Summary: You and Bucky had recently become married and moved into a house in the middle of nowhere for safety. However, the longer you spent in the house, the more often things became deranged and frightening in Bucky's absence.
Warnings: none rn except maybe some eerie feelings
tags are open! please reblog this series if you enjoy! this is not tiktok, this is not Instagram, likes do absolutely nothing to help increase viewership of this fic or any other fic on this hellsite.
Summary: You and Bucky had recently become married and moved into a house in the middle of nowhere for safety. However, the longer you spent in the house, the more often things became deranged and frightening in Bucky's absence.
Warnings: none rn except maybe some eerie feelings
WC: 1.4K
tags are open! please reblog this series if you enjoy! this is not tiktok, this is not Instagram, and likes do absolutely nothing to help increase viewership of this fic or any other fic on this hellsite.
Series Masterlist
-----
You stir awake as you hear footsteps coming from the hallway. You find this odd because your husband works overnight and never once comes home without leaving a text message, so you wouldn’t think anything of it. You recently moved into a new home with Bucky, your newlywed husband. You’d been dating since high school years ago.
A simple date of catching things up between friends over lunch one afternoon had led Bucky and yourself nearly falling for each other then and there. He’d ask you for a few more dates, and you agreed every time. You found yourself enjoying his company more and more. You knew you were falling quickly and never questioned your feelings. You knew he was the one for you, and soon enough, the pair of you had become engaged, and within months, you had your honeymoon. You’d recently moved back to New York into a new house that Tony had so graciously helped build in the middle of a remote location so neither pair of you would be bothered too often.
You frowned as you noticed the hallway light was left on, even though you clearly remembered turning it off on your way to bed that night. As you sat up, the footsteps grew louder and heavier. You glanced at your phone before picking it up and unlocking it, frowning in defeat when you had no missed texts from Bucky.
Just as quickly as the footsteps sounded in the hallway, they disappeared quicker. You threw the covers away from your body and ran to the door, pulling it open, expecting to see Bucky standing in front of it with a tired grin.
But the hallway was empty. You frowned and walked down the hallway to flick the light off again before returning to bed. You texted your husband, stating that you’d heard someone walking through the house and were scared. He sent back encouraging words, saying nobody could have gotten inside without the alarm, alerting himself and Tony of a break-in. Tony Stark and the gang had taken extra caution in installing every safety measure and device they had on hand into this house so SHIELD nor HYDRA could get their grubby hands into your privacy.
So what could have been walking through this house? Trees and a small lake in the far distance surrounded it. So what had happened?
You tried not to worry too much as sleep overcame your body once more. You fell into a deep sleep until you were roused awake in the early morning once more, as Bucky had texted you saying that he was coming up to the driveway.
You grinned widely as you threw the covers away from your body, hurriedly got dressed, and went to the bathroom across the hall to brush your teeth. You completely missed the dark figure standing in the shower as you dunked your head down to spit out the toothpaste from your mouth. However, the figure disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Rushing out of the room and nearly sliding on the wooden floors to the balcony, you grinned wide as Bucky walked through the door, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, a bouquet of roses being held by the other. He looked completely as you waltzed down the stairway and giddily slung your arms over his shoulders before kissing the tip of his nose.
However, he wasn’t paying attention to you, looking up at the stairwell with a strange expression across his face. He quickly moved out of your touch before stepping onto the first stair, tilting his head to see over the balcony before turning to look at you.
Your giddiness at his homecoming was short-lived as he asked you a straightforward question.
“Who do you have upstairs with you?”
“Excuse me?” you blinked, worry coming over you as he turned his attention back upstairs.
“Is there someone here with you? I wasn’t aware you had company over.” He asked, his face stunning again to the balcony above him.
“I thought I was seeing things last night,” you admitted, swallowing fear in your chest. “There was someone walking around last night; I thought you’d came home early and didn’t tell me.”
He stared at you for a long pause before sighing out and leaning down to pick up his luggage. “I’ll have Tony set up more security around here. For now, these are for you,.” he said as he handed you the bouquet with a smile, though you could see he was distracted.
Taking the flowers and inhaling the scent, you led him to the kitchen before setting the flowers into a makeshift vase fro ma tall glass of water and started to prepare breakfast for the pair of you as he started debriefing you on his findings of the latest mission.
As you set the bouquet of roses into the makeshift vase, you couldn’t shake the lingering unease from the previous night. You glanced over at Bucky, who was leaning against the counter, recounting details from his latest mission. His demeanor was relaxed, but you could tell something was off; his eyes kept darting towards the staircase.
You forced a smile and tried to focus on the breakfast preparations. As you worked, you could hear the occasional creak of the wooden floors above. The unease you felt last night seemed to be seeping into the present moment. Bucky’s presence was comforting, but the mystery of the intruder—or whatever it was—still gnawed at your mind.
As you finished making breakfast, you placed the plates on the dining table and turned to Bucky. “So, did you find anything interesting on your mission?”
He glanced up from his phone, where he had been checking messages. “Just the usual. Some intel on HYDRA movements and a few leads that could be useful. But I’m more concerned about what you saw.”
You nodded, setting a steaming plate of pancakes in front of him. “I’m worried too. I mean, if there’s something—or someone—else in this house, it’s not just a figment of my imagination, at least I'm praying that it isn’t. It wouldn’t be like Tony to hurt us like this..”
Bucky’s expression grew serious. “We’ll get it sorted. I’ll have Tony run a full sweep of the place. Maybe there’s something we missed with the security system.”
You both sat down and began eating, the pleasant aroma of breakfast momentarily pushing aside your worries. As you chatted about mundane things—the kind of topics that made life feel normal—you noticed Bucky’s gaze occasionally shifting towards the stairs.
“Bucky,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his hand. “Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted.”
He looked at you, his expression softening. “I’m fine, just a bit on edge. I know how much you mean to me, and I hate not being here to keep you safe. I want to make sure this house is secure, so nothing like this happens again.”
You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I know you do, and I appreciate it. I’m just glad you’re home. We can deal with this together.”
Bucky nodded, a small smile returning to his face. “Together,” he agreed. “And for now, let’s enjoy breakfast. I missed you and I missed this.”
As you finished your meal, Bucky helped clear the table, his earlier distraction seemingly eased by your presence. You could tell he was still concerned, but he tried to put on a brave face for you.
After breakfast, Bucky made a call to Tony Stark, updating him on the situation. Tony assured him that he’d send someone over to check the security system and ensure there were no breaches. Bucky hung up the phone, looking more at ease now that the issue was being addressed.
“We’ll figure this out,” Bucky said, pulling you into a tight hug. “In the meantime, let’s focus on the good things. We’re together, and that’s what matters most.”
You hugged him back, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “Exactly. We’ll handle this, and we’ll be okay.”
The day went on with a mixture of normalcy and vigilance. Bucky’s presence was a comfort, and though the mystery of the footsteps remained unresolved, you felt a renewed sense of security knowing that you were facing it with him by your side.
As the sun set over the remote New York landscape, you sat on the porch with Bucky, enjoying the tranquility of your surroundings. The house was still and peaceful, and for now, that was enough. With each passing moment, the sense of unease faded, replaced by the comfort of shared presence and the promise of safety.
Sending all the good vibes. There are few things worse than wanting to write or create and then staring at the wall because of the arch nemesis of brain fog. Also, there is little rush. I will read it whenever it comes about.
Summary: You and Bucky had recently become married and moved into a house in the middle of nowhere for safety. However, the longer you spent in the house, the more often things became deranged and frightening in Bucky's absence.
Warnings: none rn except maybe some eerie feelings
WC: 1.4K
tags are open! please reblog this series if you enjoy! this is not tiktok, this is not Instagram, and likes do absolutely nothing to help increase viewership of this fic or any other fic on this hellsite.
Series Masterlist
-----
You stir awake as you hear footsteps coming from the hallway. You find this odd because your husband works overnight and never once comes home without leaving a text message, so you wouldn’t think anything of it. You recently moved into a new home with Bucky, your newlywed husband. You’d been dating since high school years ago.
A simple date of catching things up between friends over lunch one afternoon had led Bucky and yourself nearly falling for each other then and there. He’d ask you for a few more dates, and you agreed every time. You found yourself enjoying his company more and more. You knew you were falling quickly and never questioned your feelings. You knew he was the one for you, and soon enough, the pair of you had become engaged, and within months, you had your honeymoon. You’d recently moved back to New York into a new house that Tony had so graciously helped build in the middle of a remote location so neither pair of you would be bothered too often.
You frowned as you noticed the hallway light was left on, even though you clearly remembered turning it off on your way to bed that night. As you sat up, the footsteps grew louder and heavier. You glanced at your phone before picking it up and unlocking it, frowning in defeat when you had no missed texts from Bucky.
Just as quickly as the footsteps sounded in the hallway, they disappeared quicker. You threw the covers away from your body and ran to the door, pulling it open, expecting to see Bucky standing in front of it with a tired grin.
But the hallway was empty. You frowned and walked down the hallway to flick the light off again before returning to bed. You texted your husband, stating that you’d heard someone walking through the house and were scared. He sent back encouraging words, saying nobody could have gotten inside without the alarm, alerting himself and Tony of a break-in. Tony Stark and the gang had taken extra caution in installing every safety measure and device they had on hand into this house so SHIELD nor HYDRA could get their grubby hands into your privacy.
So what could have been walking through this house? Trees and a small lake in the far distance surrounded it. So what had happened?
You tried not to worry too much as sleep overcame your body once more. You fell into a deep sleep until you were roused awake in the early morning once more, as Bucky had texted you saying that he was coming up to the driveway.
You grinned widely as you threw the covers away from your body, hurriedly got dressed, and went to the bathroom across the hall to brush your teeth. You completely missed the dark figure standing in the shower as you dunked your head down to spit out the toothpaste from your mouth. However, the figure disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Rushing out of the room and nearly sliding on the wooden floors to the balcony, you grinned wide as Bucky walked through the door, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, a bouquet of roses being held by the other. He looked completely as you waltzed down the stairway and giddily slung your arms over his shoulders before kissing the tip of his nose.
However, he wasn’t paying attention to you, looking up at the stairwell with a strange expression across his face. He quickly moved out of your touch before stepping onto the first stair, tilting his head to see over the balcony before turning to look at you.
Your giddiness at his homecoming was short-lived as he asked you a straightforward question.
“Who do you have upstairs with you?”
“Excuse me?” you blinked, worry coming over you as he turned his attention back upstairs.
“Is there someone here with you? I wasn’t aware you had company over.” He asked, his face stunning again to the balcony above him.
“I thought I was seeing things last night,” you admitted, swallowing fear in your chest. “There was someone walking around last night; I thought you’d came home early and didn’t tell me.”
He stared at you for a long pause before sighing out and leaning down to pick up his luggage. “I’ll have Tony set up more security around here. For now, these are for you,.” he said as he handed you the bouquet with a smile, though you could see he was distracted.
Taking the flowers and inhaling the scent, you led him to the kitchen before setting the flowers into a makeshift vase fro ma tall glass of water and started to prepare breakfast for the pair of you as he started debriefing you on his findings of the latest mission.
As you set the bouquet of roses into the makeshift vase, you couldn’t shake the lingering unease from the previous night. You glanced over at Bucky, who was leaning against the counter, recounting details from his latest mission. His demeanor was relaxed, but you could tell something was off; his eyes kept darting towards the staircase.
You forced a smile and tried to focus on the breakfast preparations. As you worked, you could hear the occasional creak of the wooden floors above. The unease you felt last night seemed to be seeping into the present moment. Bucky’s presence was comforting, but the mystery of the intruder—or whatever it was—still gnawed at your mind.
As you finished making breakfast, you placed the plates on the dining table and turned to Bucky. “So, did you find anything interesting on your mission?”
He glanced up from his phone, where he had been checking messages. “Just the usual. Some intel on HYDRA movements and a few leads that could be useful. But I’m more concerned about what you saw.”
You nodded, setting a steaming plate of pancakes in front of him. “I’m worried too. I mean, if there’s something—or someone—else in this house, it’s not just a figment of my imagination, at least I'm praying that it isn’t. It wouldn’t be like Tony to hurt us like this..”
Bucky’s expression grew serious. “We’ll get it sorted. I’ll have Tony run a full sweep of the place. Maybe there’s something we missed with the security system.”
You both sat down and began eating, the pleasant aroma of breakfast momentarily pushing aside your worries. As you chatted about mundane things—the kind of topics that made life feel normal—you noticed Bucky’s gaze occasionally shifting towards the stairs.
“Bucky,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his hand. “Are you okay? You seem a bit distracted.”
He looked at you, his expression softening. “I’m fine, just a bit on edge. I know how much you mean to me, and I hate not being here to keep you safe. I want to make sure this house is secure, so nothing like this happens again.”
You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I know you do, and I appreciate it. I’m just glad you’re home. We can deal with this together.”
Bucky nodded, a small smile returning to his face. “Together,” he agreed. “And for now, let’s enjoy breakfast. I missed you and I missed this.”
As you finished your meal, Bucky helped clear the table, his earlier distraction seemingly eased by your presence. You could tell he was still concerned, but he tried to put on a brave face for you.
After breakfast, Bucky made a call to Tony Stark, updating him on the situation. Tony assured him that he’d send someone over to check the security system and ensure there were no breaches. Bucky hung up the phone, looking more at ease now that the issue was being addressed.
“We’ll figure this out,” Bucky said, pulling you into a tight hug. “In the meantime, let’s focus on the good things. We’re together, and that’s what matters most.”
You hugged him back, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “Exactly. We’ll handle this, and we’ll be okay.”
The day went on with a mixture of normalcy and vigilance. Bucky’s presence was a comfort, and though the mystery of the footsteps remained unresolved, you felt a renewed sense of security knowing that you were facing it with him by your side.
As the sun set over the remote New York landscape, you sat on the porch with Bucky, enjoying the tranquility of your surroundings. The house was still and peaceful, and for now, that was enough. With each passing moment, the sense of unease faded, replaced by the comfort of shared presence and the promise of safety.
IK Bucky’s accountants HATE to see his accounts after he thinks Bee deserves a shopping spree every week
The accountants hate her shopping sprees but the stores love her.
And she has fun going shopping with her Papa—some days it's for toys and books for her and Mr. Tato, other times it's jewelry and art supplies for her mama.
The stylish toddler gets better service than any other shopper because the associates know she's going to spend the stack of monies in her tiny rose pink Birkin. And when she's burned through her monies, all she has to do is smile at her Papa and he's putting his black card in her little palm.
Some of her favorite memories involve him carrying her through the store, indulgently smiling down at her as she points at items she needs. Her bright pink dress and ballet shoes clashing with his black on black suit.
His face stern and cold until he gazes at her, then those ice blue eyes melt as he agrees that yes you do need two more dinosaurs to go with the five already in your cart. No we don't want them to be lonely, lets get all their friends.
Of course you can have a new bracelet, get one for each wrist and let's get a couple for your mama while we're here.
You know this means you two are going to need new purses so this can be a matching set.
Everyone at her favorite stores adore her, not only because she spends staggering amounts of money but because she's so sweet and happy.
They would understand if she was a brat or snobby, it can be par for the course when dealing with this demographic of wealth. But she's always polite and kind to them so they go above and beyond for her.
I just read your drabble about mafia!bucky giving flowers to his girls😭 Bee definitely has a skewed perception of how long flowers last because Bucky keeps replacing the old ones before she sees a single wilting petal😭
It's going to be years before she figures out that a bouquet doesn't last for months on end. Years. It's going to be the Santa debacle all over again.
Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee.
Bee is out at a restaurant with her friends and she makes a casual remark about the flowers on the table. A few petals are beginning to brown and curl. It’s fascinating because she's never seen that happen before.
"How long do you think flowers are supposed to live?"
Bee picks up on teasing, incredulous tone and she narrows her eyes. "Three months," she says slowly.
Silence.
"Girl—"
Bee holds up her hand. "The ones my Papa gets me and mama last that long. Maybe y'all are getting them from the wrong places." She can admit she's being defensive because she has an inkling that she may be wrong.
More silence. Her friends look at each other and then her. Yeah. Just an inkling.
She sighs. Pulls out her phone. One quick Google search later and she's slumping in her chair, hand over her face as she laughs. "Oh come on. How was I supposed to know that? Wait give me a second, I need to ask my mama about this."
She calls you, putting you on speaker, all the girls greet you when you answer. "Mama how long are flowers supposed to last?"
Silence. Then a drawn out well.
"Mama." Her cadences playfully mirrors yours.
"Alright so technically a few weeks max but don't tell your papa that you know because he has a whole system in place to replace them before they start to die. And he still hasn't recovered from the Santa thing. Let him have this."
Bee laughs again, her heart warming as shs thinks about the effort and time her papa spends on the little things to keep the two of you happy. She feels lucky to have both of you and she's not going to take that for granted. "I know, I remember. Don't worry I'm not going to say anything."
After you hang up, Sienna grins, propping her chin on her hand. "I'm so jealous. My dad would forget my birthday if his assistant didn't remind him. I would love three month flowers. Can he adopt me? You want another sister?"
"Nope, I'm not sharing him but I'll pay for lunch." Bee smiles, her gaze dropping to her screen and she sends off an I love you text to her Papa.
He responds immediately. Like he always does. And it makes her day that much better.
Bee and Malyshka are going to keep that as their little secret for many years. Bucky will have a nervous breakdown about his little girl growing up if he ever finds out that she knows
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (maybe he's a Mafia/Mob boss, maybe CEO- either way he's too delicious to ignore)
Word Count: 2,248
Summary: You're out to celebrate with friends when something unexpected happens.
Author's Note: We all know I love Mob/CEO Bucky and skirting that mystery line so you can use your imagination here! Honestly, if he approached me like this I'd just be putty in his hands haha 😏thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: flirting, Bucky is pretty forward, fun, drinking and mentions of alcohol but everyone is coherent and able to make clear choices, fingering, semi-public sex, curses
“I’m not sure…?”
You look between your two friends, Sadie, and Nia, and blink several times. “Too much?”
They look at each other then back at you.
“Definitely not!” Sadie squeals.
“And besides,” Nia adds, “the limo’s here. Too late to change!”
The space is dark, loud, and filled with moving bodies. You shove your way up to the bar and shout, “excuse me!” hoping to get the bartender’s attention.
With the music so turned up and so many other people slamming the bar, the bartender doesn’t even look in your direction.
“Heyyyy!” you shout with a slap on the bar.
“I’m not sure he heard you.”
At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you look up at the man pressed close to you at the crowded bar.
He’s tall. And sexy. And gorgeous. And wearing a smirk that screams trouble…in the best way.
“Yelling won’t work doll,” the man says, motioning to the bartender. “It’s just too damn loud.”
You purse your lips as you try to think of a witty comeback but before you can he continues.
“But lucky for you, he’s my friend so I’ll help you order another round of those shots you seem to love.”
“How do you know what I love to drink?” you start, batting your lashes. “Maybe it’s a Whiskey neat.”
You lift your chin and smile sweetly, waiting for his reply.
“You’ve been ordering the same blue shots all night beautiful.”
Your mouth falls open to respond but nothing comes out.
Has he been watching you all night? Creepy or…amazing?
Instead, you stare and take in his features. Perfection.
The bartender comes over and looks at the man beside you expectantly.
“Three fingers of Whiskey, Steve and whatever the beautiful woman is having. She’s been waiting a bit.”
He turns to you, wearing a lopsided smile. “Will you be having Whiskey too?”
“I think I just might,” you tell your new friend.
“And how many fingers would you like doll?”
He watches you with an innocent expression as he spreads his long fingers out on the bar.
“Did you just…?” you stammer.
“Maybe just start with two,” he says.
A playful smile teases his lips, and you can’t help but stare at them.
“Fine, two fingers,” you say the bartender, “of whiskey…,” and then you give the man beside you a demure smile, “and more shots please.”
“First time here?” the man asks, his gaze sweeping over you.
“How did you know?”
“I’d remember seeing you angel.”
Even with his flirty forwardness you can’t seem to find anything that makes you uncomfortable. His eyes are friendly, and he’s standing close but not too close, just enough so you know he wants to be there to talk to you and only you.
You glance back to search for your friends but can’t find them anywhere.
“What are you celebrating tonight?” he asks when your eyes find his again.
“What makes you think I’m here celebrating anything?”
You raise an eyebrow and hold his stare.
“Do you ever just answer a question?” he counters.
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth to stop your smile and fire back with, “do you ever stop asking questions?”
He laughs, the action lighting up his face and making his eyes crinkle flawlessly at the corners. It makes your stomach flutter.
You hold each other’s gaze for a beat before he continues.
“All the dancing and drinks…seems like a good time…a celebration.”
“Well, you’re right. My friend just got an amazing promotion at work.”
He smiles triumphantly and you smile back.
“So, there’s no chance you’ll be leaving here with me tonight.”
The bartender sets your drinks down in front of you just as your new eye candy finishes the sentence and you grab for your glass, downing as much as you can before you start to choke.
With a laugh the man takes a long and slow sip of his Whiskey, watching you. You put your half empty glass down on the bar with a dramatic bang and exhale.
“I…what? No!”
“That’s too bad,” he replies.
“You just met me,” you argue.
“And since the moment you walked in you’ve had my full attention,” he admits.
The shots seem to hit you all at once and you sway on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle but strong hand on your arm.
“Easy doll.”
“Ok…stop being so charming. The smiling and the touching… I like it way too much. It makes me want things…and we’ve only just met.”
“What kinds of things?” he asks, voice smooth like silk and deep.
You swallow hard and he tracks the movement of your throat before his eyes linger on your lips.
You gather up the shots for the girls. “We’re going to do these.”
He nods, slowly, his smile growing.
“So…um. I’ll see you later…?”
You wait, hoping he’ll give you his name.
“James, but you can call me Bucky.”
“Ok then, see you later Bucky.”
“I sure hope so angel.”
You find your friends at a table, catching their breath, and set down the shots.
“I met the hottest guy.”
Both friends pause with the drinks halfway to their mouths.
“What the hell are you doing here then?” Sadie asks.
“Girl’s night, we’re celebrating,” you say. “Duh.”
“Fuck that, go dance with the hot guy!” Nia shouts.
You lift your glass to your lips and shake your head. “No way, I’m here to dance with you all! Let’s go!”
You polish off the shot, wait for them to do the same then hold out your hands to pull them onto the dance floor.
The beat of the music surrounds you and you let go, forgetting routine and responsibility and just enjoying the moment.
Sadie yells something to you about the song that just started but you don’t quite catch it. Just behind her, set in the shadows off the side of the bar stands Bucky.
Your eyes meet and neither of you look away.
He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to be caught staring at you. Every inch of your skin heats and when he lifts his glass, takes a sip, and smiles, you smile back…and start to move…just for him.
The hem of your dress inches higher as you lift your arms above your head, swaying your body to the rhythm of the music and getting lost in it. Your friends move closer and lean in.
“You’ve attracted an audience,” Sadie chuckles.
She whips her head to the side to point out the group of guys moving closer. You ignore the group and search the shadows for Bucky but he’s nowhere to be seen.
With unexpected disappointment you grab Sadie and tell her you need to use the ladies room, weaving your way though the crowd and off the dance floor. You follow the signs to the second floor, which is essentially a balcony overlooking the rest of the space.
After freshening up you walk out of the door and right into something hard. Bucky grips your biceps lightly, holding you close.
“You ok?” he asks.
You were standing close to him at the bar, but not this close, not close enough to smell his skin and feel the rise and fall of his chest. It makes you heady, but you manage a nod.
“Hi angel,” he smiles.
“Hi.”
“I was enjoying watching you dance.”
“I noticed.”
You hold his gaze, unable to look away. Down at the bar it was hard to tell the color of his eyes, but here, hidden away, even in the low light you can see they’re beautiful. The blue is like the ocean on a sparkling sunny day. Mesmerizing.
“Do you know what watching you does to me?”
You blink, trying your hardest to keep up with his directness.
He reaches down to take your hand, his grip loose and his movements tentative, waiting for you to tell him to stop.
When you don’t he presses it firmly to where he’s hard and aching.
“All this?” you ask in a breathy whisper. “Just from watching me?”
“Come home with me.”
You let out a little giggle.
“No. I can’t.”
“Come to my car then.”
“I’m not leaving this club with you.”
Even as you hear yourself say the words you know they aren’t holding the force you want them to.
He bends and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“But I’m dying to touch you.”
It’s impossible to pretend you don’t want the same thing and you place your palms on his chest and push him backward into the darkness.
“Is that a yes?” he asks as he runs a long finger over the curve of your shoulder.
“You aren’t some psycho are you?”
With a chuckle he moves closer, brushing his lips along your cheek. “You make me feel a bit crazy doll, but no, I’m not.”
You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head, whispering against his lips, “something tells me I can trust you.”
He moves willingly, and meets you with a smile, pressing his lips to yours.
“You taste as good as you look angel. What’s your name?”
“My name?” you whisper, so caught up in the feel of him you almost forgot.
“You know my name, so you’ll know what to call me when you’re about to come. It’s only fair I do the same.”
You let out a little gasp and hold onto his shoulders more tightly.
“I…,”
You feel his smile against your mouth before he turns you and presses your front to the edge of the balcony overlooking everything below.
He takes your chin between his fingers to turn your head and steal another kiss, lingering until you whisper your name against his lips.
With a satisfied smile his fingers tease the edge of your dress and then he lifts it, sliding his hands down between your legs to rub along your panties.
“You’re so wet. And all for me angel.”
You moan loudly when he slides a long finger inside you and presses a kiss to the back of your neck.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs into your ear as he presses the pad of his thumb to your clit.
You turn and look at him. His eyes are wide open and clear. He teases you more, watching your every reaction then turns you to face him and drags you against the wall, bending to kiss you, hard and hungry.
“Someone could come down here,” he reminds you, meeting your eyes, giving you one last out.
You don’t care. He’s too perfect. He feels too good.
When you don’t protest he kneels at your feet and carefully pushes up your dress, hooking his thumbs into your panties to slowly drag them down.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, standing and lifting your leg to spread you open.
Reaching between your bodies, you open his jeans and push them down along with his boxers. You grab for him, rubbing him through your arousal.
“Fuck doll, wait. I need to put this on.”
He reaches behind him and fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans, pulling a condom free.
“You’re big,” you whisper, loving the feel of his warm, silky skin.
His grin is wolfish. “That’s the best thing you could say to me.”
You run your closed hand along the length of him again, letting the tip just bump your clit.
“Fuck, keep that up and I’ll be coming all over your hand.”
His fingers are unsteady as he works to slip the condom on.
“Have you done this before?” you ask, unable to keep your eyes off his cock.
“Have sex with a beautiful woman in a public space?”
He starts to push into you, achingly slowly. “No angel, I’ve never done this before…but with you, I’ll take what I can get.”
His words die away when he’s fully inside you, rubbing against your clit with each stroke and filling you so completely. You grip his shoulders as his thrusts grow faster.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
He leans back and looks down between your bodies, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before he starts to move faster.
When he leans down to kiss you he slows his movements, pulling out almost all the way before sinking back in. The slow pace doesn’t last long, and he hitches your leg higher to go deeper.
You feel your release building in your stomach and it’s only a few seconds more before a cry falls from your parted lips.
“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his hips moving jaggedly and rough before he comes with a deep groan.
He leans heavily against you, pressing his lips to your neck. “You’ve wrecked me angel.”
His hand is gentle when it smooths along your leg, and he pulls out. You straighten your dress as he rolls off the condom.
“That was perfect Bucky,” you hum, meeting him for a kiss.
He nods, dazed. “You’re ok?”
“Better than ok,” you answer. “And I think I’m ready for another dance.”
His lips twitch with a surprised grin and you turn away before he can respond, leaving him standing with his pants still unbuttoned.
A few minutes later you find Sadie and Nia, both ready to head home. And it isn’t until you’re sitting in the quiet of the limo, reliving every second of what happened with Bucky, that you realize you’d left your panties on the floor at his feet.
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.
Characters: Captain Syverson
Note: back again.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting 'part 2?' is not feedback.
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
You sit at the dining table with your laptop, hiding behind the screen as you try to figure out what to do. How do you get this man to leave? Better, how do you do that without making him angry?
You stare at the unfinished project in front of you. You're not going to get paid for blurry pixels. Work is the least of your worries.
You peek over the top of the laptop and blanch as the subtle movement catches his eye. He grins and sits up, “need something, sweetie?”
“Uh, nope,” you put your eyes down and the screen goes fuzzy.
“Hm,” he hums into a grunt and heaves himself up, “you haven’t made any videos yet. What about your shopping trip huh? You gonna edit some of that.”
“Erm, maybe later, I have work stuff–”
“You know,” he nears and stands across the round table, looming menacingly with his hands on his hips, “you could probably quit all that if you committed to your streams. Lotsa people wanna watch a sweet girl like you.”
“That’s nice but I don’t even have ten followers,” you chuckle.
“Mm, maybe, but… I could help you,” he offers.
“Really, it’s fine,” your voice trembles, “it’s… it’s just a way to get my thoughts out, that's all.”
He clucks and clears his throat, looking around, “well, I guess I’ll go get my stuff.”
“Um, sure,” you look at him again then peek at the keys hung by the door.
He whistles, “Aika, come, you probably needa go.”
The dog rises from beside the couch and follows him to the door. You get up, heart flipping. You need to just lock the door. As long as he doesn’t–
He grabs the keys and shoves them deep in his pocket. He hooks the leash onto Aika’s collar as she stands obediently before him. He grins over at you, “don’t worry, sweetie, won’t be long at all.”
He turns and unlocks the door, swinging it inward as he lets the German shepherd lead the way. You deflate and fall back onto the chair. Holy shoot! What are you going to do? Nothing you can think of makes sense. He doesn’t make sense. It’s as if he really believes you know each other. That this is his home.
You bend over your lap and hold your head, rocking as you let out a drone. The panic is so bad you can’t hold it in. The noise escaping you is inhuman. You know you’re too weak, too afraid to do anything. So what? You’ll just let him take over your home?
You quiet and stay as you are, hunched over your legs. Are you going to let him do whatever he wants? To you?
Your blood runs cold and you sit up slowly. You’re dizzy as the silence rings in your ears. You stare across the room, only able to see a glimpse of the door frame.
You don’t know what you’re going to do.
You’re paralysed. You hardly believe it yourself, you don’t think anyone else will either. The thought of explaining it is embarrassing on its own.
You’re being stupid. You need to tell someone. Anyone.
You hear him before he enters. He opens the door, pausing as he lets Aika off the leash. She sniffs around as the door shuts heavily.
Sy appears, a large bag of kibble balanced on one shoulder as he carries a military duffle in his other hand. He drops the latter and brings the former into the kitchen. You stand, hollow as you make yourself move. You go to the doorway to the kitchen and watch him search your cupboards.
“Ladybird needs a bowl,” he says, “she’s hungry.”
“Oh,” you utter dumbly and blink. You’re stuck where you are.
His cheek dimples and he returns his attention to his search. He takes out the pink plastic bowl you use for salad and he uses a measuring cup to scoop out the kibble. You just watch as he puts it on the floor for Aika as she sits patiently.
He stands and she does too, eagerly scarfing down the food, flicking slobber all over your salad bowl. Sy faces you and you flinch as he comes near, reaching for you. You back away.
“Sweetie?” He says, “what’re you doing?”
“I… I…” you rub your arm, “how long are you planning on… staying?”
He scoffs, “what? Ah, come on, sweetie, you’re funny. “
“I’m… I’m serious,” you quaver, “I didn’t… we just met.”
His face falls and so does your heart. His expression turns dire and he crosses his arms. Aika seems to notice his shift and quits her loud chomping. She raises her nose, letting out a low growl. You gulp. He has that same glint in his eye as in the truck when he nearly rear-ended that other driver.
“Sweetie, I told you, I've been watching you all this time. You know, I was your first follower,” he takes a step closer and you take one back. “I know you.”
“Right, uh,” you push your hands together and bend your fingers back, “I understand, it’s just…” you can hardly breathe, “I guess I misunderstood. Of course you can stay, but… you know, I only bought enough groceries for me and… and it’s a small place.”
He considers you. He runs his hand over his beard and exhales loudly. He drops his other arm and tilts his head side to side, cracking the bones, “so we can get nice and snuggly, sweetheart.”
He nears you again, quickly, before you can elude him. He catches you around the back of the head and urges you close. He leans in and kisses your hairline. You freeze and let him. He purrs before he draws away.
“Right, I’ll get cleaned up,” he lets you go, “you can finish your work or… get cozy.”
You nod and stare past him. Aika once more chews loudly as your eyes settle on her straight back. You’re trapped. Your home is now a prison.
You stay like that until you hear the pipes whine and the shower buzzes to life. You glance over, the bathroom door slightly ajar. Mortified, you retreat to the table and sit behind the computer. You know the excuse won’t hold up much longer but you can at least pretend to be busy.
Aika’s claws tap on the tile as you hear her lay near the door. You can’t even run. His loyal guard dog isn’t just keeping people out, she’s keeping you in.
You put your hands on the laptop as you hear the faucet crank off. The scented steam seeps out and dampens the air with the scent of your strawberries and cream soap. You shudder and minimize and maximize the window.
You listen to him. He opens and closes the cabinet several times as he lingers in the bathroom. The door opens and your ears tinge as you focus on the laptop. He steps out as you swirl your fingers on the touch pad.
“I feel better,” he sighs, “how about you, sweetie? Maybe you should have a nice long bath?”
“I’m good,” you utter dully.
“Hope you don’t mind, I used your hairbrush,” he crosses the room.
“No, it’s f–” your eyes flick up on instinct. You swallow as your eyes round. He has only a towel around his waist, the rest of him brazenly bare. “Fine.”
You rip your gaze away and accidentally exit out of the editing software. You try to wipe the image of him from your mind. His thick muscles, the dark hair across his chest and stomach, and over his thick thighs. There’s little left to the imagination or doubt. The sight of him confirms his unbeatable strength.
“What’s wrong?” He asks.
“N-nothing,” you insist.
“You’re being all shy. What’s going on, huh?” You shake your head as he comes around the table. He presses the laptop shut until you retract your hands. You sit back and look at your hands. “You’ve been working long enough. Come on, sweetie.”
“I… I have a project to finish–”
“And that’s more important? How long have I waited to be with you? Over there in the sh– in the chaos?” He says, offering his large hand, “I got you something. I wanna show it to you.”
“I…” you rasp and peer up at his face, too afraid to look anywhere else. “Okay.”
You give in. Your surrender. He’s a soldier and he’s won the battle. You take his hand and stand up.
He takes you into the front room and leads you to the couch. He stops you in front of it and gestures you to wait. You do and he disappears around the other side of you.
He returns with his duffle bag and puts it in the chair. He keeps his back to you as he unzips it. You peek up and your eyes cling to the scars along his burly back. Just beneath his shoulder and another along his side. Through the fear, you feel a pang of sympathy for him. He must have been through a lot.
“I bought you something,” he says, “when I was driving up.”
He turns and shows you a dainty piece of fabric hanging from his index fingers. You gape at the pale pink bodysuit; flowers in a darker shade trim the corset and the tops of the cups are subtly scalloped. You love the colours but you would never dare to wear anything like that.
“Uh, wow,” is all you can get out.
“Just you know for a special occasion,” he smiles, “it’ll look real nice on you. It’s your colour.” He steps closer as he holds it out to you, “I showed the lady your picture and she said it would be nice on your skin tone.”
You feel like you’re going to faint. Is he really giving you a piece of lingerie? You take it and examine the thin material.
“Obviously, not tonight since we’re settling in and all that,” he chuckles, “but you know… if you wanted to…”
“I’m… I’m going to put this away,” you croak.
You move past him, slowly as if wading through water. You go to the bedroom and cross to the dresser. You stand before it as you stare at the fabric. Your chest aches as you hold a breath inside.
“Ah, still pretty tidy in here,” Sy comments from behind you.
You pull open the top drawer and hide the bodysuit. A shiver rolls through you as you shut it and turn to the intruder. You watch helplessly as he invades every inch of your life.
“You did such a good job, sweetie,” he praises as he nears the bed and plops his bag on it, “watching you clean… it’s admirable how determined you are.”
He reaches in his bag and takes out a stack of folded clothing. You blink as he strides over to the dresser and pulls open a drawer. You sway as you resist the urge to ask what the heck he’s doing. He makes room beside your clothes and shoves his inside.
As he stands, he adjusts the towel hanging lower on his waist than before. You turn away. As much as you don’t like him touching all your things, his nakedness is even more off putting. Most disturbing is his lack of self-awareness. Frankly, it’s frightening.
He unpacks, bit by bit, and rolls open the closet to put his empty bag inside. He goes back to the dresser to shut the top drawer he left open but his hand curls around the top. He dips inside and lifts out a pair of your panties; the ones speckled with printed on bows.
“I like these,” he says, “they’re cute, like you.”
“Thanks, I…” you murmur. “I…” Your mouth is dry and chalky, “I need some water.”
“Aw, sweetie, you look faint,” he drops the panties and approaches you. “Why don’t you sit down?”
He urges you onto the edge of the bed, his hands on your shoulders. He looks down on you as you tilt your head to peer back at him. He looks so big. He keeps his hands on you, gripping tighter, and for a moment, you’re not sure what he’s going to do and you think he is even less certain.
He pulls his hands away and shakes them out, “I’ll get you some water,” he says, “you had a long day, huh?”
“Mhm,” you hum and lower your chin, your hands shaking in your lap.
You did this. You welcomed this man in. More than letting him drive you home or cross the threshold of your apartment, you put yourself online, exposed yourself to the public. You heard the horror stories before, the true ones, but you just never thought it would happen to you.
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.
Characters: Captain Syverson
Note: slept like crap last night but we got this.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
Sy is nice enough but you're still put off by your meeting. He carries a bag gallantly to a large black truck and pulls open the back door to place it on the seat. He turns to you to take the next. You hug it, wondering if you should settle for half your load and run for the hills.
Still, you can't help but feel beholden to him. The pin on his hat and the way he looks at you. He just seems a bit oblivious to how unsettling his approach Is.
He takes the bag and you just stare. You feel hollow and your ears are on fire. You just keep going along with this and that voice in your head is screaming at you to stop.
“Here,” he shuts the back door and pulls the passenger's open.
You look at him then into the truck. Are you crazy!? You can't just go with this man in his vehicle…
You grab onto the interior of the door and climb up into the truck. He touches your lower back gently as if to help you. You drop into the seat and thank him, trying not to let your fear bubble over.
He shuts the door and your stomach plummets. Are you being kidnapped? Are you letting yourself be abducted? Oh, you're gonna end up on a podcast.
He gets in the driver's side as you sink into the horror movie unfolding in your head. You look over at him as he unfolds a pair of dark sunglasses and puts them on to block out the sun's glare. He's so calm it's frightening. He knows exactly what's coming and you can't even begin to imagine the sheer terror awaiting you.
Maybe a nice basement cell. Worse, a field and a hole six feet deep. Your heart feels like it's stopped. Your vision is hazy and your ears are ringing.
The truck rolls backwards and lurches you back to reality. You blink and look over the hood. Sy pulls out of the spot smoothly and cranks the wheel to straighten out.
“Y'okay, sweetie?” He asks as he comes to the exit.
“Mmm, yeah,” you eke out as you grip the inside of the door. “I'm all good I just… I never expected to meet a follower.”
“Yeah, I uh… you know, I only ever dreamed it. Being over there, the days… well you don't know if you'll see the next, or even the night,” he lets out a deep breath, “I didn't put real thought into it til I got back and… it's so fu– so, er, lonely, you know? You're the only thing that was the same.”
“Oh,” your cheeks twitch as you attempt a smile, “that's very sweet. I… you know, I kinda just do the streams to get my thoughts out, it's not really… I don't know.”
“I like it. It's peaceful,” he drives down the street as the passing buildings spike your concern. “Don't get much of that.”
“Sure, I… I can imagine.”
“Hey, if it means keeping sweet things like you safe, I'll do it,” he chuckles.
Before you can respond, he slams on the breaks and his tires skid. A car in front of him flashes their tail light. He snarls and you watch the fury furrow above his brows.
“You fu–” his booming voice catches and he bites down on his words, growling instead. “Ugh,” he exhales, “that guy… coulda got hurt…”
“Yeah,” you clasp your hands together.
"Or he coulda hurt us!" He throws a hand up.
“That was close," you mewl, "but we're okay, right?”
He inhales and looks at you. He closes his eyes and nods, “you're right, sweetie.”
You bite down, fighting not to show your fear. There's something in him that threatens to boil over. You can see it in the vein popping out along his forehead.
“So, I know a place, they got good bacon, probably some good french toast,” he leans on the pedal again, “get some whip cream on top?”
“Well, I appreciate it but I really should get home,” you say gently, “but maybe another time–”
“It's my treat, sweetie,” he insists, “it's been a long time since I got to sit down to eat with a pretty girl.”
“Oh,” is all you can muster. You don't want to push him. You know the tenuous tightrope walk. Just do what he wants, keep him happy.
“I didn't say… you look real nice today. That's my favourite of yours,” he keeps one hand on the wheel and points towards you, “the overalls.”
“Thank you,” you murmur and twist your fingers, letting out a rocky chuckle.
“So cute when you do that,” he rumbles and rests his hand on the corner of your seat, “that lil laugh.”
“Um, yeah, sorry, I… it's a habit.”
“Nah, I like it,” he assures you and rescinds his hand to flip his signal on.
He turns into another plaza and you see the bright painted sign above a diner. A white cup on a teal banner. You've never been there but you pass it on the bus. He pulls up right at the front of the lot before the windows. You can see people inside as waitress carry trays between tables.
“I don't know about you but I'm starving,” he drawls and undoes his seat belt.
You sit in the seat, paralysed and helpless. He comes around your side and you click the button on your own belt. You turn and he offers his hand to help you get down. When you ignore it, he grabs your arm to ease your landing.
He swings the door shut and you shuffle past him. You have no choice but to keep going. Get through this and you'll go home and block him. Maybe even delete your whole account.
He reaches around you as you come up to the door and pulls it open. Be sweeps you inside with his arm and follows you through. A waitress in a black blouse greets you and you look to Sy over your shoulder.
“Table, thank you,” he says.
She leads you to a table for two and you sit, arms crossed as you rock nervously. He orders coffee as he slides off his sunglasses and the waitress turns to you. You push yourself straight.
“Um, chocolate milk, please,” you request.
“Right away, hon,” she leaves you with the menus as you unfold your arms and pick at your thumbnail.
“So cute, chocolate milk,” he comments as he takes the laminated menu from the table, “oh, look,” he flicks it, “French toast. Can get berries with it.”
You look down and lean forward to see past the sheen of the plastic sheath. You narrow in on the French toast but your stomach rolls. You're too nervous to be hungry.
“Yeah, looks good,” you say, “um, I gotta use the bathroom.”
“Sure,” he smiles as he browses the menu.
You get up, wobbling slightly before you get your balance. You search for the sign to the restrooms and head down the short hall behind the kitchen. You dip inside and lock yourself in a stall.
You really can't afford to abandon your groceries. Worse, you don't dare anger him. He's nice but you don't know how nice he'd be if you ran out on him. Just get yourself together, it's just breakfast. You'll get through it then try to forget your stupidity.
You should've known better but you didn't have enough followers to worry it never even occurred to you but it should be. It's your own fault.
You take a few minutes to mellow out. You don't quite get there but the longer you stay, the longer he has to get suspicious. No, you're not going to run. You don't think you'll get very far.
You come back out and return to the table. As you sit, he sips his coffee and his eyes crinkle at you. Your chocolate milk is waiting beside a wrapped straw. As you tear through the paper, you sense him watching you.
He clinks his cup down, "ordered your french toast. Extra sugar... since you're so sweet."
You issue a brittle chuckle. You stare at him. He's taken his cap off, revealing a shaved head above his thick beard. His shoulders are broad, all of him is. He's so thick and his arms are bulging with muscle beneath his tee shirt. His eyes are a brilliant shade of blue, a contrast to the rest of his rough exterior.
"You don't gotta be shy," his voice gristle in his throat as he leans forward, elbows on the table. "What do ya wanna know?"
"Pardon?" You croak.
"Well, I know everything about you," he grins, "you barely know me."
You gulp, wavering like you've been knocked upside the head. You part your lips and peer around. His self-awareness if almost there but not quite.
"I..." you don't know what to say or ask or do. He toys with the handle of his coffee cup. "What do you take.... in your, uh, coffee?"
He chuckles, "really? Why's that? You planning to bring me coffee in the mornings?"
You meet his eyes again and he winks. You giggle and move your lips like a gasping fish.
"Teasing, ya, sweetie, I don't wanna rush you," he says, "I take it black, but I don't mind some cream on Sundays."
You nod, embarrassed, and poke your straw into your cup, leaning forward to slurp up the chocolate milk. His eyes linger on your lips as you do. You pull back and take a napkin to wipe your mouth.
"Erm... well, what... how did you... find my page?"
He sits back, gripping the edges of the table as he sighs, "I was just scrolling around but I'm starting to think it's something bigger than us, you know? I was goin' through it. I needed something and there you were, showin' off those new boots you got with the flower."
Flowers? You got those boots over a year ago. You remember that stream. He's been watching you that long.
"Oh, ha, right," you murmur.
"There aren't many people out there like you left, you know? I've seen the worst in people but in you, I saw the best," he explains, "the way you just take everything in. Looking at the flowers and the birds and... you just know how to appreciate life."
You smile and nod. What else can you do as the world crashes down? He was there yesterday. That blurry figure behind you in the photo, the shadow creeping just beyond your sight. You don't doubt it was him.
“I try, er…”
You sit back as the waitress approaches. She puts a plate before you, French toast with a side of fruit salad, sugar and whip on top of the bread. She lays down Sy's plate, mounded in eggs, home fries, sausage, and two types of bacon, with rye toast. You would guess that is just barely enough to fill him up.
“Dig in,” he says as he grabs his cutlery.
You sit forward and take your fork and knife. You cut into the eggy bread and stab the small triangle of the corner. As you raise your fork, Sy growls, “get some cream too, sweetie.”
You flinch but do as he says. You swipe the bread through the dolloped cream and shove it through your lips. You stare at your plate as you chew. You wish he wouldn't watch you. You don't like eating in front of others.
“Is it good?” He asks.
“Very,” you swallow and cover your mouth.
“Don't worry, I think it's cute you got cream on your lips,” he plucks up a piece of bacon with his fingers, “didn't get good fixings like this in the sh– over there,” he bites into the strip and chews.
“Yeah, I wouldn't think…” you twirl your fork nervously, “do you have to go back?”
“Mmm, not anytime soon. They're tryna get me on a desk,” he shrugs, “might be a good change but I don't know if I'm suited to it…” he tosses back the rest of the bacon, chewing thoughtfully, “but I'm about that age. Gotta settle down, so I figure, makes sense.”
“Right, right, yeah, fair,” you garble mindlessly.
“Besides, when you got someone at home, you don't wanna run back into the bull– into war,” he smirks.
You take another bite, even as your stomach churns. You don't like how he's talking, as if you're together. As if he knows you. It's strange.
He scoops up a forkful of home fries and shovels them back. You can't fault his table manners, he was probably eating out of cans for the last few years. Not that you would say anything. You're much too scared for that.
You fall into a trance, focusing on the simple task of cutting into the toast, chewing but not tasting as your heart tamps behind your ears. You sense a shift and look up, your cheeks full of food as you make eye contact with Sy’s phone camera. You swallow painfully and nearly choke.
“What are you doing?” You squeak.
“For your Instagram,” he smiles, “I’ll send you the pics…” he frames his phone with both hands as he admires the screen, “you look so cute.”
You shudder and grip the knife and fork tight. You look back to the stack. You think you’ll ask for it to go. If you eat any more, you’re definitely going to be sick.
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.
Characters: Captain Syverson
Note: I couldn't help myself.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖
"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."
You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.
You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."
You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad. You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.
"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."
You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.
"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.
You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.
"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."
You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.
You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.
“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…”
You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.
You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…
“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.
You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.
A message?
You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.
‘Looked delicious too.’
“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”
‘Don't mean the toast.’
The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.
“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”
You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.
“How about some tunes?”
You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.
‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?
“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”
You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.
You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.
You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.
“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”
You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.
🧸
You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.
The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.
The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.
You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.
You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.
As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.
You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.
🧸
You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.
You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.
You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.
You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.
A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.
'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.
You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.
'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.
You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.
🧸
You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.
The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.
"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.
As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.
You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.
You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.
"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."
All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.
You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.
As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.
"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.
You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.
"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."
You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?
"You like sweet stuff."
"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.
He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.
You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.
"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.
"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."
You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.
"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.
"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.
"I could drive you. I have a truck."
"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.
"Why not?"
"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"
"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."
"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"
"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."
"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."
"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'.
“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."
"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."
"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.
"That's nice but--"
"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."
You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.
"BourbonBear?" You ask.
"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”
Warnings: age gap, Auggy being a mean mean man, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.
Ft. August Walker
I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!
Enjoy, my loverlies.
You focus on not moving. It’s hard to keep from squirming as turbulence shakes the plane and the seatbelt light flicks on. You buckle up and the plane shakes. You slap your hand down on the armrest, clutching a sleeve instead. You squeak and fold your arms over your middle as the man next to you growls.
Despite yourself, you can’t stay out of his way.
As the rattling winds continue to batter the airplane, you bring your fingertips to your mouth and chew nervously. You close your eyes and focus on keeping your breaths even. You jostle in the seat and bounce off the man’s arm. His low rumble is scarier than the unwieldy weather.
The light blips off and the pilot reassures you over the speaker. You keep your belt down up as the stranger unclasps his own and sighs. He leans his head back and closes his eyes. You hope he sleeps. It would make you less nervous if you couldn’t inadvertently annoy him.
He tries. You can sense the tension roiling from his large figure. He grips the armrest, then stretches his fingers, then squeezes again.
You only just recall the movie playing on the tiny screen as the credits roll. You exit the playback and pull out your headphones. You can’t focus on that right now.
You sit back and the man’s elbow brushes you as it overhands the plastic rest. You ignore it and lean into the wall of the plane. It’s chilly. You strain against the seat belt and try to make yourself small. He taps his fingertips and huffs.
The man on his other side snorts and snores, unbothered by the world around him. You envy that passenger. On your best days, sleep is a tall task.
You turn your head and do your best to block out the rows of people, yawning, chattering, coughing, and all of that. Only seven more hours...
✈
The plane lands but your destination is still far away. You don’t stand right away. You can wait. You’d rather be the last off than get in that man’s way again. You’re more relieved to be away from him than to be back on the ground.
At last, he sidles out of the row. You wait but the passenger in the row behind you waves you out. You’re not rude enough to refuse.
You come out into the aisle and reach up to grab your bag. You edge it out of the compartment but you’re unprepared for the weight. You nearly drop it, saving it from crashing down though not without knocking into the man’s back. You cringe as he grunts.
You wait. He doesn’t say anything. He just keeps going. You exhale and follow a few paces back. You go down the ramp and come out into the bright terminal. Free... sort of.
There’s still a maze laid out between you and dorm. Customs, a taxi ride, and check-in. You have it all in your head but the more you try to keep it all in order, the more of a mess you become.
At the customs counter, you drop your folder as send a splash of papers across the floor. After gathering them up with the last of your dignity, you’re let through and the next obstacle awaits you. You could try the underground but a taxi is more direct and less crowded. So you think.
You go outside and find the pavement crowded with new arrivals and departures; some waving for a cab, others hurrying in with their bags. You’re stuck in the shuffle, hidden in the bodies as you try to flag down a ride of your own.
You push through the horde and try to find somewhere sparser. Somewhere you won’t be trampled. You see a black cab and flail desperately as you run up to it, your bag tumbling around behind you. Before you can reach it, the door opens and you collide with the man’s suitcase, your own rolling free of your grasp.
Oh no. What are the chances?
The man keeps his hand on the door and sneers down his nose. He collapses the handle on his bag as the driver comes around to take it. He shoos the man and points to your fallen suitcase.
“Ladies first.” He snarls.
The driver nods and grabs your bag before you can react. As he tucks it into the trunk, you’re seized by your elbow and directed over the curb. You catch yourself on the door and glance over your shoulder at the large man.
“You heard me.” He growls and shoves you.
Your arms give out and you hit the seat. You barely drag your tangled carry-on in behind you as he sits without waiting. You just manage to get out of his way as he does.
“What are you doing--” You squeak, confused.
“You're in my way,” he snarls and turns his head slowly.
“I-- I’m sorry--”
The drive gets in and you choke on your words. The man leans forward and pauses. He gestures to you. “Where?”
The blunt question makes you flinch. You don’t know what to do. At least he isn’t taking you somewhere strange, still, you don’t think you should be giving out your address.
He sighs and snatches your bag, sliding free the folder as it peeks out from the open zipper. He filters through it and pulls out a paper and reads of the dorm building address. Shoot.
“Yes, sir,” the driver replies and eases out into the line of cabs.
Warnings: age gap, Auggy being a mean mean man, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.
Ft. August Walker
I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!
Enjoy, my loverlies.
You step onto the plane in a whirlwind of anxiety. You follow a few feet behind the man in the suit, certain not to crowd him. You would do well to avoid him in the confines of the aircraft. It’s only an eight-hour flight. Only.
You walk so slow that the person behind you kicks your bag. You apologise over your shoulder and check your seat number. You keep a careful balance between the passenger ahead of you and behind you. You only feel in the way of everyone and everything.
Here you are. 21A. Window. You stop and look down the row. Shoot. It’s that same man, sat right in the middle seat.
You look up at the open baggage compartment and collapse the handle of your bag. You’ll be quick. Get your bag up and squeeze in and shut down for the flight. You don’t want any more trouble than you’ve already run into.
You try to lift your bag and stagger. The person waiting to get past sighs. You try again and get it halfway in the air before the wait has you thunking it back down. You apologise, to no one in particular, and look up and down the aisle for some help.
“Come on, lady,” the flyer behind you huffs.
“Christ,” the man in the middle seat stands, hunching under the cabin ceiling and sidles between the seats. He snatches your suitcase and shoves it up and in. You frown as you watch him in embarrassed silence.
He drops back into his seat and rolls his eyes. You put your head down and shuffle forward. You turn your back to the row ahead of yours and press against the seats.
“Thank you,” you murmur as you inch closer. “Erm, I’m by the window, sorry, excuse me.”
He growls but keeps his eyes on his phone. You step over his feet, so close that your skin sets alight. Your cross-body bag catches on the armrest as you try to sit and you accidentally knock his elbow as you free it. You apologise again and lower yourself into the seat, making yourself as small as you can. Just your luck that you’re trapped beside him. You won’t have the courage to ask to get up to use the bathroom.
You watch the tarmac through the window and flick your thumb against your index. Your nervousness has your leg jiggling and your lips moving wordlessly. That man sighs and pushes your elbow off the armrest. You twist towards the window, trying to disappear.
As your gaze wanders up to the clouds, your stomach flips with a new fear. It’s not that you didn’t think of it before, only that you tried not to. It’s your first time flying and the thought of leaving the ground makes your bones turn to jelly.
They seal the doors and start the safety instructions. You sit up straight and try to see over the seats as you listen intently. You buckle up your belt, struggling to get it hooked, then sit back and squirm. You rock against the restraint as the engine drones. The pilot makes his speech over the PA as you twiddle your fingers together.
The man next to you snaps his belt into place only as the light turns on. The plane begins to taxi around the tarmac and you stare ahead with wide eyes. You don’t dare look out the window.
As the wheels pick up speed, you grab onto the armrest but unintentionally find your grip around that man’s wrists. You apologise and retracts, folding your arms up your chest to wring your hands.
“Christ, can you sit still?” He hisses under his breath. The person in the aisle seat is blissfully unaware as they pull a sleep mask down and lean back.
You nod and try to still yourself. Your breath hitches and you have to force it out of your chest. You’ve never been more terrified in your life. Not just as the nose the plane picks up but with the realisation that you’re truly leaving it all behind. You might not have much but it’s yours and it’s safe.
You gasp for air and bite down on a knuckle. You don’t mean to but you whimper between shallow breaths. Your head spins as the plane gets higher and higher.
The man shifts and opens and closes his fist. Your eyes speckle with tears as you fight to calm yourself. You can’t pass out. You can’t. No one else will take care of you.
You hold your breath then let it out as you count to ten. As you finally even out, so does the plain. As you reach cruising altitude, the belt light dings off. You keep yours done up.
The man opens a book, cracking the spine loudly, and focuses on the small text. You stare at the blank screen on the seat in front of you. A movie might keep you distracted. You unzip your cross-body bag and fish out your wired earbuds. You tug them free and they swing, hitting the man’s sleeve.
You act like you don’t notice as you untangle them and plug them into the port beside the screen. You lean forward but the belt holds you back. You fumble to get free of it then tap on the screen as you peruse the selection. There's not very much that interests you. You choose an old Oscar’s legend from the 60s.
You sit back and fidget as you try to get comfortable. Even when you are, you can’t help but move endlessly. Your nerves threaten to drown you.
The man next to you slams his book shut and huffs.
“For the love of god,” he snarls. “Sit still.”
You look up at him with a pout, “sorry, sir.”
“Sorry?” He sneers and shoves the book down beside his thigh. He puts his head back against the seat and growls. “Stupid girl.”
Warnings: age gap, Auggy being a mean mean man, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.
Ft. August Walker
I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!
Enjoy, my loverlies.
You’ve never been good in a crowd. You avoid them with a vengeance. Just as you avoid most people. That’s the old you. You’re breaking out of your bubble, or trying to.
It’s hard breaking old habits. Harder even not to fall into lifelong doubts. You don’t belong. Everyone’s looking and laughing at you.
Your mom’s voice rings in your head. Don't worry, honey, everyone else is just trying to get where they need to go too. They’re just as stressed as you. You hope she’s right. If they do feel like you, they won’t care about the tiny woman scurrying around with her bouncing suitcase. They won’t notice the frantic way you gnaw on your lip or pick at your fingernails.
You look back over your shoulder. Your mom couldn’t come past the security checks with you. Now you’re on your own and as lost as you probably look.
You turn and squeak to a halt in your sneaks, barely avoiding a collision with a man in a suit. You step back and crane your head up to see him. He’s a lot taller than you. Most people are at least a couple inches above you but he’s bigger than most. Not just tall but burly.
“Sorry, sir,” you murmur. You step back as you take in his sheer size. He scowls back at you, his mustache curling with his lip.
You gulp and step out of his way. Your bag jumps behind you as it rolls over his toe. Oops.
“Sorry, er, again.”
“Watch it.” His salty snarl follows you as you clamour away.
You find your way to a blank space against the wall, just between the ATMs. You take a breath and exhale your nerves. It only stokes them. You focus on what your mom said.
You’ll be okay, honey. If you need help, there’s lots of people around who can. Just ask one of the staff.
You look around, searching out the white uniforms of the airport employees. There are those behind their podium like desks checking boarding passes but the lines of passengers have been called up. You’re just waiting your turn. You don’t want to bother anyone more than you need to.
There are security guards in their dark sweaters. You hope one of them can get you where you need to go. You bend your boarding pass against your passport as your other hand sweatily sticks to the handle of your used suitcase.
You approach one of the men with his arms crossed and a radio on his shoulder, “sorry, sir, hate to bug you but er... I’m looking for.... E3?”
You show your pass and the broad man squints down at the lettering. He nods.
“Down past me, take a left. Sign’s right above you,” he explains without moving an inch.
“Oh,” you peer around him, leaning to the side, “thank you.”
You swerve around him and follow his direction as best as you can. You go in a circle before you find your way but finally reach E3. As you do, your flight is called up for boarding. You sit and wait as those in need of assistance and families with young children at queued first.
You grip the handle of your bag and jitter your leg. What are you doing? It’s too late to turn back. That hardly reassures you. As much as you want to break the gloom, as much as you want to learn to stand on your own, you’re terrified. You can’t do this.
Your eyes catch another pair among those waiting in the seats. That same man you ran into earlier. He doesn’t look any more friendly than before. You avert your gaze and stand as the next boarding group is called. You’re up.
As you drag your bag towards the forming line, the tall man in his suit does the same. You slow as you reach the tail of the queue at the same time. You nod and let him go ahead. He huffs and put his back to you.
You bounce up on your toes and flat again. You keep up the nervous rocking as you wait. The man in the suit sighs repeatedly.
You stare at the tailored fabric of his suit. He must be first-class. He knows where he’s going and what he’s doing. You envy him but then again, if you were big like him, you might be more confident yourself.
Flimsy excuses. That's what your mom said too. Don't talk yourself out of an opportunity because you’re afraid. This is a huge opportunity. A whole new country!
A whole new country. Your heart plummets again and your heels hit the floor. The man shifts to glare over his shoulder. You stop and stand flat, shuffling up behind him.
He hands over his boarding pass as he reaches the front. You focus and listen in, rehearsing for your own turn. ‘Hi, yes, here is my ticket and my passport. Thank you.’ He’s waved through and you step up.
You drop your ticket and boarding pass and your bag tips over as you let go to scoop it all up. You're mortified to speechlessness. You stay silent and watch the clerk.
Your face is on fire as you stand and hand it all over. The woman checking the tickets smiles and scans you in. She gives it back, “have a good flight, miss.”
You grab your bag and continue on. You cringe at yourself and follow the directions of the uniformed staff pointing you into the tunnel. It’s only the beginning. You still have to show your visa at customs when you land and find your way to your dorm building. After that there’s all that other stuff; classes, dorm mates, strangers...
Why did you do this? It’ll help you grow up. Is that you or your mom answering?
Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
After mindlessly pacing for a while, you feel your body giving into fatigue. Your leg and feet throb and your head spins. The night shift and all that came after finally catches up to you.
You sit down in the cushy armchair and hold back a moan. It feels good just to be off your feet. You sense a shift and look up at Brock as he looms in the doorway. He’s like a shadow. Your shadow.
“Baby, you okay?” He asks, his deep voice skewing.
“Fine,” you squeak as you drape your arms over the cushion sides, “just need to sit down.”
The tension keeps you upright as your eyes scour the room for the dozenth time. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Instinct drives you to thoughts of escape but fear keeps you compliant. You lean back without thinking.
You know he’s still there, watching. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to try something. You’re too tired for that. Deep down, you know you’re too weak. He’s stronger. Much stronger.
Your eyes roll back under the lids and you yawn. Before you can close your mouth, the void swathes over you and drags you down into the sleep you’ve been resisting. Your limbs fill with sand and your head clouds with fog. The world fades behind the wall of your subconscious.
Sleep unfurls in black ribbons woven around glimpses of your waking hours. That man’s face flickers in every day scenes of your existence; at your apartment, at the cafe, on the street. Even asleep, he follows you.
You wake with a snap of your lashes. You’re flat on your back. You’re no longer in the armchair. You’re in a different room completely. The bedroom, sprawled over the four-post bed, sinking into the plush duvet as a soft pillow cradles your head. You drag your hand up to rub your forehead.
The flutter of paper draws your attention. You look over at Brock as he snaps shut the book in his hand. He stands and slides it into the bookshelf built into the wall. You watch him through a bleary shell. You’re too groggy to be afraid.
“We gotta reset your clock, baby,” he approaches the bed. “You got a couple hours, should keep ya going for a bit.”
“Blrgh,” you garble and rub your eyes.
“I know, it’s all in your head, pounding through your skull,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed, bringing his large hand to your cheek. “You can’t mess with that circadian rhythm for too long.”
“Huh, er, oh,” you babble as his rough skin burns against your tepid cheek.
“Baby, I realised, I don’t know how you like your coffee,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone as he peers down at you.
“Mmm, coffee?” You murmur.
“How about I run you a hot bath to go with it,” he coaxes and his hand crawls down, tickling your chin and walking down your neck. He flicks the collar of your shirt. “Get out of these dirty clothes.”
“Erm,” you look down as he toys with the fabric. A ripple of fear rolls through you.
“You’ll feel better. More at home,” he brings his hand back up and nudges your chin. He leans over you as your eyes round. He presses his lips to yours in a quick peck. He parts with a gritty purr. “Ket’s see what we got.”
He draws away and leaves you paralysed on the bed. You watch him as he goes to the rolling closet doors and slides one back. The array of flowy and airy fabrics fills the space. He pushes through the hangers and unhooks one. He turns back, running his touch down the lilac cotton night gown. There’s a bow along the lace trim over the bodice, the straps also lacy and thin.
“Oh,” you utter and struggle to sit up. You really don’t feel well.
“You need something for the headache too,” he says as if he can see right through you. “I’ll leave this in the bathroom and get the tub going. I’ll be back with the painkillers and coffee. Sugar? Cream?”
You look at him, wide-eyed, and shake your head. He tilts his head and his jaw ticks. Then all at once, his shoulder ease back and his expression softens. He approaches.
“Take your time,” he says. “Alright.”
You nod and look down, “just cream.”
“Yes, baby, whatever you like.”
He reaches to pet your head and bends to put another kiss on your forehead. He pulls back and leaves you stare at the closet doors. It’s all too much. You feel like you’re still dreaming.
You push yourself to the edge and dangle your feet down. It takes all your effort to stand. You lean on the bed as you walk to the end. You glance at the room. It’s pretty. As surreal and terrifying as this has been, you can’t deny that you always wanted a bed like this.
It’s all so nice. So much better than your twin mattress and cramped bedroom. Yet, for what price? This man says he will give you everything but he expects something in return. You know what he wants and it churns your insides. You can’t deny it but you can’t acknowledge it either. Not until you absolutely have to.
All you can do right now is hope that his patience lasts. You can’t avoid the inevitable but you can put it off a little longer.
Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The townhouse is big compared to your apartment, though most places are. Brock keeps his hand tight on yours as he brings you up the front steps. He punches a code into the lock, the numbers blocked out by his large figure. You teeter on your feet as he pushes down the lever and shoves the door inward.
He points you in ahead of him and adjusts the straps of the duffel bag hooked over his shoulder. Those are your things, parsed down to a single bag. He follows you in as your eyes skimp the walls. Despite your muddled fear, you can’t help but stand in awe of the antique panel and brick.
“You seem like the old-style type,” he plops the bag down on the wooden bench against the wall, “shoes.”
You look down and nod. You kneel to unlace your work sneakers and put them on the rack. He sits beside the duffel as he works at loosening his boots.
You tear your attention from the tear drop bulbs of the chandelier light above and look at him. Like really look at him. He’s in all black like always. His hair is a similarly dark hue and a shadow of stubble never leaves his square jaw. His shoulders are broad and straight and even sitting, he looks huge. He looks up and narrows his eyes as he catches your gaze.
“Sir, er, Brock,” you twist your palms together.
“Yes, baby,” he sits up, his shoulders squaring. The pet name tweaks in your stomach.
“Erm...” you peer around. “I... I don’t know.”
“You don’t like it?” He stands and you take a step back. “We can update it.”
“Um, no, it’s... pretty but... what... what am I doing here?”
He snorts. It’s as close to laughter as he’s come.
“Whatever you want, baby.” He nears and reaches for you. You wince as he cradles the back of your head and draws you close. “It’s our home, we make the rules.”
He bends and kisses your forehead. You gulp as the heavy scent of his cologne strangles you. His fingers curl into your scalp and he hums. He hesitates for just a moment before he pulls back.
You suck your lip in under your teeth and turn away. You’re buzzing from his proximity. The way he crowds you is unnerving. Everything about him is.
You sense him watching you as you tiptoe around the bottom of the staircase and stop to stare at the framed painting of a woman in 19th century garb. She seems familiar as she sits on a stool in flowing ivory and pets a lamb, her stomach swollen with child.
“Like I said, you can change it,” he grits as he comes closer. “Have a look around. Explore. It’s all yours.”
You flinch and bat your eyes at the picture. This is real. You peek over at the duffle bag as the horror rolls up your spine. You don’t think you’re ever going back to your old life. This man won’t let you.
You continue down the hallway next to the stairs if only to get space from him and your looming fear. You turn to look into the den. A long sofa and cushy armchairs, bookcases on either side of the vintage fire stove and a rustic rug across the aged wooden floor. You can’t deny that it’s cozy.
He lurks like a shadow but allows you enough space to make your own way through the place. The kitchen is wrought in walnut and iron. A gas stove, a black fridge, and a dishwasher to boot. The walk-in pantry is stocked to the ceiling. You back out as he leans in the crook of the counter.
“There’s more upstairs, baby.”
You take his subtle directive and retrace your path. The dining room on the other side of the stairs gets only a quick glance before you climb to the next floor. Another hallway with several doors. A bathroom with a clawfoot tub and separate shower booth, a linen closet, and office, and the main bedroom. You stop in the last and stare at the four-postered bed.
You retreat and pass Brock as he stands against the wall, halfway up the stairs. There’s another door but it doesn’t open. You don’t try to get past the lock. You go back to look down at him.
“It’s nice, er... Brock.”
“All for you,” he turns and climbs up patiently.
“I--” your wring your hands, “really?” You look one way then the other, “thanks, but...”
“You shouldn't chew your lip. It’s already chapped.” He grabs your hands and pulls them apart, “stop picking at your nails.”
“Sorry, I--”
“Don’t be. I’ll take care of ya until you take care of yourself,” he brings your hands up between his, grazing his calloused skin over yours. He turns your palms to his and pushes his fingers between yours. His cheek dimples and he guides your hands to his chest. “You’ll be safe here.”
You nod and stay silent. His warmth seep through his shirt into your hands. It adds to the sheen of sweat speckling over your body. That fiery heat of fear, the nip of the inevitable. You still can’t wrap your head around it all but you know deep down, you’re not going back to your boxy apartment.
Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
You look around the diner uncertainly. Brock slurps down his third coffee as you wring your hands in your lap. There’s a few bites of waffle left on your plate but you can barely stomach what you managed to get down. You don’t understand what he’s doing.
He signals for the waitress and asks, no, tells her to get the check. He has a way of commanding everyone around him. Including you.
His dark eyes narrow in your direction. You wonder if he can see your thoughts written on your face. You drop your gaze to the table and fidget. He sighs and wipes his mouth with a napkin. He crumples it and tosses it on his plate as he leans forward.
“That syrup is all sugar,” he flicks the glass bottle. “You should have eggs for breakfast. Good protein.”
You wince and look at him, “I’m sorry--” You don’t understand why he didn’t say anything before.
“Now you know. I know you can listen. You can learn. When I tell you something, I want you to remember,” his voice is grizzly and grinding. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”
“Uh, okay,” your brows tweak in confusion.
The waitress returns and he pays in cash. He leaves her a tip but not a very good one. You only slide off the bench as he stands at the end and huffs.
He keeps you ahead of him as he herds you out of the diner. You come out onto the street and dawdle just along the pavement. He comes up next to you and seizes your hand. You jolt in surprise as his callouses brush your soft skin.
“I should go home--”
“We’re going home,” he insists and tugs your arm. “I know you remember what I said.”
You search the city street as panic rises up your throat, “but... I don’t know you--”
“You know me. You need me.” He curtails your argument. “I don’t like you acting like this.”
“I’m not...” you begin and shake your head. “I was only doing my job, sir.”
“Not your job anymore. Things are different. How they should be.” He drags you down the sidewalk, yanking you into step as your soles scuff in reluctance. You have no choice by to keep pace. “You will have everything you need.”
Your mouth opens and you snap it shut again. What can you say or do? He’s so much stronger than you. Besides, he already called your boss and ruined everything.
“You’re really pretty, you shouldn’t make those face,” he says.
You wipe the frustration from your features and put your head down. He clears his throat.
“Stand straight. Good posture is important.” He girds again.
You make yourself stand straight and measure your steps with his. He slows and you look around, searching for the reason. He approaches a black card and opens the passenger door.
“In.”
That’s it. His singular order. His hand creeps up from yours and up your arm and he nudges you. You obey.
He shuts the door and goes around the hood. He gets in the driver seat and focus on starting the engine and pulling out into the traffic crawl. You shrink down and hug yourself.
“Where... Can I get some of my things--”
“Got em.” He snarls.
You swallow the last of your resistance. You’re not sure what he means but you’ll take it as a no. You look out the windshield and watch the pedestrians and the taxis. Wait, you should scream! You should cry out for help!
You peek over at the door and your hand trails towards the handle. The door locks with a thunk.
“Do your seatbelt up,” he orders.
You retract and do as he bids. He grunts and taps his fingers on the ridge steering wheel. He reaches over to clasp your wrist in his thick hand and squeezes.
“I got a buddy on the force. Several. You wanna go for a ride to a precinct, I’ll take you there myself and we’ll see how that goes. You don’t needa be like this. I’m not hurting you, I'm helping.” He raises your arm and you whimper. You don’t know what to do. He pulls your hand close and he presses a kiss to your knuckles, a gesture both unnerving yet gentle.
He lets you go and grips the wheel again. You rub your wrist as a tingle ripples in the back of your hand. You look ahead through the window then back at him.
He’s a big man. Thick arms, broad shoulders, tall. His dark hair has a few strands of silver that blend into the rest and his jaw is shadowed with stubble. The cleft in his chin adds to his sinister appearance and an icy determination squares his features.
“You can turn some music on,” he nods towards the radio. “None of that girly pop.”
You hesitate but cautiously reach to touch the buttons on the dash. You scan through the satellite radio stations and find a song you know. The White Stripes. He hums but you can’t tell if he’s annoyed or content. You sit back and hug yourself.
“I haven’t been mean so you don’t needa be scared,” he commands. Everything he says is an order, as if you’re his soldier.
“Yes, sir,” you gulp.
“Brock, baby, you can call me Brock,” he insists.
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