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love-toxin · 26 days

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Trapped - Harley Kunuk

(cws: fem pronouns, stalking, 3rd party stalker, yandere elements, blood, gore, animal death, guns, murder, injuries [burns, punctures, bruising], graphic smut, mental illness [depression/anxiety], dismemberment, DDDNE)

word count: 25.8k

(A/N: ALSO PLS LOOK @ THIS HEADER ART BY @the-zipper <33!!)

This whole "get out into nature" thing really hasn't panned out for you so far, has it? It's a little embarrassing to be honest. All you wanted was to inject a bit of fresh air into your daily diet, all with the hope that it might improve your mental health–maybe your physical health, too.

Yet here you sit in the dirt, your scraped hands held close to your chest while a total stranger helps you out of the prickly situation you've stumbled into. Made even more humiliating for the reason that this particular stranger is….well, he's not any run-of-the-mill good Samaritan. Those types don't generally trek through stretches of wooded areas with no paths, armed with a hatchet on his belt and all manner of hooks attached to it to carry back the catch from his traps.

When you'd first spotted him through the trees after stepping in one of those rabbit traps (currently still clamped around your ankle) you figured he was a lumberjack or something. Maybe a serial killer with those dead eyes and stoic expression, but you'd prayed not. You could see his wild, unruly black hair tied back in a thick ponytail to keep it out of his face, his huge frame that stood hulking and tall next to the barren trees, his worn-in flannel under a heavy leather coat and jeans permanently stained with dirt and who knows what else…he gave off the impression of what you imagine a giant would look like, although the pale smattering of freckles over his slanted nose and the gleam of brown in his dark eyes as he turned had sent a strange shiver down the back of your neck. In fact, your cries for help had almost instantly died down when you caught him in your peripheral, because you feared he might be the type of person to take advantage of your suffering–he just looked mean, and you distinctly recall the way your breath hitched in your dry throat when he started walking towards you.

But you've learned your lesson to not judge a book by its cover, and quickly, because he's been nothing but helpful so far–with just a dash of sass in the process. You did step in his trap, after all, which he'd supposedly been looking forward to checking for a nice, fat rabbit to make a stew out of. And based off of how deep it's buried itself into your skin, it probably won't be any good for other rabbits with your blood all over it.

"You really shouldn't wander out here blindly. It's dangerous." His muttering like he's not even addressing you would otherwise put you off, were he not so close and handling your leg so gently as he pries the blunt claws of the trap off. He's been trying for the better part of twenty minutes, but without any tools aside from his hands it's been slow-going. He tends to be gentler when the touch trap scrapes against you or digs in deeper, so in a bid not to hurt you further he's abandoned the idea of trying to preserve the trap itself–now the aim is just to get it off you by any means necessary, and based off the blood from his own hands and from your leg, it's not going nearly as well as he would've liked. "Not just cause of my traps. There's animals out here, too."

"I didn't think it would be," You admit bashfully, a heat further rising to your cheeks. He glances up at you as stone-faced as he was before, but something in his expression flinches like he's intentionally trying to keep a wall up. The sounds of the forest around you luckily keep you grounded as you adjust your position, your hand tentative as it grasps his shoulder for balance. Does he work out? His muscles aren't that noticeable at first glance but you're positioned in a weird way, he probably looks a lot bigger when he's not so close you're practically breathing on him. Then again he kind of has to be, considering the snare is giving him more trouble than he expected and snaps back to dig into your ankle for the nth time–eliciting a pained yelp from you in the process–but with a gruff "Fuckin' piece of trash-" grumbled right next to your ear, he finally manages to wedge his fingers between your flesh and the steel and wrenches it back down with harsh, brute strength.

A sharp twang echoes through the forest, the sound and his hard motion startling you enough for your nails to dig into his shoulder through the leather. You'd be surprised if a big guy like him would even feel it, and you think that especially so when you cast a glance down and feel your heart skip at the carnage lying before you. You almost feel worse for the trap than you do yourself–you've got some stinging dents, scrapes, and punctures in your skin from the teeth clamping down on them, but with his bare hands Harley's bent the steel jaws back so far they've snapped off the base of the trap completely. One of them lies shattered in pieces in the dirt, the spring holding it all together looks completely bent out of place, and by all accounts it's completely unsalvageable. And completely your fault.

"Thank you. I'm really sorry-"

"For what? This?" He cuts you off by holding up a handful of his snare's remains, but only shows some remorse after the fact, like he's not used to the normalcy of human interaction…it's a big leap considering you don't know him from Adam, but you can only make assumptions about some strange man you've never seen who dresses like a lumberjack but can barely string a few words together at a time.

Harley tosses the mangled trap aside, completely oblivious to the way you flinch at the way it flies and tumbles to the soil in a discordant symphony of rough clanging. "It's garbage anyways. Hasn't caught squat…just you."

As he says that, his eyes draw over from the pile of junk back towards you, quietly creeping upward until they meet your own. Maybe you're imagining things, but you feel some odd sense of kinship with him…you feel like he's looking deeper into your soul than you realize, right up until he coughs and gets back up to his feet with a grunt.

"Don't step in my traps again, unless you turn into a rabbit."

All things considered, your nose scrunches a bit as the unexpectedly gentle giant towers over you once more. The snare had been covered in leaves and all manner of brush, plus he'd set it up right next to a rotting log that you'd stepped over and subsequently fallen down when the snap and the pain threw you off balance. Only a hawk could've spotted such a well-hidden trap in the midst of an otherwise empty forest, and you release a huff from your chapped lips as you struggle to stand with the help of his outstretched hand.

"If I'd seen the trap, I wouldn't have stepped in…uh, what was that? Was that supposed to be a joke?" Harley flushes at once, faster than your eyes can manage to process since he turns around so his back is facing you. He's already taking steps away, his nerves showing through his facade as he nearly stumbles over a tree root before steadying himself against the trunk.

"I mean it. Watch your feet around here."

"Uh…Harley, hey! Wait!"

To your surprise, he actually stops and turns back around to face you–this time with concern written clear on his features at how urgent your tone is. Wisps of black hair fly free from his ponytail and whip against his cheeks as a breeze suddenly blows through the empty trees, and more than ever you draw your arms tight around yourself to keep out the cold. You didn't dress for this weather most certainly, and part of you knows you don't want him to leave partly because you're losing that warmth that had made you feel so secure.

"Um…I, uh, don't know if I can make it back. I'm kinda far from home, and my ankle.." You glance down at the exposed patch of skin above your sneaker and Harley's eyes flicker before they follow, a trail of fresh blood dripping down your goosebump-covered skin as you put pressure on it. "...I-It really hurts."

You fully expect him to tell you you're fine, that you don't need any help, or that you're just being a baby and want more sympathy. But he comes back, draws closer slowly like he's approaching a wounded animal, and gestures behind you towards the stump you'd been leaning back against. When you sit yourself down on the cold, mossy wood, he rolls up his dirty sleeves and crouches down in front of you–this time with his face right near your knee, and you have to look anywhere but at his concentrated expression while he pulls your ankle into his massive grasp. It looks and feels so tiny in his hand, like you're a doll compared to him, and as much as your fingers itch to touch his hair now that it's so close you keep digging them into the stump below you. He just keeps observing the wounds, gently pressing a finger around the area of each while easing off when he feels you cringe in pain.

"...Hurts? Can you feel that?"

"Yeah, it…yeah, hurts. It really hurts. Sorry-" Somehow the touching, the eyes on your wound, they choke you up before you even know what's happening. The pain runs deeper than the physical sores and you know that, or you did, you just didn't expect it to well up so much that you find yourself shedding tears in front of a complete stranger. Your pitiful sniffles and wiping your nose with your sleeve are what finally attract his attention. Harley peers up from his deep concentration and you can hear his breath hitch in his throat, clearly unsure of how to proceed in the face of this unexpected development. If he were you, he might've just gotten to his feet and scurried away from the scene.

"...Wait here. I don't live far, I'll go get my kit and come back. Don't cry."

The way he says it doesn't feel patronizing, not like it should. You hadn't noticed until his face draws closer that through your tear streaked vision, his brow is set low and his brown eyes soft with a gentle glimmer of care. You catch a glimpse of his hand hovering near your cheek out of your peripheral, the warmth soaking into your skin–but before it can make contact, he's sucking his teeth and tugging it away before he stands for the second time. He repeats that command to stay where you are, and with a step back and a turn on his heels he's headed back in the direction he came from. He's out of sight in less than a minute, which is somehow oddly comforting as you dry your puffy eyes with your sleeves and sit there in wait, sniffling all the while in the cold. Hopefully he won't be long…hopefully he'll actually come back. You've got a good feeling he will, even as the minutes tick by and you hug yourself tighter when the cold of the late day sets in. It'll be dark before you know it, and on this leg you won't be getting far even if you'd brought a torch with you.

It's probably been a solid few minutes before the sounds of snapping twigs alerts you to someone else's presence. The angle confuses you though, because Harley left in the direction you're facing and the noise is coming from behind you. A whisper of something in the back of your head begs you to turn around, and just when you do, your line of sight aligns with a stranger who stops in his tracks as soon as you catch him in your vision. You're on your feet as quickly as you can be with one of them incapacitated, your heart jumping into your throat at the sound of him mumbling something incoherent in your direction.

He's definitely not Harley. Definitely not somebody you recognize either; older, squirrely, raggedy-looking but somewhat put together. A white coat sits on thin shoulders with sleeves that inch down over knobby hands worn with age, aside from that he's dressed just as any other trail walker you would see–at the actual trails at least, not this patch of forest that's further out of town and has a reputation for being bear country. You'd probably never even notice him if your eyes passed him on the street or a walk where the couples and families go on the trails, he seems like the typical older man you'd see anywhere. Except for those eyes that feel like they're bulging out from behind thick-rimmed wire glasses, roaming over you from head to toe and giving you an intense, icky feeling of being sized up like meat.

"Is that guy your boyfriend?" The staredown continues as he throws that strangely accusative question your way, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket so you can't see what he might be holding. What you don't know he is holding.

"Uh, what? Do I know you?" You shake your head in disbelief, taking great caution to step back slowly enough that you don't slip on your weak ankle.

"I've seen you walking here alone. Is the big guy your boyfriend? Is he your dad?" He still has his hands in his pockets. Your brain won't stop imagining all the things he could be hiding in there–and the disjointed way he walks and the questions he's asking unnerve you to your core. And did he just admit he's watched you walking around here? This area of the woods isn't even remotely near a trail and you picked it for that very reason…unless it's an odd coincidence, it's forcing you to think back to every moment you've spent here and all the times he could've been watching. As if things couldn't get worse, your only reprieve is still nowhere in sight, Harley's footsteps nowhere near close enough for you to hear them. Who knows when he'll be back, either? It might be too late by then.

"I've got a lot of money. I can pay him." He steps forward and you take a huge one back. Your options are dwindling and you didn't have many in the first place. You can't possibly think he's harmless now that you're this far–he clearly has some creepy imagination and the only person who could save you, the only person who even knows you're here, definitely isn't close enough to hear you scream for help if you tried.

"H-He's coming back right now," You search for those words in the deepest pits of your stomach where your hope has fallen flat. The man glances around, his head turning in big, sweeping arcs to search the woods for any sign of said rescuer. Your heart hits the wall of your ribcage so hard you feel like you're gonna sink to your knees, or at least be sick all over the ground. You're not safe and you know it, and he knows it.

"I don't see him."

He takes another shaky, measured step towards you and you stumble back to take your own, but all you manage to do is trip and fall back on your behind in the mess of leaves underfoot. Those next few steps he takes towards his prey are quick and heavy in your ears, and in a burst of panic when you can finally get your voice out you sob Harley's name in a shaky, tremoring pitch that breaks with frantic desperation.

The doomed silence that follows is cut by the sound of wind whipping harshly through the trees–and in a matter of seconds, followed by the violent thwack that echoes throughout the woods as a blade flings itself across your vision and embeds itself in a tree trunk before you.

The hatchet marks a degree of separation between you and the man you hadn't realized had been stalking you for a while, landing barely an inch away from his nose. He staggers back out of shock and nearly falls over a root himself, but upon turning his gaze towards the source of the attempted assault, his bug eyes widen and he scrambles to run away with his tail tucked between his legs. No sense of relief washes over you until you spot your savior, his gait tense as he steps out from the trees and into the clearing–you only inhale a shaky breath when you see that long hair trailing down his back, the softness of his flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he reaches out to grasp the handle of the hatchet. With a deft, one-handed tug, it dislodges from the dead tree with a rough crunching sound and falls to hang down at his side. He doesn't move to look over his shoulder at you until the man has disappeared from his vision, but when he does he finally sets the tool back on his belt and crosses that short distance to kneel in front of you, his first-aid kit dangling on a clasp on the opposite side.

You'd expect him to be upset by that rather violent reaction even if it's not directed at you, but he's cooled down already, enough that his touches are gentle on your skin. At least on the outside. There's a storm brewing behind his eyes that you thankfully won't have to witness, because all that awful business he's cooking up as revenge won't be for your precious, pure eyes.

"You okay?" His deep voice couldn't be more soothing than it is in this moment, your eyes filling with a fresh set of tears that, this time, he's quick to brush away for you with his calloused thumbs. His shushing and soft, sweet crooning don't fit the scary vision of the man wielding that frightening weapon, yet his soothing touches and words are so comforting you just end up melting into his warmth. Not a word of protest escapes you when he suggests taking you back home, nor when he carefully leans your crying self into his shoulder so he can slide his hands beneath you, and lifts you off the ground and into his arms with a grunt.

Your legs dangling over one arm and your back supported by the other, Harley bridal carries you away from the scene and through the forest down a path only he can see. One still filled with roots to trip him up and dry leaves to crunch underfoot, but he barely stumbles at all with you perched delicately in his arms.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry." You shake your head and lift it from where it's buried in his neck, a trembling hand wiping your face for what feels like the millionth time today.

"No…no, he scared me, Harley. Thank you, I.." You whimper, your words falling apart as you hesitate briefly–but in the next moment you're clinging to him, his taut biceps pressed to your soft flesh and your arms pulled tight around his neck, warming his face in the process. Maybe that dark flush is just the cold, but maybe it really is something else after all. "Please don't leave me."

A shake of his head is enough to sate you, some loose strands of his hair tickling your skin as he readjusts his grip to keep you upright. Every time he moves, even encumbered by your weight, he does so with so much ease you feel like you don't weigh an ounce in his arms.

"I did catch you, so I guess I get to keep you." A smile curving against his skin goes unnoticed but the tug on his shirt as he steps over a fallen log doesn't, your instinct to grip him tighter when he's unsteady is what leads him to brace you closer to his chest. Safer.

"So I am a bunny now? You'd better not turn me into rabbit stew, then." You chuckle, a sniffle peppering your breath.

"You do look tasty." You tuck in your arm before elbowing him in the chest, not like it really does anything but tickle when he's built like a brick wall. But it's out of shyness and embarrassment because those words sound devious out of his mouth, that slowly-spreading grin and rumbly voice sending a palpable shiver up the back of your neck like he's speaking to your thoughts directly. Does he know? He acts coy, but is it that easy for him to tell that you like him? Because you do. You really, really do.

It takes everything in you not to press your lips to his cheek in thanks, because while it would be quite sweet you don't exactly want to cross any boundaries of his. You just enjoy the ride for what it is, Harley's strong arms cushioning you every step of the way until the shade from the trees overhead disappears and the ground evens out. By the time you lift your head to look, he's crossed the grassy field that separates the land between the forest and his home, and is already slipping through the side door to a decent-looking farmhouse by the road. A soft couch lies beneath a grand window facing the open yard and it's where he sets you down, supporting your weight right up until the moment you hit the cushions and release your tight hold on his shoulders.

It's a little embarrassing to be treated so delicately for an injury that isn't terribly serious, but that's exactly how Harley addresses it. He slips your mud-caked shoes off for you and drops them on the doormat outside, tosses the kit on his kitchen counter you're facing, and excuses himself for a moment to wash his hands and search for some stronger medicine in his bathroom cabinet around the corner. The room itself is wide with the kitchen on the far side and the living room on the other, an archway sitting opposite to the side door that leads to a hallway, at the end of which lies the bathroom next to a set of stairs you can't quite see from here, but you can only imagine are there since there's clearly a second floor above you. As kitschy as it is with the creaky wood flooring and a few minor patches of water damage against the 70s-esque wallpaper, it's the definition of cozy–a fireplace sits near you along with a coffee table and two armchairs, along with a rug that looks thick and soft with age. The cabinets in the kitchen all look like similar wood to the floor, the linoleum just as old but well-scrubbed and clean of any muddy boot prints or grass, and the cream-coloured vintage fridge hums quietly with a dozen or so notes tacked to it, with scribbly drawings of things to memorize rather than actual words. Even from here, you can make out things like a certain number of eggs to bring somewhere and a particular part of a machine that somewhat looks like it belongs in a truck. And with all the natural light filtering in from the huge windows, one by your head and the other facing out above the kitchen sink, the whole first floor of the house stays warm and comfy-looking even as the sun begins to set.

"Is this where you live?" You call out and he hums loudly in agreement, busying himself with digging around the shelves through the open door. You crane your head to peek outside again, curious about the odd little hatches you can see from here and the fences around some big, grassy open areas. You just barely manage to catch a glimpse of a larger, more impressive building a little further off that looks like it could be a barn, and suddenly the weight of the cushions shifts as Harley takes his seat by your feet with a tube of something clutched in his hand. With relative confidence he squeezes a dollop on to his finger, hands you the tube to make sure you're not allergic to whatever it is, and gently presses the cream to your skin and swipes it right over your wounds.

The hiss that erupts from you at that first touch halts his progress briefly, but he's back to rubbing it in once he's given you a look and probably realized that it's not that bad. It just stings–but as he explains, it's disinfectant, so it's important to apply before you're exposed to a nasty strain of bacteria.

"How–ow! H-How long have you lived here?" Wincing, you sit up higher against the arm of the couch to get a better look. One glance at the blood staining his hands turns your stomach, however, and you're quick to peer back out the window in the hopes of shifting your focus elsewhere.

"The farm?" He queries, gaze sliding towards those same structures out the window before he finds an answer. "...Long time. Twenty years, maybe?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"No kidding." You crack a wobbly smile, the burning sensation having slowly run its course through your poor, abused ankle. "We're not too far apart. So you grew up on a farm?"

"Kinda. Just helped out."

"Do you have cows?"

Shhhrup. He snips off a length of gauze and pins it to your ankle with a warm finger, slowly rolling the band around it in wide, careful circles. On each pass around he pulls it taut to tighten it and stem the bleeding, though it doesn't mean it doesn't make you flinch each time.

"Yeah. Chickens, too."

"You do?"

"Of course. See the building there? That's my coop." Once he's finally finished with pinning the dressing into place, he helps you lean up with his palm held out, your fingers grasping it firmly to steady yourself as you peer out the window towards the direction he's pointing. The way he talks about it gives off a sense of pride, but that alone is clear by the smile that breaks his stoic facade when you ask if you can see the cows and the chickens.

"When your ankle's better we'll go outside and feed them. You can ride one if you want, if you promise to be gentle with her."

"I can ride one?" Your eyes sparkle with hopeful excitement, glimmering like sea glass and crystals among the sand. You're assuming it's not that detail that has him quirking up a brighter smile than before, but you would be wrong.

"Mhm. Marnie likes giving rides–we can bribe her with some celery I've got, too." He speaks with a hand on your wrapped ankle, neither of you even really noticing the gesture until it dawns on both of you, and you break your shared gaze and the touch in somewhat flustered fashion. Yet, even though he sits like a golem above you with hands retracting back to his own lap, you still can't help the thought that he's just so…soft.

Maybe not on the outside necessarily, but Harley gives off a comforting, warm energy that seems completely natural to him. You've seen the itchy discomfort and awkwardness of men who would strike fear into your heart by presence alone, the unintentional fidgeting that betrays bad thoughts and cues towards what they've really got on their mind–things that they would gladly do or say if nobody was around and the chance of getting caught was low. Passing comments that just barely scrape the surface of impropriety, gestures masked with kindness but bleed through with the expectation of something in return. Harley isn't like that, or at the very least he doesn't seem like that.

"Something to drink?" He stands up and off the couch in a swift motion, the remaining roll of gauze pinched in one giant hand along with the balm and the scissors. They look almost toy-like in his massive grasp, it's actually pretty cute.

"Water?" He nods, brisk in his actions but not in the movements themselves–he takes your orders like a soldier yet moves along in a relaxed gait, the path to the kitchen like a sixth sense and the air in the house so familiar he's breathed himself into every inch of it. If you asked something of him, he could say no. Yet his willingness to do so prods at you with the thought that maybe he never has said it.

From the cupboard he produces a tall, well-worn glass, and the tap shudders to life to spit a strong jet of water straight into it once he turns it. It squeaks with age and potentially the need of some upkeep, but when he circles back around the edge of the tabletop and brings it to you, it sits clear and cool as it meets your hands and desperately refreshing when you bring it to your lips for a sip. If you knew how many cracked glasses he owns, you'd probably be twice as grateful that the one you hold stays intact as you drain it. You've never been one to remember the necessities when out for a stroll, a water bottle being one of them–the stuff he's given you now, though? It could well be the ambrosia of the gods to your parched throat, your tongue having sat so heavy and dry in your mouth that the unpleasant feeling has become a nuance and not an irritant. Maybe it's his pipes or maybe it's him, keeping a close eye and taking the glass back when it's empty to refill it again–but tap water has never tasted so good, you could swear it on your grave.

"So.." He murmurs, handing back your drink and waiting for you to down another greedy sip before he continues. "It's getting late, and you should really rest that leg. If you're okay, I can take you back home. Or…" The way he trails off lifts a brow from you, curiosity overcoming you in a gentle wave.

"Or?"

"...Or you can stay here for a bit. I mean, you can come back if you really want to, and we can see the animals then. But if you want to stay–and, uh, I can keep an eye on yo–y-your wound–you can."

You lower the glass, now half-empty, into your lap. As much as you want to let your smile peek through at how sweetly he's asking the question, you can't help but wonder about the possibilities. Is this a ruse? Does he want to get me alone? Will he flip out if I say I want to go home? Part of you wants to test him, wants to say that you do and then change your mind to see how he reacts…but another part of you trusts him, maybe errantly, but you so rarely get the opportunity to just take a chance with fate. Maybe this time, things will be different.

"I don't really have anyone to check on me, honestly, and I live alone. Maybe…if it's okay, maybe I can stay? There's not even an elevator in my-"

"Okay," He breathes suddenly, but follows it up quick with an apology for cutting you off. The enthusiasm tweaks your anxiety just a little bit, but you try your best to smooth it over. There's no going back now. "Yeah. I'll set up the spare room for you."

Within moments he's up, but before he gets to that particular task, the labour of food dawns on him and he makes a detour into the kitchen. Despite insisting that you've already eaten before you left for your walk, Harley imparts upon you a bit of homemade jam and some kind of fried bread before he takes you up to bed, the former quite sweet and tangy while the latter is a bit doughy from a day in the fridge but still delightfully warm off a pan that he heats it up in. That and a cup of fresh, warm milk and honey is what sends you upstairs to bed, the steps creaking twofold as Harley carries you there like a lame calf that needs constant tending. Belly full, sleepy, and comfortable–things could certainly be worse than this, especially when you consider what could've happened if Harley hadn't been around to rescue you today. Things could be much worse, you've found.

The spare bedroom sits just off the top of the staircase, as the second door from the end of the hall with another diagonally adjacent to it. The moment he carries you in, you can tell this used to be someone's room–the bed has been flipped and fitted with newer sheets and blankets, the walls have been scrubbed clean, but there's still shadows of frames that once hung against the honeycomb-like wallpaper and a closet nearly bursting with boxes of old belongings. Once he sets you down on the bed, the doors of which Harley's quick to close after stacking them higher and sliding them back to fit snugly inside and hopefully make you feel a little more comfortable. His disappears for a moment, but returns with what looks like a long, thick maroon shirt in his hands that would probably drape so far down on you it would act as a nightgown.

"Here. I'll wash your clothes for you tomorrow–this should do for you tonight." He waits patiently outside the door while you change, takes the clothing through the crack when you open it, and you notice that he's completely turned away when he does so even when he could probably be sure that you're decent. He bustles away with them like a rabbit, and returns just when the crickets have started chirping to show you the door–literally.

"There's a lock here," He points towards the highest point of the bedroom door, and back down towards the bottom where a wedge of polished wood sits nearby. With a measured bump of his foot he shows you how to slot it underneath, and respectively how to tug it back out with a decent amount of force. "It looks shaky but it works. I lock both the doors at night too when I close up the barn. Windows too, but these ones are hard to open anyways." He demonstrates by crossing the floor in quick strides and tugging on the window, barely able to shift it upwards a few inches before shoving it back down with a healthy amount of grunting…and to say the sounds don't have you hot in the face would be a mistake, as benign as they are.

"I'm in the room at the end of the hall. Bathroom's next door. If you need anything, just holler or come get me." He finally offers you his parting words with a hand on the doorknob, about to step out but clearly with some hesitation lingering in the way he stands. Maybe he wants to stay with you, or maybe he's nervous about leaving you alone after today. It's endearing either way, rather than concerning.

"I'll try not to wake you up." You smile back at him, truly feeling the gratitude for his kindness, but he shakes his head.

"No, come wake me for anything. Even a glass of water–I don't want you walking down those stairs and getting hurt."

Ouch. Those words sting, they really do, but not because of his personal fault–rather because you can't recall the last time you heard something like that, the last time it was said with sincerity, and it hits you like a brick and leaves you aching with a hollow feeling that you don't know what to do with. Your hands lift to rub at your arms a bit awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot and wincing when you attempt to do so to the other, but soon enough you find the courage to speak in the wake of concern you don't know if you deserve.

"You're really sweet, Harley."

"Sweet? I'm not sweet." His expression sours at once, a pout forming on his lips that almost doesn't fit his intimidating stature. He looks as if that word alone is an insult, yet the heat rising to his face gives him no bearing when it's so obvious that he's flattered.

"You haven't let me take a step on my own all day. You're really sweet, and really nice."

"Yeah, whatever." Unable to meet your eyes he pouts even harder to try and cover it up, turning his back on you with no better answer and grabbing hold of the doorknob on his way out. "Shut up, city-slicker. And don't stay up too late."

You nearly flinch when he doesn't slam the door closed, his bad attitude striking you more as cute than intimidating. Your ears perk at the sound of his footsteps outside, muffled through the walls and growing distant as he pads down the hall–and when his own door shuts quietly, you finally tear yourself away from the threshold and patter barefoot towards the plush bed. It's nothing special, and it's a bit old, but you certainly can't complain.

You can't help but think, however, as you shut off the lamp by the bedside and hunker down for a long night…it's just a little too cold for your liking.

Whispers hum at you in the dark, surrounding you in a blanket of voices and sensations that drench you in nothing but blackness. An incessant tapping grows in volume at the back of your mind, visions flashing by at random in a grotesque show of theatre–something burns, something hurts, and in a flash of climactic panic you shoot up awake in your bed, panting and gasping and grasping at things that aren't there.

You're alone again, but not in a good way. It takes a moment to adjust to your surroundings, reintegrate into the situation you're in, but a glimpse out the window at the farm and your hand brushing the cotton fabric of the blanket brings you right back down to earth. It was just a dream, and as you peer closer, the tapping in your head was nothing more than the branch of one of the trees whipping against the window in the wind.

You're up and out of your bed before you can really think about it, limping a little but finding steadiness as you brace the wall and the door handle before coming out into the hall. It's creepier at night, much quieter than you expected save for the noise of the wind outside, and it has you hauling yourself as quickly yet quietly as possible to get to the door on the very end; the door that creaks so softly as you open and close it behind you, but doesn't cause the warm, heavy body in the bed to stir. Even as you approach him and come round the other side that he's perched on, his breathing stays even and soft like he's nearly dead to the world.

"Harley?" Your whispers grow their confidence in the dark, the hem of the long shirt swishing around your thighs as you lean over the sleeping giant. "Harley, are you awake?"

You're wary of shaking him, but your hand just barely brushes his shoulder–when it meets his heated skin, the man in question flinches and rolls over with a groan, his arm sliding off his chest to dangle off the edge of the bed. Even in the dimness you can make out the squint of his eyes at the slivers of moonlight shining through the window, his hair tousled and splayed out all over his sheets since being freed from its ponytail. He barely tilts his head in your direction, but even so he acknowledges you with a slurred hum and a rub at his eyelids to erase the sleep weighing them down.

"I-I'm sorry–" Your fingers clench at the sight of his bare chest, the skin soft-looking and riddled with the deep edges of healed scars. "-I can't sleep. The noise-"

Without a word, Harley gropes for the blanket draped over him and grabs a fistful of it, tiredly lifting it up with a yawn. It's an idea almost too good to pursue, your brain momentarily wondering whether this, too, is a joke. But not one to give up the opportunity since he seems too sleepy to tease you, you take the bait and make quick work of crawling over his buff body to flop down on his other side. Your breath quickens in your throat as soon as you're settled, but you've got no time to dwell on the enthusiasm as Harley pulls the blanket up to your shoulder, shifts his hips up, and turns on his side to face away from you.

Is this really how fate has decided to treat you? You're not too sure you're a fan of enduring a string of so many awful things just to get one good miracle–but as the warmth of the bed lulls you in, you find your smile returning slowly as you snuggle into the sheets and relax next to the man whose hands you would gladly put your life into.

Within a few minutes of laying down beside him the space feels like it's growing larger and larger between you, the cold soaking into your veins and causing your feet to retreat further and further up under the covers. It takes a bit more time to work up the courage to search for a little more than that. Enough that you're sure he's probably fallen back asleep as you shuffle closer and closer, settling in again once your hands just barely brush his spine. That's better. Harley exudes so much warmth that you could consider him a human heater, although the chill returns when he flips over on a dime and those brown eyes are staring you down, half-open, in the darkness.

It doesn't take him even a moment to survey you, examine your intentions, think about you in any way–he mindlessly throws an arm over your body, while the other stuffs itself under your neck and loops through the space for you to rest your head on his bicep. What really kills your courage is the feeling of his warm, thick thigh brushing against your bare skin between your legs, your own clamping down around it on instinct before he brushes a place that'll really have you blushing. That wasn't his intention, but it's somehow more flustering that it wasn't. He just doesn't know what he does to you.

"Warmer now?" He murmurs, eyes fluttering closed while his fingers play with a few strands of your hair. Now, with him closer than ever, you can really feel the weight on your heart ease off. A smile graces your lips barely an inch away from his, even knowing you'll be spending the better part of your night wondering what it would feel like to kiss them. You hum your answer softly. "Good. Sweet dreams."

"You too, Harley." Your head falls back against his arm, and it's only a matter of time before the warmth of his body heat and the comforting embrace of strong arms around you lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The only thing you remember waking you up is a brief time between then and the sunrise, when your eyes flutter open and you feel Harley's presence has disappeared for a time. But once slumber grabs hold of you again and you vanish into the land of unconsciousness, the only thing that causes you to stir is the distinct pitch of a rooster crowing from somewhere off in the yard, which inevitably rouses both of you into waking up.

You'd usually roll over to your side to check the time, but it dawns on you quickly that you're not in your own bed. This one is much cleaner, softer, and smells different–a bit like shampoo, cologne, and grass. Three things you haven't experienced nearly enough of in the last few months, but you've gotten more of it in the last 24 hours than you have for the entirety of the long depressive episode you've endured as of late. Your nose wakes to the smells first but you grow more alert at the heat on your back, Harley's hand pressed into the small of it to keep you cuddled snugly against his side. That tender gesture escapes you as soon as he slides his arms out and stretches them above his head, sitting up in the process for you to catch a much better glimpse of his bare torso in the sun's morning glow.

A myriad of scars mark deep, jagged edges in his skin right across the length of his back, littered by other oddly-shaped marks and bruises that look more like the result of many long years of farm work. The long strokes look more intentional, however–they almost look like flogging scars, as if from a switch or some other long, blunt object. It's unnerving, the way they cluster around one area near his shoulders where most of his exposed skin would be….and as much as you want to ask, your burning stare is enough to draw his attention to you and you don't dare to make him any more uncomfortable than you already have.

"I'll get breakfast ready." Your heart soars all of a sudden and it's a sensation that's quick to burn your cheeks, so all you can manage is a nod in reply while he gets up and quietly gathers some clothes so he can slip into the bathroom to change.

It's all so domestic; being here, the cozy house, the bed, the soft exchanges between you like it's all a part of daily life. Human connection is something you've missed these last few months, sure, but this is only something you've ever dreamed of–feeling cared for by someone who takes pleasure in your company. And Harley clearly does, because you can't imagine someone as sweet and handsome as himself entertaining another person without reason. Like you've seen before, he can be pretty off-putting and cold until he eventually warms up, but the fear that there might be something deeper to this arrangement still swirls in the back of your mind.

Harley ducks out of the bathroom fully clothed and drops the sweats he'd been wearing in the hamper on his way out, footsteps thumping down the stairs before there's a pause–and then the sounds resume with the clinking of dishes and running water. He could be a murderer, or a sex offender, or something worse, and you'd have no idea if he was until it was too late. But then again, you think as you roll over on your side and ponder getting up, he did save you from that creep.

Was it a ruse? A coincidence? Could they have been in league with one another? It's impossible to tell but you desperately want to believe that Harley's a good man. You don't want to slip into these feelings of distrust and fear again, you can't keep living like you expect everybody to hurt you. But then again, you really don't want to add more trauma to your pile or wind up dead in a basement altogether.

Frustrated and in desperate need of a distraction, you throw the covers off your legs and slide over to the edge of the bed, toes bristling at the chill of the wooden floors still cold from the night. He'd lent you his shirt, so you imagine he wouldn't mind you borrowing some more clothes–this morning you elect for a hoodie near the back of his closet, and a pair of jeans in a folded pile at the bottom from a bag labelled "Donate". Your underwear will just have to last another day but you're unfortunately quite used to stretching things as far as you can until you literally can't put it off any longer.

Luckily for you, the walls are close enough by the stairs that getting down them isn't too harsh, your hands bracing them every step until you can make it to the very bottom. Your companion doesn't seem as proud as you are when you show up in his kitchen, however, undaunted by your physical toils but still leaning on the countertop for support–the same one that he's preparing breakfast on just a foot or two away.

"I was gonna bring it to you," Harley utters softly, though his stoic expression shifts into something gentler when he catches sight of his clothes donned on your figure. "You're gonna slip on the stairs with that ankle."

"I'm okay," You insist, toeing your leg out and hiking up your pants a little to show off the bandaged wound…but your confidence falters when you realize just how swollen it's gotten overnight, the skin burning and puffy with a smattering of bruises peeking out from beneath the gauze. "...Oh."

Harley releases a sigh as he sets down the knife on his chopping block, and takes a step around the counter to brace you by the small of your back and guide you towards the dining table.

"Told you. Sit." The firmness of the gesture has your spine tingling, his warm palm like a heating pad on your lower back just from that simple touch.

"It really doesn't hurt that much," You swear as he doubles back to the cupboards and returns to start setting plates down. "Whatever you did really helped."

"Good…I'm glad." Harley shrugs and soon returns to the pan he'd been stirring, his movements calculated as he dumps in some chopped vegetables and flips the scramble over to check how far along it is. "How'd you sleep? You said it was loud."

"Oh…yeah, I think the window was cracked open. The wind got really loud and the branches started whipping against it…it just scared me a little, that's all."

"Shit," He grumbles to himself. "Knew I forgot to clip 'em.”

"It's okay," You offer him a sincere smile. "I slept much better afterwards, anyways."

For some reason, maybe nerves, Harley clears his throat and finds himself at a loss for words. He's busying himself with the finishing touches on the breakfast–buttering your toast and pouring out a bit of coffee into two mugs–but he doesn't find any until he's setting it all down at the table and coming close with the pan in one hand and spatula in the other.

"Well…er, that's good. I'm glad. I hope I didn't snore too loud." He murmurs over your shoulder as he reaches to spoon out some egg on to your plate; and keeping a close eye you can see he's separated the parts that are a little browner to fill his own plate. Aside from that, it's cooked just as you like it–and it smells amazing, and fresh. It's much harder to think badly of him when his cooking is to die for.

"I don't think I would've noticed if you did." You chuckle back at him, your fork digging into the scramble while he takes his seat across from you. "It was too comfy."

At that, Harley is rendered completely silent and fills the quiet space by stuffing his mouth full, his demeanor flat as he eats but his ears burning all the same.

And you can deal with that. It's not even really dealing, per se–you tuck into your own meals in silence, and it feels more normal than it should. When's the last time you shared a meal with someone and didn't feel the need to talk away the silence? You can't even recall, yet now with this stranger it's as easy as breathing. A bite of your toast crumbles in your mouth, the dryness reminding you of what happened the day before…and in no time at all your mind is drifting away and you're sitting, staring, eyes glazed over as you run through the events on a loop.

"...You thinking about yesterday?" Harley peers at you over his cup of coffee and peeks into your soul, your eggs barely picked at in comparison to his even though they smell better than anything you've eaten in months. It jolts you into meeting his gaze but not into forgetting what you've been agonizing over, and so you find yourself fiddling with your fork and working up the courage to just say what you're thinking.

"Yeah. It…I don't know. I feel like it's my fault."

Harley furrows his brow, his mug meeting the tabletop with a soft thud. "How so?"

"I just…I shouldn't have been walking there alone, clearly." You jut your foot out from beneath the table briefly, once again showing off the puffy soreness from underneath the covered wound. "And I guess I should've just been more careful. If you weren't there, I would've-"

"You shouldn't blame yourself." The sharp edge of Harley's voice cuts into the conversation, though his gaze flits away from yours and back again, soft as ever when he's fixated on you. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be careful, but you didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault some people are just evil."

The shake of your head sours that look, your gentle smile probably giving him the idea that you don't believe him. That you're just humouring him. "You think that?" He looks down at you, the tines of his fork suddenly pointed in your direction.

"I think shitty people deserve whatever shit they get served. You don't deserve it just cause they're fucked in the head.” With those strong words lingering, he returns to the past few bites of his breakfast. ”Besides, you don't need to think about it anymore–I'll take care of it."

"What do you mean?" He nudges your plate closer with his knuckles, gesturing for you to keep eating. You pacify him with a bite, but you're barely done chewing when you ask again. "What are you gonna do?"

"Don't worry about it." Harley's hand brushes yours across the table as he reaches for the butter. "We're just gonna have a chat."

"About what? I know it's not gonna be about the weather."

"That's on a need-to-know basis, bunny. You don't need to know–now, eat. S'getting cold. And we have work to do." Another nudge and a scrape of your plate across the table, and you're met with a brick wall of decisiveness. But the nickname, it has you bowing your head and following his lead of swallowing down your breakfast, face warm and dark as you think about the rasp of his voice and the way that word sounds when you know he's talking about you. It swirls salacious thoughts into a brew in the back of your mind, your brain working overtime to cool the heat your heart is whipping up.

"I don't want you to get in trouble, Harley. Please be careful." He answers you with a grunt and a nod–a non answer. But it's as good as you're gonna get and you'd be a fool to try and extract any more out of his stony exterior.

By the time you're finally finished your breakfast, you've barely made a dent in your own coffee and sweeten it up with some milk he's put out to help it go down a little easier. Harley swirls the grinds he's got in his mug around, rolling a thought around his head before it finally ends up spilling out.

"So…when do you want me to take you home?"

Your honest answer is immediate, but you keep it bitten back behind your teeth. The insinuation stings a little, a lot, actually–yet you know it isn't a question he's asking because he's pushing you towards a desired answer. Looking him over and the way he's so relaxed, you know he's just looking out for you. There's something in the way he fidgets and warms up in your presence that makes you feel like he doesn't actually want you to go anywhere. "I have to feed the animals first, but I can drive you after that…or you can take a few days and see how you feel. You live around here?"

With a shake of your head, you chug back a swig of your coffee so big that it almost immediately gives you a headrush, though maybe it'll give you some courage to maneuver this conversation towards what you know you really want, rather than what you should do.

"Don't have a cellphone, but you can use the landline if you know the number. Let your family know where you are."

Family. That's a pretty pitiful word to describe what you've got. You feel your nose scrunch in disgust and you fold your arms over your chest, too wrapped up in your thoughts to notice Harley's questionable lack of confusion over your reaction.

"I don't really…I dunno if I'd count them as family." You mutter under your breath, hoping to push those thoughts back enough that they don't hurt you as much. "They're just people I…I know. I don't have many friends, either–I don't really have any. I don't think anybody's gonna be looking for me…"

Your bleak words fill a tense silence in the air, uninterrupted no matter how miserable they may be. It's unusual not to be intercepted by something like "They're your flesh and blood, they'll always love you!" or "Why don't you just talk to them, surely you can work things out!" like it's so easy to forget and forgive the things you've endured under the premise of some superficial relationship title.

"...I don't think I'd want them to."

Harley doesn't burden you with any of that. He just sits, listens, and quietly murmurs his question when you've let the silence fester long enough.

"Are you saying you wanna stay here? With me?"

Whatever you were expecting to hear, it wasn't that. Honestly you had kind of let your mind wander aimlessly and sort of forgot he was even there in the first place, quiet as he can be. You can't even begin to process that offer though, not when you're still so wrapped up in your own head and still feeling guilty for all the hospitality he's shown you thus far.

"That's crazy," You smile sadly back at him, reaching for your cup just to have something occupy your hands. "I wouldn't ask that of you. We don't even know each other."

The quiet as a whole is broken by Harley clearing his throat, another sip of coffee drained thoughtfully before he speaks again.

"It's more…if you want to. You can stay with me until your ankle heals, and then...we can see about you staying longer. Give you some time to think." As he speaks, he spots a forgotten corner of toast you haven't finished and plucks it off your plate to pop it into his mouth, swallowing it back with the help of his drink. "I'll show you around, see if you can handle the farm work. We'll go into town on Saturday to set up the booth, and you can walk the market with me."

Clearly he's been putting some thought into this, or his mind just works much faster than yours under pressure–either way, you're left almost speechless as Harley rattles off a plan like it isn't even odd to be planning a future with someone he literally just met.

"Well…what about rent? And-"

"The farm makes enough, and I already have more than I need. That's not an issue." He shakes his head to emphasize his point, draining the rest of his mug in a flash and balancing it atop his plate that he lifts to pull yours underneath. The only movement he allows you to make is to finish your own coffee, otherwise he shoos your hands away as you try to help clean up and stacks the dishes up in his hands with practiced ease, hauling them all into the kitchen to dump them into the sink.

"Won't I be a hassle?" You ask, turning in your chair to look at him over your shoulder as he rinses them with a quick hand.

"No, you'd be helping me. And…you'd be good company, too. It can get a little too quiet out here when you're alone." He only meets your eyes at the end of that thought, looking up from his damp hands with the smallest gleam of affection that you nearly miss.

Stay. You could stay, he's practically making a case for you to stay, and you want it so badly you can feel it pressing against your chest, threatening your heart to burst. You could leave it all behind and stay here, and…and, what? What can you possibly say to that now, when Harley clearly wants you here and you obviously don't want to go home? Would it be so wrong to indulge yourself, to let your past go and run after a future you've always dreamt of but never imagined you'd get?

It's decided without words, but it feels wrong not to declare it, at least for him to understand exactly where you stand.

"Okay. Yeah, I'll…I'll stay."

If you hoped for anything more you'd be asking too much, because the way Harley finally caves into that bright, rare smile is a sight for incredibly sore eyes, and it's more than enough to fill the quiet as he gently washes the dishes and passes them over the counter for you to dry.

"This is Custard." Harley cups a baby chick in his hands in the living room, having hurried out into the yard once the table was wiped and dishes put away. When he'd come back cradling something tiny against his chest, you hadn't assumed you'd even remotely know what it was he wanted to show you–but now, taking a look at him, your heart swells with adoration as if you're experiencing the feeling for the first time.

"Ohhhh!" The squeal escapes you without warning but it's completely unapologetic–your heart puddles at the sight of the little ball of fuzz, tiny chirps filling the room as it fluffs itself up in Harley's big palms.

"How about you keep him warm while I feed the hens? Here, he can eat this, too." He hands you a strawberry from the pocket of his coveralls, one he must've just plucked off the bushes that crowd around the henhouse. "One of the cows is giving birth soon, so I've gotta check if she's contracting yet."

"You're gonna have a baby cow soon?" You ask him with glistening eyes as he passes Custard into your hands, gently sliding the fluffball with legs over as it chirps in indignation. He nestles in and soothes himself once he feels how warm you are, though, and Harley rubs his tiny head with a finger that's still just a touch too big in comparison.

"Very soon. Could be tomorrow, or could be next week. You should help me think of names–the mom's name is Bea." With that he leaves you to entertain the little one while he steps out to take care of the chores, and as you sit back on the couch with the chick snuggled up in your hands, you take the chance to peer out the window and watch Harley work.

It's mesmerizing in a way. He's so focused yet you can sense his kindness in the way he moves, how gentle he is with his animals whether someone's watching him or not. The hens crowd around him the moment he approaches with the bucket, yet it's not just the food they're fascinated with–a few of them peck at his pant legs like they're trying to get his attention, vying for pats on the head or scratches down the back. One of them snuggles herself between his boots and lays there while he spreads the feed in the yard, moving only to ruffle her feathers when he steps over her to set the pail down and start reaching into the coop to collect their eggs. He's got a way with animals that you've seldom seen, and it brings a giggle to your lips when you watch him walk off out of sight and leave the hens clucking and some trying to chase after him as he heads to the barn around the back.

Custard nips at the strawberry, pecking away bits of it with a flutter of his cotton-ball wings as you hold it steady for him. The more he eats, the sleepier he gets, but even so he doesn't stop for love nor money to get every last bit of fruit and it's so adorable you can't stop watching him once you start. Soon, his belly puffs out full of fruit and tart juice, and your new friend finally settles down into a deep sleep with a flap of those tiny wings and a gentle chirp. Part of you is tempted to take the chick back to the henhouse and put his sleepy little self in the nests, just so you can have an excuse to go watch Harley work in the barn. But within the hour while you're watching the clouds go by the man himself returns, coming through the screen door with a bit of hay and dirt on his pants–and a smile once he sees Custard cuddled up in your hands on the couch. With a quiet pass off, he takes the baby bird and swiftly heads back out to put him in the coop. You're standing, waiting for him at the door once he comes back, and fortunately for him since he looks like he has something to ask.

"I have to go check the traps. You gonna be okay here by yourself?" The idea makes your throat dry up, and your heart still before beating much faster against your ribcage. Leaving? He's gonna be gone? For how long? What are you gonna do? How are you gonna feel safe? A million questions and more run through your head before you can squeeze a single one out.

"Wh..What if someone comes by?"

"People rarely do," He offers, a gentleness in his brown eyes. "But if that happens, just stay inside. I'll lock all the doors."

"What if it's the guy? What if he tries to get in?"

Harley suddenly gets serious, his breath fogging up your senses as he leans down to look at you whilst gripping your shoulders tightly in his rough hands. His warmth overwhelms you at such a tender closeness, his eyes stern and serious.

"Nobody's going to hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you here. Can you trust me, just for this little while? I'm gonna come right back. I promise.”

Your lungs feel tight again. Hot. Your breathing isn't evening out and it's actually getting worse–you can tell you're on the brink of a panic attack but you can't fumble your thoughts into something coherent, you just cling to Harley's sleeve in the hopes that the panic will evaporate….and in that heightened, tense moment that feels like it's lasting forever, your heart sinks and your head whips around at the sound of the doorbell ringing. Harley huffs in frustration and sighs out a curse under his breath at the interruption, his hand lingering on your arm as he orders you to stay put while he heads around the corner and down the hall to answer it. You listen closely, rather than distantly as you feel the urge to dissociate, until the feeling fades as a distinctly southern accent fills your ears and breaks the terror of wondering whether that same stalker has followed you to this safe haven.

"The hell are you here for? I'm busy."

"The hell y'mean 'the hell am I here for'? It's Tuesday!"

That voice, heavy with an accented drawl, pipes up like a cat in comparison to a bear–and the shuffling at the front door only piques your curiosity more as Harley huffs and starts berating the stranger like they're more familiar than they seem.

"...Fuck. Listen–hey, not in the house! Take your shoes off, idiot!" Before Harley can stop him the stranger is suddenly standing across the living room, his golden eyes honing in on you immediately as he saunters up and barely misses your companion's frustrated grab for his collar behind him.

"Ooh," He winks. "See you've got company, huh? Hello darlin'." The young man is the picture of what you'd imagine a western cowboy would look like; a cowboy hat perches on his brown hair and his bronzed skin bears the tone of someone who spends much of their time outdoors…and that's to say nothing of the cowboy boots that clack their way across the carpet, complete with spurs that jingle with his every step. Yet his clothes seem exceptionally modern, the cream-coloured dress shirt and faux-leather pants giving off the visage of an office worker on a cowboy retreat. "Lookin’ like you seen a ghost. Elias Norwood, at your service–any way you'd like to be serviced."

Elias dips down and captures your hand in his, just barely grazing his lips over your knuckles in a chivalrous kiss before Harley appears behind him and yanks him away like a cat by the scruff of his neck. "You wanna get out, or you wanna wake up tomorrow as pig shit?" He growls, and Elias just laughs–partially in jest, and partially from genuine nerves–before he's shoved out the side door and just manages to catch his balance on the last step out to the grass. He shoots you a grin, a wink, and a wave through the window before he hustles out of view, seemingly heading towards the barn to take care of those aforementioned horses.

"I-Is he…y'know..?" You glance back at Harley with wide eyes, and the farmer shakes his head.

"Elias? No, he's not dangerous. We…we were married before. Not anymore." He's quick to qualify, even raising his left hand for you to see the absence of a ring on his finger.

"Oh."

"Yeah." The awkward silence simmers between you two as you take that in. Married? It's hard to believe Harley was married to someone so…different. A twisting and churning of your stomach bubbles your blood with unease–there's some sliver of irritation, envy, perhaps even jealousy in that moment. As hard as you try to cast the thought aside, it lingers while Harley remains so close. Yet it runs for long enough that Elias soon returns to interrupt it, that smarmy grin on his freckled face increasing the tension rather than cutting it as he pokes his head in around the screen door. "D'ya need your ears cleaned? Get out."

Harley aims that well-trained scowl back at his ex, who seems either gleefully oblivious to it or like he gets a thrill out of making your farmer friend mad. And though you struggle not to let it shine through, there's a twinge of satisfaction in your chest that foregrounds the erratic thumping of your heart.

"Naw, I can hear you. Won't hurt if you lemme know where you picked up this sweet little thing, though." It takes a second for you to understand that he's referring to you, which is just long enough for Harley to stomp over to the door and shove his fist into Elias' shirt for the second time. He shoves him backwards for the cowboy to stumble down the few steps and land on his ass in the dirt, but he looks no worse for wear even when his hat tumbles off his head and he just chuckles at the reaction. The screen door swings shut behind them but you can hear their muffled conversation from outside, not much more than a "Kidding!" from Elias and Harley's voice grunting a "Go tend your horses and fuck off." catching your attention. Eventually he returns, and in the far distance you can hear the whinny of a horse as Elias must be returning to where they're stabled.

"Here. I'm gonna give you my hatchet." Harley steps back inside with the blade at his side, the handle wooden and worn with age from many years of frequent use. When he closes your hands around the grip, your palms fill in the distinct indents of his callused fingers in the hilt. Your mind drifts to the way he threw it in the direction of your stalker, and it's even more impressive now, thinking back to how firmly it stuck in the tree and how much strength he may draw on when he's angry. Protective, rather. "Elias is gonna stick around while I'm gone–outside, mind you, not in the house. You feel scared at all, or in danger, you just swing. I'll take care of whatever happens after."

"What if I hurt him?"

Harley scoffs, his gaze pointed out the window at the barn until he swiftly returns it to you. "Nothing you could do to him he doesn't already deserve."

"H-Harley, if Elias-"

"He won't." He stares you down with a cold, stoic gaze, one that you can only imagine would drive fear and panic into those who don't know his real tenderness. "He won't hurt you. He knows how bad I'll hurt him back if he even thinks of it. As dumb as he is, he likes living–at least in one piece."

“But Harley-” Your eyes have started to water without you paying notice. But he does notice, and takes you under his arms in reply in a bid to soothe your high-strung fears.

"Listen, I swear I wouldn't leave you if I didn't have to. If I could, I would gladly spend every second of my day next to you." Your heart jumps at that sentiment, leaving your ribcage to poorly mask the desperate thumping of that fragile heart of yours against his warm chest. "But there's just some things I need to take care of. I'll be right back as soon as possible, I promise."

Though Harley pulls away from you then, electing to look you in the eyes as he makes that vow, you still find yourself comforted while his presence steadily dwindles. The hatchet hangs heavy in your arms as you watch him tug on his leather jacket and boots at the door, his trapping gear strapped to his belt and a thick canvas sack rolled up and hung in his inner pocket. With a pat on the head and one last reassurance, he's gone–out the side door and across the field into the forest, his image melding into the shadows of midday under the branches before he disappears completely.

Harley won't be back for hours, most likely. You reach a shaky hand out and click the lock shut on the screen door.

In all honesty, you weren't expecting the afternoon to be so peaceful. But somehow, even though Harley had reassured you of his vowed harmlessness, hearing the distant shuffles of hooves, whistling, and creaking of the fences as Elias passively reminds you of his presence makes you feel even less at ease than you would alone. At least you wouldn't be second guessing those noises as you keep to the living room, trying vainly to busy yourself in Harley's absence but constantly remaining vigilant for any sound out of the ordinary.

Could he get into the house despite the lock? You think, and yes, he probably could. You've caught a few glimpses here and there through the window of his tending–seen how he's tugged and calmed the horses with ease even at their rowdiest, his lean frame betraying the undiscerning eye as he's of decently toned muscle underneath. But so far he hasn't spared a glance towards you, not even checked to see if you're looking at him and hoping for an in to get him close to you. For the most part, when left to his own devices, he seems content with minding his business.

It's only when you've lost yourself in tuning the radio on the counter that a knock on the side door gives you a fright, your hands coming down on the counter in search of some defense until you realize it's just Elias. Unlike before, he's quiet and polite as he requests a drink from the fridge, his eyes betraying no sense of deceit, just exhaustion. He's sweating buckets and keeping himself propped up on the doorway with his arm, soaked from belt to boots in mud that the horses must've kicked up as he brought them back to the stables.

It's that tired, worn-out image of him that's lead you to this development–the screen still firmly closed but not locked, with you sitting on the floor inside while Elias perches himself on a lawn chair by the steps. It feels a bit like a setup for two house cats trying to get used to each other…yet the bizarre nature of the interaction hasn't seemed to faze Elias yet, especially not when you graciously didn't object to giving him a beer despite it being nowhere near 5 PM. He cracks it open outside and lets the foam settle momentarily, his sip long and followed up by a sigh of relief as he enjoys his reprieve from a day's hard work. While he seems content to sit in silence, it soon becomes too tense when you have a question that's dying to come off your tongue.

"....Is Harley a bad person?"

You just end up blurting it out all at once, the context lost on him when these are some of the first words you've spoken to him. Yet you're met with a chuckle and a glance over his shoulder, before he settles back in his chair and returns his gaze to the woods off across the field.

"Mh…define 'bad'." His voice is smoother this time around, less flirtatious and coy, but his words put doubt and anxiety back into your mind.

"Does he hurt people? Is he…he's not some serial killer, o-or sexual predator, is he?" A long pause draws out like curdled milk, spoiling any optimism about your current situation the longer it drags on. But this time, the way Elias breaks the silence actually brings you relief.

"...Really haven't known each other long, huh?" Elias fishes around in his pocket, just barely tilting his can for a dribble of beer to splash out on the ground, before producing a cellphone from his pocket and handing it back to you through the crack in the door that you open tentatively. "Look him up if you wanna. Kunuk's his last name. K-U-N-U-K." He takes another sip and scans the wooded horizon for any potential threat, or perhaps just the sight of a bunny hopping about or a fox making its nest.

"I'll give you my two cents, though, bein' that we were married an' all. Har's a stubborn ass, but he's a good guy." Your thumbs poise over the cracked lower corner of the phone, the search engine open and the box blank while the cursor blinks endlessly, waiting for commands. You're tempted to do exactly what he said, yet your ears are still perked to listen to Elias' apparent wisdom…if you could call it that.

"...He's been nice to me, I just…"

"Don't trust people?" He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder from his peripheral, a pursed smile barely reaching his eyes as you nod and he takes another hefty drink. "Makes sense. Don't hurt to protect yourself, 'specially round here. Wouldn't worry about him, though–as scary as he looks, there ain't nobody you'd want more to help you if need be."

"...I just don't want to be hurt anymore." Your voice shakes with uncertainty, a bit of your inner self slipping out in a moment of weakness.

"Take it from me, sweets: he'll hurt everyone but you."

"Even you?" He scoffs lightheartedly at your quick retort, and drains the dregs of his can before crushing it flat with both hands.

"I gave as good as I got. You treat him nice, he'll follow you like a dog. Treat him bad, he'll bite ya like one." His beer can crinkles softly as it struggles to return to shape, before tinging off the side of the recycling bucket that sits further along the side of the house as he throws it. “He's honest, I'll give ‘em that.”

What more can you say to that? He's not wrong, at least not from what you've seen of Harley in the short time you've known each other. As you quietly hand Elias his phone back and slowly open the door wider in the process, your heart begs the question…is it really okay to let your guard down now? Part of you desperately wants that to be true, but the other part keeps your hand well in reach of the hatchet you've propped up beside you, just in case you end up being wrong…again.

"There's your man of the hour." Elias' cheeky tone diverts your focus from your own thoughts, your head whipping up to scan the wooded horizon for a sign of him. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes widen slowly as the scene comes into focus, his hands coming down to brace the chair as he gets up from his seat. Now, finally, you spot him and get to your feet to see him better, pushing the door open completely so you can peer out and see the outline of Harley's muscly form drawing closer into the field from far away. Yet something about the way he's staggering is…off.

"Why's he walking backwards?" Your voice doesn't seem to reach the cowboy, his gaze fixated on some point off in the distance past your companion. Without sparing you a glance backwards, he gestures at you with tense shoulders and an order to get the gun, all while you struggle to stay on your feet without putting pressure on your bad ankle.

"Gun? What gun? Elias-"

In the distance, the sound and sight of Harley cursing and stumbling as his body hits the ground causes you both to flinch. And behind him, skulking out of the woods in a predatory march, is a huge, brown bear.

Elias shoves past you in seconds, flying into the house and dashing up the stairs so fast he's almost skating up on all fours, while you duck out the screen door and slip on your way down the steps, coming to a crashing halt on your hands and knees in the grass. Tilting your head up, you spot Harley's huge frame turning over as he scrambles to his feet, and with a booming roar the bear finally breaks out of its tempered walk and into a vicious charge. For someone so tall and bulky, Harley makes quick work of the ground separating him from the safety of the cabin, but not nearly enough with a fully-grown grizzly on his heels–and especially not when he's clutching his shoulder, close enough that your heart seizes at the blood soaking his clothes and dripping off his fists while he sprints. Once his eyes meet Elias', you watch as he grits his teeth and dives into the grass at the last second.

"Down!"

From behind you Elias bellows, a quick glance back giving you the visage of his lean frame and toned arms holding up a shotgun to peer down the sights. With little courage to think otherwise you obey and clap your hands over your head, muffling the crackling boom of the gun firing overhead as your forehead brushes the grass. You're hunched over still with your eyes squeezed shut as two more shots ring out in succession, but with a stinging silence following the third blast you finally peer up and let your hands shakily falter from your ears.

Is it dead? The fuzzy lump of brown fur lays unmoving in the grass, glistening with blood, barely thirty feet away. Close enough that you can smell the forest on it amidst the cloud of gunpowder. But not close enough to measure Harley's state, as he lay facedown in the grass mere inches from the bear–tears prick at your eyes in horrified silence, your mouth left agape behind your fingers even while Elias' hand grips you under the arm and hauls you up to your feet. Whatever he's asking you doesn't even reach you through your shock until he shakes you, his gait forcing you to move with him as the two of you cautiously but swiftly approach the scene.

"Harley?" Your whimpers ring out so clearly in the tense air, your fingers trembling as you reach out to him. It's impossible to tell whether he's even breathing up until the moment he finally, finally lifts his head to look at you.

"Fuck me," He lets out a groan, dazedly pushing himself up off the ground for both you and Elias to grab an arm, somewhat helping to lift him back up on shaky feet and tower over both of you. The blood in his eyes has him squinting and moving to rub it away, but when he's got a clear picture in front of him he moves on instinct–right towards you, his arms sliding around your shoulders to bring you tightly into his warm chest. He's breathing so heavily, panting like a dog out of breath from the run, and yet all his strength pours into squeezing you so hard he's dripping blood all over your borrowed clothes.

"Y'okay?" Elias lets the gun hang at his side, somehow more awkward with it now than he was actually shooting at something, like it's too heavy for him to bear.

"Sure. Mostly." Harley pants above you and presses his palms into your back, hoping to soothe you with some gentle strokes up and down your spine as you let out your crying sobs. Meanwhile Elias steps over to the bear and nudges it with his pointed boot, surveying it from all angles until he's satisfied that it's no longer breathing. "Nice shot."

"Damn right–better than you'll ever be!" Elias smirks with pride, his ego inflating before your very eyes as he turns back to face you two. Harley couldn't care less at the moment, though, his lips brushing the crown of your head as he murmurs reassurances to you, hoping to combat the sniffles and quiet sobbing into his shirt. "Hell! Ain't had bear meat in years–this fella's gonna taste so good!"

Somehow, even though you can feel Harley's hackles raise when he's around, the cowboy's dark humour raises your spirits a bit–it's at least enough to stifle your crying, his joking around killing the tension of the situation as he playfully picks up the bear's limp paw and waves it at you, which you're a bit ashamed to say gives you a giggle through the tears. He squabbles a bit with your companion about dragging it into the shed for him to butcher, but after awhile Harley convinces him to do it outside–by himself–and dispose of the entrails afterwards. Either way he's still off to get the tools to do so, and in the meantime Harley leads you back into the house and offers some newer, cleaner clothes to change into while he gets under a much-needed shower.

It's only a matter of time before you're sitting back on that same couch by the window, listening to the muffled sounds of water hitting the tiles in the room over, and peering out into the yard to see Elias hacking away at the carcass with a saw. Every so often you get a glimpse of him getting splashed in the face with a spurt of blood, or cursing audibly when he gets some on his hat, but soon enough he's carrying off huge chunks of meat back to the shed and picking hairs off his wet sleeves in the interim. Occasionally your ears perk at the sound of humming emanating from the bathroom, and the smell of blood that permeates the dirt and Harley's clothes mingles with the freshness of soap and aftershave.

Elias pops his head in the door and bids you goodbye sooner than you expected, his work rushed along by the gathering of dark, ominous clouds overhead. With a few string-tied paper packages under his arm he wishes you luck, but for what for you don't know. He only flashes you a wink and leaves a package behind before he slips back out the door, his car starting up and rolling down the gravel driveway just before the rain hits and starts pounding the soil and the grass outside.

"Dickhead. That's gonna be a mess to clean up when it stops."

Evidently Elias just barely missed him, because as if he popped up from thin air Harley's suddenly standing in the living room; bare-chested with soaked hair, a towel strung just low enough on his waist that your eyes instantly flick away. Your cheeks grow hot at the sight of that thick, dark smattering of hair trailing down his lower stomach, the image burned into your mind while you try to force those ideas of what he looks like further down out of your head. You finally have to force yourself to meet his eyes, but he's already looking at you once you do and you can only imagine what he's thinking. But, then, his gaze shifts to the paper-wrapped package on the counter and he breathes a soft sigh.

"I'm gonna start dinner soon. Gimme a hand?"

Of course I will. I'd do anything for you. The words beg to be released but you squash them right back down, swallow them back into your throat in a lump while you nod and wobble to your feet to wash up yourself while he gets dressed.

When you come back with clean hands and he's changed into fresh clothes from his wardrobe, there's a chair sitting at the counter across from him and a myriad of utensils and ingredients spread out everywhere. When you sit, he slides a wood-grain cutting board over and delicately hands you a knife, before piling a few damp potatoes in front of you for peeling.

The quietness between you doesn't faze you, really. You're used to people around you needing to break the silence, fearful of letting the air grow stagnant and causing an awkward shuffle for conversation–but this feels normal in some strange way, just like it did this morning. Maybe it's been helped by the time you spent with Elias. Harley ties his hair back and focuses entirely on the food, he strips the meat and trims the fat before tossing it into a pot over the stove, washes the vegetables, chops and drizzles oil in his pan and adjusts the heat without ever feeling like he has to entertain you. It's like watching him go about his business as he would whether you were there or not, which is oddly comforting as you take great pains to peel the skins off the potatoes without missing a single spot.

"Is your shoulder okay?" You finally break the silence not out of necessity, but because there's a lull in activity and you can't help but let your eyes wander towards his injury. It's wrapped at the very least, albeit clumsily. Part of you wishes you'd offered to help him, if only out of the desire to see his naked chest up close as the bandages peek out from beneath his flannel.

"S'fine," He rolls it out, wincing at the sting when the muscle stretches just a touch too taut. "Just grazed me. Nothin' to worry about."

"I am worried, though." You slice off a mushy spot on the potato and let it fall into the pile of abandoned peels. "You were bleeding a lot. What even happened?"

"It just smelled the game I picked up, wasn't like it was hunting me. I dropped it, figured it'd go after it, but it caught me when I tried to get away. Just had to keep it off my back til I got home." You're the last person to have any authority on the outdoors with your habits, but even so, something doesn't seem right with the way Harley explains it all. You can't quite place it at the moment, but his whole explanation just seems…odd.

Just then, as you're lost in thought and the sound of peels shlupping off the blade fills your ears, a wince of pain from your companion catches your attention. There, just beneath the hem of his sleeve, his wrist flexes with the weight of the pot and you spot it: a bright, fleshy patch of swollen skin running down his palm, the tender redness visibly aching with the sting of what could only be a burn. Harley definitely hadn't burned himself before he left this afternoon, nor did it just happen because you certainly would've noticed him yank his hand back if he'd burned it on the stove just now.

“...What about the burn on your hand?"

The thought escapes so quickly you don't have a chance to grab it. Curiosity seems to be your never-ending folly, yet your breath only barely quickens as he turns and looks down at you to answer. As brown and warm they are, as deep as they look, those eyes feel steely in this brief pause of a moment. Harley blinks absentmindedly, perhaps processing what you just said…and he speaks, slowly, softly, as if he were inching towards a deer alone in the depths of the woods.

"I found a campfire someone left burning.” His attention focuses back on the pot, a steady hand stirring the mixture to keep it from scorching. “Probably the same people that lured that bear with their picnic. People don't know how to treat the woods.”

In and out, Harley loosens that sigh and lets it slip into the air between you. It hangs there, swinging heavy like a pendulum, and the urge to keep the rest of your thoughts to yourself wins over all else. Maybe you still don't believe that, but…maybe you're just being a little paranoid.

The cabin wasn't anything special. It's tightly packed into an invisible square; the space of the house is small and dense in the tiny lot that it's allowed, but even that much is too much in these sacred woods. This place is where he found peace growing up, the trees listened to every secret he whispered and kept each one of them to the grave.

Now there's a little shit-shack taking up a spot here, garbage strewn outwards on the driveway and the root-laden lawn like the house itself is radiating filth. There was, at one time, an old lady that lived here alone. Mom–Erika, Elias' mom–used to take him by the hand and walk here to bring her things on occasion, be it pies wrapped in warm foil or casseroles with a dish towel draped over the top to keep the bugs at bay. It hadn't been long after that that they stopped seeing her, so his memory's still foggy, but he can still feel the ache of her knobby fingers pinching his cheek and the croak of her aging voice as she asked him about school and how he was getting on with Elias’ antics.

Seeing the place as it is now after being forgotten for so long, the matches in his pocket suddenly don't seem as heavy as they once felt. It's hard to tell with how the windows are blocked over, but by the absence of sound coming from within and the missing car, the new tenant must be out.

Leaves crinkle underfoot as he slips around the tree from which he's been watching, making short work of the distance from that hill to the door around the back of the cottage. As expected for one who lives out in the sticks, this door's been left unlocked–and in he goes, expecting all manner of frights yet with no idea of what's really awaiting him, the depth of cruelty and twisted fascination that meets his eyes once the hallway gives way to a bedroom. It's so cramped there's barely any room to look around more, the floor littered with papers and garbage that he's careful to step around with his damp boots. At least, even if he leaves footprints, they'll be the first thing to go when he finishes his business here. But more pressing than that are the photos tacked up over a hobbled old desk, the blackened fade of a marker ‘x'ing out all the subjects within…except for one.

It's you.

Every picture, every day, every lens flare and obscurity captured with the fervor of someone so obsessed that anything is better than nothing. Photos of you cluster around every spare inch of that corkboard and extend out to almost the entirety of the whole wall, not to mention the ones that catch overhead as he walks by that hang on clotheslines stretched across the ceiling. They're everywhere. This room–the collection, the garbage, the soiled bed in the corner, the draped-over windows–it reeks of you, and yet there's not a hint of life to suggest you've ever stepped foot here. He was right. But that doesn't stop Harley's fists from shaking with fury, a violent inferno building up within him as he catches glimpses of you in every peripheral. Twisted images of what this freak has been up to boil him into a rage barely quenched, and the vibrating intensity of his blood pounding in his ears only makes way when he finally tunes in to the presence of someone behind him.

"Who the hell are you?!" He's turned in a flash, so fast the man flinches at the reaction. It's him. He wants to know who the hell he is, huh? He wants to know the truth? He looks so confused at the sight of him, and he will stay that way until the end.

Harley mutters under his breath, fists shaking around the axe as he raises it over his head. Those bug-eyes widen in shock, but makes way for a type of fear reserved only for the horror of realizing one has met their own end.

After the bloodbath that ensues, it's all as much as a blur in his mind. A belt buckle catching on roots, a trail of blood, sloshing, the strike of a match in an otherwise empty soundscape…it's like the forest itself extended its tendrils and cast a veil over the villa, blanketing his world in silence as the house goes up in flames.

"Ever eaten bear before?"

Your mind has wandered quite far in the silence that's followed, to the point that the sound of Harley's voice startles you somewhat as you sit there gazing out the window. The potatoes have been peeled and cut, the scraps gathered for feed, and the pot that Harley's stirring is bubbling softly and smells divine.

"No, can't say I have." You smile up at him warmly as he turns to look at you, his gentle question soothing whatever worries remain in your heart. "Is it good? Or…gamey?"

"No, no, you'll like this. Trust me." His enthusiasm at your question is adorable–he gives the pot another stir before lifting the spoon out, and offers you a taste of the broth as a preamble for the bowl. He leans in close, palm cupped under the spoon to catch the mess, and the little mountain of potato chunks, meat, and softened vegetables explode into a firecracker of flavour the moment it all hits your tongue. Sure, the bear is a bit chewier than you're used to, but it's fresh and full of meaty juices that just scream ‘hearty’.

"Good?" Even if it wasn't, which it certainly isn't, you wouldn't have the heart to crack that hopeful look in his eyes. You're beyond glad you don't have to, and that your tongue swiping out to lick your lips is not an exaggeration but a sincere compliment. It's delicious.

"I'm glad." The smile that melts those hard-cut features warms you, but it only reaches his eyes for a moment before it starts to fade. "I don't get to cook for anyone anymore. I'm not great, but…it's one of the few things I like."

"I like your cooking!" You blurt out with some passive indignation, somehow aghast at the very thought of it not being true–the idea that anyone would tell him otherwise just boggles the mind.

Harley hums in response, his prideful smile providing you a look into his heart–all you sense is warmth and kindness, both of which you've craved so deeply you'd started to believe they didn't exist at all. While he switches off the burner, you slide out from your seat to pad around the counter and pick out the plates, eager to set the table as he reaches out to try and catch you–but the stew still needs his focus as it finishes, and you get a kick out of ducking away from him in a laugh as he tries not to let you exert yourself. Your ankle's feeling a great deal better, though, and finally Harley relents once you've started fussing about with the table setting.

Two glasses, two plates, two forks and knives, two pieces of bread and two bowls for the stew. The sight of it all laid out puts you at ease, but why? Is it simply because you're happy not to be alone? Or is it entirely because it's the man you're with that makes it feel so reassuring?

Either way, you need no ushering to take your spot and sit as Harley lifts the pot off the stove, carrying it as one would carry a modest book with his total herculean strength. Once the ladle comes out and he's filled both your bowl and his, you're practically squirming in your seat in anticipation as he takes his place across from you. The day has been tiring, emotionally, physically, and otherwise. This dinner feels like a reward, and who better to share it with than him?

But as you start to eat, and you tear a chunk off the roll that Harley made a couple days ago, the fear starts to creep back in. He's got his spoon practically glued to his mouth, understandably hungry after all he went through today…but can you really accept this as normal? Can you not admit that a few too many things have been off, and that you have questions you're still dying to find the answers to?

You've long considered your inability to settle down an annoyance, an unhealthy habit that prevents you from having fun and just living in the moment. But here, now, in this strange house with this strange man, you could imagine that such a habit might just save your very life.

"Can I ask you a question?" He hums and nods quietly, engaged almost entirely in his meal. If nothing else, you have to appreciate his impartial appetite. You dip your spoon in your bowl, careful not to take a bigger bite than necessary before you ask it…after all, it could blow up in your face for real this time.

"Elias, he…talked to me about you. He said you were trustworthy, and honest, even though you can come off…elsewise." Finally Harley raises an eyebrow, but his spoon pauses only briefly before he keeps eating, eyes trained completely on you. "I know you said he's annoying, but…why don't you get along with him? Really?"

You pick your words so carefully, yet Harley stares back at you like he's listening to an alien speak. It's unsettling, the way he just stops like he's frozen in place and picks you apart with nothing but a pallid gaze.

"Those are some big words." He eventually states plainly, and downs another heaping spoonful of his dinner. He seems to have picked the biggest chunk of meat he could find just so he could chew it for an eternity while he comes up with a better answer. Now his eyes don't meet yours the whole time he does, pointed down towards the spot behind his bowl like he's thinking the hardest he ever has.

"He's just selfish." He mutters after finally swallowing.

"...That's it?"

"He only talks to people if he thinks he can get something outta them. He'd rather take things from other people than get them himself."

"Were you ever in love?" The sigh he lets out, the fingers he runs through his hair, it strickens you with a moment of panic. That's a question that could certainly cross the line–but he clearly isn't as upset as you feared as he shrugs and sips another spoonful of the broth.

"...I don't know anymore. When I was a kid? Sure, I probably thought so. But…" His brown eyes pan up to you, and for the first time he fumbles with his next thought before he can get it out. "...I think I know better now."

You flush, and quietly sip down your own spoonful of broth. The meaty taste hangs heavy on your tongue, but it shifts into a sweeter sensation as it warms your throat on the way down.

"What about you?" He lifts his glass to his lips, his tone somewhat lighter like the weight of those thoughts have finally lifted off his mind. "You ever been in love?"

"No." Your tone flattens the whimsy of the conversation in an instant. Guilt starts to filter in at the realization, knowing he just poured his heart out to you…and then you start to fumble. "I mean…I-I'd like to be. But I just haven't felt that feeling yet, I don't even know what it feels like."

What sounds like a hum emanates from your partner, his next bite filling the silence as he chews thoughtfully.

"To me, it feels like home.” The tender, sweet tone he suddenly takes on oozes a sense of nostalgia, and without meaning to you're suddenly staring him down, rapt with attention as you hang quietly off his every word. “It feels like…knowing there's someone waiting for me, that they're missing me when I'm gone. That I have someone to come home to who helps me forget that the rest of the world exists."

Someone waiting for me. Someone that misses me when I leave. Someone who never wants me to go in the first place.

"Do I make you feel that way?"

It flies out of your mouth before you can pull the thought back, your hands left empty and cold as your heart slows to a sudden stop. Even Harley himself looks taken aback by your bluntness, silent and staring you down with his spoon poised just over his bowl.

That silence is deafening. This is the moment you were dreading. This is what you've wrought after all this paranoia: you've completely and totally made an absolute fool of yourself.

"...I-I have to use the bathroom."

Your ankle barely twinges with the pain you've adjusted to as you catapult yourself out of your chair, the legs squeaking as they scrape the ground followed by the loud, harsh thud of the bathroom door slamming shut behind you. It barely felt like you moved at all, yet the panic ensured that the shock in his expression burns itself into your mind permanently.

What an idiot. What a foolish, stupid, invasive thing to ask, what an absolute mess you've made of all of this. If Harley really felt that way, would he have just said it out loud? He seems to let go of all his thoughts with refreshing bluntness, so you can only imagine that this whole time it's been a farce. All those gestures you considered affectionate, all those kind words, those reassurances, that hug and the bed you shared–they were either the expressions of an overly affectionate friend or a person that's retained only surface-level feelings for you. Not love. How could it possibly be love? You've barely known each other a day!

It's stupid. It's just…it's all so stupid. This is the first time in these last couple days that you actually want to go home–you just want to leave this all, forget about Harley and all your messy feelings, and go back to the hell that you know because at least it'll be familiar.

It takes a long, long time for you to finally creak open the bathroom door, having agonized on whether to return to the table like nothing happened or just make a break straight for the front door. When you come back to the kitchen, your eyes flit towards the table to see it's been completely cleared away. Harley's rinsing a bowl in the sink and drying his hands on the towel, his back to you as you approach with no clue how to resume the conversation, or how to break the palpable tension at all.

But when he turns to face you, he shows no sign of even remote surprise at your return. His brown eyes pierce right through you, body and all–and before you can get a word out, he's suddenly coming closer and silences you with a kiss that completely takes your breath away. Heavy hands braced on your waist, he leans into the pressure of his mouth on yours to pin you right up against the counter, his palm snaking up the small of your back to hold you completely in place, completely pressed up against him.

What the hell? Are the first words that come to mind, but saying them would give off the reaction that's opposite to what you intend. Harley's warm. He's warm and he's right up against you, holding you, sinking his whole heart into this kiss as if he fears it may be his one and only. Your body melts against his force regardless of your anxiety, but that too seems to wane in the face of lips so soft and breath so hot it prickles your skin when he finally breaks it off. Harley's panting fills your whole space while his grip reasserts itself–he brings one hand up to cup your cheek, his rough thumb rubbing your smooth skin as he stands there and just takes you in.

"You do make me feel that way. You have since the first second I laid eyes on you." That gruff, callous indifference that you've seen in him on occasion has completely evaporated here. All that remains in his eyes is devotion, pure and sweet as milk.

"Harley-" His lips meet yours again, pressing you so firmly into another kiss you feel your head tilting back to accept it–Harley kisses you like he's dying for more and it's exactly what you wanted. This is what you wanted since the moment he laid his gentle hands on you, and you couldn't even put your finger on it because you were so scared of getting hurt.

"I didn't want you to leave–I don't want you to leave. I kept asking, I…I was afraid you'd say no." He murmurs in between kisses, groping at your body to keep you close despite you not making any move to go anywhere.

"I want to stay with you, Harley." You whisper back against his lips, which somehow seems to be the thing that stops him in his tracks and sobers him into speaking eye-to-eye.

"If you stay with me," He breathes out. "I will never let you go. You hear me? I won't let anyone steal you away from me, and I'll do whatever I need to do to protect you. You need to be sure." His hand brushes by your cheek to stroke your hair, needily touching you regardless of how fresh this development seems to be. He doesn't know how much you've been needing him back, though.

“I am.” You hush in reply, your voice sure and smooth as springwater. “I've never been more sure of anything.”

“I'm serious.” He murmurs as he holds your face with both of those massive, calloused hands. “I won't let you go. I won't forget about you. I will make you mine.” Those words are meant as a warning, but all you hear are the reassurances you've wanted for so, so long. Love, protection…and if it comes to pass, obsession. It's the wrong thing to ask for, you know it is. But the closeness and the care he's shown you, and wants to show you, are more than you could ever think to ask for.

You press your answer into his lips as firmly as you can. What melts you even more isn't that he accepts, nor does it so readily as he exchanges the lock of your mouths with twice as much fervor. It's that he breaks the kiss quicker than he wanted to with a grunt, and peels himself off of you like you've suddenly grown too cold to bear.

“Shit.” He glances around, avoiding your gaze until he's of the mind to draw back from you almost completely, face hot with guilt as his body reacts to your closeness. What he means soon becomes more obvious since he's put some distance between you–you can't help your eyes wandering downwards, and suck in a breath through your teeth in shock at his…enthusiastic reaction to your acceptance of his love. “I'm sorry.”

Harley's fingertips brush down your arms, still not quite able to break himself off from your touch entirely. He's got a look about him that says something more, the quick flit of his glances at you and the cautious hesitance of his flesh grazing yours hinting towards his own shyness. Maybe it's in this moment of exposure that he's able to push that wall down that he's been hiding behind, his true feelings coming to light after sheltering them for so long. Just as he's making a hurried excuse to nip into the bathroom for a moment, you put him on pause with your warm palms pressed to his firm chest.

“Stay.”

“What?” His expression cringes with incredulity. Did you really just say that? is written all over it.

“Stay, please.” You repeat yourself, your fingers curling inward to drag your nails lightly over his tough flannel. His arousal commands attention you're not quite sure you're confident enough to tend to, but you can't let it squander now. As meek as you are about it you gently place a kiss on his chin, and allow your hips to drift indiscriminately forward until they bump against his. At once he gasps through his gritted teeth, and though he grabs you in a tight hold as if to stop you, he doesn't make an effort to move you away as your clothes catch on his tented fly. Every movement seems to stir him further, a benign hug like the allure of a siren when he's this stiff and pent up for you.

“You know what you're asking?” His breathing labours the instant you press yourself up against him. He's just barely, barely holding himself back, keeping his composure together by nothing but a thin thread. “I don't own condoms or nothin’.”

“I guess we have to get used to it.” Your answer feels so innocent, yet so decadent in Harley's current state, that he offers you only a flash of lust across his gaze before he's hauling you up over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Across the living room, up the stairs, down the hall–the air peppered with a yelp and sudden laughter from you and grunts out of him as he rushes to his bedroom like a firefighter carrying you to safety. With a careful toss he's slung you down over the bed minus any potential strain on your part, and with the door kicked closed and a heady desire in his eyes he starts stripping layer after layer off of you like he can't wait a moment longer to see you in all your glory. You'd almost forgotten his injury until he stripped his own shirt off, his shoulder soaking the gauze with blood from his effort but not enough to bother him into stopping.

“Should we be doing this?” Your voice strains in a whisper as you watch him struggling to undo his jeans.

“I don't know.” He pants softly, pausing to press a heated kiss to your mouth before he returns to the task at hand. “I don't want you to regret it. But I really…like you.” He swallows that answer like a pill. It confuses him even more to hear you giggle, though.

“No, I meant–your shoulder, you're okay, right?”

Harley's whole face flushes as he realizes what you meant, and that his awkward yet tenderly sincere answer wasn't at all something he needed to say out loud. But though he coughs and shamefully mumbles out that he's fine, you can sense the ease that settles in the droop of his shoulders when you sit up and take the place of his fumbling hands with your own. In seconds you've got his button open, and with another kiss to the corner of his lips you delight in the shudders down his spine as you slowly drag his zipper down over his bulge.

“Hey, big guy.” You tease with a gleeful smile. Your eyes roam unashamedly the moment he's got his underwear tugged down.

“Shut up.” He huffs, embarrassed but somewhat proud at the way you stare so openly and in awe. Elias always had plenty to say about his body, but he was a sweet-talker. Your words are the only ones he really believes, which makes it all the more obvious how he's trying to appeal to you more as you start exploring him with your fingers, tracing your nails down his waist towards where it really counts.

“Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we…” Your touch halts at the precipice, just barely within a hair's length of taking this to the next level. Forced to swallow at the realization that his endowment could prove an obstacle, you find yourself more humble about all those other things you're used to fretting about…they don't seem as pressing and scary when you're with him. “Can we…take it slow? I don't, uh…I don't really know what I'm doing.” You admit it guiltily, but Harley sighs a breath of apparent relief and settles in a bit more comfortably once you say it.

“It's okay.” He smoothes a hand over your neck, brushing the stray hairs away to pull you in for a warm kiss. “Yeah, I'm fine with that. It's been awhile for me, too.” The sound of him clearing his throat fills the thick air in the room. No matter where he is, it always seems like he's far away but so close he could be inside you at the same time. Despite trying to stay composed, Harley's eyes wander in the quiet moments that linger behind, and his shyness turns to intrigue and confidence the more he sweeps his gaze over your nude figure perched on his bed.

“...You look even better naked.”

“Are you sure?” The question comes out teasing and playful even though, at the heart of it, you're really serious about asking it.

“I'm sure.” Harley's breath hitches as you move, your nervous shifting to get comfortable causing a ripple effect through his body; a feast for his eyes at the new angles and a sight that makes him twitch in excitement down below. “Really fucking good. Your skin's like…velvet.” His voice reduces to a growl as he lets his hand roam, his fingers ghosting up your inner thigh until he settles his palm flush with your skin and starts rubbing the sensitive area with a possessiveness you've seldom experienced. “...Maybe I'll finally start buyin’ condoms after this.”

As much as you'd like to fire off some cheeky reply to that, there's not much willpower you can draw on when such a massive, hot-blooded man is squeezing your inner thigh and leaning in with the intention to please. He holds your gaze to ensure you're watching, and raises his hand up to his mouth while not breaking eye contact. He gently pushes his fingers past his lips, his soft tongue catching glimpses of the light as he coats them in spit, before reaching down quickly and hurrying to nudge them between your thighs. Whatever resistance you might consider is moot and futile. Why would you resist? Harley's gotten the full picture of you from end to end, hair to hide, and he…likes you. You heard as much from his own mouth.

Emboldened by his bravery, you scooch back just an inch to get a better picture of what he's attempting. His fingers hover lightly, itching to move in while still slick, and eager despite Harley swallowing around the lump in his throat as he mentally prepares for what's next. The spastic heaving of his breath is what leads you to bury your face in his neck and slowly guide his hand to slide his knuckles down your folds.

“Fuck.” The timing of his moan is almost comical. He wasn't expecting you to be that wet, surely, nor for your hips to jump when he manages to brush the tips of his fingers against the soaked edges of your entrance. Your body wants him so badly it's practically opening up for him–and despite the way you hide and cling to him in shame, he can't help chuckling lowly as he slowly spreads you open on his fingers. You can't hide the trembling shift of your thighs, or the squeezes of desperation as your walls welcome the long-awaited visitor. “Kiss me.”

It's a trap. The moment you lift your head, Harley's lips come down on you hard enough to knock you down; you go from sitting up to laid out on your back in moments, his knee sliding over your leg to drag it open further as he slips his fingers in deeper, past every knuckle until he hits that sweet spot that has you crying out into his mouth. This way you can't hide, can't smother your noises, and can't even whine about it–Harley flops down next to you with a satisfied, almost cocky grin while you wriggle and squirm on the edge of your seat.

“You're cute.” His voice is like a purr in your ear. Accompanied by the increasingly wet squelching of his fingers buried deep within you, it's hard not to feel like your whole world is nothing but Harley when he's showering you in attention you felt like you could never earn. He nuzzles his nose into your neck and pecks you lightly with a kiss that quickly turns more possessive–his teeth make an appearance at your tender skin, and though you anticipate a bite, he only scratches you lightly on the ends before tenderly sinking in. The deep, hard suck that follows accompanies a firm thrust of his fingers deeper inside, each one working in tandem to pull you apart and press you back together like warm, sweet strings of caramel.

“Ha-Harley,” You whimper out amongst the slick sounds of desperate pleasure, your stomach twisting up and tightening with your abdomen as Harley lays into you with his hands. His hard cock has been bobbing along your thigh as he fingers you, sliding dryly against your skin yet beading at the tip with need. He's grown swollen and stiff as bricks, but the moment you reach down to touch him you're stopped–his free arm slides under your neck as a cushion and he grabs your wrist before it moves, his stare hard and piercing despite the dark tinge to his cheeks.

“Not about me right now.” He mutters against your skin and presses his lips just below your ear, just above the spot he's made a distinct mark. “Just focus on this.”

“But I-” You cut yourself off with a squeal as Harley curls his fingers inward and hooks them against some deep, rough spot inside you that you've never realized was there. His tongue peeks out to flick at the bruise on your neck, lightly massaging the wound he made in the hopes that it'll soothe your nerves, and allow you to focus on the pleasure that's racing through your veins from top to bottom. “Ah-!”

The slick sounds ring in your ears–shuk shuk shuk shuk–as he takes you apart in every measured thrust of his fingers, his dark eyes locked on the curve of your throat as your head tilts back in ecstasy. When your eyes squeeze shut to focus on gripping the sheets and whatever else is in reach, Harley's skin grazes yours in a heated descent as he kisses his way down your body, trailing each one down your belly until his shoulders are settled between your sticky thighs. He turns his hand slowly to swirl the pads of his fingers inside you, and once he's there and staring up at you through hooded eyes he leans down and laps a slow, soft stroke of his tongue through your folds. The sudden jerk of your hips doesn't dissuade him, the reaction just makes him laugh in a deep, lusty tone as he focuses the tip on circling round your clit while his other hand presses your thigh down on the bedspread.

“Harley! Harley, Harley–H-Harley, ah-!” Your cries pierce the air but don't have any urgency aside from pleasure, no warning aside from wanting the sensations to continue even if you can't bear to look down at what he's doing. Harley's tongue lazily smothers your hot button in spit, his pink muscle a brush and your body a blank canvas. Each swirl of your hips as you mindlessly grind back into him feels traitorous, sinful against the sweetness you've tried to show him, and yet Harley acts as though you're just as innocent and beautiful as the moment he started touching you. It feels wrong to be taking pleasure from him in this way and to have all his attention focused on you, but Harley couldn't look more pleased when you finally peer down at him through the spaces between your shaky fingers.

“Hi.”

He interrupts the slick silence, as the bedroom is filled with nothing but panting and the wet shlups of him fingering you into oblivion. For once, he's got an almost cheeky grin on his face that's plastered with the wet sheen of your arousal down his chin. The hand that had been keeping your thighs apart reaches over your body to clutch at your elbow, but you quiver and close your fingers over your face again before he can try to pull them away.

“Look at me. Look.” His reassuring tone eases you into peeking out again, only to whine when you feel his thick fingers slide out and watching his lips purse as he messily sucks your taste off of them. You want to hide again…but you just can't stop watching. “That's my girl.” He murmurs, and slides those same fingers up the crest of your mound to rub more pressure into your now very swollen, very needy clit. “You gonna cum?” His whisper as he kisses your thigh has you upright in a jolt, your hands flying down from your face to grip the locks of his long, dark hair.

“Uh huh..” Harley's eyelids flutter into a lower, lustful gaze at how sweetly you whimper at him. His kisses trail inward until he reaches those soft lips again, and without another word to keep his mouth at bay he seals it over your entrance and starts to suck. That devious tongue of his wriggles like a coiled tentacle inside you, completely damning you in that weak moment as your hips start jutting and humping off the bed fully while you lose your composure in hot, wild abandon. Whatever foreplay had come before this was cinema–this is pure lovemaking, Harley's grunting like that of a beast as he eats you alive, and your body wasting its clamped tensity as you just let the moment finally take you over. His fingers dig into your waist to keep you down while you shake with want. The only moments where he lets up are to drag his tongue through your folds and push it back against your clit again, to purse his lips around it like a soft candy and suck until his mouth turns flush. That's where you eventually meet your end, your walls clamping down on nothing but air as he holds you tight and drags your orgasm out of you with a nibble of his teeth and a hard, suckling dance of his tongue until you've shaken yourself into a limp, hazy stupor against the pillows.

The next moment he draws you to his presence is when he's already kissed you. His arms flex minutely as he presses his hands to the bed, he hovers over you like a mountainous wall of muscle and scars while his tongue presses soft and wet against your lips. They're moist and cool, sticky from the air against his slick-stained skin and the sweat that drips down his back.

“I left bruises,” He pants. “Hope that's okay.”

“It's fine,” You whisper in a hushed voice, hoarse from the moans of his name that you're glad nobody would be able to hear. There's nobody else for miles. Where it once would've made you scared, now it does nothing less than comfort you.

“I love you.”

“I…love you too.” Chu. He kisses you again. A little harder this time.

“I'm glad.” Harley sits back on his haunches and waits, his hands lingering on your hips and over the bruises he left from grabbing you. He still hasn't wiped his chin, but it looks like he doesn't really intend to. It takes a while for you to manage the strength to sit up, but when you do, he's there to brace you and pull you up by your elbows to come chest to chest.

“Harley…I wanna do more.” You watch his throat bob as he swallows and his tongue flicks out to run across his bottom lip. He knows what you mean, thank god.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Say it again,” He breathes hotly against your lips, just barely brushing them with his own. “Say that you love me, and you want me inside you.” You shudder in response, his choice of words stirring something up inside you that you're still shy about giving up.

“...Please. I love you, Harley.” You close the gap with a gentle kiss and slide your arms up under his, the soft peaks of your chest squeezing up against him in a way that makes his breath hitch. “I want you to feel good. I wanna be the one to make you feel good.” The words come out so easily here. Somehow they don't even make you blush. But they certainly draw a rush of blood into Harley's face, who can't tear his eyes off you as he lays you back down to loom over you like he did before. Breathless, sweaty, tongue heavy in his mouth, and his eyes absolutely glazed with a combination of lust and love so thick they're indistinguishable from one another.

"Okay," Already panting softly in anticipation, he grabs hold of one of the pillows by your head and taps you on the hip to lift them up and off the bed. Once he's slid it beneath your butt, he moves you with those rough hands to flip over so you're laid on your belly, the pillow propping up your hips while he climbs over your legs and sits back on his knees to survey the sight before him. Your inner thighs glisten with slick that begs to be licked off, yet you can feel it in the rough way he grabs both cheeks in his hands that as much as he wants to, he's got what you asked for on the mind instead.

Harley's chest meets your back inch by inch as he lays himself down flat on top of you, bending over further and further until his warmth encroaches on your delicate skin and you jerk at the feeling of his weight settling on top of you. His strong arms perch at both sides of your head and a gentle kiss behind your ear is enough to soothe you that he's not going to crush you. His cockhead teases your opening, smearing precum and slick up and along your folds as he tests the resistance of your body against his frightening size.

“Are you scared?” His voice rumbles deeply through your back. Despite the slow shake of your head you're trembling like a leaf beneath him. A hand slides up your belly to cup your breast, soft and jiggly in his palm while he continues the trail of kisses down the side of your neck. “I won't hurt you. I swear.” He grazes the swollen, rubbery tip further through your folds, just barely prodding you and lubing himself up by grinding his length up and down, up and down again. He's really trying not to make it sting.

“I love you, Harley.” Your hips push back to meet him, urging him closer and hurrying his hesitation.

“I know, peaches.” He hums back, the nickname slipping out by accident in the heat of him starting to press into you, finally. “I know. I love you too.”

Then comes the stretch. The sting. The breath is squeezed out of your lungs the further he pushes, that rigid heat pulsing and scalding your every inch of tender flesh as he sinks so, so endlessly deep. Harley's hair slips down his shoulders and tickles your skin as his head hangs down over you, his stomach straining against your lower back to keep himself upright as he sinks into pure, heavenly bliss. No amount of preparation could've ensured a seamless entry with his breathtaking size, but the thickness of his fingers and the heft of his tongue were certainly worthy preludes to the goliath that Harley's managed to fit so impossibly snug inside you. He can barely keep himself present, his mind begging for him to float away on urges and primal instincts as his cock flexes inside you with need. The shakiness of his breaths against your ear make you think he's desperately trying not to cum–so do the ripples of the sheets beneath you as his fingernails dig roughly into them, his spare hand gripping your chest to the point of bruising. At the end of this all your body will be littered with Harley's possessive marks, and in some great way you feel that's how it's meant to be. It's what you really want.

Harley's position shifts up your back with a sudden jerk forward. The pressure squashes you flat against the sheets and leaves only your hips propped up by the pillow, yet it too strains under Harley's immense strength as he starts to spread you open with deep, slow thrusts. His heart, as steady and healthy as it is, beats like a rabbit's against your spine with the frenzy of lust. Shluk. Shluk. Shluk. Your body speaks for you in the sound it makes with every deep, intimate kiss he presses to your walls deep within. He fumbles with your chest with comparative meekness, his callused fingers sliding and pressing across the sweet flesh before coming to your nipple. He pinches it a bit hard with a thrust stealing his steadiness away, but at your wounded squeak he circles it with his thumb and apologizes with kisses up the side of your cheek. On top of you he resembles more a weighted blanket than a man, he covers you so entirely that he could nearly smother you.

"I like you like this." He murmurs into your ear.

"L-Like how? From beh–nnh–behind?"

"Yeah," He groans against your skin and sends a shudder down your back, another kiss lowered and pressed back to your shoulder. "But not what I was gonna say. Mnh.” His voice resonates through your bones like a lascivious vibrato. “...So fuckin’ wet.”

As he rumbles, your thighs press flat into the sheets with his weight and your skin smears with a growing puddle in the sheets–your arousal and his precum mix to trail down your legs like the puddle you feel your heart melting into. Harley's love and tenderness in his touch makes you want to throw your head back and scream as if you don't deserve it. But instead, you just feel tears coming on as all those feelings come to a head.

"Too rough?" He pants above you, breathlessly spotting kisses across the sweat-soaked skin of your neck. “Hey.” He brushes the base of your neck in a soothing sweep, his thumb coming down to rub circles into the taut skin as he listens for your little voice in the thick haze.

“No…no, s-so–so good,” Your moan echoes off his bedroom walls, barely able to reach his ears in the heat that's taken over the two of you. You're messing with a stranger, having unprotected, premarital sex–you would think this would be a moment you'd straighten up and be a good girl, but alas. You've been taken in by a wild man living on the outskirts of society, whose grin curves up against your skin as he humps his hips forward, hard.

“Gettin’ what you want,” He grunts, his thrusts papping wetly against you as skin meets skin, his body completely attuned to yours in the moment. It's like he's not another person anymore, but rather an extension of you…an extension of your pleasure as he draws it out with every movement he makes. “Makin’ me feel like–fuck,” With a gasp he shudders to a quick halt. The weight lifts off your body as he sits up and back on his haunches, his warmth still buried snugly inside you where he belongs, but he ghosts a rough hand down your spine before it comes to rest on the middle of your back. With that steadiness in place, he can keep thrusting with swift, bracing snaps of his hips and a cry of how good it feels to be inside you.

It's completely mesmerizing. There's no end to where he stops and you begin; your bodies move in erratic rhythm like dancers, sweaty and wet with arousal for each other that you can't quite place any one source on. It feels like he loves you with every ounce of his soul, and for him? Well, Harley just can't get enough of every sound and smell and taste of you, his promise to take things slow only broken once you start throwing yourself back on him with pleas for him to take you with everything he's got. You've turned into a needy thing, once innocent and anxious while now you're ready to demand what you want. And Harley can't get enough of that bossy brattiness, cause at his core, he knows it's out of knowing you can rely on him to give you everything you want. Because to you, he's enough.

What isn't enough is a measly few minutes of lovemaking. No, he isn't that type of guy–you can tell once he brings his heel up on the bed, and uses the new leverage to pound you down like dough into the bed you're melting into. Your shrieks of his name have broken past the cutesy barrier you put up; they're guttural and hoarse, your every syllable putting an even more dopey smile on his lips as he listens to you give in to your desires like an animal in heat.

"...Feel like a virgin again," He whispers to himself, breath heavy in his throat as he slides his knee down to dig into the bed next to you. In the next moment he pulls out suddenly, grips your hip in a tight fistful, and throws you over on your back just to climb over you again–this time with those brown eyes hazy and cheeks flushed as he looks down on you, palms pressed to your thighs to keep them open as he sinks back inside slowly. Your calves hang over his massive thighs as he spreads you open, the pillow under your hips helping you to arch off the bed with a squeal as he stretches you back out to let himself in again.

"Needed to see you," He moans, sweat trickling down his collarbone and sticking to your chest as he lowers himself to get closer to you. He just can't get close enough, not for his tastes. "See how fuckin' pretty you are. Gonna get me there with that dumb look on your face."

The slick, loud slaps of his bucking hips thicken the air between you, where it's already hung heavy before. On both elbows by your head he lowers himself down to meet you, and at your arms coming round his middle to scratch your nails down his back he chuckles and groans, lowering himself more until his stomach presses against yours. At your beckoning, his waist barely slides an inch from yours as he slams himself deeper, deeper, deeper still until you can't squirm any further off his shaft. The thick hairs that decorate the base grow slick and matted down as they meet your heady arousal, and the way they scrape against your clit has you spasming with an oncoming orgasm once again. Harley makes a mental note of that, his smirk as hot and seducing as ever as he pins your lips in another kiss.

“H-Harley, I-” You gasp out between his teeth.

“I know.” He grunts. “Feel it. Squeezin’ on me so tight. M'gonna give it to you–fuck–gonna give it to you, peaches.” The growl in his throat resonates through his whole body and straight into yours. The ripple effect has you straining, squirming, your body like heat and ice swirling together to make an absolute storm of ecstasy. It's peaking now, getting closer, hotter, his groans rising and growing more intense as he chokes out that he loves you-

Harley traps you in a tight squeeze as he meets his end along with you, his arms hugged tight around your throat like a chokehold while both your hips grind and fight for one another. He can barely keep his eyes in his head as they roll back ecstatically, but it's not as if you're any better–your wiggling and squirming doesn't cease until the very end, when the heat has finally started edging off into bliss and your orgasm fades into softened spots in your vision. When the two of you finally slump into each other in exhaustion, Harley's weight finally sinks in as lays atop you with heaving breaths.

The quiet that follows, however peppered with the laborious heaving of your chests, beckons you towards sleep. But you can't quite allow yourself to go there yet; there's a nagging sense in the back of your head as you lie still, unsure of where or how to move in the aftermath of such a union. Part of you wants to feign sleep for some reason, as if from some long-instilled instinct to protect your body from the man on top of you. You don't want to think of Harley that way, though. He does end up sliding off you before you can move, however…and when he shuffles towards the bathroom, you feel a whine erupting from your throat that you can't control. He mumbles something from the other room and there's water running for a minute, but you don't hear a word until he meanders back with a softness in his brown eyes.

“Shh, sh..” Harley murmurs to soothe your shaky whimpering as he returns with a towel in hand, his heat bleeding through the damp cloth as he presses it warmly to your skin. “I'm here. I'm right here.”

For the next several minutes, your partner freshens up all the spots that beg the most attention. He wipes your face clean of sweat first, up to your hairline, before moving down along your limbs and your chest to dab at the sore areas and the messes he left behind. He leaves to get a whole new cloth to towel between your legs, the warmth of the damp fabric softening the sting that's settled in after he went on a sensual rampage through your body. Once he's finished with a hail of kisses to soothe those aches he caused, he sits you on the toilet to let you go, your usual embarrassment somehow evaporated as he stands naked at the sink and splashes water on his face while you do so.

The sight of those fresh scratches down his back send a shiver of guilt through you. They're raw, red and puffy, some having left thin trails of blood from where you'd dug in and broken skin. Seeing them littered over the myriad of deep, old scars that riddle a violent past make you feel a sense of shame–but Harley only finds himself content and relaxed as he helps you up, refusing to let your bandaged ankle nor his wounded shoulder prevent him from sweeping you off your feet. He carries you the few feet back to the bed, and once you're laid down atop it, he crawls in beside you and throws the covers over your body with a promise to wash them tomorrow.

“I can wash them…” Your soft murmur is the first you've spoken since you'd finished making love. Harley chuckles lowly, and turns to lay on his back. He ushers you closer with an arm round your shoulders, and eases you in to lay your head on his naked chest and hear his slow-beating heart.

“You're not walkin’ tomorrow. Hate to break it to you.” You huff softly at him, but it comes out more like a soft sigh of air as you settle in tiredly for some rest. Maybe he's right. You certainly know these aches won't be going away by tomorrow, at the least. They might persist for days at that.

“I can try.”

“You can sleep.” He shifts a bit to get comfortable, his hand bracing your head before he starts threading his fingers through your hair. “Plenty else to do when you're better.”

“I don't want to be a burden, Harley.”

“Shut up.” He whispers softly, his words holding no edge as he leans down and kisses the top of your head. “You'll never be a burden.”

Those words, as tough as they come out, lilt you into sleepiness as your final walls break down. With nothing more to say, nothing to speak in a rebuttal to that honest and heartfelt claim, you silently snuggle into Harley's side and let your thoughts drift as he strokes you into slumber. His hand in your hair leaves a warmth down your back as he holds you, quietly urging you to rest as you feel the tension of your day slowly melt into nothingness.

Halfway through the night, you felt a shift of something growing unsettled beneath you. Still half-asleep, you remember only mumbling something incoherent as you felt the warm body slide out from underneath you. Harley had patted your head and whispered for you to go back to sleep, and before you could see where he'd gone you'd fallen right back into slumber, just as he'd asked.

You were awoken for the second time by a clacking thunk. Shooting up in bed, your head swivels from one end of the room to the other to search for what you fear might be an intruder–but as your eyes pass over the window, you soon heave a sigh and rub the bridge of your nose in some relief. The hardwood chills the soles of your feet as they hit the floor softly, and you shuffle over to the sill to grab the edge and pull it down to close with a grinding squeal of old wood. You can imagine that was Harley's doing, likely cracking the window open to let in a cool breeze and air out some of the humidity–though just like the night prior, you scowl at the sight of those same tree branches clacking against the window pane. Far be it from you to ask more of your partner, but maybe it would be in your best interest to take him up on that offer to clip the branches, if only to let you sleep throughout the night.

As you meander back towards the bed, it's then that you realize Harley still hasn't come back. His side is empty and cold, and from your recall it's been quite a while since he'd roused himself, and you by extension. Probably more than an hour, at least. With a curiosity that's likely better off going unsatisfied, you dig in his closet for something to cover with–a loose, holey t-shirt that hangs around your knees is good enough–and quietly pad through the hall and down each step, your ankle proving almost no problem at all by this point. Without any lights on and only the gleam of the moon through the windows, you wander to the first floor until you tune in to the sound of a distant thud. With each one that follows, you head towards the sound and find yourself crossing the grass in the dark, the light of the shed just outside the farmhouse glowing under the closed door. Cool dew wets your toes as you move silently, your curiosity growing at a steady pace as you hear a muffled clang and the sounds of metal hitting wood.

The moment your hand touches the loose door, and you call out Harley’s name as it opens…you know the gravity of that horrible, tremendously unthinkable mistake you made.

Crunch.

A glimpse of Harley turning his head, a step, and he's crushed something beneath his boot. Your gaze falls to the hard-packed dirt floor, and shinking beneath his sole are shards of glass. Amongst them are bent, wiry silver frames; a pair of glasses. Ones you would recognize had he not stepped on them in his instinct to call out to you, to prevent you from seeing what lay within his shed that he's tried to dispose of all day.

As your gaze trails upwards, you have to take in every stomach-churning detail of this awful scene. The first thing that registers in your vision is the blood; it's all over the walls and soaking the wooden table, the sight of it dripping off the edges being what clues you in to realize that the dirt below is swimming in it. Harley’s hair is tied up but he's got blood in it too, he's drenched in blood from the top of his collar all the way down to splatters on his boots. In his hand is a saw, one of those thin ones you've seen in butcher’s shops. On the table, lying out like the bear meat that had been cut there just hours before, is a limb. A leg, it looks like. Missing its shoe, but a leg from the thigh down all the same. There's a deep trough by the end of the table–one you recognize as the trough for feeding the pigs–but by the stench of blood and rot you can't bring yourself to peer into them. You're already feeling woozy from the humid reek of death in the air.

The coat that's lying in a heap under the table is what truly confirms the horror for you. You recognize it, even though it's no longer white–just like Harley's jeans and his bare chest, it's been stained a deep scarlet with blood. There's no doubt whose scattered parts these once belonged to. It all makes sense now why Harley was so patient, yet acted like there was something to hide.

It's when the realization hits that you finally work up the courage to meet his eyes. Harley–the reassuring, handsomely stubborn man that you admitted you love, stands with his brown eyes wide and his expression blank. He looks like a deer caught in headlights; not stoic nor angry, but just simply taken by surprise. His grip hasn't tightened on the saw, but it hasn't loosened, either. You've caught him red-handed. The silence is impenetrable.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Maybe he wants to say something. Blood dripping off the table and splashing into a puddle on the ground is the only sound that hits your ears amongst the silence. Harley stares, and stares hard, his lungs completely devoid of breath as you both hold the moment and wonder what to do. What to say. But what can be said? How can you reason out this shocking, horrific scene from a man you just laid with not hours ago? The man who loves you?

“I'll do whatever I need to do to protect you.”

The promise he made before stews in your mind like you're hearing it again for the first time. The blood, the parts of your former stalker's body strewn about, the look in Harley's eyes as he grips the saw…the breath suddenly sucks itself back into your body like you were seconds away from suffocating. You breathe in the fetid air that, by all rights should make you squeamish, but somehow…it doesn't. Not anymore.

"....Pig feed?" You query, a delicate finger pointed towards the trough piled with unmentionable chunks of flesh. With barely a breath in-between, Harley nods while never breaking his stare from you. Your hand brushes the doorway once again, eyes fixated on the saw with your nails scraping down the wood lightly, until your gaze eventually flickers back to meet Harley's. With your lips pursed tight, you offer him a nod and push off the wall to quit leaning against it.

"Okay…come back to bed, when you're done?"

Each blink from him signals an eternity in each of your minds, his grip so tight on the tool his knuckles are paling beneath the splatters of blood coating them. Harley nods back, his low voice just barely above a whisper.

"Okay." He sounds unsure of himself, but it disappears as he tries again. Much more confident the second time around. "Yeah. I'll be quick."

"Good." A smile slowly crawls across your soft lips, the sight of it sending Harley's stuttered breaths into silence again. The heat in his chest floods straight southward, and with a dry swallow his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. He can't tear his eyes off of you even when you slip away, your hand lingering on the doorframe as you disappear into the yard with one last, gentle encouragement over your shoulder.

“Don't take long. Bed's too cold without you.”

#harley kunuk #harley x reader #harley kunuk x reader #yandere ocs #yanverse #male yandere #spicy writing #ellie writes #over 10k

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whenrainhitsmyskin · 1 year

Text

Five Times Bakugo Katsuki Fell in Love with You

pairing: bakugo katsuki x reader

word count: 7.2k

summary: He doesn’t really know when it first happened, the longing looks in your direction, holding doors open for you, or making sure he attended your shared groups movie nights when he knew you would be there, but he does remember the first day violent butterflies swarmed his gut and attacked him from the inside.

warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, talk about anxiety, hospitalization, emotional vulnerability, so much fluff it’s sickening.

The First Time

During the first semester of their second year at UA, Mr.Aizawa had begun instructing more hand-to-hand combat training exercises. It started with demonstrations from the pros and some lessons, and then finally the real deal, to put their learning into practice.

Aizawa had put together partner rotations, first starting out with people around the same weight class or height, but as the lessons went on the partners became mismatched so the class could learn how to fight someone smaller and more nimble than them or taller with a longer arm reach.

Today, Bakugo was paired up with Mineta, the small fry of the class. Although he always was very serious and dedicated to hands-on hero training, he couldn’t help but take it easy for the day considering he was way out of his competition's caliber.

And he guesses this also caused him to be more distracted than usual as well, considering he usually never lost focus, but today must be an exception when he can’t keep his eyes away from you and your training partner Kirishima. He turns in your direction as soon as he hears you raise your voice at the red head.

“What the hell are you doing Kirishima?” You ask with your hands on your hips staring at Kirishima, who is sitting on the mat in front of you.

“What do you mean y/n? I’m not doing anything?” He asks.

“Why are you going so easy on me, huh?” You shout, lifting him by the collar of his gym uniform. It’s like watching a bad car crash and not being able to look away. By this time the whole class and Mr.Aizawa had stopped what they were doing to get an understanding of what was going down.

“I swear I'm not man!” Kirishima explains, he looks mildly scared even though he’s a few inches taller and his biceps are probably double the size of your own, “You just got the jump on me.”

“Bullshit Kirishima, hand-to-hand combat is basically your specialty considering your quirk is better in close range.” You let him go with a small push, Bakugo swears he can see steam coming out from your ears, “I saw you beat Midoriya multiple times the other day, and I didn’t win against him once last week, so stop going easy on me, it’s not doing either of us any good.”

He would laugh if he couldn’t see how fucking serious you were, calling out one of your closest friends on his bullshit in front of everyone, even though he’s the nicest person in the class. He’s impressed, although he would never admit that.

“She’s right, Kirishima.” Mr.Aizawa cuts in, “This training is supposed to help everyone improve, so fight her like you would a real opponent. Now everyone get back to work!”

That’s what gets Bakugo to finally snap out of his daze from you and back to sparring.

The Second Time

The class was sent away to different locations to complete the practical part of their midterm for their second year. The goal of the exercise is to retrieve the dummy “civilian” from the pro hero who is acting as the “villain”. Class 2A has been split up into several teams, which is why Bakugo just can’t seem to wrap his head around how he is stuck with the Dunce Face who never fails to irritate him, the Icy-Hot bastard that is constantly getting on his nerves with everything he does and then there's…you, the only one apart of this shitty team he can kind of tolerate.

The “villain” his shitty group was up against is a holder of an animation quirk, who can bring inanimate objects to life. It’s already been proven to be a real pain in the ass considering every bush, rock and flower has been coming at them from every angle.

It’s around 1am and everyone is cold and exhausted, so the group decided to set up camp for the night. Himself, you and Todoroki were resting while Denki was meant to stay on watch, but he abandoned his post in favor of peeing somewhere deeper into the woods, which is when the villain decided to animate nearly every tree surrounding their camp site.

Bakugo woke up to the sounds of rustling and a violent scream from your mouth. The three of you start fighting back. How did nobody notice the trees were being animated? And where the hell is Dunce Face?

He’s probably taken down about a fourth of them himself by the time he hears Sparky running back behind him.

“What the hell happened?” Denki screams, as he joins in on the fight.

“You weren’t doing your damn job Sparky, that’s what happened!” He berated him. Just before Bakugo was going to take down the next one, he noticed your quirk getting weaker, and you were taking longer to defeat the enemy than you should.

“Take this last one!” Bakugo commanded, in order to make this way over to you.

“On it!” Denki said from a distance.

Bakugo quickly jumped in front of you and took down the last tree, Denki and Todoroki finished off their own as well.

“That one was mine, asshole.” You say, sounding winded.

“Yeah, well it looks like ya needed the help.” He responds, and that’s when he finally gets a better look at your injury.

The sight is absolutely gruesome, there’s a nasty gash in the middle of your thigh that’s definitely going to need stitches and recovery girls help, the blood is dripping down the span of your whole leg and onto the grass.

“Oh my god…” He says, not able to take his eyes off of it. You end up following his line of sight and look down. Your eyes widen when you finally see it.

“Oh shit.” You say, lowering yourself to the ground. He can see tears start to prick your eyes as Todoroki and Denki make their way over to you.

“Everything okay?” Todoroki asks, squatting down next to you, “That doesn’t look good.”

“Yeah, no shit moron!” Bakugo points out.

“Oh my god I can’t look!” Denki says, putting his hands over his mouth, “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Do it somewhere else.” Todoroki says, seemingly disgusted.

“You guys are the absolute worst!” Bakugo says in an aggravated tone, “This is all on you Sparky!”

“Everyone shut up!” You yell, Bakugo can see you trying to work something out in your head, a moment later you finally voice what you’ve come up with, “Denki get me your water bottle and-fuck, Bakugo, I need you to put pressure above the wound, lots of it and Todoroki rip off both of your sleeves.”

Bakugo thinks you seem pretty calm for someone that could potentially bleed out at any moment, given that a major artery could have been hit. He determines it is probably a mix of shock and the adrenaline from the fight.

He lowers himself to the ground and puts both hands above your upper thigh, using lots of pressure like you said to do.

“Fuck, we need to call off the mission and get you to a doctor y/n.” He says, his voice wavering, as Todoroki hands over the torn off sleeves and the water Denki retrieved, who is now standing a few feet away.

“Absolutely not, we are gonna carry on with the mission and pass this final.” You say sternly, grabbing the mask right off of Bakugos head and ripping it. You push his hands off of you and tie the mask tightly around where his hands once were.

“Don’t be so stubborn, we can’t-“ He begins.

“Well fucking deal with it!” You say as you begin pouring water on one of the sleeves, “I’m not going anywhere until we pass, I’ll be fine. Now I need you to clean this thing.”

He gives you a hard look and then does what you say. He pats the wound and tries to clean it out as much as he can. You hiss out in pain and fist the grass underneath your palms, he hears Denki gagging in the back.

“Okay-okay that’s good.” You say, he pulls the cloth away and watches you tie the dry sleeve around the wound, he supposed you must have learned more in that Health and Safety class than he did.

“Well, what now?” Todoroki asks, awaiting your response.

“We go get that dummy, get the hell out of here and pass the exam.” You state with conviction, he can’t tell if you're trying to trick yourself into believing it, or if you are fully confident. You reach your hand out to Bakugos own, “Now help me up.”

Bakugo grabs onto the hand you are holding up and swings your arm around his shoulder, trying to relieve you of some of the weight you would normally be using on that leg. The group starts heading to the location where the dummy is supposedly located. Denki and Todoroki are a few feet in front of the two of you, but he can make out the faint sound of their whispers and catches them glancing back a few times.

“Thanks.” You sigh, you sound tired and worn out and he thinks you look slightly pale, but he knows if he even attempts to call off the mission you would probably try strangling him to death.

“You did good.” He says, thoughts slipping out, “You stayed really calm in a high stress situation. It’s…impressive.” There’s a pause filled by only your silence, he’s worried he caught you off guard with such a direct compliment, considering he’s probably never given you one before.

“Yeah, well if I wasn’t going to help myself, who would?” You ask.

“Me, it obviously wouldn’t be either of those two idiots.” He doesn't think the two of you have ever talked this much without other people being involved. He guesses you’re just trying to keep your mind off of your injury, he reasons talking with you in favor of passing this exam.

“You got some of the worst scores in our medical training class because you claimed it wouldn’t be useful to you.” You chuckle, giving him a look, unfortunately for him, he looks back.

You’ve got a small smile gracing your lips, even though you’re probably in an immense amount of pain. But what he really can’t wrap his head around is the fact that you’re smiling at him. Why does he even care?

“Yeah well maybe I’ll brush up on it.” He says, his ears are burning, and his heart is beating faster than it probably should be, considering the fight ended over twenty minutes ago.

The Third Time:

When Mina asked him before dinner if he wanted to watch a movie tonight with their shared friend group, he wasn’t all that interested. He would much rather get to bed at a decent time, wake up early tomorrow and use their one day off to study for Monday's Hero History exam.

“No, I'm not watching another shitty movie.” He says, grabbing his plate of food and sitting down at the common room table, right across from you, a recent development in the class's seating arrangements.

“Oh, come on! They aren’t that bad.” She says, taking a seat next to you, “y/n, movie night, are you down?”

“Yeah of course!” You say, seemingly excited to spend the night with your friends, “As long as Sero doesn’t choose it this time. Are you gonna join us Bakugo?”

He pauses, he can’t remember a time where you directly invited him to something before. He thinks you look sincere, and your question makes it seem like you actually want him to be there. Why does he care if you want him there or not?

“Fine, whatever.” He begrudgingly agrees and continues eating his meal.

“Okay cool.” You say, he notices the smile on your face when you speak.

Meanwhile, Mina's jaw is on the floor when she stares between the two of you, but eventually it turns into a sly smirk.

About an hour after dinner everyone meets in the common room for movie night, he notices that most of the class is there, taking up nearly all the space on the couches, besides the one to the far right where Sero, Mina and Kirishima are sitting. Bakugo sits on the edge closest to the tv, leaving space between him and Mina.

He looks around the room. On the couch across from him is Denki, Jirou, Yaoyorozu, Ojiro and Shoji and on the center couch across the tv is Todoroki, Asui, Uraraka and Deku with an empty space next to him. He notices that you aren’t anywhere in the common room like you were supposed to be.

Almost as soon as Sero starts the movie, he sees you getting out of the elevator with Shinsou, the pair of you are laughing. He sees you’re wearing pajamas, frilly little shorts and a sweatshirt, he thinks it's kind of cute.

The two of you make your way into the common area, still talking and giggling, he doesn’t like it and he is unable to pinpoint why. Shinsou splits off and sits next to Deku and you slot yourself into the seat next to your best friend and him.

“Anything happened yet?” You ask, not really to anyone in particular, but he takes it upon himself to answer.

“No, just started.” He says, watching you grab a blanket from a nearby basket, “You’re late.”

“Yeah, I wanted to get ready for bed so I don’t have to after the movie.” You say. He just grunts in response and brings his attention to the screen.

Once you get situated in your seat, he realizes just how crammed the small couch is, your legs are brushing against each other and he swears he can feel your breath, causing bumps to arise on his skin.

About halfway through the movie, which consists of sharks coming out of a tornado-seriously, who lets Sero pick the movie every time?-, he feels your body weight shifting on the couch to get comfortable, and your knee ends up hitting the top of his thigh.

“Oops, sorry.” You apologize to him in a whisper, he feels you trying to move away, but are unable to since Mina is right up against you.

“It’s alright.” He says, turning from the tv and looking at you instead, “Don’t mind.” He can see you start to get red in the face.

“Oh…” Is all you manage to let out in response, he gives you a hard look, your face exudes embarrassment, seeing as you are looking everywhere but his direction. He finds it within himself to turn his attention back to the movie, he wishes he could have seen the adorable expression on your face just a little bit longer.

With just a few minutes left of this god-awful movie, he feels your head hit his shoulder, he goes as stiff as a board and his stomach drops at the foreign feeling. He turns his head and see’s you knocked out by tiredness and unfortunately for him, he can also see Mina and Kirishima giggling, he mouths “shut up” to them.

When the movie credits finally start to roll, everyone begins making their way up to their respective rooms. Denki gives him a thumbs up as he walks away, making Bakugo unironically slap his forehead, not knowing what to do about you sleeping on him.

After the common room is completely cleared out and he looks at the clock and sees how late it is, he finally builds up the courage to wake you up. He pokes you in the forehead to start. All you do is stir a little in your sleep but nestle into him further and get more comfortable.

“Oh my god.” He says under his breath, “Time to get up.” He shakes his shoulder to move your head and then he tries nudging your own, but still no luck. He realizes you sleep like a fucking rock, and he is probably just going to have to carry you to your bed. He scoops you up in his arms and gets into the elevator. He arrives on the fourth floor where the both of you reside and if he remembers correctly, you are the last room on the girl’s side of the hallway.

He opens the door to your room, and it looks a lot different than what he would have expected. A lamp emits a soft light on the nightstand next to your unmade bed, which has gray sheets and a green blanket, an abundance of live plants sitting on the windowsill, your school books are piled up on your desk and a hanging black punching bag in the corner across from your closet, clothes and other items are hazardously thrown across the span of your floor. He’s surprised at how messy it is, considering how organized your thoughts and ideas are projected.

As soon as he lays you carefully down on your bed you stir awake. Of course, that’s the one thing that will wake you up.

“Bakugo?” You ask and look at your surroundings, “What are you doing in my room?”

“You fell asleep downstairs and nothing I did seemed to wake you, so I carried you.” He says, standing awkwardly at the side of your bed as you sit up and rub your eyes.

“Oh, well thanks.” You say, he takes a look at you, and he thinks you look kind of cute when you're all sleepy, and that's when he sees the long and jagged scar on your leg that was left on you as a result of last semester's final exam. When you finally open your eyes again, you catch him staring it at.

“Yeah, I know, it’s really ugly.” You state, with a pout on your face, you rub your thumb against it, like you're trying to erase the scar.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He says with a confused look on his face when he sees tears form a glassy sheen over your eyes, “Didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s fine.” You say in a tone colder than he has ever heard you use. He can’t wrap his head around on why you’re so upset about the once damaged skin that is now healing on you. Had he done something else to offend you? Did his staring make you insecure about your skin? He racks his brain, trying to come up with something, anything, that could possibly help make you feel better.

“It’s just skin.” He tells you how it is, he doesn't know why he felt the need and desire to say something, “All scars are just skin.” He finally looks at your face and you look like he just rewrote the stars for you, with just a few short words. You look back down at your leg, seemingly in a different light.

“Yeah, just skin.” You repeat him.

“Right. Goodnight y/n.” He says, before going to exit your room. He closes the door behind him and lets out a deep breath. He touches his pulse, its fucking racing, his skin feels like its buzzing.

The Fourth Time:

The third year at UA for the hero course students consists more of hands-on experience through their work studies, rather than being in the classroom. Because of this it’s rare for the class to be there all together, when everyone is out doing their own things for their respective agencies.

Today, Bakugo, Midoriya and Todoroki were called into Endeavours agency for a meeting on an upcoming mission. The first person Bakugo notices when he walks into the conference room is you, to his surprise, seated next to Miriko, who you do your work study with. After him, Deku and Todoroki walk in and the door closes behind him, you take a glance over your shoulder and your eyes meet his own. You give him a smile and a short wave.

His face feels hot, and his neck is sweating, he pulls at the constricting collar of his school uniform, in an attempt to keep it from sticking to him. How is it that even the smallest of friendly gestures you make towards him has him feeling this pathetic?

He sees Deku pulling out the chair next to you to sit down, but before he can, Todoroki grabs him by the shoulders and moves him to the next seat over, causing Bakugo to sit next to you. He thinks the act is strange, but Icy-Hot is one of the strangest people he has ever met, so it adds up.

When Bakugo sits down next to you, he can see you looking at him from the corner of his eye, he fidgets with his thumbs under the table, he blames it on nerves for the upcoming mission and not the attention you have on him.

The plans for tomorrow's mission are all drawn out and prepared to be executed. The Pro’s take their leave in a hurry due to their busy schedules and Deku and Todoroki booked it out of there suspiciously fast as well. He stands up from his seat and notices that you are also.

“I was surprised when Miriko told me we were meeting at Endeavors Agency today,” You say to him, “I never thought we would be paired up for a mission together.”

“It’s weird they have such an uneven ratio of pros to students, makes me think this is going to be an easy one.” He responds. He reaches the door handle and before he can even think about it, he holds it open for you to go through first. He mentally slaps his forehead, for such an obvious gesture by his standards.

“Yeah, I really hope so.” You say with a smile on your face.

The next day rolls around, and the mission is finally a-go. Bakugo and you have been stationed on the roof of another building to stake out the old manufacturing warehouse where there have been reports of illegal drug and weapon distribution.

They haven't been given any details on how many villains there are or what kind of quirks they have, so the mission needs to be treated with caution, hence the stake out, that has been going on for nearly two hours to see when the van's leave. That time mainly consisted of small talk between the two of you and building a strategy.

The first sign of movement is the back door opening up, three people with cargo loading up three different vans. He eyes you touching your earpiece.

“Miriko, they are loading up the vans with the contraband, what's the move? Do we stop them from taking off?” You ask for command.

“Negative, let them get far enough away where they can’t receive backup, but not too far where they will reach a heavily populated area.” She responds, her voice is a little staticky, but just clear enough to make out.

The pair of you turn towards one another and give each other a nod. Once the vans depart the two of you are off, jumping from building to building, to keep up with them, Bakugo takes a second to look back and sees the other teams heading into the building.

“I’ll get the one in front and you take the last one, ready!” He pauses, “Now!”

The both of you land on two separate vans, Bakugo kicks the front windshield open and throws the villain out the car door, he grabs onto the wheel, slams on the brakes and puts it in park, causing the vehicle to come to an abrupt halt. He gets out, pins the villain to the ground and restrains him with quirk prohibiting handcuffs.

He turns around and sees the van you were assigned to has been flipped over onto its side, and you are fighting the villain that was in the middle van, you’re putting up a good fight, but that doesn't discourage him from running over to assist you. The two of you start tag-teaming him, but its nearly fucking impossible to get a good hit because his body keeps disappearing and reappearing right before his eyes.

He hears the sound of metal being split in half behind the two of you, so he takes a look in the direction he hears it coming from. He sees a villain holding some type of hand-held machine pointed directly at you. The villain presses a button and all of a sudden, his feet are taking him in your direction, and he ends up on the other side of an extremely powerful blast of air.

It has him skidding down the road a few meters, throwing his body against the concrete. His ears are ringing, and his vision is blurry, he feels like he can’t breathe. He can just barely make out the sound of your voice and your blurry figure taking down and detaining the other two villains. And then you're rushing over to him. You fall on the ground, press on your earpiece and scream to whoever may be listening on the other end of it, it sounds like he’s under water.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Bakugo.” You put his head on your lap, you brush back his hair with one hand and put the other on the left side of his chest. You start crying, tears fall onto his skin, he feels your hands shaking, “You shouldn’t have done that for me, what-what were you thinking?”

He tries sitting up to get a better look at you, but his chest and ribs ache so bad he’s unable to, he hisses in pain and gives up. Instead, he says your name and covers the hand that’s on his chest with his own.

“It’s like holding a door open for ya, didn’t even have to give it a thought.” He says, and before you can even process his words or give him some words in return, exhaustion finally takes over him and everything fades out.

The next thing he knows, he’s stirring awake to an irritating beeping sound in the most uncomfortable bed he has ever had the displeasure of laying on. The air smells sterile and that’s how he concludes the beeping is probably coming from a heart monitor and he is currently laying in a hospital bed. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Icy-Hot, who is standing at the foot of his bed and squinting at him.

“Guys he’s awake.” Todoroki alerts the others in the room. Bakugo tries finding his voice, but his throat is too dry and they won’t come out.

“Oh good!” Midoriya says, sitting up from the chair against the wall, “How are you feeling Kacchan?”

He points to the water bottle on the bedside table, Deku hands it to him, he takes a large sip, then two, then three and next thing he knows the whole thing is gone.

“M’fine, how did the rest of the mission play out?” He asks, more concerned for the villain's arrest than his own physical being.

“It went well, we arrested the villains inside of the warehouse and thanks to you and y/n, a good portion of the drugs and weapons never got distributed!” Midoriya chimes, and that's when he sees you over Todoroki’s left shoulder, looking out the window. Your eyes are a little red and your face is puffy, he wonders how long you had been crying for.

“Hey Midoriya, you and I should probably go find the doctor.” Todoroki says.

“Oh okay sure.” Deku responds. They make their exit out of the room and the door closes behind them. Bakugo sits up on the bed and leans against the frame. You still haven’t looked or said anything to him, which is weird because anytime one of your classmates gets injured you always rush to their aid and attempt to comfort them.

“Well, it seems like the mission went accordingly.” His pathetic attempt at making some kind of small talk with a little more substance. All you do is scoff at his words. “The mission is over, we won, what’s wrong with ya?” “Really, what’s wrong with me? The hell is your problem, Bakugo?” You ask, that’s all it takes for you to finally look his way, even though you are kind of half-yelling at him, that's all he really wanted.

“I am just fine y/n, you're the one that’s sulking right now.” He fights back because he thinks it’s what you need right now. The only way most people can get you to reveal your true feelings is by getting you fired up.

“I’m not sulking!” You move to the side of his bed and start talking with your hands like you always do when you’re passionate about something, “You’re the one that nearly got themself killed out in the field today.”

“What, so you're mad I took a hit? So, what, it happens all the time, get over it.” He says with a roll of his eyes.

“No-no, that's not, that's not what I’m talking about Bakugo.” You say, awaiting a response from him. All he does is shrug his shoulders, when you realize you aren't getting a proper response you continue, “You-you took the hit for me, why would you put yourself in danger like that?” He sees your eyes start to water, but no tears fall. They sit there at the brim of your waterline ready to release everything pent up inside. He supposes his heart sort of feels the same way. Ready to unleash every emotion that has been stored up inside for so long, yet there is still something holding it back. Maybe he’s embarrassed or thinks it’s unnecessary, which is probably how you are feeling about releasing your tears at this moment.

“Cause I didn’t want you to get hurt, dumbass. You wouldn’t have been able to brace for the impact, but I was because I knew it was gonna happen, it would have hurt you worse than me.” He says, but what he really means is that it was because he cares more about your comfort and safety than his own. He sees you mulling over his words, processing everyone individually and trying to interpret exactly what he means.

“Fine, I can accept that. I have a question for you though, what did you mean when you said-” You are abruptly cut off to the sound of the door opening. The doctor, Deku and Icy-Hot walk in, much to Bakugos displeasure.

“Glad to see you are up Bakugo!” The doctor says, flipping through his papers attached to the clipboard he’s holding, “Your parents are on their way, but before they get here, I want to run some additional testing. You three should probably head back to UA, Bakugo is likely to return by tomorrow morning if all is well.”

The doctor ushers the three of you to the door, he watches you cross the room and get ready to close the door behind you, but before you do, you give him a small smile, the tears at your waterline are gone.

The Fifth Time:

As a last hurrah before the school year comes to an end, class 3-A decided to go on a camping trip for a three-day getaway. The class started by loading all their supplies off the charter bus and completed their three-mile hike to the camping ground they rented out. Everyone stayed busy until the early afternoon setting up their tents, getting logs for the fire pit, finding the bathhouse and scoping out the nearby lake.

When everyone was just about to get settled in, Mr.Aizawa reminded everyone that UA was only able to grant this excursion because he promised the class would be doing some endurance training while they were there. So, the class was ordered to go on a run on one of the trails. Little did they know it was by far the longest one there and it took them until the sun was about to start setting to complete.

“Good job everyone, now head to the showers you all reek,” Mr.Aizawa says, covering his nose slightly, “Once you're all done everyone will help with dinner preparations.”

Once the class is dismissed and everyone takes turns cleaning up, Iida takes it upon himself to assign everyone jobs, so the preparations go smoothly.

“Shoji, Koda and Tokoyami you will be in charge of setting the tables, Sato, Tsu, Kirishima and Bakugo are on grilling duty and y/n, Hagakure, Todoroki and I will be doing food preparation!” Iida announces, Bakugo eyes Todoroki and him talking with one another, “Actually I'll have Todoroki and Bakugo switch places, in the name of efficiency! Everyone else is in charge of setting up the campfire.” Bakugo walks over to his assigned station and sees you and Hagakure unloading the groceries onto the pop-up table, he slots himself in the space to the left of you and takes an extra bag from your hands. He pulls out a few eggplants, zucchini and shishito peppers.

“Well, what do we start with?” He asks, not really to anyone in particular.

“I was thinking that Hagakure could rinse off the vegetables while I scrub them and then you can chop and then you hand them to Iida so he can season them.” You say.

“That sounds like a very efficient plan y/n.” Iida praises you; Bakugo can’t tell if you're blushing at Glasses, or if it's just the sun, he’s hoping it's the latter.

When the four of you begin, Hagakure, you and Iida begin easy conversation, he finds himself unable to partake in most of it because every time you pass him another vegetable your fingertips brush is own. It has his brain short-circuiting and he’s unable to comprehend what exactly is being talked about, which is proven to be problematic when you ask him a question that he doesn’t know the context to.

“Bakugo, are you gonna join?” You ask him, he can tell you’re looking at him, waiting for an answer, but he just keeps his focus on chopping.

“Join what?” He responds.

“We're all gonna hang out by the lake tomorrow!” Hagakure says excitedly, “Were you seriously not listening that whole time?”

“Yeah whatever, I’ll be there.” He responds.

“Good, I'm glad.” He hears you say almost in a whisper. He pauses his movements and takes a look at you, your face is beat red, and he thinks your hands look a little shaky, but then he realizes his are too and he tightens his grip on the knife.

Once dinner is done and the sun has fallen, everyone gathers around the campfire to roast marshmallows and hang out. By this point there’s multiple conversations happening and it’s all a little difficult to keep track of, besides the one he sees you and Shinsou having.

You’re leaning closer to him in your seat and then Shinsou says something you find particularly funny, it has your shoulders jolting, eyes watering and a big smile on your face. He hates it. Not because you are smiling, but the fact that it’s because of someone else and not him that he finds an issue with it. He needs it to stop, or he might go crazy, so he walks over to your seat.

“Come get more firewood with me.” Is all he says before he’s walking away, he hears you following behind him almost immediately, “You and Shinsou seem awfully close.”

“Uh yeah I guess so?” You sound estranged, “I mean we are friends.”

All he does is grunt in response as he begins cutting some firewood. He can feel the jealousy radiating off himself, he hopes you can’t. When he hands you a piece of wood you speak up again.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well then why did you ask?”

“Why are you reading so far into this, huh?” He fights back, “I don’t care if you two are together, it was just a statement. Now get over it.”

He sees your entire demeanor has changed. Your shoulders have slumped, your face has fallen, and you have turned away from him. You look like he’s just killed your dog. He goes back to cutting firewood and once you have gathered all you can carry, you storm off, back to the fire pit he supposes. When he gets there a few minutes after you, he sees you aren’t there, and neither is Mina.

“Bakugo, what happened?” Todoroki asks him.

“Nothin’ happened; the hell are you talkin’ about.” He says back, with a little bite to his words.

“She came back without you, so Mina asked where you were, and y/n just walked away. She looked pretty upset.” Todoroki responds. Bakugo’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach, did his words really affect you this much?

“Like I care.” His words betray his heart, “I’m going to bed.”

He unzips the tent and crawls into his sleeping bag. Unfortunately for him it’s a restless night, filled with tossing and turning, and feeling regretful for his heart fleeing so far.

The next afternoon, the entire class spends the day hanging out by the lake. Some of the class is playing beach volleyball, a few people are swimming, some others are tanning on the sand and then there's you, making a point of talking to every guy in the class besides him.

He pretends not to notice the way you laugh at nearly everything Denki says to you, he ignores the fact that you asked Ojiro to help you get some more towels for the rest of the class, he tries to forget the hug you gave Sero after he scored the winning point in the volleyball match.

However, the one thing he cannot get over is that he knows you are doing all of this because of him, it’s his own fault, he thinks the torture is deserving. But what he doesn’t deserve is that you look so good hurting him. The sun brings out the color in your cheeks, the bikini top and shorts you are wearing compliments your skin and you look happy, being around everyone other than him.

The rest of the day is spent in agony, and it follows him even when his head hits the pillow. He can't stop thinking, his thoughts are running rampant. So, he sneaks out of the tent, trying not to wake up Kirishima and walks over to the dock. He sits down and takes a deep breath. He looks at where the darkness of the sky and the lake meet. It isn’t hard to see because of the soft glow the moon is casting overhead.

He is left there, sitting with his thoughts, trying to find some sort of solace when he hears the creaking wooden floorboards behind him. He probably woke Kirishima in the process of leaving, and he knows the red head is too good of a friend to not go searching for him.

“Hey.” He hears, but it’s coming from a voice much to feminine to be Kirishimas, he sees you lowering yourself to sit next to him, your feet are dangling above the water, and you lean back on the palms of your hands, “What are you doing out here?” “Nothin’.” He sighs, he doesn’t have the heart to say why. All you do is hum in response and look out at the lake with him. Just for a second there’s a comforting silence between the two of you, but it is soon disrupted when his chest starts feeling tight and violent butterflies swarm his gut.

His heart rate is picking up and he’s starting to sweat, but he knows the sun isn’t to blame this time. It's you. The only one capable of making him feel like this. It’s intense and anxiety inducing, and he can’t imagine there will ever be a day where this goes away. He needs to get rid of it, so he thinks a swift confession and quick rejection will be the remedy.

“y/n.” He starts with your name, easy and familiar, the sound draws your eyes to his own, “I’m gonna tell you something and-and it’s okay if you don’t say what I want to hear or if you have nothing to say at all.”

Your eyes go wide, and he gives you a hard look, he lets out a deep breath and finally unravels is heart like he has been wanting to do for so long now

“I don’t know how or when it started, but every time I see you, I want to see you more. I like seeing you smile, but I really like it when it’s because of me. Your determined, smart and so fucking pretty that even a complete idiot could see it.” He lets out a deep breath and his eyes are covered with a glassy sheen, all you do is look at him, “And I know you don’t feel the same, but I needed to say it so you can put an end to this feeling that I have every time I'm around you.”

“Bakugo…” You say his name and the corners of your lips are turning up, “You actually feel that way about me? This isn’t a joke?”

“Why the hell would I joke about this?” He scoffs, turning away from you and back towards the lake.

“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe it's because I feel the same way and always thought it was unrequited.” You say, and that gets him to look at you again, he’s really hoping this isn’t some sick joke, “I think you're really nice. You always hold the door open for me, you took a hit for me on our mission, and you-you once told me something I really needed to hear, and it changed my perspective on so many things. You make me feel valued.”

He thinks of those examples, he remembers all of them so clearly. He never had to think about doing anything for you, it’s automatic, he likes making you happy. So, when he grabs your face with his hands and brings the pair of your lips together, he also hopes this makes you happy.

Your lips are soft and plush, unmoving. He is testing out the waters between both of your feelings now, trying to mend them together with one simple act. He pulls away. Your face is still being held in his hands, and yours are on his wrists. He looks at your expression and you are fully smiling, all because of him, his heart swells in his chest.

The feeling he now describes as butterflies in his gut never ceases, but he learns to like it because he is with you, and he now knows you feel like that when you are with him as well.

visit my: masterlist

a/n: I am so sorry for the delay on getting this fic released, I expected it to be a lot shorter and I got so busy I just couldn’t find the time for it. However, I hope you enjoyed this read !

sidenote: I also head cannon this to be an alternate universe to my fic Only Ones Who Know.

taglist: @mysideeffectsofyou

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha #bakugo and reader #todoroki is a good wingman #emotional bakugo #katsukibakugou #sorry this took so long #bakugo fic #bakugo katsuki fan fic

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lakesouperior · 7 months

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🐻🐤🐰🦊 just some thoughts on the fnaf movie

🐻the attention to detail that was put into it, with all it’s little details and easter eggs. the posters in the background, (and i haven’t seen anyone bring this up), the guy who got face-mauled by the cupcake wearing a midnight motorist t-shirt. the spring lock scene. the fact that scariest of all the jumpscares (of which there weren’t a lot but it’s kind of for the younger demographic ig they can’t make it too bad) was freaking balloon boy. the highest kill count going to MVP Carl the Cupcake. this is what i mean when i say movies from established franchises should be made by fans, for fans.

AND THE MATPAT CAMEO. HIS ACTING ISNT EVEN BAD AND EVEN IF IT WAS I EOULD STILL LOEV ITTT DVDNFB

🐤 you can tell they put a lot of thought into the child actors. abby is phenomenal. the five missing children? properly creepy and sad looking.

🐰 characters were all really well written and entertaining. the karen aunt, for all that she is an antagonist and very much hateable, still manages to be funny. even background characters are hilarious, like Doug for example, and don’t even get me started on the friggin matpat cameo i nearly screamed in the movie theater.

🦊 vanessa and mike are naturally each other’s narrative foils (and stand-ins for respectively Michael Afton/Elizabeth Afton (MichaElizabeth if you will) and Charlotte Emily imo), and them saying the same line, the “that’s two jobs”, mike at the beginning, and vanessa at the end, TO THE SAME CHARACTER?? TO THE BIG FUCKIN BAD HIMSELF??? WHO THEY BOTH HAVE DEEP HISTORY WITH???? literally this is good writing. i’m not saying the movie is perfect because it isn’t, but this is good writing.

🐻 and vanessa, as much as she kind of is, doesn’t feel like a coward because her worst fear does come true. her own father, the person who she thought the world of, tries to kill her as soon as she steps out of line. her fear wasn’t unjustified. she spent her entire life under his control — has literally never known anything else, and to still rebel after so long must’ve been the hardest, most terrifying thing in the world but she still did it because she’d grown to care for mike and abby.

and this is what i mean when i quote that one post: “strong female characters ≠ characters who are female and punch good, but strong female characters = well-written female characters” like yeah, vanessa’s an antagonist, or an anti-hero i suppose, but she’s still, once again, likeable and mysterious and funny. and the “bring her here again and i’ll fucking shoot you”?? that was probably her first act of true rebellion, aside from telling mike more than she should’ve about the pizzeria.

🐤 mikes arc is a very obvious “let go of the past and learn to cherish the present” which isn’t exactly revolutionary, but i think it’s done quite well though it could be improved a bit. and as much as you think he is an absolute cabbage head for telling them they could have abby for even a second, but you still, once again, get it.

our man’s running on like two hours of sleep and also meds, finally getting to see his baby brother up-close and even touch his face for the first time in probably more than a decade of blaming himself, and then getting told he could go back and see his parents again, the grief over who he probably hasn’t been able to process since he had to take care of abby when they died (possibly even took his own life in the father’s case if he’s supposed to be a henry stand-in like i think and doesn’t that just make it fifty times worse)

and it’s set up that he wants that perfect family back, the kind that he had during his childhood, that abby never got to experience.

and maybe he feels guilty for that. maybe he thinks, in his sleep-deprived and grief-ridden mind, for only a moment, that she would be better off, since she seems to like the animatronics and their ghost children better than him and he still feels like he doesn’t know how to raise a kid.

🐰 speaking of abby, for once Child Character in the horror movie isn’t just there to do some stupid shit for Plot Reasons (cough, The Curse of La Llorona, cough cough). i mean yes, she does go with them at the climax, but she has been given no reason not to trust them and considering the fact that they are other children, it would honestly be more suspicious if she didn’t trust them (also we’ve been shown she doesn’t really have friends before the end, so they’re also her first and only friends, no wonder she’s clinging to them) plus she’s been left alone with the aunt she does not like, possibly still believing mike is abandoning her. you get it.

she’s also very entertaining in her sassiness. like “are you here to arrest my brother?” or “yeah, love you too bro, kinda don’t wanna die tho, can we leave?” literally i can’t stand kids in general, but especially so in in horror movies, but i would give my life for abby.

🦊and the drawing thing? it’s beautiful and sad and really hammers home the fact that these monsters, however scary they have been made by their brutal and cruel deaths, they were, and are, just children who didn’t deserve to die and communicate the same way children like abby do. it also makes abby herself relevant to the plot and actually useful.

🐻and about abby; i have my own Theory there. we know she wasn’t in the picture during Garrett’s disappearance, which means she’s at least twelve years younger than mike. it’s actually quite common for couples who are going through a rough patch to have kids to try to fix it, which i think is what happened here, made even more possible if they also had her as a sort of replacement for Garrett. this, as i said earlier, makes mike’s indecision all the more understandable — if abby doesn’t just look a lot like Garrett, but was actually supposed to be him and would’ve never existed if not for the tragedy.

but that’s Just A Theory. 🐻🐤🐰🦊

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mazeinthemiroh · 2 years

Note

me when i can’t sleep rn so i’m reading ur fics to pass the time 😭 could you do a skz reaction when their s/o has insomnia? i need that in my head :[ thank you!

stray kids reactions to their s/o having insomnia

genre: fluff, slight crack

word count: 0.9k

warnings: none

pls like and reblog if you enjoyed! feel free to request anything <3

bangchan

we all know that bangchan has his fair share of insomnia too. so you are both going to be suffering together <3 no but for real, he understands the struggle and he's most understanding with it. so he knows, as much as he wants you to sleep so you can be healthy, it's not always that easy. so some nights you will stay up working with him, maybe at the studio. he will be working on his music while you'll be catching up with something to do with your work or studies. alternatively, you'll both be in his bed, cuddling each other and binge-watching some anime, before you eventually pass out in each other's arms.

lee know

"if you can't sleep, hug leebit." you find that this is your boyfriend's solution for everything, these days. leebit apparently has magical healing powers and can grant to wish of sleep to those who crave it. obviously, this is not the case. whether you are hugging your little plushie buddy, or you're cuddling into your actual boyfriend, none of that is of any use to you. you still can't sleep. lee know's only solution is to take advantage of the times you are awake to just talk to you, in a soft, gentle, soothing voice. you think this doesn't work at first, but after talking to him for a while, with you in his arms, suddenly your eyelids get heavier....

changbin

being a healthy, strapping young lad himself, he knows sleep is very important. he also values your health very much, almost as much as his own. after 5 minutes of research he realises that exercise during the day can improve someone's sleep schedule. being the gym bro that he is, he jumps at the opportunity and, one day, he drags you to the gym with him. you had no idea how this would help until you got back home after you had been to the gym and done other things after. when it started to get dark outside, your body relaxed easily into your boyfriend's arms as you drifted slowly to sleep.

hyunjin

well, hyunjin starts obsessing over different types of herbal teas you can drink to make you feel sleepy. he stays up all night with you, researching the benefits of chamomile tea, and if lavender or magnolia tea cures insomnia?? he's also into aromatherapy, so probably buys you an air purifier you love him for that. he also suggests yoga and meditation, even offering to start doing it with you with a cute little smile on your face. he loves jumping at the chance to help you in some way, and he values his precious baby :( he just wants you to be healthy and feel better in yourself, and he knows once you've finally found a way to get some sleep, it will do the world of good.

han

haha, you think you're going to get any sleep when han is your boyfriend? no chance! you both are staying up late at night talking about a lot of nonsense. and i mean this is every night. han's brain is so interesting and fun because he can jump from one subject to another, and his energy seems to give you energy. so he isn't exactly helping your insomnia. or at least, at first. you realise that talking to him for hours makes you feel much more relaxed. you have forgotten about your worries, the stress of the upcoming week, the negative feelings that have been bothering you that day. he makes you feel more content, and this happy feeling soon drifts you off into sleep-land.

felix

felix strives to make your sleeping environment as cosy and comfortable as possible. he buys you plushies (of course he gets you a bbokari first <3), really comfy pillows, a little night-light, etc... he will also recommend his favourite asmr channels, but you tend to stick to the asmr that he has actually done, which does seem to help a lot. this is for all when he's away and not physically with you. when he is with you, he will talk to you in a whispered tone, caressing your back and arms and making you as relaxed as possible.

seungmin

okay, so there are two go-to methods of his if you suffer from insomnia. first one being, he will read to you. sometimes if he has sleepless nights, he will listen to a podcast to drift off to sleep. so he knows that his voice might be able to calm you down and relax you enough to sleep. or, he will sing to you :( imagine his soft, gentle voice singing your favourite comfort songs to lull you to sleep. part of him thinks this isn't going to work until he sees you, curled up to his side, finally sleeping. and it's all thanks to his beautiful talent.

jeongin

one time, when you are laying beside him, struggling to get to sleep, he noticed you tossing and turning. so you decided to tell him about your insomnia. jeongin's initial reaction is to book you into sleep therapy or buy you some melatonin to help you. but he knows both of those things take time. so, for now, what he does do is carefully curate a perfect sleep playlist for you. whether it will help or not, he doesn't know. but he wants to at least try for you. and he is so happy when he sees his plan work.

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yuikomorii · 6 months

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Let's judge fairly. Yui had her development too. It's not like she didn't have any development.

// I wouldn’t necessarily call it development, I would rather say the story itself advanced and she grew accustomed to the circumstances. Over the course of the games, she got better at managing the Diaboys since you get to know someone after spending a lot of time with them and well… she also started acting more cheeky and bolder with them, for the reason that they started dating. She didn't know Karlheinz well in HDB and MB, so she didn't have any opinion about him, but in DF and CL, she called him out after Karl revealed how much of a jerk he is. It's not like she wouldn't have done that earlier if she had known the truth about him from the beginning—she called out Cordelia in the first game, after all.

However, I do think there are two particular scenes where they tried to highlight some major (?) development.

One is from Ayato's MB route, when she acknowledged acting in a selfish manner and concentrating solely on her feeling rather than on Ayato too, who was also having difficulties. She came to the realization that Ayato isn't perfect, despite being cute and giving her pleasure, and learned to accept him for all of his good and bad traits.

The other one is from Laito’s LE route, in which Reiji tries to make her understand that not believing in your lover can be very painful and that it’s not okay talking like that behind his back.

The message itself was good but this is the type of forced character development I have mixed feelings about. They didn’t have to make Yui act like that because it only portrays her as the bad one here. Yui is the first person Laito has ever opened up to and she was well aware that Laito hates Karlheinz, so getting his powers would undoubtedly damage him, yet she kept failing to understand that, despite the fact that they’ve been dating for some months and should have known better. The scene in which she says that Laito knows everything about her, yet she knows nothing about him only makes her appear so foolish in order to generate conflict. Like… come on, how can the heroine claim such a thing after dating a guy for SIX games?? Plus, the reasons of Laito’s actions were OBVIOUS that not even Reiji could entirely put the blame on him based on his situation.

As for Ayato’s MB route, I can’t entirely put the blame on her; I mean… Ayato is super good-looking and could probably pull anyone, but I can’t comprehend how she failed to realize that he has negative traits too?? It should be crystal clear that nobody is perfect and that everyone has their own issues, so you can’t beg someone to consider you special if they don’t feel like it.

It would have been 10 times better if Rejet actually tried to overcome her weaknesses, instead of adding new flaws. No, writing the heroine to suddenly have a shallow or selfish mindset only to make her “become a better person after realizing her mistakes” was not needed at all. And it’s also not fun making a character learn the same lesson in more games.

Credit to: dialovers-translations on Tumblr

The best scene, in which they could have genuinely made her evolve as a person, was in Carla’s LE route, when she admitted wanting to help him and the ghouls. It would have been nice seeing Carla putting faith in her and giving her an important yet hard task. Seeing Yui try her best to do it right, even if she was struggling at first, would have been such a cute moment. But nope, they decided to push her aside instead.

Other than that, idk if becoming a masochist and less sane as in the beginning count as development, lol, but if it does then it works like that too.

I get that it’s an otome game and most people play it for the guys but I feel like the heroine deserves to have her own storyline where she discovers herself and improves. DL feels more like the Diaboys' journey than her own, which is ironic because she’s the HEROINE, and in her most recent appearance, Rejet literally described her as “Ayato’s lover” without even using her name. I don’t really think the developers care that much about her, otherwise I doubt they’d be ok with all her character inconsistencies.

Yui is my favorite heroine because I find her really cute and likeable, plus I relate to her, but I’m aware of the fact that a likeable character does not equal a good one. She’s your average early 2010s heroine, who could have been indeed better written but serves her purpose, which is still good.

#admin

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thesimpsbasement · 2 years

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Hello! May I request Vil, Kalim, Malleus and Azul with a male! s/o who’s like Sherlock Holmes or William Moriarty? As in reader is very intelligent and stuff

Hello anon and sure! I sorta alternated between the 2 cuz didn't know how to incorporate both but I hope this is to your liking!

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Kalim Al Asim,Malleus Draconia,Azul Ashengrotto

Author:Mod Betty

Warnings/tags: slight spoilers for book 3,5 ( mainly spoilers on book 5) ,not proofreaded yet

Reader is male

Word count:1,300 words

_____________________________

-The first time he noticed your high intelligence was when you actually memorized every item for the skin routine he recommended you

-It took Epel forever to memorize them all and still forgets some

-During VDC he knew you'd be problem because he knew you'd probably see right through his plan and his concerns were correct as you were the one to inform Jamil way before he himself noticed Vil's odd behaviors

-Vil does care a lot about things being perfect, one minute mistake could end in a catastrophe

-You agree with Vil on that but sometimes you rather study than do a self care routine, maybe on your breaks you could add a couple products but not enough to meet Vil's standards

-Vil did admire your determined to adapt to this strange world by learning about it as much as possible, but what he doesn't admire is your lack of self care

-Sometimes he drags you out of your room to do a proper self care regiment

-Like the one you are currently doing

-" For someone who's such a genius you can be quite a forgetful potato" Vil says as he rubs some sort of cream on your face

"Apologies by I can't help but simply indulge of the common things in thought world taht would be deemed impossible in mine" you replied hoping to somewhat justifying your actions every though you knew it wouldn't

" I understand your excitement but you do need to take proper care of yourself,you may deem this unnecessary but I disagree completely and as your lover I'm even more complied to do this" he retorted continuing to apply product to your face

"Oh how lucky i am to have someone to spoil me like this, I'm moved" you tease,smile on your face

" The real lucky one is me to have a brilliant and sometimes forgetful boyfriend like yourself "

-When he found out about your intelligence he was in awe

-you were so cool and not mean like Riddle and you were easier to approach Unlike Malleus

-Jamil is wary of you for a good while knowing how easily Kalim is influenced but you weren't heartless to use someone's kindness

-Kalim is the type to brag about you like " Look how smart my boyfriend is so if you ever need help go ask him!"

-And he wasn't lying,ever since hanging out with(and dating) you he's been improving in his academics and would always would go to you if he needed assistance, saving Jamil from extra work( which he thanks you for)

-Being in a new world made everything surprise you but also defied the logic of your own world so when Kalim offered you a ride on a magic carpet you were skeptical

-I mean a carpet couldn't hold the weight of well anything so it being able to carry 2 people is already taboo and also how can you control it's direction and spee-

-Before you could finish your train of thoughts and how the pure concept contradicts basic physics Kalim pulled your arm and seated you on the carpet

-The first minute you were nervous as hell,who could blame you, you were literally flying on a carpet!

-After the initial shock the ride was actually relaxing and fun

-You never thought you'd ever find yourself flying around on a magic carpet flying around but you don't mind it

-Turning to Kalim who was looking at you the whole time to make sure you're enjoying yourself, you put a hand on his cheek before saying "thank you for showing me something I would never have thought of" and pulling him for a kiss

-Kalim was overjoyed knowing he actually managed to 1) surprised you and 2) make you feel happy

-Safe to say there's never a dull moment with Kalim

-He knew you were smart by simply observing how well you performed in class

-A magicless human from a completely different dimension did better than most of the NRC students

-What caught him by surprise was when you knew his true identity almost as soon as you saw him

-What confused him was that you were still referring to him as that silly nickname you came up with

-Even if you're smart and probably have some combat abilities you still couldn't stand a chance

-When confronting you about it all you did was smirk ad say " Don't worry I know a foe when I see one "

-Also good luck having to deal with Sebek since he's suspicious of you and your wits. Who knows maybe you were trying to fool the young master!!

-Would often come by Ramshackle and talk about each other's lives

-He was quite fascinated by your life back home,always solving mysteries and how capable you were in dire situations

-He doesn't necessarily need help in academics especially being the next heir of Briar Valley but would often ask you for help with other stuff ((*cough* technology ))

-For a mere child of man and from a foreign land you have a lot of knowledge to almost rival some fae

-Despite knowing you can handle yourself just fine you're still a fragile human with no magic so he will occasionally loom around the shadows,sometimes your sharp tongue could easily infuriate students from a certain dorm,After all Savanaclaw students don't settle arguments with words,but with their fists but when they pull their magic pens Malleus quickly steps in to stop the fight before you got hurt because of some buffoons

-After the students ran off, you turned to him a smile on your face " I could've handled them myself you know, even if they can use magic they're still brainless" Malleus chuckled " I suppose so however I don't think I'd forgive myself if you did end up hurt" he said sighing

-" How about we go to Ramshackle after class for a cup of tea? My treat" you suggested

-"Anything for you ,my brilliant child of man"

-The first thing he noticed about you was how calm you were when you signed that contract about bringing that painting from the museum, it was almost as if you had a plan already and were confident it'll succeed

-Seeing how brilliant you were and how you could easily make things go your way he actually suggested working in Mostro Lounge

-Would sometimes challenge you to see who's better,be it who'd give a better offer on contracts or who'd finish homework quicker

-During closing hours he'd offer you a cup of tea and discuss whatever topics you thought of

-When dating your counseling started coming into play

-After some time Azul started getting comfort with being vulnerable around you, often pouring his insecurities as he stared at his lap

-" Sometimes I feel like you deserve better" he muttered not making eye contact with you

"Why do you say that love?" You ask him ,serious look on your face

"I mean someone as brilliant as you shouldn't stick around a stupid,fat,clumsy octopus" he said slight irritation in his voice

You sighed as you placed your hands on his shoulders " Azul look at me" ,hesitantly he did as he was told,teary eyes looking right into your

"The fact I'm your boyfriend should be telling you enough that I'm not going anywhere, I don't stick with people that I don't want too, so if I didn't like you I wouldn't be sitting in this very room now would I?" You said trying to comfort your partner without any sort of sugared words but with pure logic

-"Yeah I guess you're right" Azul said wiping his tears

-Smiling you kiss his forehead has you bring him into a hug " so please cease these idiotic thoughts for both our sake ,you know it pains me to see you this upset"

#fanfiction #fanfic #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #kalim al asim x reader #malleus draconia x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #x male reader #moriarty the patriot

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bltngames · 5 months

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Mod Spotlight: Sonic Forces Overclocked

So this is an interesting little thing. For those of you not aware, Sonic Forces Overclocked (if I'm remembering right) was originally an attempt to "fix" Sonic Forces by expanding all of the levels and even completely rewriting the story. Obviously that's a big task, and the developers eventually realized that, scaling it down into what could best be described as an "Encore" of sorts -- an epilogue story where the villains make one last desperate final push, spread out across remixed versions of eight of the game's best levels. All told, it's about an hour worth of content.

Which is... actually totally fine. With eight (technically seven, but the final boss still counts) levels, there's plenty to see. Actually, pacing is probably Overclocked's strongest suit.

The original Sonic Forces was a pacing disaster; levels often felt like they were cut off at the knees, usually ending just as they were getting started. That's never true in Overclocked, as each level took me a good 3-5+ minutes to finish. Levels in Overclocked are also massively improved in other ways, too -- all that extra length is put to good use with Sonic's trademark alternate pathways, new enemies, and new interactive elements. Interactivity is up across the board. Sonic Forces loved to lock you into long, obnoxious scripted set pieces but Overclocked keeps you firmly in control most of the time.

Which brings me to something I'm not entirely sure is a complaint: difficulty balance. If you've been reading this blog long enough you know I can be pretty picky about difficulty balancing, and the way its handled in Overclocked is interesting.

Generally speaking, Overclocked treats the boost like "expert mode." It's there for people who know the levels already and want to push themselves to do it faster. At first it's fine -- boosting means you'll miss some alternate paths (shortcuts, most likely) but you can still bumble your way to the end of the level and coast by on C ranks. The further you get into the game, though, the more it starts to punish you for trying to go fast without knowing what you're doing. The safety nets that would catch you in earlier levels go away and Overclocked tells you to either slow down or get serious.

Which... I think I'm fine with? The thing it brings to mind for me is the two Sonic Rush games. My favorite one is Sonic Rush Adventure, because it's more accessible (read: easier to learn) than the first Sonic Rush. At the same time, the first Sonic Rush ends up being the more replayable of the two games, because it's a lot harder to master. The higher skill ceiling has kept me coming back to Sonic Rush long after it felt like I wrung all of the gameplay out of Sonic Rush Adventure.

So the idea of a Sonic game not only facilitating a higher skill ceiling but maybe even encouraging that? Not the worst way to balance things, as long as you keep the less skilled players in mind and communicate things correctly. Which, at least for me, I feel like Overclocked does. It started to kick my butt at certain points, but never in a way that felt too mean or unfair. And that's exactly the way it should be, though it should be noted I haven't exactly put myself through the hell of trying to go for higher ranks.

The one real complaint I have about the levels is something I've been observing for years, and unfortunately my fears came true: the lighting.

I've talked about my monitor in the past. I bought it somewhere between 2011 and 2012, so it's getting up there in years. I believe it was the first thing I ever purchased with my Youtube Earnings. It's starting to get kind of dim in its old age, and it's exacerbated by the fact I like to keep it on its "Theater Mode" setting, which gives me really good black levels (for an LCD) and amazing color. But it's an aging monitor, so those amazing black levels end up feeling a little dark, depending on the game. For those of you who caught my halloween streams this year, you know I ended up switching my monitor to its "Standard Mode" because it flattens the contrast and makes the darkest darks more visible. It could be argued that I should just leave the monitor in "Standard Mode" at this point, but I can't stand how Windows looks with it turned on.

To cut to the chase, I had to turn on "Standard Mode" for Sonic Forces Overclocked. In keeping with the theme of this being an encore, a lot of levels have wildly new lighting applied to them, with many levels set later in the evening or at night.

This blankets a lot of levels in a single color and lots of high-contrast shadows, which makes character, enemy, and hazard visibility incredibly difficult. In some levels with a lot of high-frequency noise (like Chemical Plant) it can be difficult to tell where your character even is on screen sometimes. In other levels, like the revamped Mystic Forest, the blue-on-purple-on-teal color scheme makes for a readability nightmare (as does the Death Egg Core level with Buddy, with a red character navigating a level full of orange fog, lit by pink and yellow lights).

When you're running through these stages at a couple hundred miles per hour, it all blurs together into something that's sometimes either too dark or too muddy to parse. At one point Sonic jokes that Infinite's aesthetic is "monochrome colors" but I'd rather have the levels be readable at a glance than hanging a lampshade on it. Things just need to be a little brighter, with a little more diversity of color to highlight the edges of roads and incoming hazards.

The story is... fine. It's not incredibly deep, and it doesn't need to be, so it works well enough. There's actually a surprising amount here, though, from mid-level chatter, map screen debriefings, and even full on cutscenes. Voice acting duties seem to be handled by Adrenaline Dubs, who I subscribed to last year for their surprisingly good dubs of Archie and IDW Sonic comics. They turn in some pretty high quality work here, often rivaling Sega's official dubbing efforts. My only real complaint is that Sonic's dialog is a little too referential; his call-outs during levels often reference other infamous lines from different Sonic games ("The whole city's on fire!", etc.), and sort of like how the game pokes fun at the monochromatic lighting, there's a line where Sonic even cringes at his own dialog a little bit. "We're admitting it's bad, but still doing it anyway" is not a healthy design ethos.

Earlier I mentioned cutscenes, and rather than the complex, high-budget cutscenes Sega had in the original Forces, Overclocked instead opts for motion comic videos. Artistic duties for these cutscenes are shared between a handful of 4 or 5 different artists, each bringing their own art style to their scenes. Generally, I think this is a good move. A little more consistency between artists would make it feel a bit more polished, but seeing the art style change between scenes has its own charms, too. It really drives home how much of Sonic Forces Overclocked was not only a team effort, but to some degree, a community effort. Many different hands touched this project, and it is better for it.

It's easy to focus on the negative things I said about Sonic Forces Overclocked here and think I came away not really liking it. Nothing could be further from the truth. I think this is a genuinely impressive mod, with significantly better level design than the base game. It has a few problems, sure, but the overall product, when taken as a whole, is absolutely wonderful. This might be a bit incendiary and hyperbolic, but this close to the top of the list as the most fun I've had with a Sonic game this year. If you own Sonic Forces on Steam, it's not to be missed.

Download: https://gamebanana.com/mods/485051

#sonic forces #writing #mod spotlight #sonic forces overclocked #modding #sega #sonic the hedgehog

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

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Burn the Witch

From Control - Full Story in Progress on AO3!

Soap x Shadow!Reader x Ghost Light Graves x Reader

This is your first operation away from Shadow Company, as your skills as an undercover operative will be put to the test on your hunt for Hassan Zyani. With help from the 141, things should go smoothly. You could only hope...

Word Count: 2.2k

Tags: Foreshadowing Future Action, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Tension, Light Romantic Tension, Canon-Compliant, Foreboding, Probably Military Inaccuracies, Reader has hidden agendas, part one of two for these next two chapters basically

Masterlist

Let me start by saying I HATE this chapter with a burning passion. It took me a month to try and brainstorm every possible way I could convey the plot how I wanted without it being boring. But alas, I've said fuck it, because it's been over a month and we've gotta keep it pushin'.

The chapter's slow, obviously meant to be the prologue to the next chapter. Once again, I'm sorry I made you all wait so long for this. However, with this mundaneness out of the way, I hope the next chapter improves.

Please enjoy.

Chapter Twenty-One - Burn the Witch

What does it mean to be ready for the inevitable? You've pondered that a lot lately, though it sparks in your mind more so once the trucks have parked and your team has offloaded onto an airstrip swirling with chaos and urgency.

Helicopters raged above you, convoys and other armored vehicles driving to their designated areas, ready to ship you all into battle. All the while, the night sky sits plainly above you. An empty sea of black set fit to remind you of the uncertainty which lies ahead of you.

In five minutes you would be heading out.

By now air support has most likely already started bombing the AQ bordering your LZ, meaning the firefight starts the second your flight touches the ground. The rest of the details involving your mission came to you as hectic as the night had already been. Comm chatter blistered on every channel, new information getting spoon-fed to you by every half-hour mark.

There had been no time for any other thoughts, in fear of missing something crucial. But one detail had been an especially hard pill to swallow, all things considered.

They're splitting everyone into two teams, both tasked with sweeping separate areas for Hassan. Once each building has been neutralized, the teams will regroup, with Hassan either dead or alive in your custody.

A sound strategy as any you've heard before, though you would have preferred to stay placed on the same team as 141, had you any say.

Instead, you were to lead Team Alpha in there stead, as Ghost and Soap lead Team Bravo.

Your placement had been deliberate, to say the least. Shepherd always had a way of pulling the strings to his advantage in the background, and you had just become his latest puppet.

Your real briefing came to you via a quick, virtual meeting, having had to wait for the others to break off and start loading up their gear before you could slip off somewhere secluded to meet. From there, you'd gotten the video up and prepared yourself to be greeted by your two-faced general.

But instead of some old, bald man appearing before you on your screen, you had been greeted by a pair of steel blue eyes, sharp, and consumed in all sorts of stress and business.

Your commander.

It took your breath away to see him again, still with his authoritative look and short, blond hair he's spent the last few minutes combing his fingers through, you're sure. Even through the screen, you could have sworn you might have seen the light come back in his eyes. Then, you're reminded of how you two left things off, and the radio silence that had fallen soon after.

He hadn't changed a bit, you'd say.

You frown, not wanting to reward the man with any expression beyond mild irreverence, even as he smiled at you like nothing changed. You knew a mask when you saw one, and frankly, it was getting old.

You have more important things to worry yourself to death over.

"You're lookin' good," he compliments.

You pause, taking another second to look over your commander again. What you can see is the small joy he feels, having caught you doing so. But before you've allowed him to speak, you've made his mind up for him.

"The briefing? Commander?"

Graves cleared his throat, straightening himself up on the other end. He hadn't expected to still be so taken aback seeing you after what felt like over a month now. "Right then," he begins. "Your mission..."

Graves did his best to give you the highlighted version of whatever it was Shepherd told him about your orders. While the clarifications had made things more clear, it didn't make tonight any easier.

With you separated from 141, the General's hopes had been for you to investigate what you can about the missiles and "take care" of Hassan. With no suspicion or incident. It only figures that regardless of what the AQ General knew about his missiles, Shepherd would want him dead. And if he wanted him dead, then that's just what you had to do.

Anything to put an end to this.

"Get this done, and we're one step closer to being home free," he feels the need to remind you again. Only lately you've wondered what that even means anymore. It didn't help that trapped sensation you'd been unable to shake all night.

"I've heard that before," you roll your eyes.

"Don't make it any less true," he says. And then he pauses, hesitant from the looks. Silent. You knew what often came after that.

"Are you... Have you been doin' alright?"

His question doesn't come as a surprise to you, however, you admit you're unsure how to answer him. You wish he had asked you weeks ago.

But he hadn't.

"I'm fine."

Graves opens his mouth to say more, however, something stops him. Perhaps the look he sees in your eyes, or the lack thereof. He knows bridges have been damaged between you two, if not burned. He's not an idiot. He's also only human.

"Don't get yourself killed, OK?"

Though it made you feel rather pathetic, his words felt more riveting than you had wanted them to be. And you had missed it.

"No promises, Commander." You wink.

You tap your leg against the metal floor below you, feeling it shift and sway as the heli races through the dark skies of Al Mazrah.

Two minutes now and you would be separated from the 141. Alone and on a mission of your own. One only you were aware of. Your mind needed to be right.

You take a look around at the soldiers gathered around. They had everyone crammed into the heli like sardines, your rifles hugged to your chest and your eyes forward. Awaiting the sound of gunfire.

"No songs to whistle?"

Ghost's gruff voice from across the heli brings your eyes back from the row of dark boots your eyes had been glued to. They had been all down there all night, doing whatever possible to ignore the eyes of Ghost's on you all flight long.

Your behavior tonight had been a stark contrast to the last op he'd run with you, where there you'd been jovial and nigh overconfident, chatty in most instances. Tonight, you had been completely quiet, eyes razor-focused, and mind everywhere and nowhere all at once. It gave the man a rough feeling about tonight, and watching you tap your leg finally drew him to a point of speaking, it seems.

You look up at the lieutenant, more wide-eyed than intended. Everything needing to be done tonight had been buzzing through your mind so much this past hour, it hadn't even crossed your mind to calm yourself to a tune.

"I can't think of one," you admit. "But I take request."

Ghost holds his gaze with you for a moment, his eyes so dark in this interior that he almost appeared inhuman, the large shadow that he was sitting across from you. Meanwhile, he wondered if there'd ever be a day you weren't trying to delve in a subtle way and hear his music taste.

Perhaps you've finally worn him down. Ghost looked as though he were about to actually answer you for once.

And then, the comms cut in.

"Approaching the LZ."

All casual conversing had now just ended.

Bombs and gunfire grow louder outside the heli, replacing the rumble of the spiraling blades and the vibrations of its metal. Like a song drumming you into battle, you hear it beckon you all near.

"Bravo Team offloads here." Ghost stood from his seat to address both teams now, his entire aura changing from endearing to brutish in the blink of an eye. "Alpha Team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill."

You watch as Bravo Team stands from their seats, gathering near the end of the heli to exit. Your eyes track Soap, who passes by your peripheral briefly until he's paused right before you.

With all his gear on, helmet strapped tight, and weapon loaded and ready, he looked a man ready for anything. He always seemed to be in most cases.

You'd been aware of Soap's watchful gaze since boarding together. He had smiled every time you looked his way, giving you an assuring nod, and sharing a comment when a thought would come, but you see the worry he held for you in his eyes. He had just wanted you to be OK.

His positivity alone hadn't been enough to ease your troubles, even as the man desperately wanted it to be. He only feared not having more to offer you beyond a smile and promise to keep you safe. He'll keep making that same promise 'til he's blue in the face if he has to.

Soap raises a fist to you gently, giving you a warm smile.

You tell him, "Try not to have too much fun."

Soap had wanted to say more, by the way his lips parted and the glint in his eyes twinkled, even beneath the red lighting. But he holds his tongue, knowing he must prioritize the mission. Duty above all else.

"Aye, aye lil' bird."

Soap gives you a parting wink, and then joins Ghost and the others at the front of the heli. You watch him the entire way, until the doors open, and a gust of wind barges into the heli, whipping through the fabric of your uniforms. This didn't feel real until now.

From where you still sat, you watch the lieutenant give him a scolding look, the men preparing to exit. "Keep up, Soap," he says.

The heli doors shut behind them, leaving you in a metal coffin shared between other marines you knew no better than the men you were about to fire on. With Ghost and Soap no longer around, it now leaves you to lead this team through thick and thin.

Gravity feels a lot heavier all of a sudden.

You hear the pilot speak into the comms, "Razor-1, all Bravo deployed. Moving to secondary HLZ."

The heli shift to the side, and you feel yourselves soar through the night sky, the sounds of gunfire increasing at every second.

"Alright," you call out to your men. "It'll be hot once we've landed. Check your gear and weapons now while you can. The faster we get this done, the faster we can call it a fucking night."

The marines all give you an affirming cheer of agreement, and for the first time all night you start to feel more positive about how things will go.

Yeah, you told yourself. This mission's like no other you haven't done in the past. Find your target, neutralize the situation, and get out. Simple.

You adjust your grip on your rifle and straighten up, your leg tapping even faster than your heartbeat. No word from Ghost or Soap on the comms yet. That had to be a good sign.

The helicopter dives to the right suddenly, sending you all back into your seats, before the chaos outside is instead drowned out by the sound of blaring alarms from inside the heli.

"All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed," the pilot chimes in. "We're getting lit! Incoming- Flares! Flares!"

Your heart sinks, your insides shifting and moving like waves in the ocean at every quick sway and dive the helicopter took in its evasive actions. Helplessly, you sit, not even able to see the enemies that fired upon you, bitter to not even of had the chance to step foot on the ground yet before this happened.

You all grab hold of your seats, doing what you can to remain stable. The heli sways, the sounds of flares deploying outside ripping through the rocket fire. The flight settles and a few seconds go by. It isn't until the warning alarms have been silenced that you finally release a breath of relief.

A narrow dodge.

But then, it shifts again, only this time you're not so lucky.

There's a loud crashing noise, followed by the erupting pop of an explosion, as it twist the metal of your helicopter, tearing it open.

"Razor 1 going down!" The pilot shouts. "We're going down!"

You watch in horror as one of the marines is sucked out of the hole, screaming the entire way out as they're eaten alive by the flames of your crashing coffin. You see the dark world outside painted in the passing glare of gunfire, spinning around you, your helicopter falling from the sky.

You clutch onto the straps to your seat and brace yourself for impact. Closing your eyes, you hold your breath and simply await the inevitable, doing your best to be ready. Just as you've been trying all night.

Metal and fire twists around you in a loud hurricane of booms and clashes, before all sense of the world around you became nothing but a cold, quiet air.

Dark.

An endless void.

You're not sure why, but the first thing that came to mind was Soap. You hadn't wanted to think of the horror he must be experiencing having just watched you get shot out of the sky. What flurry of emotions now twisted in him because of you.

So instead, you thought of him as he was before. Of his smiles, his eyes, the warmth of his embrace and the safety you felt with his words, even if he promised the impossible. You'd give anything to have John by your side now.

You still needed to tell him your name.

To Be Continued...

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wakebymoonsleepbysun · 6 months

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Untitled Caine x GN!Reader oneshot because why not

EDIT: A more polished version of this is now on ao3!!

After writing something close to 20k words of Stereo Souls this week I needed a quick break, and came up with this while half asleep and feeling mopey. It's self-indulgent so if you find yourself thinking "He would not fucking say that" then yeah, you're probably right but eh, this isn't a Caine character study. 🤣

If I ever think of a title and edit this I might put this on ao3 cuz again whynot.

(Sidenote: Yes, the reader appearance is based on the TADC sona I designed for myself. At the time I referred to the sona with she/her pronouns because I didn't mean for it to be anything other than a drawing of my own sona. But I assure you this reader is gender neutral despite sharing a design with a she/her character.)

Word count: ~1700

You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been stuck in the Digital Circus. You think the time is best measured in months, not years, but Jax has suggested otherwise a couple times. But you can’t always tell when Jax is lying to upset you, or telling the truth to upset you.

You try not to be upset at all.

Easier said than done in this place, most of the time.

Caine makes it easier, though you seem to be in the minority with that opinion. His games can be irritating sometimes, but you sense he is trying to make them fun…and the banquets and parties he throws for you and your cohorts afterwards are usually nice.

You think he’s improving, but every time you mention that possibility Jax lets out a cough that usually sounds suspiciously like “Stockholm”.

It is after such a party you’ve slipped out of the tent to wander the grounds on your own for a bit. The sun has gone away for now. You don’t think describing it as having “set” is accurate, but in any case, the grounds are bathed in the bluish glow of nighttime. The moon herself seems to have dozed off in her perch among the chalk stars, so she pays you no mind.

Like the other humans (or perhaps former humans) here, you were given a new form when you arrived. From a distance, you could be mistaken as one of the more humanoid characters, but up close that illusion falls apart. You’re essentially an animated pile of clothing. A hoodie, with the always up hood serving as your head and cartoony, ever malleable and expressive pair of thick glasses serving as your eyes. Your legs are a pair of jeans, the bottoms of which rest on the ground like a floppy pair of feet.

When you’d first caught a glimpse of yourself in a mirror, you’d thought you were invisible…but there’s no invisible body beneath your garments--the garments are you.

You don’t remember your past life--nobody here does. But you know bits of it, and you feel like in some ways you know yourself. Somehow the idea of you being invisible, faceless, nondescript and barely noticeable feels…Well, it feels like a predictable outcome in many ways. As much as predictable outcomes exist in the Digital Circus, anyway.

The others all seem to have something pulling them back to the human world, even if they don’t always know what it is. Jax less so, and Kinger seems to forget the pull just as much you’ve all forgotten what’s pulling you, but it’s there all the same.

Less so for you though.

You just can’t help but feel…you don’t have much to go back to.

Your moping is interrupted--as it often is--but the sudden appearance of two large eyes immediately in front of you. Green and blue.

“Hello there! I was wondering where you’d gone off to,” Caine says, floating back a pace so his eyes aren’t dominating your visual field.

“Oh, uh, hi Caine,” you say, lifting a floppy sleeve in an imitation of a wave.

“What’s gotcha so blue, pal? Aside from the obvious,” he says, gesturing at the artificially blue lighting around you two.

You let out a little laugh at the joke, wringing your sleeves together. “O-Oh nothing, Caine…” you say.

He’s quiet a moment, then lets out a thoughtful hum. “Hmmmmmmmm?” he muses. His eyes stay in place while his mouth and body rotate around them until he’s upside-down. “Nothing?” he repeats, a layer of dubiousness making itself known beneath his usually pompous tone.

“N-Nothing you need to worry about…” you correct.

Caine abruptly rights himself, giving the top of your hood a gentle tap with his baton, causing your hood--your head--to deflate slightly.

“Nonsense!” he cries as you try to push your hood back into a head-like shape. “As ringmaster I am in charge of ensuring all characters maintain their happiness and sanity!” he cries, his irises “closing” into little crescents…which is about as close as he can get to closing his eyes.

At your silence, his eyes open again and he floats downward, leaning in close. “Is it because Bubble didn’t save you guys any angel food cake? I told that little parasite--”

“It isn’t that!” you say quickly, holding up your sleeves and quickly shaking your hood.

“Oh. Excellent!” he chirps. For a moment, you hope the tangent had distracted him, but you realize he’s still looking at you expectantly.

“I was uh…just um…thinking about the human world, I guess…” you admit, one of your sleeves rubbing the other nervously.

“Ahhh yes, that whole affair,” Caine says, his tone both pompous and commiserating. He floats down to join you on the ground and begins walking beside you. “I do apologize for how long the Exit Door is taking. I do still have some new ideas I--”

“I’m not worried about the Exit Door, Caine,” you say. He’s talked about making one before, and you’re told when Pomni arrived, he’d come up with something pretty convincing. But it was no real exit. None of you are sure if his “Exit Door” talk is just another game, some new level he’s designing that he thinks will delight all of you indefinitely, or if he truly is trying to help you find a way out.

Most of the time you’re not sure if Caine even knows.

“Oh?” he asks curiously. “Everyone else is.”

“Well…I’m not not worried about it…” you amend.

One side of his upper teeth raises in an approximation of a quirked brow. “But you just said--”

“I-I mean…I’m worried about it in general I guess, but not right this second,” you clarify quickly.

“Ah. I see,” he says with a small nod. Once again he looks at you expectantly.

“Can I ask you something?”

Caine’s mouth tilts to one side curiously, but after a moment he cries “Certainly!” in his usual showman tone.

“Do you…have any data on who we used to be? Even…what we looked like?” you ask.

“Afraid not, friend!” he declares easily. “In fact, I don’t even know what humans look like!”

You falter slightly, glancing over him in surprise. “Not at all?”

“Not at all!” he says with a grand sweep of his arm. “Think about it. When would I have ever seen a human?”

“I…I suppose…” you say.

“I have inferred some things though!” he declares, raising one finger and puffing his chest as he walks. “Ragatha is the closest. Pomni being a close second. And you being…” He stops walking, one hand scratching his chin. “Perhaps a distant third?” he asks tentatively, as if he’s truly not sure.

You’re not entirely sure either. If Jax’s ears didn’t make him resemble a rabbit more than a human, one could make the case that he’s more “human” than you by virtue of having a solid shape and an actual face.

But you simply shrug and dip your hood in a nod. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Good!” he chirps easily, taking a couple quick steps to catch up to you and once again fall into step beside you. “But why do you ask?”

You don’t think he’s going to stop prodding until you tell him. Or until he decides you need a new adventure to take your mind off of it. Though even after you tell him, he might still think you need an adventure. But either way, it seems your only chance at a peaceful evening is to just tell Caine what’s on your mind.

Still, that’s a bit easier said than done.

“I-It’s just…I don’t really remember specifics about my life…”

“Nobody does!” he chirps.

“Right,” you continue, not particularly phased by the interruption. “It’s…hard to explain, but…s-sometimes…when I look in the mirror and don’t have a face--a real face…it’s…almost a relief?” you say, glancing up at him.

Caine simply stares at you in silence, waiting for you to continue.

“I-I just…feel like…there was something in the mirror I…didn’t like seeing…but I don’t know why…”

One side of his upper jaw raises slightly in a curious expression. “Do you mean in a physical sense? Or more metaphorical?” he asks.

You glance over at him in surprise. You hadn’t expected such an insightful question. If anything, you’d assumed he’d take it literally--that you just didn’t like your human face. Nothing deeper than that.

But even you don’t know if it’s deeper than that.

“I don’t know,” you say. “I don’t remember clearly enough. It’s…just…an impression of how I used to feel, I guess.”

“Hmmmm…” he hums, his fingers drumming on the gums below his lower row of teeth. “Well, good buddy, I’m afraid I can’t help with that.”

You’d give a small, good-natured smile if you could, but you can’t, so you simply flop your arms in a mild shrug. “I didn’t think so. That’s why I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“Bother? Hardly a bother!” Caine cries cheerfully. “Your happiness and sanity are my priority!” he declares, placing a fist against his chest and puffing up proudly.

“W-Well..thanks for um…checking in on me anyway,” you say, wringing your sleeves together awkwardly.

He lifts off the ground again, hovering in front of you. He lays horizontally, his hands folded under his lower jaw. “For what it’s worth though, friend…If you had a face, I’d sure be happy to see it!” he says, poking the bridge of your glasses with one finger.

You sputter in surprise at the remark, and the little touch. He…he surely meant both in the most innocent, innocuous way possible…right?

Caine’s irises close into happy crescents as he rights himself, taking your sleeves in his hands. “Feeling better?” he asks, and you think you hear some genuine warmth in his tone.

Your hood flops forward in a nod. “Y-Yes…thank you.”

“Good!” he crows happily. “Ready to head back? There’s a mousse pie with your name on it!” he grins. Then he pauses, tapping his chin with one finger. “Which I maaaaay mean literally, if that’s your fancy!”

You laugh softly. “Figuratively is fine.”

“Ah, good. Keeps things simple!” he says. He lowers himself to the ground again, and to your surprise, holds out his elbow for you. “Shall we head back, then?”

You’re surprised at the little gesture. You feel your glasses fogging up a bit but quickly lower your hood, trying not to draw attention to it. “S-Sure…” you say, looping your sleeves around his arm.

Life in the circus…isn’t terrible, you decide.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc caine #tadc caine x reader #x reader #my writing #fanfiction #self indulgent #i'm kinda surprised i wrote anything for a show with only one ep because i'm always worried about my writing being contradicted by canon #why i was out of fanfic entirely for a long time #but i don't see myself doing anything much more involved than this until there's more eps out #but this was itching my brain so i wanted to get it out there :3

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love-toxin · 1 year

Text

Trapped - Harley Kunuk

a/n: for reference for any new lovelies--this is a piece featuring one of my ocs <3 this is cut to be a little shorter but lmk if you'd like me to finish the next part!

(cws: gn!reader, yandere, depression/mental illness, non-yandere stalker, blood, injury, nightmares, meet-cute, minor violence, misuse of farm tools, teasing, protective yandere, mutual pining, sharing a bed, fluff and comfort)

word count: 7.3k

A sharp twang echoes through the forest, the sound and his hard motion startling you enough for your nails to dig into his shoulder through the leather. You'd be surprised if a big guy like him would even feel it, and you think that especially so when you cast a glance down and feel your heart skip at the carnage lying before you. You almost feel worse for the trap than you do yourself–you've got some stinging dents, scrapes, and punctures in your skin from the teeth clamping down on them, but with his bare hands Harley's bent the steel jaws back so far they've snapped off the base of the trap completely. One of them lies shattered in pieces in the dirt, the spring holding it all together looks completely bent out of place, by all accounts it's completely unsalvageable. And completely your fault.

"Thank you. I'm really sorry-"

"Don't step into my traps again, unless you turn into a rabbit."

"I mean it. Watch your feet around here."

"Uh…Harley, hey! Wait!"

"...Hurts? Can you feel that?"

"...Wait here. I don't live far, I'll go get my kit and come back. Don't cry."

"Uh, what? Do I know you?" You shake your head in disbelief, taking great caution to step back slowly enough that you don't slip on your weak ankle.

"I don't see him."

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry." You shake your head and lift it from where it's buried in his neck, a trembling hand wiping your face for what feels like the millionth time today.

"So I am a bunny now? You'd better not turn me into rabbit stew, then." You chuckle, a sniffle peppering your breath.

"The farm?" He queries, gaze sliding towards those same structures out the window before he finds an answer. "...Long time. Twenty years, maybe?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine."

"No kidding." You crack a wobbly smile, the burning sensation having slowly run its course through your poor, abused ankle. "We're not too far apart. So you grew up on a farm?"

"Kinda. Just helped out."

"Do you have cows?"

"Yeah. Chickens, too."

"You do?"

"When your ankle's better we'll go outside and feed them. You can ride one if you want, if you promise to be gentle with her."

"Mhm. Marnie likes giving rides–we can bribe her with some celery I've got." He speaks with a hand on your wrapped ankle, neither of you even really noticing the gesture until it dawns on both of you, and you break your shared gaze and the touch in somewhat flustered fashion. Yet, even though he sits like a golem above you with hands retracting back to his own lap, you still can't help the thought that he's just so…soft.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He stands up and off the couch in a swift motion, the remaining roll of gauze pinched in one giant hand along with the balm and the scissors. They look almost toy-like in his massive grasp, it's actually pretty cute.

"Or?"

"I don't really have anyone to check on me, honestly, and I live alone. Maybe…if it's okay, maybe I can stay? There's not even an elevator in my-"

"I'll try not to wake you up." You smile back at him, truly feeling the gratitude for his kindness, but he shakes his head.

"No, come wake me for anything. Even a glass of water–I don't want you walking down those stairs and getting hurt."

"You're really sweet, Harley."

"You haven't let me take a step on my own all day. You're really sweet, and really nice."

You can't help but think, however, as you shut off the lamp by the bedside and hunker down for a long night…it's just a little too cold for your liking.

"Harley?" Your whispers grow their confidence in the dark, the hem of the long shirt swishing around your thighs as you lean over the sleeping giant. "Harley, are you awake?"

"I-I'm sorry–" Your fingers clench at the sight of his bare chest, the skin soft-looking and riddled with the deep edges of healed scars. "-I can't sleep. The noise-"

"You too, Harley." Your head falls back against his arm, and it's only a matter of time before the warmth of his body heat and the comforting embrace of strong arms around you lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The only thing you remember waking you up is a brief time between then and the sunrise, when your eyes flutter open and you feel Harley's presence has disappeared for a time. But once slumber grabs hold of you again and you vanish into the land of unconsciousness, the only thing that will cause you to stir is the distinct pitch of a rooster crowing from somewhere off in the yard, signalling the dawn of a new day that may very well be the start of the rest of your life.

#harley kunuk #harley x reader #harley kunuk x reader #gn!reader #yandereverse #fluff #ellie writes #7k

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