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ladysharmaa · 24 hours

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Kate mini version

Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma x Sharma!sis

Summary: Y/n adapted to the Bridgerton family dynamic. However, she remains a little fearful and shy. Could the arrival of a prince change that?

part 1

Ever since Kate and Anthony assured Y/n that they wanted her to live with them, things had gotten better. The girl felt more comfortable with them, and appreciated the effort the couple made to show that she was always welcome. Riding horses for the three of them was an almost regular activity now, and these afternoons were Y/n's favorite.

Anthony had given her a beautiful black mare, which she insisted on learning to wash and comb, even though there were servants for that purpose. The man then spent the rest of the month teaching her how to ride, and this was something that brought her very close to Anthony, who she now considered like a brother.

The truth was, living with her older sister and her husband was wonderful. There was never a dull moment and she always had someone to talk to. Furthermore, the relationship between her and Kate was the strongest, and they were more inseparable than ever. Y/n's mother had agreed that her daughter would stay at Viscount's house for a while and thus extended her stay in India.

However, even though she was comfortable in that smaller core, she still felt shy around Anthony's siblings. She loved them all, and they always treated her equally, but in the back of her head there was always that thought that she was intruding.

Now, the Bridgerton family plus Y/n were on their way to the park to have a picnic. The season was starting again and suitors from all over the world were arriving to try to find someone. On the way there, Y/n entertained herself by listening to Eloise's grumbling that she would be entering the season again, even if the last thing she wanted was to find a husband.

Bridgerton had made a point of giving Y/n her feminist speech, and despite the eye rolls she received from some of her siblings, Y/n agreed with everything she said. However, she always wanted to be married to a man who truly loved her, and that wasn't going to change.

It was a sunny day, perfect for staying right by the lake and enjoying the delicious food that the maids had prepared. Anthony and Kate were in their own world, whispering to each other with gigantic smiles, Benedict and Collin were appreciating the ladies passing by, and Eloise was reading her book while Violet had met Lady Danbury and the two were chatting animatedly. Daphne and Simon hadn't arrived with their son yet, but Y/n couldn't wait to play with the baby again.

Meanwhile, she, Hyacinth, Gregory and Francesca were walking around the lake, picking up rocks and seeing who could throw them the furthest. Probably not the most etiquette thing they could do, but Violet and Anthony hadn't stopped them yet so they continued.

"I'm starting to get tired." Y/n grumbled, rolling the shoulder of her arm that was starting to feel sore from throwing so many rocks. "I think I'll sit down and get some sun."

"We'll be right there and keep you company then. I just need to beat Gregory first!" Hyacinth promised.

Y/n smiled towards the three, then heading towards the lawn where the others were. She momentarily looked down, seeing that she had gotten a little dirty on her dress when she went up against someone. The force of the impact had been so great that she lost her balance and began to fall backwards. However, this never happened because someone managed to grab her arms and pull her up again.

When she opened her eyes, having closed them in preparation for the fall, she saw a young man, around her age, looking worriedly at her. "Are you alright? My apologies, Miss, I was distracted and didn't see you."

"I'm okay." she said a little breathlessly. Their proximity didn't help either. "I'm the one who apologizes. I should be looking ahead instead of at my dress."

"It is a beautiful dress." he said, taking the opportunity to look her up and down, letting a small smile form on his lips. Y/n's cheeks immediately started to turn pinker. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…"

"Sharma." Y/n smiled. "I'm sorry, I don't recall who you are."

"Prince Charles, the youngest son of Queen Charlotte and King George." he chuckled when he saw Y/n's wide eyes, who quickly made a small bow. "Please, that's not necessary. On top of that, I was the one who almost made you fall to the ground."

"My apologies, Prince Charles. I returned from India only a few months ago and it seems that I still don't know everything I should know. This mistake will not be repeated."

"It wasn't anything serious. To be honest, I'm actually glad you didn't immediately know who I was. I went against you because I was running away from an Earl's daughters who were begging me to marry them." A silence fell over them. "Who are you here with?"

"My sister and her husband's family. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and Viscountess Kate Bridgerton." Y/n looked over his shoulder, seeing Anthony staring in her direction, more specifically at the Prince. He was about to get up when Kate pulled him down again, sending Y/n a smile and a wink. "They're looking at us right now."

"Of course, I know who they are. My mother loved the love story between them. Since then, she has only told my older siblings that she wants them to have something like that too. But they are not very interested in getting married, much to the Queen's disappointment."

Y/n just let out a small chuckle in response, not really knowing what to say. The proximity to the prince was becoming increasingly intimidating, and it didn't help that the entire Bridgerton family had noticed that interaction and were now observing discreetly.

"I apologize, Prince Charles, but I must return to my sister's family. We came to take advantage of this beautiful day to have a picnic."

"Of course, Miss Sharma. I hope to see you again soon." he nodded with his hands clasped behind his back. With a smile, he went back on his way while Y/n walked over to where Kate and Anthony were, her cheeks painted a light pink.

"What were you talking about?" Anthony questioned without being able to control himself any longer, his half-closed eyes still focused on the back of the boy walking in the distance.

Kate rolled her eyes at Anthony's exaggerated protectiveness, but the truth is that her heart started to beat faster when she saw how Anthony had so much care and affection for Y/n. It made her imagine how protective he would be of their daughters.

"Don't pay attention to Anthony, Y/n. The prince seemed very interested in talking to you. You should have gone for a walk together."

"Sister!" the younger girl exclaimed with wide eyes, becoming even more embarrassed. "He was just apologizing for going against me."

"That boy, prince or not, should look where he is going! Irresponsible, that's what he is!" Anthony continued to mumble, ignoring the look his wife sent him.

"Well, I am delighted that you made a new friend, Y/n. Now come sit with us for a while and drink some water, it's very hot."

"You're getting worse than mother." Y/n rolled her eyes in amusement. She added with a wink, "I guess it's a good training for the future."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"I do not want to go." Y/n stated, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Sister, we've already had this conversation." Kate repeated for the thousandth time, but still with the same patience as the first time. The older woman sighed, looking understandingly at her sister who was looking at the floor with a pout. "What are you really afraid of? It's your first ball, it's normal for you to be nervous."

Y/n was going to be subject to the season for the first time, where she could meet her future husband. Despite all the nerves she felt, she was happy to have Kate, Anthony, and the rest of the Bridgerton family with her. Furthermore, she would be in the same situation as Francesca, except that the latter had been named diamond of the season.

"How's mother and Edwina?" Y/n tried to change the subject, instead asking about the two other Sharmas who were in Prussia. Edwina was pregnant with her first child with Prince Friedrich and Mary had gone there, after a brief stop in England, to support Edwina.

"Y/n, don't change the subject. You can talk to me."

"What if no one asks me to dance, Kate?" Y/n finally revealed her fears shyly. She spoke so quietly that Kate had to strain to understand her words, but when she did her eyebrows furrowed in sadness. "You and Anthony took me in, what if now no one asks me to dance and I make you look bad?"

"First of all, you could never make us look bad and we would never be disappointed in you. I even think Anthony's biggest dream would be if you and Francesca didn't dance with anyone." Kate chuckled knowing how protective her husband was. "And I don't want you to be forced to dance with anyone. You can say no if someone invites you to dance and you don't want to. And if anything happens, call Anthony or his brothers."

"I will." the girl nodded, seeing her sister's serious look. "I hope everything goes well."

"Of course it will! And you won't be alone, we'll all be there in case you need anything. And who knows, maybe you'll see a certain prince. I heard the queen is going to make him participate in this season."

Y/n didn't respond to the teasing, she just continued to get ready with the help of the maids. When Anthony called them from downstairs, the two sisters hurried to meet him, seeing that the rest of the family was already there with the exception of Francesca.

When they saw her, a big smile appeared on everyone's faces, Violet going to give her a hug as soon as she reached the end of the stairs and Daphne holding her hand. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." she smiled at the women, and was later praised by Eloise, and the Bridgerton brothers.

Then, it was Francesca's turn to go down the stairs, catching their attention. After the compliments she received, the girl stood next to Y/n, the two holding hands as they walked to the carriages waiting for them.

"You look very beautiful, diamond of the season." Y/n said with a teasing smile, squeezing her hand in Francesca's in comfort.

"You do as well, Princess Sharma." Francesca giggled. To relieve the tension, the girl looked straight ahead at Anthony who was helping Kate into the carriage, his forehead dripping with sweat as he looked discreetly at the two teenagers. "I think my brother is going to pass out from how nervous he looks."

"Tonight promises to be quite interesting. At least he has my sister to control him a little, or I think he would be glaring at every suitor in the room, even if they didn't even want anything to do with us."

When they arrived at the Queen's castle, they were both amazed by the place. An orchestra played in the middle while some couples were already dancing, the space decorated with various details and chandeliers lighting up the room. When the Bridgerton family entered, everyone stopped to observe the diamond of the season, who was still clinging to Y/n.

To give her the focus of attention, Y/n tried to move away but Francesca just grabbed her hand tighter, sending her a look of fear. The Sharma girl nodded in understanding, then stood on Francesca's side, also being subjected to the curious looks of other people.

"Come on, girls." Anthony said, guiding the family to a corner while everyone analyzed the environment. He then turned to his two friends, who in his eyes were too young to be thinking about suitors, but he knew that this was the right age. "If you need anything, and I mean anything, go to one of us. We'll always be here to make sure you're okay. Now, all of you split up and socialize."

"They already look so nervous and you're going to scare them even more with your nerves." Benedict placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder. "Relax, brother. Go dance with your wife, we are also here to take care of them."

"I know." Anthony sighed, running a hand over his face. His tense muscles only relaxed when he felt Kate's hand caress his arm as she smiled understandingly. "Shall we dance, Viscountess Bridgerton?"

"We shall." she giggled, letting her husband guide her to the center of the room.

Meanwhile, Y/n watched the people at the ball nervously and curiously. They were all dressed to the nines, with the best fabrics and jewelry that showed the families' wealth and status. The Sharma smiled slightly when she noticed a girl being asked by a suitor. It was obvious that they were both nervous, but when he finally managed to ask the question, the girl blushed and accepted with a big smile.

Y/n sighed, turning her attention elsewhere. Her heart was beating heavily against her chest, wondering if she was going to experience the same situation as that girl.

A light touch on her shoulder made her snap out of her thoughts. Y/n turned to the side, her eyes widening when she saw Prince Charles standing there, both hands behind his back and a perfect smirk on his lips.

"Miss Sharma, what a pleasure to see you again."

"Prince Charles." she greeted, making a small bow. "This time I haven't forgotten my manners."

"I must say you look beautiful tonight." he praised, gently taking one of her delicate hands and bringing it to his lips, lightly kissing her skin. Y/n's cheeks immediately flushed, getting worse when she realized that they were attracting the attention of others. "Are you enjoying the ball?"

"Very much, thank you. The orchestra plays beautifully. It's lovely to see so many people dancing, especially my sister and Viscount Bridgerton. I have never seen them happier."

"Indeed. We could dance too… If you would like to, of course." Y/n didn't think she had ever seen the boy being shy, but she had to admit that it was really cute to see him like that.

"Are you sure? Many people are already looking at us… Including the Queen." she whispered the last part with a look of fear. "Are you supposed to find a lady to marry this year?"

"My mother hopes so, but she doesn't pressure me into anything. Right now, I just want to dance with you. Please? Don't pay attention to anyone else, just focus on me."

Y/n swallowed hard, but nodded, resting her hand on the arm Charles offered. The two walked to the dance floor as soon as the song ended, preparing for a new melody. The Sharma girl held her breath when she felt the boy's hand position itself on her waist, pulling her closer, while the other intertwined with hers.

The music started slowly and Y/n let the prince lead her, too nervous to even remember the choreography she had already practiced several times before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kate and Anthony looking at them as they danced, giving nods of encouragement but still keeping their attention on them.

The rest of the people looked in shock, seeing the youngest son of the Queen and the King dancing with the sister of Viscountess Bridgerton who had caused a lot of talk last season. The Queen was also watching them, a small smile appearing on her lips.

"You're not just focusing on me." Charles hummed, squeezing her waist to show she was just joking. "And on top of that I'm a great dancer."

"My apologies. But I can't agree with the last part. I think —" but she couldn't finish her sentence as Charles picked her up and twirled her around several times until her laughter could be heard above the music.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" he laughed teasingly, loving the blush on her cheeks. He wanted to make her blush all the time, he loved the effect he had on the girl who was constantly on his mind since that day in the park.

"Prince Charles, this will certainly not be seen very well by other people. They are all whispering about us now! More than they already were."

"Call me Charles." He said, ignoring the rest of what Y/n said. His eyes were intense, studying the girl's face and stopping on her lips before moving up to her eyes.

"No."

"No?" he raised his eyebrows, as if he wasn't expecting that answer. Y/n stepped away from him, making a small bow. And only then did he realize that the song had already ended.

"I really enjoyed this dance, thank you. I hope to meet you again. We keep crossing paths so who knows?" she smiled, turning her back and walking towards Francesca who was alone in the corner, a drink in her hand.

Prince Charles definitely wanted to see Y/n Sharma again, his gaze following the girl's movements as if in a trance. Surely him standing in the middle of the dance floor looking at Y/n would be the main topic in the paper of Lady Whistledown.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #collin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #kate sharma x reader #kate sharma

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grimm-writings · 2 days

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moments

…ft! touden party, falin x gn! reader, izutsumi & reader

…tags! tooth-rotting fluff, drabbles

…wc! 70 ; 87 ; 95 ; 92 ; 108; 106 = 558

…notes! i feel like a negligent parent with my lack of works lately. here’s something small.

Laios enjoys napping with you under the shade of a tree. In this moment, there’s nothing stopping you and him from understanding one another completely. With a gentle breeze flowing, Laios finds his hands resting on your back as you turn to collapse on top of him, earning a small wheeze from him. But he laughs, and he holds you. It's time for rest. Forget your responsibilities for a while.

Marcille will come to you every time she finishes a book in a daze. She recalls the ending to you, as she usually does when she has finished a few chapters for the past few days. However, in her post-book stupor, she finds herself more prone to rambling and such. Still, she isn’t anxious about ‘talking too much’ or otherwise. The way you engage with her and help ground her, especially if an ending is particularly stressful, is her favourite routine. She shan’t trade it for anything.

Chilchuck gets busy on workdays. With his shop and representing his fellow half-foots, his hands can get very full, very quickly. This is why he’s thankful for your presence, welcoming him home with open arms, a tasty meal, and a hot bath prepared just for him. You get to watch as the furrow in his brow relaxes in the midst of you. When all is said and done, when you lay in bed together, he finds respite in this moment. That at his age is a rare feat. You’re really something to behold, aren’t you?

Senshi finds the time spent after a hearty meal to be some of the most tender. Standing beside one another, Senshi plunging cutlery into suddy water only to hand it to you to dry, is like something out of a dream. Momentarily, not only is he doing what he loves, but he’s doing it with someone he loves too. Someone he might consider spending the rest of his days like this, washing the dishes. He’s always sure to thank you for helping, his beard barely disguising the wide smile on his face.

Izutsumi is hardly one for staying relaxed in a perfect moment, but she still lets her guard down around you no matter how many times she tries to catch herself. It’s a slow process. First slouches against your arm, before turning to nuzzle into it, and then she rests her head on your shoulder and finds herself curling into you entirely. It’s hard not to pet and scratch her, but don’t be surprised when she finally realises what she’s doing and pulls away entirely, embarrassed and acting like you’re the problem. It’s but a moment, though a peaceful one she wouldn’t mind falling into the trap of again.

Falin sees her whole world in moments. Little treasures to be looked back on with a tenderness and fullness unlike any other. That’s why, with you, she holds all the time you spend together close to her heart. From the first time your fingers brushed against one another to a late night conversation, Falin remembers each and every one, all committed to memory. That way, when you see each other again, Falin is flooded with a feeling of bliss. The thoughts and yearn for your smile directed at her is a moment in itself. When you wear that glowing expression, how could she ask for more?

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deoidesign · 1 day

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Happy webcomics day!!!

I'm not home (on a trip right now with family), but I still want to talk a little bit about my process, so I did what I could to find some wip shots 🧡

Plus, I'd also like to update my extremely patient readers with a little taste of what's to come!!!

Step one, of course, is writing.

When I'm writing I have four documents open. A "dump" document, a "yes this!" Document, an outline document, and a drawing canvas!

In the dump document, I put ANYTHING. complete stream of consciousness. The 'yes this' document is where I put anything useful from the dump document, and the outline is, of course, the outline. The drawing canvas is for me to sketch out problems and ideas and get sort of a different angle on things, since I can't really visualize.

Once I have a book completely written, I start thumbnailing!

My thumbnails pretty much look like this. Text, sketchy poses, indications of expression and maybe environment...

I thumbnail the entire book at once. I don't let myself do any edits on it until it's done, but I take note of edits I'd like to make! Then, once the first draft is out, I edit.

I'll move entire scenes, delete whole episodes, bring in bits from the end to have proper foreshadowing... Etc! It's a long process that makes my arcs feel much more complete and something I can be really proud of.

I can only do this when I'm really ahead, though, so that's why I've been on a long hiatus!!! I was forced to work without my process for a few arcs, and the difference is so huge to me that I refuse to let myself do it again. It makes a loner hiatus, but work way more worth waiting for!

Next step is lineart!

Yes, I skip sketches! I go right into lines.

I save every head I've ever drawn, and that lets me copy paste in a basic head angle. Then I redo the face, fix up the hair, etc. so it fits my panel, and then I draw the rest of the body!

This seriously saves me so much time, but less so for the drawing (i still draw a ton of heads and I'm very fast) and more just for helping me skip sketching entirely!

Then I do character flats, which since all my lines are closed that goes pretty quickly (slowest part is Steve's hair, I refuse to use a brush cause every one I've made looks terrible!!!)

And then I draw the backgrounds!

Which, I keep layered, clean, and HUGE so I can use them throughout the arc.

I used to feel bad doing this, but then I realized... It's not like backgrounds "change" irl. So why make them change in my comics...? It saves me so much time, but it ALSO lets me put in more detail per background! I draw probably 3 very large backgrounds per episode like this, and then I draw maybe 5-10 unique backgrounds for single panels per episode as well. I save these too, but they're rarely re-used.

And then my panels are done!!!

So there's a bit of my process for you all!!!

Happy webcomics day 🧡🧡🧡

And here's my comic, if you haven't read it and want to see the end result of this process, or if you have read it and would enjoy a re-read with the extra knowledge:

Or, if you would prefer books I have those too!

Happy to elaborate on any step, as well!

I make comics extremely quickly and as my full time job, and my process allows me to easily manipulate my format as well. I'm happy to share any of my knowledge if you have questions!!!

#webcomics day #webcomicday #webcomic day #time and time again #webcomics #webtoon #webtoon originals #ttawebcomic #art process #writing process #my art #comic #my comic #comic process

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w2soneshots · 1 day

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I’ve missed you -W2S

Words: 0.9k+

Warnings: none.

In which Harry comes to pick you up from the airport after a week with your family in Norway. Then he brings you to dinner with his friends to meet them for the first time.

a/n: this fic was based off of this request!🙂 I hope you enjoy my lovelies💗🫶🏼

I met Harry four months ago. We immediately hit it off and have been together ever since. We're still in the early stages of our relationship, so I'm yet to meet his friends. Last week I left to go and see my family in Norway, which is where I've lived my entire life until last year when I moved to London. Me and Harry have spent most of our time together these past few months so it was really weird not seeing him for a week. Though we face-timed every night and I was constantly texting and sending pictures to him.

Today I'm flying home. My dad dropped me off at the airport and with one final hug we said goodbye. I checked in, went through security and was soon sat on the plane waiting to take off. I made sure to text Harry that I'd be landing in around two hours, since he insisted on picking me up. I listen to music and read for the entire time, so before I knew it we were landing.

I walked out of the huge glass doors and stopped as I looked around. When my eyes caught Harry's my heart rate began to speed up. A smile spread across my face and he quickly made his way towards me. "Hey!" He pulled me into a warm embrace. I wrapped my arms around his torso. "Hi." As we pulled away he smiled at me, then pulled a white bouquet of flowers from behind his back. "Oh my god Harry, they're beautiful!" I beamed. "I've missed you." He placed them in my hands. "I've missed you too, and thank you." I pushed myself onto my tip toes to peck his lips.

Once we got in the uber Harry had booked (since he absolutely hates driving, especially in London) we headed back to his apartment. When we got inside I took a shower to wash the plane smell off of me. Then I got ready because tonight I'm going to dinner with Harry, Ethan, Faith, Simon, Talia, Josh, Freya, JJ and Tobi. Harry has already given me the rundown on their names, what they look like and who's with who. I'm really excited to meet them and take the next big step in mine and Harry's relationship.

After making myself look presentable with, makeup and a nice outfit I left the bathroom. Harry sat on the bed and immediately looked up at me. "How do I look?" I asked jokingly with a twirl. He stood up "you look incredible." He complimented. "Why thank you." I smiled.

My leg shook slightly and I picked at my nails as we pulled up to the restaurant. Harry noticed this so placed his hand on my knee. "Everything's gonna be fine they'll love you." He soothed. I nodded then took a deep breath, intertwining my hand with his.

When we got inside we were quickly taken to our table where almost all of Harry friends sat. I politely smiled and immediately the girls stood up to greet me. "I'm Faith. It's so nice to finally meet you!" She pulled me into a quick hug. I introduced myself to the rest of the girls then looked back over to Harry who was already fondly observing at me. Unbeknownst to the both of us Ethan and Josh were nudging each other and whispering about how 'in love' Harry looked.

Once we sat down (me between Harry and Talia) we ordered some drinks. "So y/n how did you n bog meet?" Tobi asked. Harry had already forwarded me about his "stupid nickname" as he'd put it. "Um, well we bumped into each other and he knocked my bag out of my hand. Then we knocked heads as we both bent down to get it." I laughed lightly as I remembered the awkward interaction. "That sounds like it came straight out of a movie." Freya added.

Harry's hand sat comfortably on the top of my thigh as we chatted. I was soon fully comfortable around everyone and was having a great chat with Faith about her and Ethan's daughter, Olive. When our food arrived, all of the girls (including me) told the boys to "wait!" while we took a picture. The boys all groaned and then burst out laughing at the synchronised annoyance.

While we waited for dessert everyone was having their own little conversations. "So what's toffee pudding in Norwegian?" He asked. I giggled "it's just toffee pudding." "Oh. Well then what's," he took his time to think "thank you?" "Takk skal du ha." I replied. "Takk skal du ha." He repeated. I nodded "ye pretty much." I lifted myself from my seat "I'm just gonna go to the toilet, I'll be two seconds." Harry smiled "ok see you in a minute."

Harry's pov:

I watched as y/n walked away then turned back to the table to see the boys giggling. "What?" I asked, with my brows furrowed. "Harry you're so whipped." Simon stated. My face softened "well I really like her so... I don't mind." "I'm really happy for you bog, she seems really lovely." JJ said sincerely. "Ye it's nice to see you finally with someone." Ethan added. "It's not been that long has it?!" I asked, referring to Ethan's "finally". He chuckled "It's been like four years mate."

Your pov:

I returned to the table a few minutes later and sat back down next to Harry. "Did I miss anything important?" I asked. "Not really, the boys were just reminding me how long it's been since I've been with someone." I raised my brows "oh, why?" "Because they're glad I've finally found someone amazing as you." He whispered into my ear. A pink blush spread across my cheeks. Harry chuckled then placed his hand back onto my thigh.

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oliversrarebooks · 2 days

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The Rare Bookseller Part 51: Oliver's Anticipation

Prev > Masterlist

tw: burns, mind control, body control

October 1925

Alexander's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

Oliver had woken up in his master's chambers, pitch black and smelling of woodsmoke and book bindings, with cold arms wrapped around him. For just a moment, it felt like a strange nightmare, until he remembered where he was.

Perhaps still a nightmare, but an increasingly familiar and strangely comforting one.

Warming his master's bed really hadn't been unpleasant, though. Oliver had enjoyed a truly restful sleep under Alexander's spell, and with all of his anxiety over the next evening's social call, it was just as well.

There was a sore spot on his chest, and when he reached for it, he found it was protected by a thick bandage. Where did that come from? His memories of the night before were so fuzzy. He remembered fretting by himself, Alexander coming home drunk... and Miss Lily was there too...

"Mmm." Without warning, his master stirred, and gripped Oliver tight to his chest. "Fitz..."

Oliver's chest clenched. "Um, it's me, sir. Oliver. Your thrall."

"Hm? Oh. Sorry. Yes. Don't know what I was thinking." Alexander's grasp mercifully loosened, and he rolled over on his back, freeing Oliver. "What are you doing here?"

"Um -- I think Miss Lily told me to -- warm your bed, sir? I confess I don't quite remember, but if I've broken any rule and you want me to leave, I'll leave right away, sir."

"No, no, no. You're fine. I don't quite remember either, but no doubt I wanted you to be here." He reached out and touched the bandage on Oliver's chest. "Oh, yes. That was why."

"What is it, sir?"

"...A mark. An unfortunate but necessary one."

"A mark, sir?" The wound on his chest throbbed.

"You can see when you take the bandage off. You'll need to clean it, too. We'll both need to get cleaned up before midnight," he said. "And you'll want to eat, as well. I can take care of my own preparations. It's better if he's distracted by my faults, anyway. Less attention for you. Anyway, you should go on."

Oliver looked around the inky black room, remembering what a mess Alexander's floor was. He wasn't even sure quite where the door was located.

"Is there something else, Oliver?"

"I can't see, sir."

"...Yes, of course. Wait a moment, I'll light a lamp."

Oliver could hear his master fumbling around in the dark.

"This one's out of oil, damn it. Hang on, I know there's another just... here."

The dim flame lit up the room just enough for Oliver to get his bearings. He was surprised at how reluctant he was to roll out of his master's bed. He could get used to this, and he'd probably need to, given how much his master seemed to appreciate his presence or at least his temperature.

Emerging back out into the drafty, cold manor brought Oliver back to his worries and fears, the ones he had spent the previous evening turning over and over, the one that his master's spell had taken away from him for a while. "...Master?" he said, impulsively poking his head back into the door, hoping he wasn't breaking any rule.

"Yes, what is it, Oliver?"

"...If it's not too much trouble, sir... could you help me to sleep again, at the end of tonight?"

"Of course I can," said Alexander, who sounded quite pleased. "It would be my pleasure, any time."

"Thank you, sir."

The thought of his master's spell of bliss helped calm Oliver's nerves enough to attend to his breakfast and hygiene, and to ignore the ticking of the clocks on the walls.

But he was still acutely aware of the fact that his master's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

Breakfast was a sombre affair, as Oliver found himself without much appetite, choking down a few slices of toast solely because he didn't want to face the night on an empty stomach. Hygiene was an equally somber affair, a short and joyless bath and shave. Oliver peeled off the bandage to find a round and painful scar, swollen and indistinct.

A burn? His master had burned him? Alexander had called it "unfortunate but necessary," and Oliver couldn't figure out what that would mean. He must have been very deeply under his master's spell to not remember a thing.

When he returned to his bedroom, there was a modest blue dress laid out for him on his bed. He donned it and looked at himself in the mirror, heart thumping in his chest.

His master's sire would be here at midnight sharp.

As soon as Oliver descended the staircase, he was met by Alexander, who looked more put together than he had at any other point Oliver had seen him. He was wearing a sharp suit and his mop of hair was neatly combed. Oliver couldn't help but wonder how had he groomed himself without the aid of a mirror or assistance -- but that was hardly the most pressing question on his mind.

"My sire will be here at midnight sharp," Alexander repeated the words stuck in Oliver's hand like a protective mantra. "Here, let me straighten your dress. You have a lock of hair out of place here, too."

Oliver let himself be fussed over. "Sir, can I ask about the mark on my chest?"

"My sire requires his thralls to be branded, and requires the same of me," Alexander explained. "I don't intend to be under his thumb forever, but for now, I must acquiesce to his rules." His face grew even more grim and sour. "That's why I must allow him to drink from you."

Branded. He'd been branded. That little voice buried deep within him wanted to protest about a permanent mark done without his permission, but it was easily overruled. After all, he was here to serve his master forever, wasn't he?

"I understand, sir," said Oliver, swallowing hard. Why was this so difficult for him? It was a service his master required, and Miss Lily had taught him that his primary purpose was to provide blood for vampires. But Alexander's unease made it impossible for his heart to calm.

"I would provide a spell to soothe you or prevent you from feeling pain, if I could, but he would detect it and make things worse for both of us. Unfortunately, I have to ask you to be obedient once more. Do not struggle against his control, do not lie, and do not disobey."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, shivering as he recalled how it felt when his body moved on its own. "Sir, may I ask another question, one which is possibly impertinent?"

"Of course, Oliver, you have free permission to ask questions, as always. I just may not choose to answer."

"...Why is your sire so terrifying, sir?"

His master looked up at him in surprise, then let out a sharp laugh without mirth. "Straight to the point. An excellent question. One which has often kept me awake through the day." He sighed. "Well, he does have the power to puppet your body against your will on a whim. He can do that to me, as well -- since a sire always has power over their sired. But even that, terrifying as it is, is not the whole of it, is it?"

"No, sir, it isn't."

"He's a traditionalist, of course. He believes that humans only exist to serve vampires and should have no will of their own. But if that's all it were, he'd merely erase his thralls' minds, as some of my kind do," he said. "I've always thought that, despite his unparalleled power, he is simply... miserable."

"Miserable, sir?"

"Miserable and perhaps even lonely. He doesn't allow himself companions among vampires or humans. He only takes pleasure in cruelty. I could almost pity him, if he weren't the greatest threat to me and mine." Alexander once again reached over to fuss with Oliver's dress and hair. "I expect that's not a satisfactory answer, but it's the best I can provide to you."

"It's satisfactory enough, sir." An image flashed through Oliver's mind, one long buried. His father, stumbling in drunk once more, towering over him. He shook his head. No, it wouldn't do to think of that now. He had to be brave.

His master's sire would be here at midnight sharp, and all too soon, the chimes rang throughout the house. One, two...

And one beat after the twelfth chime, exactly in rhythm with the grandfather clock in the library, there were three knocks on the front door.

"You must answer the door, Oliver. I'll receive him in the music room."

His master disappeared before Oliver could respond, leaving his heart to thump out of its chest as he walked to the front door. As he opened it, he found himself frozen to the spot before he could even fully take in what he was seeing.

He caught a glimpse of the man from the ballet as he was forced into a low, uncomfortable curtsy. Alexander's sire was dressed much as he was then, all in black with a long silver ponytail, posture straight as an arrow.

"Good evening, sir," said Oliver, trying his best to keep himself relaxed and not fight against the bonds gripping his limbs. He had to be the perfect thrall, for both himself and Alexander's sake.

"Good evening," said that entrancing voice. If Alexander's voice was like gentle waves washing over his mind, the Maestro's voice was like a metronome, forcing Oliver's thoughts into an inflexible rhythm. "I trust your master is prepared for this social call?"

"Yes, sir, he will be receiving you in the music room."

"Very well. Follow." With a crisp snap, Oliver was marching behind him like a toy soldier at attention, his thoughts racing even as his body's movements were unnaturally precise.

He could do this. He could. He could make his master proud.

Prev > Masterlist

Thanks for reading! Next week, the conclusion to Oliver's evening.

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 3 days

Text

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key.

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding.

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone.

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him.

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him.

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls.

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright.

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van.

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows.

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg.

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth.

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away.

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.”

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?”

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard.

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

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Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

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theflatpackangel · 2 days

Text

[brief note: this is an utter shambles and has not AT ALL been proof read(though I did delete a whole plot point cuz it was annoying me), feel free to IGNORE COMPLETELY plot holes, mistakes and cringe fail moments, Thanks!!]

The two of them sat silently in the office, the night nurse (aka Charlie) and Crystal were both otherwise occupied, he couldn’t remember specifically what they were up to; he was too busy thinking. Edwin sat peacefully in his chair, some humongous hardback about the science of superstition cracked open in his lap, too heavy to hold up for a long time. Charles was absentmindedly staring at the screen of the laptop Crystal had left playing. He wasn’t particularly interested in ‘Brooklyn 99’ at the moment though, his thoughts were occupied entirely with ways to convince his partner to relax. Edwin had been a little more stiff recently, especially after the confession, his relief about being free from hell had been extremely short lived. Maybe it was Charles who had made him this way, he didn’t think he’d changed at all since the confession. But perhaps he was quieter, after all, it was a lot to think about.

He glanced away from the laptop, his eyes trailing around the room until they laid themselves on his fellow detective, who had moved significantly since he last looked around. He had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and flopped uncharacteristically haphazardly next to him.The book he had apparently given up on reading (in favour of watching the season three Halloween heist) was already neatly in its usual place. Charles blinked, bewildered. Edwin actually looked relaxed, at a small stretch, chilled out even. Somehow his hair had fallen out of its pristine gel chrysalis and into loose, albeit still neat curls.

What the fuck was going on?

“Charles, are you alright?”

“Yeah..yeah mate just didn’t think you’d watch this sort of thing is all”

Charles shook his head, reminding himself that he should be glad his co-detective was relaxing.

“I like to see how other detectives operate”

He hummed in response, watching Edwin from the corner of his eye. He observed him watch excitedly, whilst he didn’t seem to understand the jokes he appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Charles didn’t think he’d ever see the day that Edwin Payne was at ease, but here he was, his appearance flickering occasionally as he relaxed more. You see, ghosts have to make a conscious effort to keep an appearance, but Edwin seemed to have forgotten it as he relaxed. His black hair curled gently without its wax pomade prison, his clothes were the same, but seemed much less stiff as his body untensed. Charles decided he liked this look quite a bit.

He sat quietly, thinking about their conversation on the stairs out of hell.. whilst they had forever to figure themselves out, forever wasn’t as long as he’d originally thought it would be, he thought it’d take him a couple of years, maybe even decades to make up his mind. But something had pried his eyes open. It had been six months, and he had decided.

But he wasn’t going to say anything.

Not yet.

After a while he found himself closing his eyes, whilst ghosts couldn’t sleep, they didn’t need to, so why would they, they had something very similar. This form of ghost sleep wasn’t for physical tiredness, it was more for mental tiredness than anything. As his eyes began to close Charles slumped over, his head resting on Edwin’s shoulder. His mind fluttered in and out of his sleeping state, occasionally his eyes would flick open momentarily. Sometimes Edwin would be peering down at him, presumably checking on him, other times he’d feel the cold brush of the other ghosts fingers on the back of his neck. The final time his eyes opened he had been laid properly on the sofa in the corner of their office, his head resting on one of the slightly moth-eaten cushions instead of Edwin’s shoulder.

His partner chuckled from the other side of the office, he could see the setting sun through the big window behind the desk. How long had he been asleep?

Edwin looked up from his files, a light smile playing on his lips.

“Good Evening Charles”

He blinked slowly.

“You drool when you sleep” he said matter of factly “did you know that? A client came in whilst you slept, if you’d like to come and take a look?”

Charles hauled himself off of the sofa and gave a small nod, approaching to lean over the desk to get a better look at the files.

“What’re we looking at?” He tilted his head, unable to figure out what the image in front of him was, it was dark and grainy, and quite frankly the worst photo he’d ever seen.

“Apparently it’s some sort of spirit projecting music box”

“Right. And who’s house phone took this?”

Edwin tutted and rolled his eyes, shutting the file with a hefty thump. “You know full well haunted objects don’t appear well on camera”

Charles hummed, pulling on his jacket and shouldering his bag. Truthfully he couldn’t really be bothered to go and exorcise a music box, but he was getting paid so he sort of had to.

“You’re awfully quiet today”

Charles scoffed playfully, feigning annoyance.

“Don’t be a knob”

Edwin smiled, a rare sight.

The apartment they arrived in was neat, it didn’t look all that lived in. In fact Charles probably would’ve thought it was one of those weirdly posh show homes had it not been for the dishes in the sink and the photos on the wall. Edwin had explained the case before they left, the average everyday, ‘I’m stuck and don’t know why’ sort of case. Whoever lived here wasn’t home often. It didn’t take them long to find the music box. It was producing a purplish mist, which was peppered with little images, all moving sort of mechanically.

“Fascinating” Edwin whispered, extremely close to his ear as he peered at the images, his eyes widened, fraught with childish excitement.

Charles didn’t say anything.

He just watched.

The mist was full of well loved memories, intricately detailed. One that caught his eye seemed to be from a wedding, the joy in the eyes of the couple before him would have made his stomach churn had it been possible.

“Right!” Edwin broke the silence, chirpier than usual “lets sort this out shall we?”

Charles shook himself from his daze and walked towards the music box.

“Could have something important in? Like jewellery”

“Mhm..maybe”

Edwin followed him over, flipping up the lid.

The inside of the box was just as ornate as the outside, carefully detailed with a green velvet, which was patterned with little white swans. At the bottom of it lay a vial, it was tiny, and filled with grey sand.

Ashes.

Charles thought carefully, ashes were supposed to be scattered, maybe they weren’t supposed to be in the box?

“Maybe that’s why she’s stuck here? Ashes aren’t meant to be just chucked in a box are they?”

Edwin nodded, picking up the vial “worth a try, we can’t let too much out though, they’re probably here for sentimental reasons, especially since they’ve not been scattered”

As soon as they’d tipped the ashes onto the street below the music box stopped abruptly, time to leave.

Edwin shrugged “anticlimactic, yet successful, come along Charles”

He paused “are you alright? You’re quiet”

“Yeah, fine”

His partner looked at him quizzically.

“I’ll talk about it when I’m ready, alright?”

“Alright” Edwin placed a hand on his back. “Whatever it is, it’s alright.”

“Yeah” he mumbled dismissively, strolling through the mirror on the wall by the door.

Weeks passed, Edwin’s concern grew massively. Charles was quiet around him most of the time nowadays, he spoke to the others as he usually did. In cases he seemed to talk more, but when silence fell he was preoccupied. This particular evening, Edwin had cornered him near the bookshelves.

“Something is on your mind”

“No, I’m just…tired”

Edwin raised an eyebrow, Charles withered slightly beneath his gaze, doing his best to run from his partner's chasing eye.

“You can tell me anything you know” he sighed, leaving Charles be in the corner, and dropping onto the sofa, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his expression expectant.

“I know- I just-“ Charles sat next to him, his fists gripping at the material of his trousers.

“If this is about what I said-“

“It is.”

“You’re not obliged to actually figure it out, I just needed you to know” he placed a hand on Charles’ arm, doing his best to reassure him that he was safe, and that everything was fine.

“I already figured it out.”

Edwin paused, his fists meeting in front of him and pressing together, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He cleared his throat.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Charles nodded, he took a sharp intake of breath, turning to face his partner, Edwin’s eyes were glassy, his own were pouring silently with tears “I think..”

Three loud thumps on the door.

Edwin cleared his throat and hastily wiped his eyes with the wisteria patterned handkerchief tucked into his inside pocket. Giving Charles his own time to pull himself together.

“Come in”

A woman’s head poked round the door, her blonde hair following in thick golden waves.

“Dead boy detectives?” Her eyes danced between the two.

Charles nodded “that’s us, what can we do for you?”

The woman hesitated.

“I need you to steal a painting”

The two of them blinked and turned to look at eachother.

“Pardon?”

Edwins bewildered tone made Charles chuckle to himself. The woman repeated what she had said.

“From where?”

The rest of the woman’s body entered the room, she was dressed extravagantly, she looked like a 70s hippie who had access to an IOS ecosystem.

“There’s an art gallery, just down the road, and this one painting, well it’s mine, and it’s the last thing I painted before I died. And that bitch nicked it”

The boys looked at eachother.

Art heist first, feelings later.

Three of them stood around the table, Crystal, Edwin and Charles. All crowded around the plans they had managed to acquire from the internet. Edwin was explaining in detail how they would get in, and whilst he was listening, Charles briefly took a moment to admire the way he moved so naturally when he was in the zone.

11PM

The three of them approached the steps to the gallery, there wasn’t any physical security, but there was definitely CCTV, the signs said so.

“You’re 100% about this plan, Edwin?”

Crystal looked at the boy quizzically, slightly worried something would go severely wrong.

“95%, it’s good to leave a margin for error, and besides, it’s the only plan we’ve got”

Crystal shrugged, still apparently sceptical but she still managed to use her psychic things to overtake the cameras. Which was a little bit odd, because cameras don’t have minds. But they didn’t have time to question it.

Charles and Edwin slipped easily through the wall, whilst they couldn’t be seen on camera, a floating stolen painting definitely could be.

He looked around, peering at the paintings in low light.

“Oi Edwin, what did she say it looks like again?”

“Alls i remember is that it is blue, and yellow and swirly and has cars”

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Like this fuck off massive one in the corner”

Edwin turned

“Oh yes, that one” he said, half heartedly cheerful

It took them half an hour to smuggle the painting through the fire exit, it was taller than both of them, and just slightly more narrow than the door, once they were far away enough Crystal dropped the cameras back down, gasping for air. It had clearly taken a lot out of her. The two of them walked her home, hoping she didn’t faint from exhaustion on the way before they returned the painting to the grave of the ghost they had stolen it for.

Once they were back in the office the two of them celebrated, another successful case, recently they had both learnt the art of fist bumps.

After a little while of sorting paperwork, (and Charles recounting the case to be much more epic than it actually was) the two of them settled in front of the laptop, excited to continue with their most recent show. Edwin wasn’t really watching, he was sort of preoccupied with what he and Charles had almost discussed yesterday evening. Was Charles okay? Like at all? In love with him or not Charles was important.

He leant forward, pausing the episode.

Charles looked at him.

“About last night-“

His partner's eyes averted, looking anywhere he could.

“Yeah..”

“You never finished what you were going to say.”

Charles nodded, breathing deeply. “I figured it out..I- well I think I did anyway.”

“Your verdict?” Edwin prompted, gentle as always.

“I want to try. I just wish it was easy, I wish we could be easy”

“We never have been, have we?”

He laughed and shook his head. Edwin was right, the two of them were never easy, every turn was a challenge or an obstacle. And he was okay with that, so long as it meant he could be with his best mate.

“If you are ready, we can try, if not, I will be here, mainly because I don’t want to leave and also because I can’t”

Charles nodded “we can try, slow yeah?”

“So, what would we call this, trying thing?”

“Whatever we call it, us is us”

Edwin smiled, holding his hand out.

Charles took it.

“That was well cheesy by the way” he added, squeezing Edwin’s hand.

He chuckled, nudging him. “Get lost”

Weeks followed, the agency had been relatively quiet lately, Crystal was at school, and the night nurse was on some errand or another. The two of them lay on the small area of grass not too far from the office, Edwin had propped himself up on Charles’ legs, reading one of the books he’d received for his birthday. Charles had decided most recently that instead of doing his own thing he’d watch Edwin read. He liked the way his eyes travelled the paper with such intrigue, and the way his brows furrowed when he’d come across something particularly interesting.

Recently, Edwin had taken up some informalities, particularly the contraction of Charles’ name. He’d never really liked the name Charlie, thought it was too childish, too soft and careful for him. But he’d grown to appreciate it, it didn’t change him after all.

Edwin had also taken up things like ‘love’ and sometimes flitted between calling him his partner or his ‘other half’ when referring to him with clients. Each time he did these things Charles found his heart thudding, faster than if he’d have been sprinting. They hadn’t kissed yet. Each time they got close they were interrupted, either by their own nerves or someone coming through the door.

He poked at his partner, knowing full well that he was somehow ticklish even in his ghostly state. Edwin squirmed, looking over at him.

“Any good?” Charles nodded towards the book

“Mhm” Edwin nodded, settling back down to continue.

“Which one is this again?”

“Wuthering heights”

He nodded, deeming it stuffy and boring, it sounded like some sort of snobby gated community. Edwin settled back down, entirely absorbed in the story. Charles himself continued to look around, the World Cup was on later, and he could already hear the chants in the pub a street over.

A short while later he found himself rather bored, everyone seemed to have gone inside to watch the football or disappeared in some way from around them.

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a walk? My legs have gone dead”

“Your legs cannot go dead Charles, because you are dead”

“Yeah well, I’m bored, please can we go and do something?”

Edwin closed his book and sat up, looking at him.

“Like what?”

“Go for a walk, go and watch the match, snog in the board game cupboard, I’m not fussed”

Edwin swatted at him, missing and quickly being parried with a playful shove.

“You come up with something then Mr Prim and Proper”

“I’d say we could go and watch the match, but I guarantee everyone in there is completely blotto”

Charles laughed through his nose “blotto?”

“You know what I mean.”

He hummed in response, spreading out on the grass to look at the gradually darkening sky. He thought for a moment about the past few weeks, and how he’d been happier since he’d been able to be truthful about his feelings. Charles turned his head, observing as his partner watched the people chanting in the street, it must be half time he thought, tracing Edwin’s face with his eyes.

He liked the way that his partner didn’t seem to mind at all.

Then he heard something.

A little respect by erasure, absolutely blasting from someone’s upstairs window.

He grinned and pulled Edwin to stand with him, whilst it wasn’t his usual genre, it was still a tune.

“What on earth are you doing?” Edwin scuttled to his feet, laughing as Charles danced carelessly and admittedly with no skill whatsoever.

“Dancing, try it!”

“Respectfully love, that is not dancing”

He grinned.

“Well if you’re so good, teach me”

Edwin arches his eyebrow, a playful smirk twitching at his lips. Before he could think Charles was swept into a very well choreographed dance, and whilst it was old fashioned, it was fast paced and it was fun.

He laughed, allowing himself to be swung around. One of his partners hands was resting on his waist, the other had taken his own hand. The two of them messed around on the small area of green for a while before they collapsed into fits of giggles, somehow out of breath with their lack of lungs.

“That..” he gasped “was mint”

Edwin laughed, slinging his arm around Charles’ shoulder. He wasn’t stiff anymore, he was still proper and neat, but he was casual now.

The two of them walked the short distance home, playfully bickering despite being hand in hand. He liked that ghosts could feel other ghosts, he liked that he got to be real and alive with Edwin, even if it was short lived.

#paynland #charles rowland #edwin payne #dead boy detective agency #payneland #paineland #chedwin #dead boy detectives #my writing

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t-r99 · 1 day

Text

Obsessed

Oliver loves you so much, why can't you see that?

Oliver Aiku x fem reader

College au

Aiku is lowkey a lunatic (completey delusional & unhinged)

warnings: stalking, mental torture, manipulation, deception, gaslightning, coercion || anxiety, paranoia, brief panic attack || dub con bordering on non con (blink and you miss it brief and tame smut at the end *whispers* spooning)

This was supposed to be pure porn but I changed my mind. It did not turn out the way I wanted.

Quick background: mc is being stalked by someone who keeps texting and sending pictures and has been for weeks.

Given that this is a blue lock fic, all of readers friends are guys heh.

wc: 10k

God, why did I stay so long? You think. You usually don't stay at the library for this long, preferring to quickly find the books you need in the moment then leave.

Staying this long means you'll walk home well after sunset. Hours after sunset means it's dark. Darkness means it's easier to follow people. Following someone walking alone means-

I'm overthinking again. You sigh.

This is torture.

It's been a few days since the last text you received. You can't help but to open your phone several times a day and read all the shit the person has sent in the past few weeks, hoping to figure out who they are.

It feels like you're being watched.

You take in every last little detail of your surroundings.

A few people are out and walking who knows where, some of them familiar. You've seen them at school.

Almost home, You tell yourself. The apartment building you call home is less than a minute away.

You turn to look behind you, but no one is following you like you thought . . . and it feels like you're going crazy.

At this point, you expect a text from another unknown ID welcoming you home. The guy on the other side does it sometimes. It's bad enough that he knows which building you live in, you just hope he doesn't know which apartment is yours. You may as well dig your own grave if he does.

The elevator feels suffocating when you step in. You're alone but you keep expecting it to stop before it reaches your floor and that someone else will step in.

What if he steps in? What if you end up alone in this tiny little box with your worst nightmare and-

Ding.

You gasp at the sound, only staying still for a half a second before stepping out.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. What if he's is behind you? What if he's waiting for you to open the door so he can push you in and trap you?

You turn around, heart pounding.

There's no one there.

Just as you unlock your door, another opens a few steps away and you hear familiar voices. Out of the other apartment steps Aiku, and then you see Otoya, they're saying bye for tonight. It's the latter's apartment, you remember.

Aiku spots you but you look away and ignore him. You know them both, not that you particularly like them or enjoy their company, it's just that you share the same friends. You almost wish you were actually being followed for a second so Otoya and Aiku could beat the guy senseless.

Otoya pops his head out the doorframe and asks if you're okay when he sees that you're stressed.

Ignoring them both, you step inside and close the door behind you.

Home.

You're home.

I'm home, You tell yourself, repeating it iver and over for a few seconds.

There's a knock on the door and your heart almost leaps out of your chest.

It's him, it's him, it's him, it's hi-

You hear a familiar voice call your name, followed by, "Everything okay?" It's Aiku.

You gulp and take a deep breath before cracking the door just enough to see his face. Otoya is standing behind him and asks, "Something happen?"

"I'm fine, I," You gulp again, feeling lightheaded. "I just need some rest."

"Sure?" Aiku asks. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine, I promise." You insist. "I'm going to bed."

"'kaaay," Otoya gives a peace sign. "night."

You close the door and take a moment to try to calm yourself.

Outside, Otoya strains to not laugh out loud. He can't help it, though, forced to slap a hand against his mouth to muffle the sound of his amused giggling.

Aiku hushes him and smirks. "Shut up, you'll ruin everything." He says.

"Seriously, dude, why do you even bother at this point?"

Who knows? Maybe Oliver has gotten a bit obsessed. He won't give up until he gets what he wants, and he wants you.

Aiku doesn't just want sex. He wants you.

"It'll be worth it." He says.

Sure, you don't want him yet, but you will soon.

You feel a bit better after a long and warm shower, not a lot, but at least it's something.

You haven't eaten. Honestly, you can't find it in you to eat these days. Sometimes two or even three days pass before you realize you're starving. You've been losing weight for weeks, and looking in the mirror now you see just how much it has affected you.

Aiku was right, you're pale.

Look at me. You feel disgusted by the sight.

It takes you a few moments to force yourself to look away and leave the bathroom to go get dressed. Despite living several floors above the ground, with no buildings facing your bedroom window, you still feel the need to pull the curtain to hide.

What if he is watching? It's impossible to know.

You quickly get dressed, not comfortable with being naked even in your own bedroom with the windows covered, and then it happens again.

Two quick vibrations, the sound of a text, make your heart stop for a second.

Again, two vibrations.

Another two . . .

That's three texts.

Your hand shakes as you reach out for the phone that you honestly just want to smash up. You want to throw away all your electronics and find a cave out in the wilderness to hide in so no one will ever be able to contact you again.

The first one says exactly what you expect, Welcome home.

He was watching you walk home.

You shouldn't be out alone in the dark, it's dangerous. The second text is almost funny.

The third makes your blood run cold, Don't worry. I'll protect you.

When will this end?

While you're holding the phone, he sends a picture. This is the fourth time he's done this exact thing, having written, I don't know where you live. Maybe I should come in and knock on every door until I find yours.

It's a picture of the entrance to the building.

There's a knock on your apartment door.

. . . No.

You dare not move.

Should you look through the peephole? What if it's him and you finally get to see who it is? It could be someone you know, or maybe a complete stranger.

Another knock.

Go away. You want to scream. You want to yell at him to leave you alone.

No more knocks follow.

You don't know how long you stand frozen in your spot, taking slow breaths and standing as still and as quietly as you can.

Only when your feet hurt from standing there for so long do you finally snap out of it. You take your phone and set it to airplane mode, and you lock yourself in the bathroom.

There you remain until morning.

Of course you don't sleep.

You think about calling a friend to come over so you won't have to walk to school alone, or maybe you should just skip today and stay home.

Please . . . You curl up in the corner and sob. I can't take it anymore.

It feels like an eternity has passed when you leave the bathroom.

Staying home felt like the best thing to do. At least he doesn't know which apartment is yours so you can just stay in and not go out where he can spot and follow you again.

Your phone is still on airplane mode and you contemplate turning the function off. Will you only find texts from your friends asking why you didn't show up today or will you get more messages from him?

I'm hungry. You didn't eat last night.

There's very little in your kitchen and your heart sinks when you realize you have to go get some groceries soon.

There's a knock . . .

You gasp at the sound and turn to look at the door. It's the middle of the day so there's no way it's him. He only fucks with you after dark so-

Another knock.

You faintly hear someone call your name. "It's Otoya, you okay in there?"

That's a relief.

The front door cracks open and you look up at him. Otoya rarely shows much emotion on his face but you actually see some worry in his eyes. "Everything okay? You didn't show up at school."

You gulp. "I don't . . . feel very well." Your voice is hoarse and your throat feels rough, itching as you speak.

"I noticed last night. I just wanted to make sure you were all right so I knocked but you didn't answer."

Oh, it was him? It was just Otoya, not the guy on the other end of the phone. "Sorry," You say quietly. "I must've fallen asleep." You lie.

"No worries. Just come over if you ever need anything, yeah?"

"Yeah." You murmur. "Thanks."

You wonder just how messed up you look if it's enough to make Otoya of all people worry.

I'm going crazy. You close the door and sniffle, eyes welling with tears.

A few quiet days pass and it is actually nerve wracking. Normally you would be happy, no texts, no paranoia and the feeling of being watched, but after those texts and the picture of the building entrance you just can't relax.

It feels like the calm before the storm.

You can't shake off the feeling that you're being watched everywhere you go, on campus, on the road, sometimes even when you're at home, feeling the need to check every inch of the apartment multiple times a day to make sure you're actually alone.

"You okay? You've been staring at the textbook forever." Chigiri's voice pulls you from your thoughts.

"Hm?"

He looks worried. Everyone has been worried about you lately, it makes you feel hopeless and pathetic. "More stalker texts?"

You shake your head. "Not for a few days." Your voice is small, heavy with sleep deprivation. "But everytime someone calls or texts or," Just talking about this makes you nauseous. "whenever someone knocks on my door I don't know what to think."

Before Chigiri can say anything else, a few of the other guys show up. Isagi comes and reminds him that they have training soon.

Why does it feel like all eyes are on you?

You're uncomfortable.

"I think I'll go home." You say. Before it gets dark.

"Sure you'll be okay on your own?" Chigiri asks.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's fine." You clear your throat and close your textbook. "I'm fine." You insist.

Keeping your gaze down, you ignore everyone and mutter a quick bye, missing the way a pair of dual coloured eyes watch you walk away.

Thank goodness that the sun is still high in the sky as you walk home.

Is this to be your new normal? Are you supposed to live the rest of your life in a constant state of panic?

Still no texts. No creepy pictures of your building. No knocking on the door. To be fair, it was Otoya, not some creepy lunatic of a stalker.

You sit down on your bed with a defeated bed then fall back.

"I hate this." You whisper.

It's been a week since the night you spent terrified in the bathroom. He has still not sent anything, and for once you're actually in a better mood. Maybe he got bored of me, You think, and you truly hope that that's the case.

The days are growing shorter and colder. Winter is right around the corner and you wonder how you'll feel once it starts getting dark outside earlier. Your mind drifts back to the text that said, You shouldn't be out alone in the dark, it's dangerous.

Yeah, it can be dangerous alright. You haven't felt safe in a long time thanks to the bastard.

You're getting ready to eat, reaching up to the cabinet to grab a plate when there's a knock on the door.

Is it him?

Fuck, what if it is?

No, nothing has happened lately, You tell yourself.

More knocking . . .

You set the plate down on the counter and go to the door, wondering if it's one of your friends. Quite a few of them live in the same building, cheap and close to campus.

Upon opening the door, you find that there's no one there.

Oh, God . . .

Fuck. Shit, shit, fuck.

Your phone vibrates and the sound makes you jump.

You don't want to check it.

No.

Damn it.

When will this stop?

It's kind of funny. Otoya peers over Aiku's shoulder and cracks up. "Dude, you'll end up giving the chick a heart attack one day."

What Oliver wants is to be there when you need someone and be the one you lean on for emotional support. He'll have you depending on him in no time. "Hey, you told her to come over if she needs help, right?"

"Uh huh."

Aiku hopes you'll do it now. He's going at this pretty hard and doubts you'll stay alone in your apartment when you think your stalker is in the building. Everyone you know in the building live on other floors while Otoya's apartment is the only one close to yours. Come on, doll, don't disappoint me now.

Oliver wants to jump and pump his fist in success when he hears a knock on Otoya's door. He stays on the couch while his friend goes to open, hearing him say, "Hey, you okay?"

Aiku gets off the couch and goes to the hall where you're standing right outside. You're trying to keep yourself calm but he can see panic in your eyes, those beautiful eyes that should be on him and only him. "Have, uhm . . ." You close your eyes and take a deep breath. "Have you heard anyone outside?"

"No, why?" Otoya feigns ignorance. "Are you sure you're okay? You're shaking."

Oliver almost feels bad, but he just needs to make sure his plan works. If everything ends up working out then he's only a few days away from being able to call you his and hold and comfort you. "Stalker again?" He asks.

Aiku doesn't like using that word. It makes him feel like a creep. He's not a creep, he just wants you to be his but you're not making it easy for him.

Your only reply is a small nod.

Otoya steps aside. "Okay, come on. Come in." He urges you to step inside and you're more than happy to. "What happened this time? Did he text again?"

"I- I think he . . . I think he's i- in the building."

Oh, you poor thing.

Oliver tells you to sit down on the couch. You're holding your phone, clutching it tightly.

He doesn't need to give Otoya a look that silently asks him to help out. His friend already knows what to do while Oliver talks to you and tries to calm you down.

Your mind is racing with a million questions, but it goes blank when your phone vibrates in your hand and you look down at it in terror, too scared to check the text.

Oliver looks down at it. "Here, let me." He offers. Your hand is shaking when he takes it from you. "It's okay, I got you." He takes your hand in his and rubs soothing circles on the back. What did Otoya text, he wonders.

Aiku wants to laugh when he reads it. It includes the number of Otoya's apartment, followed by, Is this your place? I can hear your pretty voice coming from inside.

Damn, he really couldn't have asked for a better bro.

"What . . . What does . . ."

Oliver hushes you gently and locks the phone instead of showing you. "It's okay, we'll deal with the guy."

Otoya steps behind the couch. "What's up?"

"You want to check if there's anyone in the hall?" Oliver asks. He's still holding your hand.

"I got it." Otoya gives a thumbs up and heads out. You want to tell him to stay inside, scared that the stalker might be dangerous, but your voice gets caught in your throat.

"Hey, it's okay." Oliver says softly. "Everything will be okay." He lets go of your hand and puts his arm around you instead when you exhale shakily and sob hopelessly.

You're just tired at this point. The past several weeks have left you so paranoid and terrified that you can't sleep. You don't eat, barely drink, you struggle to take care of yourself. It's beyond tiring. "I'm scared . . ." You whisper.

Oliver holds you close. He feels all warm inside like this, loving the feeling of your smaller body in his embrace like he's wanted for so long. He looks down at where your cheek is pressed against his chest and put his other arm around you comfortingly.

You're his.

You don't know it yet but you are his.

I fell asleep . . . Your eyes flutter partially open. You wonder when you did, and how you even managed to given how scared you were. How scared you still are.

A pair of arms are around you. You open your eyes further and see that you're in an apartment you don't recognize, then you look up and see that you're being held by a sleeping Aiku, and you remember that you're in Otoya's apartment.

You don't exactly dislike the two, it's just that you don't like their womanizing and their attitudes. Who would have ever thought that you would go to Otoya's place in a panic and be comforted by Aiku of all people?

Oliver wakes up when you move in his arms. "Hey," He clears his throat and blinks. "Hey, you feel any better?"

A tiny bit maybe. "I guess." You say in a small voice. You still don't want to go back to your own apartment where you'll just end up hiding in the bathroom at the sound of your phone receiving a text or a knock on your door.

Aiku can easily see that you're still shaken up and he hopes you'll let him hold you like this even longer.

You exhale shakily. "I don't want to be alone . . ."

"You're not alone, I got you." He rubs your back gently.

It feels nice . . . "Thank you." You whisper, relaxing further against him.

Oliver bites his bottom lip and smiles. You're starting to warm up to him, it's perfect.

It's been a few days and you can't stop thinking about that night. Otoya didn't find anyone in the hallway so you still have no idea who he is, but the one thing you can't stop thinking about is how comforting it was to be held by Aiku.

You feel ridiculous for it, even more so whenever you see him and feel your cheeks heat up.

He asks how you're doing everyday now and if anything else has happened since that night.

It's embarrassing how you almost immediately relaxed so much you actually fell asleep in his arms back then and it makes you want to avoid him.

Oliver hates that. He was so happy to have finally managed to push you to him for support, but now you don't talk to him other than short answers where you tell him you're doing okay whenever he asks, and he can't stand it.

He hates having to scare you so much. Why are you being so stubborn? Why do you try to hide how much it affects you? All you're doing is forcing his hand at this point. Why won't you just let him in?

He contemplates sending a text or two or maybe a picture of your apartment building. Those don't usually do much, though. Aiku exhales heavily as he tries to think of something more effective.

The door knocking was enough to get you to go to Otoya's apartment, but no more than that.

What to do? What to do?

Oliver doesn't want to threaten you. He doesn't want to scare you like that. You're his special girl, after all.

What to do?

It's gotten dark, You think grimly.

Classes are done for the day and now you're forced to walk home in the dark. The boys have training in a bit so you can't walk back to the student apartments with any of them, and all your other friends live in the opposite direction. It would be rude to ask someone to accompany you home and in turn force them to walk twice as far back to their own place.

Damn bastard.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you pick it up.

The colour drains from your face when you unlock it and open the text you've received, a picture of you right this moment.

The picture has been taken from your left. You turn in a flash to see if you can spot the stalker, but you only see your peers. Some are standing in groups and talking to their friends, others are looking down at their phones as they're leaving for the day.

Who is it?

Who could it be?

Where is he?

"Hey,"

You spin around with a sharp gasp at the feeling of someone touching your arm.

"Shit, did something happen?" It's just Aiku. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He steps back to give you space. "What happened?"

You're breathing too fast for comfort now, unable to speak. All you manage to do is point in the direction behind you and look down ar your phone.

"Again? What the hell does the guy want now? Show me."

Hands shaking, you take a moment to unlock your phone and open your texts. Aiku takes your phone and reads the message from the No Caller ID that says, You look really good today. He open the picture and takes a sharp breath.

"Sick fuck." He spits. "Hey, don't look down at it. Look at me." He holds your shoulder. "Look at me. It's okay, I'm right here. You're not alone now, okay?"

You're not alone.

Aiku is with you right now and that brings you comfort.

"'m scared . . ."

"I know," He says softly. "I know. Everything will be okay, we'll figure out who the guy is."

You've lost any hope of that happening.

"Hey, come on, I'll walk you home, yeah?"

You gulp. "B- But . . . practice . . ."

"It's fine. I can skip this one time. You shouldn't be alone right now."

You only nod at that, grateful to not be on your own. Having Aiku walk next you makes you feel safer than you have in months, but you honestly feel guilty about all this and want to apologize for having go through all this trouble just because you're too scared to do anything on your own.

"How you holdin' up?"

You look down at the ground as you keep walking. "I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Oliver turns to you. "What for?"

"For . . . all this."

Why are you apologizing? You have nothing to be sorry for. "What, for being scared?" Aiku asks. "For needing help? I'd be surprised if you weren't scared. Everyone needs support sometimes, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

You're fighting back tears. "But I . . . I- I shouldn't need to be walked home like this."

Oliver frowns at that. Does that mean you don't want him there? You're really not making this easy for him. "It's okay, I don't mind."

You finally look up and turn to him, eyes glossy with unshed tears. Aiku wonders if you'll let him wipe them from your cheeks if they fall. He would love nothing more than to comfort you like a man and hold you close. He can't even begin to imagine how good it would feel.

When you turn away from him to look ahead again, Oliver carefully takes his phone and does his utmost to make sure you don't spot it.

He sets his caller ID to hidden and types away . . .

You're startled by the feeling of your phone vibrating. You've grown to hate it. Most of the time it signals a text from a hidden number from your nightmares.

You read the text. It sends chills down your spine. Got a boyfriend, huh? Did you forget about me, sweetheart? It says.

You freeze in your tracks and Aiku stops a step later.

"You good?"

No. No you're not.

You simply hold the screen out for him to read. Aiku puts a hand on your shoulder and pulls you closer to him. You look up at his hard face, he's looking all around you. "Damn psycho." He mutters harshly. "Come on, let's hurry."

He doesn't need to tell you twice.

Terrified out of your mind, you reach both hands out and hold his arm for safety. It's not much, but it does make you feel a bit better.

Oliver swears his heart skips a few beats at that. He has to use all his strength to restrain himself. Fuck, you're killing him with how long this is taking.

He stays by your side all the way up to your apartment, and there you find it impossible to let go of his arm. "Will you be okay from now on?"

Of course you won't. You shake your head in reply.

"You know," He feels warm. "I could stay over and make sure nothing happens until tomorrow. And Otoya will go home soon enough, I'll call for him if something does happen."

You really don't want to be alone. "I . . . You don't have to."

Sure, you might be saying that, but your body leans even closer against his and you let out a shaky breath.

"I'm staying." Oliver says. It's not a question. "I can't leave when you're this shaken up."

Maybe Aiku can finally scare the stalker away. "Okay . . ." You truly hope he can because this is getting ridiculous and you're exhausted.

Once he's inside, Oliver wants to yell out in triumph at how easy it was to get you to agree. Only a few more days and he won't have to keep at it. All you need to do is let him all the way in and he can put the whole thing to rest and enjoy you.

Your apartment is cute, just like you are. Oliver could stay here forever, and if his plan succeeds then he might just be able to.

Oliver decides not to send anything for now. He hates scaring you so much, and you were pretty shaken up on the walk to your apartment. It wouldn't hurt to prepare in advance, though.

You're currently taking a quick shower.

Aiku steps into your bedroom and takes a deep breath. He's never felt like this before.

He listens carefully to make sure the shower is still on.

Only a few minutes later, you step out of the bathroom with no idea of where Oliver went just minutes prior. He's still on the sofa and watching tv, just as he was when you left to shower.

Strangely enough, you don't feel uncomfortable with him there. Only a few months ago you would have rather drank acid than let him into your home, but now his presence puts you at ease.

He notices you and offers a smile. "Feel any better?"

"Yeah, a bit." You say softly.

Oliver exhales slowly when you turn around to go to the kitchen. You really are the prettiest girl he's ever seen. He can't stop thinking about what you look like under your clothes and how pretty you would luck under him.

You're his beautiful girl. He's counting the seconds to when he can finally say it outloud.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" You ask.

"Nah, I'm fine." Oliver shakes his head.

What he wants is you.

Earlier, he decided to give you a few days of peace, but now he wants to send only one text. If you get anxious again then he can be there and hold you and help you calm down.

You drink some water and take a moment to think about everything. You're lucky to have friends who care, even when you insist you're okay on your own. Even Aiku of all people is going out of his way to make sure you're not alone.

It's actually not as awkward as you thought it would be. He doesn't annoy or pester you with endless questions, instead talking to you about other things in an effort to get your mind off things.

It works, for some time.

"Are you sure about staying? I feel like I'm just inconveniencing you."

Once again, Oliver thinks you don't want him there and he feels like he's been punched in the gut. "If it helps you feel any safer, I'm more than happy to." He says. Oliver won't let you push him away now that he's so close to getting what he was.

It's getting late.

You've brought a pillow and covers for him sleep on the sofa, and for the third time today your phone receives a text from a hidden caller ID.

It's a short text that reads, Good night, pretty girl. Sweet dreams.

Oliver frowns next to you when you tense up. "What is it? Show me."

When will it end?

He takes your phone from you and set it down on the table in front of the sofa. "The guy better pray I never find him." He mutters quietly. "Okay, c'mere, I got you." He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close.

You're even more grateful to have him there now. If you were alone you would probably lock yourself in the bathroom and cry your eyes out again. "I can't take it anymore . . ." You whimper into his chest.

Oliver hushes you softly and puts his hand on the back of your head. He leans back against the sofa and pulls you with him, now rubbing your back soothingly. It feels so good to hold you like this, he can't get enough of it.

This feels oddly calming.

Like this, all you hear is the sound of his steady heartbeat. It's soothing, helping you relax with each soft thump.

You finally manage to slow your breathing down and sigh, going limp against him. "Thank you . . ."

Oliver smiles down at you and combs his fingers through your soft hair. "Close your eyes," He says softly. "I got you."

You wake up the next morning and find that you're still in Oliver's arms. He has pulled the covers over you and is awake, running his fingers through your hair.

When he notices that you've woken up, he smiles softly. "Hey there, how do you feel?"

You want to die.

Death would be preferable to being constantly watched by some lunatic out there.

You close your eyes again. "I'm tired." You whisper. Tired of being scared, tired of constantly looking over your shoulder, tired of feeling helpless.

"Sleep well?"

The feeling of him playing with your hair is a nice one. It's weird to see such a soft side of Aiku when you've known him for a while and seen his goofier side with your shared friends. "Yeah," You mumble. "thank you."

Oliver is loving this.

Strangely enough, the following several days are quiet.

Neither of you actually agreed to it outloud, but Aiku now accompanies you on your walk home from campus everyday and it becomes a routine. If he's busy with practice or has classes after yours have all ended then you wait, and it feels nice to have him walk by your side.

You get suspicious when you don't receive any texts from the stalker, wondering when he'll send you something again and what the text will say. Ever since Oliver stayed over that night it's been radio silence.

Your friends are just as confused by the lack of texts and a few are hopeful that it means the stalker just grew tired of tormenting you, the rest are worried about what he'll send in the future.

"Bitch ass." You mumble to yourself. You hate the guy more than anything and you wish the worst for him.

It's the weekend and you've been studying ever since you came home from school.

Your phone vibrates next to you but it's not from the stalker, it's Oliver calling you.

Never in a million years would you have ever thought that seeing Aiku's contact calling you would make you feel all warm inside.

He's asking how you're doing and if everything's okay.

"Everything's fine," You say. "I try not to think about all that now that it's quiet."

"Fucking finally. Let's just hope nothing happens."

"Yeah." You sigh. "I think I'll go to bed, I'm getting tired. Thank you for being there."

"You don't need to thank me, doll, I'm happy to help." Oliver says. "I didn't want to bother by coming over, but I'm at Sendou's and getting ready to leave. He lives two floors below you."

While he talks, your phone quickly vibrates in your hand and you quickly set it on speaker to check the text you've received. It makes you jump in your seat and quickly turn around to look around in the room.

Oliver hears you shuffling around as you stand up and storm out of your bedroom to turn all the lights in your apartment. He asks if you're okay but you don't hear his voice in this state.

He is there.

He's there, he's in there, he's in your apartment.

He's watching you, you can feel it.

It feels like he'll pop out and grab you any second now.

I can't breathe. Your head feels light, like everything is spinning. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

You drop your phone and try to reach the door instead. You can't stay in there, not when he is in the apartment and watching you.

Suddenly there's loud knocking on your door and you almost scream when the sound startles you.

Is he outside or inside right now? Is he in the apartment or knocking on the door to get in?

Where is he? Where?

You hear your name being called.

The voice is familiar.

It takes you a few seconds to find the strength to stand up and reach the door, your hands shaking as you try to unlock it.

A few seconds pass and you look behind you, vision blurry and cheeks wet with tears.

There's no one behind you.

Where is he?

Finally unlocking the door, you fling it open and find Aiku and Sendou standing outside and looking worried. Oliver reaches out to hold your shoulders but you step forward instead and cling to him as your legs go weak and give out.

"Hey, hey, what happened? What's going on?" Oliver quickly asks. "What's wrong?"

"H- Here . . . Here . . . He- He's here . . ." You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

Oliver hold you close and hushes you by your ear.

You hear Sendou walking down the hall and knock on a door. It opens, Otoya, and Sendou tells him to follow. They enter your apartment while Oliver sits down on the hallway floor with you in his arms. "Easy now, I got you. I got you, you're safe, I'm right here." Oliver says softly.

You sob into his chest, terrified.

"There's no one in there." You hear Sendou's voice. "Here. Look." He shows Oliver the text on your phone that's still unlocked.

You've got a nice apartment. I really like your bedroom. It's cute.

Sendou doesn't know what Oliver has been up to these past few months. No one except for Otoya does.

"Hear that?" Oliver looks down at where you're still sobbing into his chest. "There's no one in there."

That doesn't make you feel any better. You don't want to go back inside your apartment, you don't want to stay and sleep there. You shake your head and whimper, fisting his shirt at the mere thought of going back inside. Oliver hushes you again and puts a hand on the back of your head.

Sendou says, "I don't think it's a good idea for her to stay here right now." Oliver knows that Sendou genuinely worried about you, but he has no idea just how long Aiku has waited for this.

"How about staying at my place tonight?" Oliver ask in a gentle voice. "How's that sound?"

You only nod in response.

It still feels like you're being watched, you can't shake the feeling. It has you holding Oliver's hand while you walk and clinging to him desperately for safety. You're outside his apartment and feel the need to look behind you to check the hallway while he unlocks the door. "It's okay, I won't let anything happen to you." He squeezes your hand and leads you in. He closes the door and immediately turns to you, pulling you in for a hug. "You're safe here. Nothing will happen to you."

You haven't said a word since leaving your building.

"Come on, doll, let's get you to bed." He pulls back and cups your flushed cheeks where fresh tears have started running, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks gently to wipe them.

Being able to finally call you his is just within arm's reach.

"Oliver . . ."

Fuck, you're killing him.

He leans his forehead against yours, still caressing your cheeks. "I'm right here." Oliver whispers. He pulls you into another hug and waits for you to lean further against him. You even put your arms around his neck which is more than he could have asked for in the moment. "C'mere," He doesn't waste any time, moving an arm down to pick you up and hold you close. "I got you."

You keep your arms around him and your face hidden in the crook of his neck as he carries you through his apartment, only looking up when you feel something soft beneath you.

It's his bed, but you don't want to be alone right now.

Just as Oliver goes to lean back from you, you tighten your arms around him, whimpering out a desperate, "Please don't leave me."

Shit, shit, shit. Oliver is sure he's going to die now.

"You sure?" He asks, voice low.

"Please . . ." You whisper.

Oh, this is fucking perfect. This is much better than Aiku expected.

Oliver lets you lie down on his bed, and he doesn't know how to handle the view of you down there, then gets down next to you. He lets you rest your head on his arm, putting the other around your smaller frame and pulling you into his chest where you instantly close your eyes and sigh in relief. "Try to get some sleep now. You're safe here." He whispers.

"Thank you, Oliver."

He's so close to finally getting what he wants in life. What he needs.

You're my beautiful girl, Oliver thinks and smiles down at you. You look so pretty like this, eyes closed and features soft and relaxed. Aiku has finally managed to turn himself into your safe space.

"Oliver . . ."

He moves his hand up to brush away the hair that covers your beautiful face. "Yeah?"

You open your eyes to look at his, dual coloured and mesmerizing. "I'm . . . I'm so scared these days."

For a moment, Oliver feels conflicted. He just wanted this, to be the one you will always seek out and rely on, but he also wonders if he's taken things too far. Seeing your pretty eyes all teary like this is breaking his heart, but he's more than happy to help you heal from this and build you back up again.

Oliver has all the time in the world now. You trust him, he knows that, and he'll never let you leave his side. "I'm sorry this is happening," He caresses your cheek, touch soft. "I'll help in any way I can."

Please, please just let him do this.

Aiku needs only you in life, why does he have to do so much to get what he wants?

Please don't push him away.

Oliver leans closer to you, eyes still locked with yours. It's a wordless plea. He's asking you if it's okay.

Please don't say no.

If you push him away now he won't know how to handle it. He doesn't want to keep scaring you.

"Oliver . . ."

He's so close.

When you don't push him away, Oliver closes the space between you and finally presses his lips to yours.

Maybe he should've waited a bit longer and given you some more time to calm down, but he can't take it anymore.

He needs you.

Oliver doesn't push for more. He breaks the kiss after only a few seconds, but it's enough for now. "That okay?" He whispers, heart pounding against his chest.

You gulp, feeling dazed. "'s okay."

Perfect.

You wake up the next morning with Oliver's arms wrapped around you. This is the third time it has happened, and by now you've grown to enjoy the feeling.

He's still asleep.

You can't help it, but you end up laying there and just watching him.

Oliver is a handsome guy, yes, but you've never looked at him like that before. You don't know when that changed during the chaos of the past few weeks, but it's not the worst thing ever.

You reach out absentmindedly and brush his bangs from his eyes. His hair is softer than you imagined, you want to run your fingers through it forever.

He stirs a bit and takes a deep breath as he wakes up, eyes fluttering open and softening as soon as they meet yours.

"Morning." You say softly, hand on his cheek.

He smiles tiredly and closes his eyes again. "Morning, doll." Oliver puts his hand over yours and traces small circles on the back of your hand. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah." Much better than you have in months.

Oliver loves that he's the reason why you feel safe enough to have a good night's sleep now. "Stay here for a few days," He opens his eyes. "I don't want you to feel like that again."

"You sure?"

"Mhm." How could he ever want anything else? "How would you feel about it?"

"I don't want to be a burden."

"You could never be." Oliver is confused by that. How could you ever think that you would be a burden to him? He leans closer to you, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. "Stay here until you feel better."

Staying with Oliver? You wouldn't exactly hate that.

Oliver has never felt happier.

You've been staying with him for a few days now, showing no signs of wanting to leave. He knows it's because he makes you feel safe, something no one else manages to do.

He does his best to make you feel comfortable in his apartment, never pushing things too far and being careful not to say the wrong thing. The last thing Aiku wants is to scare you away.

You can't leave him.

You cannot.

Oliver wouldn't know what to do without you now that he's gotten a taste of life with you by his side. He would never forgive himself if he ruined this.

"You okay?" Your soft voice pulls him from his thoughts. "You look stressed out."

That's right. He stresses himself out every time he thinks about losing you, but he will not lose you so he should stop tormenting himself. "Just a bit tired." Oliver says. He's sitting on the couch and you're standing right next to him.

Oliver wants to hold you.

He takes your hand and pulls gently, bringing you down to hin. Aiku puts his hands on your waist, like he's been doing every now and then these past few days, and leans forward to nuzzle into your shoulder.

He always feels overjoyed when you let him do this. The first time he did he was scared you would push him away.

Oliver swears he's in heaven when he feels your fingers comb through his hair.

"Thank you for letting me stay." You thank him once again.

Oliver hums softly against your shoulder then turns towards you to place a kiss on the side of your neck.

He wants you so fucking badly.

"No need to thank me." He wraps his arms around your waist. "I'm just happy you're feeling better."

Oliver doesn't need to send you any more texts as long as you're with him. Everything is perfect this way and will stay as such so long as you don't leave.

He needs to make sure you'll stay.

Oliver waits until you decide to go to sleep. You did feel bad after your first night at his place, but all he needed to do was wait for you to start overthinking again and then he could hold you in his arms all night long.

Maybe he can finally try to take it a step further.

He'll never get tired of seeing you in his bed.

Oliver loves holding you like this more than anything. Your body fits in his arms perfectly because you were made for him and him alone. My beautiful girl. Oliver caresses your cheek.

He can't get enough of you.

When he first started doing this a few days you would blush and avoid his gaze. Now, it makes you smile up at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours.

"It feels like all I'm doing these days is just thank you over and over." You say. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there."

Oh, if only you knew just why he was always there every time you needed someone.

Oliver feels bolder than he did days ago now. He leans down and slots his lips against yours, and it's the best thing he has ever felt.

He's careful to not push for too much and make you uncomfortable, but fuck, it's hard to restrain himself.

Oliver hopes you won't say no next.

He pushes gently on your shoulder to get you to move onto your back, and when you comply he moves on top of you. You don't seem uncomfortable or even shocked, thank fuck for that, and it spurs Aiku on.

He breaks the kiss and pulls back to look down at your flushed face. You look so pretty like this, Oliver has never felt like this before.

No one can compare to you. He regrets wasting his time on other girls when he could've focused all his attention on you instead.

"'s this okay?" He whispers.

You feel hot. Oliver makes you feel things you've never experienced. "Uh huh . . ."

He's so close to getting what he's waited for since the day he met you.

Oliver kisses you again and you welcome it eagerly, pulling him closer by putting your arms around his neck.

You're so perfect.

You're perfect.

Oliver needs you more than he needs air. He can't live without you, he loves you so much

Oliver loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

Oliver wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating softly on the nightstand. He sighs, annoyed, reaching out to pick it up.

Otoya.

Oliver gets out of bed carefully, making sure you won't wake up as he leaves and goes to open the front door where Otoya is waiting outside and smirks in amusement when he sees Oliver. "Mission accomplished?"

"Almost." Oliver yawns. "What's up?"

Otoya holds up the phone Oliver bought to text you with most of the time a few months back. "I keep forgetting to give this back at campus but I was close by and remembered it a few minutes ago."

Oliver takes the phone. "Thanks, bro."

"Well you seem happy." Otoya notes. "Score yet?"

"No, she's more than that." Oliver would never see you as just another girl to sleep with. You're his precious love and he'll never let you go. He doesn't need anyone else, only you.

Aiku doesn't know that his special girl woke up from him getting out of bed.

You're confused by what the boys are talking about, standing by the bedroom door and listening.

"Well, be careful with that thing." Otoya nods down at the phone. "I don't want to see the hell everyone will raise if they find out her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer." Otoya puts on a sweet, girly voice and makes a cute face.

Otoya's words hit you like a punch in the gut.

Oliver slaps the side of Otoya's head playfully and says, "Shut up, that won't happen."

"Here's to hoping." Otoya fistbumps him. "Later." He turns around and waves as he walks away.

Your mind goes blank.

Oliver?

What?

Otoya's words echo in your mind, "I don't want to see the hell everyone will raise if they find out her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer."

Your legs go weak.

". . . her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer."

You slide down to the floor.

The front door closes.

You gasp, eyes going wide.

Footsteps . . .

Oliver is coming back to the bedroom. His bedroom. The room you've been sleeping in for days. The bed you've laid with him in. The bed he's held you in every night.

". . . her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer."

It has to be a joke right?

Right?!

"Oh?"

Oliver's voice makes your blood freeze.

"Hey, what are you doing on the floor?"

You look up at him, eyes wide. Otoya's words fill your mind again, ". . . her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer."

"What are . . . you . . ." Oliver realizes.

You heard.

You stare up at him in terror.

It's him.

What kind of a cruel, sadistic joke is this?

It all suddenly makes sense, how could you be so stupid? Every time something happened either Oliver or Otoya would be there. Otoya was in on it, too.

The texts, the pictures, the knocking . . . all those times you felt like you were being watched . . .

Just as Oliver moves, about to walk up to you, you shake your head. "Please don't hurt me."

"No, no, no, I would never hurt you." Oliver kneels down in front of you but you back into the wall. "I'd never hurt you, doll."

The room suddenly feels too small.

You can't stay in there, the room where you've been sleeping in Oliver's arms on his bed when he's been playing you like a damn fiddle all along.

You push yourself off the floor and try to leave the room but he stops you by grabbing your arms. "No! Let go!"

Oliver can't let you leave. You'll never come back if you run away now. "Please just listen to me for a minute," He pleads. "let me explain-"

"No!" You cry. "No, no!"

Oliver lets go of your arms to hold your face in his large hands instead. "Please, doll, listen to me." He forces you back against the wall and cages you in, wide frame preventing you from running away. You can't leave, you can't.

If he could torment you over the course of months so easily, what else is he capable of? The thought terrifies you and you can't stop the tears from running. "I trusted you . . ."

Oliver's heart breaks at the sight of your tears. Maybe he did take some things too far, but it's okay. All he needs to do is show how much he loves you. "You can still trust me, baby girl, I'd never hurt you, you know that."

"Oliver, please . . ." You whimper. "I'm scared . . ."

Scared of what? Of him? "You don't need to be scared, doll." Oliver says softly. He wipes the tears from your cheeks. "Please don't cry."

"O- Oliver . . ."

He's the one who turned you into a shell of your former self who spends every moment terrified for your safety.

Why would he do this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Oliver whispers over and over again. "I'm sorry for scaring you, doll, I'll never do anything to hurt you again." He promised. "You're the most important person in my life, I can't live without you."

How can you trust him after learning all this?

"Please don't hate me." Oliver begs desperately. He is beyond terrified now. He can't let you leave, it would kill him. "Please don't hate me, I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you."

If he loves you so much . . . why would he put you through all this? "Y- You . . ."

"I love you." Oliver breathes. He prays you won't push him away, then leans down to kiss you desperately. "I love you," He whispers against your lips. "I love you and only you, I love you so much."

If you were in your right mind right now you would condemn him for him actions and demand answers, but you're not. You look up at Oliver, in a daze from the kiss. "Y'love . . ."

"I love you." Oliver kisses you again. "You know that I do, don't you? You know how much I love you, doll, yeah?"

You see nothing but panic and desperation in his mismatched eyes, the same ones that have only looked at you with pure adoration for weeks now. "Y- You love m- me . . ." You murmur.

"Yeah, that's right. That's right, I love you. You're the only one I've ever loved." Oliver captures your lips in a heated kiss.

There is still a tiny voice inside you that is telling you to get a grip, yelling at you to push him away. Aiku is the one who put you through so much shit that you nearly lost your sanity, the one who scared you so much you broke down.

Oliver kisses you like his life depends on it. He needs too show you just how much he loves you, he needs you to know.

"Oli- Oliver-"

He's scared that you will tell him to let you go and he can't take it. Oliver will never let you leave, not when you're finally his.

You're still crying and he hates himself for being the cause of your tears. Oliver brushes the fresh tears from your cheeks and whispers against your lips, "You'll let me love you, won't you, doll? You'll let me show you how much you mean to me, right?" He moves his hands down your body.

He loves you . . . Oliver loves you, you can see it in his eyes.

"You'll let me, won't you, baby?"

A small nod is all you manage to give as a reply.

You gasp when you feel his warm hands on your skin. He pushes your tank top up to finally feel your soft skin. Oliver has waited for this for so long, he'll be damned if it ends before it even begins. "Let me show you."

"Oliver . . ."

He steps back from the wall and pulls you with him, guiding you to the bed and pushing you down. You're overwhelmed and want to tell Oliver to wait, but he doesn't let you say anything and kisses you again.

You push on his shoulders lightly. "W- Wait . . ."

"What's wrong, doll?" Oliver coos down at you, cupping your cheek. "Just let me take care of you, I'll make you feel better."

He leans back enough to sit on his knees for a second, pulling his t shirt off and throwing it away. The sight makes you feel hot and he can see the effect it has on you. It swells Oliver's ego to know you like what you see, even if you don't say it outloud.

There's a part of you that wants to push him away but . . .

Oliver can see the doubt in your eyes.

He leans back down and brushes his lips against yours. "You want me to make you feel good, don't you?" Aiku pushes your top up. It tingles where his skin meets yours and you exhale shakily. "I'll make it all better, doll. That's what you want, ain't it?"

You gulp, and you nod.

"Yeah?" Oliver smiles and presses a quick peck to your now swollen lips. "Want me to make it better?"

"Uh huh . . ."

He has you now.

Oliver has you and he will never let you go.

Everything feels so hot . . .

You can't breathe.

You can't think.

All you feel is Oliver Aiku.

Your discovery is long forgotten. He's doing everything he can to make sure that you will never care about it again, and it's working. Every time he feels you tensing up or sees the doubt in your pretty eyes he does something new to get your mind off it.

You're on your side with his toned chest pressed against your back as he litters your nape and shoulder with kiss, one arm under you and holding you tight while his free hand roams every inch of your burning skin.

Oliver moves his hand down between your thighs that are pressed together. "O- Oli . . ."

He can't get enough of you. He's never felt so good in his life. "All f'me," Oliver whispers by your ear. "I want you so fuck'n bad, doll."

Oliver is skilled and experienced, you know that, and you should have enough common sense to not let that bother you but it does. It means he's been with plenty of other girls before you and you hate that.

He shifts his arm under you to move his hand up to hold your face, forcing you to turn your head and look back at him. "C'mere, doll." He kisses you hungrily. Oliver actually moans when he feels how wet you are.

All for him.

"Feels so good to hold you like this." Aiku pants. "You're so good for me. My good girl."

Oliver's gaze moves down to the marks on your shoulder. There aren't enough of them. You're not covered enough. He needs to leave enough marks for the whole world to know that you belong to him.

He grabs a handful of your plush thigh. "Spread 'em."

"Oliver . . ."

"You said you'd let me, remember?" He says softly. "Remember, baby? You said you'd let me love you."

That's right . . . you did.

"Here, we'll take it slow." He's okay with waiting a few more minutes if it means he can make you more needy in the process and eventually have you beg for it. "See? Just like this."

Oliver urges you to press your thighs together again. He's sure that being buried deep inside you would feel a lot better, but he doesn't mind fucking your pretty thighs for a while. They’re so soft and feel so good around his cock, everything about you feels like paradise.

You keep rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the tension in your body. He's only making it worse by rubbing against you like this, you're desperate for release. "Oliver . . . please . . ."

Every time he moves forward he nudges your sensitive clit and it has your thighs shaking.

You spread your legs and Oliver is quick to take advantage of it. "This is okay, right?" He pants, struggling to restrain himself.

Even now, there's still that tiny voice inside that begs you to stop.

Oliver kisses your shoulder. "I can do it, right?"

You . . .

He needs to make you his.

You're scared.

Oliver feels it in the way you tense you slightly, but he's so close, it's practically almost done. "Hey, doll, how do you feel?" He kisses your shoulder again and stops for a moment. "It's okay, right?"

It's Oliver . . . Oliver loves you, you know that now . . .

You don't say anything. Instead, you reach your hand back to the back of his head and turn to kiss him again.

Oliver will take this as a yes.

You tense up and gasp when he pushes in. He's a lot bigger than you expected.

Oliver swears he's dying, he can't handle it now that it's finally happening. You're so warm and so tight, it feels so good.

"Y'feel so fuck'n good, doll." Oliver whispers against your lips. "So good for me, my good girl."

You can't think of anything other than the feeling of Oliver's cock deep inside you, filling you perfectly.

He moves at a slow pace, whispering sweet nothings and praising you for being so good for him. You're his perfect girl, so sweet and so beautiful and all his.

Oliver knows he has you now.

"How's it feel, doll? Feel good?"

You feel hot. "Oli . . ."

"Deep breaths for me, baby, easy now." He murmurs softly, hitting that perfect spot inside you.

"F- Feels good . . ."

Yes.

Oliver has never been happier. He finally has you and it was worth the wait.

You cry out his name and it makes Oliver's heart flutter and he practically melts against you. You're the only girl who can do this to him. Everything about you is addicting, he could never get enough of you. Now that Oliver finally gets to bury himself inside you he never wants to pull out. He wishes that he can stay like this forever.

Aiku moans against your nape at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him, as if you never him to leave.

Shit, it feels so good, he won't last.

He whispers you name breathlessly and moves at an even slower pace in favour of giving harder thrusts.

Your sweet voice bounces off the walls and in the room, the sweetest sound Aiku has ever heard.

"G'na cum f'me, yeah?" Oliver pants, so close. "Come on, doll, cum for me. Give me everything."

You belong to him, just as he belongs to you.

You're his and he is yours.

Oliver loves you so fucking much, he can hardly handle it. He needs you to live.

"I love you."

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock oliver aiku #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku x you #oliver aiku smut

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