#And even when I am able to say my part what he says does nothing to make me feel better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

godslino · 8 months

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PIECE BY PIECE | minho first date series. friends to lovers.

pairing: minho x fem!reader word count: 6.2k genre: college au, mutual pining, fluff, angst warnings: drinking, referenced injury (very minor) summary: minho, on a drunken whim, asks you out on a date.

a/n: finally!! the minho part!! i’ve been sooo excited about this one since i first got the idea. i hope you guys enjoy! once again any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading <3

“Dude, I think it’s clean.”

Minho looks up from where he’s scrubbing the counter, eyes narrowed. So what if it’s his third time going over every surface in the kitchen?

“Are you going to help me or are you just gonna sit there and make more crumbs?”

Jeongin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds up his hands in surrender, the bag of chips in his lap crinkling. “I’m just saying. You’re acting like she’s never seen the place before.”

That’s the problem. You’ve seen his place. Minho has to stop the shudder that threatens to overtake his body at the thought.

“So you’re not helping? Great. Get out.”

“I live here!” Jeongin whines. “Why do I have to get out? You can’t banish me like this.”

“I can and I will. Now leave. I have two hours to make sure everything is ready and I am not going to vacuum for a fourth time.”

“Yes mom,” Jeongin rolls his eyes as he unfolds his legs from underneath him.

He stops just short of the kitchen counter, points an accusatory finger at Minho’s disheveled figure still hunched over an imaginary stain.

“For the record, Chan hyung would never do this to me. He loves my crumbs.”

Minho throws the scrub daddy at him.

🏠

The night it happens, all it takes is approximately three shots and a pep talk from Hyunjin for Minho to finally find the nerve to ask you out.

“You’ve got this,” the younger boy says, words slurred, his hands steady on both Minho’s shoulders. The bass thumps loud in the other room, drowned out by the walls of the kitchen until it’s nothing but garbled nonsense going in one of his ears and out the other, vibrations low in his chest.

“I’ve got this.” Minho repeats, the thrum of alcohol already spreading to his fingertips. He feels warm, light on his feet. His limbs are starting to loosen up and his insides are turning to jelly. He might even be floating.

“You look hot.”

“I look hot.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“You’re gonna venmo me twenty dollars.”

“I’m gonna venmo you twenty dollars.” Minho parrots before he can even process what he’s saying. Changbin, who’d been watching the entire thing unfold from where he stands with his back pressed against the sink, snorts.

“Wait, what the f—”

“Go get her!” Hyunjin screams, pushing him through the door of the kitchen with one last pat on the back, “And send me my money!”

Minho stumbles over himself, just barely able to stop in time before he goes crashing into a group of people. The living room is crowded: there’s furniture pushed up against the walls, bodies pressed front to back in the middle of the floor, a makeshift DJ stand in the corner where Chan is controlling the music from his laptop, drink in hand. Minho catches his eye from across the room, the glow of the LEDs reflecting off the toothy grin he shoots his way, dimples on full display.

“Hey!” Minho feels someone grab his arm, and he turns to find you staring up at him. “Where’d you go? You said you were gonna get a drink.”

Minho follows your eyes down to where you’re staring at his empty hands. “I—uh, well. I ran into Hyunjin and we took a few shots.”

The pout you give him does nothing but spur on the fluttering of his chest, his brain still hyper aware of the way your hand was resting on his elbow. “Shots? I want shots!” you whine, and Minho has to avert his gaze from staring at your lips when your pout only worsens.

“How much have you had?” he tries to ask over the music. There’s a shitty pop song playing, high pitched and wonky. If he remembers in the morning, he’ll make sure he berates Chan about his DJ-ing abilities.

“What?” you scream back, tiptoeing to bring your mouth closer to his ear.

Minho is only a man. A man who's been in love with you since the moment you accidentally spilled your coffee all over Hyunjin in the quad during freshman year. He remembers that day well, remembers the way your eyes went wide and your lips parted. He also remembers the way he wished it was him with the large wet stain on his shirt, that way it was him that was offered to have his lunch bought as an apology.

He’d never admit it, but sometimes really late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and he’s feeling oddly sentimental, he counts his lucky stars that Hyunjin had been in a relationship at the time. Minho doesn’t know what he would’ve done had he been forced to watch the two of you hit it off—some form of arson, presumably. Anything to take the edge off. But because of the fact that Hyunjin was not trying to have his head cut off by said girlfriend at the time, he invited Minho along as some sort of collateral damage. That’s when the two of you became friends. Kind of perfect if you ask him.

With the jumbled mess of butterflies in his stomach that he gets whenever you’re near him, and the threat of the alcohol slowly seeping through his skin, his brain short circuits the minute your breath grazes the shell of his ear. When your hand follows not long after, fingers gripping the nape of his neck to hold him in place, he almost passes out.

“Min? What’d you say?”

Minho is rendered completely useless by you. Absolutely ruined. Your existence has thrown his entire plan to woo you off course and now his mouth is opening and closing like a badly programmed robot. Pathetic. Nuts and bolts for brains.

By the grace of God (or some other higher being that Minho’s never bothered to believe in until this very moment) he finds his voice, but not before you’re pulling back with a confused look on your face.

“I asked how much you’ve had to drink,” he says, straining against the music.

A saccharine sweet grin that has him seeing stars spreads across your face, “Not enough!”

Minho is not an enabler. Never has been, never will be. There was one time, back in that fateful freshman year that also introduced the two of you, that he let Hyunjin get blackout drunk. A terrible decision on his end, if the earful he got from Chan the next morning was anything to go by. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was finding remnants of the resulting hacking session for the following week. So yeah, never again.

But while Minho isn’t an enabler, he is smitten, and the way your hand feels wrapped around his wrist as you drag him into the kitchen has his soul threatening to leave his body. He thinks that maybe he could do anything as long as you asked. He also hopes you can’t feel the way his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin, right under the press of your thumb.

“There’s, like, nothing here.” you say as you rummage through the cupboard near the window, nose scrunched and a frown on your face.

Minho laughs, rounds the kitchen island to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “That’s because you don’t know where to look,” he smirks, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila. “Also, Chan hyung is greedy. He knows people like you will go scavenging his supply if he isn’t careful.”

“I resent that.” you frown, taking the bottle from him. “Besides, people like me deserve to have fun too.”

“Mhm, sure.” Minho says, grabbing a solo cup. He holds his hand out for the bottle, pours just the right amount before sliding it over and following it up with a can of coke.

“A man after my heart.” you joke, holding your cup up to him in a mock toast before downing it in one go. Minho watches with so much focus, fighting against the way his head spins. He doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol anymore, it might just be the effect you have on him. Dizzying—you flip his entire world on its axis in the best way possible.

Minho’s gonna be seeing your exposed neck in his dreams later, he’s sure of it—it’s branded into his memory.

“That…is so fucking bad.” you giggle, holding your cup out. “Another one.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…”

“Pleaseeee Min,” the lilt in your voice sounds oddly familiar. Minho holds his breath just in case you—yup. There it is. There goes that pout again.

It’d be so easy for him to lean down and kiss it right off your lips. He could blame it on the alcohol, maybe, but then that takes away from how he actually means it.

He sighs instead. “It’s gonna cost you.”

“An arm and a leg?”

“What? No—I meant some water.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Three shots and a full bottle of water later, Minho knows you’ve hit your limit. Cheeks flushed pink, a dopey grin on your face, pupils blown wide. Even in this state, Minho is certain that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Anotherrrr,” you slur, waving your cup in his face.

Minho shakes his head. “No can do. You’re cut off.”

“Please,” you whine, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I’ll do anything.”

Minho, completely taken back by the sudden closeness of your body to his, freezes.

“Anything?” he asks before he can stop himself.

This is stupid. You’re drunk. There’s no way you’re going to remember anything in the morning, much less within the next thirty minutes. He’s pretty sure that you’ll lose control of all your senses soon, which is why he’s already texted your roommate Jiwoo to unlock the door so he can carry you inside. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“Anything,” you repeat, eyes going cross-eyed where they’re fixing on the mole he has at the tip of his nose.

This is stupid. But then again, so is Minho. A big, stupid fool that blames everything on the fact that he’s so in love with you it hurts. This might be the only chance he gets to shoot his shot.

Minho takes a deep breath, says something similar to a little prayer that’s more like Hey, if anyone’s listening, help a guy out, and hopes that the twenty bucks he sent Hyunjin works.

“Go on a date with me.” he says slowly, wincing when your eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

Well, there’s really no going back from that. The only thing that could possibly grant him redemption now is banking on the fact that you don’t remember anything in the morning.

Minho waits with bated breaths, watches as your eyes search his for a long while. He waits for the anger, the disgust, the visible repulsion that he starts to think might happen the longer the silence continues.

He’s about to backtrack, quickly conjuring up an excuse about how Oh, haha, gotcha! when your hands suddenly drop from his shoulders. You grab the cup, your chin tipped upwards, and hold it out for him to fill.

“Okay.”

“O…kay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Pour me another one.”

The next morning, when Minho all but drags himself into the kitchen in search of water and something to soothe the throbbing in his head, he nearly spits a mouthful at Jeongin, the poor guy too busy eating his cereal to realize he’s gotten a front row seat in the splash zone.

Y/N [10:34am]

when do you want to do that date?

🏠

Are candles too much?

Minho has options: clean linen, lavender breeze, ocean mist, warm vanilla. He really just needs something to get rid of the smell of cleaning spray.

He thought that having a night in for a first date would be ideal—less pressure, no unwanted attention, a bathroom that he can run into when he starts to hyperventilate if you smile at him for too long. But now that it’s happening, he’s convinced that every surface of his and Jeongin’s shared apartment will scare you away if anything so much as looks off-putting.

Minho is, to put it simply, freaking out. All the other times you’ve been over to his place were on a completely platonic level. Movie nights with all the other guys in tow, dropping off food that you felt generous enough to buy every once in a while, one time because you’d accidentally worn Minho’s jacket home from a party and needed to return it to him.

But this is different. This is a date. Minho’s not dreaming—he already pinched himself a dozen times in the bathroom mirror, tiny red marks on the inside of his forearm to prove it. He’s going to open the door, invite you in, cook for you, and then proceed to resist the urge to tell you how beautiful you are for however long the night continues on after that. He can practically hear Jeongin’s laugh in the back of his head, sneering at how pathetic his inner monologue sounds right now.

He needs to find another stain to scrub.

By the time you’re knocking on his door, Minho has changed his outfit seven times. Sweats were too casual, a button up was too fancy. Should he not have done his hair? No, that’s just lazy, the way his fringe is swept up and out of his forehead adds a nice touch that doesn’t scream Hey! I’m trying to woo you! You’ve never been the type to be impressed by grand gestures and shows of confidence anyways, he knows that well.

One time, when a guy from one of the frat houses hired the campus quartet to sing a song for you in the quad as he stood there with big beady eyes and a bouquet of roses in his hand, you’d all but ran from the scene, Minho following close behind as you called out to him over your shoulder. It’s one of his fondest memories. As soon as the two of you made it around the back of the science building, you’d doubled over in laughter, the both of you in disbelief at what had happened. Minho has had that information tucked into the deepest parts of his brain ever since, saved just in case he needed it.

(Later that night, in the safety of his own bed, he’d laughed maniacally at the situation. Something about watching you reject another guy filled him with a sense of joy he couldn’t explain. He just hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of it.)

He does a quick once over of the kitchen: double checks that all the ingredients are out, blows a speck of dust off the glass stovetop, spins the tiny floral arrangement he bought so that it’s sitting at just the right angle. When the doorbell rings, the chime bouncing off the walls of the apartment, he visibly pales.

He has to reel it in, to remember that it’s just you. You might not even be here with any intentions other than to fulfill your end of the deal; one date in exchange for the extra three shots he poured you the other night. Minho takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob with conviction, and decides that he’s determined to show you the way you deserve to be treated. The opportunity is there, and he’s gonna take it.

As soon as the door swings open, every nerve that had somehow crept its way into his brain disappears, the sight of you standing on the other side immediately sending the anxiety scrambling and replacing it with fondness instead.

“Hi,” you smile, and Minho sees images of you coming home to his apartment flash across his mind. After class, after work, in the winter when it’s cold and your nose is tinted pink, on rainy days where the ends of your hair are damp and you have a wet umbrella in tow. He could get used to it. He’s so in love that it hurts.

“Hey,” he breathes out, stepping aside to make way for you, “Come in. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually. Been saving myself all day since I don’t always get to have your cooking.” You hop on to one of the stools, your attention momentarily stolen by the flower arrangement. One point for Minho.

I’d cook for you every day, he wants to say. But that’s weird, right? So instead, “Well then I guess today is your lucky day.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” You say softly.

Minho can’t see you with the way his back is turned, hands moving to grab out the knife and cutting board, but if he could he’d see the way your eyes are staring softly at his back, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Conversation flows easily after that, despite Minho’s original worries about it being awkward. You’re not necessarily treating it as a date, and he isn’t really either. It feels more like a glorified hangout, just the two of you spending time together with the added glances and smiles that normally wouldn’t be there.

Minho finds it easy to get lost in you. He finds himself craving to know more about your day, about the things that’ve been on your mind lately and the hobbies you’ve picked up. Most of the conversation is a continuation of stuff that’s fallen through the cracks during the times you see each other, but he doesn’t miss the way you ask about him too, your eyes shining with genuine interest. It makes his heart slam against his ribcage.

“How are your cats doing?”

Minho looks up from the cutting board, follows your gaze to where it’s fixed on the scattered pictures that litter his fridge. “They’re good,” he says, smiling down at a head of garlic, “My mom sends pictures all the time. She says they claw at the door to my room when they miss me.” He smashes the garlic under the knife’s blade by hitting it with the heel of his palm. “It’s cute.”

“You’re cute.”

Minho, in a very flashy demonstration of what it means to be cool, calm, and collected, slices his thumb mid-chop.

“Shit.” he mutters, dropping the knife.

It’s not that bad, just a little nick, the surprise was mostly what scared him. He probably doesn’t even need a bandaid. But despite how small it is, nothing stops you from hurriedly walking up to him and taking his hand in yours, his thumb held closely to your face for inspection.

“Are you okay?” You turn his hand over between your fingers, the soft pads of them against his calloused ones. Minho is dumbfounded, struggling to find the words to say.

“Yeah—um, it’s fine. My fault. I was distracted.” He stammers out, pulling his hand back and holding it up. He wiggles his fingers, making a show of bending and twisting his thumb that, at most, has just a small cut on the side. “See? Perfect.”

Your face relaxes, and then you’re laughing. Why are you laughing? Either Minho looks like a complete idiot or he’s suddenly the funniest person in the world for being clumsy and reckless and almost ruining the night by losing a finger. Whichever one it is, he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to hear that sound again.

“Let me help cook, please? I know you said you would do it all but clearly you’re a threat to the integrity of this meal.” You say, bumping your hip against his to move him away from the cutting board.

Minho scoffs. “I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t catch me off guard.”

“So what? You admit that I make you flustered?”

Oh.

Minho wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the—the flirting that’s clearly happening. You’re flirting with him, right? Why else would you have called him cute or given him that suspicious side eye after you asked that question?

You and Minho have joked around like this before, but it was always empty with no real feelings attached—as far as he could tell. You’re a naturally friendly person, getting along with others comes easy to you. He’s seen the way you talk to the other guys and has always just assumed he was no different in your eyes than they were. Sure, there were moments where maybe your hand lingered on his arm for a little while after he made you laugh, or the two of you would steal glances across the room. Sometimes when Hyunjin said something stupid you’d both catch the other’s eye and make a face, just another funny way of proving that you were both on the same wavelength most of the time. It’s kind of why Minho is so taken with you—he’s never met anyone that gets him the same way.

Reluctantly, Minho puts his pride aside and allows you to help. And as it turns out, you’re actually really good at cooking. Minho doesn’t have to instruct you much, and before he knows it you’re both working like a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another as you switch places between the stove and the sink, reading each other’s minds without even having to ask.

“Taste this.” You say, holding the spoon up to his mouth. Minho leans forward, front teeth poking out, and brings the spoon into his mouth. You cup your hand under his chin to catch any droppings, watching in anticipation as he smacks his lips together.

His eyes light up, big and brown and twinkling under the light of the kitchen. “Perfect.” He smiles.

“Oh you have—uh,” you stop him with a hand on his forearm just as he’s about to turn back to the sink, your other hand hovering next to his face hesitantly, “It’s just, um, your—here.”

Minho’s eyes go wide when your thumb swipes against the corner of his mouth, your touch feather light. It’s so intimate, the only sound being the music playing low from the speaker on the counter. He’s half convinced that you’re able to hear his heartbeat, blood pumping loud in his ears.

“You had some sauce…on your face.” You say shyly, your palm still pressed to his cheek.

“…Oh.”

Minho’s never really looked into your eyes from this close up before. He’s always known they were beautiful, the shape of them soft, full of nothing but the world. He can see himself in them from here, and, selfishly, he hopes you can see yourself in his, too.

He might be imagining it when your gaze flicks down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, but there’s no time to unpack any of that when the sauce starts bubbling over the edge of the pot, spilling on to the burner as loud sizzling and smoke fills the kitchen.

It’s chaos. The bottom of the pot is burnt and there’s only so much of it that’s salvageable. He only bought the exact amount of ingredients too, because this is a self-proclaimed no-food-waste household (as explicitly stated in the napkin contract he has with Jeongin, much to his dismay). So, hooray for conscious consumption of goods!

At the end of it all, there’s no one to blame. You’re both guilty of…whatever that was.

Minho tries to reassure you that it’s okay as he dials the number for the pizza place just down the street, simultaneously shutting down all your attempts to pay as an apology. It doesn’t matter to him, he’d do anything as long as it means he gets to spend time with you. At the end of the day, it’s another memory that he’ll hold close to his heart.

“Listen,” you say, swallowing down a mouthful of pizza, the both of you seated on his couch with a half-eaten box of pizza open on the coffee table, “I know you wanted to cook and all—which, by the way, I’m still sorry—but this is so good. However I’m sure whatever you made would’ve been better.”

Minho chuckles. “Stop lying,” he wipes his hands on a napkin, “I can guarantee you that whatever I cooked wouldn’t be as good as this anyways.”

“Stop selling yourself short, Min. You’re good at everything you do.”

The words fall from your lips so easily, like it’s something you’ve convinced yourself of long ago. Minho’s never been the type to bounce around from one thing to another, always choosing to stick with it until he has it down to a science. Cooking is one of them. Jeongin can attest to all the times Minho has berated him with tasting his latest dishes, chasing him around the apartment with a spoon. The words tighten themselves around his heart.

“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes, “But nine times out of ten, grease and mozzarella cheese are gonna win. I know that for a fact.”

You laugh, and the conversation gradually diverts into a debate about the top ten best greasy foods in existence. You’re heated, half kneeling on the couch with a finger pointed at him as you plead your case for onion rings, when your eyes go past Minho’s head and settle on the shelf of games in the hallway.

“You have games?” you ask, suddenly giddy with excitement as you hurry over to inspect the selection.

Minho watches with fond eyes, collects the plates and napkins to throw away. “Yeah, most of them are Innie’s. We don’t really use them. Sometimes when we’re drunk, other times when we’re bored and decide to wager money for fun.”

You hum, not really paying attention. Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, some decks of cards, Uno—you scan the shelf until your eyes light up at what you find hidden at the bottom.

“Min! Can we play Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Minho asks, re-entering the living room. The coffee table is clear now, and he sits between it and the couch, his back against the cushion. “Isn’t that kind of boring? We have other stuff there.”

“It’s only boring if you play it the way it’s supposed to be played.” You roll your eyes. Minho turns to you when you situate yourself on the floor beside him and only momentarily contemplates running to the bathroom when your knee knocks against his. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, however The Sauce Incident had him ready to book it if anything had gone further.

“Well how else are we supposed to play it?” He frowns.

“We make up our own rules.”

The pieces scatter across the wood of the coffee table, clacking as you diligently begin putting them together. “This is a date, right?” You ask, stopping for a moment to turn and assess his response.

Minho stills. He genuinely forgot the grounds on which tonight had even happened in the first place. Spending time with you makes him forget everything else. And, despite his fears in the beginning, being on a date with you has felt so natural that it almost seems like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

Your eyes meet. For a moment, Minho lets himself wonder what it’d be like if he went for it right then and there. “Yeah,” he says slowly, unblinking, hoping you can see the sincerity on his face, “A date. One of the best ones I’ve ever been on, actually.”

He almost cries out in victory when your face flushes pink. “Now who’s a liar?” You ask quietly, going back to piecing together the game.

Minho has learned something new tonight: he really likes seeing you flustered.

“Why do you ask?” he decides to cut you the slack, “Or what does this being a date have to do with Jenga rules?”

He waits as you finish the stack, your tongue sticking out in concentration. You’re so cute. Minho mentally pockets that image for safe keeping.

“Sorry, okay, it’s done. But basically, if we pull out a block, we get to ask the other person a question.”

“And if the tower falls…?”

“Hmm,” you think for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, “Oh! I know. If you lose you have to tell me why you asked me on a date.”

Minho’s stomach flips. “Okay. If you lose you have to tell me why you accepted the date.”

Something unreadable passes over your face, but it’s gone in an instant. You hold your hand out for a shake, and Minho wraps his fingers around it gently.

“Deal.”

“Why are you taking all of the middle pieces?” Minho pouts.

The two of you have gone through a couple turns by now, throwing out random questions for the better half of fifteen minutes. Favorite colors, childhood foods you wouldn’t eat, the best memory you have from high school. Minho’s learned a lot, has fallen for you a lot more. But that was always a given. It’s impossible not to when he can feel the warmth from your body where you’re seated next to him, your presence overtaking all of his senses.

“Because I’m trying to win,” you laugh, putting your freshly pulled piece at the top. Just a little crooked, too. To piss him off. “Favorite movie?”

“Ponyo. Easy. My turn.”

“Seriously? Why Ponyo?”

“One question at a time, princess.”

He means it as a joke, really. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until after the fact, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. Minho notices, the corners of his lips tugging downwards as he suppresses a smile. He manages to flick one of the side pieces until it gives way.

“What’s one thing you regret?”

“Ooh, getting deep I see.” You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. There’s a long pause, and then, “I regret spilling my coffee on Hyunjin that day.”

Minho’s brow furrows. You…regret it? He runs through all the possible reasons in his head. Surely it can’t be because you regret becoming friends with them, friends with him, right?

“Why?” He chances.

“One question at a time, princess.” You echo, laughing at his shocked expression.

You remove the last middle piece. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate our first date?”

Minho’s brain is going a thousand miles a minute. “A ten. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He says it fast, wastes no time in moving forward to remove his own piece. He doesn’t even notice that your cheeks have gone pink again, too busy itching to ask his next question.

“Why do you regret spilling your coffee on Hyunjin?”

Minho watches you, lets his mind wander to the worst possible thing you could say in this situation, and mentally prepares to book it to the bathroom.

You take a deep breath, “I regret it because I wasn’t supposed to spill it on him. I was supposed to spill it on you.”

Wait, what?

Minho blinks. “What are you talking about?”

This is humiliating for you. A terrible thing to have to admit. Up until this moment, you’d thought that this information would follow you to your grave. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, “This is so embarrassing,” you groan.

Minho pulls one hand away. He’s not really sure what to say, mostly because he’s confused, but, “You can tell me.”

“I had…” you start, looking up at him slowly, “A plan. With Jiwoo.” Minho nods for you to continue. “I’d seen you and Hyunjin walking through the quad a few times, and I thought that you were cute, but I didn't know how to approach you. So I did something stupid and decided that I would literally just crash into you. But I fucked it up.”

I thought that you were cute. The words echo in Minho’s ears like a bell. All this time, all those stolen glances and lingering touches, all the ways you would make hope spike in his chest that maybe you felt the same—they were real.

“So you, wait—” Minho shakes his head, “So you’re telling me that all this time…”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Min, really. All this time.”

Minho’s never been skydiving, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. Free falling—his soul hurtling towards earth at a horrifying speed, slamming back into his body right here in his living room with a force so strong it would knock him off his feet if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor. You were interested in him first.

Wordlessly, you lean forward, pulling out a piece with practiced ease. Minho waits with bated breaths.

“Can I kiss you?”

Minho feels like he might pass out. “Am I dreaming right now?”

“You didn’t pull out a piece.”

He scrambles forward, clumsily nudging a piece on the side that ends up sending the entire tower toppling over. You smile at him, soft and sweet. “Looks like you have to pay up with an answer. You know, since you lost.”

Minho doesn’t care. “Because I like you,” he breathes out, “I asked you on a date because I like you. I like you so much, ever since I saw you that day. And, funnily enough, I’ve always wished you’d spilled that coffee on me instead, too.”

The confession feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s spent so long pining after you, laying awake at night thinking about how this would go down if he ever got the chance. He never expected for it to happen like this, much less for you to possibly feel the same.

Panic slowly starts to rise in his chest when you don’t respond. He watches as you reach an arm over, build a small tower out of a few pieces, and then knock it over. You turn to him with a small smile, “Oops, I lost too.”

Minho is so in love with you that it hurts.

“I accepted the date because I like you, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”

He doesn’t think twice before he’s surging forward, cupping your face with one hand and kissing you with a tenderness that has you melting into his touch.

There’s no fireworks behind his eyes, no big bang or grand display of whatever it is that happens in the movies. But there’s a warmth, it starts out small in the center of his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, lights his skin aflame and travels all the way to his fingertips. You’re like that. A gentle presence, someone who worms their way into the very essence of his being and burrows into the deepest parts of him, like it was never his to begin with. Kissing you is slow, and deep, and right. He wouldn’t want it any other way. Minho doesn’t ever want to stop.

He lets his other hand fall to your waist, pulls you closer until you’re practically straddling him with his back against the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. Minho lets out a long, drawn out groan when you tilt his head back farther, his lips parting and allowing you to lick inside of his mouth. It’s so good. So good. He can’t believe he ever lived without knowing what this felt like; lived without ever having you this close before.

After a while, Minho reluctantly pulls back, holding you by the shoulders. When he looks up, your eyes are half-lidded. You look utterly debauched, cheeks pink and lips swollen from how hard they’d been pressed against his own. “We should probably slow down.” He tries hard to convince himself, too. “Talk about it all, you know? I don’t—this isn’t a one time thing for me. I don’t want it to be. I like you. I want you to know that.” He says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

You lean into his hand, smiling when he flattens his palm to let your head rest there. “You’re like, so perfect that I want to kiss you until you forget your own name.”

Minho’s ears go red, his head falling forward until it rests against your collarbone. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes you laugh and run a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck fondly.

“This is gonna be so bad now that you say stuff like that.”

“Bad? No, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up,” he whines, but there’s no bite to it. Not when he can look up and press a kiss to your lips. A dream come true. The entire world in his hands, exactly where it was always meant to be.

🏠

In the morning, when Jeongin comes back home, one hand covering his eyes just in case, he calls out,

“Everyone better be dressed! Or else I’m ripping up that napkin and making a new one with No fornicating on the furniture added into the fine print.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he rounds the corner, and finds the two of you nestled into the couch. Minho’s back is pressed into the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you nuzzle your face into his neck.

Jeongin huffs out a laugh, sends a quick text to Hyunjin that reads: Negative. Clothes are still on. But they’re so cute it’s almost sickening.

He snaps a picture to send to the group chat, grabs a piece of cold pizza, and retreats to his room.

Yang Jeongin Fanclub

jeongin: [Attachment: 1 image]

chan: AWWWWWWW

jiwoo: i’m gonna cry

changbin: dude is that the good pizza from down the street?

hyunjin: FINALLY

hyunjin: wait

hyunjin: does this mean i have to send back his $20?

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @strwbrrychannie ]

#lee know x reader #first date series : minho #lee know fluff #lee know angst #skz x reader #lee know fanfic #skz fanfic #lee know fic #skz fic #lee know fanfiction #skz fanfiction #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfiction #lee know #godslino #first date series

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 8 months

Text

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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rninies · 7 months

Text

✮ a measure of his love

౨ৎ gojo satoru x reader. fluff, gn!reader, short reader (because im short) — wc: 761

notes. self indulgent because !!!

gojo satoru is a tall man. like, an insanely tall man.

that’s one of satoru’s most annoying traits, you could say. he takes pride in the fact that he’s taller than you, and will not miss a single day to make fun of you for that.

to add to that, most of the cupboards in his apartments are pretty high up, so whenever you come over, you always have to grab a chair just to get a glass or ask satoru to come get it for you (though you’d rather do the latter because satoru takes five minutes just teasing you about how you can’t reach the cups).

today was no different. satoru had asked you to come over because he misses you and wants to cuddle with you (same excuse every time, but you find it cute). you complied, of course, because it’s been a while since you guys have spent any alone time together — satoru has been super busy with jujutsu high lately.

you are currently on satoru’s couch, his long arms wrapped around your body as a movie plays on his television. satoru wasn’t even paying attention — he was too focused on trying to not fall asleep and was quite literally holding your hostage.

“toru, can you let go?” you asked, trying to pry his hands off of you. “i want to grab a cup of water.”

“no way. i’m comfy already,” he replies, snuggling his head deeper into your chest.

“toru i’m serious! i’m really thirsty,” you exclaimed, and satoru eventually lets go with a huge sigh. “thank you.” you stoof up, stretching your limbs.

“fine, but hurry.” satoru orders, and you nod. you seem to have forgotten how high up the cupboard is because once you were in front of it, you stared up at it, a dejected look on your face.

right… the cups i use are on the highest part of the shelf. you thought to yourself sadly, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to the cupboards.

“why’re you taking so long?” satoru asks, appearing behind you. you screamed, jumping.

“what the actual fuck, toru?!” you exclaimed, holding a hand over your chest. “you scared the shit out of me!”

satoru laughs, making you frown. “what? did you not hear me walk?”

you shake your head. “no!” after taking five seconds to calm down, you sigh. “anyway, can you help me grab the cup on top?” you point at the white cup with flower patterns on it (satoru had bought it for you because you were staring at it for ten seconds straight). a mischief look appears in satoru’s eyes, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. “don’t you dare pick me up, you hear? don’t even try i- hey!”

satoru was already lifting up by your waist, making you eye level with the cup you were pointing at. “this is easier, no?”

“in what world is this easier?! isn’t this just more work for you?” you asked in disbelief, actually surprised that he finds this much more easier than just grabbing the cup for you. when he doesn’t reply, you sigh and grab the cup, tapping his arms to let you down.

he doesn’t, though.

“what are you doing? let me down!” you exclaim, looking at satoru who looks like he is holding back a laugh. “why are you laughing? let. me. down.”

“no it’s just-” he pauses, letting out a laugh. “it’s weird seeing you this tall. i’m so used to having to look down when talking to you.”

“wha-?!” you almost choked on your own spit “what? i am not that short, toru!”

“oh, but you are.” satoru hums. “i mean, compared to me, you’re only able to see my chest when standing in front of me, right?” he teases, and you can’t help but become embarrassed because you know he’s right. “see? i’m right.”

“oh shut up!” you whined, covering your cheeks with your hands, careful to not drop the cup.

satoru lets you down gently, but still holding you tightly in his arms. “you’re like a cute little gremlin.”

“what the fuck? a gremlin?!” you are staring daggers at him, but satoru only smiles at you. “can’t believe i’m dating a literal giant who does nothing but tease me about my height every day.” you had to wiggle your way to the water dispenser because satoru just wouldn’t let go.

“but you love this giant, do you?” satoru asks, resting his head on top of your head.

taking a sip from your cup, you smiled. “yeah, i do.”

taglist: @planetnini @xintre @kyoghurts @sad-darksoul @iminlovewqr0w (send an ask to be added!) <3

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yandereunsolved · 2 months

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Yandere self-aware Bruce Wayne—all the money in the world couldn't buy your love

Yandere Bruce Wayne, who was monitoring the CCTV cameras one day, became aware of a presence watching him. His paranoia and hypervilgilence sparked as he combed every corner of the cave and the manor, scowering for someone or something hiding in the shadows. Nothing; he could not find a single speck of dust out of place.

He eventually succumbed to slumber, and when he awoke, he felt eyes on him again. The feeling of being watched would come and go. He simply couldn't understand it.

However, he did become addicted to the feeling of being admired by someone. Even if that someone could be a danger to him.

Yandere Bruce Wayne did research when he didn't feel the inquiring gaze on him.

'Self-awareness'

"It is a possibility..." He muttered to himself. "In another timeline I am but a story. My hardships, my family and, my most vulnerable moments are simply a form of entertainment." He rolls his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

It only made him crave more knowledge about you and about this other world that he was not a part of.

Yandere Bruce Wayne learned how to see you. He had to go to some crackpot scientist who lived in a rundown apartment that definitely did not meet any code. Through a set of electric shocks, which made him question his sanity, he was finally able to see you clearly for the first time. It was as if he had been blessed somehow. He was never one to believe in any god, but he did pray and say thank you to whatever gave him self-awareness.

Yandere Bruce Wayne hacked into your phone through a magic line Constantine set up. It was definitely worth having to help him set up a demon trap. A trap that he had to be the bait for. Still, he gains access to all the information about you that one could need. He spends countless hours combing over all your history, including your internet history.

You—like him? What is a... yandere? Oh.

He's watching you read this right now and smiling like a madman. A smile that could rival even the most unhinged of Joker's.

Yandere Bruce Wayne knows that he can't be too obvious. He could easily scare you off, and even if he could simply follow you through other forms of media, it still wouldn't be the same. Your attention is like a drug that some villian force fed him. It's a gaze that brings him comfort. He needs to keep it only on himself.

Yandere Bruce Wayne gets impatient. He only has your gaze. He isn't able to touch you. He isn't able to smell you. He isn't able to see you in all your glory. It causes him to grow agitated. He's more prone to snapping. He isolates himself even more now. Alfred does his best to get through Bruce's shell, but it seems much stronger now. He wants one thing: you.

He has always done his duty.

He has always saved the citizens of Gotham.

Doesn't he deserve something?

Doesn't he deserve just this one thing?

Yandere Bruce Wayne knows it can't be, but it doesn't stop him from dreaming. He fantasizes about what it would be like to be in your world, or you in his. He can't do it anymore. He needs you. How?

He looks at you, but he doesn't know if you notice it.

Damn dimensional time shit.

He'll get out of here eventually, and the first time he feels you will be the last time you leave his side.

#yandere #yandere x reader #self aware yandere #dc #dc comics #dc batman #batman #batman fanfiction #batfam #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #dc bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere bruce wayne #batman x reader #yandere batman x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere dc

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eternally-racing · 9 months

Text

keep her safe | lando norris

pairing: dad! lando x wife! reader (+ their teenage daughter!)

genre: fluff & angst-ish

warnings: racing crash, reader/lando's kid is in the hospital, some swearing

wc: 1.4k

summary: Nothing prepares you for the feeling of watching your daughter's first crash in formula 3.

note: this fic can be read as part of the racer girl series or as a stand alone as well!

----

Lando always hated pulling the “I’m a celebrity” card when you two were out in public. He's never wanted the special treatment that companies wanted to give him before, but the minute he sees his daughter crash in her first Formula 3 race, he’s trying to pull out every trump card he has to get his way into the medical tent.

“That’s my fucking daughter in there, you can’t keep her from me! This is absolutely insane! I’m Lando fucking Norris, don’t you know who I am?” Lando is yelling and yelling and you hold him back by the wrist because otherwise you think he might actually charge at the door to try and get through it.

He more than anyone here knows what a bad crash looks like, and from the minute he saw your daughter, Piper, go into the barriers he knew that it was a rough one. There’s cameras swarming around you both but he doesn’t care (It’s not like he was a PR team’s dream when he was a driver himself). That’s his little girl in there and she’s hurt. There’s now a full commotion in front of the medical area and Lando admits defeat as he sinks back into the wall behind him and crumbles to the floor with you following suit.

“She’s afraid of needles, Y/N.” Lando says no louder than a whisper towards the shut doors “Who’s gonna tell them that she’s afraid of needles if I’m not there?”

You know that if she’s in a state where they’re not letting you see her and she’s being transferred to the hospital that she likely has already gotten a lot of needles and wasn’t conscious enough to feel them, but you keep that information to yourself once you see the worried look on Lando’s face. This exact moment is something you two had worried about ever since your little girl first stepped in a kart, and somehow it was worse than you had ever imagined it would be.

By the time you and Lando make it to the hospital it feels like hours have gone by, even though in reality it hadn’t been more than a handful of minutes. Lando’s never been more grateful for his success when a nurse recognizes him and immediately guides you both in the direction of Piper’s room. He’s not sure he would’ve been able to make it through a conversation right now anyways.

The scene inside is every parent’s worst nightmare. There are lines going in and out of Piper’s arms and bags of fluid are hung next to her bed; there are too many machines beeping and showing numbers and graphs that you just can’t understand. You feel Lando’s knees buckle beside yours and you keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady. You both need each other right now, there’s no doubt about that.

When Piper cries out for her daddy from the hospital bed it brings a fresh set of tears to your eyes. You can’t remember the last time Piper actually called Lando daddy, it had been “dad” for the most part or “Mr.Norris” if she felt like being cheeky, but hearing those words from her mouth brought you right back to when she was a little girl, your little girl.

Lando rushes to her side and has both hands caressing her face. He knows that she’s been checked over by the doctors, but he needs to see for himself that she’s really okay. He presses his forehead against hers as they cry together. You’ll never fully understand what Piper’s just been through, but the man standing in front of her does all too well.

You hang back a bit to talk to the doctors, who try to give you a comprehensive update on her status, but as soon as you hear the words “she’s fine and on track to make a complete recovery” you zone out as you finally let out the breath that it feels like you’ve been holding this whole time. You’re about to go rejoin your family once you hear the next words out of your daughter’s mouth.

“I’m sorry dad, I know this meant a lot to you.” Piper sighs as she pulls the hospital sheets up to her chin. “Did I at least make it around a lap? Am I the youngest ever female formula 3 driver to complete a lap in a grand prix?”

This is when Lando has to face the music - he got so excited about his daughter dreaming of Formula 1 that he may have pushed her a little too far if his daughter is more worried about beating records than she is about her own health. Lando tries to calm his own breathing as he grabs both of Piper’s hands to lay on his own to get her full attention. He wants to make sure she fully understands what he’s about to say.

“You’re always going to be my little girl, Pipes. Racing or not, I am always proud of you. I never want you to feel like you have to impress me.” Lando doesn’t even answer Piper’s question about the record because frankly he has no idea. He’s never once cared about awards and prizes and all of the fancy shit. All he’s ever wanted is for her to be happy, and he tells her exactly that.

Piper stops crying long before Lando does, and you’re amazed by the maturity your daughter shows as she starts wiping the tears from your husband’s eyes. You all just need a little family cuddle so you do exactly that, and take a moment to appreciate the lives that the three of you have and how precious that is. The sentimental moment is only broken by your daughter, who says that she has a little request for the two of you.

“Do you think you can ask the doctors if they can give me the good stuff that you got back in Vegas all those years ago, dad?”

Moments like this remind you that Piper is her father’s daughter and it earns a laugh from you both.

“Not a chance, kid, but good try.”

For the first time in what feels like years, the 3 of you sleep in one bed together. It’s one teeny tiny hospital bed made for a teenager, so you both wake up with extremely sore backs but very full hearts. Piper’s the first to fall asleep, understandably spent from the day she’s been through, but you notice Lando’s eyes never leave her, as if he’s worried she’ll disappear if he looks away. You reach over to grab his hand, you get it. Call it parental instinct, but that feeling of anxiety after something bad happens to your child is just something you can’t push away, and you want him to know that you’re here for him. You both wordlessly take turns watching over Piper throughout the night, holding her hand through blood draws and med deliveries.

Lando spends all day and night at Piper’s side while she’s recovering, and it’s only when you and your daughter tell him that he smells absolutely horrendous and needs to go shower do you finally get him to take a beat for himself. He still calls 3 times on the drive home from the hospital alone to check how Piper’s doing, and you have to threaten to not pick up the next time he calls before he finally takes a bit of a break. So often it feels like children drift away from their parents in their teenage years, but Piper’s recovery has given you both the opportunity to spend some much needed time with her as she grows up.

The minute Piper is cleared by the medical team she’s instantly back in the simulator. She’s a little daredevil like her daddy after all. Lando of course asks over and over again if she’s doing this for herself and not him, the fear of making the same mistakes as earlier weighing heavy on his mind. Your daughter is nothing if not honest, so she tells him about how she loves the sport itself but also loves the way she’s able to connect to her dad through it. Lando makes her pinky promise that she’ll let her know if she ever changes her mind on the subject, and lucky for you both, she never does.

---

author's note: this was based on a lovely request from a reader! if you have any requests feel free to drop them in my ask box :) If you liked this piece and haven't read racer girl yet, give it a read because I'm sure you'll love that one too!

Until next time! - Em <;3

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wolfiesmoon · 9 months

Text

I can't sleep

Ran x good girl!reader

Do i want a bad boy (literal criminal) bf? Yea but i would probably cry if he insulted me or got into trouble in any capacity at all

(i am totally not unironically vibing to pretty little psycho while writing this)

edit: i made a part 2!!

"I dare you to kiss Haitani Ran." Your friend nudged you.

You knew you shouldn't have agreed to this stupid game of truth or dare. You knew your friend was going to make you do stupid stuff like this.

"Like... the big scary delinquent guy?" You asked, hoping you heard her wrong.

"Yeah, that Haitani Ran." Your friend smirked mischeviously.

"How about I don't do that?" The last thing you'd want to do is get involved wth any delinquents or gangs. You have no idea how dangerous Ran could be and even if he wasn't you'd still refuse to kiss a good for nothing delinquent.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" you followed up, realising just how bad this dare could end up.

"You do know that refusing this dare means that you have to do anything I say for a week, right?" Your friend had a horribly evil look on her face. You don't even want to know the things she would make you do if you refused this stupid dare.

But is kissing Ran any better? Pick your poison, you suppose.

"Fine, I'll do it." You said behind clenched teeth, not at all happy about this outcome. You've never even kissed before, and now you have to kiss freaking Ran Haitani. You might actually die.

Why did you agree? What is wrong with you?

This might just be the worst day of your life.

You ended up being a little unfocused in class, making your teacher worry.

"Haitani-san." you call out to him, your voice dying off slightly at the end due to nerves. You're the only ones left in the classroom, with your friend watching from behind the door to make sure you actually do it. He looks back at you and you feel a shiver run through you.

Oh my god, you're actually doing this.

He stops, waiting to see what you want with him. You move closer to him, and his eyes narrow slightly, as if he's getting a good look at you.

"Now, what could the class president herself possibly want with me?" his tone was slightly mocking and you would have showed him you're not to be messed with but honestly you'd probably be the one losing in that scenario.

You inhaled sharply, pulling him down by his braids and planting a kiss straight onto his lips. This feels like a bad shojo plot, the "good girl" falls in love with the "bad boy" and kisses him all of a sudden. Except there's no romance involved here. Just a dare.

Is this how you kiss? Why does it feel so strange? That should be enough, right? You can feel your parents shaking their heads dissaprovingly already.

Ok, now you're just kissing him for way too long. It's time to let go. And you try to, you really do. Since when were his arms wrapped around your waist, anyways? And why isn't he letting you go?!

You can feel your friend's evil stare burning into your back. This is not amusing!

He laughed a little into the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer. Oh, so they're both going to enjoy your suffering now, you see how it is.

Still, kissing him isn't half ba-

Ok, you're actually losing it. You need out and fast.

You wriggled out of his grasp, running away as fast as your legs could take you. You heard both Ran and your friend yell something behind you but you honestly don't care.

Why did you ever agree to do this?!

That same thought persisted even as you tossed and turned in bed that night.

"Oh god, he's going to send his goons after me and I'm gonna die... And then I won't ever get to become successful..." you muttered to yourself.

"Or maybe he's gonna come and kill me myself after school tommorow... Ugh..." you can't come to school tired, you won't be able to pay attention in class that way. You can't ruin your perfect record by falling asleep in class.

Who cares about the perfect record?! You should be worried for your life!

"And what is that stupid noise, anyways?" you muttered, grumbling and getting up to inspect the source. Another stone hits the window, making you jump slightly. You walk to the window and open it, narrowly avoiding a stone that was thrown your way.

"Sorry!~"

Wait. You'd recognise that voice anywhere.

It's Ran.

"What are you doing here? How did you even get my adress?" you half yelled, not wanting to wake up your parents.

"You shouldn't sweat the little things. Come downstairs." he was smiling calmly, but you still couldn't tell if he was threatening you. Actually, is that his motorcycle parked next to him?

"You should probably put on a jacket too. It's real cold." he added on, and you nervously closed the window, quietly sneaking downstairs and putting on a jacket. Your pyjamas are not the most presentable, but you really don't want to test his patience right now.

You met him outside. What is he going to do to you now?

"Get on." he pointed to his bike, catching you off guard.

"Not without a helmet, riding a motorcycle without one can be really dangerous and you could lose your life." you couldn't help but bring up safety regulations. It's in your nature.

"I told you, don't sweat the details and just sit down." he completely ignored you, pushing you in the direction of the bike. You complied, sitting down on it awkwardly, not sure what to expect. He doesn't seem violent...

He sat down behind you, revving up the engine and just driving off without a care in the world.

"W-Wait!" you were shocked at the speed, grabbing onto him by instinct and missing the way his lips curved up at that.

"Where are you taking me?! I never consented to this!" you had to yell over the sound of the engine, shutting your eyes. He was right, it really is cold when you're riding on a motorcycle.

"And you know what I didn't consent to? That kiss." he replied and your face scrunched up a little, cringing at the not so distant memory. "But that's fine, because that means you're mine now."

"Huh?!" you finally opened your eyes, looking up at him. His expression was a little hard to make out since the only thing illuminating it was street lights that you were speeding past. Is he even following the speed limit?

"I value my sleep, you see. And that little stunt you pulled made me unable to fall asleep. So I figured I might as well give you a little visit." he placed a hand over you protectively, making you worry about your safety even more.

"Who would have thought the top of the class good girl would fall for me?" he looked down at you.

"I did not fall in love with you! It was a dare!" you shot back.

"Oh well, doesn't matter. You're my girl now. And that's that."

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tender-rosiey · 1 year

Note

Hii! Could you write another part of husband Sukuna? I really liked Rhymes and I just can’t stop rereading it (atp I have unhealthy obsession with sukuna fluff). If it’s bothering you no need to write it 💗

Wishing you amazing day/night 💗

that of flowers — sukuna x f!reader

a/n: it makes me so happy that you liked rhymes, luv <33 hope you like this as well and have a wonderful day/night too 💕

“sukuna, look!”

he sighs, “when I said we could go to the garden, I didn’t say you can trample over my stuff, woman.”

you stop in your track and sassily turn to him, “don’t act like you care about the flowers, mister.”

he grumbles, “I don’t,” and you notice his glance gravitate towards you, “I tend to be possessive over what’s mine, you know that.”

heat rises into your cheek as you look away.

his gaze never fails to fluster you; it’s so intense.

“a-anyways,” you quip before running to the flower field.

he merely watches you: he was never one for to participate in such active activities, save for fighting, of course.

he sees you kneel down and start to gently stroke the flowers’ petals with a soft smile on your face. you start thinking about something and he sees the way you brighten up at whatever idea you came up with.

you’re so obvious, he thinks, such an open book. but perhaps it’s just because he spent so much of his time with you, he even learned every single one of your mannerisms.

he knows when you’re sad, mad, excited, happy, and everything else.

it surprises you every single time, especially since he seems like the type to not care much about anything but his own desires.

so when you think back to all the moments he was able to tell your mood in a glance, you can’t help but laugh at how perceptive your husband is.

maybe it’s because of how observant he generally is, but, of course, it peaks during battles and matters related to you.

on the other hand, he thinks, til now, it’s all because of the amount of time he spent with you.

obviously, he would remember every detail about you, right?

both of you failed to realize in the beginning that one of his desires, that soon came to be, was one to protect and love you—a love befitting of the king of curses, not overly affectionate, but it’s there.

he claims he is not obvious with what’s on his mind, but when you run to him, smiling with a flower crown and hopping from happiness, he can’t help but sigh contently.

though no ears hear it.

“sukuna! what do you think of the flower crown?” you beam and he grunts while eyeing said flower crown.

“it doesn’t matter to me.”

“well, it should,” you smile mischievously, “especially since I made it only for you.”

his eyes twitch, “I am not wearing that ridiculous thing; I am a feared king.”

you grab your chest dramatically and fall to the ground, “you would deny your wife of such a simple request?!”

“all I want is of you to wear this crown I wholeheartedly made for you, my king!”

another thing you noticed that you’ve come to learn that the fastest way to make sukuna do something you want is to either compliment him or act dramatic.

so it’s not surprise to you when he sighs before sticking his hand out.

“oh? what is it that you want, my dear husband?”

“don’t antagonize me, woman; give me the damn crown!”

you chuckle and rest a hand on your hip while you wave the flower crown in your other hand, “you mean this?”

sukuna is a man who does not need to do much to get what he wants.

accordingly, he simply crosses his arms and glares at you.

eventually you start giggling and finally give him the flower crown.

he wears it, albeit reluctantly, and he says nothing more. his gaze still never leaves you.

you cup his face, “you look lovely.”

he quirks an eyebrow, a frown ‘adorning’ his face, “I am the king of curses; I am not ‘lovely’.”

you press a kiss to his cheek, “to me you’re and it’s nothing bad.”

he smirks, “oh? why’s that?”

you then hug him tightly, “because I am your wife!”

he grunts.

“you’re trouble,” he grumbles before pulling you close gently—as a man like him could— and kissing the top of your head, “and nothing more.”

a giggle escapes your lips, “still, you keep me around.”

“against my will; trust me.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso

do not copy or plagiarize or you will face the wrath of the rock

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna imagine #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen

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pinkyqil · 1 month

Text

Devastating Pain

Alexia putellas x reader

A/n:no summary cause it spoil the plot so you have to read the fic song suggestions to set the mood this a one part fic so no part 2 Hope you guys enjoy this and you aren't heartbroken feel free to send in feedback,requests or anything you want to know about this master piece so au revoir and have a great day 🫶🏿!

@ PINKYQIL

You we're meant to spend the last few days with your girlfriend but due to some circumstances you had gotten a call from work that needed you feeling back to spain.

But before you left, you had made a promise to alexia that you'll make it back in time for the teams final macht.

Not knowing that the day you would return back in her arms cease to exist.

Packing your bags as you we're on the phone with your significant other.

"Alexia I promise I'll definitely make it back in time before the bronze match you have nothing to worry about". Only if she knew there was a lot to worry about.

"amor are you sure about this didn't they tell you that you we're free for the month".

You were a nasa scientist and it wasn't everyday you got am off day and if you did they weren't that long so for you to have been able to spend that much time with your girlfriend without getting called back in lab until recently.

"Yes they did but you know how my work place is".

"Well I hope it nothing serious love you and have a safe trip". Only if she knew that would be the last time she would say and hear does two words from you

"Love you too don't forget to be that amazing person on the pitch like always". Just like that you ended the call between the both of you.

Days had passed and you were getting ready to borad you fight back to france and from there you would be heading to the stadium they were playing at.

But due to some technical issues your flight had been delayed. which had you worried hoping you could still make it to the match. No doubt that the event that accord would be taking away your precious life taking you away from friends, families and most importantly your loving fiancée

who wished you nothing but safety.

Alexia was getting worried as she couldn't spot you in the crowd full of fans supporting both spain and german.

She decided not to think much about what was going as she had a macht to focus on and a team to support.

But every nerve in her body told her something was wrong. The game was going smoothly on spain's side until it wasn't. Not only had German scored but the team sprite was off and alexia stil felt that something something was really wrong.

On your side the captain had been announcing a lot of tumbling from the aircraft but told passengers not to worry abou.t anything the only thing that you could wish for was the game should go well and your woman shouldn't be hurt.

As you were lost in deep thought was when all the chaos exploded. It seem like the pilot had announced that the airplane was going down and he had no control over this and was telling everyone to send in a message to their loved ones if they could.

Everyone panicking but all you could do was pick up your phone and dial alexia number as memories of you too flashed through your mind.

You knew her phone wasn't with but at least you could leave her one last voice mail.

"Alexia, mi amor, solo quería que supieras lo mucho que significas para mí, Estos últimos años contigo no solo han sido reconfortantes y tristes, sino que solo quería que supieras que siempre apreciaré cada momento que pasamos juntos, Espero que sepas lo mucho que yo-".

Before you knew the airplane crashed causing a huge collusion you couldn't even press to your voice-mail but could only hope that it sent through and she received it.

You and alexia had this information thing set that if one of you were to be hurt the other person needs to be informed as soon has possible.

And that's when alexia finds out the news of your passing.

She couldn't even process what she heard properly but knew she had to step up for the taking penalty. As the ball was set all she could think of you alive and well that's it just the universe playing a huge joke on her but it wasn't...

Set to kick the ball but the opposing goal keeper had stopped it. Alexia fell on her knees knowing right there that the universe wasn't playing a joke on her and that you were truly gone...

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ponderingmoonlight · 11 months

Text

How JJK men act in and after a fight

Pairing: Gojo x reader, Megumi x reader, Nanami x reader

Word Count: 4,1k (a big baby)

Warnings: obviously hurt in every part but also a loooot of fluff, Megumi being as inexperienced as he is lol, Nanami's part is pure fan service, you're very welcome

Notes: I consider writing part ll of that with Choso, Geto and maybe Toji. If you're down for that, just leave me a comment or a like <3 as always thank y'all from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you give me, I truly don't deserve it <3

Part ll with Geto, Choso and Yuji can be found here

Tags: @ifuckfictionalmen @sanicsmut

Gojo Satoru

“So you think I’m being ridiculous? I saw the way she looked at you and how her hand brushed against yours way too often”, you hiss, whole body trembling in pure rage.

“Oh, so every woman that touches me is apparently into me, now I get it”, he sarcastically remarks.

You bite your tongue, desperately trying to stop yourself from crying. Why is he not able to understand that you don’t feel comfortable with that situation at all? You told him over and over, especially when she completely ignored your presence on your first meeting. How does he not see all of this?

“You…You transferred money to her. A lot, actually. And all of that after she completely ignored me when you introduced me”

“Just like I do for you-“

“I’m your wife, moron!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

Satoru’s face is twisted in annoyance. He thought he’d come home to your loving arms, cuddling on the couch after a stressful day. But this? You stormed into him the second he opened the door, holding up bank statements. Over the past weeks, this happened way too often, interrupting your otherwise very peaceful marriage in a way Satoru can’t take any longer.

“So what? We’re colleagues, (y/n). You are my wife, why don’t you get that I am forced to work with other women from time to time?”, he questions.

The way he rolls his blue orbs at you sends you over the edge completely.

“So colleagues transfer money, hold deep eye contact and touch each other oh so casually when having a conversation? Don’t fuck with me, Satoru. I told you over and over that it bugs me, that I’m concerned. And you do absolutely nothing about it.”

“Maybe if you’d stop acting like a bitch!”, he cries out in frustration.

Your heart sinks immediately when is words hit you with full force. Even though your relationship with Satoru does get pretty heated from time to time, he never called you names. Never.

Not until now, when it comes to that woman.

You need to get off his sight, away from his stinging presence. Without saying another word, you storm into your shared bedroom and lock the door behind you before he’s able to follow you.

“Maybe if you’d stop acting like a bitch!”

His stinging words repeat themselves over and over in your head while you can’t hold back your tears any longer. This is so unfair. Why is he too blind to see the way she hunts after him, that she wants him to be more than a simple colleague? All you want him is to understand how uncomfortable this situation is for you, that you feel somehow betrayed.

“Open the door, (y/n)”, his clear voice is heard from behind the door.

Satoru knew he overdid it the second he saw the devastated look on your face. No matter how ridiculous this whole topic is, you don’t deserve his anger towards you. Mei isn’t more than a colleague for him though, a woman he has worked with on missions for years. She surely doesn’t like him like that, it’s simply impossible-

His phone vibrates in his pants, making him take a look at the screen.

What do you think about dinner tonight? Just the two of us.

He signs at her message, realization hitting him like a wall. Fuck, what did he do? The countless times her touch brushed over him, the messages she sent him not work related at all every night and how she always avoided the conversation when it came to you flood his mind uncontrollably. How could he make you feel this way? You told him over and over that you feel uncomfortable with this situation, asked him for compromises. And now…

Now he made you feel unwanted, delusional and dumb. You are his wife, the love of his life, the one thing that keeps him going in this world full of madness.

“Can you let me in, (y/n)? I’m sorry…”, he hushes against the closed door.

You can’t catch your breath, dry sobs hunt your body down when a new wave of sorrow washes over you. Does he even love you? All this time you thought you were the love of his life, his pride. But now…It feels like he chose that woman over you, that he cares about her opinion and feelings more than yours.

“I’m coming in”, he softly announces.

Of course, a simple closed door can’t keep him out if he doesn’t want to.

The second he lays his eyes on your crumpled on the floor figure, his heart completely breaks. Instantly, he kneels down in front of you and embraces you in his arms while your sobs make him hate himself even more.

“I’m so unbelievable sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it like that at all. It’s just that in my world, there’s only you and no one else. I never understood how you even get the idea of me liking another woman because this scenario is ridiculous to me. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that. I’m so so sorry…”, he mumbles against your ear.

Despite his words still haunt your mind, you can’t help but let yourself fall at least a little into his inviting arms, tears staining his uniform.

“I will talk to her and make clear that you are the one and only for me, I promise.”

It’s impossible to stay mad at him for long. You wrap your longing arms around him, forehead pressed against his.

“So you understand my point?”, you mutter.

“I do and I’m sorry for making you feel this way. You are the only woman in my life and I love you more than anything else”, he reassures you once again.

You definitely won’t get him away this easily. After all, words mean nothing without action. But this is a step in the right direction and for now, you can definitely live with that.

“Now, please stop crying, I’ll call her right away and we’ll watch your favorite show and order some food after, what do you think?”

“Only if you pay”, you sniff.

Megumi Fushiguro

“Oh, where are you going?”, you question when your boyfriend Megumi gets up from the bed so early in the morning that it’s still dark outside.

The last few weeks were like a trip to hell and back, it seems like your relationship consists of Megumi going on missions while you have to stay behind. Before this night, you haven’t seen him for one whole week and while you do understand his responsibly as a jujutsu sorcerer, you can’t help but feel hurt.

“On a mission of course”, he remarks dryly.

Your eyes begin to burn as your heart sinks. It’s like you don’t know him anymore, as if he’s only the shell of the man you used to love. Is he so sick of you that he doesn’t want to spend a single day on your side? Is all of this on purpose? You can’t hold back any longer.

“You’re always leaving me”, you blurt out.

It shouldn’t bother you. After all, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer yourself. Despite being Shoko’s trainee you should be aware of the fact that this job is a mess and means you have to dedicate your whole life to it.

But still you can’t help but fell hurt. Hurt because your boyfriend doesn’t even smile anymore when he returns, hurt because he comes and goes without saying a word, hurt because you feel like you lost him.

“What was that?”, he grumbles.

“Do you think I do this on purpose?”

“I just feel like you’re never here. And I miss you.”

“Not all of us have an easy job like you, (y/n).”

You swallow hard. Wow, that is new. And extremely painful. Even though you aren’t out there fighting, you still have a lot to do, working your ass off so everyone survives, day and night ready if something happens. This is just not fair.

“You think my job is easy? Stitch yourself up next time, then”, you hiss and cross your arms over your chest.

“Don’t come at me. You started this whole thing!”

“Yeah, I ‘started this whole thing’ because you are my boyfriend and I love you, and I…I fucking miss you! But fine, if you don’t feel the same I’ll just leave.”

It’s ridiculous and you know it, mind screaming violently, begging you to stay. But your heart can’t. This was simply too much. You can’t stay here with a boy that treats you like this.

“If you leave now-“

“Then what?”, you interrupt him immediately, cold eyes glaring at him while your hand rests on the door.

“You’ll leave? You leave every time, Megumi. See you around…Or not.”

And with that, you leave him standing in his room alone, staring at the door like an idiot. What the hell has gotten into you? Since when are you acting up like that? He doesn’t know you like that. But still, your words do make him wonder if you’re somehow right…

He shakes his head violently. No, you’re being ridiculous. Maybe you need to sleep in and you’ll figure this out as soon as he returns.

But one things for sure: Megumi definitely won’t make the first move.

And so days pass until finally weeks begin to pass without both of you saying a single word to each other. Every time you see him you feel like dying inside, heart screaming at you in agony to stop your stubbornness, to approach him and say sorry. But you can’t. You simply can’t over the fact that he let you go like that, not even looking your direction when you cross each other. It’s like he doesn’t know you anymore despite all the nights you shared with each other, despite the intimate moments you’ve had.

No, it seems like he doesn’t care at all.

“Hey (y/n)!”, Nobara greets you.

“Hey, I’m in a bit of a rush”, you explain briefly, already on your way to assist Shoko in an autopsy of a curse.

“It’s just…(y/n), are you and Megumi okay?”, Nobara mutters, her face twisted in concern like you’ve never seen before.

You stop in your tracks, a new wave of grief washing over you. No, nothing is okay, absolutely nothing to be exact. You want to scream it into her face, break down crying, let all your feelings out. But instead, you just gift her an empty smile and say:

“Sure.”

‘Sure’ as if he never raised his voice at you, ‘sure’ as if Megumi would care about you feeling lonely and missing him, ‘sure’ as if you actually meant something to him

“I mean it’s none of my business but…You guys haven’t talk for what feels like an eternity, you are no longer there and I’m just worried that he messed things up with you, y’know…Well, let me know if I can help you with something, okay?”

She gently places her hand on your shoulder while you have to force yourself to not shed a tear. Oh, if she only knew. If she only knew that the last weeks were absolute hell, that you feel like dying inside. But this is something you and Megumi have to deal with alone. Even Nobara can’t help you with that.

You say goodbye to her and walk towards the laboratory, tears still stinging threatening in your eyes. How much you long for talking to him, to tell him how much his words really hurt you. But you can’t bring yourself to make the first step. After all, you tried to talk this out multiple times only for him to not even listen. No, this time he’ll have to make the first move if he wants you back.

If…

“(y/n).”

That voice. That oh so familiar voice that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Megumi”, you breathe out, slowly turning around to face him.

There he stands, scratching his head while looking at your feet, eyes not meeting your gaze.

“How…how you’ve been?”

Even a blind man would see the blush creeping up his face…Is he embarrassed? Painfully awkward silence hangs between you two as all you can do is stare at him, your blood slowly but surely boiling up. Is he really asking you how you’ve been after not talking to you for weeks, ignoring you every time he saw you?

“You have some fucking nerves”, you spit at him, closing the gap between you two with a rushed movement.

“You’re not talking with me for weeks and now you’re asking how I’ve been? I’ve been miserable, Megumi. I felt like dying every time you ignored me!”

Fuck, don’t cry. Don’t let him see how you really feel. Your trembling hands frantically wipe away the threatening tears, eyes darted towards him.

“I just couldn’t, (y/n). It’s just…I…”, he stumbles over his very own words, fingers over and over running through his hair.

“I was able to see it until I thought about it. I’ve been a horrible boyfriend, (y/n). So horrible that I thought you’d be better off without me. But I’m simply too selfish to let you go. I’m sorry for not making time for you, I’m sorry for treating you like shit, I’m sorry for making you feel like I didn’t love you when in reality, all I was able to think about was you and how much I missed you sleeping besides me”, he suddenly blurts out, leaving you completely speechless.

This is everything. Everything you longed for, ever single word you graved so deeply. Did this thick silence really change the way he sees your relationship now? A look into his sorrow – filled eyes is enough to realize that he’s telling the truth, making your heart jump up and down.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I know I’m not the boy you deserve and I’d fully understand if you’re having enough of me. I just wanted to let you know that I can see it now and that I want to give you what you deserve if you let me.”

The glistening in his eyes literally begs you for a second chance while your very own heart screams at you. Of course you want him back, Megumi is everything you ever wanted. But he’ll have to show that it’s really different this time.

“Promise me something”, you announce.

He tilts his head to his side, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll stay with me today, that we’ll spend time together. No mission, no obligations.”

“I’ll stay as long as you need, as long as you want me around, (y/n). This time without you hurt like hell, I simply don’t want to let you go again”, he hushes, his tender fingertips brushing over your arms.

“That sounds good…”, you mutter, resting your head against his chest.

God, how much you missed that feeling. Even though your relationship had its ups and downs, you always admired the way Megumi was able to calm you down in an instant with a simple touch of his hand.

Maybe you will figure it out now. And maybe him not having time for you stays in the past forever.

Kento Nanami

“Fuck”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

You’re on your way home after a pretty ugly mission. And even though Shoko already stitched you up, you feel like dying. Everything just hurts, it’s hard to even walk.

The thought of your husband at home makes your guts turn. Not because you don’t love him or aren’t longing to see him, but because of your recent conversation.

“It can’t go on like this, (y/n). You’re always injured and it’s starting to concern me. Maybe I have to talk t-“

“No”, you interrupted him immediately.

“Please don’t. I’ll be careful from now on. I promise.”

“Fine. But if this happens again, I’ll have a talk with the elders.”

And it happened again. All these missions one after another really took their toll on your concentration. One moment of unwariness was enough to sweep you off your feet, thigh sliced open in the nastiest way you’ve ever seen. Shoko told you it will take some time to heal entirely, but if Kento gets to see this…

“Maybe I should call Nanami to pick you up. You really can’t walk like that (y/n).”

“No, please don’t!”, you begged Shoko for dear life.

“I don’t want this to cause trouble. It’s fine, really!”

“You almost died, (y/n)”, she remembered you dryly.

“And I will definitely die if you tell him. Please Shoko.”

She signed.

“Fine. Just be careful and visit me tomorrow…”

You swallow. A fight seems inevitable if you won’t hide your wound from him.

You take a deep breath, keys trembling in your sweaty palms. Fuck, why does this have to ache so badly? Shoko gave so some pain killers, you shouldn’t feel a single thing.

No, focus. Pain is only in your head. But Kento is very real.

With one last stolen glance at your injured leg you open the door, forcing a smile on your face. Where is he? Your heart beats out of your chest, hands so sweaty that you have to wipe them on your coat.

“Kento?”, you shout into the quiet living room, closing the door behind you gently.

“There you are, sweetheart”, his voice coos out of the bedroom.

Your breath hitches, eyes wide open at the sight in front of you. There he stands, your loving husband. Dressed in nothing but his pants, bare chest immediately captivating you. Oh god, he looks so delicious that you feel like fainting, hungry eyes roaming over his tight muscles as if you haven’t seen him like that hundreds of times before.

“Where have you been? A mission like that shouldn’t take this long.”

He begins to approach you elegantly, staring at you with a small smile on his delicate lips.

“Y-yeah…Still had something to…y’know…say…to Shoko”, you stutter.

Why does he have to look so absolutely delicious? And why does your leg suddenly feel so…wet?

“Are you alright? You seem a little unfocused today. Did you get hurt?”

His eyes scan over your body without any mercy, forcing you to hide your leg behind the other.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine”, you press out.

No, you’re anything but fine. The way your other leg brushes against your injured one makes you see stars. You feel like fainting and throwing up at the same time, sweat running down your forehead uncontrollably. You need medication – now.

“I planned something very excited for us today. Something you might like”, he purrs, closing the distance between your bodies.

His hand grabs your waist passionately while your mixed emotions take your breath away. God, how much you love the way his arms wrap themselves around you, knowing exactly that this leads you directly into the bedroom.

But that means…

“Oh yeah?”, you chuckle nervously.

That means he’ll see the wound you’re so desperately trying to hide.

“Absolutely”, he breathes against your ear.

Oh god, this is so good…No, it’s not good at all. You need to get away from him, out of this misery, into t-

A toe-curling scream escapes your lips before you even realize what is happening, body stumbling backwards.

“(y/n)!”, Nanami mutters, eyes wide open.

He squeezed your leg like he always does and just the way you like it. Why on earth are you acting like that? That haunted look on your face almost makes it seem as if he hurt you.

Lost in thoughts, he looks down at his hand.

His blood-smeared hand.

It slowly dawns to him. No, it isn’t because he did something you don’t like. It’s because you’re injured again. And you decided to lie into his face about it.

“What is this?”

Your husband’s voice sounds as unpromising as you imagined it in this situation, eyes widen in horror while you’re still panting in agony.

Fuck. Your heart drops immediately by the sight of his blood smeared hand. Kento is an outstanding smart man, too clever to be considered an idiot by your actions.

“You promised me to stay safe. And that you lie to be about being injured...”

“(y/n), look at me”, he insists, grabbing your chin.

His eyes seem to stare right through your soul as he glances down at you, jaw tightened.

“I can’t believe you lied to me.”

“Only because you’d freak out”, you reply in your own defense.

“Like I should! I told you over and over to look out for yourself, to skip a few missions before you get seriously hurt. And what is that, huh?”

He points at your wounded leg, blood now soaking through the fabric of your skirt.

“You are severely injured. Just like I predicted.”

You feel like a child being scolded by her parents. Even though Kento never raises his voice at you aggressively, you can tell by the way his whole body tenses up and that glistening in his gaze that he’s absolutely furious.

“I am able to look after myself. I know what’s best for me”, you remark annoyed.

Fuck, you’re so damn tired. All you want is to bandage yourself up and go to sleep.

“Yes, I can see that.”

Something about his sarcastic tone and the way he stares down at you while shaking his head makes you snap.

“I’m a grown woman, I don’t need you to look after me like a damn child! Mind your own business, Kento!”

“You are my business. You are my wife. It’s my responsibility to take care of you!”, he barks back.

“But I don’t want you to take care of me, I want you to leave me alone!”, you spit into his face, making him drop his shoulders immediately.

God, you want to take that back straightaway, knowing damn well how your comment hurt his feelings. But at the moment, all you can think about is a warm bed and finally some rest.

You drag yourself into the bedroom and let your trembling body fall onto the mattress. This is not fair, right? After all, you aren’t a child anymore, you are able to look after yourself…right?

You close your eyes, the disappointed look on Kento’s face lingering through your mind. It wasn’t fair to snap at him, though. He is your husband, always caring about you. No, he certainly doesn’t deserve you to treat him like this.

Three soft knocks on the door.

“Can I come in?”, his damped voice questions.

“Sure”, you mumble.

You can’t even look at him when he enters the room in silence, elegant steps leading him to the bed where he sits down next to you. Suddenly, he begins to rip open a package of bandages, catching your attention.

“What are you doing?”

“I take care of you. May I?”

His gaze wanders to your skirt, eyes asking you for permission to pull it up.

“Sure…”, you mutter, a slight blush creeping up your face when his fingers brush over your panties.

“How did this happen?”, he asks softly while his skilled fingers remove the blood soaked bandage.

“I don’t know exactly. Wasn’t paying full attention and got hit by a curse.”

“I see.”

Despite all the things you said to him, despite the way you hurt him a few minutes ago, your man kneels in front of you and caresses your wound with so much affection that it doesn’t hurt at all. Your eyes wander over him, how his gaze is focused exclusively on your thigh, skilled fingers working wonders.

“I’m sorry for lashing out and not telling you”, you let out, not able to hold in your bad conscience any longer.

“I understand that I put you in an uncomfortable position when I threatened to talk to the elders about this and I’m very sorry for that. But it can’t go on like this, (y/n). This is the 5th serious injury within three weeks and I’m truly worried about you. I don’t want you to end like-“

He stops himself from finishing that sentence but oh you know exactly what he means and it shatters your heart. Without hesitation, your fingers grab his face gently, eyes locking with yours.

“I love you, Kento. And I see that you’re right. I’ll talk to the elders tomorrow myself about that”, you assure him.

A small but precious smile appears on his face, free hand caressing your cheek with so much affection that you have to hold back a tear.

“You’re my everything, sweetheart. Let’s stitch you up and go to bed.”

2K notes · View notes

kyuuppi · 1 year

Text

Genshin men Instagram HCs

Ft. Xiao; Scaramouche; Zhongli; Childe; Alhaitham; Kaveh; Tighnari

(gender neutral reader but wears a dress in Scara & Zhongli's parts)

Xiao // @ a1atus

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Very rarely posts

Never pictures of himself, you’ll only see his face in tagged photos

If he does post, it’s probably a new album cover of a band he likes, a particularly good plate of almond tofu from his favorite café, or—if he’s in a particularly good mood—a cute stray cat that befriended him on the street

Never edits anything but still takes pretty decent photos because he understands basic composition rules

Never tags anything but will sometimes write simple captions like “new guitar”

His pfp has not changed since he made his account and its literally just the blandest selfie you’ve ever seen—but he’s effortlessly photogenic so even when he’s just staring at the camera with a blank expression he looks hot

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Xiao will unintentionally do his loyal boyfriend duties and like all of your posts but he never actually leaves a comment unless you specifically ask him to but you have to tell him what to say or else you’ll just get something like “your hair is nice” LOL

Maybe makes one post related to you but it doesn’t have your face—just picture of your hands holding each other or a photo he secretly took of you from behind as you admire some paintings from when he took you on an art gallery date

Still doesn’t write much in captions but if the post includes you, he always adds a little black heart emoji 🖤

Scaramouche // @ balladeer

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Vehemently claims he’s not chronically online but he definitely is

Def has a dark / emo aesthetic profile and puts more effort into it than he’d ever admit

Uses stories pretty frequently

Usually to show off his game stats and victories or to vent about some annoying inconvenience that's just happened to him

balladeer Jfc the train is late again I may as well just walk home everyday ffs

All his late night gaming photos are so highly saturated in his pitch black bedroom, the only source of light being his screen on max brightness and his violet RGB keyboard. If you raise the screen brightness on your phone you might be able to make out some empty Monster cans and ramen cups on his desk—he absolutely gives Discord / Reddit mod vibes 🤢

Definitely has a story archive just for Valorant 🤮

I wanna fuck him so bad it makes me look stupid—

Posts a few selfies to show a new piercing or the very rare occasion where he’s feeling really confident in his looks

unintentionally thirst traps the emo boy lovers; yes, I am talking about you and I—

Lightly edits photos or uses filters to make them look good but nothing extreme or super aesthetic, mostly just for decent contrast

Usually the first one to see any of his friends posts but never ‘likes’ them

Will leave snarky or sarcastic comments when the mood strikes tho

His pfp is a candid picture someone else took that he thinks he looks decent in—sticking his tongue out and giving double middle fingers to the camera

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Makes a post or story for every date you guys have, even if it’s just a vague picture of your shoes together

He likes to show off that he has such an attractive s/o but also lowkey just wants to have a memory to look back on for the nights he feels lonely

Doesn’t post just you though, he’s always in frame holding you or touching you in some way—he feels the need to put some sort of claim cause he thinks people are gonna shoot their shot with you—he’s kinda paranoid and insecure, pls have patience w him

Likes and comments on all of your posts. Sometimes it's a snarky quip like if you post about you and your friends doing something funny he might comment “lmao ur so dumb” but if its a selfie or something you’re proud of, he leaves a little compliment and heart emoji.

YN0103 [bedroom mirror selfie of you shyly posing in a dress]

YN0103 Bought a new dress today…it’s not my usual style but I rlly like it 🥺

balladeer cute 💜

If anyone ever confronts him in person about his nice comments on your posts tho he’ll get flustered and claim his account was temporarily hacked LOL

His heart def flutters when you post a picture of him on your own account

He kinda can’t believe you’re proud enough of him to publicly post about him

Changes his pfp to the two of you together and, if you zoom in and squint, you can tell he’s kind of smiling <3

Zhongli // @ rex_lapis

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

I’m sorry but I have to do it…

He has Facebook grandpa vibes

Like he has no idea how to use half of the features; stories are an absolute mystery to him. What is a reel?

But he tries to be supportive of his friends and will leave way-too eloquent comments with a Wikipedia levels of supplemental information

a1atus [ photo of a shiny Fender acoustic guitar laying on what seems to be a bed]

a1atus new guitar

rex_lapis Lovely new instrument, Xiao. You seem to have quite good tastes – that particular model is popular among many professional musicians. It is well renowned for its clear sound and beautiful mahogany exterior. If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to hear you play it someday over tea.

a1atus @ rex_lapis thanks

the way I cackled writing that exchange ygweyufgwyu Xiaos just like ‘thanks for commenting dad’

His pfp is not him—it’s probably a famous painting he likes or a beautiful white flower from a garden he visited

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

If you want him to improve his Insta game, you’re going to have to teach him, I’m sorry

On the up side, Zhongli is a great student and is eager to learn anything you teach him

Will try to post pretty regularly; usually somewhat mediocre photos of beautiful scenery like sunsets and flowers

Like Scaramouche, he enjoys the idea of documentary your time together so he posts something at the end of each of your dates

Your heart lowkey melts when Zhongli, very earnestly, asks after dinner if you’ll allow him to take a selfie with you to post on his Instagram

Regularly asks for feedback on his posts to ensure he’s properly taking your advice and improving :,)

He even starts organizing and naming story archives on his profile—simple titles like “tea,” “nature,” “friends,” and “my dearest”

Likes and comments on every single one of your posts and replies to all of your stories, even if he was there with you

Usually just lathers you in compliments on your beauty or tastes but they’re so thoughtfully written that it’s obvious he’s not “just saying it” and genuinely believes all the kind things about you he writes

YN1231 [photo of you twirling in a summer dress amidst a colorful of bed of flowers in a botanical garden, take by your friend]

YN1231 It’s finally starting to feel like spring! 🌸🌼🌺

rex_lapis While the camelias are lovely, they pale in comparison to your radiance. Your yellow sundress is also quite lovely and compliments your complexion in the morning sunlight. Truly a divine sight.

balladeer @ YN1231 @ rex_lapis ugh can you guys keep it in the DMs

- Changes his pfp to a selfie of himself smiling after you told him he should. The angle is a little odd but he’s so naturally attractive that he still manages to look good.

Ajax // @ tartaglia_on_top

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Doesn’t post too often but when he does, it kinda gives stereotypical frat boy

Like, lots of parties and shirtless beach photos with his friends

The surprise is the occasional posts of his little siblings and kids he volunteers with in between

He sometimes posts championship and practice photos from his martial arts competitions with captions thanking his team and mentors

Is pretty popular—has a few thousand followers, many are people he met just once or twice at parties or genuine friends and classmates, but the vast majority are online fans who just follow cause he’s hot LOL

Is the type of person you followed once after meeting a long time ago and never talk to again but you can’t bring yourself to unfollow cause he’s nice and his updates are kinda interesting and he’s hot

Isn’t online that much so he doesn’t like/comment on his friends’ every post but usually tries to leave congratulatory messages when someone accomplishes something or graduates

His pfp is a closeup of himself with a boyish grin he cropped from a group photo

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

It is super obvious when you guys start dating cause almost every post from that point is about you in some way LOL

tartaglia_on_top [photo of Ajax, sweaty and exhausted but clearly excited as he holds a trophy in one hand with the other wrapped around your waist while he presses a kiss to your cheek]

tartaglia_on_top Officially a 3 year championship winner! Thanks to my biggest supporter @ YN0720 😘

He’s not even consciously trying to post you all the time, it just happens because you are either always together or any memorable moment he thinks are worth an Insta post involve you in some way

You’re the only person, aside from his family - that he actually likes/comments on all posts for

Is the type of boyfriend to leave those super dramatic, embarrassing comments on your selfies like “DAAAMN BABE 🥵 finna make me act UP” and, in one particularly shameless case, “god youre so hot pls step on me queen 😍”

Please block him

He shamelessly liked all your past posts from before you too met as well—you were kinda mortified to wake up one morning to a notification that just said “what a lil cutie ❤️” on a post of yourself from seventh grade.

Changes his pfp to a couple selfie he took of the two of you kissing on a winter vacation in the mountains

Kaveh // @ kaveh.designs

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Obsessed with having an aesthetic profile

Like, the color palette of the background and clothing in his pfp selfie are carefully matched with the cover of each of his story archives, down to the hex code

He carefully edits every post and uses filters to make them all fit with his theme no matter how inaccurate to real life they may become

“Huh…I thought your bedroom wall was a bit more orange than this…”

“Oh, that’s cause I use 30% Juno in all my bedroom photos for a warmer finish.”

“???”

Despite his aesthetic profile, he doesn’t come off as particularly vain or narcissistic—only posts selfies when he’s has a particularly good hair day or changed his accessories

Most of his posts are of places he travels to (museums and big cities with interesting architecture) or his own sketches and rendered design projects

Online pretty frequently, always checks insta when he wakes up, before bed, and during lunch breaks

His stories are often project updates, interesting things he encounters throughout the day, or food photos

Only likes posts he actually likes and sometimes comments with photography critiques

tighnar1 [photo of a cluster of three bright blue mushrooms clustered against vibrant green grass and patches of dark, wet soil]

tighnar1 Proof the forest is an amazing place: found this beautiful little cluster of juvenile Rakkhashava mushrooms on my hike today. Great spotting by @ colleeei. Check my story for some cool mushroom facts. 🍄

kaveh.designs great photo composition, Tigh, perfect golden ratio on the caps.

tighnar1 @ kaveh.designs Thanks I guess…

Has a decent number of followers, many of whom are also artists familiar with Kaveh’s reputation from the Kshahrewar. Others just like his OOTD stories and charming smile

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

Kaveh revamps his entire profile once you two become official

His pfp becomes a candid taken by a stranger of the two of you together at an aquarium, holding hands as you point something out to him through the glass

It was taken by a photographer working at the aquarium as part of a promotion—the photographer showed you two the photo and asked for permission to post it on their official website and Kaveh was absolutely obsessed with the photo—it’s still one of his favorite and it doesn’t even show your faces

He still matches his archived story covers to his new pfp but his actual feed had become a lot more relaxed and natural now

He still slightly edits photos so they look as good as possible, but he doesn’t like using filters on photos of you or the two of you together because he thinks it would be a disservice to your natural beauty

Like Ajax, his posts and stories naturally become mostly about you whether scenes from your dates—candid photos he takes of you where he insists you look like art even though you’re just in pajamas with an unmade face—or even photos of things he sees throughout the day that remind him of you

Sometimes he posts stories of funny reels or art pieces he knows you’d like and tags you in them with messages like “@YN0709 omg remember when we were talking abt this?” and “me & @ YN0709💕”

Similar to Childe, leaves the most downbad, dramatic comments on your posts

YN0709 [swimsuit selfie]

YN0709 happy summer! ☀️🌊

kaveh.designs Oh my god my heart– 💘 I cannot believe I get to come home to this every night 👅💦

YN0709 @ kaveh.designs omg kaveh pls 💀

al_haitham @ kaveh.designs Every time I see one of your comments I regret ever learning how to read.

Alhaitham // @ al_haitham

★ ★ pre-relationship ★ ★

Only made an account so his friends would stop bothering him about not keeping up with things tbh

Checks his feed a few times a day but skips through stories if they’re too long/too many

Absolutely hates concert stories the most cause they’d loud, long, and filled with off-key drunken singing

Never likes or comments on anything unless it’s really interesting to him

Occasionally shares reels in his story that are like interesting history facts or official Akademiya announcements

Has a few posts (and only cause Kaveh would not shut up about it) but they’re mostly just pictures of book covers he’d just finished reading with a detailed review or literary analysis as the caption—but he’s mindful of avoiding spoilers for those who haven’t read it

However, he does have one post that stands out quite a bit

He posted an unintentional gym third trap because he just happened to be working out, as is routine, and thought it might be nice to share some tips on proper rope pushdown form

If you’re not a gym babe and don’t know what this is, I beg of you, please look up a gif or video and imagine Alhaitham doing this, shirtless. You’re welcome.

It has become his most popular post by far

His pfp is probably taken straight from his faculty ID card: plain background, bright lighting, neutral facial expression

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

After you two have become official and are pretty comfortably established in your relationship, he’ll post a photo of the two of you—probably one you took - with a simple caption like “Late night at Puspa Café with my favorite person 💚”

Everyone who knows him freaks out in the comments with variations of “omg hathie got an s/o???” and “wow he finally posted a normal pic of himself, y/n is a good influence” but he doesn’t reply to any of them lmao

If you use Instagram a lot, he’ll naturally become more active too because he enjoys learning more about what you like through your posts and stories

He likes all of your posts but never comments—if one of your posts interests him, he’d prefer to wait until he sees you later to ask you about it in person

He just wants an excuse to talk to you more

As he becomes more active, little bits and pieces of your relationship naturally infiltrate his feed

His latest book review post has your favorite mug in the background because the two of you had breakfast together

His informational story post of an antique Sumerian emerald he found at a street vendor is being modeled by your pretty hands because you were with him when he saw it and later given to you after the vendor insisted on Alhaitham gifting it to his “beautiful spouse”

He changes his profile picture to the two of you from one of your many reading dates, comfortably lounging on a loveseat in a quiet corner of the library—and this time, he’s softly smiling

Tighnari // @ t1ghnar1

Surprisingly active on social media

He thinks social media is a great way to share information about the importance of forest conservation and get people to appreciate the beauty of Avidya forest

Makes one post almost every day and multiple stories

Needless to say, 90% of his posts are of plants or small animals he finds on his hikes or while working

His most popular posts are those of cute squirrels and birds that are being nursed back to health after being found wounded—animals just seem to naturally love him so the pictures are usually taken by his coworkers because his arms are full with cuddly animals that refuse to move

The other 10% of his posts are from the occasional hang outs with friends or coworkers after work—snaps of iced fruit teas from Puspa café or colorful clay plates overflowing with Collei’s homemade pita pockets.

He makes sure to reply to or at least like every comment, particularly those from people asking questions about the plants he posts or how to become a forest ranger. Even simple “wow that's so cool” comments often get at least a “thanks, glad you liked it” from Tighnari

He tends to use some cute forest or food emoji when they fit with his posts. For example, 🍄,🥙,🦊,🐦, etc.

Also tends to use “:)” when replying to his followers because he knows it can be difficult to read tone in text-based communications

Tigh is basically a social media manager at this point oops

Because he is online so much, he naturally keeps up with almost everything his friends post and will like or comment on things he finds interesting

His pfp is a selfie of himself with a small yellow bird perched on his shoulder from one of his patrols

★ ★ in a relationship ★ ★

All Tighnaris written by me WILL follow the “fennec foxes mate for life” trope regardless of AU, it is an indisputable law of the universe

If you’re in a relationship with Tighnari, you should be prepared for stability and commitment in general

While he doesn’t go out of his way to make an official announcement post or anything like that, you become a regular feature on his page

Will tag you in anything you’re related to, unless you specifically ask him not to

t1ghnar1 [photo of a small, cream-colored fox brushing itself against Tighnari’s leg and looking up at the camera with large eyes]

t1ghnar1 On a walk with @ YN1229 this morning we spotted this cute little kit without her mom. 🦊 While adorable, foxes - even kits - are wild animals and should never be approached unless by professionals. We have informed the local animal control where she will be taken care of until we can locate her family. Photo by @ YN1229

He never outright announces you as his lover but he seems to spend so much time with you and refer to you so casually that his followers who don’t know him just assume you’re his spouse LOL

He doesn’t bother to correct them either :,)

bennie_boy Wow, that mountain is so high up - wasn’t ur spouse scared to go up there?

t1ghnar1 @ bennie_boy Y/n has been on so many trips like this with me that they’re pretty used to it. :)

Likes your posts as he see them on his feed and occasionally leaves a short comment like, “beautiful <3”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagine #genshin scenario #genshin hcs #tighnari x reader #scaramouch x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #xiao x reader #childe x reader #ajax x reader #tartaglia x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #zhongli x reader #sm au #genshin sm au

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 5 months

Text

Standing a step behind you, watching you from afar, is already my biggest happiness.

Sorry for spamming I accidentally put the post in queue two times, this is the proofread and correct one the previous one is not :']

Price + Ghost*Reader

Price

Price doesn’t want to bind you to him. He’s nearly 40, plus the rank difference between you two, he’s a mature superior, no personal feelings should be involved in the workplace.

Not to say, he doesn’t sense even a tiny bit of romantic love from you, every time he tries to hide his affection towards you, he only sees respect for comrades in your eyes.

Even till the day you jump out and take a bullet for him as he gets knocked down accidentally, which ends up with the enemy dying, but you become lifeless in his arms, blood painting his palms and gear, he still believes you just view him as a teammate.

As he steps into your silent quarter and reads the words written in the journal, he slumps onto the bed, speechless as sorrow swallowing him that he needs to bite his lips until he tastes the bitter to stop him from crying.

“Personal feelings won’t be allowed, I can see Captain comply with this rule without exceptions.” “but it’s okay if it means I can stay beside him.” “It’s already a bliss that I can watch him from afar.”

He’s seasoned with gravel and pain, which ends up making a choice to free you from caging with him and hide his love, but unknown to him, you’re better at secreting yourself.

Ghost

He’s an expert at hiding and perceiving other’s feelings, not a single human —even his captain— is able to conceal the true thoughts running in their mind from him.

He knows he views you differently , not the family love like he owns for other 141 members, but the need to stay beside you forever, become old together if you both are pardoned from dying on the field at a young age.

The emotion plants a seed in his heart, sprouting as time flows, and when he realizes, the branches are already entangled with his heart.

Yet he chooses to lock those feelings inside the deepest part of him, he stares at you secretly with an amount of distance, always got your six and protects you, but never closer.

He’s afraid if standing too close to you, the sentiment will break through his mask and reveal it to you.

No one left behind, that’s his motto, yet he derogates it the moment he watches you shove the enemy badgering him off his body and over the railing, but he can’t catch your hands as he helplessly witnesses you tumble over inevitably.

You leave nothing, not even your body has been found, since the bomb exploded and perish you and the enemy together.

But when he flips through your journal in your room, he takes off his balaclava, letting it fall to the floor carelessly, as he discovers it does nothing to hide the truth from you.

“Something’s holding Ghost back, but I can wait, until he’s comfortable enough to take a step, even if it means years.” “I imagine we getting old together, but am I provided with such privilege?” “Maybe not, hence I’m already extremely satisfied to have a chance to watch him from afar.”

He assumes he’s excels at observing people, but what he’s unaware of is after he stares at you across the room and turns away eventually, your eyes land on him and never dart either.

a/n: thx for reading, have a nice day/night! :D

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81folklore · 1 year

Text

dress - SV5

pairings: sebastian vettel x famous!reader (fc: taylor swift)

summary: its known that seb has been married for a few years now despite the public never seeing is wife, its also known that yn is in a committed relationship and has been since she disappeared from public eye. maybe they are more connected than people realise

authors note: i have had this idea on my mind for SO LONG so im very pleased to finally be writing it. essentially in this, yn is taylor and seb is joe but no one has ever seen him nor know his name, if that makes sense? honestly i have no clue how this will turn out but i needed to write it

authors note 2: this is set in the midnights era however i switched the songs a bit so ‘dress’ is on midnights instead of ‘sweet nothing’ and vice versa!! also ‘dress’ is going to be a single. i also apologize for how all over the place this is, especially the tweets

authors note 3: just pretend whatever says taylor swift says your name and the photos with her hands have a wedding ring!! i also got so confused when trying to screenshot the twitter stuff so the timeline ones are backwards

authors note 4??: haha didnt realise there was a 30 pic limit... pt 2 here :)

masterlist

ynupdates

liked by user3, user18 and 10,628 others

yn on her story today, possibly posting song lyrics! thoughts?

view comments

user3: NEW ERA INCOMING

user18: OH I AM SO READY FOR THIS

user13: NEW MUSIC NEW MUSIC

user66: is this hinting at her reputation era?

user13: i was just thinking this, more specifically the time just before reputation

user72: MUSIC ABOUT LOVER?? OH I AM SO HERE FOR IT

user55: if it is about lover and the time before reputation this will BREAK ME like,, HE SAW THE BEST IN HER EVEN IN HER WORST TIMES😭😭

yourusername

liked by gracieabrams, ynupdates, olliebearman and 7,277,739 others

everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about…

this album has been such a rewarding piece to create and im so glad that soon enough you will all be able to listen and enjoy it with me! one thing i love in particular about this album is the song ‘dress’

dress was originally a piece i started to write when making reputation however i felt it was right to keep it to myself, to keep it between my partner and i for a little while longer. however recently our lives have been changing for the better, and while that lid of privacy will still be on, i want to share more with you guys

you have all been on this journey with me and you have treated my partner and i with the upmost respect and for that i thank you. for me dress is a letter, its statement, its a declaration of my love for him and im very grateful to be able to give this to you all

this song is one im very proud of, i really enjoyed writing this the first time, and getting to revist and polish it up felt very special to do.

dress out now on all platforms🖤

comments on this post have been limited

sebupdates

liked by user34, user5, user88 and 23,683 others

seb in suzuka with the grid at his turn 2 bee (insect) hotels,, we've missed seeing him at the track :(

view comments

user3: of course the grid come together for him :’)

user5: im not crying!! just hay fever!!

user5: oh i have missed him SO MUCH

user7: NO BECAUSE YOU DONT GET IT HES BACK

user88: DID YOU GUYS SEE THE VIDEO OF HIM HUGGING CHARLES😭😭

user34: the way he was like a teacher throughout the whole thing😭

user18: does anyone know if hes staying the whole weekend or is it like monaco??

sebupdates: we believe hes staying the whole weekend but unsure if hes with a team or not!

user18: ok thank you :)

user77: the way the first thing lewis asked him was if his wife was okay, oh what if i cry😭😭

user66: im kind of new here, have the grid met sebs wife?

user77: i know they all at least know about her and know who she is, i dont think everyone has met her but i know lewis has met her quite a bit!!

part 2!

#f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #social media au #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel #★ famous seb #f1 insta au

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xfgpng · 5 months

Text

𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟

— : [ nsfw ] smut, unprotected sex, praise kink, grinding, riding, creampie pie

— wc : 1,2k

commissioned! ✅

the lights are off. the only thing lighting your way is the dimly lit candles and the moon shining through the sheer curtains of your bedroom. the pretty lace almost matches the red lace dress you’re wearing.

it had been a joke when you saw it. you didn’t even think he remembered you talking about it until you saw the box laying in the middle of the bed with a note attached to it.

a gift, more for me than you - law

now, you can hardly breathe at the sight of him laying sprawled out in nothing but that sinful tight pants. the buttons are undone and the pants are unzipped but it still hides his very interested friend.

the best part? his hands are above his head, tied to the bed frame and it makes a pretty picture. you almost want to tease him but he looks so good and he did this all for you even when you both knew the man loved to take charge.

“hi baby” he smirks, licking his lips as he looks you up and down. he definitely likes his present and you almost snort at the way his breathing changes. he wants you just as much as you want him, if not more.

he could easily break through the restraints. it’s the excitement of it all and it sends a rather pleasant feeling up your spine.

“hi” you grin, slowly making your way over to him. you purposely sway your hips just to tease him and he groans appreciatively.

oh how good it felt to be wanted by trafalgar law.

he never takes his eyes off you even when you climb onto the bed and then finally, when you straddle him. he can feel how soaked you are through your panties and his pants and he can’t help but buck up into you.

you gasp, hands finding purchase on his abs and you pinch his nipple in retaliation. he gasps and bucks his hips again.

“easy” you frown, “you said you’d let me take the lead”

“and i am” he says, “trust me, i want to fuck you already but i’m working on my patience”

“good boy” you laugh and he raises a brow at you.

“watch yourself” he warns but it does nothing to scare you. you’ve always loved the way he could take charge, and you often let him.

you know he’s really trying his best to behave. he’s always had a thing for your ass and the way it jiggles when he slaps it. he wants nothing more than to grab and squeeze but he’s forced it lie there and take what you’re willing to give.

 even if you decided this cute little grinding session was all you wanted until he came in his pants like a teenager. he’d take it.

“so big” you whisper, grinding down harder. you can feel the shape against your lips and it’s not nearly enough to satisfy either of you but you enjoyed being able to tease him back every now and then.

“shit” he grunts, clenching his jaw. you look up at his hands to see him also clenched into fists and you bite your lip to stop the laugh. you didn’t want to push him too much.

“do something” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut when you move faster, pressing down firmer. he can feel the way your body quivers and he’s never been above begging when it came to you, “baby please, i need you”

and you can’t help but give in, just a little. you liked him like this too. all needy and desperate, exactly how he makes you feel all the time.

you slip your panties to the side and pull him out his underwear. he moans, head tilting back and you lean down to kiss and suck on his neck as you push the tip in just a little.

you can tell he’s frustrated by the way he’s trying to move his hips but you hold onto him. you squeeze the base as you rub your wet folds onto his cock. he can’t cum like this but it’s fun to piss him off. you can help yourself.

“fuck.. just..” he bites his tongue and pulls on the tie around his wrists. he can break free if he really wanted to but he’s trying.

this was your moment after all.

“aw” you pout, mocking him, “what’s the matter baby?”

“y/n.. fuck” he takes a deep breath, “i’m warning you, stop messing with me”

“oh?” you tilt your head sideways, still rocking your hips. it feels so good to stimulate your clip this way but you’re close to breaking. “i thought you wanted this?”

“y/n!”

before he can say anything else, you slam your hips down. screaming out when you feel just how deep he is like this and you can’t help but squeeze around him.

he nearly cums from that and he’d be embarrassed about it if he wasn’t so focused on how good it felt inside you. always so soft and warm.

“holy fuck” you moan, keeping still just a moment. you were in over your head but you’d never admit that.

and maybe you wanted to shut him up for once but you were a little too eager but god did it feel so good.

“come on baby” he encourages, back to being smug once he’s calmed down. he can tell you’re more effected now than he is and he’s enjoying it, “be good and ride me”

you want to slap the grin off his face but you’re more focused on fucking yourself on him. it feels good to be so full and with him praising you, it only boosts your ego.

“fuck you’re so sexy like this” he bites his lip, “that’s it, use me”

you cry out when he starts moving his hips in time with your bouncing. you want him to hold you so you lean down and kiss him.

“take me” you whisper and he’s all too pleased by that. he breaks free easily, a little too easy but you don’t have time to be mad when he’s slapping your ass and fucking up into you harder and faster.

your eyes squeeze shut and you spasm around him. you’d never get used to the size or being this full but you wanted it to hurt the next day.

you liked feeling it and he liked knowing he was the cause.

“my sweet thing” he whispers right into your ear, “always so perfect and so good for me”

“gonna be good and cum?” he asks, “make a mess for me okay?”

and you do, biting down onto his shoulder and he grunts but welcomes to pain. he liked being marked up by you.

it’s so messy when he cums inside you, spilling out onto his lap and down onto the sheets. you’d have to clean up in the morning but you were too tired to even move.

“good?” he asks and you nod, feeling sleepy.

“it was good for me too” he kisses the side of your head, “let’s get you cleaned up and into bed”

you smile dreamily at him as he moves you to the side and he gets off the bed. he always takes care of you, making sure you’re comfortable before bed even when you’re protesting about being tired.

#[ 🪼 ] xfg writes #trafalgar law #one piece smut #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x you #one piece trafalgar law #trafalgar law smut #one piece law smut #one piece law #one piece law x you #one piece law x reader #one piece law x y/n

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year

Note

Hello! May I request a steamy # 8 With Carmy? (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Sweet Dreams.

8. "I had a dream about you."

Synopsis - You can't look Carmy in the eye this morning. He's determined to figure out why.

Pairing - Roommate!Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. carmen is a menace.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 1k

Author's Note - the people love carmy!! and I totally understand why. another roommate fic, because everyone adores them - me included!! this takes place in the same universe as Finders, Keepers and Pity Party, but you can decide whether this happens before or after those. your choice!! <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"The fuck is your problem?"

Carmy has you cornered, backed up against the kitchen counter. You've been avoiding him all morning, and he's finally had enough.

"I... there's... what?" you squeak, taken aback.

He's usually so gentle with you, so careful. You'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying the sudden dominance he's displaying.

"I said," he begins, leaning down so he's nose to nose with you, "what is your problem? The fuck is going on with you?"

When you exhale shakily, he takes a more gentle approach.

"Honey... Did I do something wrong? Have I upset you? You haven't been able to look at me all morning. You're freaking me out."

"No, no!" you rush out. "You haven't done anything wrong. It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"I'm gonna worry, until you explain yourself."

You know he means well, that his concern is coming from a place of love. The problem is, the truth is mortifying. Ridiculously embarrassing. You and Carmy have a good thing going, as roommates, and you don't want to ruin that.

"It's nothing, Carm."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me that."

You flick your eyes up to meet his piercing blue ones, and you hesitate. You've never been in the habit of lying to each other. In fact, you're not sure you're physically capable of it. Those big ocean eyes can see right through you.

"Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh."

"I promise."

You take a breath, and confess as quickly as you can.

"Ihadadreamaboutyou."

The corners of his lips quirk, tilting his head in confusion.

"Say that again. Didn't quite catch it."

You roll your eyes, and commit. You might aswell, at this point.

"I had a dream about you."

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, deliberating what to say.

"What kind of dream?"

Fuck. You were hoping he wouldn't want you to elaborate.

"A good one."

"A good one, huh? Must have been, if you can't even look me in the eye this morning."

You roll your eyes and shove him in the chest lightly.

"I knew you'd be a dick if I told you. Hence why I didn't."

"No, you didn't tell me because you're embarrassed."

He steps closer to you, backing you up against the counter again. He leans in so he's forehead to forehead with you, lips brushing yours everytime he speaks.

"Where does your filthy little mind go when you fall asleep, hmm? Was I at least good, in this dream of yours? Live up to your expectations?"

"You were fine," you mumble.

"Fine? Honey, I'm the best chef in this city. I don't do fine."

"You woke me up with all the noise you were making in the kitchen before I could get to the good part."

"Oh, I left you hanging? Shit, baby. Well we can't have that."

In one fluid motion, Carmy picks you up and sits you on the counter, moving to stand between your legs. You wrap them around his hips instinctively, arms flying up around his neck.

"You gonna let me finish what I started?"

You stare into his eyes for a moment, trying to find any semblance of humour or amusement. All you find is adoration, compassion, and lust.

"You think you can?" you whisper teasingly, knowing exactly which buttons to push.

"Honey, when are you going to learn that I am the best at everything I do?"

Carmy closes the gap between you, smashing his lips to yours. It's all teeth and tongue and nipping and biting, no tenderness to be found. He slips his hand under your sleep shirt, running a finger up the middle of your underwear.

"Fuck," he groans. "Real good dream, huh?"

You nod and buck your hips into his touch, desperate to feel him.

"Right now, I'm gonna take the edge off, okay? And then, I'm gonna spread you out, and make you tell me every single little thing that happened in your dream, so you can experience it properly."

You nod frantically in response, hands clawing at his clothed shoulders. Carmy pulls your underwear down your legs and pushes them apart, wasting no time. He runs two fingers up and down, revelling in the wet warmth.

"Please," you whisper. "Please, Carmy."

He connects his lips to yours as he slides his fingers into you, muffling your sounds against his mouth. As much as you hate to admit it, he's right. He knows what he's doing, and he's good at it.

You've been so worked up all morning that it doesn't take Carmy long to figure out what you like. In no time, he's thrusting and curling his fingers, pressing his thumb onto your clit and making you whine. He's got his other arm wrapped around your middle, keeping you pressed close to him.

"You're close, honey. Can feel you. Come on, this is what you wanted, isn't it? I've got you."

You press your lips to his, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth right as you fall over the edge. Carmy trails kisses down your neck, under your ear, onto your temple, holding you tightly as you find your release. Your toes curl, back arching off the counter as you drop your head onto his chest to catch your breath.

After a couple of minutes, you pull away to look at him, smiling when you find him grinning at you.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "I don't tell you enough."

"So are you," you whisper, careful not to break the moment. "You're beautiful, Carm."

He ducks down and kisses you again, sweeter this time.

"Now," he mutters against your lips. "Start from the beginning, in this dream of yours."

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genshxn · 1 year

Text

dan heng being bad at feelings, the sequel.

started writing this pre-1.3, so i am once again emphasizing that i am making shit up. (well, 1.3 dropped while still working on this and the TB mission was rather lacklustre, so i'm gonna half ignore it).

sorry for any typos/mistakes/whatever, most of this was written at dubious hours of the night.

contains. mild-moderate canon divergence, dubious jing yuan shenanigans, dh being somewhat down bad. i dropped a bit too much spice in, so it is no longer “mild”. take that as you will.

7.5K words. THIS IS SO FUCKING EMBARRASSING.

here's the first part in case you haven't read it. you're still not the trailblazer.

tags: @akhiran @cypunk-0 @fiona782 @seelelovesbronya @bleakqblake @xiaos-poems

this place is not a place of honour. no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here…nothing valued is here. Below 15, DNI. Go away.

the next day, you awoke to a feeling of emptiness at your side. any part of the bed that your limbs weren’t splayed upon was long cold with dan heng’s absence. you were alone, still left in the nest of sheets and pillows he arranged himself. it couldn’t have all been some kind of fever-dream, could it?

no, any such possibility was dashed when you looked at the messages on your phone. one unread, left two hours ago.

with the ellipsis and all. oh, the self-inflicted misery. (does he really consider every single person his enemy?) you sighed, swinging your feet off the side of the bed to get up. if you knew him well enough, then you already knew the next little while was going to be tricky, to say the least. it was obvious what his plan was from the beginning, with him abandoning your side at the sun’s first rays: avoidance.

and avoid you, he did. in the denouement after phantylia’s attack, he still had to be around you, but the stiltedness he carried with him was palpable. he made a point to stand as socially acceptably far from you. it was almost like he was acting like a ghost solely to you. elusive, non-communicative, only seen out of the corner of your eye. perhaps leaving you with the lingering feeling of being watched, and ultimately gone before you could even call his name. in fact, he quite literally ghosted you. he wouldn’t even respond to your messages.

once the day after the final events rolled around, you thought that maybe he would have had enough time to finally be able to face you again, but no. apparently he elected to confine himself to the archives the moment he returned aboard the express. however, this didn’t deter you from going knocking on his door.

"dan heng?" you tapped on the sealed door. your ear was right up against the frame, listening intently.

whatever shuffling was coming from within fell still at your voice.

"dan heng, i know you’re in there. i just heard you stop moving."

there was more silence, then followed by a sigh. "did pom-pom not relay my one request?"

"no, they did. told me that i’m not allowed near the archives."

"yet you’re still here…" his voice was strained, and distant from the door. he must have been sitting either at his desk or on his thin, messy futon. beyond that, it was hard to imagine what he was doing in there, or even what he looked like. it was surprising. you thought he struggled to control his form, but it seemed no problem when he wasn’t with you. so was he the regular old dan heng sitting in there? or the vidyadhara that laid next to you that night?

"you really think i’m gonna listen? i never do." you squared yourself further towards the door. "now, c’mon. we’re already talking, so can’t you just—"

"n-no, i can’t," he cut you off. "i… i’m sorry, but not here, and not like this."

"can you at least tell me why you say you can’t be around m—?" almost as if on cue, in came an angry pom-pom inbound like a squishy freight train.

"hey! what did pom-pom just say?!" they cried. "can’t you follow one simple rule for the time being?"

as pom-pom ushered you away from the archives with weak thumps to the back of your legs, you grunted to yourself. you were tempted to chuck them in the opposite direction, but alas, such a thing was not in the cards for you. after all, it would be wise to not tempt fate with the conductor. things seemed like they were going to be more difficult than you anticipated.

░░░░░░░

early the next morning, long before either march or stelle would rise, you shuffled your way into the parlor car in search of food. if it was going to be anything like yesterday, you were anticipating being the only one in the parlor car. however, to your surprise, there was another person present when you silently closed the door behind you—dan heng. he was in his regular appearance of shorter, fluffy hair and his regular attire. you sighed as quietly as you could, staring at the back of his head that leant on his wrist, propped up on the table. seeing him staring dejectedly at the food was a sorry sight.

the unspoken tradition you had with him was that when the whole express wasn’t eating together, it’d always be you two sharing your meals together. it began when you first joined the express—after dan heng himself, but before march. left adrift as a vagrant amidst the stars, you were all too familiar with the feeling of loneliness. it was always at its worst when you managed to gather together enough scraps to resemble the meals you used to eat in your old home. to you, when possible, meals were something that should be shared in the company of others. so when you first saw dan heng sat alone on your first proper morning aboard, you saw part of yourself in him. a part that you wanted gone, now that you had a new home. so you sat yourself down next to him, your own food in hand. you were met with some minor (albeit polite) resistance, but you being the stubborn ass you were, would not have it. you knew your persistence was risky, but it paid off. not long after that, he would wait until you were sitting with him.

so to see that sight left you saddened, but also vehemently annoyed. normalcy was out the window thanks to this baffling, self-imposed restriction he had against you. as quietly as you could, you stalked up behind him. moving as lightly as possible felt like it was the only way possible to get closer to him. it wasn’t like he developed a sudden allergy to your presence or something, was it?

you were successful in thwarting his pre-occupied senses as you reached the velvet couch. but maybe you were too successful, because he almost leapt out of his skin when you planted yourself down next to him. you leaned against the table and spoke. "how about us talking if it’s over breakfast?"

he did manage to calm down, but not by a lot, and not enough to give you a reply. his expression was still frazzled as he struggled to keep himself in place.

"can you please tell me if i’ve done something wrong? i don’t understand why we’re suddenly like strangers again," you said, reaching out to put your hand atop his one that was clenched at his side. but he snatched it away before you could feel the warmth of it.

"it’s my fault. you’ve done nothing," he said. "but please, i need some time before i can talk to you properly."

he turned to get up and leave, but you caught him by the sleeve. "w-wait, by why?" you trailed off, voiced far weaker than intended.

the look he gave you was weird. it was a jumble of confused emotions, but the most you could make out was nervousness. you had no idea what that light flush could have meant for you. his mouth parted to make some sort of reply, and you could have sworn you the glimpse of sharpened canines. "since when have you had fangs in this appearance?" you blurted out after doing a double take.

his eyes flared wide open and a hand flew over his mouth. "s-since never." with that, he slipped from your grasp. "please excuse me."

you watched incredulously as he walked out of the parlour car and back towards the archives as if he had wooden knees. you had no idea what just happened. rejection, you supposed. but considering how he was that night, it made no sense. nothing about this made any sense.

whatever it was, it was slowly eroding your patience, leaving you biting the inside of your lips in irritation. it’s true you were doing some type of avoidance when his alternate form was finally revealed, but it was nothing of this calibre. it was almost impossible for it to be the case with dan heng, but if this really was some kind of petty revenge, he may as well have whipped out a steel chair after you knocked shoulders with him.

░░░░░░░

your shameful failure of an interaction left you in need of recuperation. you hadn’t felt that irked and downright baffled since one of herta’s curios fell on your head. so now, you were blathering a ranting tirade at stelle and march over some snacks, all in the parlour car. "i swear to whatever aeon’s listening, he’s turned emo or something." you folded your arms across your chest, sinking down in your plush chair.

"like he wasn’t before?" stelle mumbled, not looking up from whatever gacha game she was playing on her phone.

"eh, not really. he does have his moments, though." march shrugged, grabbing a single chip. "but yeah, i’ve never seen anything like this. it’s so weird, he almost never avoids you like this!"

"hence why i’m so confused."

"things seemed to get pretty tense between the two of you after he had his magical girl transformation," stelle added while shovelling a handful of chips into her mouth, still not looking up. "then maybe… the day after phantylia, he got even weirder."

"yeah, like, he won’t go near you for some reason, but he keeps staring at you so longingly and sighing like you’re the last cookie in the jar and he’s been told he can’t have any more!" march said with the melodramatic flourish of a swoon.

"that one sounds like it’s based on real experiences." stelle cast her a sideways glance, to which march let out a sniff and wiped away a dry tear.

"just how much has he been doing that?" you muttered, unable to comprehend.

"a fair amount from what i’ve seen. he’s looked like a kicked puppy every single time," march said. "well, as much as dan heng can look like a kicked puppy."

"not that he’s particularly talkative, but i’ve tried asking him about it. was only met with howling winds of jarilo-vi’s everwinter storm." stelle placed her phone down on the table and sat back with her arms crossed. "but now, he’s just being straight up weird. (y/n), what’d you do to him?"

"yeah, i mean, he won’t even eat in the mornings if you’re there!" march cried.

your nails dug into your knees as you looked at your lap. you could feel a heat creeping onto your face as you recalled him so close to you. his words still rung in your head. if they were true, then what the fuck was he doing now? "i—i don’t really want to say, since it’s between him and i," you said. "but some pretty… significant things happened, i guess."

march suddenly drew in a comically loud gasp. "DID HE FINALLY CONFE—" she began, but you clapped your hand over her mouth before she could finish.

"must’ve," stelle said, leaning forward with her hands on the table loosely clasped in front of her.

"it wasn’t… exactly like that." your voice was low. your attempts to protect your dignity were feeble at best. it’s true, he never explicitly told you he has feelings for you in the classic format of ‘i like you’, but… who were kidding, it was a confession in all forms except literalness. you grabbed at your face, hiding the creeping heat behind your hands with a groan.

"no, it was totally a love confession. he’s been head over heels for you for a while now! even when i first met you two, it was so obvious he had a big ol’ crush on you. how’d you not notice it?!"

"cuz they’re denser than dan heng." stelle deadpanned, staring right at you.

"if you’re going to be making indirect insults about me, at least do it to my face," a familiar voice muttered from somewhere a distance behind you. in walked dan heng, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose. he was once again in his normal appearance. stelle immediately squashed you down beneath the square table, leaving you only to look at everyone’s legs.

"oh, so the elusive dan heng finally graces us with his presence, huh?" you couldn’t see march’s face, but you knew she was making a half-lidded, unimpressed frown at him—the certified march classic.

"i’ve had a lot of information to collate and put into the archives, so i’ve been busy—" his words stopped short. from around the bend of the chair’s edge, you could see him inch closer to the table.

"been busy what? you just stopped talking." march sounded confused.

"is that… (y/n)’s scent?" his tone was far sharper, but his wording sounded unsure.

"are you calling them stinky? that’s kinda rude, isn’t it?" march frowned.

"huh? no, of course not!" he sputtered. "it’s just v-vidyadhara senses. they’re quite acute." there was the shuffling of some fabric. he must have crossed his arms.

"well i say it’s cuz you’re going heehee-silly-delulu with your big fat crush on them." march chimed in. your eyes widened as you frowned. why were they both baiting the literal dragon?

the only sound that came out of dan heng was something like an indignant cry that was cut-off at its head. "i… i do not—"

"you don’t like them? alright, keep telling yourself that," stelle said.

"…what hand does (y/n) have in this? they were just here, weren’t they?" he took a few steps towards the table. you imagined him with a strained look on his face, fighting to keep his composure like he yesterday. as he was stood right in front of you, you felt yourself shrinking back. it was maybe only seconds until ground zero—until everything hit the fan. "because that’s their scent nearby…" he changed his footing just a touch, and the second you saw the tips of his fluffy hair peak down past the table, you launched headlong into him. not by your own volition, but because a heeled boot slammed into your lower back, jetting you forward. your face collided with some part of his legs (of which was not very soft), sending you both in the same direction with simultaneous cries. there was a significant thud when dan heng hit the floor, and your head knocked into something bony.

your eyes cracked open, rubbing your forehead with a groan, but all sounds fell silent when you realized you were hovering between his knees. you stared up at him with wide eyes and a stifled breath, where he met your owlish gaze with his own. in other words, you were almost right between his legs. both of your faces lit like infernos, but neither of you moved. a grand total of two seconds passed before the vidyadhara features came out. it was quick—his horns rose from his head, and his hair spilt over his shoulders. his tail appeared behind him, laying still. even his clothes suddenly swapped out on him. his chest rose and fell as his breath seemed to quicken.

"s-sorry," you swallowed thickly. in almost an instant, he dug one of his clawed hands into his arm. he clambered to his feet, unable to look you in the eye.

"wh-what the hell was that?" his voice cracked.

"fuck, that was my bad." stelle said from behind you.

"ngh, you… please excuse me," he quickly turned and strode back towards the archives, still holding onto his arm. you hadn’t moved from the floor when you watched the passenger cabin’s door close behind him.

"what the heck, stelle?!" march cried, startling you.

"holy fuck, i’m so sorry. i did not think it’d go like that," stelle said. when you looked back over, she was leaning back and had raked her bangs back, hand still on her forehead.

"how did you think it’d go?" you groaned, unsteadily raising to your feet once again.

"i dunno, but not like that."

"why’d he suddenly change like that, i wonder?" march tapped her finger to her chin, looking off to the side.

"cuz he’s down bad." stelle looked very confident in her answer.

you almost choked on your spit.

"he’s down bad, but then he keeps running off 'cuz refuses to let himself be so."

"what kind of a theory is that?!" march huffed.

"a simple observation. mr. yang says i’m perceptive, so i have final authority on all judgements ever made." stelle crossed her arms over her chest, face seldom making any expressions. "and i say exactly what i said."

you stood with your head hanging in your hands, burning with embarrassment. things couldn’t keep going on like this. if this was the new dynamic, then how were any of you supposed to function while you’re out trailblazing? how were any of you supposed to function even just normally? that was it. you raised your head until your eyes lifted from behind your hands, a new resolve filling your blood. maybe jing yuan might know something.

░░░░░░░

managing to secure a time to speak to jing yuan was unbelievably easy. then again, you should gave guessed it’d be. over messages, he told you that since he’s been doing nothing but resting, he’s incredibly bored—someone to see or speak to is more than welcome. and so, it quickly was organized that you could stop by a planned location in aurum alley to see him.

the time soon rolled around, as long as it took. during the day, as expected, there was no sign of dan heng having any interest in interacting with you normally, much to your growing irritation and mild chagrin. even march and stelle were shaking their heads and clicking their tongues in disapproval.

it didn’t take long for you to get there. you agreed to meet him in a small, secluded area, just out of the way of eyes that might seek to pry into the general’s private business. it was a bit into the early evening. it wasn’t too hard to find him sitting at his table since he wasn't exactly the most conspicuous person out there. the golden artificial sunlight poured in from an oblique angle overhead, coating the tucked-away courtyard in a honeyed light. once he saw you approaching, jing yuan cast you one of his usual sleepy, cattish smiles.

"um, hello," you spoke, pulling out a seat next to him.

"and to what do i owe the pleasure?" there was almost a purr in his voice. "tell me, what is it you wished to speak about?" he leaned forward, resting his head on his wrist propped up on the table. "or did you simply come here to chat with me because you felt like it?" he made a closed-eyed smile laced with mischief.

"ah, i’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s because i’m having a bit of a dilemma." you scratched the back of your head with an awkward laugh. "please hear me out on this one, but it’s about dan heng."

"oh, dan heng? what about him?" jing yuan tilted his head. "as it stands, i’m afraid you might know him better than i do, unfortunately. so i don’t know if i would be able to provide the best of help for you." there was a faint, bittersweet smile on his lips, making you bite your own.

"it’s, ah, a little more about him as a vidyadhara, i suppose. i’m not sure if he has anything in common with his previous incarnation, but i thought there must be something there."

"well, i can say his obstinance seems to have certainly survived reincarnation."

"it’s thriving," you huffed, at which jing yuan lightly laughed.

"so is that the root of your problem? him being too stubborn on something?"

"that’s about it, yeah." you pressed your lips into a line. "he’s been avoiding me for… reasons i won’t divulge… and i don’t what i can do to get him to talk to me again."

"you don’t need to put it like that. i can tell he really likes you," he said, the trace of a smug grin on his face. after you coughed loudly, he continued. "he’s rather obvious if you know what you’re looking for. but anyway, what happened between you two? if i’m allowed to know, that is."

you swallowed nervously. should you really be revealing everything like this? you did it anyway. "one night, we said a few things of… i guess questionably romantic nature to each other, and he reacted in a way that i think was influenced by some sort of… vidyadhara shenanigans."

jing yuan looked at you with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. "go on."

"he hauled me off to his bed and then got uncharacteristically affectionate. he had a back-and-forth with self-doubt once he realized i was really confused by it all, but i told him it’s fine. i mean, i even pet his horns out of my own volition and stuff." it was all coming out at this point. "then he eventually drifted off and then pretty much declared his feelings in his half-sleep. but even though i told him i’m fine with him doing whatever he was doing, he still decided to run off the next morning. i’ve tried to talk to him repeatedly, but he won’t reply to my messages and he almost freaks out every time i’m in his vicinity. i don’t get it!"

"mm, that’s quite the situation on your hands there," jing yuan hummed. there was a mischievous spark in his eye, and you weren’t sure if you liked the look of it. "now, i couldn’t tell you the specifics, but if you say he got ’uncharacteristically affectionate’, then that’s definitely some old vidyadhara response. they can get very protective over the things they love."

your gaze dropped somewhere in front of your as your face prickled with heat at his words.

"but now, i’d wager he’s stuck in some sort of self-imposed battle of will against himself."

"and how would you suggest i get him out of it?"

"i suppose there is technically the option of waiting this out," he glanced at your face. you looked embittered at such an inane suggestion, making him laugh. "or you could simply make him lose the battle, since it sounds like he’s set on taking it ad infinitum, if needed."

"small issue… i’m now allowed near the archives," you sighed, leaning yourself back. "it’s hard to simply go there with both the conductor banning me as well as dan heng refusing to open his door."

"hmm…" jing yuan shifted his hand beneath his chin. "might i do something a bit uncouth?"

"uhh, okay."

"come here for a moment." he slid himself next to you, turning to face you a little more. with a slight frown, you turned towards him as well. "now, i can’t guarantee his reaction to this, but—" he suddenly pulled you closer toward him and placed his head in the crook of your neck—the same side dan heng had his. one hand snuck its way around your neck and held the base of your neck ever so gently, while the other looped around your back. you had to fight a shudder when you could feel jing yuan’s lips ghost over your neck and shoulder. "if i do this, it may be enough to knock him from this cycle of his."

"wh-what?" you strained out.

"he’ll be able to tell i’ve been with you. and by the places i’ve been in contact with you…" he said, voice low. his faint breaths were cool on your shoulder. you couldn’t suppress a slight shiver. "…it should be enough to grant you access to… the archives, was it?"

"y-yeah." you blinked a few times. your brain had been reduced to a single cell bouncing around inside your brain like a shitty maraca.

jing yuan finally pulled back, assuming his original pose. "please forgive me for that… but you’ll likely see why i did it." he still couldn’t help but wear his usual small grin for the second part. "i’d now recommend that you find him again, and try to keep his attention long enough for him to notice you were with me. vidyadhara’s senses of smell are perceptive, so it shouldn’t be long. well now, you’d best get back then." his stupid grin was even wider and even smugger. his gaze wasn’t condescending, but read more as if he were thinking just wait and see.

"i… guess i’ll be going then. th-thank you, general." you made an awkward bow as you hustled back the way you came, hyperaware of the air brushing against your shoulder. it all felt incredibly foreboding… but that was to be expected when you were about to enter the dragon’s den.

░░░░░░░

your plan was flawless:

1. jing yuan does his shit

2. go back to the express.

3. bait with bubble tea to get the door open.

4. "talk" to dan heng long enough until he notices jing yuan was up to something

5. ???

6. profit.

just as detailed, to further your chances of getting that door cracked open, you decided to buy a bubble tea. a classic milk should have sufficed, since he tended to favour the more simple things. the chances of him actually opening the door to take it were already slim, but desperate times called for desperate measures. knowing him, he’d simply make you leave it at the door, which was a problem. so there you were, stuck on an express couch, plotting. (or, perhaps more aptly, chewing your nails in nerves). as you sat there, in waddled pom-pom, looking mighty chuffed for some unknown reason.

"hm-hm-hm! dinner of pom-pom’s own creation will be ready in just over 20 minutes!" they declared, puffing their stuffed chest. they waited for any reaction, but no one looked up at them, making them deflate with a scowl. "stelle, (y/n) you go tell everyone," they grumbled, shuffling back into the passenger cart and beyond.

"wait, what?" you looked up—you hadn’t even noticed them.

"we’re on messenger duty," stelle said from her seat. she was placed upside down on the couch, hair grazing the ground while she played her usual gacha games.

"can i try and deal with dan heng?"

"i mean, sure." she looked over at you. "but what’re you plotting?"

"my entry into the archives. i come baring gifts." you motioned towards the untouched bubble tea sitting in front of you.

"i’ll leave you to it. i’ll go tell march and the others then." she chucked her phone elsewhere on the couch and got up, wandering towards the passenger car. you followed shortly behind, offering in hand.

it was a short walk. you knew you were being dramatic, but you couldn’t help but grow more and more nervous the closer you drew to the archives. you had already weathered so many rejections, so it’s not like this was going to somehow have a worse result. perhaps it was because you put too much on this. you’ve gone to a rather large effort just to have a slim chance of getting him to open the door—speaking of, you were already there.

you raised your hand to knock on it, but before you could even lay your hand on it, dan heng spoke from inside. "what is it, (y/n)?" he was once again somewhere further off in the room, speaking with undecipherable emotions.

"um." your voice cracked, making you cringe. "pom-pom said dinner’s ready in 20."

"ah. thank you," he said plainly. it still kinda stung, being back at what felt like the stage where you were only acquaintances.

"i also got you something." you tried to cast another line.

"you can leave it at the door."

you flopped your head against the door. of course he said it. "i’d rather give it to you now. it’s some bubble tea. the ice is melting." there was no response. you couldn’t tell what he was doing. "c’mon, it’s not like you’re sick or something."

"hah, more like lovesick," stelle called as she walked past behind you.

"stelle!" dan heng cried indignantly. he sounded closer to the door. "i am not—"

"if you’re not, then open the door." she simply kept walking.

you were stood with wide, unblinking eyes and an open mouth, watching her jacket pass through the cabin door until you were left alone in the hall. the door suddenly slid open a little. you jumped, turning to stare up at him. as usual, there was a strained look on his face that he was trying to suppress. "see, i’m not—" he looked out and around for stelle, but she was nowhere to be seen. instead, he simply sighed.

you tried to swallow your heart beating in your throat, but it still hammered away. "hi."

he closed his eyes, leaning his head on the inner door frame. "hello," his voice sounded tired. tired with himself. "please forgive me for how i’ve been acting. i know it’s not fair to you. it’s just…"

"i know, you need more time. you like to say it," you muttered with a slight, strained grin. "by the way, here’s your tea. it’s just your usual order." you held it out it to him, and he looked down at it with softened eyes. as he went to grab it, his fingertips brushed over yours. he seemed more startled than you, but after a moment’s hesitation, he placed his hand back over top of yours.

"i haven’t been completely honest with you," he said. (that was certainly one way of putting it).

you held your breath, as if making a single noise could suddenly startle him back into the archives.

"i… since that night, i haven’t known what to do with mysel—" he suddenly paused, frowning the tiniest bit. he leaned forward, seeming to concentrate on something with closed eyes. once they opened again, his pupils had constricted into slits, and he was staring intently at you. uh oh.

"wh-what is it?"

"where were you before this?" he took the tea from you and placed it somewhere next to the door frame inside the archives.

your stomach flipped. was this really going where you thought it was? "um. i was wandering around aurum alley." it wasn't a lie. "why?"

"that’s not all. what else?" he took you by the arm and drew you into the archives. it was an uncharacteristic mess in there. low-lit, and with clothes, books and items were strewn all over the place, perhaps as a reflection of his state. you watched the door close behind you, and when you looked back, there stood dan heng with his full vidyadhara look on display, right in front of you. uh oh.

he stepped closer to you until you could feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him, then grabbing hold of your shoulders. it was a tight grip, but not enough to hurt yet. he dipped his head into the crook of your neck and drew in a long but quiet inhale. "what were you doing with jing yuan?" his voice was low, almost with a slight growl. as he spoke, his arms had wound around shoulders, so he was holding the back of your head, just like jing yuan was. only far harsher than the other’s ghost-like touch.

yes, this was going the direction you thought it was. "we—we only met to talk about something," you sputtered out, your heart in your throat again.

"then why do i smell him on you, as if you were doing something more than just talking?" with a free hand, he took your jaw and turned your face towards him. he was only inches away from you, gazing at you with narrowed, dimly-glowing eyes. "why go to him when you have me?"

you frowned, eyes wide. "huh? what do you mean i have you? you’ve refused to speak to me normally ever since the morning after you hauled me to your bed. besides, i-it’s not what you think."

but your words were lost on him. "no, this won’t do." his voice was barely a murmur. he seemed to be living in his own version of the world. dragon-brain was back, evidently a fuller force than ever. you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t him drawing you even closer, placing his head in the crook of your neck and nuzzling. your face lit like an inferno as some kind of noise escaped your lips. it was really back to the nuzzling. only with surprising fervour, this time. he nestled his face into your neck, exhaling small sighs against you. his nose and lips brushing against your skin was almost ticklish, but you weren’t laughing when his tail snaked itself around your hips, twining itself down one of your legs.

"d-dan heng?!" you cried when he suddenly lifted you with his hands clasped beneath the backs of your thighs, assisted by the tail. he had his mouth placed right over top of your collar bone, watching where he was going from over your shoulder. "dan heng, put me down!" you had to hold onto his back and shoulders for stability.

he gave you no reply, only taking you back to his mussed futon. similar to his bed at the inn, the blanket was strewn in a way akin to the base of a nest. stray pieces of clothing made up the rest of lack-lustre structure—you could have sworn one of your own old shirts you’d forgotten somewhere was poking out from beneath a different article. dan heng sat himself down in the centre of the futon and brought you into lap. your position was a bit awkward as you sat perpendicular across from him. both your legs went one direction while your torso was turned to face him. he sunk his head into the crook of your neck again, drawing in more, shorter inhales.

"seriously, wh—what are you doing?"

"he’s still on you." he said against your shoulder, warmth breath making you shiver. there was a slight growl in his throat again.

"even after that?" as you spoke, he tilted your head away, exposing more of your neck. "hey, w-wai—ah!" you made a cry of pain when a pair of fangs suddenly bit down into your shoulder. it wasn’t hard enough to draw much blood, but more than enough to hurt. you shuddered with some ungodly, almost harrowed noise when his tongue glided over what would blossom into a bruise. his arms and tail wound tighter around you, as if you might slip away at any second. he moved on, this time toward your jaw, peppering it with desperate kisses. you tried to say his name as he trailed down in between his own rapid-growing breaths. he was panting once he reached your shoulder, his kisses sloppy. in some work of miraculous dexterity, he had readjusted your seat on him until his waist was slotted between your legs. all the while, one hand was in your hair angling your head for his best reach, the other around your back. you had to hide your face in his hair when he had began making small vocalizations, something like tiny whines.

you said his name again, this time louder when he trailed his fangs back up your shoulder. right after he left a hot kiss on your shoulder, he bit down again. you seethed in pain, trying to push his head off, but you were only met with purrs. even though he didn’t seem fully aware of what was going on, those purrs had to be weaponized against you. he shifted to another part of your shoulder, mouthing another kiss on it, but before he could bite, you grabbed his horn.

"dan heng!" you yanked his head back, surprising him. but instead of some sort of pained cry, he let out a heady moan. to your surprise, that noise slipping from his mouth seemed to restore his lucidity in an instant. his dilated eyes shot wide open and his hands flew to cover his mouth, almost sending himself backwards in the process. his face burned with embarrassment, colouring his cheeks and pointed ears in a bright crimson. you huffed, but didn’t remove yourself from your position. in fact, you anchored yourself down by locking your ankles behind his back if he were to try and push you off.

"(y/n) to dan heng, can you hear me?" you said, almost tempted to knock on his forehead.

"i-it happened again," his voice was quiet in horror.

"hey, i need you to listen to me before you clam up on me again." you brought one hand to the side of his face, gently making him look up at you. he jumped at the contact, sending his hands further up his face until they were covering his eyes.

"please forgive me," he rushed out.

"look at me," you said softly, placing one hand on top of his to move it to the side—one of his faintly glowing eyes glanced at you. "i’m more happy to make out with you, but we need to talk first."

he made a strangled groan of embarrassment in answer, moving his hand back in place again.

"are you listening?"

he nodded.

"alright, the whole thing with jing yuan was me asking about you," you said. "i thought he might know a bit about you as a vidyadhara and your behaviour, so i went to ask what i could do to get you to let me into the archives. his idea was a less than tactful, but i guess it worked. that’s why ‘his scent was on me’, as you say. he only stuck his head on my shoulder for a bit because you’d be able to tell and then demand an explanation or something."

his fingers had parted to show his eyes again, and they were staring in bewilderment.

"so, i’m sorry for doing all that to you." your voice was soft. "i just wanted to see you."

"no, i should be apologizing. i have no control of myself and i haven’t been fair to you." he lowered his hands to hovering somewhere over his chest. "i was saying before… since that night, i have been an embarrassment. all i’ve wanted to do is steal you away and… smother you in affection until you returned it. the feeling was so intense that i didn’t trust myself around you, so i hid. i thought if i waited, it’d calm down, but it really only made it worse."

your heart swooned then and there, lighting a fire in your cheeks. "o-oh… so if i did return it, then you wouldn’t act like a lovesick ghost anymore?"

"hey." he frowned, but his face soon fell back into the same flustered expression from before. "but to answer you, maybe after a while. i could also just get worse… but i really don’t want to subject you anything you don’t want." while he couldn’t meet your gaze, he still leaned his head into the palm of your hand. with a sigh, you held his jaw and angled his face to look at you again.

"how many times do i have to say i don’t mind? you can’t seem to fit that one through that thick vidyadhara skull of yours." you did actually knock on his head this time, making him wince.

"i—i don’t know, i just get embarrassed." he hid face his face against your chest, face a shade redder and his ears drooping. "you also always look so shocked. i don’t want to do that to you."

"that’s only because you tend to forget any kind of warning," you said with a light laugh. "truly, i like it—when you give me warning, that is—because i really like you too, stupid."

his breath audibly hitched, and he raised his head back up. "t-too? but i’ve never said—"

"are you kidding? you don’t need to say it when the aeons and their grandmas know. even march says it’s obvious. you’re seriously worried about that after you’ve made out with my shoulder sloppy style? by the way, what was with the bites?"

"ngh, don’t word it like that." his tail that was still tangled around you thumped against your back indignantly. "…and the bites are a weird territorial thing. i’m sorry if they hurt." he leaned his head against you, running his thumb over one of the marks.

"dragons…" you sighed with a smile. "you’re lucky you’re so cute." you pet his hair, and he leaned into your touch.

he moved his chin so it was on your collarbone, looking up at you with softened eyes. there were almost stars of reverence in them when he gazed at you. "i love you."

"wait, wha—" you began, but he swallowed the rest of your words when his lips were upon yours. he pressed himself up against you, his hands gently holding the sides of your face. as he kissed you, there was a faint rumbling and vibration coming from his chest—he was purring.

he pulled back again, leaving you a little short of breath and a lot dazed. you’d always thought it’d be you that had to kiss him first, not the other way around. he began to leave another trail of kisses starting from your lips to your jaw, this time leading toward the other side he had already been. your hands fell from their place on him and inched onto his back while his lips were on your neck. one hand slipped into his back window, and he suddenly gasped. his back arched into you, almost knocking you over. he panicked, and his tail constricted behind you like another set of arms to catch you.

"what was that?" you laughed, trying to re-steady yourself.

"your hand was cold. i don’t know, i guess i have a sensitive back," he huffed. his ears were angled down and a flush was heavy on his face. you couldn’t really articulate what it was about him, but you were suddenly overcome with cuteness aggression. you leaned your weight onto him, sending him backwards onto the futon and—perhaps somewhat out of revenge—hovered yourself over top of his hips. he stared up at you with widened eyes and a held breath, frozen and waiting for your next move.

"you said i need to return your affection, didn’t you?"

he swallowed and nodded the tiniest bit.

"so let me have some fun too, my beloved." you placed a hand on his cheek.

"wait, you heard—i actually said that?" it almost looked like steam would start rising from the top of his head at any point.

"heard it loud and clear." you smiled to yourself, leaning down and managing to get your fingertips into his chest window—only for the door to slam wide open.

"hey, it’s dinner! what’re you two even doi—!" march called, leaning her hand on the doorway. you and dan heng leapt off each other, landing on the opposite sides of his futon. march stared in silence for a long while before lolling her head back. "jeez, finally! anyway, can you two wait until after dinner? pom-pom’s ‘bouta blow a gasket waiting for you two."

"w-we’ll be there in a minute," you said, trying to readjust your collar to try and hide dan heng’s bite marks.

"don’t be long!" march said as she strode back off down the hallway. a couple beats passed and you looked over at dan heng. by some miracle, he’d managed to swap himself back to his human look, but he still looked disheveled as he went to stand back up.

he held a hand out to you and pulled you up, pausing for a moment. he glanced at the bite marks on your shoulder that still peaked out, made some sort of strained sound and then removed his coat. "they don’t need to see that," he said as he strung it around your shoulders, fixing the collar so it hid the marks from sight.

"i’m wearing your coat. march saw us before. if she learns something, it’s guaranteed to be said," you deadpanned. "they’ll know."

instead of giving you a direct response, he took your hand in his and lead you out of the archives, looking at you with what was probably meant to be a neutral expression. his light flush and knitted eyebrows betrayed him though. "can we at least pretend we have dignity?"

"i mean, sure, but it’s not gonna do anything, looking the way we do. now c’mon, don’t wanna keep the conductor waiting." you walked off with him in tow.

he only made a small groan in response again.

#sorry for the random jerma joke at the beginning #it's a moral obligation for me #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng #dan heng x reader #imbibitor lunae #imbibitor lunae x reader

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