, and book a flight out to surprise you.
“Hello, charmer.”
Grinning, he runs his hand over his chin. “Someone’s in a good mood.”
“Well, I have good news.”
“What’s that then?”
“Remember when I said I had to meet with someone in Houston, from imports? Well, apparently, they’ve been trying to get hold of me at work—one of the few nice people there let me know, even passed my details on.”
It begins—right in his stomach. A nervousness, a bubble—it rising and rising, sliding into his heart as it makes it beat just that much quicker.
“He wants to meet with me… apparently, I impressed him?”
“That’s—fuck, that’s amazing, baby.”
Javi can almost hear your grin as you laugh—can even picture you hiding your face in your hand at his happiness.
“Yeah,” you say, more in a sigh than anything else. “It’s obviously just an interview—maybe even a chat, but it’s something.”
Tracing the back of the phone with his finger, he runs his fingers up his neck, up his chin—
Pulse thumping in his neck. “I could… Could always drive up, see you after?”
“Oh… um?”
Oh? He thinks. The noise suddenly on repeat. It’s all he can hear—that little surprised noise rips from your throat and punctures his ear. His own fingers scratching at his cheek.
And then you clear your throat, and he grits his jaw. “Well, if you wanted, once I’ve had my meeting with him, I was going to ask if I could come to Laredo, see the ranch… and you?”
Just as quickly as it came, the earlier shame from your ‘oh’ vanishes. It bursts, erupts into a thousand pieces of nothing as the edges of his lips begin to curl up.
“For a second, didn’t think you wanted to see me.”
You don’t laugh, don’t ridicule his confession, and if you were here, he’d imagine you’d have tilted your head in that way you do.
“Javi, of course, I want to see you. I…” you take a long pause as though battling with yourself. “Baby, I’ve been trying to find my way back to you since the moment I left you. There’s nothing I want more than to see you. I promise.”
His shoulders descend from his ears, a smile spreading across his face so large—he’s not sure anything could take it. Something inside of him shifted, sliding back together.
“So, do you mind if I come to see you on your ranch? Bother your animals, let me admire your fence work?”
If he hadn’t been sure before, he’s sure now he would have kissed you. Grip you by your cheeks and crash his mouth to yours, stealing that question mark from the air and using his lips to remind you that with him, you never need it.
But, since he can’t, he finds words. One’s that are more eloquent than ‘fuck, yes’, but are close in family to it.
Because, of course, he wants to see you. He never wanted to let you go in the first place.
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an: we have next weeks and then an epilogue, and LNT 'main story' will be done. honestly, thank you for all the love as we've gone on this journey. i never expected this for one second, and i'm so emotional right now at how well loved/supported this story has been. i'm gonna miss it, so much.
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a-little-unsteddie · 4 months
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stuck in your throat || 1.1
[here] | 1.2 | 1.3 | 1.4 | 1.5
ah hello hello :) i have finished chapter two and started into chapter three so i’m comfortable with starting to post the first chapter. idk how many parts each chapter will be, but after i finish posting all of each chapter, i will post the entire chapter on ao3.
i’ll be posting each chapter after i finish another one, so i’ll post chapter two after i finish writing chapter 3, so i always am one chapter ahead :)
this started because @/lexirosewrites followed me ages ago and i was possessed to write an omegaverse fic because of it, as a gift :D hope you enjoy <3
anyway, i think i’ve probably gone on a bit too long now, so enjoy chapter one, part one of stuck in your throat! it’s a bit short, but the next one is like almost 2k so i think it’ll even out :b
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Steve sighed as he stared blearily at the screen in front of him, meticulously scanning his resume for what could have been the hundredth time. He needed it to be absolutely perfect before he sent it to any potential employers. He knew he didn’t have the most experience, given that the entirety of his knowledge of nannying came in the form of babysitting Dustin and his friends. Steve hardly counted that, considering the pups were almost all high school age at the time. Even if they were a bit much to deal with at the best of times.
Steve hoped that the fact he went to school to get his teaching license would make him stand out as a candidate.
“You’ve made it as perfect as you can.” Robin said from behind Steve, causing the omega to startle.
“Jesus, wear a bell or something.” he muttered with a grumpy glare in the alpha’s direction. He looked back at his laptop screen and sighed deeply. “No one’s gonna hire some washed up omega,” he threw his arms over his face, speaking with a whine. Robin plopped on their couch next to him and peered at the laptop screen curiously. She took it off Steve’s lap while ignoring his half-hearted protests. She scanned over it with a hum.
“You’re right,” she said with a firm nod, “no one wants to hire some washed up omega.” Steve gaped at her in shock and hurt, until Robin continued. “Good thing you’re applying, so they don’t have to!”
Steve scrunched his face up at her, sticking his tongue out. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”
“Oh, ho ho ho!” Robin said, squinting at the screen with a grin. “Looks like someone’s hiring a fulltime nanny and tutor!” she skimmed over the job ad and nodded firmly. “Apparently you’ll have to sign NDAs to work for them.” her eyes widened as she continued reading the advert. “And traveling? Sounds like exactly what you need. I’m sending your application to them.”
“What? Rob, no! I’m not done with my resum—” Steve scrambled to take the laptop from her.
“Too late!” Robin said, allowing the omega to take the laptop back.
“Robbie!” Steve whined, looking at the ‘thank you for your application!’ message that had popped up on the screen.
“What? You’ve been staring at your resume for like, six hours! It’s almost two in the morning!” she justified, feeling no remorse for pushing her friend to apply somewhere. “You weren’t going to do it, so I had to take matters into my own hands.”
Steve huffed and glared at her for a moment longer before looking at where she sent the application to. “Robbie, this looks like a perfect way to get trafficked,” he said flatly. “I mean, what kind of employer requires an NDA to be signed before they tell you who you’re working for?”
Robin shrugged, then leaned over and scrolled down to point out how much he could potentially make. “I dunno, but I’ll be with you every step of the way because that amount of money…” she whistled, flopping back into the couch.
Steve rolled his eyes, “Any place that requires an NDA probably won’t hire me, Robs. I’ve got no experience.”
“Yet!” Robin insisted, frowning at Steve. “No experience doesn’t mean you’re bad at it!”
“I could be! I don’t know!”
“You won’t be, dingus. Any pup will be better off if you’re their nanny.” Robin said in a rare moment of sincerity. Steve sighed and rolled his eyes fondly.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, but no less sincere. “Now help me pick a few other places to apply to.” he grumbled, knowing that Robin was right.
Someone would hire him, it was only a matter of time.
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follow the tag #stuck in your throat or #siyt 🎤 to get notified when i post an update. i might do a tag list, but i make no promises because that seems stressful. i’ll only tag 18+ blogs, so either verify in the tags you’re 18+ or have it in your bio.
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monseulamourrr · 3 months
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→ “a long road ahead.” || ahn yujin x reader fic.
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— you set off on an approximate six-or-more-hour drive with your girlfriend and you come across your greatest enemy: boredom…
word count: 1.4k
tags: fluff, literally just yujin and yn being cute while on the road like stopppp, me when.
requested? : nope.
a/n: is anybody surprised that i'm already on my third yujin fic? no? yeah, me either... anyway this one's going to be kinda short since it's a pretty simple idea to begin with :] hope ya'll like it 🥺💕
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yujin knew that as soon as you dropped your nintendo switch on your lap, you were bored as hell.
she was only able to take a few short glances in your direction from time to time since it was her turn on the wheel, but she could see it all in the little habits that you showed whenever you were weary. your eyes wandered, you couldn’t sit still, you weren’t sitting up straight like you usually did, and the most notable habit, you started talking with impatience evident in your voice.
your constant sighs along with your tiny mumbles and occasional grumbles were nothing short of adorable for yujin. especially with the way you got frustrated from playing animal crossing of all things. but having been your lover for years now, yujin knew all the things that would ease you and hopefully even cure your boredom.
she reaches for her phone and opens it, earning a ‘tsk’ from you.
“eyes on the road, miss.” you said, nudging your girlfriend’s arm.
“i got it, love. one sec.” yujin seamlessly switches to your favourite playlist and triumphantly smiles as she did so. you shook your head, not at all a fan of her recklessness. although you were happy that she thought of playing your favourite songs instead of the usual playlists for a trip like this.
a smile graces yujin’s face when she saw how you’ve relaxed on your seat, softly humming to the songs you love as you stared at the long road ahead.
“you don’t want to take a nap? it’ll be a while before we make a stop.” yujin said, eyes briefly switching from the gps and back onto the road. there were still three and a half hours of driving before the two of you reach your destination. even yujin thinks it might’ve been better if neither of you drove but instead, just flown to that other city.
“and who’s gonna keep you in check? surely not azzo.” you looked at yujin’s beloved puppy sitting on the backseat of the car. azzo was diligently decimating her chew toy. good girl!
“i promise i’ll only stay ten over the speed limit.” yujin says with a cheeky smile, earning a soft punch in the shoulder from you. you don’t fall asleep; it was impossible! yujin found every way to keep you up and alert either by randomly touching your face, taking your hand and kissing it, or simply just letting it rest on your lap. she probably knew, but you were so giddy. you couldn’t hide your smile, even when you turned your face away.
damn yujin. she will always make your heart jump.
if she wasn’t constantly touching you, yujin was singing. and when she was singing, she was a mess. head-banging, slamming her hands on the steering wheel, even honking out of nowhere. yujin didn’t care that she looked stupidly insane, she cared that it made you smile and laugh. although you did scold her when she swerved a bit after singing too passionately.
when you noticed that yujin had a pout on her face a few moments later, you knew only one thing could cheer her up. well, two things. food and kisses, mostly the food part. after giving azzo some treats, you proceeded on feeding yujin and yourself. she had insisted on bring some donuts for the ride, saying that she needed the sugar to keep herself awake. but you knew the silly thing just wanted some donuts.
“you picked all my favourites?” yujin asks. you hum in reply since your mouth was full. you don’t notice the loving look yujin gives you before she turns her head back towards the road. a small action from you, but one she appreciated beyond understanding.
“one could never go wrong with the excellence that is the strawberry flavour.” yujin says, licking her lips. you shook your head and wiped her mouth as best as you could before continuing one eating. yujin was much, much happier after getting fed and a much happier yujin was a much happier you of course!
eventually, and thankfully, you had to stop at a near-empty gas station for a bit of a break and to refill the tank. while yujin busied herself taking azzo out of the car to run around, you decided to stick with the car and fill it up. there were still a few hours of driving left, thinking about it made you groan out loud and roll your eyes. at least it was going to be your turn to drive though, it wouldn’t be too boring.
“babe, we should have lunch.” yujin says after you finished what you needed to do.
“wouldn’t that just keep us on the road for longer?” you asked, scratching your head.
“well, you need to relax! and we both know those donuts didn’t do too much for our stomach. come on, the restaurant’s open.” yujin nods her head to the eatery right next to the gas station—it was empty.
well, you couldn’t exactly say no to food, much less your girlfriend, so you ended up parking the car nearby and entering the eatery with yujin and azzo following close behind. you and yujin (and azzo) chose to sit in the booth on the farthest corner of the eatery, and you stared out of the window and into the empty road.
even if you miraculously teach your destination quicker than expected, there were still things needed to be done that would chip the day away fast. checking in at the hotel, dropping off all your things in your room, organizing the plans for your getaway, dinner, shopping, outfits—
“why’s mama so grumpy today, mommy?” yujin spoke with a ridiculous high-pitched voice. you turned your head and scoffed at the sight of her ‘talking’ with azzo.
“because mama’s got a lot on her mind! see that look in her eyes?” you were glaring at the snickering yujin. “she could summon a storm!” a hearty laugh leaves yujin’s mouth when you rolled your eyes. of course, you would never be upset at yujin and you knew that she was doing these seemingly annoying antics to cheer you up. you loved her a lot for that.
yujin lets azzo sit on her side of the booth before sitting beside you. she wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. automatically, you lay your head on her shoulder, sighing blissfully at the feeling of her warmth next to you. “let’s look in the bright side, okay? we finally have all the time in the world just for the two of us, and azzo. as soon as we reach the hotel, we can just have fun and do everything we’ve been wanting to do but couldn’t because of work. think about that, and suddenly, a few more hours of driving doesn’t sound so horrible, huh?”
as always, you could rely on yujin’s positivity to kickstart your own. you nodded, putting your hand on her thigh and squeezing it gently. “you’re right, yujin-ah,” you raised your head slightly, frowning. “sorry i’ve been real stingy this entire time.”
“nah, don’t worry about it,” yujin ruffles your hair and kisses your head, making you giggle and snuggle even closer to her. “i love you even if you’re feisty. and you know i love it when you are.” yujin winks at you, making you grimace and pinch her cheek.
“i love you too, idiot.”
you had a good time at that restaurant. you and yujin took turns feeding each other, discussed the details of your plans only to end up adding even more plans just to maximize your time and fun for as long as you can, and she even teased you about a gift she prepared beforehand which of course got you so curious that you asked her endless questions about it. surprisingly enough, yujin could control herself and managed to not spill a single clue about her gift. she said you simply had to wait and be patient like you always are.
(it was a promise ring. one she would give to you five days from now during a romantic candlelit dinner in a beachside restaurant.)
after eating, you, yujin, and azzo set off in your homey car once again. this time, however, you had a smile on your face! brought only by the cutest girlfriend that made the long drive a lot less boring and more fun, loud, and exciting.
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hheaven-sentt · 2 months
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healing
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summary: healing wounds you couldn't even see | leon kennedy x reader
word count: 2.1k
warnings: yearning and pining, depictions of injuries and first aid, leon being weirdly chill, softness
notes: i like dis one | ao3
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You sense the knock before you hear it. You’re curled up on the couch, a few files spread out on the coffee table that you’d been pursuing for the last few hours. You’d grown bored with them, opting to stare out the window as the traffic down below on the street began to disperse and disappear. It was growing close to half past two in the morning. Which is why you almost expect the knock. It comes at exactly 2:18, and you practically jump off the couch to answer the door. Eagerness oozes from your skin.
He’s leaning against the wall, propped up with a single arm while the other cradles his stomach. With a sigh, he looks up at you, bright blue eyes looking a little more glassy than normal. A breath gets caught in your throat.
“Leon?” you ask, reaching forward to help him into the apartment. He grins up at you from his bent position.
“Sorry about the mess, sweetness,” he chokes out. He’s hurt, badly. You haul him into the apartment and set him up on the couch.
“I need you to count to ten and back out loud while I look for the first aid kit,” you say. He huffs a laugh. “I mean it, Leon. I need to know you’re still awake,”
Rolling his eyes, he says, “One,”
You smile as he continues counting, and begin your search for the kit. You find it just as he hits six for the second time, and you’re back in front of him as he reaches three. Crouching between his spread knees, you hoist the hem of his shirt up to see where the blood is seeping from. You grimace as you take in the injury. It’s a red and angry slash from his hip toward his sternum. You’re unsure of how deep.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” you ask, digging through the box for something to wipe away the excess blood with. He groans when you lay your hands on him the first time, and you have to remind yourself that he’s hurt and not enjoying this.
“Wasn’t paying attention,” he hisses between teeth. You’re threading the needle for his stitches. “Guess I should’ve been, huh?”
You shake your head. “You’re not reckless, Leon. What happened?”
He lets out a low whine as you sink the needle beneath his flesh. “Got distracted, thought I saw something I didn't,”
You know you won’t get a more direct answer out of Leon, so you don’t press for one. Instead, you continue sewing up his wound. “You see a medic, a doctor, anyone other than me?”
He laughs. “No, sweetness. No one’s as gentle as you,”
You try to fight the blush on your cheeks, and you’re thankful for the half dark room. He groans again as you tighten his freshly finished stitches. You spread an alcohol wipe across the suture, and you hear him let out a strained breath. Gingerly, you run your fingers over it.
“If it’s not better in two days, I order you to go to a real doctor and get antibiotics,” you say. “I can’t guarantee it won’t get infected,”
Slowly, he nods and lowers his shirt. You take the bloody part of it between your thumb and forefinger, contemplating on whether or not you should offer him another shirt. When you pull away your hand and see the transfer of red on the pads of your fingers, you frown.
“Need another shirt?” you ask. He grins. “I’m sure I’ve got something for you,”
You help him off the couch carefully, eyeing the way he favors his right leg. You draw your brows together, but don’t press him on the matter. Instead, you lead him to your bedroom where you force him to sit on your bed while you dig through your drawers for a shirt from a long forgotten boyfriend or something your brother left when he was last here. You find an old shirt you’d stolen from your dad at the bottom of a random drawer. It’s black and huge; when you wear it, it goes past your knees. It’ll do, you decide.
“Here,” you say, passing the shirt to him. He takes it. “You’re more than welcome to shower, but call for me if you can’t reach somewhere. Do not tear those stitches because I won’t redo them, Leon,”
Heat creeps up your neck as you say it, and you see the faintest amount of pink coloring Leon’s cheeks, but he nods and attempts to stand. It’s a slow process, but he does it on his own. As he passes you to head into the bathroom, he stops for a second, looking at you in the dim light illuminating half your face. He half smiles and takes your hand in his. He gives it a quick squeeze before dropping it, and then he goes to shower. 
It’s more than a want, the feeling you have for him. It’s an odd sort of craving. An itch you long to scratch and tear away your flesh at. In any other story, he’d be the villain. He’s mysteriously beautiful, ethereal in his ways. In any other story, he would break you down to your barest essentials and make you pick the pieces back up. And maybe you’d let him. He’s someone you shouldn’t share your secrets with, someone you shouldn’t care about this deeply.
Maybe he’s still the villain in this story, your story. But he’d only be the villain to everyone except for you.
You hear the water running in the bathroom. You anxiously bite your nails, pacing the living room. After a few moments, you hear the bathroom door squeak open, and you busy yourself with something to look more natural. He emerges a second later, hair still dripping as he runs the towel over it. Something lurches in your stomach, a breath catches in your throat.
He lays the towel over the back of a dining table chair. There’s something unholy about the way you look at him, something sinful. You attempt to school your features.
“Alright, sweetness?” he asks, voice low timbred and honey sweetened. You feel it in your bones.
You nod, swallowing thickly. “Really worried about you,”
He smiles at this, that sort of half smile that only lifts one side of his mouth and crinkles the apple of his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal,”
“Hopefully,” you chide, matching his smile. He shrugs. “Seriously, Leon. You have to swear to me that you’ll get that checked out by someone actually qualified,”
He raises his hands in surrender. “I swear,”
He takes a seat on your couch, and you move to join him. There’s something sacred about the time you share here, between the four walls of your apartment and the dust accumulating on your shelves. His arm is slung across the back of the couch, inviting you into his space. The other hand fiddles with the hem of the shirt you’ve lent him. Without thinking, you seize his hand, examining the splits and cuts surrounding his knuckles. They’re beginning to heal on their own, crusted over with scabs and skin. You run a gentle brush over them, and he twitches as you sweep across the tender skin.
“Does it hurt?” you ask, looking up to meet his eyes. You see something in them that you can’t place.
“Yeah,” he says, watching you. Then, with a breath, “Nothing I can’t handle,”
You frown. “Maybe we should get you a desk job. Come to work with me,”
He laughs, a bright sound to counteract the dim room. “If you could make that happen, I’d take it,”
You wonder if he’s telling the truth. From what you understand, he’s been doing this for a long time, longer than you’ve known him, and you’re not sure he would walk away given the opportunity. You hope that he would, but you’re not confident that he’d give it up. You’re not sure he knows how to do anything else. He squeezes your hand, bringing you back to the present.
“Sorry that I only ever seem to show up when I’m half dead,” he whispers. He phrases it like a joke, but you know he means it. You wave a hand.
“I’m getting pretty good at patching you up,” you say. “Maybe I’ll run away and become an EMT,”
He smiles softly. “You’d be good at it,”
“Don’t know if I could handle all the blood,” you say, shrugging. “It’s different with you,”
Even when he’s fully healthy, you look at him like a fresh open wound. He’s something that should scare you, make you faint, but adrenaline kicks in and you need to fix it, need to mend.
“You should get some rest,” you whisper. His mouth sets into a line, but he nods.
“I take it I’m on light duty for the foreseeable future?” he asks. You roll your eyes and move away from him.
He says a hushed goodnight, and you disappear into the dark hallway. You hear him shuffle as he gets comfortable on your couch, and a weird sense of guilt washes over you. He’d deny you if you were to offer your bed to him, you know him well enough to scratch that idea before it’s even born. Instead, you allow him his ego, and settle between the sheets.
You’re surprised that he’s still here when you wake, even more so when you see him still asleep on the couch. The blanket is pulled up to his chin, his face bent inwards so that he’s almost in a fetal position. It makes warmth radiate in your chest and you smile. You resist the urge to join him.
He wakes while you’re making coffee. You hear him shuffle around, the creak of the couch as he moves to sit upright. He lets out a low groan. You halt your work on the coffee and rush to help him. He’s about halfway to sitting when you find him, grimacing against the pain and stretch of his stitches. Gently, you pull him into a sitting position, and he looks at you with something you can’t place.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. He frowns. “You took a hard hit. You’re not going to heal overnight. I’m not magic,”
“I know,” he responds. You sit beside him. “Thanks for trying, though,”
You laugh. “Keep it up, and I won’t stitch you up next time,”
“We both know that’s not true,” he says, looking at you like you’re an angel. “I know you too well,”
You could kiss him, right here and now. You think, for a moment, that he might just reciprocate. Flush creeps up your neck at the thought, and you remember that he’s still looking at you.
“Where do you go?” he asks. You blink at him. “When you stare off like that. Where do you go?”
You shrug. “Just get lost in thought, I guess,”
He doesn’t pry further, just accepts the answer and remains silent. You can’t tell if you’re satisfied by that. 
“What made you come here?” you ask quietly. He looks at you, studying your features. You wish you could snatch the words from where they linger in the air. Clearing your throat, you add, “The first time, I mean,”
He shrugs. “Figured you wouldn’t ask questions,”
He’d been right. You hadn’t asked questions. You’d tried to, thought about what you could possibly ask, but the idea was too daunting and he was bleeding out in your doorway. You’d hoped that stitches were as easy as they seemed.
“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you say. He smiles. “Can I share something?”
“Anything,”
“I’m glad you showed up that night. For a while, I was angry. Felt like I couldn’t wash my hands enough to scrub away the blood. But I’m glad you came,” you say, feeling short of breath. He’s staring at you, and you worry that you’ve said the wrong thing. You worry that he’ll get up and bolt. Instead, he brushes a few stray hairs from your eyes and smiles.
“If it’s any consolation,” he says. “I didn’t stick around for your stitching abilities,”
The apprehension wipes from your bones and you let out a laugh. “You’re so corny,” you say.
He rolls his eyes and kisses you like it’s something he does every day. It’s sweet and soft, plush against the jagged beat of your heart. It doesn’t last long, but you don’t need it to. You’re breathless anyway.
“What was that for?” you ask, starry eyed and far away.
He shrugs, as if this wasn’t the single most important thing you’ve ever experienced. “Figured it was making you anxious, so I got it out of the way,”
His cheeks are pink as you look at him. “What do we call this?”
“Healing,” he says, and kisses you again.
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thefallennightmare · 5 months
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Just Pretend-two
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Parings: Noah Sebastian x Reader
Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.
Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.
Authors Note: y'all aint ready for this. Also, this story is going to jump a lot between Noah's and Readers(angel's) POV.
Collabing With: @thescarlettvvitch
Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr
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READER
With a long sigh, I did my best to adjust my shirt and hair in a way to cover the mark on my neck, even two layers of foundation did nothing to hide it. Trey didn’t care that I was about to go on stage with a deep red hickey on the side of my neck or the fact that my chest was covered in bite marks. It was his way of claiming me in front of all the guys that showed up tonight which was insane when he was the only one that had my attention. 
Bullshit. 
“I told you to take it easy,” I grumbled to Trey as he appeared from the back of the bus. 
He shrugged while balancing a cigarette on his lips as he worked on buttoning his pants. His hair was a mess of waves thanks to my fingers running through it just a few moments ago but Trey didn’t bother to fix it. 
“Calm down, babe. It’s not like I haven’t marked you before,” he said while walking past me and smacking my ass. 
“That’s not the fucking point, Trey,” I seethed. “You didn’t have to leave that dark of a mark.” 
Trey lit the cigarette and blew the smoke out inside of the bus and I hastily waved it out of my face, the anger for him intensifying. 
“Have you lost your mind?! You know Malcolm has asthma, if he breathes in the smoke it’ll make him have an attack!” 
“Not my problem,” he shrugged then trotted down the stairs. 
What an ass. 
I stayed inside the bus for a few extra long moments trying to center myself by taking deep breaths and hopefully, letting Trey get a head start to wherever he was headed. 
The soundcheck went alright, it could have been worse, but thankfully Trey wasn’t completely wasted and could still perform. But that meant nothing for the next three hours until we went on stage. Who knows where he is headed right now?
During soundcheck, I noticed that while Bad Omens were bringing in their equipment, Noah’s gaze would linger on us every time he dropped something off. I thought I was the only one until Trey practically dragged me back to the bus to fuck his frustrations out. 
It wasn’t terrible. I’ve had worse but definitely could have been better. At least I was able to get off; sometimes Trey would be two pumps and done then move on to whatever else he had planned in his day.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and when I checked the message, I let out a loud snort at the text message from Chase.
Get your loner ass in the green room. Malcolm and I are hanging with Bad Omens.
I ducked into the bathroom to check myself in the mirror, smoothing down the few strands of hair that strayed out and tripled checked that the hickey on my neck wasn't that noticeable. On my way out of the bus and into the venue, I sent Trey a text letting him know to be back by six before doors opened; he of course left me on read.
As I neared the green room, loud voices carried down the hallway and when I walked through the doorway, many sets of eyes fell on me.
"Jeez, don't stop your conversations on my account. Makes me wonder what the hell you were talking about," I joked while falling onto the couch between Chase and Nick.
"Do I want to ask?" Chase ran a finger over the mark on my neck.
I smacked his hand away, hoping no one would notice. "You know how he is, Chase. It's nothing."
Chase was a really good friend of mine, had been for the last six years, and he was someone I could always confide in when things with Trey weren't that great; which was a lot. In the beginning, Chase would listen and offer advice that would strengthen my relationship with Trey. But now, I had a feeling Chase wanted to strangle Trey.
"He treats you like shit, Y/N," he ran a hand over his buzzed head. "You deserve better."
I ran my hands over my jeans and looked around the room when I felt a pair of eyes burning deep inside of me. My breath caught in my throat when I caught eyes with Noah, who was sitting on the couch across from me. Suddenly under his intense gaze I felt warm all over so I quickly shed off my sweatshirt and tossed it over the back of the couch behind me.
Nick peered down at my arm as he traced over the random tattoos on my skin, small smile pulling at his lips.
"Oh, please don't look at these. I got these stupid designs of a flower and stems when I was eighteen," I groaned. "I thought it would be so cool to get my entire arm covered in it."
He shook his head, still smiling. "No, the design looks sick. I just didn't know you had tattoos."
"Yeah, I tend to hid them only because-."
The words fell from my lips when I realized I did not want to finish that sentence in front of all the guys.
Malcolm snorted as he had no problem finishing my sentence. "Because Trey hates her tattoos. He thinks she should look pure and innocent for the band."
My eyes sliced into Malcolm. "That's not true."
"Right," it was Chase now who spoke. "Then why does he make you wear long sleeves for the shows and media pictures?"
I bounced my knee with newfound anger at my band mates for bringing up something personal in front of four strangers: to me anyway.
"Fuck this," I grumbled while rising to my feet. "I'm going to hang out on the bus until the show starts."
As I walked past the couch where Noah sat, his fingers brushed against the skin of my palm and electricity shot through my entire body. My nerve endings were buzzing with a sense of warmth that I'd never felt before. Every single cell in my body craved to feel this alive every second of the day and the way my heart pounded in my chest, I was afraid that Noah could hear how just his touch alone affected me.
I looked down at him, his long hair falling around his face in waves of chocolate locks, and his gaze traced over the tattoos on my left hand before jumping to my right arm. I was in such a trance that I didn't notice the way his eyes sparkled or when his deep voice echoed in my ears.
"Kaonashi."
My eyes blinked when the trance was broken. "Huh?"
Noah pointed to the tattoo on my arm. "From Spirited Away."
"You know Spirited Away?" I asked with so much excitement it was almost embarrassing.
"Yeah," he chuckled. "I'm actually a huge anime nerd. I have a Naruto tattoo on my knuckle."
I gasped while forcing Malcolm, who protested with a loud shout, to scoot off of the couch so I could sit next to Noah.
"No fucking way!"
Not even realizing I did it, I grabbed Noah's hand to trace over the small tattoo on the knuckle of his right hand.
"The leaf village!" I giggled. "That's so sick."
My attention was fully on drinking in the sight of the other arrays of tattoos on Noah's hand that I didn't even notice the way he was watching me, so much brightness and life in his eyes. The tattoos covered almost every inch of skin on his hands, arms, and fuck-even his neck was tattooed.
I'd love to run my tongue across the apple.
What the fuck? Why did I even think that?
Clearing my throat, I peered up at him through my lashes to give him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry for freaking out like this. It's just no one else watches anime so I don't really have anyone to talk to about this kind of stuff."
Noah immediately waved me off. "No, it's alright. I'm always down to talk about anime anytime you want."
My heart did that little flutter it did earlier when I saw him for the first time and just like that time, I forced the feeling away. This feeling was new, unknown, and it scared me it felt so intense when I was around Noah.
I fell back into the couch with a small smile. "I haven't watched that movie in so long. It's my all-time favorite. I can't tell you how many times I watched it while growing up."
"Do you want to watch it?"
My brow raised. "Now?"
Noah shrugged. "The show doesn't start for a few hours and we've got some time to kill."
"Okay," I smiled, my knees bouncing in excitement. "Yeah, sure. Let me grab my laptop and we can watch it in here."
Not wanting to waste any more time, I practically jumped from the couch and left the room.
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NOAH
With fire dancing behind my eyes, I watched Y/N leave the room, gaze lingering on the door for a few extra beats until Jolly's voice forced me to look at him.
"Did you say something?" I asked.
He smirked. "You two seem to be getting along quite well."
"We just have something in common," I rolled my eyes to show that I didn't care that much.
Even though my stomach was doing flips at the thought of spending more time with her. Finding out she was big into anime like me shouldn't have made a goofy smile spread to my lips but it did. From what I knew of her online, which wasn't much, I noticed that almost every media picture or concert video that was posted, Y/N had her tattoos covered up. I always thought it was the look she was going for but finding out that it was because Trey wanted her to keep up the image of looking innocent and pure made my throat burn.
Another thing I noticed? The giant red hickey on the side of her neck that was barley covered by makeup. Chase gave her shit for it when she first got here and that's when I heard her defend Trey for how nasty the hickey was.
"It's who he is." Her words replayed in my mind.
He sounds like a fucking prick.
We met Trey a few months back at a bar in Los Angeles where to no one's surprise; he was drunk and had some girl hanging off of his arm that wasn't Y/N. Though, we had no idea they were dating so to us, it could have been some random hook up. This was also before we knew we would tour with Hollow Souls. Trey knew who we were from word of mouth around the record label but from the moment we met that night, he had a sour taste in his mouth when it came to us.
Trey wouldn't admit it but Folio thinks it's because the record label was putting more of their attention on Bad Omens lately than Hollow Souls.
"All I'm saying is, be careful," Jolly spoke.
I sighed while brushing my hair away from my eyes. "We're watching a movie, Jolly. Not fucking on the couch in front of everyone."
Then the door opened behind me, halting whatever Jolly was going to say, and Y/N walked in with the largest smile on her face I'd think I'd ever seen someone have. My own matched when I noticed she threw on a Spirited Away sweater.
"What?" She shrugged when she noticed me staring. "I thought it was only fitting to wear it."
I patted the spot next to me where she previously sat and waited as she loaded up the movie. While the others had their own conversations, Jolly kept a curious eye on us.
"You know," I spoke as we waited.
"Hm?" She hummed in response but kept her attention on finding the movie.
Nerves ate away at me as I tried to find the correct way to say these words without coming across as weird or offensive. I've talked to plenty of girls throughout my life so why was I nervous to talk to her?
"I think you should show off your tattoo's more," I spoke slow at first, as if to test the waters.
That made her turn her head towards me, one brow raised to her hairline. "Oh, you do?"
I shifted in my spot on the couch, trying to look calm and collected. Not wanting her to realize that the way her eyes twinkled or how her bottom lip that was caught between her teeth was making me hard in places that shouldn't be hard right now; especially with her sitting right next to me.
"They're beautifully done. It's a fucking shame that you have to hide them because Trey wants you to look innocent for the band. I mean, has he even heard your lyrics or understood the deeper meaning to them?"
"Shit," she blushed and looked down at her lap. "Please don't analyze my lyrics. It's one thing when I sing them in front of a crowd but having a deep conversation about them in another thing entirely. I get so embarrassed."
"Seriously? Why?"
She shrugged. "I-uh, I think it's because people believe I don't write my own lyrics but I do. I spent hours some nights writing one song to make it perfect. Everyone thinks it's Trey, but all he does is scream the parts I tell him too. The rest is all me."
Taking her laptop from her, I placed it on the other side of the couch next to me then made her turn to face me. Meeting Y/N of Hollow Souls was on my bucket list but having deep conversations about her lyrics was at the top.
"In Your Touch Awakens, you talk about how the touch alone from someone ignites the fire within your soul. It makes your body shake with the aftershocks of a night full of hot passion."
The blush intensified to a deep shade of red but still refused to meet my gaze.
"The lyrics in One Night is a promise to spend the last night on earth with a man you only just met," I said.
Wouldn't that be fucking nice?
Ignoring the thought, I continued on. "Don't even get me started on Desperation for Our Sins. I could go into heavy detail about those lyrics."
"He has, multiple times," Folio nodded from his spot on the floor, halting his conversation with Malcolm.
I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. "That's because the lyrics are that fucking good. It's my favorite song."
"So screw Trey for thinking you should remain innocent for the band. Show everyone that this," I motioned to her. "Isn't something that should be covered up. And I mean that in the most respectful way possible, Y/N."
By now she was meeting my gaze and I could see that her eyes were wet but she did her best not to let the tears fall so instead, she blew out a shaky breath.
"Fuck, Noah. I might have to add Desperation for Our Sins on the set list just for you," she ended her words with a chuckle.
My fingers brushed over her knee, almost a subconscious action. She noticed with the way her body tensed but she didn't move away. In fact, she leaned into the touch.
"All I'm saying is, have fun when you're on stage. Come alive out there." I said.
It was the truth. Every video I've seen of a Hollow Souls concert, Y/N stayed on her side of the stage, while Trey moved around, jumping and spinning. I wanted to see that from her and made a promise to myself this tour that I would help her break out of this shell she had encased herself in.
"Tha-," her soft voice was cut off by the door to the room bursting open, almost slamming against the wall.
Trey stumbled inside, the air of the room shifting to an uncomfortable level. His eyes scanned around until it fell directly on Y/N and I, who were still sitting quite close and my hand still on her knee.
"What the fuck?" Trey spat. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
Her face twitched into a scowl and slowly rose to her feet. "You could have answered my texts then."
I was on the edge of my seat, not knowing exactly what he would do, but marveled at the way she stood toe to toe with Trey.
"What's going on here?" He motioned to the group. "A little pow wow without me?"
Y/N rolled her eyes. "Stop being a dick."
Trey smirked. "If I recall, you were begging for my dick earlier."
I averted my gaze from her down to the ground and rested my arms on my knees. My heart stuttered in my chest as jealousy fill my veins, something I didn't want to feel.
"Screw you," she scolded while pushing past Trey to leave.
He quickly grabbed her hand to stop her which made my jump to my feet. Trey chuckled darkly towards me all while keeping a grip on Y/N's hand.
"Oh, that's cute. Let me guess, she told you the story about how much she loved that stupid fucking anime movie? Unlike you, that pussy story didn't work on me. Do yourself a favor, Noah, stay the fuck away from her."
"Trey, stop it," Y/N quietly begged.
Not daring to back down, I tucked my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans and shrugged a shoulder
"I'm not doing anything, Trey. We were just talking."
"Right," he snorted before throwing Y/N's hand away from him, stalking out of the room alone.
"Asshole," she grumbled under her breath then turn towards me. "I'm so sorry about that."
My knuckle brushed against the patch of skin where Trey grabbed her. "It's not your fault."
"But it is," she nodded. "I know how he gets."
"Do you want to watch?" I pointed to the laptop. "Help get your mind off of him?"
I could see the internal battle behind her eyes as she fought with what she wanted to do and what she thought she had to do.
"I should go make sure he's alright," she threw a thumb over her shoulder. "But give me a few minutes and I'll be back. We can watch then."
I ignored the way my heart fell into my stomach but agreed with a smile. "Sure."
Once gone, I fell back onto the couch, as my body vibrated with so much energy and anger, I had to force myself to stay in the room and not run after her.
"Is he always like this?" Folio asked.
Chase answered with a long breath. "Unfortunately. We've talked about Trey to the label on countless occasions but they won't do anything until after the tour. And that's a big IF."
Malcolm gave a weak smile. "We've tried to ignore it but it's starting to get out of hand; the drinking and the way he treats Y/N."
"Have you guys even tried to stop it?" I snapped.
"Believe us, Noah. We have," Chase narrowed his eyes at me. "Trey is so far gone there's no reasoning with him. Y/N is no different. She won't listen to us. She'll defend him until her last breath, its disgusting."
My fists clenched at my sides as I waited not so patiently for her to return by pacing the room. Five minutes past with no sight of her but before I could go find her, Nick's voice called after me.
"Noah, don't."
I ran a hand over my jaw. "I’m not gonna get involved, I just wanna make sure she’s okay. Fuckin prick smelled like Vodka.”
As I followed the angry voices, I came to a halt halfway down the hallway when I noticed Trey practically foaming at the mouth as he scolded Y/N.
"Why the fuck was he so close to you?"
She pinched her eyes shut. "We were just talking."
"Bullshit," Trey spat, literally, to the ground at her feet. "No man wants to just talk to you, Y/N. Wake the fuck up and realize he wants you!"
She choked on a laugh. "You're fucking delusional. You're seeing something thats not there."
Well..
"Don't be a dumbass. It's not a cute look for you, babe."
With a quick glance my way, Trey saw me standing a few feet behind Y/N, who didn't notice me. So with a smug smile, he threw an arm over her shoulders and led her through a door that led outside.
"I can think of a few ways you could make it up to me."
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NOAH
A yawn escape from my lips as I shut the door to the trailer shut before bidding a goodbye to the crew as they were getting ready to head to the next city. The first show of the tour went great, Bad Omens putting on a killer show like we usually do. But most the fans were there to see Hollow Souls, who undoubtedly brought the energy. We watched them from the side stage but even with my words earlier, Y/N didn't break out of her shell or come alive on stage. She remained in place, wearing a long-sleeved dress and black thigh-high boots.
She looked absolutely Devine on stage. How her face was stone while she sang her parts, eyes closed in concentration. There were a few strands of hair that fell from her ponytail into her face but none of it bothered her as she was in the zone on stage.
Of course, she didn't watch our set, only coming back into the venue right before Hollow Souls went on. According to Malcolm, her and Trey stayed on their bus until the last possible second. I thought about going and finding her to wish her a great job tonight but knew that it would only make things worse for her with Trey.
"Noah, you ready?" Nick called out form the window of our bus.
With one final glance to the empty parking lot then to Hollow Souls bus, I let out a breath and nodded.
"Yeah."
But before I could ascend the stairs to our bus, my name was called from behind and noticed Trey walking towards me. Instantly my body tensed with the need to fight but did my best to keep cool.
"I know what you're doing!" He bellowed.
I raised a brow at him. "Standing in front of my bus?"
"No, smartass. I know you've been watching my girl all night," Trey got right up in my face, chest to chest.
"Back up, Trey," I ordered with my hands outstretched. "I'm not going to fight you."
The difference in our heights was almost laughable. Even in my flat tennis shoes, I towered over Trey by a few inches.
“Just know, I see it. And it's not going to happen. We’re gonna do this fucking tour cause the label said we can’t cut the fucking contract. But just know, this thing you want with Y/N isn't going to happen," Trey said angrily.
With one final glare, he rammed his shoulder into me as he brushed past towards his tour bus, where Y/N stuck her head out the door to give us a concerned eye.
"Everything alright?" She wondered.
Trey plastered a fake smile then brought her in for a heated kiss, one that at first she looked uncomfortable with but then she melted into his body, her fingers running through his hair.
"Lets get you to bed, baby. It's been a long day."
"Mother fucker," I gritted out through clenched teeth as the door to their bus shut.
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