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seiwas · 2 months

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three-part honesty | todoroki shouto

wc: 16.3k

summary: honesty, you've realized, is shouto’s most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before.

contains: intended as f!reader but no pronouns used, reader wears heels, a skirt, & a dress, post-canon (divergent), aged-up pro-hero!shouto and assistant!reader, workplace romance, development of feelings, confessions, boss/assistant dynamics, co-workers to lovers (ish), todoroki family dynamics and healing, fluff, slow burn.

sequel to: two-part something ao3 mirror

a/n: primarily from shouto’s perspective but switching of character pov’s is denoted by ‘( )’. i enjoyed the entire process of writing this fic and hope you do too!

sponsored by @arcvenes for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please do check it out and support if you can! this is also my submission for the pretty boy summer collab by @andypantsx3.

I. LISTEN CLOSELY

Much to his relief, Shouto’s yearly health check-up turns out just fine.

His blood work results come back stellar, levels all floating within normal range; some x-rays and scans reveal injuries healing up nicely—that collarbone he’d fractured months ago, especially. Save for a few recommendations on better sleep and stress management, Shouto receives no additional diagnoses for anything particularly concerning.

Except for this one thing—

“Maybe you have a crush.” Natsuo sinks into the backrest of his chair. A slight ‘squeak’ sounds from its springs as he props one foot up on his knee and clasps his hands over his stomach.

Shouto thinks it must be some doctor pose; Natsuo’s been doing it more often now that he’s gotten deeper into his medical practice.

In Shouto’s final year at UA, Natsuo made the decision to fully shift into Pre-Med. The aftermath of the war left a big portion of Musutafu lost and in dire need of a society to believe in. To Natsuo, this felt like a calling; an effort of playing his part to restore faith in a better, functioning system that did not discriminate. Internal medicine felt expansive in that way.

This, of course, also meant that Natsuo was now the (unofficial) assigned private and personal doctor of the Todoroki family—to Shouto, mostly.

So—

A… Crush?

“How does that happen?” Shouto turns to his brother, head tilted in confusion. His brows furrow slightly.

This isn’t what he was expecting at all.

“I mean, you said it in your text,” Natsuo reaches for his phone, clicking it open to scroll. The light from his screen reflects on the gray of his irises; then, he air quotes, “you said: ‘my chest feels weird’, then when I asked if anything happened,” his index finger glides across the screen, swiping through a long block of text uncharacteristic of Shouto’s typical dry responses.

“You detailed the entire scene of–” he pauses for a moment, squinting to find a specific line, “–a santa hat? Being put on you, or something. You didn’t mention who but I figured it was—”

You, Shouto thinks, at the moment Natsuo says your name. That same two-part thump sounds in his ears.

You, who’s stayed by his side for the past five, nearly six years. You’ve carved your presence so deeply into his life, it’s become an undercurrent in his speech. He doesn’t even think of having to say your name when he talks about you.

You, and how he turns over this familiarity with you inside his brain. How everyone knows—

“—who else stays with you in the agency past office hours, anyway?”

Natsuo raises an eyebrow, knowing.

“We’ve been working together for a while.” Shouto replies, lips pressed firmly into a small pout.

If he’s being honest, he’s not sure what compelled him to say something Natsuo already knows. To state the obvious? Or to argue, maybe? To act in denial? To express disbelief?

He takes a long breath, surveying Natsuo’s clinic. The walls are pristine white, the desk and examination bed the same shade of ashen gray—a conscious choice to keep patients calm; ironic, given the state of his thoughts right now.

Shouto’s mind is buzzing, and Natsuo watches the muddled confusion in his little brother’s eyes shift and swirl in blue-gray emotion. Then he chuckles, holding onto his arm rests as he stands up from the other side of his desk.

“It can happen, Shouto.” he plants a palm on his little brother’s head, ruffling red and white the way he would have when they were teens, “It’s been years, right? Feelings can develop over time, that sorta thing, you know?”

Shouto lets the realization settle in.

Under the weight of his brother’s hand, he feels like a kid again—right before all the training started; and right before being kept away, excluded from the childhood he could have had with his siblings.

Shouto feels like a teen again, without the trauma, without the war, being taught things about life and himself, about feelings he never had the time nor capacity to explore.

The two-part thump continues, beating.

A crush. On you. Huh.

The rustling of his hair dusts strands of warm, fuzzy feelings over his eyelids.

This feels… new, he thinks.

Shouto knows his Mondays.

He gets to Shouto Agency an hour before everyone else does because he likes the stillness of it right before the day turns busy. The sun is up but only barely, casting a soft glow of blue and orange hues through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office.

This habit began years ago, back when the agency functioned on the 7th floor of a commercial building. It was called Flashfreeze then, and even though it had an entire floor of 24 office units, being in a commercial building still meant sharing common areas with other companies and agencies. The morning rush left the elevators flooded in utter chaos daily.

To Shouto, going in early meant less people and less noise—a quiet bube he could use to prepare himself for the rest of the day.

A lot has changed since then: the agency’s move into a larger, newly constructed building of its own; staff, interns, and sidekicks quadrupling in numbers; better office spaces, bigger teams, more facilities—a big expansion, essentially.

Somehow, despite being more settled in the industry, he finds that the days feel even busier than before.

So, Shouto keeps his Mondays the same: his preference of coming in early carrying itself into this newer, much larger and private office space, and his same habit of brewing himself a cup of tea finding its own spot by the small kitchen nook you helped design during the construction of his office space.

Everything about his office is optimized for efficiency: the backdoor, where he enters from on most days, opens to an elevator with a matching staircase that both lead straight down to the costume unit, training grounds, and his own parking area; the blinds of his windows automatically draw up and down at set times of the day; and the minimalism of his entire space is carefully considered, with every area plotted for easy navigation.

It’s sleek and neat, sharp edges and clean lines, straightforward much like he is. Cold, for the most part, save for the corners touched by your warmth.

Pale yellow jars sit on the counter of his kitchen nook, with each one housing sugar, cinnamon, and his stash of tea.

When he looks more closely around the room, he spots the fresh flowers on his desk—a vase of luscious white chrysanthemums starkly contrasting the dark grays and browns of his interiors; they tell him you must be in already, because even when he manages to come in an hour ahead, you always, without fail, beat him to it 30 minutes too early.

And also, like always, you enter his office in the same way you do every Monday morning.

Your heels clack against his stone flooring, marking your arrival. He turns to face you from the kitchen nook, cup of tea in hand as he greets you.

“Good morning.”

You jolt, nearly tripping. Your head whips up quickly as you clutch a mass of folders tightly to your chest.

He takes a sip of his tea, the corners of his lips curling slightly on the edge of his cup.

“Si–” you clear your throat, correcting yourself as you take a breath. Then you smile warmly, bowing your head slightly, “Shouto, good morning.”

“You scared me a bit there,” you add with a soft chuckle.

It’s endearing, he thinks, seeing you caught off guard, so out of your usual composure.

You loosen your grip on the folders, “I just came to place this on your desk,” your finger taps against the plastic, “I didn’t notice you were here already, sorry.”

“No worries,” he sets down his tea cup, pocketing one hand in his sweatpants, “do you want some tea?”

“I’m good, thank you,” you shake your head, walking towards his desk to set the folders down, “Just a couple of debriefs for the case last month.”

He nods, eyes tracking your movement around the room. You pause then turn to him, clicking your pen as you say, “Let me get your schedule so we can do the run-down.”

Shouto moves to his desk when you leave, settling into the few squeaks and cracks of the leather chair you helped restore using your quirk—the ability to minimally reconstruct organic matter.

Not even a few minutes pass until you return, a tablet perched on the crook of your elbow with a digital pen in hand.

This is part of his Monday routine.

The agenda you follow is the same: a schedule run-down for the coming week, any notable trips or events, report updates, and department updates. Occasionally, PR will have you relay messages they have trouble communicating nicely—most of the time, they involve suggestions for him to ‘smile more’ or ‘answer questions more enthusiastically’.

You have no problem telling him these things straight up, and he has no issue hearing it directly from you, either.

For this week, you detail a few meetings scheduled for tomorrow and Wednesday, along with updates on his costume revisions, to be fitted on Wednesday afternoon, and—

“Deku requested a joint patrol on Thursday morning, so I moved your fitting for the gala to that evening instead. Is that okay with you?” you look up from your tablet, the tip of your pen hovering over the screen.

In this light, you’re bathed in the colors of sunrise.

(From where you’re standing, Shouto is backlit by the rising sun. His figure is washed over by a faded shadow, but you can see his eyes clearly, bright turquoise and dark gray staring right at you.

You hold your breath; you are well aware of Shouto’s tendencies to stare, but he’s taking much longer to answer you this time. And you don’t know what to do, where to look. Do you wait until—)

Shouto nods, catching himself lingering.

You mumble an ‘okay’ before tapping on your tablet.

The rest of your reminders are about upcoming events and deadlines: there’s the company team building happening in a few weeks, and a few reports due today and tomorrow. Fuyumi moved the family lunch to Saturday to make way for his photoshoot on Sunday.

He watches you from his desk as you speak, your foot tapping in conjunction with each item you relay to him, as if marking every point. It’s a thing you do, something he’s noticed in the years you’ve worked together.

Shouto knows his Mondays, and he’s always been relaxed during these earlier parts of it.

But ever since that check-up with Natsuo, he’s been more… conscious about it lately. It seems to be a consistent trend that every time he’s around you, he feels a significant uptick in his heartbeat.

Except now, when you speak—

“Will you be bringing a plus-one to the gala this year? The committee is confirming how many seats they’ll reserve for you.”

—his heart feels like it drops, plummeting straight to his stomach.

He looks at you intently, a slight crease forming between his brows.

You go to most of these things with him; you always have, ever since.

So, why are you even asking?

He thinks about it, deciding what to say next. The thought of you not going with him feels weird. Unusual.

If you’re unavailable, he supposes he can just go alone.

But—

“What should I do then?” Shouto shifts in his seat, peering up at his brother.

Natsuo’s instinctive reaction is to laugh; after all, it’s not often that you see pro-hero Shouto at a loss on troubleshooting. But when he spots pure and genuine uncertainty swirling in heterochromatic gray and blue, he sees his little brother—Shouto at ages 4, 8, and 12, still a little helpless on what to do.

“Do you want to do something about it?” Natsuo asks gently, squeezing Shouto’s shoulders.

Shouto doesn’t say anything.

The lack of response tells him all he needs to know.

“Maybe figure that out first, then just be honest about it when the time comes. Nothing beats saying it plain and simple.”

—‘just be honest about it’ echoes in his head, Natsuo’s voice morphing into his own.

“Will you not be available?” he manages to ask flatly, masking his worry.

(You look up from your tablet and his eyes meet yours, an intensity in his gaze that’s only been directed at you a handful of times before.)

“Oh,” you fluster a little, shifting your weight, “I will be, but I just thought…”

He can hear you hesitate, voice trailing off as if contemplating your next words. His head dips to coax you to go on.

“...I just thought, maybe you’d want to bring someone from your family?” you give a small smile, half-genuine, half-uncertain.

You know Shouto’s family; know their stories and know what each of them are like, individually.

You know how far they’ve come into healing, seeing Touya through multiple cycles of rehab and relapse. You’ve witnessed his mother’s strength first-hand, watching her rebuild their family with the help of Fuyumi. On the weekends when work wouldn’t let up for Shouto, she’d welcome you to join in family lunches too.

There were days during Natsuo’s medical internship when he’d go to the office at midnight because the hospital was nearby. It was the only free time he and Shouto had at the time, but Natsuo would ask you to join in, the three of you slurping on cup noodles while Natsuo prattled on about the absurdity of some of his coworkers.

So, Shouto can fully understand your intentions. After all, he thinks you’ve been instrumental to his family’s healing, too.

But he has his reasons for never bringing Fuyumi—she usually has school the next day, if not volunteer work at an orphanage. Natsuo has gotten increasingly busier with his practice, and Touya—Touya is still in rehab, and though he’s allowed at home three times a week, Shouto’s sure he’d rather spend it doing things other than being in a room full of pro-heroes.

“It might be nice to bring your mom,” you add on.

And as for that—

“The gala is this Friday?” he leans forward, the tips of his bangs brushing his eyelids.

You nod.

“She and Touya are going to the gardens,” he recalls, his mother casually mentioning it the last time he visited.

You look pleasantly surprised, “Oh,” then your small smile returns, “that’s good to hear.”

(It must mean a lot to Rei, you think. She’s always wanted to make up for lost time.)

You don’t say anything else, silence filling the conversation as you hold his gaze.

It isn’t uncommon for Shouto to hold stare-offs, with you especially, but this might just be the first time he feels fully conscious about it—wondering what you’re thinking; if you can read his mind and tell what he’s thinking.

“Do you not want to join me?” he asks, a small pout forming on his face.

(The softness of his cheeks sink just a little bit, and his eyes lose some of the luster they typically carry in the morning.

He looks so sad, you wish you just said yes in the first place.

How do you even respond to this?)

“No, n-no–” you stutter, inching forward subconsciously, “–it’s nothing like that.”

You check your tablet, swiping through your calendar. He can see portions of it from where he’s sitting, your Friday definitely freed up and empty.

He pushes himself up, standing to full-height. His hands dig into the pockets of his sweatpants as he tilts his head to the side.

“What seems to be the problem then?”

(In your years of knowing Shouto, you’ve learned that he never intends to sound harsh even though his words may seem like it. But even though you’re aware that he only means to be curious, you still feel a little embarrassed admitting that you didn’t anticipate the possibility of going to the gala with him this Friday.

You’ve always been prepared; it’s in your job description to be like this. You should have had a back-up dress just in case. You shouldn’t have shown Shouto your hesitation in the first place.

So, you breathe out, voice level and calm. This is your problem to fix, you don’t have to let him know about it. You’ll find a way, like you always do.)

“There’s no problem. I’ll add my name to the list then.”

Then you smile, but it’s just a touch uneasy, and if there’s one thing you underestimate about Shouto—for just as much as you know him, he’s gotten to know you pretty well too.

He pauses. The last thing he would want is for you to feel forced to go.

“If you have other plans, I hope you don’t feel obligated to go. I can go alone.”

His brows furrow, crease deepening and heart still sinking.

(And you can see it, that little pout on his face staying right where it is.

You’re endeared, touched by his consideration.

“I don’t have other plans,” you grin, brighter and more at ease, “and I don’t feel forced to go either,” you sigh, hiding a small chuckle.

A pause.

You mull it over before deciding to admit why you were hesitant in the first place, “I thought you were going to bring your mom, so I wasn’t able to prepare a dress.”)

Shouto’s eyes widen slightly, mouth opening to express his apologies.

“But–!” you interrupt, “That’s my fault,” you raise your hand, swaying it side-to-side. “So please don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

The smile on your face is meant to reassure him, he knows, but he still feels guilty.

This Friday’s gala is the Annual Midyear Pro-Hero Awards; it’s grand because it’s important, and the dress code is always black-tie—everything typically made custom.

He tilts his head slightly, thinking, eyes zeroing in on the small calendar propped up on his desk.

“My suit is being made by Bakugo’s parents, correct?”

You nod, reiterating, “Your final fitting is on Thursday night.”

His gaze flits to you once again.

(There’s that look in his eyes you’ve become all too familiar with—a glint of mischief accompanying a sort-of ‘Eureka!’ moment that means he’s thought of something.

The pieces click together, realization dawning upon you, but when you open your mouth to refuse—)

“I can ask them to do yours as well.” Shouto beats you to it.

It wouldn’t be fair for you to scramble for your outfit last minute simply because he assumed you knew you were going. You shouldn’t be more stressed than you already are.

“Si– Shouto,” you say firmly, “That’s too much.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” he flashes you a small smile.

(And you hate to admit it, but he’s right.

The Bakugo’s have known you for as long as you’ve been Shouto’s assistant. They’ve consistently designed his suits for big events like the Pro-Hero Awards, and Mitsuki has always extended their services to you too, knowing full well that you are Shouto’s plus-one most of the time.

She likes to chat with you during suit pick-ups, with Masaru serving you a cup of tea as you wait for minor tweaks and adjustments to Shouto’s outfits.

“It would be too last minute,” you resist, feeling bad for the hassle this would impose on them.

“Then I can call them later today.” Shouto reaches for his phone, eagerly typing what you assume is a reminder to call Mitsuki some time later, just as he said he would.

“You–” your voice hesitates, “you don’t have to do that. I can contact their secretary–”

This is part of your job, after all.

“It will be much faster if I call them directly.”

And while he does have a point, you still feel bad, inching closer towards his desk, “It’s okay, you shouldn’t have to concern yourself with this–”

He gives you a look.

You stop moving.

Shouto is stubborn, this much you know. When he looks like this, you’re well aware that there’s no point dissuading him from doing something he’s already set his mind to.)

“It’s only right given that I told you last minute.”

He tells this to you sincerely; it really is the least he can do.

Besides—

“…be honest…” the words replay in his head.

—he swallows his truth; lets it sink deep into stomach along with that two-part thump in his chest.

“I only feel comfortable going to these with you, anyway.”

(Your mind blanks, coming up with nothing else to say but ‘okay’.)

Cameras flash as Shouto steps down from his van.

The building ahead of him is colossal, tall pillars and perfect arches made of raw stone and marble—it feels both ancient and otherworldly, fitting to represent Musutafu in this new age. Ahead of him, the staircase stretches on, steps spanning the width of half a block. Down its center cascades a luscious carpet, thick velvet that further lends to the grandeur of the event.

Standing at the foot of the staircase, Shouto takes a moment to unbutton his suit jacket, revealing his perfectly fitted waistcoat underneath.

(You know he isn’t doing it on purpose; it’s hardly ever Shouto’s intention to make people swoon, but you’re positive that that one move alone can make anyone melt on sight—you included.)

Tonight is the Annual Midyear Pro-Hero Awards, a prestigious event where hero rankings, major announcements, and charity biddings take place.

(It’s not anything new to the both of you, but Shouto skipped out on the past two, and it’s been years since you joined him on the last one he went to. Being here again after so long makes you feel a little out of practice.

After he scales the flight of stairs ahead, Shouto turns back to you, offering his arm for support as you step down from the vehicle. You hesitate, partly because you don’t know whether it’s acceptable behavior for you to take it, and also because you don’t remember if this was something you did the last time you went to one of these with him.

You can’t think straight—not when he looks as seraphic as he does, face half-illuminated by the lights behind him with the shadows hugging the softness of his cheeks.

Shouto is beautiful, a fact you’ve known long before you ever even started working with him; but you’re reminded of that fact in moments like this, especially.

“The steps are tall,” he tells you, shaking you out of your thoughts as you glance back at the staircase behind him. You try not to stare, but the strands that frame his forehead shift from his sudden movement; it scatters into a perfect mess—characteristic of how anything out of place always seems to look on him.

You take his offer.)

His forearm is firm against your palm, the thick fabric of his suit jacket providing cushion for your touch. When he bends it towards his chest, your fingers slip towards the crook of his elbow.

Scarlet red contrasts the building’s stone white structures, the carpet providing a center stage for all heroes and public figures to parade their outfits. If not for the photographers yelling, “Shouto, right!” and “Shouto, left!”, he would have gone straight inside, barely pausing on the landings between each flight of stairs.

You stand to the side when he takes them, just as you always do. But between each flash that goes off, Shouto thinks about whether you should join him too; after all, Mitsuki did intend for the dark navy of your dress to match the stone gray of his three-piece suit.

When you finally arrive at the lobby of the city hall, the two of you are welcomed into a receiving area adorned with crystal chandeliers. The lights bounce off the sharp white edges of the building’s neoclassical interiors, the carpet’s scarlet red returning as a recurring motif in the form of drapes cascading from the high ceilings and down the sides of the room.

By this time, Shouto’s relaxed a bit more, his hand slipping loosely into his front pocket.

(You don’t realize you’re still holding onto him until you’re midway across the floor.)

“Hey, you guys!” Kirishima waves over, squeezing himself within a narrow space between the backs of who look like one of the executives of the hero commission and last year’s awarded peace ambassador.

(You don’t know how he could have possibly fit, the width of him wider than any pro-hero you know, but you chuckle at his timid mumbles of “sorry, excuse me, just passing through.” It reminds you of how he typically approaches you when he asks for favors regarding joint patrols and assignments with Shouto.

He greets you both with his trademark hug, a bone-crushing grip that leaves you a little winded.)

“I didn’t know the two of you were coming!”

“It was a last minute decision,” Shouto smiles, small and fond.

(You look at Shouto intently from beside Kirishima, as if processing what he means. And when his eyes meet yours, you feel caught, shy, averting your gaze quickly.)

Kirishima clears his throat, no doubt noticing the interaction but choosing to focus on something else instead—Shouto’s outfit, a dark navy tie tucked underneath a fitted gray waistcoat; the white collar of his button down peeking through the all stone-gray ensemble. His hair is styled down, bangs curled inwards to form commas that frame his forehead.

“Looking good, man.” the red head deflects, joining his index finger and thumb to form an ‘O-K’ sign as he nods at Shouto. Then he turns to you, the same genuine smile on his face as he says, “That color really suits you.”

You smile sheepishly, mumbling, “Thanks.”

(Kirishima is a sweetheart; you can never doubt that his intentions are pure. But the attention makes you feel a little self-conscious, even more now that—)

Shouto looks at you then, again, too.

It’s the only time he’s managed to get a real good look at you if he’s being honest; from the incident in the car to the flashing lights up the staircase, there haven’t been many opportunities to fully see what you’re wearing.

And—

Kirishima’s right.

The color really does suit you, but so does the design of your dress—a simple cowl neck joining into halter straps; it dips low at the back, this detail of it, he knows. He’s been careful not to touch you there the entire time so far. It doesn’t help that your hair is tied into a low bun, accentuating the vacant space with how the dress hugs you beautifully in all the right places.

The dark navy satin was a good choice, the perfect vessel for catching ripples of light.

It’s simple but classic; understated, just like the accessories you’ve chosen are. And it brings out the one thing he thinks carries this look the most—

You.

He tries to form the words in his head, urging himself to speak up—he wants to give you a compliment of his own.

But—

“Bakubro!” Kirishima waves overhead, much like he did earlier.

—maybe he can try again next time.

You and Kirishima don’t stay long after Bakugo arrives, Ashido coming in to whisk you and the redhead away to the main room. She loops her arm around yours and pulls you towards her, prompting you to give one last glance at Shouto as an expression of your apologies.

The corner of his lips curl only the slightest bit.

Bakugo watches.

“Don’t forget the drinks, Blasty!” Ashido calls over her shoulder, green silk flowing behind her.

He tuts, grumbling as he heads towards the reception bar, leaving Shouto in the middle of the receiving area, unsure of where to follow.

“Y’coming or what?”

Shouto lingers for a few seconds, watching your back disappear into the hall before he decides to walk after Bakugo.

The lobby begins to quiet down as people flood into the main event area, a large hall adorned with the same scarlet red drapes and crystal chandeliers. The table arrangements have been pre-selected and arranged, you and the others most likely finding your seats inside.

“Old hag told me you’re dating.”

Bakugo speaks, his back still turned to Shouto.

The bar in front of them offers a generous selection of drinks, all ranging from different wines to cocktails and liquor shots. It isn’t a surprise that Bakugo knows all of his friends’ chosen drinks, down to each specificity—it’s how he shows that he cares. Shouto’s come to learn that over the years.

Their friendship has settled into its own dynamic as Bakugo’s mellowed down. Shouto will ask a question here and there, and Bakugo will look at him like he’s the dumbest fuck on the planet, but still answer anyway.

It works, as evidenced by right now.

Shouto stops right beside Bakugo, leaning against the countertop as he hums, confused, “Who?”

Bakugo sighs, sliding Shouto his gin and tonic, “Mom.” Then he rolls his eyes, gesturing towards the door of the main room, “She told me you two are finally dating.”

Shouto pauses mid-sip.

When he recalls the conversation he had with Mitsuki, it went a lot more like:

“Can a dress be made for my assistant as well?” he speaks into the line, “I will be bringing them to the gala.”

He doesn’t think he insinuated anything.

But now that he replays it in his head, it’s no wonder Mitsuki’s enthusiastic reply sounded so eager.

Bakugo snorts, smirking as if his suspicion was just proven right, “Knew that lady was hearin’ shit.”

The bartender serves up another drink, Ashido’s raspberry daiquiri being placed right in front of the blond before he moves on to mix another one. Clacking ice fills in the silence, the drink coming together inside the shaker.

Shouto stares at his drink and watches as little bubbles form on the slice of lime submerged in it.

“Are you at least thinkin’ about it?” the blond faces Shouto, leaning his forearm against the counter.

Shouto furrows his brows, a single thought running through his mind.

“How did you know?”

Bakugo stares, deep vermillion as he speaks, deadpan, “You can’t be serious.”

Shouto stares right back.

Another drink is served, Kaminari’s mixed drink of vodka, lime, and lemonade.

The stare-off persists for a few seconds, a series of blinks emphasizing Shouto’s cluelessness to the whole ordeal. Because—why does it feel like everyone knows? Did he mention it without knowing? Or is it really just that obvious?

Bakugo sighs, mentally facepalming as he turns back to watch the bartender shake another drink, “Whatever. S’none of my business.” He leans onto the counter, elbows resting on the steeltop.

Shouto isn’t sure what else to say. He knows that Bakugo is observant, that his friend has always had a keen sense of awareness for the things going on around him; it just never crossed his mind that that would include his interactions with you.

The blond slides over Ashido’s drink, prompting Shouto to hold the flute of the glass between his fingers, “Just don’t be a fuckin’ dumbass about it. Gotta be dense as hell if you think the way you’re treated is part of the job description.”

The bartender serves up the final drink: Sero’s whiskey on the rocks. Bakugo takes it along with Kaminari’s and starts walking back to the main room, Shouto following right behind him.

He thinks about it.

A thump.

Because right before they both enter the hall, Shouto spots you, further back at the right side of the room as you laugh at something Yaoyorozu must have said.

He blinks, wondering if the soft glow around you is from the haziness of his eyes.

“If y’don’t do shit first, some other loser will,” Bakugo mumbles, just within ear-shot before he walks ahead to where Kirishima and the others are seated.

Shouto makes a mental note to drop off Ashido’s drink before heading over to you.

You and Shouto leave the gala early.

A message from the police station came in the middle of the event: a request to bump up a few reports for submission tomorrow.

You’d mentioned to Shouto that he could stay, especially since he’d be needed to accept awards that you were sure he’d be the recipient of—among them being one of the top performing agencies of the year, a big chunk of it based on the high turnover rate of timely reports. But he insisted that someone else could represent him instead; he’s certain Midoriya wouldn’t mind.

If you were going back to the agency to work, so was he.

The night shift at the agency is minimally staffed, with most sidekicks and pro-heroes out on patrol. Regular employees have clocked out by this time, and it seems that the only ones left in the building are the emergency unit and the two of you.

You’ve split the work between you two: Shouto tasked to fill in the second pages, where the scene-by-scene breakdown and additional comments can be found, and you, in charge of summarizing those details along with all basic information onto the first pages.

It feels nostalgic, watching you flip through the papers laid out on the coffee table of his lounging area at a quarter past midnight. Back then, he had just hired you, and the only other employees in the agency were his gear tech and PR manager. There was no way the volume of workload could be managed without spending late nights organizing investigations and reports on the floor of that rented studio unit.

Now, you sit by the coffee table in his lounging area, one you helped decorate. The books atop it have been pushed to the side to give you ample workspace, but even those remind him of how much consideration you’ve put into helping him build his space.

Bakugo’s words linger when he thinks about it—how the books you’ve chosen remind him of his family. There’s one on the language of flowers that his mother would love, and a cookbook that he’s sure Fuyumi’s used (some corners are folded, with her handwriting scrawled on every other page). On another stack lie a few comic books he remembers Touya and Natsuo reading when they were younger (that he’s pretty sure he’s seen them flip through during their visits to his office over the years).

And along with all the books sits a family photo taken years ago, framed and taken by you during one of their annual trips to their family beach house a few hours away from the city.

It begins to sink in.

A thump.

He folds the sleeves of his button down to his elbows, his gray suit jacket long since draped over the back of his leather chair. You’ve changed out of your heels too, opting instead for the soft slippers you keep under your desk.

It’s cute, he thinks, the formality of your entire get-up toned down by a pair of fluffy yellow slippers.

When he glances at you again, he finds you hunched over yourself on the sofa of his lounging area, an arm wrapped around yourself as if to contain whatever warmth you have left.

He furrows his brows.

“Are you cold?” his voice booms through the stillness of his office, jostling you out of focus. You whip your head up to look at him, shaking it immediately as if on autopilot.

(He pouts, then, a small downturn of his lips that you find adorable, more than anything.)

“I’m okay,” you smile, but he can see the slight twitching of your lip; the goosebumps dotting down your trembling arms.

You always seem to be doing things like this with him.

He pushes himself away from his desk, the wheels of his chair rolling against the stone floor.

You never express your discomfort in any situation you’re put in, and you diligently work and endure all conditions to get the job done. He always extends his help, but you often decline, and—

“You have to be dense as hell if you think the way you’re treated is part of the job description.”

—Shouto is beginning to realize that the way you treat him really is so much more than that.

You’ve laid the groundwork of the operations in his agency and you always smooth talk your way to getting him out of schedules he mistakenly forgets to show up to (typically with good reason, though). You cover all the areas he misses—this entire building would not be how it looks and functions without your help overseeing its construction.

You’re organized and driven, eager and compassionate, and you care, above all else.

The flowers you leave on his desk are never needed, but you always insist on them to keep his space alive. You fix all his clumsy papercuts, even though he never asks you to; he’s dealt with much, much worse, yet it’s only a split-second after you spot it that the tingling of your quirk works its way to mend his split skin.

It’s just like what happened in the car earlier tonight, a few minutes away from reaching the city hall. Shouto had accidentally cut himself with the invitation to the gala, and though he insisted that it was okay, it was right on his eyelid—a miracle it even missed his eyeball in the first place, you’d commented.

You managed to convince him then, saying, “It’s going to sting every time you blink.” —which was true; it did sting every time he blinked.

That care extends to the people in his life too. His mom loves to go to the weekend market with you, and Fuyumi can always count on you to help her cook when she needs an extra hand. You keep up with Natsuo’s jokes and Touya talks to you, long enough conversations that allow him to be himself.

You care, and you insist upon your care especially when you know he needs it but would never ask for it.

It’s only fair, then, that it’s time he does the same for you.

He removes the suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, the movement drawing your attention.

(Your eyes widen as he approaches you. You feel shy, a little flustered as you raise your hands up to reassure him that you don’t need it.)

“Your arms are shivering.” he points out, holding up the thick fabric.

You crane your neck up to look at him, just a few steps away from reach.

(You can’t deny the facts.)

From above, he only sees skin—the plunging dip of your exposed back, the small hairs standing along your arms. He tries his best to look into your eyes only, but—

“At least let me place this over you.”

(And you know you can’t deny Shouto, either.)

—when you concede and let him, he steps closer and bends just a little bit, his full height too tall to be able to place it on you properly. His arms circle around you, carefully resting the thick wool around your neck and onto your shoulders.

He bends lower to adjust the sleeves, making sure that your arms are fully covered. You’re so still, and so close, the tips of his ears nearly touching the highest points of your cheeks.

(It’s just like the gala—)

It’s just like the car—

(—with Shouto helping you navigate through the crowd of people exiting the event as early as you both did. His presence was a steady heat against your back, near and warm but barely touching.)

—with your face almost nose-to-nose with his; apart from the gentle touch of your fingertip against his eyelid, Shouto can only remember feeling that, along with the traitorous thump of his heartbeat.

It’s a good thing that he had his eyes closed then; he wouldn’t have known how to react at the proximity.

But now, he can see you so clearly, your low bun kept in place by bobby pins the same color of your hair; there’s glitter on the inner corners of your eyes, some of it falling to dot the corners of your nose.

This has to be more than just a crush if he’s feeling this intensely.

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, then it’s two blinks before you look away, clearing your throat as you glance at him again, a little bashful, “Thank you.”

Shouto nods, taking one step back.

“The estate we booked for the company outing offered to host a visit for you next weekend.” you speak before he fully returns to his seat, shifting in your seat, “I checked your schedule and there’s nothing set for that day yet.” His suit jacket dwarfs you, the deep navy silk becoming an accent the further you sink into it, “Maybe you’d like to go with your mom?”

You suggest it to him again. Because you know and you care.

He taps his foot, looking out into the city, “That would be nice.” Then he turns back to you, strands of his bangs falling to dust his forehead as he puts his hands inside his pockets, “You’ll be coming too, then?”

(There are things you don’t allow your heart to feel in moments like this—hope being one of them. Shouto looks dangerously attractive in a suit, and it’s been difficult to keep your feelings at bay the entire night. He speaks honestly, rarely with double meaning, so when he speaks to you like this, you try not to think too much of it.

“Yes,” you agree, thinking that he must want you to scope out the venue for the company outing activities, “is there anything in particular that you want me to check out for the team building?”)

Shouto tilts his head.

“Not for work,” he clarifies, staring straight into your eyes. “Just to spend the day with us.”

He expects your reaction already, your eyes widening and your hands raising to wave off a ‘there’s no need.’ But, he finds that there’s no reason for you to be shy, already beating you to the final say.

“Mom would want you there,” he mentions, because it’s true. She’d look for you.

And if he’s being completely honest with himself, with how he’s been feeling around you lately—he would too.

II. IF I SPEAK

The Todoroki family home comes alive on the weekends.

Since Touya’s return, his mom has moved into a smaller, more modern place to stay. The walls of its exteriors are painted a warm off-white, its features complemented by light wood and bluish-gray accents. At the back exists a garden large enough for a few small trees and her growing flower collection—a complete flip from their larger and darker old home.

The tall windows stream sunlight into the living space, each corner of the house doused in its comfort. Opting for a smaller home was a conscious choice—everything would be within reach, and so would the people in it.

On the days that Touya is allowed to stay home from rehab, he lives here, sometimes with Fuyumi, but always with Rei.

“Food is ready!” Fuyumi calls from the kitchen, prompting Touya and Natsuo to look over from the couch. Shouto is just about to finish setting the table when Rei brings out a piping hot pot of soup, Fuyumi in tow with a whole plate of tonkotsu.

Natsuo heads inside the kitchen for anything else that might need carrying, and Touya opens the fridge to take out the iced tea he helped make last night.

It’s taken some time to get here—with Touya willingly doing anything with his family. Getting used to living with people he thought abandoned him for a decade is hard; learning to become a family has been even harder.

But Touya has always lived in a special corner of his mother’s heart—never forgotten and always considered. Shouto thinks it’s the same case for all of them; that’s how it’s managed to work.

Touya takes his seat beside Shouto, pouring himself a glass of iced tea while waiting for the rest of their family.

“Played any golf lately?” Touya eyes Shouto from the side.

Shouto shakes his head, staring at his palms; calluses used to line the base of his fingers, “Work at the agency has gotten busy.”

Taking up golf has been part of Touya’s rehabilitation program for the past few months, a recommendation to aid in improving focus while keeping himself calm. And though there was much resistance at first, Touya’s grown fond enough of the sport to play it on his own; it’s made all the difference, Shouto’s noticed, his brother’s overall disposition a lot less angry—

“Looks like I’m going to beat your ass next week,” Touya smirks, cracking his wrists.

—but still equally as snarky.

Shouto doesn’t normally care about competition; the only person he really has to beat is himself. But he and Touya are alike in many ways, with eyes as sharp as their father’s but their faces holding the same innocence as their mother’s. They are both lit up by fires—one forced to blaze and the other forced to dim. There is a bluntness Shouto shares with Touya that no one else in the family can argue with.

“Being too confident can jinx it for you on the fairway,” Shouto replies, turning to his brother with his signature blank gaze.

Natsuo laughs as he settles into his seat beside Touya, watching as his older brother’s smirk quickly dissolves into a frown.

“Little shit,” Touya mumbles, taking a sip from his drink.

The corners of Shouto’s lips curl up slightly.

Rei and Fuyumi join the table last, bringing out a steaming pot of rice and a few side dishes to complement the rest of the meal.

These family lunches keep them connected.

Fuyumi believes that no matter how busy they are, having this time to gather together and share details on each other’s lives is important.

“Sorry I can’t join you and these two next weekend, mom,” Natsuo starts, slicing through his tonkotsu as he points an elbow towards his brothers, “The hospital has a medical mission out of town.”

Rei simply smiles, waving her hand, “No need to apologize. I’m so proud of you, Natsuo.”

“Will you be free, Fuyumi?” she turns next to her, placing a hand on Fuyumi’s lap.

Fuyumi swallows her food, smiling apologetically, “Sorry, mom, the school’s hosting a kiddie pool party for the first day of summer.”

Rei pats her lap reassuringly, smiling again as she says, “It’s no problem, I’m glad the kids are having fun under your care.”

“It’ll just be the three of us, then.” Rei looks at her two boys across from her—her eldest and her youngest.

Touya blows at his bowl, puffs of steam dissipating into the air. For as hot as Touya’s flames can get, he dislikes anything too hot to eat—a preference of his that Rei’s taken note of as she reaches across the table to cool down his bowl ever so slightly.

“Thanks,” Touya mumbles, still hesitant to call her ‘mom’ when it’s face-to-face.

“I heard the estate has a greenhouse,” Shouto mentions, Rei instantly perking up at the information, “You can take a look at the plants there, mom.”

“That sounds lovely, Shouto,” she smiles; this time, it reaches her eyes, “We can take photos in your handsome outfits too.”

Touya scrunches his nose as Shouto nods. As per the invitation, the estate prepared a whole day’s worth of activities—a game of golf in the morning, brunch by the gardens, and a simple wine tasting to cap off the afternoon.

Lunch continues with Fuyumi sharing more about the kids she’s handling this year, and Natsuo retelling interactions of the most obnoxious patients he’s had yet.

They laugh, a little more like a family—Shouto chuckling as Touya gives a snarky comment or two. Fuyumi laughs, full-bodied, and Rei giggles, softly, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“How are your flowers, mom?” Shouto asks after they settle down, remembering that you helped her pick out which ones to plant last time.

“The morning glories are going to be blooming soon,” Rei replies, her smile fond and proud. Since being released from the hospital years ago, she’s taken to planting and flower arranging, oftentimes asking you to help her choose which ones to use.

“Really?” Fuyumi turns her head, gasping as she catches a glance from the window across the room, “They look good, mom! Can I have some when they bloom?”

Rei nods, turning to her youngest, “You can get some too, Shouto.”

For you, she adds.

Natsuo eyes him from the side as he freezes, Rei suggesting some more, “You can place it in a vase. It’s not fair, you always receive flowers for your desk.”

Shouto nods, a small ‘okay’ because he doesn’t really know how else to respond without giving his feelings away.

Touya observes Shouto’s expressions, his eyes twinkling in sinister aquamarine.

“Speaking of,” he shifts in his seat, crossing his legs to face Shouto, “s’your hot assistant coming?”

Something twists in Shouto’s face, his brows furrowing slightly.

Touya knows just how to get on Shouto’s nerves.

(What stares back at him is a deadly shade of gray and blue.

Touya does this pretty often: provoking just for fun.

Shouto stares at almost everyone he interacts with; it’s unnerving and uncomfortable for people who aren’t used to it, but Touya’s noticed that his little brother stares at you for far longer than he needs to.

And though he’s missed a big chunk of how Shouto grew up, he likes to think he reads him pretty well now—how he acts around you, especially.

At his core, Shouto believes in carving his own path, choosing to fix wrongs and better himself for the now. Touya knows these things, knows where a person is weakest, just like he’s been taught—just like he’s been made aware of his entire life. Yet, for how independent Shouto’s become, he still chooses to lean on you; turns to you for thoughts and opinions, considering you in everything.

Touya has met you a few times; the whole family has. During the worst of his relapse, you were the only person apart from family who was trusted to accompany him in and out of rehab. You picked him up and dropped him off, often joining Rei and Fuyumi on visits when Shouto would be too busy.

To him, you’re an extension of Shouto at this point—an olive branch that’s been just as instrumental in healing this family and the people in it.

It’s never in the big things, but those few minutes of small talk you attempt with him in the car ride home help loosen his tongue, training a muscle that with time, has helped him open up more.

Touya doesn’t care much for people; he’s still just beginning to learn to love his family again, but he thinks you fit in well, because you and Natsuo have the same god-awful humor, and Fuyumi only trusts you to help out in the kitchen. His mom likes having you around, and you never stick your neck in too deep in other people’s shit when they aren’t ready for it—especially his. You never nag Shouto, but you stand firm on the things you disagree with, because as far as Touya can see, you care, far deeper than your job requires you to.

In all ways, you are the stability and calm authenticity that Shouto needs after growing up in such a tumultuous family.

So, Touya likes to stir the pot a little. Or a lot. Maybe.

Just for fun.)

Shouto continues to stare, his frown deepening. His jaw clenches, tension throbbing in his temples.

“Don’t say it like that,” he mutters, low and firm.

He feels like a kid again; like this would be a conversation they’d be having if things were normal and Touya had been around when Shouto turned 15, teasing him about a crush he might have, like older brothers do.

Natsuo and Fuyumi have always felt like his protectors, siblings forced to be parents by circumstance; but Touya feels like his brother, the one he can fight and steal food from; the one who holds a toy up above head where Shouto can’t reach—even though he’s much, much taller than his older brother now.

Touya scoffs, smirking, “Just saying what you think, little brother.”

All Shouto hears is a thump.

A succession of them, in a steady three-part beat.

The golf ball in front of him sits on an even plot of vibrant green, its dents and grooves emphasized by the sunlight of the early morning—there’s pressure, a thump; he needs to beat Touya in this hole to tie overall. Another thump; you’re watching him play.

He analyzes all conditions, feels the heat on his back seep through the fabric of his white golf shirt. He breathes in and prepares to swing.

Today is the visit to the estate.

The agenda starts with an early game of golf, followed by brunch at the gardens and wine tasting in the early to late afternoon. It’s a beautiful day, and Shouto should be focusing on winning this game, but it’s distracting when you’re all he’s really thought about since the start of this round.

—you, in your perfectly fitted white golf shirt and its complementary skirt; you, sitting with his mom at the back of the golf cart, smiling and laughing as if you aren’t the slightest bit aware of how much you brighten a space when you look like that. You, with your head whipping right in his direction when you hear the loud ‘swauck!’ that the impact of his club makes with the ball—your eyes excited and hopeful.

Shouto misses the hole, and Touya snickers from the side.

The thumbs up you give him is a soothing balm to his miss.

Shouto readjusts his cap as they walk closer to the hole, tucking in the strands of hair clinging to his forehead. He glances back at you and lingers, interrupted only by—

“Pretty thing, your assistant,” Touya teases, nudging his head towards your direction, “Cute skirt and all.”

“Stop.” Shouto stares, impassive and unamused. His eyebrow twitches before he turns, walking away.

From afar, he can hear Touya’s chuckle, breathy from the movement of fixing his arm sleeve. Shouto only pays attention to preparing his putter.

He knows this is just how his older brother is.

Since the start of this round, Touya’s managed to lead by a few strokes, with Shouto falling behind in every hole. It’s frustrating and annoying, aggravated even more by Touya’s teasing and the fact that Shouto has played the sport for far longer than Touya has.

It doesn’t help that he ends up missing again, with Touya managing to make the put afterwards.

Shouto sighs, clenching his jaw.

“You know,” Touya eyes him as they walk to the next hole, “staring’s not gonna get you anywhere.”

“I’m not staring,” Shouto retorts immediately. The expanse of greenery ahead of him is taunting, an endless plot of land that feels like it’s watching.

Touya scoffs, “Sure.”

The golf course in the estate is landscaped with luscious trees, vibrant in the brightness of summer. Flowers bloom along the perimeter, yellows and reds carving out this specific section of the estate. You and his mom follow closely behind, riding the cart at a slow and steady pace.

Just a few meters down, the little red flag for the next hole comes into view, moving with the breeze.

“If you don’t plan on acting on it, you should let me know.” Touya mentions it a little too casually.

Another thump.

It’s a joke. Obviously. Something only meant to rile him up—it’s how Touya is.

But it still makes him feel just a tad bit uneasy; it makes him feel a little bit like it did when they were kids.

Before Touya disappeared, they used to sneak into the garden on winter nights. Shouto must have been no older than five and learning how to manage his quirk properly.

They used to play a game: The Twigfire Race, Touya called it—a competition on who can form the longest and fastest fire trail using a bunch of twigs.

Touya would always win, his long legs and lanky arms gathering more sticks than Shouto ever could at that age. His flames burned a deep azure blue, eating through the twigs much faster than Shouto’s flames did. Then, he’d press onto the pads of his burnt fingertips, teasing Shouto in some twisted attempt at motivating his little brother to do better.

Touya would always win, but not without getting a word in. Not without leaving Shouto with a lesson or two about it.

“I said, stop.” Shouto warns him, voice stern as he turns slightly to catch his brother's eyes.

“Damn. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Touya raises a hand in mock surrender, smirking, “I can just do it without asking you.”

Shouto stops walking, fists clenched tightly around his golf club.

“That’s not funny.”

“Oh, I’m not joking,” Touya taunts, holding back his laugh.

The stare Shouto gives him turns icy, glare intensifying as he inches closer towards his big brother. Touya doesn’t move, the stare-off lasting long enough for you to notice the confrontation.

From his periphery, Shouto can see you looking at them in confusion.

“Or am I?” Touya snickers right before he turns away, walking straight towards the next hole.

Shouto watches him walk away, each thump matching the footsteps his brother makes. To the side, the cart slows to a halt and you get off, standing up as if to gain a better view of what just happened.

You lock eyes with Shouto and he musters a small smile, raising a hand as if to say ‘everything’s fine.’

“Losers lose ‘cause they don’t get shit done, Shouto!” Touya calls from a few steps ahead.

Shouto stares at his brother’s back; it’s just how Touya used to say when they were kids—

“You just have to go for it!”

He takes a step.

Touya wins the round, with Shouto losing by only a few strokes.

Rei hugs them both, Touya’s slight reluctance evident in the way his arms stay glued to his side as she wraps hers around the both of them.

Shouto brings one hand up, resting it against her back; from his line of sight, he spots you smiling fondly, giving him another thumbs up when your eyes meet.

The estate’s staff escorts everyone to their respective rooms, allowing some time to change into clothes more suited for the late morning brunch.

When Shouto and Touya finish, they make their way to the greenhouse, a glass dome teeming with life. It’s art in bloom—chrysanthemums, hydrangeas, sunflowers, and camellias all in varying colors of pink, red, purple, and yellow. Under a small bridge is a pond, alive with koi fish swimming underneath pads of water lilies, and right up above, where the sunlight streams in, are baskets of japanese roses, hanging in bright, fuschia clusters.

He walks atop the bridge, hands stuffed inside his linen pants—a pair that matches the linen shirt you gifted him birthdays ago. What surrounds him is beautiful; perhaps the most heavenly place he’s been to.

A morning of golf under the sun, nature in florescence. A (relatively) peaceful morning.

And you—

The moment Shouto spots you, the scenery on your backdrop fades into muddled hues. You and Rei enter the greenhouse side-by-side, with his mother wearing an all-white ensemble: a cardigan with a long, flowy skirt.

And you—

—you walk in wearing a pale yellow sundress, its hem hitting just above your knees. There are dainty flowers dotted all over it, but nothing too loud; the straps sink into a v-neck with bust details, flowing down into an a-line skirt. It’s perfectly understated, only emphasizing the focus on how radiant you look in it.

He can’t stop staring.

Touya snorts as he passes him.

This day, this sight, is going to stay in his memory for a long, long while, he thinks.

From up ahead, he can hear his mom call for Touya, dragging him around to ask which blooms would look best for the garden at home. And when he snaps out of the daze you’ve put him in, you appear right beside him, asking if he’s okay.

“Yes,” he answers promptly, unsure of what to say next. His eyes flit to the baskets of japanese roses hanging above you, then to the view peeking from outside. “Do you want to look around before we eat?”

You nod.

The depth of the greenhouse is deceiving upon first glance, with Touya and Rei now out of sight as you explore the area. You walk close enough to be side-by-side but still stay a step behind like you typically do, pausing every now and then to take pictures of the flowers around you.

“You seem more relaxed,” he points out, pushing up the sleeves of his button-up.

You turn to him from the chrysanthemums you’re snapping, a little flustered at his comment.

(And at him, mostly. You don’t know how anyone can look this good in a simple linen set. Nature favors Todoroki Shouto, and it shows in moments like now, with sunlight hitting his face at just the right angle that it paints stardust on the tips of his eyelashes.)

“It’s good,” he quickly follows-up, fluffing through his bangs, “I did mention this wasn’t for work.”

(You feel warm at the reminder.

“It’s nice to see you with some down time too,” you return the sentiment, uncomfortable with the attention on you.

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress.)

“Did something happen earlier?” you put your phone down, continuing to walk. “At the course. Things looked pretty tense.”

Shouto hums, considers his next words. He takes a few more steps before answering, “Touya is a dick.”

A laugh escapes you, and you cover your mouth quickly as you mumble an apology. Shouto knows it’s because it’s completely out of character for him to be so vulgar and insulting when it comes to his siblings.

“Was he sabotaging you?”

“...Something like that.” he responds.

“That’s okay,” you scrunch your nose, peering up at him, “You haven’t had much time to play lately.”

And Shouto wonders if he’s just that easy to console, or if it’s a specific comfort that only comes from you. You make it so easy for him to feel better about all the little and big things—whether it’s news articles headlining him as a PR nightmare, or near-losses on missions gone wrong.

Not a lot of things get to Shouto, but when they do, you somehow always know how to handle it.

You continue to stroll around the greenhouse, looking closely at the steel bars holding up the glass arches. From a few steps ahead, Shouto can hear your mumbles—something about measurements and the logistics of turning the rooftop of the agency into a smaller version of this greenhouse.

“You and mom looked like you were enjoying yourselves earlier,” he mentions offhandedly, hands clasped around his back.

It’s something he’s noticed for a while—his mother seems to relax more around you, laughing and smiling in most of your conversations. He gets it; you have that effect on everyone around you, the warmth you exude a welcome invitation to be opened up to.

(You eye him from the side knowingly; Todoroki Shouto is nothing but a closet snoop.)

“We were talking about plant stuff,” you smile, “and how she’s happy you and Touya finally got to play together. You should’ve seen how red her hands were from clapping for the both of you.”

He chuckles softly, matching your steps in comfortable silence.

It’s at a different section of the greenhouse that he pauses, giving you time to admire the shrubs of hydrangeas blooming around you.

Touya’s words come back to him.

He wonders if he should say it, if he should ask—

“Don’t move,” you tell him, raising your phone to eye-level.

Shouto stares at you, hands in his pockets as he watches you tap on your phone.

“Look to the side,” you instruct him again, and he follows, albeit a little confused.

When he turns to face you again, the smile on your face is beaming, glowing as you turn your phone to show him the photos you managed to take.

“The lighting was nice. See!”

And when you point to the way sunlight streaks highlights onto the redness of his hair, down to the slope of his nose and the width of shoulders, he can’t help but agree.

Now, he wonders—

“Do you want a photo with the flowers?” Shouto asks, because it makes no sense that you deem him worthy to be pictured in perfect lighting when there’s you, looking like you do—the walking subject to the backdrop of greenery behind you.

Your eyes widen, a stuttered “O-Oh,” falling from your lips. You tug at your skirt again, fiddling with the soft fabric until your eyes nervously meet his. “I don’t really need—”

“The lighting is nice here, too.”

“Oh,” you respond, a hint of diffidence as you flash a small, hesitant smile, “Okay.”

As Shouto angles himself to take your photo, he notices you turn restless, the smile on your face never quite reaching your eyes and your fingers constantly twirling the fabric of your dress.

He puts down his phone, tilting his head.

“Are insects biting you?”

(Your brows shoot up, embarrassed by how he’s noticed.

You shake your head in response, providing no other explanation besides “Sorry.”

He continues to stare, as if waiting for you to continue. You know there’s no point hiding the real reason you feel so nervous when he’s already noticed this much.

“I think I might be underdressed,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you clasp your fingers in front of you, “This entire place is gorgeous.”

The estate screams high-class; apart from the golf course and the greenhouse, the area also boasts its own private lake glistening across a large green field. It feels a little too good to be true—a paradise you find yourself out of place in.

But—)

Shouto looks at you, really looks at you—at the way your dress hits right above your knees at the perfect length, at how your collarbones peek through its dainty v-neck cut. Its pale yellow makes you look like summer, radiating in light, and he thinks he hasn’t seen anything more beautiful, really; anything more fitting—for this occasion, for this venue, for this day.

For you.

The words have been lodged at his throat since he first saw you step in, and now they’re being pushed out, coaxed slowly by the honesty beating thunderously in his chest.

He thinks about his mom, how she speaks of beauty whenever and wherever she finds it, with nothing stopping her speech and—

There’s a hum, a thoughtful vibration priming his throat as he continues to stare.

“I think you’re dressed just right,” is what he manages to get out.

A thump.

It’s more than that, though, he knows.

If this is his chance, if this is ‘next time’ from his attempt at the gala—

He blinks, and you only get prettier.

“You look beautiful.” he confesses, the sentence overflowing with honesty.

(And when he says your name unlike any way he’s said it before, you feel your chest expand, terrified that it might explode.

Shouto is blunt and honest to a fault; and that honesty, you’ve realized, also happens to be his most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before.

“T-Thank you.” you straighten your dress, “You—”)

Shouto’s phone vibrates in his palm, a call from Touya breaking him out of your conversation. He bows his head slightly to excuse himself and you nod in acknowledgment.

“Brunch is served,” he relays, pocketing his phone soon after he hangs up.

(Then, with his hand inside his pocket, he bends his arm deeper, creating a wider loop as if to offer it for you to hang onto—the same way he did during the gala.

And just like you did then, you take it.)

Brunch was served at the estate’s main patio, a circular table made of light wood adorned with dainty white tableware and muted green linen. In the middle was a centerpiece, an assortment of fresh flowers from the greenhouse coming together for a pop of color against the main neutral color scheme.

The food was divine, a lovely selection of seasonal salads and warm breads, along with eggs cooked in every way possible. Newly harvested fruits were served before and after the meal, a kind of appetizer-dessert to complement the main piece—a large slab of freshly caught salmon.

Now, you all gather on the second floor of the estate’s main building, right at the balcony overlooking the greenhouse and the field—a perfect view for wine tasting.

Shouto doesn’t care much for alcohol, all technicalities going past his head as the sommelier explains notes and wine pairings.

He can’t taste much of the difference, if he’s being honest.

In the sommelier’s hand is a bottle of red wine; he describes all of the technical parts of it before finishing off with the fact that it’s ‘beautifully balanced’, something that causes Touya to snort at the side.

Shouto looks, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Touya leans in closer to his little brother, swirling the wine in his glass as he lowers his voice mockingly, “‘You look beautiful’.”

The expression on Shouto’s face remains unreadable, his brain processing the fact that his brother must have overheard his conversation with you earlier. It’s while Touya begins to gulp down his glass that Shouto steps on his foot—a sharp pressure stomped onto freshly cleaned loafers.

“Fuckin–” Touya hisses, cursing under his breath as he pulls his foot away.

The edges of Shouto’s lips curl up as he turns back to his glass of wine, watching from across the table as his mom smiles fondly at something you must have said.

(You still feel flustered, a little fuzzy. You’re unsure whether the heat emanating off your cheeks is from the wine or the lingering echoes of his compliment earlier.

From across the table, you lock eyes with Shouto, gray and blue sitting strikingly atop flushed cheeks. You look away quickly—a knee-jerk reaction of bashfulness. He doesn’t hold his liquor well, a fact you’ve known for many, many years, so you can’t tell for sure whether he’s turned red from the wine, or from the same thing you’re feeling, too.)

III. LET ME TELL YOU (HONESTLY)

“If y’don’t do shit first, some other loser will.”

“Losers lose ‘cause they don’t get shit done…”

“...just be honest about it when the time comes.”

The streets are calm at this time of night, with cars occasionally passing by and the chimes of shop doors tinkling as they open and shut. Not a lot of people stay up late in this part of the neighborhood, but Shouto still hears them—all the jumbled voices of Bakugo and his brothers merging in his mind.

He steps onto concrete, footfalls muffled by the cushion of his boots—a new update on his costume, one you suggested after a stealth mission mishap caused by the drag of his heel.

Tonight is his scheduled patrol—a route he knows like the back of his hand, memorized from the many years he’s been assigned to it. The streetlamps ahead cast a dim glow down the road; an atmosphere he would otherwise find unsettling if not for the fact that it’s provided him odd comfort in times he’s needed it the most.

Tonight, his mind ruminates on you.

Lately, his interactions with you have been… different—shy glances and awkward slip-ups; the intentional way he’s been expressing himself more around you.

He can’t tell what you think of it yet.

Yet, you still sit with him in comfortable silence on the nights that you both work late, and you still bring in fresh flowers for his desk every few days. He’s sure that when he gets back to the agency after his shift, you’ll still be there, claiming to finish a report when you both know it’s just an excuse to make sure that he finished patrol safely.

You still care for him in the same way.

And now that he’s thinking more about it, maybe it’s been those little things all along—the same way you’ve been treating him all these years shifting into something deeper and more significant, beating its way out of his chest.

You know Shouto better than anyone—so much so that his family asks you for lists of gift ideas because they don’t have the slightest clue what else to get him. He’s found himself seeking your opinion on things more and more over the years, and if he’s being honest, a big chunk of his decisions are now partly influenced by what you think of them first.

Across the street, a couple sways to the beat of the jazz bar they step out of, their hands intertwined and smiles giddy with adoration and love. He looks away quickly before they catch him staring.

There are things Shouto’s discovered that he likes seeing you do—like how you shift your feet when you feel flustered at something he says, or when you tap your index finger against whatever surface it’s on when you’re deep in thought. Your eyes widen when he says things you don’t expect him to, and something about that intrigues him.

He thinks you look cute.

He wonders if you know that about yourself; and if you don’t, a part of him is saying that he should be the one to tell you.

You and Shouto attend only one day of teambuilding.

The company trip spans an entire two weeks, with each department coming in a few days at a time. You both would stay if you could, but Shouto’s schedule doesn’t allow him to be gone for more than a day.

It’s always been unspoken: wherever Shouto goes, you go too.

This day of the teambuilding is assigned for the managers and those under Shouto’s direct reporting team.

The estate is still as beautiful as the last time you both visited, summer shining atop the glistening surface of the lake across the green field. Company trips aren’t typically this grand, but this is also the first time in years that Shouto’s had free time to drop by.

(It’s a bit funny, you think, watching him struggle to reach the finish line in a three-legged race paired with his finance director. Shouto is typically awkward in most team activities, but you find it endearing, watching him put full effort into things he normally doesn’t do.)

By mid-afternoon, the day’s activities have consisted of tank rolls, marble balancing, and a classic game of pass-the-message (which, you’ve learned, Shouto is absolute garbage at). And for the final game of the day, the both of you are paired for a duo tug of war against his PR manager and support engineer.

The afternoon heat burns the back of Shouto’s neck, his cap providing little to no protection for that area of his skin. He stands behind you, rope twisted firmly in his grasp as he prepares to pull. You mimic his stance, bracing yourself with your knees bent as you grip the rope tightly.

Prior to the game, you were all given three minutes to discuss strategies.

And so now, Shouto counts, low and steady, “One.”

“Get set,” the facilitator for this activity announces.

“Two.”

You take a deep breath.

“Go!”

“Three.”

You both pull, holding your ground for a few seconds. He can see your knuckles turning white from where he’s standing, and when he glances at the other team, they’ve begun to lean back, anchoring their bodies to the ground before pulling away slowly.

Shouto digs his feet into the earth, the rope’s rough fibers sticking to the calluses on his hands. It doesn’t take long before you both slip forward, being dragged by the other team and eventually pulled into your loss.

You turn back to him immediately, apologetic as you rub your palms, “Sorry!”

(Before the game even began, you already knew whoever your partner was would be carrying most of the work. And you feel a little bad because your loss does make a bit of sense, you think.

Though Shouto is strong, you know he’s developed his agility far more than his strength. It doesn’t help that his support engineer lifts bulks of synthetic thermal cloth everyday.

The both of you didn’t stand a chance, really.)

But Shouto waves it off, smiling softly.

“Are you okay?” he looks down at your hands. Your skin is an angry flaming red all over your palms, but what causes him to frown are the small cuts resting at the base of your fingers.

“Yup, all g–” you attempt to hide it, but Shouto’s reflexes are quick, and he catches your wrist the moment you pull away.

It’s an instinctive reaction when he looks over it once, pressing his thumb to the center of your palm to get a better look. He reaches for his utility belt out of habit, patting the area above his hip only to feel nothing but the smooth cotton of his shirt.

Right, he remembers, he isn’t wearing his gear today.

He drops his arms, looking around the field for a first-aid kit nearby.

(A small chuckle escapes you, endeared, and Shouto looks up at the sound. His eyes meet yours briefly before he jogs all the way to retrieve the red box by the tree.

It’s just a friction burn; a few small cuts from the rough material of the rope, at most.

You don’t need first-aid. But—)

When Shouto comes back, he ushers you to the side, grabbing a few cotton buds and antiseptic ointment from the box. His brain works on autopilot, barely thinking as he tends to your injury.

(You don’t need first-aid. But—)

He peels the bandaid for you and gently places it on top of your wounds—a yellow checkered pattern decorating your skin.

(You don’t need first aid. But you kind of get it, you think. It’s the same instinctive reaction you have when he gets papercuts. There’s no need for you to mend them with your quirk, but it’s an inexplicable feeling that makes you feel uneasy at the idea of him getting injured off the field.

A whistle is blown to call everyone back to huddle.

“Better?” Shouto stares at you from under his cap, readjusting it as red and white strands touch the tips of his eyelashes.

(He looks unfairly pretty like this. How can he even expect you to answer?

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, swallowing your breath.

When Shouto walks towards everyone else, you follow, pressing your thumb onto your palm.)

Shouto drops by the greenhouse at the end of the day.

The sky above the glass dome ceiling is warmed by orange and pink hues. At sunset, the greenhouse looks ethereal, an almost otherworldly escape. The flowers haven’t changed much from his last visit here, but they seem to have blossomed further now that time has passed.

He walks past the familiar cluster of chrysanthemums and spots a patch of white flowers he doesn’t recall from last time—a wooden placard with the name ‘iris’ sticks out from the soil. His knees bend to crouch low, fingers grazing over the softness of its petals.

Earlier today, the estate so kindly offered to let him bring home flowers of his choice, and this bunch in front of him calls out to him, a purity and warmth that reminds him of his mom.

The nippers in his hand feel clunky, a heavy-duty version of the ones he uses when he helps with gardening at home; but he cuts the stems gently, careful to remember all he’s been taught.

When he thinks he’s gotten enough, he continues to stroll around the greenhouse, the wicker basket in his hand half-filled with pure, white irises.

A little further down the path, he passes by the hydrangea bushes, his steps slowing as fragmented pieces of that memory with you replay in slow motion.

“The lighting was nice. See!”

“You look beautiful,” he confesses, the sentence overflowing with honesty.

And he decides—

He should get you flowers too.

Your desk always seems to have some, and you’re consistently on top of keeping fresh flowers around the agency—on his desk specifically.

It’s only right.

His mom always tells him that flowers can never lie; they bloom where they are loved and speak from the heart when words are not enough—it’s why she loves them so much.

And, maybe she has a point, because the pink hydrangeas look pretty; they remind him of you, especially.

On his way here, the white camellias spoke to him too. Maybe he’ll get them both for you.

He crouches low again, nipping the hydrangea stems before backtracking to collect a few camellias. By the time he finishes, his wicker basket is filled to the brim, an assortment of pink and white threatening to spill from its edges. The leaves of the irises stick out, poking at his wrist and making the skin itch.

You find him that way—struggling to wrangle in the abundance of blooms into his basket.

“I think you need another basket,” you chuckle, walking towards him.

There’s something about you and this hour; how it feels like you fit right in this moment, at the peak of sunset, blooming the same way the flowers do.

Your smile is radiant against the warmth of diffused sunlight, and though he’s seen you in this same exact slacks-and-blouse combination before, the way he sees you now has shifted.

You look different, but in all the ways he can’t visibly point out.

He blinks, and that thump beats once more.

His arm moves before he can comprehend it, the bunch of camellias and hydrangeas outstretched towards you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you tilt your head slightly, your hand reaching out for it reluctantly.

“Would you want me to have this wrapped?”

(The flowers feel lush in your palm, and you can’t help but wonder who he intends to give them to. There are irises in his basket too, left untouched for reasons you’re not sure you’d like to know.

Your grip on the stems tighten.

The camellias stare back at you, an immaculate white, with the pink hydrangeas adding a delicate softness to them. It’s a pretty combination, and you can’t help but think that whoever they’re intended for should feel—)

“It’s for you.”

You lock eyes when you look up. There’s a weight to Shouto’s gaze that intends to get his message across, the words still barely forming on his tongue.

“Oh,” is the only thing you manage to say.

(—surprised; grateful; confused; the emotions swirl inside of you. The shock is apparent on your face, your eyes widening at his admission. Confusion presents itself in the tilt of your head as you stumble over how to express your gratitude.

“It’s not…” you hesitate, diverting your gaze to anything else but that piercing pair of gray-and-blue. Your mind is drawing up a blank, figuring out what reason he has for giving them to you.)

“There’s no occasion…?”

It comes out as half a question and half something else, your uncertainty marked by the semi-lilt at the end.

Shouto blinks.

He wonders if he should tell you now, if he should just confess that he’s been feeling differently about you these days.

You shift your feet, your thumbs rubbing against the flowers’ leaves.

The thump persists in his chest, knocking at the base of his throat—

Thump.

He takes a deep breath.

Thump.

—but even with its persistence, the words still struggle to come out.

Thump.

Maybe not now; it’s not the right time.

But he says something else, an admission much easier that still holds just as much truth.

“No occasion.”

Shouto knows your Mondays.

You switch out the flowers on his desk for a different arrangement of blooms every week. Then, you give him a run-down of his schedule, going over important announcements and upcoming events.

The mornings go by quickly, with you constantly moving around your desk. Shouto can’t tell what you’re doing exactly, but you’re always working on something whenever he sneaks a peek through the single glass panel cut-out from your shared wall.

Lunch is a wildcard. On some days, you bring your own; on others, you grab a bite down in the cafeteria. Your routine is largely dependent on how busy you anticipate work to be that day, and though it varies from time-to-time, you never forget to knock on his door—a two-part thump that takes him out of his own little work bubble.

He almost looks forward to it now, the way your head peeps in from behind his office doors. You call out his name softly, only continuing to speak when he looks up from whatever file he’s working on.

Shouto knows your Mondays.

You spend the afternoons all over the place, much like he does; while he roams the city, you roam the agency, attending meetings and checking in on different departments. He knows because when he comes back by the end of the day, you almost always have a new set of updates prepared on your desk for the next morning.

He also knows that Mondays are when you often work overtime, preferring to get a bulk of any urgent matters completed and out of the way.

The back door of his office clicks shut as he walks into the room, his rubber boots leaving no trace that he’s arrived from how quietly his footsteps hit the floor. He unbuckles his utility belt, one hand automatically reaching for its lock; it’s a habit, the ‘clack’ that sounds from it a satisfying marker he looks forward to at the end of every patrol.

In the corner of his office is a private restroom that he slips into. He quickly changes out of his hero suit and into a pair of sweatpants, throwing on one of his many favorite white shirts—his go-to outfit on the days he works late.

There are still some reports he has to look over tonight, but nothing too time-consuming.

It’s really you he’s staying behind for.

He glances at you through the glass panel of his wall, your face dimly lit by your computer screen. Your eyebrows are scrunched, eyes squinting in pure focus.

It never feels right for him to leave when you haven’t left either.

He settles into his seat, finger tapping on his desk as he contemplates whether or not he should offer you his help.

You always decline when he does; he can already hear your response. But there are stacks of folders on your desk right now and he’s predicting that it’ll take at least a few more hours before you get through all of them.

He taps his foot, staring at the report in front of him.

A thump.

The wheels of his chair roll back, leather squeaking as he stands up.

As soon as he exits his office, you look up, surprised.

“You’re back!”

He nods, walking closer to your desk. “It’s 8:00 p.m.”

You glance at the top of your screen, a sheepish smile forming on your face, “Right.”

(This is his way of telling you it’s late, you’re well aware.)

He looks around your desk, folders and stationery all neatly organized and labeled. You keep a few touches of your personality around your space, with personalized pens and notepads gathered in one corner.

They’re all things he’s seen before, but what makes him do a double-take is the vase sitting in the corner, obscured by your computer screen.

Sitting inside it is the arrangement of flowers he gave you back at the teambuilding, the pink hydrangeas still as good as new next to the white camellias. It’s been a little over a week since, and you always change the arrangement on your desk as frequently as you change his.

So for you to keep it for this long—

“And how may I help you?” you ask jokingly, biting down your smile.

His eyes flit over to you, your gaze set on your screen as you continue to type.

(It’s hard to focus on the documents in front of you when he looks at you like that. Shouto’s stare has always been unnerving, but it feels especially scrutinizing when he merely stands, watching without a word.)

“You have a lot of work left,” he gestures towards the stack of folders on your desk.

(Your eyes glance over the pile quickly as you mumble, “Yeah.”

A few seconds of silence pass before what he really means starts to sink in.

It’s not often that Shouto finishes work before you—at least, to your knowledge. You still see him inside his office when you pack your things, ready to leave.

So, this is out of the ordinary.

And if he’s standing in front of your desk, hinting at how much longer you’ll be staying at work. Then, it can only mean—

“A-are you waiting for me to go?” you move to stand, guilty. “Don’t worry about it, I can lock up.”)

Shouto furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly.

That’s never been a thing; he’s always gone home last, and has always waited for you when you have work left to do. He makes sure of it every time, watching carefully for your computer light to turn off.

But he won’t tell you that; letting you know would mean admitting that he’s been doing it for years.

He places his palm on the top folder.

“What else do you have to do?”

You stay quiet for a few seconds before reluctantly listing it all—reports, meeting summaries, and a few emails you plan to schedule for tomorrow morning. His frown deepens as your list only grows, immediately cutting yourself off the second you notice your ramblings.

“… but if you’re waiting, I can bring these home and—”

“What can I do to help?” he interjects, stopping you just before you shut down your computer.

(You can only stare when proceeds to take a seat in front of you, the legs of your guest chair dragging against the floor as he pulls it closer.

It hits you a bit like déjà vu, this moment, how it feels just like early days back in that rented studio unit; back when you could count the number of people comprising his team on one hand.

Back then, your desks were just a few steps away from each other, an overflow of paperwork inevitably spilling into each other’s spaces. Because all of the files were stored in your drawers, it was more convenient for Shouto to sit himself across your desk, splitting the work and going over them one at a time.

Things are different now that the agency’s grown—you have a bigger space, and the work isn’t nearly as packed as it used to be; but some days still end up a little bit more hectic than others. Like today.

“There’s no need,” you reach for the stack under his palm, “I can finish this at—”

“We can finish faster if we do this together.”

That promptly shuts you up.

Shouto is blunt to a fault, unafraid of saying things as they are; his voice carries an unbothered cadence no matter who it is he’s talking to.

You figure, there’s no point arguing with him when he’s right, after all.)

Shouto begins going over a few of the reports that you’ve tagged red and yellow, listening intently as you instruct him on which parts to focus on. In exchange, you make space for him on your desk, setting aside some of the folders you had brought out earlier.

It’s a good hour into working before Shouto notices you easing up slightly, your shoulders more relaxed in comparison to how bunched up they were earlier.

He knows you’ve been glancing at him occasionally, your head turning every now and then to check on how he’s doing—a failed attempt at subtlety.

“Are you almost done?” he asks, head down as he slips another completed file into its folder. The stack beside him is growing, his ‘done’ pile nearly as tall as the unfinished one.

(You turn to him, attention shifting to the split of red and white hair down the center of his head, “Yeah, I just—”

Your words trail off, eyes squinting as you move closer to where he’s hunched over.

Right on the shoulder of his shirt is a small tear, big enough to touch the edges of its collar but small enough that you’d only have to be up close to be able to notice.

You assess the tear intently, looking carefully for any cuts underneath and thankfully find none.

But—

He notices you’ve gone quiet and looks up, the sudden movement catching you off guard. You make a sound, something in-between a squeak and an ‘oops.’

“Sorry, I just,” you point, “your shirt’s ripped.”

His eyes follow the direction of your finger, finding the small tear running horizontally along the fabric of hjs shirt.

“I can fix it,” you offer, the wheels of your chair rolling to land you directly across him.

It’s one of his favorite shirts.)

He barely thinks when his body acts on its own, pressing itself closer to your desk as you slightly bend over for better reach.

You don’t have to patch up his shirt, especially something so small. He has plenty of the same ones in his closet; and if it comes to it, he wouldn’t mind buying a new one. You really don’t have to patch up his shirt, because he wouldn’t have even noticed had you not mentioned it.

But it’s that kind of tender care and attention to detail that you’ve had for him since you started working together that’s always drawn him in.

Shouto has lived most of his life with the means to live comfortably, but since starting his own agency, he’s learned the value of maximizing resources—and it’s all because of you.

A thump.

The moment your fingers touch his shoulder, he hears nothing but that continuous three-beat thump. Your quirk tingles when it touches skin, but you aren’t mending that—you’re fixing his shirt, separate from your skin, and yet, he still feels the little zaps go off inside of him.

A thump.

Up close, the strands of your hair tickle his cheek.

A thump.

The fabric of his shirt mends itself slowly, and it only makes him think of everything else—of the leather chair you helped fix, painstakingly going through each and every crack to bring it back to near-new condition. He thinks about every cut and scrape you’ve helped heal without having to, about every time you’ve insisted when he’d shrug it off as nothing.

From you, he’s learned that things can be fixed without having to change them whole.

It’s how he’s (you’ve) managed to keep the agency running; it’s why you get along so well with him and the rest of his family.

And these feelings in his chest are pounding, built up over time to tip over and transform into something more than just an excellent work dynamic. At this point, it’s become companionship, a presence he seeks out a little bit more than friendship.

You know him better than anyone else does.

The flowers he gave you are still on your desk.

So, he says your name, voice low and tender by your ear.

You freeze, holding your breath.

Another thump.

His honesty spills outs—

“I like you.”

A three-beat thump.

(You don’t believe it at first, the urge to ask him again right at the tip of your tongue. But, he pulls away, unfinished, and looks you in the eye to continue.

“But it feels more than a crush, I think.” He presses his fingers against the table, grounding himself, “Natsuo told me it was a crush, and he told me to think about it, so I did.”

Shouto is a man of sufficient words; not too few, not too plenty. But when he gets nervous and a little excited, he starts rambling, and—

“Bakugo told me his mom thought we were dating, and even though I said that wasn’t the case, I almost didn’t want to deny it. Touya has been a dick about it, but he makes good points, so I also owe it to him.”

(The shock on your face shifts into fondness. You can’t see the point of what he’s saying yet, but it’s cute—one of the many things that make him endearing.)

He pauses, watching your expression shift into curiosity.

“It started with this thumping,” he places a hand over his chest. “It used to only come sometimes, but lately it’s been happening all the time.”

Shouto keeps his gaze deadset on yours. He doesn’t say anything else, sentences just barely forming in his head to fully capture what he really means. His feet and palms stay firmly planted where they are, his only movement being the steady blinking of his eyes.

(But it’s okay, because you can understand.

If you’re being honest, the signs were all there.

Nothing Shouto does can be subtle when you know him as well as you do.

A smile breaks out on your face, the one you can barely contain around him. It’s a little teasing and shy but completely genuine from the way it softens your eyes.

“We’ll have to come up with something for HR,” you try to contain your smile.)

And he isn’t worried at all. He knows you’ll both find a way, just like you always do.

additional material: moodboard + playlist

a/n: so much to say about this fic but i'll sum it up with saying this is my baby! and i hold it close to my heart for many reasons. writing this made me love their dynamic and i hope you did too!

thank you notes: to @soumies for literally beta reading this. i owe this fic to you fr you are my lifesaver i love you. to @augustinewrites @scarabrat @stellamancer @arcvenes for helping me a ton with characterisations, dialogues, songs, inspo, everything!!! ily all!! it took a village to write this fic fr. (+ to my bf for sitting me down and so he could explain the whole point system of golf for like 30 minutes LOL)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha x reader #prettyboysummercollab #mha x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto x you #todoroki shouto x you #bnha x you #shotorus.writes #shouto #bnha #three-part honesty #if i have any typos pls let me know.... HHAHAHAHA

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sim0nril3y · 10 months

Note

I cannot get enough of ghost and his little civilian reader!!! I broke my arm today (boo do not recommend) but now I get to rest and fantasize about my favorite cod men lol. How do you think Simon would react if his girl broke her arm??

Note: oh my, I'm so sorry to hear that you broke your arm, honey. I hope that you are doing okay and that you are on the mend now. Please try to enjoy your time resting and fantising about the wonderful men of COD. I hope that this helped bring you some comfort. Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, broken arm, talk of pain, talk of pain medication, hospital talk, canon-typical swearing.

Simon was cursing himself. If he had been quicker then he might have been able to catch you before you slipped onto that patch of ice. Maybe if he’d been more observant Simon might have been able to steer you around it and avoid the problem all together. Hell, if he hadn’t insisted on walking on the side of the pavement closer to the road then it would have been him slipping and you wouldn’t be in agony sitting on an uncomfortable hospital bed after hours of waiting in A&E.

Not long after you’d been admitted they had taken you away for an x-ray to confirm that you had broken the bone, but that was something that Simon could have told them with utmost certainty considering he had heard the sickening crack of the bone breaking. It was a sound that was going to haunt his dreams for months, along with the sounds of your sobs and cries of pain, they had been imbedded into his mind and even now were echoing.

After you had been returned to him Simon kept a strong hand planted on you at all times, as if you were something that could be lost easily. It seemed to deescalate his anxiety just being able to hold you, that was something you even noticed through the haze of the pain relief they’d given you that hadn’t seemed to kick in entirely yet as your arm still throbbed in agony.

“Oi…” You said gently, gaining his attention as it focused in on your arm. Reaching over with your good hand to gently pinch Simon’s chin and force his gaze up into your eyes. “Will you stop it with that face?” You requested in a gentle voice. “What face?” Simon replied as if unaware that he looked like he had been kicked in the stomach over and over. “That face.” You whispered, gazing deeply into his eyes and gifting him a delicate smile, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes from the pain you were fighting. “Yes, it’s broken but accidents happen-”

In a sharp tone Simon replied. “Not with me.” His brows pinched together, as if internally scolding himself for his short tone. “Not… not with me.” He said again, his voice lower and softer. “Accidents don’t happen with me and especially not to you.” You pat his hand that was gripping your knee tight and leaned back into the pillows finally feeling the pain relief beginning to take some effect. It was just in time too because the nurse had arrived to begin to cast your arm into an uncomfortable position to ensure that it would set right.

After that they sent you away with Simon, some instructions for the pain pills and a sling to help relieve the pressure on your broken arm.

Arriving home Simon helped you through the front door, stepped inside behind you and carefully prying your coat from your wounded body. Then he knelt down and began to fight the knots from the laces on your boots. “I could do that, you know?” You informed him. “I know.” Simon answered before tilting his head up to look into your eyes. “But you’re gonna let me help you anyway.”

Gently you tugged your fingers through his hair and nodded in agreement. Simon helped you remove your boots and then rose up to his full height, glancing down at you as he cupped your cheek lovingly. “Let me get you settled, alright?” Coaxing you to walk in front and upstairs, Simon never took his hands from your body, keeping you clasped so that you didn’t stumble or injure yourself further. “Good girl…” He muttered softly as you entered your bedroom, Simon held you from behind and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your head. “Let me get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

A tired scoff fell from your lips. “I broke my arm and you’re gonna help fix it with your-” “Behave.” Simon smirked. “Fuckin’ brat…” Then shaking his head as he crossed the room to gather some loose fitting clothes for you. They were his clothes. Simon loved seeing you dressed up in his clothes, but seeing you comforted by them after your injury hit him on a whole new level. “C’mere… We’ll get you into something comfortable and then you can rest. Okay?”

Gently nodding your head, you responded with an almost teasing tone. “Yes, sir~” Which earned a tested look from Simon before he carefully began to undress you. It was fine until he removed your shirt, trying to move your arm as little as possible. The movement earned a noise of discomfort from you, eyes squeezing closed and not a moment later Simon’s lips pressed against your forehead. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He assured you gentle. “Not gonna let anything hurt you. Okay?”

You trusted him. In that single moment you knew you trusted Simon to protect you from any danger that would come your way. There was so much certainty to his voice. There was so much need to make sure that you were never going to be in pain again. “C’mon… bed…”

Now that you were dressed up in some of his clothes Simon lead you to your bed, pulling back the covers and placing you under them, tucking you in tight and ensuring that your arm was raised by a couple pillows. “Here.” He placed the remotes to the TV within you reach but knew that whatever you were going to put on you wouldn’t even last a couple minutes watching considering the way that your eyes were drooping closed now.

“Try and get some rest and I’ll make some food-” “Can you stay for a little while?” You questioned; your tone practically slurred from the exhaustion that was beginning to sweep through your body. “Course…” Simon agreed, moving to carefully slot in beside you, rubbing his fingers over your face, carefully drawing slow lines over your forehead, down your nose, coaxing you further into tiredness. “Can’t… can’t promise I’ll be… be good conversation…”

Simon chuckled quietly, kissing the hinge of your jaw tenderly and then requesting. “Sleep, babe. Get some rest for me.” He heard the way your breathing changed. He felt the way your body sank and your muscles relax and finally he whispered into your ear. “I will never let you fill this way again; I will never let anything or anyone hurt you.” He observing your peaceful slumbering face, knowing it was safe. “I love you.”

Masterlist | Ask | 09-12-2023

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stardustdreams-andcaffeine · 1 year

Text

The Thin Line | Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Of one thing you were certain—Bucky Barnes hated you, and you hated him. How could you not, considering the super soldier had made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell after you had been assigned to protect him? But there was someone after Bucky from his past, and now he was forced to work alongside you to stop them. And in the process, you would find out just how thin that line was between love and hate.

A/N: This one comes from this request that I received a while back! I have been criminally slow in responding and I sincerely apologize. Hopefully this makes up for it a little bit 🤍

Warnings: blood and violence (all canon for the MCU), someone takes a severe beating (may or may not be reader), ANGST, fluff scattered here and there, fatws!Bucky, banter, mature themes and allusions, grumpy!Bucky

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Hate. There was perhaps no other word as final and lasting as hate.

People had always said that there was a thin line between love and hate, that the two emotions were so similar it was often hard to tell them apart. But not to you. You knew the line between them distinctly.

You had seen people fall out of love as easily as the winking out of a candle, and in the same manner you’d watched a person’s hate burn on even past the grave. You couldn’t understand how someone could mix up the two emotions, not when love had always seemed so fleeting and hate so persistent.

What you didn’t know just yet was that the passion involved in both love and hate often danced upon that line you were so sure was distinct to you. You didn’t know that love, real love was barely an emotion at all. And you certainly didn’t know that when one person truly loved another, it was anything but fleeting.

It was the one thing that lasted longer than hate.

But it wasn’t your fault that you didn’t know. After all, how could you? You’d never known real love.

At least, not yet.

|||

The sky seemed to sparkle as the rare sunshine blasted through the clouds and beamed down upon the city of Brooklyn.

But in this moment, you couldn’t fully appreciate its glory. No, not when this happened to be the day you were moving box after box of your belongings into your new apartment. The dazzling sun dared to make you collapse under its rays as you hauled out the last box of your stuff from your car. Sweat slipped down your spine as you managed to slam the trunk shut while balancing the box precariously on one hand. With a huff, you gripped the last box tightly and swiveled towards your apartment complex for the last time.

By the time you’d managed to get into the lobby and over to the elevator, you were practically dreaming of being able to drop down this last box into your new apartment and drop dead on your new couch. You could almost taste the beer you’d picked up on your way into the city and-

“You have got to be kidding me!” You exclaimed, dread coursing through your frame as you read the sign taped onto the elevator doors.

Out of Service.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” The concierge called, leaning on his desk and offering you an uncaring smile, “Stupid thing’s been breaking down all month.”

And you haven’t fixed it yet?

The angry words stayed in your head as you decided with a long sigh that the argument wasn’t worth it.

“That’s fine,” You gritted out, adjusting your hold on the box, “I’ll just take the stairs.”

“Good luck,” The concierge wished, his tone bored.

Not even an offer to help you? The urge to yell at the worker was growing by the second, but you were determined to start this mission out right. Gritting your teeth, you walked over to the stairs and started climbing them without giving yourself time to hesitate. This was going to be a long journey up, and you’d rather get it over with as fast as possible.

By the time you reached your floor, your arms were trembling with effort and your legs were moments from giving out. You took the last step up the stairs onto your floor, letting out a sigh of relief as you paused only for a moment. Just a few more steps and you’d be at your door.

You took half of a step when someone slammed right into you. With the box obstructing your view, you couldn’t see the person coming and they clearly hadn’t seen you. You let out a yelp as you stumbled back towards the stairs behind you. In sudden panic to not tumble down them, you released the box you were holding to free your hands. Just as you were grappling for a railing or something to keep you from falling, a gloved hand gripped your arm and yanked you forward, away from the stairs.

You stumbled right back into the person who had just collided with you seconds prior. As you fell into their hard chest, you were bewildered since you were sure you had dropped the box right…

As you glanced up, you saw the box you had released resting easily on one of the stranger’s hands. His other was still holding your arm, and it was then that you realized that his hand was ice cold. Even with the glove on. With furrowed brows, you glanced up towards the stranger.

“Thank-” Your words died abruptly as your eyes met steel blue ones burning down at you. His hair was shorter and his face was drawn into a look of slight annoyance, but it was him. Your mission had run into you before you could even move into your apartment, “You.”

James Buchanan Barnes released your arm, his stubbled jaw clenched in the way you figured it often was. You would be lying if you said it was only your mission that made your thinking halt so swiftly, because none of his pictures did Bucky’s roguish beauty justice. He was ruggedly, painfully, hopelessly handsome, and you scrambled to collect your mind.

“Don’t mention it,” Came Bucky’s low reply. His voice shot straight through you, setting your hairs on end and stirring something in your chest. With easy strength that now made sense, Bucky held onto your box with one hand, “Moving in today?”

It took every ounce of your strength not to giggle. His words were strained and almost…awkward. You knew he didn’t talk much anymore, but it was hopelessly adorable how he was trying to make small talk. With a smile you kept restrained, you nodded.

“In that unit right there, actually,” You replied, walking over to your door and turning back towards the super soldier, “Thanks for saving my box.”

“I think I saved more than that,” Bucky quipped, his tone smooth and rough all at once. You raised an eyebrow at the man.

His arrogant charm was still intact, that’s for sure.

“Well thanks for that too,” You responded, pulling your keys from your pocket and unlocking your door. As you shouldered it open, you held out your hands to take the box back.

You could tell he wanted to carry the box in for you, a remnant of the 40’s manners that were ingrained deep within him. You kept your hands out for the box, to which Bucky gave in swiftly. You breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he did. Had he brought it in for you, he would have seen the surveillance equipment and weapons scattered about the unpacked apartment.

“Well, I’m next door if you need anything.” Bucky stepped back once you had the box in your hands, half of your body inside your open door. You smiled at him, internally cheering that this mission had already begun on such a great foot.

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” You announced, your trained eyes taking in the bags underneath his eyes and the tense hold of his frame, “I’m Y/N.”

He hesitated only for a moment, “Bucky.”

And just like that, he had turned on his heel and walked away towards the stairs. You watched him go for a second, intrigue filtering into your gaze. He was distant and detached like you had expected, and the air of grumpiness he bore was unmistakable. But there was a softness to him that you couldn’t deny. Only a touch, but it was there.

Before he could see you watching him, you fully entered your apartment and made sure the door shut behind you. Setting the box down with a huff, you settled your hands onto your hips and surveyed the controlled chaos before you. A few handguns lay strewn around, and your secured technology was piled atop the couch you so desperately wanted to drop onto.

But you couldn’t sleep, not just yet. There was work to be done.

Out of your entire CIA division, you were the operative that Sam Wilson had tasked with keeping an eye on his lone wolf of a friend. Even though Sam knew he could take care of himself, he had asked you to keep tabs on Bucky to ensure he was safe, especially since the Winter Soldier had racked up a list of enemies just dying to exact revenge now that the world was back to semi-normal.

But this wasn’t the Winter Soldier. This was Bucky Barnes, and even though you knew he could handle his own, you were not going to take this mission lightly. You would look out for him, make sure he didn’t drop off the grid like he loved to do, make sure no rogue enemies took him down.

You would protect him, even though you knew Bucky would kill you and Sam if he found out.

So, you would just have to keep him from finding out.

|||

It had been almost two months since you moved in, and the most you had talked with Bucky since your first encounter was in passing on the stairs and the occasional elevator ride.

Of course, you had formatted your daily routine to oppose his perfectly, ensuring you would run into him as many times as passable for coincidence in a day. Even with that, though, all you managed to get out of Barnes was a nod or the occasional hello. He truly was a lone wolf—quiet, grumpy as hell, and, well, alone.

Even with his avoidance of you and all other humans in general, you managed to survey him nearly every day. It had been quiet. No intruders, no threats, no disappearances. Physically, he was perfectly safe. Mentally?

You shook your head at the thought. Bucky needed a life. And social interaction. Sam called you often, wondering if he was still alive considering how much Bucky dodged his texts. It was almost like he wanted to be separated. Like he was punishing himself for something.

That last thought rang through your mind as you started cleaning the dishes you had acquired from your dinner. As the warm, sudsy water ran across your fingers and over the pot you were washing, your brows were furrowed in concentration. If Bucky really was keeping his distance on purpose, maybe protecting him physically wouldn’t be the object of this mission.

But you weren’t trained for that. You were trained for gun fights and strategy and high-level, covert operations. You were trained to infiltrate criminal holdings and take down dangerous individuals. You were trained to attack, protect, defend, strategize.

That’s why you noticed that Bucky Barnes’ door didn’t open precisely at the same time that it had every night for two months.

You paused in your dish-washing, setting down the pot into the sink and turning off the faucet. Letting silence cloak your apartment, you listened closely for the sound of his footsteps or the shutting of his door.

Nothing.

He could be running late, but Bucky never ran late. He never-

There was the smallest shuffle of a foot against your wooden floor.

You shot your hand out and grabbed the knife you had just washed, but you were a moment too slow. Just as your hand closed around the handle and you began to turn around, your back was shoved into your fridge and the knife ripped out of your hand.

Before you could even blink, Bucky Barnes had you pinned against the fridge with his metal hand around your throat.

Your pulse ratcheted up painfully, your eyes wide as you gripped onto his metal wrist. His grip wasn’t constricting your airway, but was applying enough pressure to remind you that your life was currently in his grasp. Bucky was close to you, so close that you could see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes as well as the fury that crossed through them.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice sent a shiver down your spine. It was dark and rough and even, and it should not have had the effect on you that it did.

His body heat poured into you with how close he was to you, and the cold metal of his hand was a sharp contrast. Breathing was difficult, and not entirely because of his hand on your throat. There was something in the air between you, something thick and palpable. You swallowed, keeping your breathing as even as you could.

“Your neighbor,” You responded, not entirely having to fake the tremble in your tone.

“Bullshit,” Bucky growled, his grip on your throat tightening the slightest bit, “You’ve been tailing me for weeks. Who do you work for?”

“Just because our schedules clash doesn’t mean-”

“If one more lie comes out of your pretty little mouth, I’ll make sure whoever hired you is the only one who knows your death wasn’t an accident.” Bucky was unflinching, cold hard rage burning across his features. Beneath it, though, you could see fear. So much fear. It made your heart nearly crumble.

He was scared you were here to hurt him.

“I’m with the CIA,” you finally whispered, your tone no longer shaking despite his outright threat. For some reason, you knew he would not hurt you, “I’m here to watch out for you, make sure you’re safe.”

Bucky’s grip on your throat lessened the slightest bit, and his brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of why the CIA would surveil him. Not giving him a chance to speak, you continued, “And I’m pretty sure the person who hired me would come here and beat your ass himself if you killed me.”

You paused, nodded your head to the side slightly and said more to yourself than him, “Well, he’d try.”

“Who hired you?” Bucky repeated, his tone less harsh than before, but just as dark.

You took a beat to consider your options, but conceded defeat with a sigh, “Sam Wilson.”

Being so close to him, you could see every emotion that flashed through his face. As you watched him work through anger to frustration to annoyance, his grip on your throat loosened until his hand was just resting against your neck.

“Unbelievable,” Bucky grumbled, pulling his hand off of your neck and stepping back in one swift motion.

You let out a full breath, bringing a hand up to touch your throat where his metal hand had just been. You felt suddenly cold without his body heat by you, but it was a cold that you welcomed. If this was how he was going to thank you for trying to help him then you couldn’t wait to be away from him.

You looked over to see Bucky a few strides away, his phone pressed to his ear and his hand on his hip. Before you could speak to him, whoever he was calling must have picked up, but you didn’t have to guess at who it was.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bucky suddenly exploded, his jaw tight. Whatever Sam said didn’t appease him because his exasperation only intensified.

“You Sharon Carter’ed me!” Bucky gritted out, “Steve was clueless so he didn’t notice until she was on his doorstep with a gun, but did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“Sharon Carter’ed?” You mumbled, confused. Shaking your head, you took a step closer to Bucky, “Listen, if you’ll just give me a minute to explain,”

Bucky stopped you, pointing in your direction, “No, you don’t get to talk here.”

Shock crashed over you as he continued to argue with Sam over the phone. Indignation flared within your chest and you sputtered for a moment, trying to comprehend the fact that he had just shushed you in your own apartment.

“Nuh uh,” You interrupted, anger flaring hot in your veins as you stormed over to Bucky, “This is my apartment and you do not get to waltz in here, choke me out, then tell me I can’t speak.”

“You choked her out?” Sam shouted on the other side of the phone, so loud even you could hear it. Bucky’s eyes were hard as he dropped the phone to his side and took a step closer to you. He was menacing when he wanted to be, and right now, towering over you with a quiet sort of anger, he was. If only you scared easily.

“Oh really?” He nearly whispered, his anger flooding down at you. You could see him getting more frustrated the longer you stared him down right back, your chin tilted up and your gaze as leveled with his as it could be considering his height and stature, “You’ve been spying on me for weeks and now I’m the one invading your space?”

“I wasn’t spying on you, I was looking out for you. If you haven’t noticed, your friend is a little more than worried about you!” You fired back. You heard Sam saying something on the phone, but it was still down by Bucky’s side.

The two of you were staring each other down, that same thick tension in the air. Not thinking about the consequences, you reached down and snatched the phone from Bucky’s grasp and turned it on speaker.

Bucky looked at you in pure shock, as if he couldn’t believe you’d actually just taken the phone from him.

“You’re on speaker now, Sam,” You informed.

“Finally,” Sam sighed over the phone, his tone surprisingly even and patient, “Buck, you gotta understand where I’m coming from. You don’t answer anyone’s texts, you don’t check in, and I know for a fact you’ve had one or two unwelcome visitors at your door.”

“I can handle myself, Sam,” Bucky gritted out.

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to! I know that it’s hard with Steve gone, so-”

“No, you don’t know.” Bucky’s voice was final, and Sam paused, not seeming to fight with his statement. Bucky stared down at the floor, his arms crossed over his chest.

You couldn’t help but stare at him. There was a sadness in those words, one that nearly shattered your heart. Your anger towards the super soldier softened the slightest bit.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Sam conceded, “But I’m trying to reach out here. We don’t have many people left, man. I don’t want to lose another friend.”

That seemed to soften the edge of Bucky’s frustration so deeply that even the frown set into his face disappeared. In its place was resignation.

“I’m not here to intrude on your life,” You chimed in, making Bucky glance up to you, “I’m just here to make sure you’re safe.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky grumbled.

“I’m not your babysitter,” You assured, “And trust me, after tonight I want to spend as little time around you as you do around me. So, let’s make a deal. I keep to myself and you don’t break into my place and try to kill me in my sleep.”

Bucky hesitated, his eyes surveying you closely. On the phone between you, Sam piped up, “And you have to answer my texts.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his short, dark hair before shaking his head. After what seemed like an eternity, he sighed in defeat, and you couldn’t stop the small smile of victory that tugged on your lips.

“Fine,” He gave in, his eyes turning up to lock with yours, “But if I see you tailing me one more time, deal’s off.”

“No promises,” You responded boldly, your heart pounding strangely as Bucky took a menacing step closer to you.

“Then no promises about breaking in,” He shot back. The two of you glared intensely at each other until a voice called out from the phone.

“Alright you two, knock it off,” Sam ordered, sounding so incredibly tired, “Now can I please go? You caught me right in the middle of my beauty sleep.”

You chuckled softly, a smile ghosting your lips again, “Bye Sam,”

You ended the call and handed the phone back to Bucky, who you found already staring at you. You couldn’t place the look in his gaze, but it seemed akin to disdain, so your smile dropped.

“How did you even get into my apartment?” You asked. Bucky kept his arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps bulge against his long-sleeve Henley.

“You tell me, you’re CIA,” He shrugged, looking too smug, “Or should I call Sam back and tell him he sent a novice to babysit me?”

“Stay out of trouble, Barnes,” Was all you said back, your jaw held tight.

“Have fun with your dishes,” Bucky dryly responded, brushing past you without another word towards your door. Frustration bubbled up within your gut, and it took every ounce of your patience to not turn and yell right back at him. So, taking a deep breath, you turned and watched him open your apartment door.

He paused and glanced back over at you before he was fully out, “And stay out of my way. I’m doing this for Sam, not because I need your help.”

Then he slammed your door and left.

Taking all of your energy not to scream, you let out another sigh and put a hand to your forehead. Gone was the distant, polite neighbor. You had failed epically, but you couldn't from here on out.

Bucky Barnes was going to make your life hell, and you already dreaded every second to come.

|||

Over the next month, your nods and hello’s in passing turned into grunts and, if you were lucky enough, the occasional insult you could fire back at.

In short, you loathed Barnes.

Looking back, you couldn’t fathom how his handsome features had drawn you in when you first met. Sure, he was still stupidly attractive, but now it was more frustrating than it was something to fawn over.

You still did your job as best you could, but you counted the days until Sam could come up to New York and take over the mission for you.

Currently, you were mulling over ways to subtly infuriate Barnes more than you already did as you walked back to your apartment complex from your run. You tried to get out and run at a park nearby a few times a week, but considering how much you hated running, you’d missed a few weeks in the process.

Today, though, you just had to go. You needed to clear your head after you bumped into Barnes this morning and he informed you that somehow, the potted plant hanging on your balcony “accidentally” ended up on the ground five stories down.

As you walked back into the cool lobby of your apartment building, you glanced up at the stairs that sat right beside the elevator. You paused for just a moment, considering if you should be healthy and take the stairs. That moment was swifter than you’d like to admit as you turned towards the elevator only to find the doors closing.

Against the protest of your legs sore from your run, you jogged over to the elevator, “Hey, hold the doors!”

As you approached, you saw a hand shoot through and stop the doors from closing just in time. As they opened back up, you sighed in relief, an easy smile on your features, “Thanks. I-”

As you stepped into the elevator, your words died. As you and the person who had held the elevator for you locked eyes, the both of you groaned.

“You have got to be kidding me,” You grumbled at the same time as Bucky Barnes.

The elevator doors shut, closing you into one of your worst nightmares—the two of you stuck together in a confined space. The air was heavy and the tension high, an uneasy silence settling in the air. Your chest tightened slightly and your body tensed up, almost as if you were waiting for something to happen. Deciding to be civil, you looked over at Bucky and offered him a cordial smile.

“Had a good day so far?” You asked, your voice strained.

Bucky just shook his head, “If you try to make small talk right now, I will throw you into the elevator shaft.”

Your smile dropped instantly, replaced by a grimace, “You are so violent, you should really talk to your therapist about all that pent up anger.”

“I hate you,” Bucky grumbled.

“Well that makes two of us.”

Almost as if on cue, the elevator comes to a grinding halt. The stop is so sudden that it jolts the box, making you gasp and grab onto the railing along the wall opposite Bucky.

“What the hell?” Bucky grits out, walking up and pushing the button to your floor repeatedly. When that doesn’t work, he pushes the emergency button only to have no response. That button must have been broken too.

Realizing suddenly your predicament, you brought a hand to the bridge of your nose, “This is not happening.”

Of all the times for the stupid elevator to break down, it chose now? When you were stuck inside with the one person in the world who hated you the most?

“Hello?” Bucky called out, banging on the side of the elevator.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s gonna fix it,” You criticized, shaking your head at Bucky.

“Well what else are we supposed to do? The damn help button won’t work,” He fired back.

“I know you were born almost a century ago, but we have these things called cell phones and they do this magical thing where we can call for help.” You pulled out your phone and showed him the emergency call screen for show. Shaking his head, Bucky grumbled something about “insufferable” under his breath as you called for help.

While you were on the phone with emergency services, you explained your situation only to be told the fire department was caught up and wouldn’t be able to help for another hour.

“An hour?!” You exclaimed, already planning how you were going to beat the hell out of the management team for not fixing the stupid elevator.

“I’m sorry, that’s the best we can do,” The emergency operator apologized. Suddenly feeling guilty for you outburst on the poor worker just doing their job, you sighed.

“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. Thanks for the help,” You amended, your tone softer this time. After hanging up, you slipped the phone into your pocket.

“Well, looks like we’re stuck here for a while so get-,” Your words halted abruptly when you looked up and saw Bucky opening the doors of the elevator by force, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting out of here,” He gritted back, shoving open the doors easily. You almost laughed when he was met with a solid brick wall. With a smug smile, you tilted your head at the soldier.

“You were saying?” You sweetly taunted. He shot you a death glare as he let go of the elevator doors, allowing them to shut back.

“It’s gotta be an easy fix,” Bucky mumbled to himself, walking back to the wall opposite you and beginning to bang on the side of the elevator.

You gasped as the elevator box began to tremble under his hits and you lurched forward, grabbing his bicep to stop his assault, “Stop! You’re gonna send us plummeting straight to the basement.”

“Well then maybe I’ll get lucky,” He grunted, shaking off your hold and going to hit it again. This time, real fear hit you.

“If we drop, you’d make it unscathed,” You began, and Bucky didn’t even look at you.

“Exactly, so what’s the-”

“I wouldn’t.” Your words are softer than even you’d expected, but it managed to halt Bucky’s assault on the side of the elevator. He glanced back at you, and in that moment you understood exactly what hung in the air unspoken. He was a super soldier, you were a normal human.

He couldn’t respond before the elevator gave a sick jolt.

You gasped, your knees nearly buckling from the fall. Before either of you could react, the elevator was careening down in a free-fall. You barely had time to scream when Bucky’s strong arm was around your waist and tugging you close, pressing you between the elevator wall and his body. He held you in a death grip, locking you against him and effectively saving your life.

Luckily, just as quickly as the fall had started, it stopped with a brain-shaking halt.

The silence that followed was thick, and you didn’t realize you were gripping Bucky’s shoulders until your mind finally was convinced you weren’t going to fall to your death. Coming to your senses, you felt your body pressed tightly up against Bucky’s and looked up to see him staring down at you, his brows drawn together and the hate in his eyes missing.

It was then that you realized you could no longer ignore the tension that was present whenever he was near you, because in this position it was overwhelming.

The moment was over as soon as it had begun. You were shoving him off almost as soon as he was letting you go. Breathless, you shoved Bucky’s shoulder, “What the hell, Barnes? You could have gotten us killed!”

“Then you would have failed your stupid mission,” Bucky pointed out, only making you angrier.

“You are infuriating,” You seethed, holding your hands out in exasperation, “Are you trying to get me to quit? Are you that insistent on shoving everyone else away?”

Bucky shook his head, his jaw held tight and his blue eyes on fire. He was staying silent, shutting down again like he often did. That only made you angrier, but a part of you yearned to get closer, to prove to him that you weren’t going to leave him.

Once again, as if on cue, the elevator began to move again with a jolt. You let out a breath of relief, your anger turning into exhaustion. Just as the elevator stopped, this time at your floor, you got off first, Bucky close behind.

“Fine, give me the cold shoulder,” You called out to him as you approached your door beside his. You fished out your keys and stopped, looking over at him as he ignored you and worked to open his door, “Do what you have to, but I’m not leaving you.”

Bucky froze, turning to look at you. Something in his gaze stirred your heart, but you kept your gaze strong and unflinching, “I’m seeing this mission through, whether you like it or not.”

Then you opened your door and went inside, leaving Barnes out in the hallway, still frozen with his keys in his door.

|||

That night, you couldn’t get to sleep.

You tried everything—sleeping supplements, reading, counting sheep. Nothing worked. Your mind refused to settle down, running over your elevator encounter with Bucky over and over again. The way he seemed to stall when you said you weren’t leaving him, the way he had grabbed you the instant the elevator dropped, the way you could still feel the burn of his arm around your waist.

The way being held by him had felt so infuriatingly right.

You covered your face with your pillow, willing yourself to forget what you just couldn’t seem to. You didn’t have to try long when the sound of something scraping on glass caught your attention. Slowly, you pulled the pillow off of your face and listened closely, the silence of your apartment settling over you like a blanket.

Maybe you had dreamt the noise. Maybe Bucky really was getting to you head and it was making you cr-

There it was again.

You sat up this time, your brows furrowed as you swiftly got out of bed. With silent feet, you crept to your window and pulled down one blind just enough for you to peer out into the dark night illuminated only by the haze of streetlights below.

Nothing. Nothing, nothing…there.

In the murky night, your strained eyes caught a glimpse of a rope hanging down off to the left of your window. Towards Bucky’s apartment. Looking a bit harder, you saw another, and then another. Then, now that you were listening, you began to hear the soft thuds of shoes against brick and iron and glass.

Someone was going to break through his window.

Suddenly vaulted into action, you jogged out of your room, grabbing the gun you kept on your nightstand as you did. You didn’t stop to consider the fact that you were only in a large t-shirt with no pants on. The only thing you could think about was Bucky sleeping next door while those intruders busted into his windows. In a matter of seconds, you were out into the hallway and pounding on Bucky’s door.

“Barnes, let me in,” You hissed, your voice low so as not to wake the neighbors. When there was no response, you pounded your fist against the door again. The sound mocked the repetitive thumping of your heart within your chest, its beats not only for the fight to come or the sudden burst of energy.

“Come on!” You pressed, in the middle of another round of knocking when the door flew open. On the other side, a very pissed and very shirtless Bucky stood, his muscular arm barring the doorway.

“This better be good,” Bucky grumbled, his voice closer to a low growl.

If this were any other time, you would have taken a moment to appreciate the sculpted plane of his body or even to notice the blanket strewn on the hardfloor indicating he didn’t sleep in a bed. You didn’t worry about any of that, though. Instead, you shoved past Bucky as soon as that door was opened, your gun raised.

“What the hell are you-”

Bucky was cut off by the shattering of his window.

You had four rounds fired off before the first two intruders could set their feet in the apartment. The blasts were muffled by the sound suppressor on your gun, but they found their targets with no less force or deadly precision.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, the sound of his dog tags clinking as he sprinted over to the window just as the third and fourth intruders touched down. This time, these two made it down, the bullets lodging in the wall or their vests.

Then Bucky was on them, his metal arm catching one by the throat while he kicked the absolute shit out of the other, sending the intruder flying into the wall. The plaster cracked behind him and you shoved your gun into your waistband, no longer able to fire without risking hitting Bucky.

As Bucky incapacitated the intruder he had by the throat, you made sure the one he kicked stayed down. As the attacker staggered to his feet and rushed you, you dodged his clumsy hits easily and landed a crushing uppercut to the underside of his jaw. The sound of his teeth snapping together was sickening, but you were unfazed.

As the large attacker stumbled back, you rushed him and slid to the ground. You wrapped your legs around one of his and tugged, bringing the large invader crashing to the ground with a force that made the floor shudder. Moving quickly, you maneuvered yourself on top of the downed intruder and whipped out your gun, holding it directly at his head.

Suddenly, the apartment was silent except for the panting of both you and Bucky. You glanced up to see Bucky standing over the invader he was fighting, his bare chest heaving with breath. Probably more out of shock than exertion, you figured.

Turning your gaze down to the one pinned beneath you, you held the gun steady, “Who do you work for?”

The man smiled up at you, his teeth full of blood, “You’ll have to kill me,”

“Okay,” You said simply, moving the barrel of your gun to his shoulder and pulling the trigger.

The invader let out a strangled cry of pain at the nonfatal injury, his body writhing beneath you.

“Let’s try this again,” You gritted out, pushing the gun closer to his chin, “You tell me who you work for, or the next shot goes into your brain.”

“He’ll kill me for telling you,” The man nearly sobbed.

“Who’s he?” Bucky growled, staring down at the attacker mercilessly. When he didn’t respond, you clenched your jaw.

“Either die now for not telling us, or die later with a chance of making it away. Your choice.” Your words rang through the room as both you and Bucky stared down this terrified intruder. A pang of sympathy ran through you that was quickly smothered because in the end, he had come after Bucky.

And for some reason, that made your vision bleed red.

“Kingpin,” He finally cried, his eyes shut as his blood seeped into Bucky’s floor, “Kingpin sent us to silence the Winter Soldier.”

You had to fight to keep the shock from your features long enough to whip the butt of your gun across the blubbering man’s face and knock him out. Once he was silent beneath you, you stood slowly and looked over to Bucky. His jaw was clenched and his eyes holding that same haunted look they often did.

“I had a run-in with Kingpin as the Winter Soldier,” Bucky muttered, his eyes trained down on the floor where the four intruders were, “I managed to get past his defenses, tore through them like paper. What I found nearly sent him to prison for good if Hydra hadn't cut him a deal.”

The words broke over you, making your mind whir, “So if he’s coming after you now, after all this time,”

Bucky looks up at you, his blue eyes nearly knocking your bravado out, “Then that means he’s got something going on he wants to make sure no one finds out about.”

You took a moment to process the implications. Kingpin had something big going down, not that he didn’t always, but now it was more personal. Now, it involved Bucky, which meant it involved you.

“I’ll get this mess cleaned up,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his short, dark hair, “Go back to your apartment.”

That was it? Not so much as a thank you?

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “That’s one way to thank someone who just saved your ass.”

“You didn’t save anything,” Bucky gritted out, taking a step closer to you in that intimidating way you found he often liked to, “If you hadn’t come by, I still would have woken up and taken those guys easily.”

“Are you kidding me?” You exclaimed, gesturing around to the mess, “I had two of those guys out before you were even fully awake, Barnes! Just admit I helped you,”

He was so close to you that you could barely reach out and you would be touching his bare skin. The temptation was strong, stronger than you’d like to admit. It was like he was a magnet and you a compass, and for the life of you, even when you wanted nothing more than to run away from him, you couldn’t stop yourself from being led right back into him.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and making your stomach take a sudden swirl. “I don’t need your help.”

His eyes darted down to your lips, and then lower before returning to your gaze. It was then that you became fully aware of your lack of pants. Your cheeks heated slightly and you felt your stomach go taut from his attention, but you clenched your jaw and held your place.

“Clearly, you do,” You echoed back to him, refusing to back down. After staring off at him for a few more moments, you let out a frustrated groan and stepped back, snapping the tension in the room as you shoved your way to the door.

“Why do I even bother with you?” You gritted, stepping over a body, “I got up in the middle of the night and risked my life to help you and I don’t get so much as a-”

“Thanks,”

Bucky’s voice was so quiet that you almost missed it, but you had heard it. You froze in your tracks, your body going still except for your speeding heart as you slowly turned back around.

“What?” You whispered, unbelieving what he had just said. Bucky shot you a pointed glare, but let out a long sigh, some of the anger draining from his face. He looked tired, so incredibly tired.

“Thank you,” He repeated, the words cutting straight through your anger, “I know I can be difficult, it’s just…I’m not…”

He struggled with the words, his voice no longer flooded with frustration or annoyance. You spent a moment peering at the soldier, taking in the fact that he indeed had slept on the floor and noting the dog tags that hung around his throat.

Bucky Barnes was haunted by his past. So haunted, you guessed, that he was shoving away everyone in his life to make sure nothing bad could happen again. You still were infuriated by him, but you couldn’t say that you hated him.

In fact, you couldn’t begin to think if you ever really did. Or if maybe that hate was just a cover for the growing attraction you felt towards him, for the…

Ridiculous, you scolded yourself.

“It’s okay,” You finally announced, your words softer than you intended them to be, “I get it.”

Somehow, you found yourself offering him a sad, soft smile that made the hard edges of his face soften.

“You’re a lone wolf, I get that.” Your words made his jaw twitch, “And I’m not gonna tell you how to heal. You already know that answer. So, when the time comes that you’re ready to not do all this alone anymore, I’ll be right next door.”

Something changed deep within Bucky’s gaze, something that would have made you stay if you didn’t turn and walk towards the door. As you did, you felt the thumping of your heart. Your words had not just been an offer of help for this Kingpin situation. No, they had been more. An offer of help for anything, and you hadn’t realized you had meant them until they had come out.

Now you were left wondering for the rest of the night when exactly you had stopped hating Bucky Barnes.

And why you had the suspicion that you never hated him at all.

|||

As the dawn broke the next morning, so did your common sense.

No matter how magnetizing Barnes was, you had to keep your distance unless your mission directly required you to get close. You didn’t know how deep your…not hatred…ran, but you weren’t willing to find out. It could compromise this mission, and most dangerous of all, it could compromise Bucky.

You had to keep your head in the game. So, the next week or so was packed with you spending the day actively avoiding Barnes in the same way you had purposely collided with him at first. During the nights, you poured over documents and case files concerning Kingpin. You tracked his movements, hunted down where his men crawled back to after their missions, watched his cover businesses with a close, keen eye.

Kingpin was an intimidating mobster and could rule his forces with an iron fist of fear, but he wasn’t necessarily the brightest businessman. He was good at covering his illegal tracks, but not great. That was why you were able to catch the whispers around the upcoming charity gala a local socialite was hosting.

Word was, Kingpin and his men would be at the gala to finish working out a business deal with an associate. The same business deal, you suspected, that had him lashing out at not just Bucky, but several other known adversaries to his empire across the whole of New York.

So if Kingpin would be there, so would you.

As you finished getting ready for the gala and stood in front of your mirror to make sure everything was perfect, your mind strayed to the super soldier next door. You hadn’t seen him in over a week, not since that night where you saved his life. Even now, his apartment was silent.

You let out a long sigh and adjusted the contours of your dress and felt for the weapons beneath it. The floor-length number was deceiving to anyone with a keen eye, exposing parts of you that would normally hide weapons. Your thigh on your dominant side was almost fully exposed with a slit, and your bodice provided no way to get to a weapon if it was stored there.

You were a professional, though. Where you hid your weapons, no one would see until it was too late.

As you made your way out of your apartment, being sure to take the stairs this time, and then climbed into the ride you had waiting for you outside, your mind played through a million different ways this night could go.

Best case would be you catching wind of whatever business had Kingpin so wound up with no altercations in the meantime. Worst case…well, let’s hope you didn’t have to use those weapons you so painstakingly hid.

After a drive that wasn’t long enough, you clambered out into the star-lit, diamond-encrusted evening. The event hall was elegant as you walked in, decked in lavender and silver and crawling with New York’s most elite. In a crowd like this, you knew it would not be hard to find a man as large as Kingpin.

The longer you spent canvasing the gala, the more your worst case scenario started to play out in your head. As you had feared, Kingpin wasn’t here, not that you could see. Odds were, he sent someone in his place to do the negotiating. Now you had to find some way of finding that-

You gasped as your shoulder bumped right into a firm chest. You had been so busy scanning the room that you hadn’t been looking where you were walking. A warm, calloused hand gripped onto your elbow to keep you stable, and the way the touch made your brain fog should have been an indicator of who this man was.

But you did not think of it until you glanced up, “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t…what are you doing here?”

As your gaze connected with Bucky Barnes, you saw the same flash of disbelief and then annoyance run through his crystal blue eyes.

“Are you serious, doll? You can’t even give me one night out without following me?” Bucky muttered lowly, his hand still around your elbow, holding you close.

Your chest skipped at that word, that nickname he had called you, but you ignored it and glared right back up at the man, “You know, and this may come as a shock to you, but not everything in my life revolves around following you,”

Bucky scoffed, tilting his head at you. Suddenly, you were fighting to overcome how stunning he was in the all black suit that he wore. His alluring gaze seemed to draw you in again, and you knew you had to get away from him.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, sweetheart.” Bucky assured, his tone like pure narcotics to your soul.

You let out a short laugh, “Trust me, I know.”

He shook his head, licking his bottom lip as he held your arm and started pulling you towards the exit, “It’s time for you to go.”

“Hey, you cannot just tell me what to do!” You muttered, pulling your arm from his grasp and coming to an abrupt halt. He gritted his jaw as he turned and looked down to you, but you beat him to the punch.

“If you’re here for the same reason as me, then Kingpin’s men are out here somewhere carrying out a business deal that could be huge. This could be our only chance to stop it.”

“Our?” Bucky repeated, and you stared at him indignantly.

“That’s what you caught from all of that?” You exclaimed, huffing out a breath, “Look, whatever is happening is big. If we don’t stop him, who will?”

“I said before, stay out of this. Go back to Langley and report your mission as a success, and leave me alone. These men are dangerous, don’t make this your fight.” Bucky’s words weren’t as angry as before, there was something in them, something almost desperate.

You held his gaze, taking a step closer, “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve dealt with plenty of dangerous men.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked, almost taunting you as he cocked his head at you.

Your heart was racing, your skin was on fire and he wasn’t even touching you. Maybe leaving was the best idea.

You caught something out of the side of your vision, and looked over towards the dance floor. There you saw one of Kingpin’s associates you’d been tracking all week step out onto the dance floor with a woman you’d never seen before. As he pulled her into a waltz, you knew immediately that this was a business dance, not pleasure.

“There, 11 o’clock,” You whispered, turning your gaze back to Bucky as his gaze flitted towards the direction you gaze. He nodded once.

“That’s them,” He agreed.

“Come on,” You urged, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the dance floor.

“Woah, woah, I don’t dance,” Bucky protested, but let you pull him nonetheless. You cracked a half-smile as you looked back at Bucky, and you noticed the way something in his gaze shifted at the sight of your smile.

“Well tonight you do.”

As you pulled Bucky out into the slow dance alongside a few dozen other couples, you noticed the way his lips tipped up ever so slightly. The sight of that smile…it made your heart miss more than a few beats.

As the two of you joined the fray, Bucky tugged you into him so swiftly that you let out a gasp. Expertly, he guided one hand to the small of your back and grabbed your hand with the other. In a matter of moments, the two of you were dancing, and you looked back up at the soldier in wonder.

“I thought you said you don’t dance,” You mused. Bucky smiled, then turned his gaze to you.

“I don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t,” He informed.

In that moment, with your hand in his gloved metal one and him smiling down at you like that…it was enough to make you forget anything before this, before now, before him. The two of you danced, and for a moment both of you forgot why you’d joined the dance floor in the first place. Forgotten was business and missions and danger, the only thing left in the world was his hands on you as you danced.

You could hardly breathe as he led you around the dance floor, and you certainly couldn’t take your eyes off of his. You weren’t smiling anymore, but neither was he. You didn’t smile because you knew. In that moment, held in his arms and dancing like the two of you had been practicing this step your entire life, like you had been made to dance together, you knew.

You knew that no matter what unfolded in the days and weeks to come, whatever became of this mission, Bucky Barnes had ruined you. For no longer could you dance with anyone else. Not when you knew this, knew him.

He had ruined you in this moment, and for the first time in your life you understood why the Moon never left its orbit. The Moon was so enthralled with catching even a glimpse of the Sun that it was willing to bear the black of night if that’s what it took to bear the Sun’s rays.

Bucky Barnes had ruined you, and now you could never leave your orbit either.

“Doll, I-”

Whatever Bucky was going to say died as the two of you suddenly found yourselves dancing right beside Kingpin’s associate. That was the snap to reality that you needed, and you forced out1 the outrageous thoughts that had been plaguing you.

Thinking quickly, you pulled out of Bucky’s hold and stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder. This position let you inconspicuously listen in to what it was that the associate was saying to his business partner, and Bucky quickly caught on as he brought his hands to your waist and held you close.

You’d like to say that eavesdropping was the only reason you did this, but you’d be lying. Being held by him set your skin on fire, as if you’d been touched by lightning and survived. You needed this, you craved this, with his hands on your waist and his breath on your neck. But you had to focus right now, you had to hear what the associate was saying.

You forced your brain to switch into operative mode, forcing yourself to focus only on the conversation beside you.

“-depending on how much your boss is willing to pay. Timeliness like that is going to be extra,” The woman spoke.

“Money is not an issue, trust me,” The associate assured.

“Well then,” The woman responded, sounding pleased, “1.5 for the weapons and an extra 1 for the time bump. Do we have a deal?”

There was a pause, a consideration. Your heart sped up more than it was already racing. Weapons. An arms deal that Kingpin would no doubt use to spread onto the streets, to put a tighter noose around the neighborhoods he already kept under his thumb. And over two million dollars just for weapons? This was the biggest deal you’d seen up close. This could plunge New York into a deeper chaos than it already was.

“An even 2 and we have a deal,” The associate managed out, his tone taut.

“Then I will see you next week. And your boss had better be there, or the deal’s off,” The woman spoke with finality. And then there was silence, nothing but the waltz and the normal clamor of the gala.

Pulling back, you turned your gaze up to Bucky, whose gaze burned down on you with a certain clarity to his blue eyes.

“Got it?” He mumbled. You nodded, your eyes wide with excitement.

Smoothly, Bucky led you right off of the dance floor, offering his arm to you. You took it, making sure the two of you were walking in the direction opposite the associate. When you were mixed enough in the crowd, you spoke quietly, your tone flooded with vigor.

“Sometime next week, two million for an arms deal,” You informed. Bucky let out a sharp breath, his gaze forward just like yours as the two of you walked.

“A trade that big…”

“I know,” You whispered in response, your heart thundering. You stopped walking, pulling Bucky to look at you, “I could figure out a day, time, and place. Then, together we could crash their party with an army of SWAT and CIA hiding out nearby. We could keep two mill worth of weapons off the streets and put away Kingpin for a while.”

Bucky turned his gaze from you, his jaw clenched. You furrowed your brows up at the man, you were so sure he would be all over this mission. So why did he have that look in his eye?

Without looking down at you, Bucky finally spoke, “Like I said, there’s no we. I’m taking you back to the apartment and that’s where you’re gonna stay until this is over.”

You flinched back, so struck by his sudden change in demeanor that a shot of pain went through your chest. How could he be so cold after what happened on that dance floor? You couldn’t have been the only one to feel that…

“I don’t understand,” You breathed, indignation rising in your chest, “Don’t you want to take out Kingpin?”

“I do,” Bucky responded, finally looking down to you with that cold, shut-off look in his gaze that you knew all too well, “But not with you. You’re going home.”

He let go of you and turned, walking towards the exit of the gala. Sputtering, you followed after him, storming behind him into the brisk night.

“Are you kidding me?” You exclaimed as he gave the valet his ticket and they ran off to grab his car, “What happened to working together? This is my mission, Bucky and I’m not just going to give up on it.”

Bucky turned on you, his gaze boiling with something that wasn’t quiet anger, but felt a lot like it, “I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. Stay out of this one.”

You could see the valet bringing up the car and you knew that once we were inside, he would shut down. This was your last chance.

“Whether you want my help or not, you are getting it! It is my mission to keep you safe, Bucky and I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Bucky shook his head at you, muttering something about you being impossible as he caught his keys as the valet threw them to him. He sauntered up to the car, opening the door and gesturing for you to get in. Cheeks hot with anger, you stormed up and got in the car, adjusting your dress as he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s seat.

Just as you predicted, the ride back to the apartments was silent.

You knew what he was doing. He thought this was too dangerous, and he didn’t want you involved. That night in his apartment, you had seen how guarded he was to keep people from getting close. That dance, that had pushed the line and now he was not going to let you get into this mission. Frustration boiled up within you, and halfway through the drive, you finally exploded.

“This is bullshit!” You suddenly exclaimed, and you caught the way Bucky’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“We’re not doing this,” He muttered.

“Like hell we aren’t,” You fired back, turning to look at him even if he kept his eyes on the road, “I know why you’re banning me from this mission and I get it, I do. But-”

“You don’t know anything,” Bucky cut in, his voice low and almost menacing.

You laughed without humor, slowly losing your control, “You are impossible, impossible!”

Turning forward again, you raked your hands through your hair, “You are so difficult. One day you’re gonna need someone, and if you keep shoving people that care for you away, you’re gonna have no one!”

The car screeched to a sudden halt.

Your stomach dropped as you looked around the surprisingly quiet street, your heart thudding.

“What are you-”

“Get out.” Bucky gritted.

Your heart sank instantly. You looked over at him in astonishment, your eyes wide, “What?”

“Get. Out.” Bucky repeated, not even looking at you, “Walk home.”

“That’s like four miles from here, and I’m in heels!” You exclaimed. Bucky’s jaw tightened.

“You’re CIA, you’ll figure it out.”

Your heart slammed in your chest, and the words you had spit at him moments prior burned in your chest. You had crossed a line, and you knew it. You felt it, “Bucky, I’m sorry. I–”

“Get out of this car before I pull you out myself.” There was hurt in his eyes, and it made you want to die.

You had both said things to hurt the other, had both wounded each other.

As you stepped out of the car and into the night air, you realized that people could only be hurt by someone who held at least a part of them. And as you shut your door and Bucky peeled away into the night, you felt a piece of you go with him.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head and pulled out your phone. You were already searching up a ride to take you to your apartment, but you walked as you did it. The cool night air was refreshing in a way, and you let out a long sigh, putting your phone down and looking around at the near-empty streets.

What had gone so wrong?

And so, you decided against calling a ride. Instead, you turned into a nearby, warm-looking bar and sat, drinking away your sorrows and working up the courage to make the long, lonely walk home.

|||

You were within a half-mile of your apartment, and you still hadn’t sorted through the storm in your mind.

All you knew was that this was more than a mission, and it had been for a long while.

“I gave you one job, and you couldn’t even accomplish it. One simple job.”

Your feet stalled, your head suddenly going quiet. You knew that voice. And, as you took one step closer to the alley that it poured out of and peered inside, what you saw confirmed it.

Kingpin.

In your muddled haze of a walk, you’d forgotten that one of Kingpin’s cover businesses was on the way back to your apartment. Now here you were, just around the corner of the mobster himself. Your eyes took in his massive frame hovering over a quivering man. A man that looked awfully familiar…

You managed to stifle your gasp as you recognized it as the man that gave Kingpin up to you and Bucky when he’d broken into Bucky’s apartment.

“I’m s-sorry boss, there was two of ‘em. I was lucky to make it out alive,” The man stammered. Kingpin hummed.

“You’re right, that is lucky,” He grabbed the man by his collar and hoisted him off of his feet, easily holding him in mid-air, “So tell me, what exactly did you give up to them to save yourself?”

“N-nothing boss! I would never give you or the operation up, never! I’m loyal,” The man pleaded.

You should go. You should hurry past and keep walking. But you just couldn’t, not when the man himself was standing right there and he might give up information on the arms deal you’d caught wind of.

Kingpin set the man back onto his feet and smoothed out the man’s collar, “I believe you.”

The man nearly sobbed, “Thank you boss, thank you.”

“But just an insurance policy,” Kingpin said, then motioned with one hand into the darkness of the alley. Two burly guards stepped forward, armed to the teeth.

“Kill him,” Kingpin spoke smoothly, then stepped back and held his hands together as the man begged and pleaded. Your heart thundered in your chest as the gunshot from one of the guards into the man rang through you, making you flinch slightly.

When the job was done, Kingpin walked up to his guards, “Filch reported back from the gala. Said he got the deal moved up to next Saturday. Make sure the streets stay quiet. We can’t let it get out.”

“Sure thing, boss,” The guard nodded.

Next Saturday, that gave you eight days. A smile tugged onto your lips and you were just about to move past the alley when a set of burly, vile hands closed around your shoulders.

“Well look what we’ve got here, a little birdie listening in.” The man purred, and your stomach sank to the floor.

You had to get away, and you had to do it now. You thrashed against the man’s hold, slipping your hand towards where you’d hidden a small but lethal knife. Kingpin couldn’t know that you’d heard. He couldn’t know. Your hand was inches from the knife when another one of Kingpin’s men came around the corner and grabbed your wrists in a bruising grip, yanking them in front of you.

“Hello there, pretty bird,” He greeted, and together the two men began to drag you into the alley. Sudden, blinding panic slammed into you and you knew instantly what you had to do.

If you pulled a weapon and beat the shit out of these guys like you knew you could, Kingpin would know you’d heard him and were someone to be worried about. Your best chance at making it out of this not only alive, but with the deal still set for next Saturday, you had to play dumb. You had to be a regular citizen, an innocent bystander scared of getting mugged.

And so you did.

You turned your anger into fear that wasn’t totally falsified, and you thrashed in the men’s grips.

“Please, let me go!” You begged, “You can take my money, my wallet, anything you want! Please!”

They’d gotten you into the alley by now, and darkness wrapped around you as Kingpin himself heard your cries. He paused, looking back at you and tilting his head curiously. Your pulse thundered so fast that you thought you’d faint.

“What’s going on here?” Kingpin asked, slowly walking up to you, towering over you even when he was a few feet away.

“Caught this pretty lady walking by, looking like she wanted to come say hello,” One of the men presented.

The smell of the alley nearly made you gag, the fabric of your dress already soiled at the bottom from the puddles of unknown liquid. Real fear was pulsing through you, and you let it. You shoved down the instincts drilled into you from your time in the CIA and let yourself be a citizen, a bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Please, you can have my jewelry, my money, anything you want,” You insisted, your eyes filling with tears that weren’t entirely fake.

“We’re not muggers,” Kingpin responded, his tone curious as he took you in, “What are you doing out here all alone, little bird?”

“My Uber canceled on me and I had to walk home from my party, please I don’t know what’s going on!” You trembled out.

Kingpin studied you closely, then tilted his head and said to the men holding you, “Search her,”

Panic was constricting your chest, and you shivered as the men began patting you down. You had to clench your firsts to keep from breaking one of their noses when one stayed a little longer than necessary on your breasts. There was a small breath of relief when they both stood back, having found none of your hidden weapons.

“She’s clean.”

Kingpin cracked a half smile and reached forward. You flinched back as much as the men holding you would allow, but that wasn’t enough. He grabbed ahold of one of your fists, raising it up to inspect. He looked back up at you, his gaze amused.

“You’re angry,” Kingpin mused, a smile ticking onto his lips, “You’ve got more fight in you then you’re letting on.” “Well ladies with fight who are dragged into alleyways don’t usually last long, do they?” You managed out, your eyes daring to meet his. To your surprise, he laughed.

“Let her go, boys. We’ve terrified her enough.”

You almost sobbed in relief when the men holding you let go. It worked. He was letting you go, he didn’t know. He didn’t-

That’s when you made your first and only mistake. You let your eyes travel the alley for a moment. But that moment, no matter how short, was enough. You saw the dead body of the man who had just been shot.

And Kingpin knew it.

He glanced back towards the body, then slowly back to you.

“Oh little bird, why’d you have to go and do that? I was really starting to like you,” He sighed.

Terror like you’d never known gripped you suddenly. Dread, real and cold pierced into your belly. You began to shake your head.

“No, no please I won’t tell anyone. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t-”

His massive hand gripped your jaw, cutting you off. You trembled terribly as he held your jaw and just peered at you, seeming to test you.

Finally, finally, he said, “I believe you.”

You sighed, but barely had a moment to breathe when he repeated those damned words from before, “But just as an insurance policy,”

He stepped back, letting you go and then gesturing to his men.

“Rough her up. Don’t kill her, just show her what’s gonna happen if she does decide to tell,” Kingpin stepped back into the dark alley, a smile starting on his lips, “Which I don’t think she will. Good night, little bird.”

“Wait,” You shook, glanced around at his goons who now surrounded you, “Wait, please,”

You had taken beatings before, you could do this. You could do this.

“Boss’s orders,” One shrugged, then crashed his fist into your jaw.

Then the onslaught began, and you let it happen. You let them beat you, let them kick you so hard you thought ribs cracked, let them bust your lip and bruise your cheek. You could have them all dead in moments, but you let it happen. You’d made it this far without blowing the mission to hell, you couldn’t give yourself away now.

So you stayed there on the alley floor, and you took it.

|||

By the time you finally made it to your apartment and stumbled up the stairs, you could barely stand.

Your head was spinning as you struggled to get your keys into the door. By the time you finally did, you shouldered your way in and didn’t even bother closing the door. You could barely think, barely see, barely feel anything besides the pain.

You’d taken worse beatings, sure, but it didn’t make this one hurt any less. Your breathing was labored as each breath made shooting pain pierce through your rib cage. Your dress was ripped and bloody and covered in filth from the alley floor. All you could taste was blood from the lip one of the men had split, and you were sure that if anyone were to see you, you’d look more like a walking corpse than anything else.

You stumbled over to your kitchen bar, gripping onto the surface for stability as you dropped your phone and clutch onto it. Your legs trembled from the effort of standing, and you didn’t even bother to switch the light on considering that would require more walking. All you wanted was to gather your strength, make it to your bathroom, and get all of this blood off of you.

Then you’d sleep for as long as your body would let you.

At least, that was the plan until there was a knock on your slightly open door.

You didn’t even have the strength to speak as the person pushed open the door and walked a few steps into your dark, silent apartment.

“Y/N, I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to right now, but…” Bucky paused, and the sound of his voice nearly made you sob. More than anything, more than even a bath or sleep, you wanted him to hold you. You were too tired to question the impulse.

Bucky sighed, and you could practically hear the indecision in his tone, “I turned around as soon as I forced you out, but I couldn’t find you. I’ve been pacing the entire night waiting for you to come back. I overreacted and…and I’m sorry.”

He’d gone back for you. He’d looked for you.

Your heart burned, and tears you didn’t fight worsened your already blurry vision.

You wanted to turn and run to him, you wanted to hold him and tell him that it was alright, that you were sorry too. But you couldn’t. If you let go of this counter, you’d collapse, and you knew that if you hit this floor, you weren’t getting back up tonight.

“You were just trying to help me, and I have such a hard time taking help and an even harder time letting people in and,” Bucky stopped with a sigh, cutting off his rant, “I’m stumbling through this, could you please just turn around and say something?”

If you weren’t on the brink of passing out, you’d laugh.

Bucky let out a frustrated huff, “I’m apologizing here, are you even listening?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but blood came out instead and you let out a short cough.

“Fine,” Bucky gritted, clearly trying to hold back his emotion, “I’ll just…leave you be.”

Panic disrupted your pain and you managed to brace your weight with one hand on the counter and turn towards where Bucky was already walking towards your door. He couldn’t leave. You needed him.

“Bucky,” You strangled out, your voice exhausted, “W-wait,”

Bucky froze, his gaze turning back to you with his brows furrowed. That’s when the light of the hallway broke upon you, and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the blood and dirt and bruises.

You heard him say your name like a vow, but then the world began to spin and you were collapsing.

You barely felt the thud of the floor as you slammed against it, your body bloody and broken and giving up for the night. You heard the pounding of footsteps, felt the floor tremble as Bucky slid to his knees beside you. His hands were so gentle, so heart-breakingly gentle, as he lightly touched your bruised cheek. You watched through a blurred gaze as he kneeled over you, his jaw tight and his eyes wild.

“You’re okay, doll, I got you. I got you,” Bucky promised, ever so tenderly pulling your broken body into his lap. He cradled your head with his hand, his eyes sweeping over you to take in the extent of your injuries.

“Shit,” He swore, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

“Not your fault,” You managed, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Bucky shook his head, his jaw clenched so tight that you saw his muscles ticking. His breaths were shallow as he caressed a finger down your cheek before gathering you in his arms as gently as he could. You groaned in pain as he stood, holding you close to himself with ease. But even despite the pain, he was holding you, and that was something you never thought you’d feel again.

“I know baby, I know,” He whispered, his words soothing you through the pain. He carried you out of your apartment, careful to close the door before carrying you into his place. You felt your consciousness slipping now that you were safe. You actually had never felt safer than when you were here, in his arms.

Bucky set you down on his counter, the cool material taking the edge off of the aching of your body. Before he could clean you up or bandage anything, Bucky stood close to you, his hand staying on your cheek. You leaned into it, knowing you wouldn’t have if you weren’t half-asleep right now.

“Doll, I need you to look at me,” Bucky urged, a cold, ferocious tone to his voice that you didn’t think was for you. You managed to pry your eyes open and clash your gaze with his. In it was a cold fury, “Who did this to you?”

“Kingpin’s men,” You mumbled, and Bucky stiffened, “I caught…word of the deal, but he…he saw me. Only way to…to not blow it was to…to-”

“Play the bystander,” Bucky finished for you, and you nodded. Bucky shook his head, “You stupid, brave girl.”

You managed a smile, but the movement pulled at the split in your lip and made you wince.

“You can sleep now, doll. I’ve got you,” Bucky whispered. You nodded, letting your eyes flutter closed. You felt his hand caress your cheek, his fingers lingering on your skin.

Then, in the near dark of sleep, Bucky let out a defeated sigh.

“Oh darling,” He sighed, then there was a press of a kiss to your brow and whispered words against your skin, “How the hell am I supposed to let you go when this is all over?”

|||

“Bucky?”

Your voice rang through Bucky’s apartment, amusement heavy in your tone. He hummed in response, his back to you as he slaved away at his small stove.

Before you already sat a fresh coffee, eggs, toast, and fruit. You couldn’t help but smile. The movement pulled at your healing lip, but it didn’t hurt anymore.

“It’s been two days. You don’t have to keep apologizing,” You called out. Bucky turned around to you, holding a pan in one hand.

“I’m just making breakfast,” He tried, but you just raised an eyebrow at him. With a sigh, Bucky set down the pan, and walked over to the counter, settling his hands down on the other side of where you sat.

“Y/N, you didn’t see what I did that night,” Bucky mumbled, not meeting your gaze, “If you could have seen how you looked, all that blood…”

Your heart strung in your chest. You slept nearly an entire day after the incident, and then spent the next day being fussed over by Bucky. You had a few bruised ribs and some nasty shiners, but nothing serious luckily. In all that time, the two of you had avoided the subject of that night besides the both of you apologizing to the other profusely.

“Buck, listen to me,” You whispered, his pained gaze finally rising to yours, “That was a heated night, we both did and said things we didn’t mean. We apologized for that, it’s behind us. But what happened to me in that alley,”

You paused hesitating only a moment before you threw caution to the wind and reached across the counter, grabbing his hand. His metal hand. His eyes widened a fraction and something changed in his gaze, something that made your heart miss a step.

“What happened to me in that alley was not your fault. That one was all me,” You insisted. Bucky squeezed your hand, the cool metal soothing your skin.

“But if I had just kept you in the car, if I hadn’t overreacted like that-”

“Then we wouldn’t know when the deal was going down,” You reasoned, “And if I were you, I would have kicked me out of the car too.”

Bucky let out a low laugh, shaking his head. His thumb ran across your skin absentmindedly, making your mind muddle, “Fine.”

You raised your eyebrows, a smile dancing on your lips “So does that mean we can move on? Not that I mind you making me breakfast.”

“Don’t push your luck, doll,” Bucky warned, a smile tugging at his lips. Letting go of your hand, he walked around the counter and into his living room, walking over to his coffee table where two files sat. You swiveled around on the barstool, watching him curiously.

As if he felt your gaze, Bucky spoke again, “While you were getting your beauty sleep in, I found where the arms deal is going down. So, if we’re gonna crash that party, we better start planning.”

A thrill went through you, and you sat up straighter. You watched as he turned and walked back to you with the files in his hand. Sure enough, he handed you one of them. You opened the front, seeing the page filled with information on Kingpin, his empire, and the arms deal. You looked up at Bucky with wide, bright eyes.

“We?” You taunted. Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the front of your file.

“I can still take this back,” He warned. You smiled, pulling it back towards you and out of his grasp. His grumpy demeanor didn’t scare you, nor did it frustrate you like it did before.

“Too late,” You said sweetly, looking up at him as he stood before your seated frame. He shook his head at you, a half smile he tried to hide on his lips as he stepped back.

“Alright CIA,” Bucky announced, flipping open his file, “Show me what you got.”

|||

It was Saturday night, and the air was thick with anticipation.

You and Bucky sat in his car, staking out the trainyard where the arms deal was set to be going down. The walkie set before you crackled to life.

“How’s it looking?” Sam Wilson asked. You smiled at the sound of his voice, happy to have him here. Once you briefed him on what was happening, he just had to have a piece of it.

“Nothing so far,” You replied, your eyes sweeping across the darkened yard packed with parked trains, “We’ve still got some time, though.”

“I have RedWing watching from the skies, so I’ll keep you posted,” Sam informed.

“I hate that damn thing,” Bucky grumbled. You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.

“What was that?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” You answered, putting your hand over Bucky’s mouth just as he’s about to repeat his statement, “Tell RedWing we said thank you!”

As soon as the radio went quiet, Bucky pulled off your hand, staring at you in indignation.

“You are getting too comfortable with me,” He gritted. You shrugged, trying not to look too smug.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” You quipped. Bucky was grumbling under his breath about something, and you were just about to ask him about it when something caught your eye in the distance. You sat up, pointing towards the left side of the yard.

“There,” You announced, your tone serious, “You see it?”

Bucky leaned forward, following the direction you were pointing. He nodded, reaching forward and grabbing the walkie.

“Sam, two SUVs rolling in. You got ‘em?”

“I see them,” Sam responded, his voice all business, “Looks like it's the dealers. The weapons are probably stashed in one of the train cars somewhere. I’ll run a scan, you guys get out there.”

“Will do, comms going in,” Bucky replied.

The two of you slipped the comm links into your ears, checking your respective guns before exiting the car. You both jogged towards the first train car parked in the massive yard, getting cover as fast as possible.

“Be advised, the dealers have associates fanning out through the trainyard.” Sam’s voice crackled through the comm.

“Copy,” You spoke softly, your back pressed against the train, “We’ll take care of it.”

Looking over to Bucky, you nodded once at him before he led the way, gun raised as he cleared the corner. The two of you worked systematically through the yard. Sweeping out slowly in search of the associates. This place was a maze, making it ideal for deals like this. If you wanted a chance at taking the op down, you had to get these guards out.

You and Bucky paused at a break in the train, and this time you led as you inched forward and checked the corner. Seeing a guard standing watch at the corner, you pulled back and looked at Bucky. Without even having to say a word, you and Bucky worked together as if you’d been doing it for years.

You crouched down, holstering your gun and slipping out a knife. You took a beat to breathe before you slid forward, around the corner. The noise made the guard swivel her head, but she made the mistake of not looking down. With the deadly sharp knife, you made it to her feet before she noticed you.

Then, you whistled. A quiet, simple tone. With furrowed brows, she looked down to see you, crouched by her feet with a knife. Her brows rose and she opened her mouth to alert someone, but Bucky was on her, his hand around her mouth. That’s when you struck, slicing the tendon at the back of her heel.

Bucky’s hand muffled her scream as she dropped, and you stood in response, landing a killer blow across her temple and knocking her out. When the scuffle was over, the trainyard was silent. With a breathless smile, you looked up to Bucky.

“We make a pretty good team,” You whispered. He shot you a pointed look.

“I don’t do teams.”

You followed him as walked past the downed guard, a smirk tugging at your lips, “That’s right. You’re a lone wolf.”

Bucky stopped in his gait, nearly making you run into him. He turned and shot a glare at you, one that let you know you were getting under his skin. You held your hands up, showing him you were backing off the subject. He shook his head at you and kept walking.

“You do make a good team,” Sam intervened, making you smile triumphantly.

“Sam, I swear-” Bucky began, but you darted up, covering his mouth with your hand to silence him. He saw the guard rounding the corner a second after you did. Luckily, the guard hadn’t seen you.

Not yet, at least.

Thinking quickly, Bucky grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up into the opening of a nearby, darkened train car. You landed inside silently and turned, waiting for Bucky who jumped in a second later. Swiveling his gaze around, he noticed the same problem you did.

The car was full of weapons. The weapons.

Not only did this endanger the both of you should the deal start soon, it also left little room for you to hide. Bucky solved that issue swiftly as he turned and urged you against a stack of explosives, his body pressed against yours instantly, caging you into the darkness and making sure the two of you were invisible.

Or, you realized with a start, making sure you were invisible.

You could see just far enough to look up and see Bucky peering down at you. His body was against yours, and his face was so near to yours that you could move half an inch and your lips would be touching. His pine and whiskey scent washed over you, intoxicating you, making you forget for a moment where you were.

Bucky seemed to do the same as his hand moved from beside your hand and he swept a thumb against your cheek. Lightning scattered across your skin where he touched, and you nearly forgot how to breathe.

You wanted to kiss him. You needed to kiss him.

Bucky’s eyes were darting between your lips and gaze, and your heart thundered in your chest. You were sure he could feel it with your bodies pressed so tightly together, and the uptick of the edge of his lips told you he did. Your lips itched in anticipation, burning even as they were kept apart from his.

Bucky’s hand moved from your cheek down to rest against your throat, just as it did that day in your kitchen all those months ago. You knew that he did it to get a better feel of your pulse, and your cheeks heated in response. His lips were nearly touching yours and his hand was on your neck and you thought you might faint.

He was totally in control of you, and he knew it.

With a half-smirk that made your knees nearly buckle he whispered, “Do I always make you this nervous?”

You wanted to banter back, to shoot a petty insult at him, but you couldn’t think of anything but his lips on yours. You wanted it so badly, and you could tell Bucky did too because the hand that wasn’t on your throat was clenched tightly, as if he was restraining himself. You nudged your chin up a fraction, stopping just short of his lips, leaving the decision up to him. Bucky moved, and when his lips were almost touching yours-

“I found the weapons,” Sam’s voice poured out of RedWing, who sat hovering right in front of you and Bucky.

You and Bucky jolted apart, the coast clear from the guard and the both of you coughing or clearing your throat.

“What?” Sam asked, his tone taunting, “Did I interrupt something?”

“Sam, if RedWing doesn’t fly away I’m gonna break it,” Bucky threatened lowly.

“What, are you mad that he’s c-”

Bucky lunged for RedWing, who turned and flew away just in time. You couldn’t help but smile, struggling to hold in your laughter as Bucky turned and shook his head, clearly wound up. When he saw the look on his face he pointed a finger in your direction.

“Not a word,” He commanded.

“Yes sir,” You teased, shoving his shoulder lightly as you passed him to inspect the weapons. What you missed as you peered into the weapons crates was the way Bucky smiled at you as you passed, a real smile unlike any of the one’s he’d given since the 40’s.

“Look at all this,” You breathed, inspecting box after box of weapons of all sorts.

“And there’s at least six more cars just like it,” Sam informed over the comm. You shook your head, picking up a rather nasty looking bomb.

“We better get a move on, Kingpin’s bound to be here at any moment.” Your words caught Bucky’s attention and he nodded, walking towards the opening of the train car and hopping out. Wordlessly, you followed. As you jumped out of the car, Bucky grabbed you by the hips and slowed down your descent, setting you safely on the ground. His hands burned on your waist, and that tension from before returned in full force.

“I had that, you know,” You informed, raising a brow at him. He just smirked.

“I know.”

Then let you go and walk away, finally letting you take in a breath. As you followed him, you shook your head.

This was going to be a long night.

|||

It took twenty more minutes for you and Bucky to clear out the guards without any of them reporting back a disturbance.

And, right on time, Kingpin and his men showed up

You watched as the massive, hulking man sauntered up to the center of the trainyard where the dealers, led by the woman from the gala, stood waiting. You stood pressed against a train nearby with Bucky against the one across from you. Overhead, Sam was waiting for your signal to move in.

It would be your job to make sure the SWAT team rolling up outside had enough time to infiltrate and secure the weapons that they could. In the meantime, you, Bucky, and Sam would ambush the deal, taking out as many operatives as you could and securing Kingpin and the Dealer.

But right now, your mind wasn’t on the plan. No, you were stuck staring at the goons who waltzed up with Kingpin. You recognized three of them as the men who pummeled you that night after the gala. Noticing your clenched jaw, Bucky followed your gaze to the men. Understanding broke over him and you glanced over to see a certain fury flood his gaze. He looked back to you, his gaze clashing with yours.

“Which ones?” Was all he whispered, low enough so he couldn’t be heard by anyone except for the comm link. You heard the edge in his voice, and maybe it was wrong, but you loved it.

“The two on his right and second to the left.”

Bucky nodded, staring down the three men. He looked back to you, “You want them?”

A smile ghosted your lips. You could see the restraint in the way his shoulders were held tensely and the whitening of his knuckles on his gun. He wanted them, but he wanted you to have the choice first.

And you fell in love, right there. It began with the dance, but it was done now. There was no going back.

“Share?” You offered, and Bucky’s lips tipped up in a smile.

The two of you turned your attention back to the deal, straining enough to hear the conversation flowing from Kingpin and the Dealer who met in the middle.

“I’m not seeing my weapons,” Kingpin noted, his hands clasped before him. The woman smiled.

“The money first. Then you’ll get your weapons.”

Your hands tightened around your gun, waiting for Kingpin’s next move. He surveyed the Dealer before nodding, turning back to his man and motioning. That was it, this was your chance.

“Now,” You whispered, and instantly the sound of bullets from somewhere to the right blasted through the air.

Sam’s distraction.

The Dealer and Kingpin snapped their gazes towards the sound.

“What the hell-”

That’s when you and Bucky swept in, guns raised and bullets flying before the group knew what was happening. Chaos broke out, but every time someone strayed from the center to flee into the trains, Sam was there to guide them back.

The scene was a flurry of bullets and knives, of yelling and screams, but in the end it was you and Bucky who were left standing amongst the group of downed guards. Of course, there were a few left standing besides Kingpin and the Dealer, one of which happened to be one of the men who beat the shit out of you after the gala.

You did not miss how one of the other men who’d beat you wasn’t just unconscious nearby, but his neck was twisted at a wrong angle with Bucky standing nearby. The last of three was lying somewhere in the mess, shot and bleeding out.

Silence settled over the scene as Sam slammed down on the top of one of the train cars, gun raised. Bucky stood by the Dealer, and you by Kingpin. The two criminals stood silently, their hands raised in submission.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” You announced, keeping your gun pointed at Kingpin. He snapped his gaze to you, and surprise flickered through it followed by a sort of…admiration that made your skin crawl, “A SWAT team is closing in on the weapons now, so the two of you are going to call off anyone else you have stationed and come with us, without a fight preferably.”

“Little bird,” Kingpin greeted, making your pulse spike. You didn’t want to look at him, but you did anyway, and you hated the way you shook as you did, “It’s not often I’m surprised, but I gotta say, you’ve got me speechless here.”

You gritted your teeth, but it was Bucky who called out “Clearly not speechless enough,”

Kingpin laughed, seeming almost at ease. He started to lower his hands and you took a step closer, your gun held strong before you.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” You ordered.

“Okay, okay,” Kingpin complied, raising his hands up, “But I just want to say, you really shoulda thought this out more.”

You furrowed your brows, “Wh-”

You couldn’t even get the words out when three of the nearby train car doors slid open, and guards poured out. Your heart shot into your throat, and you didn’t even have the chance to shoot when twenty guns were pointed at you and twenty more at Bucky. You shot a nervous glance towards Bucky, who shared the same look.

“Sam, go,” You whispered, and he flew off without another word. He needed to get the SWAT team in here now, or you and Bucky wouldn’t make it long. On the bidding of Kingpin’s army, you and Bucky set your guns down slowly.

“Alright,” Kingpin announced, sighing as if this were just another Saturday night, “Now here’s what’s really gonna happen.”

He walked up to you, and off to the side you saw Bucky immediately lunge forward towards him. He couldn’t make it far before Kingpin pulled out a gun of his own and pointed it at your head.

Bucky froze.

“Leave her alone,” Bucky ordered, his voice dark and menacing.

“Now it’s getting fun,” Kingpin mused, ignoring Bucky completely and stepping closer to you. You clenched your fists to hide the way they shook.

“You’re gonna hop up to this train car here and get my weapons out, make sure they’re what I wanted. Then, you’re gonna call off the SWAT team, and we’re gonna walk out of here,” Kingpin said simply.

“Not happening,” You gritted out.

“Funny, I don’t remember giving you a choice,” Kingpin sighed before grabbing your arm and looking to the dealer, “Which one has the weapons?”

She smirked, pointed at the train car nearby Bucky. It was torture to be dragged past him and not be able to touch him. Not for lack of trying, either. As you went by, he made a break for you, shouting your name. It took eight men to restrain him.

Eight men, that’s how many it took to hold him steady.

And, you figured he was holding back since there was a gun to your head.

“Oh, and package the soldier up. I want to have a few…words with him later.” Kingpin ordered, and panic blinded you. You reared back helplessly, struggling against his iron grip as you had to watch the men try to subdue Bucky and get him into handcuffs.

Your panicked gaze met his, and all you could do was pray Sam was close with the SWAT team. You couldn’t rely on that, though. Kingpin was going to kill you and then Bucky.

You could die, so long as Bucky didn’t.

A plan began to spin in your head as Kingpin shoved you up into the train car.

“Now, grab a gun from in there and show it to me,” Kingpin ordered, but then gave you a knowing smile, “And don’t try anything, or I’ll have a bullet in your boyfriend’s head.”

“On our way!” Sam called through the comm, but you were running out of time. The men were already hauling away Bucky, and you had to act fast.

Turning into the dark train car full of weapons, you tried to lift a box and pretended to fail. Turning to look down at Kingpin, who still stood on the ground, you gritted, “I can’t get it. It’s too heavy.”

Maybe it was his built-in trust of you from your encounter that night after the gala, or maybe it was because he thought you were under too much emotional duress, but he believed you.

He bought it, and he hauled himself into the train car for everyone to see.

“You better not be-”

Before he could speak again or anyone could react, you’d pulled the bomb you picked earlier off of your belt and pulled the pick. Gasps and shouts rang out through the yard as you held the live explosive in your hand and made sure you stood between Kingpin and the exit of the train car.

“Y/N NO!” Bucky shouted, his voice cracking. With a bare pull of his arms, the cuffs on his wrists snapped and he made a move for you.

A handful of guns were pressed into Bucky’s head, stopping him cold. In response, you held the motion-induced explosive tighter and pushed it further towards Kingpin, who had backed as far as he could against a stack of crates. Terror was clear across his face, which brought a sick sort of delight.

“You shoot him, and I drop it,” You announced, and once again the yard plunged into silence.

Anyone who could see the situation knew you had the upper hand. If anyone killed you, the bomb would hit the ground and kill Kingpin. If Kingpin tried anything on you, you’d drop the bomb and kill the both of you. You were locked in a stalemate, and now you were going to win.

“Now, put your guns down.” Your voice rang through the trainyard, but no one acted. You lifted your brows and nodded, turning your head towards Kingpin. Panic flared in his eyes and he shouted, “GUNS DOWN! Put your damn guns down!”

You turned your head and watched as everyone did as they were told. Your eyes snagged on Bucky, who had a desperate look on his face. He shook his head, but you ignored his silent pleas.

“You, the Dealer and all your forces are going to stand down. You’re going to wait patiently for SWAT to get here,” You lifted your chin, “Or I’ll drop this and we both go.”

“You wouldn’t,” Kingpin stuttered.

“You really want to call my bluff? Go ahead, end your criminal empire in one moment of stupidity,” You dared.

Kingpin took a moment to survey your gaze before he shook his head, “You’re crazy.”

You didn’t miss a beat.

“The things you do for love.”

That’s when you heard the rustling of gear and looked over to see the SWAT team storming in, guns raised and shouting at the Dealer and all of the assorted criminals throughout the yard. Taking in a trembling breath, you looked back at Kingpin.

“Game over, little bird,” You lifted your chin, and Kingpin’s eyes flared.

“This isn’t over,” He assured.

“Sure it isn’t,” You replied easily. Well, as easily as you could with a live bomb in your grasp.

You heard the clanging of the train car and looked over to see Bucky inside, his eyes deadly and his jaw clenched tightly as he grabbed Kingpin.

“Out,” Bucky growled, throwing him to the ground outside. Officers were on him instantly, but Bucky wasn’t paying attention, instead, he was on you.

“Bucky, stay-” You warned with a trembling voice, stepping back to keep the bomb from him. Bucky wasn’t listening to you, though, He cut you off and cupped your cheeks.

“What the hell were you thinking? You could have died!” Bucky nearly shouted, but you didn’t miss the way his voice shook.

“He was going to take you, and I couldn’t let him do that,” You whispered, tears gathering in your eyes.

“So you pulled a bomb on him?” Bucky pushed. A tear slipped down your cheek and Bucky wiped it away, shaking his head at you, “Don’t ever do that again, don’t ever risk your life like that for me again.”

“No promises.” Your voice was trembling badly, and your hand was clenched so tightly around the bomb that your fingers hurt, “Bucky, I’m scared.”

You heard Sam call for a bomb squad in the distance, but you didn’t tear your gaze from Bucky. He pressed his forehead to yours, “I know, baby. But you’re gonna be alright.”

“What if I drop it?” You whispered, only allowing your fear to be heard and seen from Bucky.

“You’re not gonna drop it,” Bucky assured, reaching forward and holding the explosive over your hand.

Buck, don’t-”

He held fast, closing both of his hands around yours and the bomb, “You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

“Sam, how long on that bomb squad?” You called out, another rogue tear burning down your cheek.

“They should be here any minute.” Sam’s reply made the tension in your chest ease slightly, and as if on command, the bomb squad came running up to the train car.

Bucky’s hands were solid around yours, and his gaze was unflinching and unafraid. He had you. That thought made your heart rate slow. He had you, he had you.

“So what do you have here?” A lady asked, jogging up and hopping into the train car, looking down at the explosive. She hummed, nodding before reaching into her kit. You looked down to watch her work, new fear ripping through you.

“No, just look at me,” Bucky ordered, making your gaze snap up to his. You nodded, doing your best to hold his gaze as the woman worked on the bomb.

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” You murmured, the fear making your inhibitions lowered, “I don’t think I ever told you that.”

Bucky’s lips edged up into a smile, “Well, I figured you thought so considering how fast your heart was beating in that train car a few minutes ago. Or were you thinking about something other than my eyes?”

His charm worked perfectly, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Look at us,” You mused, glancing down at the bomb for a moment before looking back up to Bucky, “A few months ago you wanted to kill me, and now we’re holding a bomb I pulled to save your ass, again.”

“No, I still want to kill you sometimes,” Bucky amended, but the words held no merit.

“Alright,” The bomb squad lady said, grabbing onto the underside of the bomb, “You can let it go now. I’ve got it.”

Your smile faded and you locked your gaze with Bucky’s again. He pulled one of his hands off and your grip on the explosive tightened. You shook your head slightly.

“It’s okay,” He murmured, nodding to you, “Let it go.”

Bucky slid his hand that was left on the bomb to yours, intertwining your fingers and slowly pulling your hand off. Before you knew it, Bucky had managed to pull your hand off the grenade. In its stead, Bucky held your hand tightly, pulling you instantly into his chest.

You let out a shuddering sigh of relief, leaning your head on Bucky’s shoulder. Slowly he pulled back, keeping your hand in his, “Come on, let’s go.”

You nodded, your fear ebbing as the two of you jumped down from the train car. In an instant, Sam was at the two of you, nearly knocking you over with a hug. You laughed, letting go of Bucky’s hand and hugging Sam back.

“You are insane!” Sam exclaimed, letting go of you and shaking his head, “Absolutely insane.”

You smiled, “Thanks,”

Sam laughed, shaking his head as he walked over to Bucky, “So not a compliment.”

After he checked in with Bucky he turned and faced the two of you.

“Good work, guys. Glad to see you’re not killing each other here.”

“Yet,” You and Bucky happened to say at the same time.

Sam smiled, “I better be off, I’ve got a mission I left to help out here.” Pausing, he looked over to you and gestured to Bucky, “Take care of him?”

You smiled, nodding, “Always.”

The two of you said your goodbyes as Sam turned and flew off. With a long sigh, you turned and began to make your way back to Bucky’s car.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I could go for some food right now.” You announced.

“Wait,” Bucky stopped you, grabbing your arm and pulling you around to face him, “What you said back there to Kingpin…did you mean it?”

For a moment, you considered playing dumb and asking what he meant. But you knew what he meant, and he knew you did. You had inadvertently said that you loved him, and because of the bomb situation you almost thought you’d make it out without having to confront it.

You held Bucky’s gaze that was searing into you, and suddenly you were overcome with that same sensation to kiss him as before. With him standing this close to you and after what you’d just been through together, it took all of your strength to hold back. The tension in the air between the two of you as he waited for your response was maddening.

“Well, I did nearly blow myself up for you so take that as you-”

“You are infuriating,” Bucky huffed, tugging you closer so that your body was flush against his. Your joking ended immediately, your pulse flickering wildly as his lips danced just out of reach of yours. His blue eyes were dark as he stared down at you, each of you daring the other to make the first move.

Your lips brushed against his as you spoke into the silence, “I meant it.”

And then his lips were on yours. His arm was around your waist, pulling you tight as his other tangled into your hair. This kiss had been brewing for months, and you could feel it. Lightning danced across your skin as he kissed you desperately, in a way that made your arms tighten around his neck to keep yourself from falling. He nipped at your bottom lip softly, then pulled away and moved to hold your face in his hands.

For a long while, Bucky just stared at you with a soft smile playing on his lips. You smiled, still dazed from the kiss.

“What?” You asked.

He ran a thumb across your cheek tenderly, “I was just trying to think back to when things changed between us. But…but I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.”

Your smile widened and you surged forward, kissing him again. Pulling back, you gazed up at him with an amused glint in your eyes.

“And when you were choking me in my kitchen, threatening to kill me, that was you showing your love for me?” You asked.

Bucky’s grin turned suave and playful as he threw his arm across your shoulders and walked with you towards his car, “Well, you seemed to like it enough in that train car.”

Your cheeks heated and you scoffed, slapping his muscled chest as the two of you walked.

“Jerk,” You laughed out, and he held you closer to him with a smile.

“I love you too.”

#angst #fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x fem!reader #the winter soldier #fatws bucky #angst oneshot #sam wilson #enemies to lovers

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artists-ally · 11 months

Note

can i just say you write harvey specter so fucking well i had to take multiple pauses throughout my reading cos i was literally gasping 😭 please write more harvey!! with an exhibitionist and breeding kink maybe? 😮‍💨

{To My Knees} Reader x Harvey Specter

Okay first off thank you so much?? You’re literally so sweet thank you babes. I try to keep my writing as canon as I can so I’ll take this as a good sign!! I got myself a little hot and bothered writing this so... Enjoy!! And as long as you keep showing up in my inbox with more recs I will gladly keep writing for this man 🫶 (please I am so desperate for requests) title from this song <- Highly suggest listening to while reading!!

Word Count: 4,240

Warnings: angst, smut, exhibitionism, breaking kink, degrading, oral (m!receiving) cum eating, Harvey being an asshole.

Summary: you test Harvey’s patience when out to dinner with a prospective client.

Tagging: @rosedpetal

~~~~~~~

When Harvey got a call saying that he was going to have to cancel your planned dinner, to say you were pissed would be an understatement. This night has been planned for weeks because of this exact reason. He always had last minute shit pop up and you were sick of it. So you called him.

“Yn, now is not the time-“

“Harvey, I don’t care. You promised this was going to be our night. I know you’re dedicated to your work and clients, but what about your dedication to me?”

He took a long pause. “I know, I’m sorry. But babe this is- this client isn’t one I can just roll over. It’s for one of the biggest private airlines in the world. I can’t skip this.”

“But you can snub me off?” You were fuming. And maybe you were being a bit aggressive, but he was being a complete asshole.

“If I had another choice, I’d take it but I don’t. I will make it up to you I promise, Yn.”

An idea popped into your head. “What if there is another option?”

“What are you talking about?” He sounded so puzzled.

“Take me with you.”

“No.” He snapped instantly. “Absolutely not, Yn. That would be breaking attorney-client privilege.”

“No it wouldn’t, he isn’t your client yet.” You had him by the balls with that one. You may have not gone to law school but in the years you’ve been with Harvey, you’ve picked up on a few things here and there. This tidbit of information may have just saved your ass and put Harvey’s tail between his legs.

Harvey let out a groan. “Fine. You win. Meet me at Keens at seven?”

You did a silent dance in your kitchen. “I’ll see you there. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You were absolutely not going to be on your best behavior. You wanted to shove it in Harveys face that you were not second place. In the beginning of your relationship, it was difficult to find a healthy work/personal life balance for him. It took time– and a calendar on your fridge– to get him all to yourself every once and a while. Things had been going great, and the scheduled time together made up for all the hard work in the beginning. But now? Oh, were you going to put on a show.

The plan was to get dressed up in something he couldn’t resist. To pin up your hair in a way that shows off your neck and shoulders. Those drives him crazy the most.

It takes a little bit of deciding before your eyes land on a velvet dress in the back of your closet. It was black and barely went to the middle of your thigh. Around the square neckline was cream colored lace, as well as around the edges of the sleeves. You paired it with some lace stockings and platform heels that made your legs look so long and irresistible.

After painting your lips dark with a cranberry lip-stain, you grabbed a jacket off the rack and headed out.

Much to your surprise, Ray was downstairs, ready to pick you up.

“Don’t you look stunning, my dear,” the older man smiled sweetly.

“Why thank you,” you did a little spin. “Don’t tell Harvey I said this, but I have a plan to ruin his night.”

“Can I ask why?”

“To teach him a lesson. He tried to blow off our date tonight because he got a last minute call with a client. Do you know what he would say to me if I had abandoned him to go cover someone's shift?”

“Nothing helpful,” Ray sighed, turning out of the parking lot and onto the main street.

“Exactly,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s unfair.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but can I offer you some advice?” You nodded. “Don’t agitate him too much? I know you feel like getting some revenge, and by all means, go terrorize that hard-ass. But only a little. He can be very unforgiving when it comes to his clients. Especially when he’s about to close.”

You knew better than to do that. It would land you on his shit-list, and not the fun one that led to him bending you over the nearest surface and taking him at his own will. His business shit-list was one of pure wrath, and you didn’t want to be on that one.

With a sharp left to the valet section, Ray parked the car and opened the door for you.

“Thanks, Ray. I’ll try not to cause too much trouble,” you gave him a subtle wink.

“You and I both know that wont be possible, dear. Have fun,” he gave you an equally daunting look before driving off.

The top of the line steak house stood in front of you, two minutes to seven. Right on time. The host greeted you with a smile and a not-so-subtle once over of your outfit. He showed you to your table, somehow managing to beat Harvey and his prospective client. It couldn’t have been more than four-five seconds when Harvey was brought over, and you stood to greet him.

“Don’t you look lovely,” Harvey grinned. You knew that look on his face; the one that told you to behave or you were going to get it. Anyone else but you would’ve missed it entirely.

“Thank you,” you grinned back, an equally challenging glint in your eye.

“Yn, this is David Cranwall, owner of Mystique Airlines,” Harvey gestured to the man off his left. “David, this is Yn, my girlfriend.”

“A pleasure,” David shook your hand. “Harvey tells me great things. And thank you for your flexibility.”

Flexibility? What in the hell did Harvey tell this guy?

“It’s not an issue.” It is most certainly a big fucking issue.

With a heated glance at Harvey, you took your seats and the two boys began their discussion about company plans and blah blah blah. You prowled the menu and pretended not to pay attention. When the waiter dropped by to grab drink orders, you intentionally ordered a rather expensive bottle of wine for yourself, not bothering to ask if anyone would like to share.

Harvey didn’t mind spending his money on you one bit, encouraged it actually, but he did give you a funny look. All you offered was a shrug before turning back to the waiter.

“Would anyone like to place an appetizer or an entree?” He asked politely, eyes staying on you.

Judging by Harvey’s tone, he was beginning to pick up on my intentions. “No, we’ll order when we’re all ready. I’m still deciding between the prime rib and sirloin.”

Bullshit. Harvey always went with the filet mignon. Especially at Keens. He was buying time. The waiter scurried away and you took a sip of the water that was already there, eyeing Harvey. Two could play this game.

Over the course of the next several minutes, you plotted your next move.

“... And when we finally get the airspace you’re looking for, we can start booking flights to anywhere you can put a billboard. I’m talking about Canada, Indonesia, even Christmas Island if you want. What I’m trying to get at is if you let my firm represent you, we can send your customers anywhere in the world. And that’s a promise.”

As you unrolled the napkin from your utensils, the spoon tumbled off the table. Oops. Harvey shot you an annoyed glare, but you just batted your lashes prettily before bending to pick it up. You knew he watched, because you saw him shift in your seat.

When you came up, you dragged your hand up the side of his leg, pausing at his knee before you came back up.

“Apologies,” you smiled at David, flagging down the waiter for a new one. He was a little too excited to follow your request. While the boys talked, you carefully scooted your chair closer to Harvey, and he didn’t seem to notice.

You wanted his attention.

When the waiter– Max? Mickey? Something like that– came back, the wine and scotch came with it. The three of you placed your orders and a shared appetizer of brussel sprouts. Harvey almost turned green at just the thought of eating those.

Picking the glass up, you tipped the wine a little too quickly for all of it to make it in your mouth. A few drops trickled down your cheek, all the way to your neck. “Jeez, I am clumsy today.” It was all part of the plan.

“Excuse me, my daughter is calling me. Let me take this,” David’s brow furrowed, quickly getting up and turning away.

“Take your time,” Harvey gave a single nod before whipping around to you. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever do you mean, Harvey?” His eyes followed your fingers as they drew along the line of spilled wine that went between your tits. You took that finger all the way to your mouth and were not shy with the show.

“Don’t start with me,” he warned. “I am not in the mood for your… your shenanigans.”

“My shenanigans?” You were a little appalled. You plucked one of the small slices of bread from the basket, dipped it in butter, and popped it in your mouth. “This was supposed to be a You-and-I kind of night. I was not supposed to be the third wheel here. You should be thankful I didn’t walk in here a half hour late, smack you in the face and cause a scene.”

“You wouldn’t do something like that.”

Your eyebrows went up. “Wanna make a bet?”

“No,” he seethed. “Stop whatever you’re doing. Now. This isn’t some type of game, Yn.”

“No, it isn’t. And I don’t think I will. Last time I checked you didn’t own me.” That was going to seal your fate. Harvey sucked in a deep breath and his eyes narrowed. Now he was playing into your games. You had him exactly where you wanted him.

When David returned, he didn’t notice the silent battle between the two of you as he asked about your relationship. How you met, how long you’ve been together. All that boring shit.

“Well, Yn was a friend of a client of mine. She was at the celebratory party and I couldn’t keep away from her. And she liked my jokes, even if she denies it.” “You know they were bad,” you chuckled. “You kept calling me Mrs. Specter from the second you opened your mouth.” “You guys are engaged?” David asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “Not yet, anyway. I already iron all his shirts and fix his tie every morning. I think I have completed the ‘wife starter pack’ to earn a ring.”

That got a laugh out of David. Harvey reached for your hand, and you rested it in your lap. Big mistake. Harvey’s finger pulled back the hem of your skirt and slid down your clothed pussy. It was an effort to not jolt at the sudden pressure.

His finger hooked under the elastic and you covered up the movement of his wrist by adjusting yourself in the seat, uncrossing your legs to give him access. That got a brush of his fingers against where you needed him, a sign of his approval.

It amazed you that David was clueless. Clearly he was a smart guy, but he was oblivious to anything else other than his business. Oblivious to the way Harvey dragged up his finger, circling your clit. To dissipate the urge to lean into it, you crossed your ankles, trapping his hand between your thighs.

He dug his nails into your skin. You flinched, letting out a small noise and knocking into the table with his knees.

“You alright, Yn?” Harvey asked, expression filled with anything but real concern.

To cover up your squirm, you did it again and grit your teeth. “Yeah I’m alright, just a cramp.” As you bent over to soothe the nonexistent ache, you dropped low enough so Harvey had to remove his hand. The glare you gave him was nothing short of pure rage. You knew when you stood up that there would be several nail marks just below the safety of the skirt.

Revenge time.

On your way up you plopped your hand in his lap, maybe a little harder than you intended. Maybe not. He lurched forward a micro-inch, and you had to suppress the giggle that bubbled up.

Their conversation went on, and you listened, getting details here and there. Soon the entrees came out and you all busied yourself with the rich and flavorful course. That was surprisingly the smoothest part of the night. David was very passionate about telling us about his grandson who had just gotten really into horseback riding. All about the different types of jumps and competitions– and how fucking expensive it was. He beamed with pride though, and it was sweet to see.

The waiter stopped by again to collect finished plates and ask for dessert. Without a second thought, you took the menu from his hands and settled on a big piece of blueberry cheesecake.

“I know I was intruding on your original plans, so I will let you all enjoy each other's company. Mr. Specter, it has been a pleasure. I will be in touch to discuss the contract agreement and our plans going forward. Miss Yn, a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well,” you offered a small wave to his departure, but Harvey walked with him all the way out. Time for step three: get Harvey alone.

He took longer than you would’ve thought, so out of curiosity you sent him a text to see if he was coming back. Of course he was coming back, who could resist spending time with you? Harvey most certainly couldn’t. There were things you could do to that man that no one else had been able to. He was a bit of a control freak. But with you? He wouldn’t want to give his control to anyone other than you. Not just in a day-to-day sense either.

There was nothing more sexually appealing than a man who was confident and could prove his word. At times Harvey was a bit arrogant, but at least he could back it up. He was quick witted and snarky to the core. Extremely petty and a little revenge crazed, but he was damn loyal. Which is what landed you in this situation in the first place.

Harvey-fucking-Reginald-fucking-Specter. Leave it to him to simultaneously break and keep his word at the same time.

Maybe it was because you weren’t entangled in the shit-show that was the corporate law world, but you just didn’t understand why he couldn’t ask to meet in the morning. Seriously, was money worth so much more than the time spent with the person you loved? Now you were just being jealous of David. That he took time away from your and Harvey’s night. But then again you have a right to be pissed. It was supposed to be your night. And without consulting you prior, Harvey went and changed your night.

“Excuse me miss,” a polite, quiet voice said from my side. “Mr. Specter has asked you to meet him. Follow me?”

Oh, well alright then. With a nod, you grabbed your purse and followed the staff member back, through the kitchen, and to this random little room filled with a few stacks of chairs and shelf of cleaning supplies.

“Here you are, Mr. Specter,” she said, like you were some gift or prize being handed to him.

“Thank you, Steph,” Harvey had a polite smile on his face that dropped the moment she closed the door. “I cannot believe you.”

“Oh please, save your breath.”

“Yn, I asked you to do one thing. One fucking thing, and you didn’t do it,” Harvey was furious, making all kinds of crazy gestures.

“This relationship isn’t a one way street, Harvey. And the last time I checked no relationship is, so why are you bossing me around like I’m a child, telling me what I can and can't do?” You came right up to him, inches from his face.

“Because you’re acting like an entitled brat.” He did not just say that. “All I asked was that you don’t cause any trouble and have some fucking manners.”

“And I think I did a pretty good job at that. I didn’t cause a scene, I didn’t blow your goddamn client. Why the hell are you so mad at me? All I did was have a little fun for once.”

“By making a show of yourself and embarrassing me in front of David?” Harvey scoffed. A cruel, wicked sound. “And did you really have to hit me in the balls?”

“Yes,” you smirked. “I did. And clearly you were enjoying my presence whether you want to admit it or not. I certainly wasn’t the one who put your hand between my legs. And by the looks of it, you were having fun playing along with it too.”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed and he crowded you against the wall, palms flat on the space beside your head. “So that’s what this is about?”

You blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Yn.” His hand was firm on your jaw, gripping it in a way that made your lips pucker out. “You know fucking well what you were doing.”

“So what if I did?” You shrugged.

Harvey gripped your throat, bringing you in closely to his lips. “You’re such a fucking brat, you know that? We can’t even enjoy a nice night out without you being desperate and needy for me. You want to be a brat and make a show of yourself? Fine, turn the fuck around and shut up.”

“Harvey-”

“Now.” Bingo. You got him. With a bite to your lip, you turned around and faced the wall, Harvey’s hard cock pressing into your ass. He was not gentle about pulling up your dress and tearing your underwear down your legs. “Yeah, look how fucking messy you are. All because you were mad about sharing?” He clicked his tongue together, fisting your hair between his fingers. “You’re lucky we’re not at home right now or I’d be far less forgiving.”

“What’s stopping you from taking me home then?” You asked, hissing when he pulled your head back.

“I thought I told you to be quiet.”

He let go of your hair and instead of the routine smack he usually gave to your ass, he opted for his nails. Which, objectively, was more painful. To keep quiet, you bit your lip and leaned into it.

The sound of Harvey undoing his pants sent energy pulsing through your body. Your core ached with the need to feel him. And he clearly didn’t feel like wasting any time either.

“If you so much as let out a pathetic whimper, I will put you on the ground and make you regret it. Do you understand?” His hand was back against your scalp, yanking roughly.

“Yes,” you answered.

He drug a couple fingers between your legs, coating his cock in the wetness before stepping flush with your body. As he pressed, he kicked the inside of your ankle to get you to spread your legs apart farther. Harvey’s hands were unforgiving on your hips, pulling you back into his thrusts.

Air was forced from your mouth with the power of it. It was so fucking hard not to beg and plead. But you kept quiet, unlike how Harvey normally likes it. He fucking loved it when you screamed.

“I know how hard it is to not get what you want,” his tone was condescendingly sweet. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you know who owns with fucking pussy. We both know you can’t make yourself feel the way I can.”

You quivered at his words, suppressing whimper after whimper when he put his hand back around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but he pulled you flat against this chest, ass pressed all the way into the hollow of his hips as he pumped in and out. A brutal, unforgiving pace.

“Harvey-” “If you think for a second you’re going to be able to cum,” he let out a vicious laugh. “Oh, pretty girl, do you have another thing coming. You wanted to be a whore, so I’ll fuck you like one. Girls who disobey direct orders don’t have permission to get what they want, do they?”

It was impossible to answer. You couldn’t move with the way you were pinned against him and the wall. In a quick second he spinned you around and lifted up under your thighs, holding you up against the wall. It was cold on your back, despite the heat coursing through your veins with such a fury it made you dizzy.

“Answer me, Yn.”

“I don’t deserve it,” you croaked.

“That’s fucking right. Suck.” He forced his fingers into your mouth and down your throat. Tears bubbled into your eyes and they closed, becoming weak and boneless in his grip.

Harvey bit at your neck and ear, and a pathetic moan slipped from your lips. The fingers in your mouth slipped out and wrapped around your neck, pinning your slumped body up.

“Keep quiet,” he demanded. His other hand slipped from your waist and covered your mouth. Fuck his hips were brutal. His cock even more so at this angle. How he was keeping you up, you’ll never know. But he did, fucking into you like his life depended on it.

You were so close to cumming. You just needed a little bit more friction. So you ground your hips down into his, desperately trying to get off.

He tightened his grip, cutting off more air, and you stopped immediately. “What the fuck did I say, hmm? Try that shit again and I’ll drag you into the main dining area and bend you over my knee for everyone to see what a desperate, cockslut you are. But I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Clearly you like making a show of yourself. What do you say? Should we go out there and put on a show?”

The scream that tore from you couldn’t be controlled. The two of you have done some messing around in public before, but nothing like this. Or the promise he made that you’re sure he’d follow through in. It thrilled you, the thought of all those people watching him fuck you… you’re just not sure it’s worth the criminal charges.

“Aww, you’re crying. I’m sorry, pretty girl. Fuck do you look so fucking hot when you cry from my cock. Fuck-” Harvey’s hips stuttered and he almost dropped you. “Don’t be sad you didn’t get to cum, I can figure out a way for you to make it up to me. Fuck- I’m gonna cum.”

You clenched hard around him, tears falling over his fingers as he forced his hips harder harder harder-

“I fucking own this pussy. Yeah you know I do, don’t ever say that I don’t ever again. This is my pussy to fuck and breed.” Harvey bit his own lips purple as he forced you down on his cock when he released. Fuck there was too much- “Take it. Take all of my cum, pretty girl. Yeah that it, take it all out of me and into that pretty cunt of mine.”

You didn’t have a choice. Not that you wanted one anyway.

Harvey held you up and rocked his hips in and out. There was a splat on the floor and he looked down, smirking like the devil.

“Was there too much of my cum to keep all inside that tight pussy of mine? Why don’t you get on your fucking knees and clean me up since you want to waste it.”

You obeyed and sank to the floor. Harvey forced his cock between your lips, and the familiar taste of him warmed your mouth. His thick length touched the back of your throat, and you gagged, but Harvey only grabbed the back of your head and forced you all the way down. His pelvic bone was flush with your nose, and more tears were forced from your eyes.

“Next time you wanna try some shit like that, remember who you’re dealing with, Yn. When we get home I am going to be far from gentle when I get back between your legs.”

He pulled out of your mouth and hauled you up to your feet. The feeling of his fingers inside you filled you with sparks as he coated his fingers before making you clean those off too.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Now, fix yourself so we can get out of here and I can punish you properly.”

Harvey fixed his pants and tucked in his shirt, leaving you all by yourself to clean up his mess. It had gone exactly how you wanted it to. Whether Harvey saw that or not, you didn’t know, but you have always had him under your control. You could make him smile just as easily as you could make him pull stunts like this one.

Curiosity and excitement filled you as you slid your sticky panties back on and fluffed your hair to one side before following Harvey out the door.

#harvey specter #harvey specter suits #suits #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter smut #harvey specter fanfiction #suits smut #smut

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azen13 · 2 months

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Your thoughts about yandere zhongli but in the au where you are the archon are tasty.... unfortunately, I don't think Zhongli will keep your Gnosis because it would be reneging on a contact and he is Contracts. But imagine... what if you sealed Morax away, and he (much like Azhdaha in canon) managed to split off a small part of himself to exist as a human, "Zhongli" the funeral parlour consultant? Your most devout worshipper.... until he frees your old enemy and friend, Morax. ♡

anon ur so real for this. i 100% agree zhongli wouldn't keep ur gnosis bc. god of contracts. the part about splitting off a small part of himself??? u truly ate. anyways here's a little drabble based on that idea! i had to rewrite it bc my laptop died and i lost my progress sobs

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Implied Stalking

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Every prayer made in your name is like a melody. They float across Teyvat, weaving together in a resonant unceasing chorus. From a young child wishing for protection for her father, to an old man begging for more time with his wife.

But beneath all the moving lines, beneath all the trills and mordents, is a peculiar prayer. A low, droning hum, one that seems to have gone on for centuries. When you listen to other prayers, you can glean out what it is saying. But while this one speaks in a language you know, it utters words you cannot understand. No matter how many sleepless nights you spend trying to decode its desires, they remain incomprehensible.

All that you know is that the person speaking it is deeply, utterly in love.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You hear it one day when you walk through the streets of Liyue, masquerading amongst mortals to understand their troubles. The sun has barely risen, its first rays turning the eaves of homes a warm amber color as you walk through Chihu rock.

Then you hear it. That low, rumbling tone, like an earthquake. It's coming from all around you, but you can't see anyone in front of you, so you spin around.

All you see is a man dressed in fine clothing, a slightly confused expression plastered on his face. Harmless. Unassuming. Even still, you cannot help but think that he looks strikingly like Morax.

"My apologies, I thought I heard something." You offer a kind smile, ready to turn away quickly, but the stranger steps forward.

"You are quite alright. It is quite early in the morning, so some exercise must be cautioned," he says, Cor Lapis colored eyes gazing at you intently. He even sounds exactly like Morax. His voice almost brings you to tears, but you sidestep your sorrows. "Perhaps we could walk together if you are concerned about danger?" The stranger asks.

You shake your head. "Thank you, but I would hate to impose on your time," you say. For some reason, the stranger's face tightens, almost imperceptibly so, but you see it in the slight frown of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes.

"I assure you," the man says, taking another step towards you, "I have no plans this morning." His words have an almost godlike authority to them, though you quickly brush aside that thought. You sense no such power from this man.

Taking another step back, you look into his eyes, as beautiful as polished amber, and stand firm. "I insist, I'm alright," you say, faking levity.

There is a moment of silence before the stranger lets out a soft sigh. "So be it," he says, pausing for a moment. "At the very least, may I know your name?"

By this point, you already want to leave. This man, human or not, is simply off-putting by how similar he is to Morax, in appearance, in voice, even in mannerisms. Still, you manage to stay smiling. "I'm Y/N," you say, offering your hand.

The stranger grasps your hand quickly in an almost vice-like grip. "I go by Zhongli," the man responds. He holds onto your hand for just a millisecond too long, but you don't pay it much mind. Letting go, Zhongli gives you a slight, almost unnoticeable smile. "I sincerely hope we meet again, Mx. Y/N," he says, turning around and casually walking away.

Something tells you that you will, in fact, meet him again.

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tumblerislovetumblerislife · 4 months

Text

she who became the sun

including but not limited to:

1) monk zhu who is DEFINITELY above worldly desires 2) there are many benefits to having a hand made of light (gee i sure wonder who's holding the knife?) 3) guys i think they used ye olde photoshop on zhu's emperor portrait

zhu kicking their feet & giggling @ ma (unfortunately no hair to twirl)

some modern zhus!

(image description below the cut because it got super long!)

[ID: digital art of the character zhu chongba/yuanzhang in the radiant emperor series in the first image, and then nine close-ups. the background is yellow and imitates rays of sun, dividing the image into sections, from the center of the sun, counter-clockwise.

section 1: zhu's head and neck. she is a chinese person with dark-brown eyes, shaved hair, and moles on her face and neck, looking down and smiling slightly. there are two slits in their eyebrows, and they are wearing a gold nose ring and various black and gold studs and rings in their ears.

section 2: two simple drawings, an arrow between them, labelled above with *OUYANG POV*. the first is zhu's face, drawn cartoonishly so that the cheekbones are very wide and the chin is very narrow, creating a triangle. the second is a cicada's face that looks very similar to the cartoonish zhu (the eyes replace zhu's ears and its mandibles replace zhu's chin).

section 3: three drawings of zhu, inspired by canon. the first is zhu as a monk, wearing orange robes and with ordination scars on her scalp. her head is angled down, but her eyes are raised. the second is zhu in he who drowned the world, her hair slightly grown out with a gold hairpin and wearing golden robes. someone is pointing a knife at her and she is smirking like the cat meme, her mandate of heaven illuminating her missing hand, which is showing the middle finger. the third is zhu as emperor, looking more masculine and attractive than the other images. she is wearing blue and gold robes with a dragon embroidered on them and a gold hair crown and pin.

section 4: zhu's profile, smiling after a flash of brown hair. they look modern, wearing a light-blue sleeveless turtleneck with an ace flag and she/they pin as well as a gold nose ring and multicoloured jewellery in their ears. her hair is shaved, but growing out slightly and there are two slits in her eyebrows, and two lipstick kisses on her cheek and corner of her mouth. they are surrounded by pink light, hearts and sparkles, and there is a heart reflection in their eye.

section 5: five drawings of modern zhu. the first is her eyes and thick eyebrows in greyscale, wearing yellow eyeliner that imitates the sun. the second is from the waist up, zhu smiling with their eyes closed, wearing a patterned white and green button-up and leather belt, along with multicoloured pieces of jewellery. the third is zhu's whole body, folded up in a seated position. she's wearing a yellow shirt with white flowers on, grey and brown checkered pants with a green belt, black and gold socks, and purple sneakers, along with jewellery and a gold choker. the fourth is zhu's nose and mouth, showing their nose ring and smile. the fifth is zhu from the knees up. she's looking sideways, right arm held to her head and wearing a bright multicoloured shirt and clashing striped pants over a black crop top, along with a nose ring and sun earrings. /end ID]

#the radiant emperor #tre #she who became the sun #swbts #he who drowned the world #hwdtw #zhu yuanzhang #zhu chongba #art #my art #tltl art #general ouyang #ma xiuying #mazhu #emperor zhu #modern au #this one is for the radiant emperor girlies (gender-neutral) you know who you are!#i think modern zhu should have the most colourful and terrible outfits ever. as a treat <3

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cordeliawhohung · 11 months

Text

As You Wish

knight!Price x fem!princess!Reader - part of @glitterypirateduck 's october writing challenge!

In order to save your people from a long lasting and brutal war, you are sent to the neighboring kingdom of Draewen to marry their prince. Sir John Price is tasked with ensuring you get there safely, but the forest of the mountain is wild and unpredictable. In a terrible twist of events, you learn the exact difference between the brutality of nature, and the brutality of men.

challenge story elements: Alternative Universe | forest/wooded area | bodyguard/protector | "Look at me."

masterlist

warnings: canon typical violence (brief descriptions of violence/blood), Price only calls reader Princess, attempted kidnapping, non-sexual nudity, a little too much world building, a little cuddling, a dash of hurt/comfort, a drizzle of very slight mutual pining

wc: 8.9k (sorry)

In two months, you would reach the kingdom of Draewen where you would spend the rest of your life as a trophy. It was a land said to be cloaked in vibrant green valleys and rich, winding rivers. When the Draewish messenger arrived in the great kingdom of Venaca to talk with your father, The King, about your marriage to their prince, he had arrived with pressed flowers that grew in the valley that laid right at the mouth of their kingdom. They were beautiful, and perfectly preserved, and it gave you a little hope for the scenery you knew you would be stuck staring at for the rest of your life.

As the Princess of Venaca, your father bestowed upon you one duty: marry the Draewish Prince so that they would lend their strongest soldiers in the fight against the Neshevian Army. You loved your kingdom. You loved the fresh fruits that grew in the orchards around the basin, and you loved the fresh spring water that ran off from the towering mountains that scared off most intruders. You didn’t want to leave. But if you wanted to save that scenery, save your people, then you would marry that prince.

You left at the end of spring when the white tips of the mountains that enveloped the basin melted away and the soil was rich with water and greenery. The crisp air of the mountains filled your lungs with a chill, even in the enclosure of your carriage. Golden rays of sun bled through the thick foliage overhead, and you had never heard the birds chirp so loudly in your entire life.

When night fell, and your caravan would stop to make camp for the night, the height of the mountains brought you so close to the stars you swore you could reach out to kiss them. Your lady-in-waiting, Eilra, would look at the stars with you, and point out vague ideas and shapes of what she could remember of the names of constellations.

“Zekral,” she said, moving her pointed finger in a circular motion. “God of War. His shield lies here.”

Though she pointed it out so clearly, you could hardly make out the shape, but you nodded anyway. “I wish I could look at the stars all night. I would name every single one of them,” you claimed.

“You would run out of stars,” Eilra laughed.

“I would sooner run out of names,” you retorted with a grin.

“Illasi,” someone interrupted.

Both you and Eilra turned to the new voice that spoke up beside you. The orange blaze of the campfire illuminated the features of a tall man with a sword strapped to his side. His arms were crossed lazily over his broad chest, and his eyes stared up at the sparkling sky just like yours had been. Faint scars littered his arms, but his bearded face remained completely intact despite the ruggedness that was evident throughout his body.

Sir John Price. He had been The King’s personal guard and military advisor ever since the previous man had been ousted as a traitor five years prior. Your conversations with him back in the kingdom had been short and quick, but you remembered him at the head of the table in the War Room. Stoic, leading, dangerous. Your father trusted him enough to put you in his care as you traveled to Draewen. Every single soldier and servant in the caravan answered to him.

“Is that a recommendation for a name?” you asked as your eyes carefully studied the man.

Looking away from the sky, John took a few slow and careful steps towards you. Though his height may have been intimidating to anyone else, you had only ever known the man as an ally. So when he crouched next to you, nearly joining both you and your lady-in-waiting on the log you found yourselves seated on, you weren’t scared.

“Illasi is the Goddess of Harvest and Blood,” he explained as his eyes looked back up to the stars. After a moment of searching, his hand raised into the air, fingers outstretched towards the vastness that swallowed the sky. “You can see her knife here.”

You did your best in attempting to follow his guiding hand, but the stars were too thick for you to really make out any solid shape. Really, you weren’t sure how anyone could look up at that void of stars and attempt to wrangle them into silly constellations. John seemed to notice your blank gaze, and he let out something that sounded like a breathy laugh as his hand fell away from the sky.

“Higher, Princess,” he said.

His fingers carefully brushed against the underside of your chin as he tilted your head up. Despite the chilly air that swaddled the mountain and her forest, his skin radiated heat.

“Do you see it? A single sided blade, one used for cutting meat?” he asked.

Suddenly, it all fell into place. You could see the stars lining perfectly to create a knife truly fit for a goddess. A strong point, a deep belly for the blade, and a strong and sturdy handle. This knife was one meant to draw flesh from bone.

“Looks like a hunting knife,” you noticed while John’s fingers withdrew from your chin. You hummed slightly as you broke your gaze from the sky and turned to him. “I didn’t take you for a stargazer, John.”

He looked down at you for a split moment before pushing himself back to his feet. For a man who was strong and dangerous enough to protect The King, he had such kind, almost soft, eyes.

“The earth, seas, and skies are the only thing that unites every human, Your Highness. Their stars included,” he responded simply. He then gave a curt and polite bow of his head while his hand lazily rested on the hilt of his sword. “Goodnight, Princess.”

You smiled. “Goodnight, John.”

The crackling of the fire only grew louder as he wandered off into the darkness of the woods, certainly to scout the perimeter or something military-like. You brought your gaze back up to the stars, and you found it odd how your eyes seemed drawn to Illasi’s Knife, like you couldn’t look anywhere else.

“Princess,” Eilra spoke up. She said the title softly, yet with an odd tone. It was the questioning tone she used with you whenever you confused her. “Why do you call Sir Price by his first name?”

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips as you looked at your lady. “Because Sir Price sounds a bit too much like surprise. A fitting name for a knight, perhaps, but not for any man. I believe everyone is human first before their title.”

Eilra repeated his name and title slowly as if she was feeling the exact way her tongue moved, and she grinned. “Is it not rude to ignore his title?”

“Titles mean nothing,” you defended. “And neither do names, really. I would respect him all the same even if he were called by any other name.”

It was always difficult for Eilra to hide her disapproval of your ideologies. She was a proper lady through and through, bound to the rules of The Royal Family ever since she became your lady-in-waiting. But she also knew better than to speak too far out of turn; not in fear of your non-existent wrath but in fear of not upholding any lady-like values.

That night, you fell asleep under the stars next to Eilra, and awoke early the next morning to pack up camp and return along your journey. The days were long as you sat inside your carriage, and attempting to rest as you traversed the uneven trail was impossible. Conversation could only cure your boredom for so long, and you had already finished the two books you had allowed yourself to bring.

But things only got worse as a second winter hit.

Not even a full two weeks into traveling, a bitter wind tore through the caravan around midday, and snow followed shortly after. The soldiers and servants muttered amongst themselves when the first flakes hit the soil. Some said they ought to turn back for Venaca while they still could. Others claimed the snow would vanish as quickly as it appeared.

You tried not to concern yourself too much with the new events. Fighting against nature was a futile battle, and you knew that you would just have to take things in stride. But when the caravan stopped, you couldn’t deny that sinking feeling that settled deep within the darkness of your stomach.

“Perhaps we are making camp,” Eilra rationalized. “It would be unwise to push forward in these conditions. If we wait out the storm, we can continue when better weather comes.”

You moved the maroon curtains that obscured the small window on the door and peered outside as best as you could. The warmth of your bodies and breath had fogged the window, and you took the sleeve of your dress to wipe the moisture away. Only an expanse of trees was there to meet your vision, their fresh green branches turned pale with powdery snow.

It came as sudden as the flapping of a bird's wing and as violent and unstoppable as the water of a raging river. First was the sound of a dull thud, and then a shriek from one of the servants. You tried your best to peer out the window, to press your ear firmly against the wood of the door to make sense of the commotion as it grew louder. Metal clanking together, barking shouts and gurgling yelps, a cacophony of pain that you had never been subjected to previously.

It wasn’t until a streak of red as rich and dark as the very color of your curtains stained the thin window of your carriage that you fully understood the danger of the situation. Nature wasn’t the only threat in the wilds. Man could kill just as quick and as violent as the earth could, and with a hatred that even the God of Death himself would look away from.

You didn’t even have time to cower away from the gore or scream in fear before the door opened with such force it nearly broke off its hinges. A strange man in leather armor and a dark blue cloak peered into the carriage with wild eyes, glancing back and forth between you and Eilra. The three of you were frozen as if the mountains had sapped you of all your warmth already. This man - this wild animal of a man - was trying to make a decision.

Cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist with a grip so stern you couldn’t help but cry out as the man yanked you out of the carriage. Your knees hit the frozen ground with a harsh pop, and your shoulder screamed as the man attempted to force you to your feet by pulling on your arm.

Eilra’s voice was raw when she called your name. Your true name, the name your mother or father would mutter to you in private when they held you in their arms. The name they used before sending you to some distant land. She called you by your name and it was the last word that passed her lips before it was cut off with a sickening gurgle.

Even if you wanted to, you weren’t able to look back at the carriage before another pair of hands grabbed you. Both men worked together in securing you with harsh rope that dug into your skin and a ragged cloth that obscured your eyes. Your knees sunk further into the fresh snow as you struggled pitifully against those barbarians, but your cries and pleas were drowned out by the chaos that raged around you.

“Are you sure she’s the princess?” one of the men asked.

“Who cares. She’s a girl, isn’t she?” the other barked.

They spoke your tongue but their tone was wrong. There was a certain lilt to their speech, and their words sounded too detached from one another. Neshevian you thought. They were from the very kingdom your people had been warring against since before you were brought into that world. The whole reason you were traveling to Draewen was to unite armies to fight against them, and they had come along to slaughter your caravan in retaliation.

“So was that one!” one barked. “Yet you ran her through like a pig.”

“This one has a nicer dress,” another retorted.

“If she is not the princess, then we lose our advantage over the Venacians you bastard!”

They continued their bickering while they bound rope around your wrists and ankles. The harsh wind tore at the skirt of your dress, exposing your stockings which did little to ward off the cold. A violent hand shoved you down, and without the proper use of your hands, your shoulder broke the fall. Snow flung into the neck of your blouse, and your skin tensed as it soaked into the fabric of your dress.

The men had stopped their arguing and instead began to shout at someone. What they were saying was lost on you. Blood gushed through your body and it felt as cold as riverwater, and was just as deafening. You heard what sounded like more shouting, a single roaring yell, and then nothing but nature. The wind whispering in the woods, a bird calling to a lover, the huff of horses.

Then there was the sound of footsteps. Thick, heavy footsteps that were accompanied by a metallic clink. You willed your heart to still, your breath to slow, because you refused to show fear in the face of the enemy despite the fact that it coursed through your veins with the warmth and raging fire of the sun.

Large hands held onto your wrists, still bound behind your back, but they were more gentle than before. You felt the cold metal of a sword or knife brush against your skin, and you cursed yourself for the way you jumped. Not a single drop of blood left your skin as the blade sliced through the rope and the rope alone.

Though you had free use of your hands, you stayed there on the ground, lying on your side as the ropes around your ankles were cut free. The blindfold remained around your eyes for a painfully long time as someone got on their knees in front of you. Gloved hands gripped your shoulders, urging you to sit up, and you obeyed so quickly you felt your own head spinning.

“Princess?” It was John. His voice was hushed as if he were trying to hide, but you knew from the overwhelming crescendo of nature that there were no men left alive; friend nor foe.

With a trembling lip you brought your hands up to your face and slipped your thumbs underneath the blindfold. You pried the cloth away from your eyes only to be blinded by the brightness of the dazzling white snow around you. Those hands remained on your shoulders even as you blinked away the light around you.

“Look at me,” John spoke.

His face was the very first thing your eyes were able to focus on. With eyes as rich as the deepest waters of the ocean, and as soft as the grass you used to play on as a child, you almost didn’t notice the blood smeared on his cheekbone. You saw the splatter on his skin, and the way it soaked into the cotton of his shirt. In his travels, he hadn’t worn his armor and yet he was still unharmed. But your eyes began to wander further. Away from him and to the gore that laid behind him.

“Look at me,” John said again with a small shake of his head. His hands moved from your shoulders and came to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. It was a gesture you should have reprimanded him for, something a knight should have never done to someone of your status, yet you said nothing. “Look at me, and only me. Don’t look anywhere else.”

You swallowed hard, and it felt like there were riverstones stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to look anywhere other than him, but you felt that you needed to; you needed to see the violence. How vibrant blood looked upon freshly fallen snow, what eyes looked like when they lost their light, or what a body looked like slumped on the floor of a carriage. Nature demanded that you looked upon the mess that came with the burden of being a princess.

Instead, you nodded your head as you kept your eyes on John and nowhere else. His hands fell from your face and took your hands instead as he pulled you to your feet. He led you away from the main road and towards the forest. The path he took was odd and not at all straight, and you pushed the idea out of your mind that he walked so strangely to avoid tripping over bodies.

John brought you to a towering pine tree only a handful of paces from the road where he told you to stay. He left you briefly to scrounge up as much food and clothing as he could before returning back to you with a loaded horse. He swaddled you in a thick fur cloak like a mother would wrap her child in a blanket before aiding you in sitting on the horse. He settled in behind you, pulling your back snug against his chest before taking off deep into the forest.

You weren’t sure what he had planned, but you were too defeated to even ask. There was no turning back or pushing forward in weather like that. Perhaps he was trying to find a good place to put the two of you to rest.

While John’s eyes meticulously scanned the forest for any further sign of danger, yours welled with tears. You wanted to go back for them. For every single soldier and servant that laid slaughtered on the road. At least dig them a grave, no matter how shallow. You’d bury them all and then bury yourself with them.

“Neshevian,” you finally spoke. It felt like you had been traveling for days, though the sun remained as high in the sky as ever, despite how muted it was with the clouds. “Why were they in our lands?”

“You already know the answer,” John replied. He didn’t say his answer outright, as if he refused to even entertain the thought of your death or capture. But he was right. Those men had made it all too clear why they were there.

“They killed Eilra,” you said, voice on the verge between whisper and sob. You wanted to cry, or at least, you felt like you should have. It felt wrong to sit on that horse and wander off into the frosty woods while their bodies turned to frozen statues behind you. But you couldn’t. You drew breath, and they couldn’t, and you still couldn’t cry. “Are we really the only two left?”

For the first time since you had met the man, John hesitated. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

You didn’t need him to explain any further.

As night grew closer and the forest became more dense, the wind and snow picked up with a vengeful fury. It howled from between the tree branches above your head as if letting out the anguish your body refused to let you feel. Flakes of snow nipped at the skin of your nose and cheeks, and you pulled the fur lined cloak over your mouth in an attempt to protect yourself.

If John was cold, he didn’t show it, but the harsh breaths of the horse proved its exhaustion. There was no caravan, no carriage or bonfire to warm up next to. There was only you, John, a horse, and the wild woods of the mountain.

“Can we make camp?” you asked, unable to hide the slight chattering of your teeth.

“We’ll die if we rest here,” John retorted.

“We’ll die if we continue,” you whined.

He didn’t bother with an answer, and you didn’t bother with another complaint. A thin layer of snow covered the both of you, clinging to clothing and hair alike, and your legs felt frozen in place on either side of the horse. Perhaps you weren’t far off from sharing a grave with Eilra.

“There,” John suddenly pointed out.

You squinted in an attempt to peer through the relentless bombardment of snowflakes. Off in the distance not too far away was a small hut or cottage of sorts. It appeared to be built by the very same wood that covered the area and was hardly any larger than your bedroom back in Venaca. Snow sat in heaps on top of the thatched roof, and it nearly blocked the windows in full.

“We’ll rest there,” John said, kicking the horse into a gallop.

Dust and dirt settled heavily over every item inside of that cottage; the small, worn table, the mantle on the fireplace, even the blankets that covered the bed. Whoever the home belonged to had long since abandoned the building. It was warmer in there, but perhaps it only felt that way because you were no longer being ravaged by the stabbing wind. There were no rooms, only one large living area, and the only thing that offered even a slight bit of privacy was a large, wooden divider that stood near the foot of the bed.

Darkness swallowed the room when John shut the door, and you felt around the room blindly until you found the fireplace. You got on your knees and continued feeling around until you found a pile of old, dry wood that laid in a small heap next to the hearth.

“There’s wood here,” you breathed as you struggled to grab a log. “Perhaps we can start a fire, lest we freeze to death.”

“No. No fires tonight,” John said as he gently tossed a small pack onto the floor next to you. “The smoke might attract someone.”

You ceased your attempt at pulling the logs from their stack and slumped forward with a heavy sigh. Every muscle in your body was tense and numb with cold, and he was denying you a fire?

“Who would travel through a storm like this over a fire?” you asked, a bit more bite to your words than you intended for there to be.

The shuffling next to you paused, but only for a short moment before John continued with his blind pursuit of whatever items he attempted to retrieve. “Desperate men hunting down a very important woman.”

Of course.

John’s hand brushed against your shoulder, and you jumped at the touch. His hand didn’t retract from you, in fact, it began to trail down your arm until it reached your hand. Even in the stark cold that bound itself to your body you could feel your skin heat up.

“What are you-?”

Your question was cut off when you felt his other hand push something into your palm. Once he was sure you had a good grasp of the item, he let go of you as if he had never even touched you in the first place.

“Dinner,” he said simply along with something that sounded like a chuckle gone sour.

Huffing, you brought the item up to your nose to give it a quick sniff. It was rugged, and smelt of pepper and herbs. Jerky; your people had been packed with plenty of it for your journey. Delicious, yet the thought of eating after everything you endured that day made your stomach turn.

“I’m not hungry,” you said softly as you lowered the dried meat.

Even through the darkness you could feel John’s searing stare, and you had never felt so ungrateful in your entire life. This man had saved your life and dragged you through half the mountainside just to protect you. He tried to nurture you, and you denied him all because the guilt was eating too heavily at your stomach for you to fill it.

“I’ll feed you by my own hand, if I must,” he said, and it sounded dangerously close to a promise.

You didn’t respond, but the sound of your teeth ripping off a chunk of the meat seemed to satisfy him enough. He continued to dig through the pack before pulling out another item. It was a blanket, you found out, as he wrapped it around your shoulders. The fabric was cold, but between the cloak and the blanket, you would be warm enough for the night.

John rose to his feet and carefully slid along the wall of the cottage where you heard the faint sound of wood scratching on wood. A chair, you realized. He was dragging a chair from that small dining table you had caught a glimpse of earlier. He placed it not too far away from where you sat on the floor, and it slightly creaked underneath his weight as he sat and finally allowed his body to rest.

“Get some rest, Princess,” he said softly. “It’s been a long day.”

At that point, you knew better than to tell him that you couldn’t, so instead you pulled the blanket tighter around your body before laying on the stiff wooden floor. That night, there was no laughter beside a hearty campfire, or Eilra’s giggles. There were no stars to blanket you, or a moon to whisper a lullaby. There was just the steady sound of John’s quiet breathing and the whistling howl of the wind.

Morning dawned before you knew it, and it felt like you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Your body screamed at you as you pushed yourself off the floor, knees and arms still sore from being dragged around. You looked around the cottage. Small streams of cold light cut through the air, giving the dull and dusty room an ethereal glow.

John still sat in that chair next to you, his eyes lazily focused on you as you stirred awake. He wore his cloak and he had folded a blanket to rest over his lap. Even with the cold his hands rested on top of the blanket for what you assumed was to keep easy access to the sword that rested against his thigh.

“It’s still early if you’d like to sleep longer,” he said. There was a certain deepness to his voice, one that you remembered feeling in your own throat when you were tired.

“I’ve slept long enough,” you answered.

Keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders, you stood to your feet before walking to one of the windows. Snow had piled up on the windowsill, but if you stepped on the tips of your toes you could peer out over it. The wind had stopped, and the cottage felt warmer, but flurries of thick snowflakes continued to smother the once green forest around you.

“Have you slept?” you asked while turning back around to face him.

John stayed silent for a moment too long before saying; “I’ve gone longer without sleep.”

“So, no,” you concluded. You took a few steps closer to him before gesturing to the spot on the floor you had spent the night on. “Sleep. You won’t be any good with that sword if you’re hallucinating shadows from exhaustion.”

Like a curious dog, John tilted his head at you as his hand slowly, almost absentmindedly, reached for the hilt of his sword. Not in a threatening manner, but almost as if it was his only comfort. Out there in the wilderness, with no one but you to watch his back, it probably was his only comfort.

“I appreciate your concern, Princess, but I’m fine. Truly,” he assured.

That wasn’t good enough for you, and you knew it was the furthest thing from the truth he had ever told you. Two weeks worth of travel was already bad enough, but fighting off those men, killing them, was no easy feat. Skipping sleep was unacceptable, and it would catch up to him before long.

So in one last attempt, you pointed towards the ground as you kept your eyes locked onto that stubborn knight. “Sleep. That’s an order.”

Despite your words, there was a heavy lack of authority in your tone, and it came off as another request rather than a demand. Being embraced by a thick blanket and fluffy cloak didn’t give you the aura of a leader, either. Nothing but Venaca’s darling little princess, too kind and soft-hearted for her own good.

You didn’t realize how close you stood to John until he rose from his seat. Despite the proximity, you refused to move, even when you swore you could feel his breath fan across your face. With sword in hand, and blanket tucked under his arm, he gave you a slow nod, the dark azure color of his eyes didn’t leave you for a moment. He gave you a small, tired, and perhaps half forced smile.

“As you wish.”

The snow didn’t stop falling until it covered your knees. Three days worth of winter left the vast forest feeling small as you and John were mostly confined to the tight space of the cottage. He still refused to make a fire, which meant the two of you spent most of your days sitting on the floor together huddling for warmth as best as you could.

After a week of being trapped in the cottage, John ventured out to hunt. Apparently he was just as good, if not better, with a bow as he was with a sword, and he returned back with a rabbit and a tail feather from a capercaillie. That was the first time John allowed a fire, but he built it small with nothing but bark shavings. You enjoyed the warmth while it lasted before he snuffed it out once the rabbit cooked, and though it wasn’t seasoned, you were just happy to have something other than chewy dried meat.

John still refused to sleep at night, and would sit in that old, creaking chair with his sword across his lap, and would sleep for a few hours during the day only after you woke. On the nights that you couldn’t sleep, either from the anxiety or the cold, he would tell you stories. Ones that he would make up, or tales from his childhood. The dark baritone of his voice was comforting, and you found yourself sleeping better on those nights.

In the daytime, he would take his hunting knife and carve gentle lines in the wood of the floor to mimic constellations he knew. Everything from fruit, to swords, he stuck those crude drawings into the cottage as a permanent reminder that despite Neshevia’s attempts, you were still alive and well.

“Onme’s Necklace,” he said softly after carving what appeared to be a simple circle with a bump at the bottom. “The Goddess of Love and Fertility.”

You reached out a hand and used the pads of your fingers to trace along the wood. It felt faint and hardly there, yet it made your heart race all the same.

“Do you think the Prince of Draewen will gift me a necklace for marriage like our people do?” you asked, eyes still trained on the floor.

John shuffled as he sheathed his knife and placed it on the floor next to him. Though your eyes were focused elsewhere, his were only on you.

“Difficult to say. I’m not familiar with Draewish courting customs. But you would deserve nothing less, Princess,” he said, voice still soft and low.

All you could do was hum as you pulled your knees to your chest. With the wind gone, the cottage grew warmer, though you were still ages away from being able to continue your journey through the mountains with the snow settling so heavily along the lands. Or maybe it felt warmer because John, against his better judgment, allowed himself to be closer to you physically.

“I hope he is kind,” you said suddenly.

“And if he’s not?” asked John.

“Then I will marry him anyway. It is what is required of me to join our armies, to end this blasted war,” you answered without much thought. But then, you did. You paused to think, and every single thought spewed from your mouth in an unstoppable wave. “I will marry him, even if he isn’t kind, and I will bear his children, and I will be his queen. I’ll spend my days looking out over the green valleys and rivers they say cover their lands, and I’ll think of the orchards that I used to roam as a child as I do. I think that might be my last thought before I either die an untimely death due to his boredom with me, or of old age after being overshadowed by his mistress for the second half of my life.”

Not even the gods themselves would have thought about breaking that suffocating silence that followed your words. There was still so much you wanted to say, rotting feelings that infected your chest, but they were ideas that you pushed aside because you could not afford to depress yourself with those thoughts.

“You are a princess,” John spoke, daring to break that quietness, “you deserve better.”

“I deserve nothing more than anyone else,” you quickly retorted, your eyes glued to the carving of the necklace on the floor. “Besides, no one gets married because of love. The oath is just to make the necessity seem sweeter, but it’s poison all the same.”

“Don’t speak of yourself in such a way,” John said. It was the closest thing to an order you had ever heard him speak, and you weren’t sure of what to think about the fluttering in your chest that followed his words. “You hold a power that makes nations tremble; one that has men scrounging the mountainside for you. Thimme would look upon you and weep until the oceans flooded the earth.”

Thimme. Had he dared to compare you to the Goddess of Beauty Herself? You tore your eyes away from Onme’s Necklace and planted them on John instead. It was then that you realized he himself wore no necklace. You didn’t like the way your heart hummed at that realization. Something started to grow inside of you and you wanted nothing more than to smother it.

Cabin fever. That’s all it was.

You should have said something, should have reprimanded him for saying such a thing. Instead, you found your heart reveling in his words as your throat grew tight with the thought of asking him for more. You laughed in disbelief as you looked away from him, unable to say anything that wouldn’t incriminate you.

Whatever words that were unsaid between the two of you were silenced by the sound of creaking hinges and a blast of cold air. Your eyes were drawn to the door where three shrouded figures slithered inside with snow covered boots and frosted cloaks. John rose to his feet with the quickness of a wolf, his sword already unsheathed and at the ready before you could even comprehend the danger.

“Our quarrel is not with you,” one of the men barked. His accent was strange. It wasn’t ugly like the Neshevian accent was. It was more flowing, and gentler in a way, but you couldn’t quite place where it was from. But he was a threat all the same. “Hand us the Venacian blight and we’ll be on our way.”

John strengthened the grip on his sword as he raised it higher. “I’ll have your head for that.”

The three men seemed more like monsters than human; more akin to bears than any other earthly creature. They had broadswords for claws and thick woolly cloaks for fur. The only thing human about them was the way they looked at you as you huddled on the floor behind John; not with hunger, not with a need to survive, but with a malice only humans could comprehend.

No other words were wasted from either side before swords started to clash together with sickening screeches. Flashes of silver iron moved in a blur as John kept up with each of the men. In a way, he had the advantage in that small cottage. The intruders couldn’t use their full range of motion without risking injuring their comrades, and John used that to his advantage as he slowly pushed them to the far side of the room.

You had never seen him in action before, and you had prayed to the gods that you never would have had to. The only thing you could think of was impressive. There was no flourish to his movements, and there was no showing off. Just simple, precise, and deadly strikes and slashes that left superficial cuts along their skin. But no amount of skill could save someone from fighting three monstrous men; even a man as talented as John Price.

If he wanted to even the playing field, he would have to incapacitate or slay one of the men. In order to do that, he would have to focus his blows on one man, or get lucky and hope one of his defensive moves would knock them away. But if he focused too much on one man, it left him open for the other two to attack.

You had to draw one of them away.

You grabbed the knife John had left on the floor and slid it out of its sheath. It was a well kept blade that glinted dangerously in the little light that bled through the cottage windows. With shaking knees, you pushed yourself to your feet and threw the leather sheath at the intruders, which caught one of them off guard, allowing John to land a fair slash against the man's ribs. He howled in pain as he backed up, body hitting the wall behind him. Hiding the knife underneath your cloak, you ensured your feet hit the floor as loudly as you could manage as you dashed out of the cottage.

John’s horse huffed at you, certainly out of hunger, as you scurried through the snow as fast as your legs could carry you. It neared dinner time, and the sun slowly fell towards the horizon, casting an orange blaze across the sky in its wake. Had you been in Venaca, you would have enjoyed the view. But not then. Not with the frigid air lining your lungs with frost. Not when you ran for your life.

“Zekral,” you prayed breathlessly. “Zekral, give him strength. Uvral, let him live.”

Like you had expected, one of the men managed to break away from the fight with John. It was not the man that had been wounded, but you could hear his snarling gasps behind you while you fled. You didn’t dare glance behind you because you knew you would freeze if you caught sight of the monster that chased you. Instead, you kept your eyes straight ahead as you weaved between trees and slick thickets.

A glittering stream snuck up on you so carefully you nearly tossed yourself into the water before you realized it was there. The orange hue in the sky reflected off of its crystal-like waters, almost making it seem warm and inviting. Despite it’s beauty, you realized it cut off your escape route.

It forced you to hesitate.

A hand grasped the hood of your cloak and the clasp caught your throat as you were yanked back into a chest so firm you could have sworn it was stone. Suffocating arms wrapped around your chest, and you found a scream escaping your throat as the air was squeezed from your lungs.

“Vodrir smiles on me this day!” the man claimed triumphantly over your cries.

You didn’t know why, but in that moment you thought of home. So far away, and yet you could feel the greenery on your feet, and taste the fresh apples from the orchards. You could smell the breeze as it drifted through your bedroom window, and feel Eilra’s hands as she braided your hair.

Was this death? Was this Uvral comforting you before silencing you forever?

With whatever strength you could muster and a shout that only a dying animal could make, you took the knife hidden underneath your cloak and blindly stabbed it over your shoulder. The man howled as the blade sunk into the flesh of his chest, but his arms only tightened around you as his muscles tensed from the pain.

Just as quickly as the man's arms tensed, you felt a little slack as his arms fell off of you. A gasp filled your chest as you were able to take a proper breath, only for that breath to get pushed out of your lungs as the man shoved you away from him.

You tried to catch yourself, tried to regain your balance as you stumbled forward, but it was too late. Every single muscle in your body seized as the icy water of the stream enveloped you in a soul snatching embrace. Any thought that had been in your mind before was erased as your body laid in the bed of the stream as if you were resting. It didn’t even feel cold anymore, it just hurt. Like every soldier in Neshevia had run their blade through you at once.

Maybe that was what you deserved. But you refused that fate.

Thrashing in the water, you came to your senses and pushed yourself to your knees as your head broke the surface of the stream. Your gasp for air rang throughout the forest like a lone bell in an abandoned city. Sharp rocks dug into the flesh of your palms as you coughed and sputtered while you dragged yourself to the bank of the stream.

A pair of hands landed on your shoulders, and it was like you had fallen into that stream all over again. You let out a pathetic excuse for a war cry as you attempted to push the man off of you. You would not be the enemy’s pawn. You refused to be the blood that fed and enriched the soil beneath your feet.

“Princess, look at me,” a desperate voice pleaded.

It was a voice you knew well. One that had comforted you with strange stories as you slept. One that taught you the constellations. It was a voice you wanted to drown yourself in.

“It’s me, Princess. I’ve got you,” he said softly.

John held your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. Fear flooded his eyes as he took in the sight of your chattering teeth and trembling body. Water soaked straight through your clothes and clung to your body with no intention of letting go. You tried to speak, tried to do anything, but your muscles shook and convulsed with such strength your body was rendered nearly useless.

He wasted no time in relieving you of your cloak, which had grown heavy as it was weighed down from the water. Not even grunting with effort, John lifted you into his arms, holding you close to his chest as he marched back towards the cottage as fast as his feet would carry him. You closed your eyes when you caught sight of the man that had caught you, who now laid in the snow with a piercing wound through his stomach. Your arms curled in towards your chest, and it was then that you realized your hands and feet felt too light. As if they had floated away from your body long ago.

In order to reach the entrance of the cottage, John had to step over two bodies. Their blood tainted the snow in a similar fashion to a child who had spilled paint over their bedroom floor. But even with the mess, it was like nothing was there, no gore or death or bodies, it was just you and him.

John shoved the door open where the splashing of water falling from your clothes became obvious on the wooden floor. Inside didn’t feel any warmer than outside, but at that point you couldn’t even register temperature. All there was, was pain. Nothing but a numbness of pins and needles skewering your skin.

He attempted to set you on your feet, but they felt so detached from your body you stumbled onto the floor instead. His hands caught your waist, preventing too much damage being done to your knees, but then you felt him roam. Your corset loosened, and you felt his fingers dip underneath your dress as he yanked the soggy fabric off your body. He didn’t stop there, either. Your slip, your stockings and undergarments, if there was a piece of fabric on you that was wet, he tore them off until you were completely exposed on the floor underneath him.

You didn’t even have the energy to ask him what he was doing or to protest. The only thought that consumed your mind was to live as you drew breath after shuddering breath. It almost sounded like you were crying, and maybe you were.

John left your side for only a moment before he returned with the blanket the two of you had huddled under before those men had attacked. He wrapped it around your body before lifting you once again in order to set you closer to the hearth. You laid on your side and watched him with stinging eyes as he piled logs into the mouth of the fireplace along with kindling and other scraps. It was only then that you noticed his shirt had gotten wet too, most likely from carrying your soaking body back to safety.

In minutes, John had built the largest fire you had seen since the night before the caravan had been slaughtered. Its flames reflected off of the stones of the hearth, slowly filling the cottage with a heat your body was almost too numb to feel. As you laid on your side, you watched as he slipped his own shirt off over his head, tossing that damp garment in the same heap your own clothes sat in. If you weren’t struggling with each breath you took, you might have gawked at the hair on his chest or the faint battle scars that decorated his skin. Instead, you stayed silent as he vanished somewhere behind you.

Moments later, he returned with another blanket in hand. He settled on the floor behind you as he threw the blanket over both your bodies. The warmth of him soaked into your back as he pressed himself against you, trapping in any heat that attempted to escape. His hand settled on your arm as he quickly rubbed up and down, attempting to create any friction on your skin that he could. It sent a painful sensation ripping through your skin as your body finally started to regain feeling again.

“Talk to me, Princess,” he spoke, his breath hot on your neck.

You attempted to speak, but it came out as nothing but a whimper. Every muscle in your body twitched painfully, and it only got worse when you tried to stop shivering.

“Fi-re,” you were eventually able to choke out. “Sm-o-ke…”

John continued to rub his hands along your body as he did everything within his power to warm you. No one had ever touched you in such a way, and no man had ever gazed upon your bare body before. But in that moment, you didn’t care.

“If it draws anyone in, they’ll fall before they lay another hand on you,” he swore.

It was stupid, and you would have told him as much if you could have gotten your teeth to stop chattering. He had said it himself that smoke would attract those with ill intent towards you, which is why you had spent countless nights huddled alone on an unforgiving floor. But he risked it to save you. John was a strong fighter, that much you knew, but he couldn’t hold off an entire army.

After a while, John’s hand stopped rubbing against your arm and instead settled around your stomach as he held you tightly against him. Despite his height and broad shoulders, he fit against you so perfectly. His knees settled against the back of yours, his chin rested softly on top of your head, and gods he was warm. The feeling in your body returned, and you felt your skin defrost as the fire melted the ice from your veins. It was like you were back in the basin, sitting on the soft grass and clovers as the spring sun warmed your skin.

It was like you were back home, and not nearly dead in a cottage in the wild forest of the mountains.

“John?” you spoke up. Your voice was more fluid, and less tense as the spamming of your muscles stopped.

“Yes, Princess?” he responded.

“Those men… they were not Neshevian,” you said, and though you hadn’t framed it in such a manner, it was certainly an unspoken question.

“They were not,” he confirmed.

You sniffed some as you felt the snot in your nose start to run. It felt like you had a head cold, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you had gotten sick after your quick dip in the wintery stream.

“Where were they from?” you asked.

John’s arm tightened around your center as if he was afraid you’d slip out of his grasp. “They were Draewish.”

You swallowed the sinking feeling in your stomach. “Then they have betrayed us.”

For the first time since the night before you left for Draewen, you wept. Your tears soaked the carved up wood of the floor, and your shoulders shook not with cold, but with sorrow. You cried for the loss of your people, for the death of Eilra, for the war you weren’t any closer to winning. And most of all, you cried for yourself. You cried for the stupidly optimistic Venacian Princess.

Your tears ceased once the flames of the fire diminished to embers, and it was the first time John made even the slightest movement to leave you. He left his blanket covering your body as he knelt next to the fire, his bare back exposed to you. Two more logs were added to the fire, and he sat back on his haunches as he watched the flames devour the wood.

“When the snow melts, we’ll set off for Venaca,” he said, voice tired.

Nodding your head, you pulled your blanket tight under your chin as you curled forward. Night had fallen by that point, and you hadn’t even realized it since the fire had provided an unfamiliar light. It was the first night you had seen in weeks where you weren’t miserable.

“The city will fall within months without Draewen’s help,” you said. “Sooner if they choose to aid Neshevia.”

“Then let it fall,” John said gruffly. “They can burn it to the ground, but no one will lay a hand on you again, Honrul strike me.”

The determination in his voice almost made you believe him. You shifted slightly, your bones crying out from the harsh floor that offered no padding for your body.

“John?” you asked again.

At the sound of your voice, he turned so that he no longer faced the fire, but instead looked to you. Even in the dark shadows that casted on his face you could still make out the softness in his eyes.

You wondered if that softness was only there when his eyes were on you.

“Yes, Princess?” he answered.

“Lay with me.”

His eyes didn’t leave you for a moment, but you could feel the hesitation roll off his body. Maybe there was something unseemly about your request. Underneath your blanket, you were utterly naked and completely exposed. John had only laid with you before to warm you, and you were no longer in danger of freezing to death. It was improper, something both of you should have been reprimanded for.

“Is that an order?” he asked, shifting slightly.

“It’s a request.”

He froze for a moment, and you thought he was going to deny your request. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. Maybe he should have. Instead, he crawled on his hands and knees along the floor as he shuffled behind you once more. With careful hands, he moved his blanket off of you, still letting yours stay wrapped securely around your naked body to keep your modesty.

His chest pressed against your back and his legs bent with the curve of yours while he laid the blanket over both of you. A different and new bloom of warmth blossomed in your chest as his arm settled around your center again, holding you close. Never before had someone held you like that. Never before did you feel wanted for anything other than your status.

“Thank you,” you managed to choke out. “Don’t… don’t go.”

At your words, he buried his face into the back of your neck. You could feel the slight tickle of his facial hair, and how cold the tip of his nose was. When he spoke, you swore you could feel his lips ghosting against your skin.

“As you wish, Princess.”

ah!!! i was so excited to write this once i got the idea i finished it in three days (cringe) but i'm so happy to finally share it with you all! price is unfamiliar territory for me, but i tried to get the vibes of a tired dad down lmao knight!price is going to be rotting my brain for awhile, though.

thanks again gpd for doing this challenge! and everyone, make sure to check out the other entries!

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #f!reader #141challenge

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dipdopdog · 3 months

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oh OH MY GOD i didnt realize i was like spamming your blog for 20 minutesIM SO SORRY JDHJDFJ hHEY BTW you're one of my favorite blogs on tumblr this is the near-canon SMG4 experience i was looking for !!!!! X]c /vvvpos your work is very very lovely and wonderous !! dop may i request forrrr,,,,this idea thing that ive had in my head for so long where 3 & 4 get hit with some kind of personality-altering ray ,,,, and the smg4 crew like watch in horror as their buds smg3 and smg 4 suddenly act affectionate/close to each other (aka the complete opposite of how they act like fighting etc) for a day .? thank you so mmuch !!!! -🕊️

TYYYYY :DDDD

#smg4 #smg4 fanart #smg3 #smg4 bob #smg4 meggy #smg4 tari #smg4 boopkins #smg4 mario

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edgeray · 4 months

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*presses my face against your tank* HELLO RAY !!! :D I AM FINALLY HERE !! MY BRAINCELLS HAVE COLLIDED AND PRODUCED A THOUGHT !!

or, er, sort of? more like a vague vibe, but i digress. basically, consider: pining arle. how does she realize her feelings for you? how does she cope? how does her behaviour around you change? does it? what is she thinking the whole time? when would she consider making a move? essentially i would like to see you psychologically pick apart this woman. go as in depth into her brain or inner monologue as you want !!! the set dressing can be canon or an au, i’ll eat it up regardless :)) and as a professional angst writer i know you can write some absolutely monstrous (/pos) yearning and i’m frothing at the mouth thinking about it 🤤🤤🤤 lookin forward to your thoughts but also take your time with it !!! godspeed 🫡🫡🫡

An Unfit Role

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Oh sev… you spoil me too much. You truly do. Somehow this turned into very ‘Arlecchino is a person'-esque and I don't know how but oh well. I don't know if this answered your questions very well, but hopefully this is what you mean by psychologically picking apart her! Was this enough pining? Content warnings / info - uhh none I think. just a lil bit of angst, 1.4k words

Arlecchino is many things. The Fourth Fatui Harbinger, a Snezynayan diplomat, the head of the House of the Hearth, and simply ‘'Father.’ She takes on many roles, and enforces them with an iron fist, every facade meticulously practiced and rationalized. Perfected as if she were an actor on a stage, every action and step is calculated beforehand. And if external factors or unpredictable variables crop up in the midst of her play? Well, a good actor knows how to improvise. Arlecchino is well aware of her roles, has memorized the lines and drilled through every movement. The Knave has many feats from each character she plays. A flawless performer, in those aspects.

A lover is not a character she can play. Someone who loves. It is a role that she cannot hope to touch, one she cannot imagine assigning herself too. She is far too inexperienced in what it pertains to. Her perception would grossly mischaracterize it, painting a rather crude display of what she knows of but doesn't know. After all, how could one act without an adequate example? No actor would want to showcase a poor impression of an original source material, an actor presents only their most remarkable qualities. A good actor knows what they cannot act, and it is this where her talents reach their limit. It is what her role as a ‘Father’ stems from; this inability to express something far too fragile and flimsy for her to hold.

Of the few showcases of others playing the role, Arlecchino is knowledgeable enough that they are simply inept showcases. The Tsaritsa, who has shown the capability to act, and yet chooses to conceal her abilities from her audience. Crucabena, an unqualified actor, whose words dripped with far too much venom for the soft-spoken voice that she used. Perhaps Clervie was the only accurate and genuine actor able to play the part, but one cannot appreciate the traits of an unfinished story. And the naive Peruere, who could hardly imitate her counterpart, was maimed by Arlecchino’s own hands. It is here that she learns that the role of a lover earns no applause, because it adds little to the plot, and so it lacks a function in her story.

Despite this, she finds herself in this scene, where she plays a character unlike her usual, an entirely new character involuntarily thrusted into her by the cruel machinations of her mind.

It is a subtle thing. First, she was just the Knave to you. But somehow, among your presence, her facade slips, and she dons another character.

She becomes a character who knows of nothing but the way her sight is captured by a singular person, a character whose dead heart begins to beat, daring to flutter back to life after it was painfully wrenched out of her chest by her favorite story's ending. She becomes acutely aware of this role when her eyes linger on you a moment longer than need be, when she indulges your empty but no less engaging conversations, when she familarizes herself with the particular fauna scent you carry. When she closes her eyes, your smile flashes through her mind, she knows she's fallen.

An actor knows when to quit, when they misfit the character they're performing. And yet her mind remains stubborn. Acting a role one does not fit will only damage the actor's reputation, and she intends on abandoning it. But it is difficult for her to dismiss how much she yearns for a warmth that the blood flames in her veins cannot bring. It is difficult to deny that she is not momentarily blinded and stunned by your beaming expression, even when you are not looking at her. It is increasingly more difficult to control the pulsing underneath her skin. This is a character she cannot control, instead, it often feels that the character controls her.

It is an unseemly, disgusting appearance for her. If it were physically possible, she would plunge her very own cursed, clawed hands into her chest, to grasp onto this fickle, volatile organ and crush it just to exhaust the remaining embers of a futile hope. If only it were as simple as that. Love is far too much of a complicated role for her, and yet it is somehow inescapable. Some sort of torment placed onto her by the archons.

She can long, she can reach, she can prance around you, but never can she touch. For love imprints its scorch marks deeper than any weapon or assault. One of the lessons her story has concluded to.

So, instead, she reduces its role to a minor character. She lets her stares remain, but she observes you from a distance. She does not dawdle a second longer besides you if she needn't be. She dresses the role of a lover as an observer. Everything she touches with these wretched, blackened hands soon turns into nothing but embers and ashes, and so the only way that you will remain is away from her.

On her desk, sits a vase with a single flower. It is your favorite flower, the flower that you smell of. It does not move from its place, nothing is done to it besides being watered. Its stem is so brittle, and the petals are far too easy to wither away.

(It is a reminder, every time she sits at her desk. Oh, how'd she like to stroke the patels with as much tenderness as she could muster. How'd she like to cradle it in her hands, this source of life, despite being so delicate, is so beautiful. How'd she like to be able to wake up everyday, and view upon this blossoming flower. But she is not a gardener. She knows nothing of how to make a flower bloom.)

Humans are the only viable actors for the role of a lover. A curse is not.

(In her dreams, sometimes you are in place of Clervie. Yet, like Clervie, the only moment she is able to cradle you is when her sword impales you. She will not let another flower wilt, she will not burn another flower.)

It is why you baffle her. Why do you gaze upon her with that expression, as if her claws are not one one more inch from piercing your skin and ripping into your flesh? How do you take her hands in yours, somehow slotting them as if they were always meant to, when they’re soiled with vulgar blood? Her cutting words and sharp tongue, how do they not dissuade you? How do you see her blackened skin, and not be driven away by such a mark of impurity and depravity?

How could you not tell that she is improper for the role that you seek?

She wonders if a flower is a poor description of you. She wonders if you are instead a Sundew ensnaring a spider, unwilling to let it escape. No, perhaps that is not fitting for you, because you are unaware how effortlessly she can char you–unaware of the imminent danger that comes with keeping such a venomous creature.

Arlecchino is many things. She is a coward, if only for you. She cannot abandon her role, but she cannot perform better, floating in the state of inadequacy that she so despises. Playing a lover makes her foolish, and it is a compromising role.

She is foolish, but she is despicable. She is selfish. And though she is perfect actor, even performers must fail to succeed. One day, her mental will and patience crumbles. She requests you into her office, your doe-eyed expression widens when she gives you the flower that sits lone in a glass vase on her desk. She tells you that you plague her thoughts, every feeling and emotion is muddied when they concern you, a culmination of things not within her grasp, not within her control.

It is your performance that finally teaches her what she lacked before: playing the role of a lover requires another. It is a role dependent on another character, otherwise it cannot succeed. It matters not how experienced one is with the other, as long as the characters are committed to it.

There is another lesson that she learned from you.

“I cannot act as a lover.”

“Why must you act to love me?”

Love is a fickle, unpredictable thing. There is no words to be practiced, no actions to be scripted.

Arlecchino is many things. A lover may be one of them.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #arlecchino #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests

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the-s1lly-corner · 11 months

Note

HI there, hate to bother you but i was wondering if you could do the amazing digital circus head canons for a gn! reader who acts a lot like ena

if you have never heard of it you can check on the ena wiki but i would really love if you did something like this so thanks

TADC x ENA type!GN!reader

typically i would do all the characters in one post, but its starting to get late and tumblr wont let me save half answered asks in my drafts for some reason TToTT so im gonna split the cast in half, if you want the rest of the characters you can send in a second ask so i can remember to do everyone else :0! also my apolocheese for any personality mistakes, i think i watched ena a long time ago but was confused/didnt watch the whole thing so uh uh!! relying on a character wiki for this (on that focuses on season 1 so uh uh, idk if that will impact anything) little bonus bonus incorporating enas color thing into this cuz uh we can say its digital world stuff ooo that gives me an oc idea; oc whos like the mayor from nightmare before christmas who has a spinny head/face thing that relates to their emotions

CAINE:

caines is going to be shorter because hes just your number one fan regardless of your personality, in fact he probably has a silly shirt with your face on it somewhere

will do everything in his power to make sure youre happy and content, and will do everything to cheer you up when you switch over to your sad side

takes you to wherever it is that he 'sleeps' when you get overwhelmed by stuff and keeps you there until both of you are sure that youll be okay and your blues are long gone

you and him easily match energies, sometimes he will even try to one up you with using fancy intricate words

POMNI:

writing pomnis part first but oh funny is it that pomni and ena have the same VA

anyways

absolutely loves you, but she is so so worried about stressing you out and switching to your 'sad form', tries to (often times unsuccessfully) cheer you up

honestly you both need a break, things in the circus are hectic and insane, and considering pomni just got here she is going to need your help to get used to things

not much to be said since i think pomni is another character i struggle to write

JAX:

initially teases you for how fast you switch up, its almost like gangle being more upbeat with her comedy mask and more sad when its broken

tones it down a little when you explain you cant really control it whereas gangles case is just her being more confident with the comedy mask (at least thats my hc)

sometimes give you weird looks when you use an unnecessarily long set of fancy words to describe something mundane

bro is fighting the urge to mimic it

surprisingly does the kind thing, he takes you off to the side when something stresses you out so you can have a minute to compose yourself

RAGATHA:

optimistic sweetheart meets ray of sunshine, you two are an unstoppable force of good and kind of rub off on some of the others

similar to jax when you get stressed out or upset about something, usually when its an in house adventure, she sweeps you to the side and helps calm you down. she probably knows some breathing techniques, i think

ignoring the fact they probably dont need to breathe but thats asides the poin

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #jax x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader

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thatfanficstuff · 6 months

Text

Color My World - Haldir (LOTR)

Pairing: Haldir x soulmate!reader

warnings: nothing beyond canon

The forest of Lothlorien loomed before a weary band of travelers, known to some as the Fellowship. Their steps were heavy with exhaustion, a mantle of grief weighing them down. Their companion, the wizard Gandalf, had fallen mere hours before. But they didn’t have time to stop, to allow their hearts a moment to heal. The orcs would come and the group needed to be safely within the depths of the forest before they did.

You walked beside Frodo in the middle of the group, your eyes darting between taking in the beauty around you and keeping an eye on your companions. Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above you, bathing the world in golden rays. Even the bark of the trees glittered faintly with hints of gold. You could only imagine how stunning it would be if you had already met your soulmate. All the muted, faded colors you saw would be bright and vivid. You never wished for it more than at moments like this.

“Can you feel the trees watching us?” Frodo’s voice, barely above a murmur, broke the fragile silence.

You placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “There have been eyes on us since we stepped foot in the forest, little hobbit.”

He looked up in surprise and you squeezed gently as you gave him a soft smile. “No worries. All be fine.”

“Thank you for being here,” he said, his tone hovering between gratitude and fear.

“We all have our purposes in this life, Frodo Baggins. Mine is make sure you complete yours.”

As you continued, you ignored Gimli’s talk of elven sorceresses and enchantments. You were too focused on the force gathering along the edges of your senses. The elves had sent a welcoming party. Of a sort.

Suddenly and almost silently, the Fellowship was surrounded. Elves with arrows drawn in you and your companions faces. With an arched brow you stepped in front of Frodo and pushed the arrow aside that was nearly brushing your nose. Ridiculous. Arrows did much more damage if they had a little room to move.

“The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark,” a rich voice said as the most beautiful man you’d ever seen addressed Aragorn. The elf observed your group, taking each of you in. When his gaze met your own, he lingered ever so slightly before turning back to the king. “Why do you enter the woods of the Lady of Light?”

The quiet words stoked something deep inside you, a yearning that had followed you your whole life. A cascade of vibrant color burst forth with the marchwarden at its center. Greens deepened into a multitude of shades. The golden undertones of the trees shimmered with new life.

As he and Aragorn spoke, every syllable from his lips only brought more beauty to your world. And every word bound your soul more tightly to his. You wove your fingers together, a poor effort at self-restraint as you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze from his profile. You’d heard so many stories of this elf and now, seeing him in person, he was everything you could ever desire in a mate. And he was far too important for someone like you. Finally, you tore your eyes away as he turned to lead the Fellowship deeper into the trees.

You weren’t certain how far you walked or how many stairs you climbed before you were greeted by the ethereal presence of Celeborn and Galadriel. You half listened to the conversation about the fate of your wizard as your attention kept flicking over to Haldir who stood to the side looking straight ahead. It felt odd that you were so connected to him and he didn’t even know you existed. That he knew nothing of your bond. It was for the best, you knew that, but it didn’t make your heart hurt any less.

Feeling eyes on you, you turned your head to find Galadriel looking at you though she spoke to the Fellowship as a whole. You bit back a gasp as you heard her lyrical voice in your head. “Within these woods, bonds deeper than the roots of the mallorn trees are forged. You have felt the stirring of such a bond, child of the outside world. Your connection with Haldir is stronger than you know. An intertwining of souls, a sharing of strengths. Together, you harbor magic that will aid you on your quest.”

“Magic?” you thought back.

Rather than answering, the corner of her lips curled into a knowing smile and she gave you a small nod. “When you need it the most, it will be there,” she said aloud. Your companions frowned in confusion but you ignored their questions as Haldir showed all of you to where you would be spending the evening.

You managed to leave the elves without Haldir finding out who you were to him. Your friends found it odd that you refused to speak louder than a whisper until you were well on your way down the river but you simply waved off their questions. It was better this way. No matter how utterly alone you suddenly felt.

Days turned into weeks. Frodo and Sam had gone off on their own. Boromir had fallen. Gandalf had returned. And now you stood with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli at Helm’s Deep alongside an army made up mostly of old men and boys. Hope was fleeting that most of you would make it through the night. Gandalf had told you to look for him at the dawn but that was many hours away.

You stood on the wall watching a storm roll in while the others prepared themselves for battle. You’d taken care of that hours ago. A horn blasting drew your attention. Elven archers marched toward the keep. You grinned, feeling hope for the first time in days. The smile fell as you saw who was leading them. Haldir. He wasn’t supposed to be here. It was too dangerous. He was supposed to be safe in Lothlorien.

You watched Aragorn greet him, Legolas by his side. Haldir glanced up when they finished, his gaze finding yours. He studied your face for a moment before nodding a greeting. You nodded in return then slipped away into the crowd, making sure the rabble were as prepared as possible for the coming attack.

While Aragorn moved through the ranks of elves on the wall, you stood with Legolas and Gimli. The hordes of orcs and Uruk-hai approached, banging weapons on the ground as they came. You rested a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder trying to calm him as he bounced around. “Steady on,” you told him as you prepared your bow.

And then they came in a flood of anger and teeth. Chaos reigned around you as you slashed and dodged. Rain fell in heavy drops as lightning flashed in the sky and thunder roared. You focused solely on the opponents around you until King Theoden called for a retreat to the inner walls. Aragorn grabbed your arm and pulled you along as he yelled for the men to fall back. When he turned and yelled Haldir’s name, you turned with him.

Haldir acknowledged the order a breath before he was surrounded by iron and hate. A blade stabbed toward him even as he cut the wielder down.

Heat surged through your veins as fear swamped you. You unleashed your fury with a cry torn from the very depths of your soul. The world seemed to slow as a shimmering shield surrounded your soulmate, deflecting the blade that would have run him through. His eyes found yours, wide with astonishment.

You ignored Aragorn calling your name as newfound strength flowed through you. You weaved through the melee, each step bringing you closer to Haldir’s side. Finally, you reached him and helped dispatch the orcs that swarmed him. When there was an opening for you to move, you grabbed the breastplate of his armor and pulled him toward the stairs. “Move, Marchwarden.”

The battle was over after a last minute save from the Rohirrim and the Ents. As soon as you had a moment to breathe a breath you weren’t convinced would be your last, Haldir grabbed your hand and pulled you to the side where you could have some semblance of privacy.

His hands cradled your face as his thumbs traced your cheeks. He looked you over with wonder.

“Why did you say nothing when first we met?” he asked. “Why keep your connection to me hidden?”

You grasped his wrists in your hands. “If the bond was complete, formed on both sides, what would happen to you if I died on this quest?”

The silence stretched as he studied you. “A partial truth at best, hiril vuin.” (my lady)

You sighed and looked away from him, unable to meet his eye as you confessed. “I did not wish to be a burden upon you. I feared the revelation would be a disappointment.”

He ran his thumbs along your skin again to bring your attention back to him. “You are the furthest cry from a disappointment. Your courage, your strength, your heart…they are gifts more precious than the rarest jewels of my people.”

You searched for any signs of deception from him. Finding none, a smile crossed your face. He mirrored it before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. It took only a moment before you returned the gesture with equal fervor.

For a moment, you could forget about your quest. Forget about the death that surrounded you. Because here in the midst of so many endings, was your beginning and you intended to hold onto it with all of your heart.

#haldir x reader #haldir fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #haldir x soulmate #lotr soulmate au #soulmate au

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st-eve-barnes · 1 year

Text

Easy on you

(Modern Aegon x Fem Reader)

Summary: Hiding from the party downstairs you and Aegon end up in the same room together, sharing some drinks and secrets, and feelings.

Warning: 18+ for smut. Teasing, dry humping, oral sex (female receiving), explicit language, the whole works. Also fluff, love confessions and Aegon being an insecure slut.

Word count: +5800

I've been a little obsessed with Tom Glynn-Carney lately so you guys get some more Modern Aegon ;) (As always please forget about his issues in canon, this is my version and consent is a big deal to this Aegon)

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

The Targaryen villa was so immense one could easily get lost in its abundance of different rooms, stairways and halls. You were pretty sure you had walked this exact same hallway just a few minutes ago. They all looked alike and you’d been walking around for a while now without running into another living soul.

You hadn’t meant to go this far, you just wanted to flee the family gathering downstairs but once you’d started going up the stairs you had just kept going without looking back.

Anything to avoid seeing them.

You sighed in relief when you finally found some light at the end of the tunnel. Literally. The room at the end of the hallway had its door ajar and a ray of light came peaking through.

You knocked a few times and waited, when there was no answer you carefully pushed the door open, finding the room inside empty.

It seemed to be some kind of guest or entertainment room, there was a large made up bed and some sofas but you didn’t see any personal stuff anywhere. There was a fridge in the corner and a bar filled with drinks. The light was on which meant someone must have been here not so long ago and maybe you just missed them.

Just as you were about to leave again the other door in the room opened and you were no longer alone. You stood face to face with Aegon, who walked in with a drink in his hand and a surprised look on his face.

“Well, hello. How did you get up here?”

“I got lost,” you explained,”Is this your room?”

“It is tonight,” he smiled and let himself fall down onto the sofa, plopping his feet down on the coffee table,”This was meant to be a guest room but it’s so far up in the east wing I think the rest of the family forgot it exists.”

His eyes rested on yours for a minute, taking you in and trying to read your expression. You looked tense and more nervous than usual. “What are you doing all the way up here, Y/N?” he then asked again.

“I told you, I got lost,” you avoided answering his question.

”Must have been walking for a while then,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

“Want me to direct you back to the party?”

“Fuck no.”

The words left your mouth without even thinking and you bit your lip but Aegon just smiled.“You were trying to get out, weren’t you?”

“Not out, just…looking for a spot to hide out for a while,” you confessed.

“Well, you found it. You…um…wanna grab a beer or something?” he pointed towards the fridge and you gladly took him up on his offer.

If you had to run into anyone from the Targaryen family you were glad it was Aegon.

You and him had been friends for a while now, ever since your brother married Heleana and your family had started spending more time with the Targaryens. Heleana was a total sweetheart and Aegon had always been the most welcoming of the entire bunch.

To be honest those two were the only ones you could stand, the rest of that family scared the shit out of you.

For some reason you always felt at ease with Aegon. maybe it was because he never seemed to feel comfortable around his own family either. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that he was also fleeing the festivities tonight.

You let yourself sink down on the couch next to him and took a sip from your beer.”So who are you hiding from?”

He let out a laugh and shook his head,”Who am I not hiding from?”

You kept your eyes on him waiting for an answer but he didn’t elaborate.

“Okay, so you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” you teased.

He bumped your leg with his,“You first.”

You sighed but when your eyes met his you caved quickly. You’re not sure what it was about Aegon but he always had a way of making you feel you could tell him anything and he would never judge you for it.

“My mum,” you confessed,”And Viserys.”

“What’s Viserys done?”

“Nothing,” you sighed,”It’s just…my mum wants to set me up with someone from your family. Apparently she’s sooo happy with my brother’s new life she thinks it would be wonderful, for me, if I were to marry rich as well.”

Aegon rolled his eyes and took another sip from his beer, trying his best to sound casual with his next question,”So…who’s the lucky Targaryen?”

You sighed deeply,“Aemond.”

“Oh no, poor you.”

“Shut up,” you hit his leg, making him laugh.

“No but…I mean, Aemond’s not so bad,” he then tried to reassure you but you quickly shook your head.

“I don’t even know him, Aegon, it’s not…it’s just not how I imagined things.”

“Then say no, it’s your life, they don’t get to decide how you should live it.”

“I know,” you pulled your legs up underneath you on the couch and turned on your side, facing Aegon,”and my mum said it’s totally my choice and she’ll never push me into it but…I just…don’t know how to disappoint my family.”

Aegon snorted at that,”Want some tips? According to Viserys being the family disappointment is one of the only things I absolutely excel in.”

You smiled but gave him a more serious look then,”Viserys is an idiot. But I mean, it’s not like I don’t understand why my mum wants it, you know, financial security and all that.”

“Money doesn’t solve all your problems or buys you happiness.”

“Only someone who has it would say that.”

Aegon sighed and ran his hand through his hair,”Shit, you’re right. That was such a rich kid’s response, wasn’t it?”

You nodded,”I know what you mean though, having money comes with its own problems and responsibilities but it’s infinitely better than not having it.”

“But your family is doing okay now, yeah?”

“We’re okay, yes but I know where mum is coming from. I just didn’t feel like having that conversation about my future tonight.”

“Yeah, I totally get that.”

“So who are you really hiding from?”

He sighed and closed his eyes while he confessed,”Viserys. Of course, who else?”

“Why?”

“Because…he wants me to work in the family’s company and…I’d rather fucking die.”

“He can’t force you, can he?”

“He can disown me if he wants.”

“Would he do that?”

“I don’t know. And part of me wants to say I don’t give a fuck but…”

You smiled,“You’re used to your little life of luxury.”

“Yeah,” Aegon admitted,”Does that make me weak? It makes me weak, doesn’t it?”

“No, of course not. But, it’s like you said, money’s not gonna solve all your problems.”

He leaned back into the couch,”Yeah, maybe not.”

“What would you do? If you could have any job in the world?”

“Just get paid to play with my band.”

“Are you guys any good?”

His eyes lit up and he gave you a sweet smile,”You should come see us some time and judge for yourself.”

“Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” he nodded and finished his beer,”Want another one?”

“Sure.”

“Think it’s safe to say neither of us wants to go back downstairs anytime soon.”

He took two more bottles from the fridge and gave you one before sitting down on the floor in front of the couch. You moved down to join him.

“What are we gonna do to pass the time up here?” you asked.

“Well, I could think of a few things we could do,” Aegon teased while giving you a flirty look and motioning towards the beds.

You hit him on his leg,”Don’t be gross.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he avoided your eyes for a moment but couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

It wasn’t the first time Aegon flirted with you. It seemed to come second nature to him, you never thought much of it. It was always playful and friendly and you knew it was just his way of communicating sometimes.

“Let me guess, there’s no Netflix up here or anything is there?” you asked.

“Nope,” he shook his head,”I doubt there’s even wifi up here. It’s just us. Sorry to disappoint.”

His eyes met yours again and you shook your head,”You don’t disappoint, Aegs, you’re the only Targaryen I’d ever want to be alone in a room with.”

“I still don’t know if that counts as a compliment,” his lips curled up into a smile and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What about a drinking game?” he then suggested.

“You want to get me drunk, Aegon Targaryen?” you teased him.

“I want to get me drunk,” he joked,” but you can join if you want.”

That flirty look was back in his eyes but you chose to ignore it this time.

“I mean, we can also talk about our families and insecurities and struggles in life,” he then added.

“Drinking game it is,” you shut him up quickly, putting that satisfied grin back on his face.

He was up in an instant to grab a few glasses from the bar and something a little stronger than the beers you’d been drinking so far.

“Okay,” he settled back down on the floor in front of you, filling up the two glasses,”So, truth or dare?”

You laughed and shook your head,”Absolutely not.”

“What? Oh come on, why not?”

“Because every dare you will come up with is going to be something completely inappropriate.”

He stared at you in feigned shock but you just narrowed your eyes at him.

“I am offended you would think that,” he then reacted,”Also a little flattered that you know me so well.”

He gave you a big smile and you couldn’t help but join in, his laugh was so infectious you realized how easily he always made you feel better in his presence.

“Never have I ever?” you then suggested and you didn’t miss the sudden interest peaking in Aegon’s eyes.

“You sure about that one?” he asked carefully.

You suddenly felt exposed under his gaze and the game hadn’t even started yet.

”Not so much anymore now, no,” you confessed with a smile.

He laughed softly,”I’ll go easy on you, don’t worry.”

And he did, at least in the beginning of the game. It started off so innocent.

Never have I ever cheated on an exam. Never have I ever skipped school and lied to my parents about it. Never have I ever binged an entire series in one day. Never have I ever been so drunk I blacked out.

It was only after a few laughs, drinks and harmless confessions that the game took another, more sexual, turn.

Both of you were pleasantly buzzed by then and without really paying attention to it you had both inched closer to each other, your knees almost touching now.

“Never have I ever dated more than one person at the same time,” you stated.

Aegon snorted and took a sip while your mouth fell open.

“What?” he smiled,” I’m a slut, don’t act so shocked.”

You kept staring at him and just shook your head.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you shrugged,”Your turn.”

“Never have I ever faked an orgasm,” he stated with a smug grin on his face.

You rolled our eyes and took a sip.

“Why do all women do that?” he asked with genuine interest.

“I don’t know, probably because we’re taught from a very young age that we’re supposed to be good and supportive and men can do no wrong so if we can’t reach our peak that’s still a reflection of our faults and not theirs.”

This time it was Aegon’s turn to stare at you with his mouth open.

“Sorry, was that too much?” you asked.

He shook his head,”No, not at all. That was…very fair. And quite sad.”

“But then sometimes,” you added with a smile,” Sometimes the sex just isn’t good and you just fake it to get it over with and get away from them quicker, and the idiots can never tell.”

”See but that’s still sad, I would never leave my girl unsatisfied and I’d hope she would feel safe enough with me to just tell me if I need to try harder.”

You’re not sure why his words made you blush but you had to avoid his eyes for a moment.

“Of course that never happens,” he then added with a smug grin, making you burst out in laughter.

“It doesn't!" he protested.

“I’m sure it’s happened to you as well, Aegs, all women do it.”

“Not with me,” he insisted.

“Up to 80 percent of women fake it sometimes, do your math.”

He was still firmly shaking his head,”Not with me.”

You sighed,“Fine, I’ll take your word for it, casanova, shall we move on?”

He opened his mouth to protest again but you were faster.

“Never have I ever been caught masturbating,” you blurted out.

Aegon just laughed and forgot about his protest to have a drink.

“Really?” you asked.

He just nodded,“My mum has seen things that will scar her for life.”

“Oh my god, Aegon, ew!” you covered your mouth with your hand as you laughed and he joined you.”Next, please.”

“Never have I ever...slept with someone I was actually in love with,” he confessed, and you both suddenly stopped laughing.

“Never?” you asked,”Not even a little bit? Like a crush?”

He shook his head,”Nope.”

“That’s sad, Aegon.”

"No, it's not, come on, sex is a great thing, whether you're in love or not," he shrugged.

"Yeah, but it's better if you are."

“You say that but I noticed you didn’t drink either,” he pointed out.

“No, I…I guess we’re both sad,” you smiled weakly and looked down until Aegon bumped his knee against yours and gave you a warm smile.

“Okay, next,” he said,”No more depressing ones now.”

You smiled and nodded,”Okay, um…never have I ever fantasized about a friend.”

Aegon’s smile was soft before he lifted his glass up to his lips and took a sip. He didn’t say anything but quickly moved onto the next one.

“Never have I ever cheated on someone,” he confessed. You looked at each other for a moment, neither of you drinking.

”So at least you’re an honest slut,” you then joked and he laughed while looking into your eyes.

“Gee, thanks.”

You smiled.“Never have I ever had a one night stand.”

HIs eyes stayed on yours as he slowly drank from his glass and then filled it up again.

“You know,” he sighed,”I’m beginning to notice this game isn’t really fair.”

“I can’t help it that you’ve done everything,” you pointed out.

“I have not done everything, you’re just very…”

You pointed your finger at him, warning him to choose his next words carefully.

“Less experienced than I am,” he then added,”which is perfectly fine.”

He placed his hand on your knee and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Yes, it is perfectly fine,” you repeated.

“So why no one night stand though?” he asked,”Is it a principle thing or you just haven’t felt like it?”

“I haven’t met anyone that made me feel like I wanted to,” you explained.

He nodded,”That’s fair. I bet you’ve had plenty of offers though.”

Your eyes met his,”Why? Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re really fucking hot,” he confessed with a small grin and then took a quick sip from his drink, trying to hide the blush on his face.

You wanted to ignore his flirty comment like you always did but you couldn’t help but feel the effect of his words this time, making you feel a little lightheaded.

“You wanna stop playing the game?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head,”I think I have one more.”

Aegon moved a little closer to you and you were very aware of his hand still resting on your knee.”Go on then.”

You bit your lip and hesitated for a moment before speaking the next words softly,”Never have I ever kissed a friend.”

His stare was so intense it was making your head spin, both your drinks were untouched on the floor next to you, forgotten about now that Aegon seemed to only have eyes for you.

“Do you want to?” he then whispered.

Your eyes widened at his statement and he gave you a soft, sweet smile. Your mouth opened to speak but the words weren’t coming out.

His hand carefully moved up from your knee to your thigh, testing the waters, waiting for you to do something, anything, hit him again or yell at him and tell him to stop being gross. But you didn’t do any of those things, you just stared at him and he recognized that hunger in your eyes, it was a reflection of his own.

He pulled you a little closer to him until you were face to face and practically sitting in his lap. Then he moved his hand up to your face and gently cupped your neck, moving his thumb over your jaw and your cheek.

You sighed into his touch.“We shouldn’t, Aegs.”

You could hear the words leaving your lips but your hands were clearly not on the same page, grabbing his shirt and pulling him towards you and Aegon was doing nothing to make things easier on you. He was licking his lips and looking at you with so much lust in his eyes you were sure your protest would crumble as soon as he touched you again.

When his gaze fell down to your lips you knew you lost the fight.

He gently nuzzled your cheek, his soft voice was like velvet against your skin,”If you don’t want this I’ll stop right now, just say the word and I’ll back off, okay?”

Your mouth opened to speak but you had no words left for him, all you could feel and think was how badly you wanted him.

“Do you want to?” he asked again.

“Yes, I want to,” your answer finally came, putting a relieved smile on his face.

“Good girl,” he whispered, which did not help your situation at all.”I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Aegs,” you sighed and looked at him, letting yourself drown into his pretty blue eyes.

“Will you let me kiss you?” he asked, brushing your nose with his.

You nodded,”Please.”

He cupped your face with both hands, looking deep into your eyes before he slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in the softest, sweetest lingering kiss. It was over too soon and only left you wanting more.

Aegon moved his hands down to your waist, pulling you further into his lap and then he was kissing you again. The kiss was still gentle but also filled with more purpose. He started out slowly, just moving his lips with yours. Then he carefully licked into your mouth, teasing your tongue with his, waiting for you to open up to him completely before deepening the kiss.

The room around you was spinning now, his lips were intoxicating and addictive and you never wanted them to leave your mouth ever again. His hands made their way underneath your shirt to caress your lower back, leaving a trail of goosebumps all over your skin.

You pulled him closer to you, hands tangled in his hair while you kissed him back with the same fire, setting you both aflame.

You had kissed a few guys in your short lifetime and some of them had been pretty good, but none of those kisses came even remotely close to the way Aegon Targaryen was kissing you right now. As if he was dying and you were breathing life into him.

When you softly whimpered into the kiss it encouraged him to pull you even closer, straddling his lap now and you both moaned quietly at the first contact of his cock against your center. Even through all the layers of clothing you could feel him.

You grinned into his kiss.

“What?” he whispered in between kisses.

“You’re hard.”

“Thanks for noticing, of course I’m hard,” he joked and then bit your lower lip, making you moan softly which made him bite a little harder,”You have any idea how long I’ve wanted you like this?”

You broke the kiss to look at him in surprise.

“You really had no idea, didn’t you?” he realized and he shook his head in disbelief,”And I thought I wasn’t being subtle at all, I flirt with you all the time.”

“You flirt with everyone all the time!” you pointed out.

He laughed softly,”Okay, yeah, fair point.”

“Do you wanna talk about this?” you asked.

He locked eyes with you again.”No, I don’t wanna talk,” he then spoke softly,”I want to make out with you some more.”

His hands moved up your back, pulling you closer again and taking your mouth in another needy, sloppy kiss. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back and involuntarily your hips moved against his, making him hiss into your mouth. He rocked back against you, letting you feel just how turned on he was.

He was breathing heavily in between kissing you and his hands were now on your ass, holding you down on his lap while you rocked yourself on his erection. Both of you seeking out the friction and feeling the need to be even closer.

“Gods, you feel so fucking good,” he whispered against your lips and then started kissing your jaw and your neck, sucking on your skin and tracing patterns with his tongue.

He was driving you insane. You had always found Aegon to be easy on the eyes but that’s as far as it went. You had never looked at him this way before tonight, and now it was all you could think about.

You needed him like you needed air.

You pulled at his shirt and he was quick to help you pull it over his head. He didn’t waste any time and quickly did the same with you, leaving you in just your bra. He couldn’t look away and the pleading look in his eyes put a smile on your face.

“Can I?” he asked eagerly,”Please?”

You just nodded and watched as he nervously unclipped your bra and then gently pulled it down your shoulders, revealing your breasts to him.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

You couldn’t help but laugh,”They’re just tits, Aegs, I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of them.”

“I haven’t seen yours,” he answered in a soft whisper and before you could say anything else he was kissing down your neck and collarbone. And further down until he was gently sucking on your nipple, making your eyes close in a heavy sigh. His cock was twitching against your inner thigh, making you want him even more.

You knew your panties were completely soaked by now and your pussy was throbbing so hard it was becoming entirely distracting.

“Aegon,” you moaned quietly and grabbed at the waistband of his pants, pulling them down a little,”I need to feel you.”

“I know, baby,” he teased, kissing his way back up to your neck, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered,”You want me to fuck you? Is that what you want? You want me to fill you up, hmm?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

“You sure, baby?” he checked.

This time it was your turn to tease him and you looked into his eyes while you grabbed his hand and lowered it in between your legs,”Why don’t you put your hand down my panties and feel how sure I am?”

You watched him swallow hard, his fingers moving over your jeans, even through the thick fabric he could feel how soaked you were underneath.

“F-uck,” he breathed.

You moved out of his lap to push him down and pull down his pants and boxers, finally freeing his erection from its confined space. He let out a sigh of relief, quickly followed by the most obscene moan you had ever heard when you wrapped your hand around his length.

Your eyes locked with his while you leaned down.

“Wha…what are you doing?” his voice sounded wrecked all of a sudden and you'd barely even touched him.

The mischievous look in your eyes told him everything he needed to know and just before you were going to take him into your mouth he pushed you back.”No, no…you can’t do that…fuck, baby…please don’t…”

“You don’t want me to suck you off?” you asked surprised.

He was biting his lip and cursing himself. He had dreamt about this so many times, fantasized and jerked off to this so many times but he knew if you put your mouth on him right now this would all be over within seconds.

And he didn’t want his first time with you to be in your mouth. He wanted to be buried so deep inside your tight heat with your entire body pressed up against him, swallowing your needy moans and watching your face as he made you cum.

”I want nothing more than for you to suck me off but…I,”he stuttered over his next words,”I’m so fucking close to blowing my load…I just…that’s not what I want right now…”

He was blushing, clearly embarrassed and you thought it was the cutest thing.

”Okay, so no sucking then,” you pouted at him for a second but then gave him a sweet smile and he couldn’t help but smile back at you. Then he grabbed you and pushed you back, off the floor and onto the couch. His fingers were making quick work of your jeans and you lifted yourself off the couch to help him take them off, your panties going along with them.

Aegon stayed on his knees on the floor, his eyes meeting yours while he settled between your legs.

“What are you doing?” you asked with a weak voice, knowing all too well what he was doing.

He didn’t say anything, just gave you a playful, flirty look before putting his mouth right above your knee. Soft open mouthed kisses trailed your inner thigh, each one making you squirm a little bit more as he kissed his way higher and higher. That first lap of his tongue over your folds made you want to cry out in pleasure and you bit your hand to stop yourself from screaming so loud the entire family downstairs would hear you.

Aegon’s hand reached for yours, giving you something to hold onto, his other hand was on your inner thigh, spreading you open for him while he nipped and sucked at your clit.

“Not…fair,” you breathed, fingers squeezing his hand painfully hard but you couldn’t feel a thing apart from his mouth, sending you to heaven one lick at a time.

When he started fucking you with his tongue, nose pushing up perfectly against your throbbing clit, you were done for.

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered,”Please…oh god, Aegs, please…”

His thumb started circling your clit and the room around you seemed to fade away. You were falling deeper and deeper until there was nothing but bliss. Tears filled your eyes and your back arched off the couch in one of the most intense orgasms you ever experienced.

Aegon didn’t rush you afterwards, let you ride out every last wave of it, kissing your clit and licking every last drop you offered him. When you finally came down from your high you pulled him up on the couch with you and into your arms.

His lips found yours in a filthy, deep kiss that let you taste yourself all over his tongue. His hands moved up to your shoulders and he gently pushed you down on your back onto the couch, his mouth never leaving yours. His left hand moved down to your inner thigh, opening you up again while his lips latched onto your neck.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he whimpered into your ear,”Tell me you want me to.”

His cock was heavy against your dripping center, begging to be allowed in but waiting for your consent, his leaking tip teasing your entrance.

“I want you to, god please, I want you to,” you were practically begging.

That was all the consent he needed and he slowly pushed himself inside.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he breathed in a shaky voice.

“Yeah, no shit,” you teased.

His lips curled up into a cheeky grin and he pressed his forehead against yours,”Wrap your arms around me, hold onto me, baby.”

You did as he asked, pulling him to you and locking eyes with his. You could have drowned in the ocean of blue staring back at you, his gaze was so unexpectedly soft and loving it was making your heart flutter and you both seemed to halt for a moment, just looking at each other.

Aegon was nervously biting his lip trying to hold himself back.

“It’s okay,” you whispered,”You can let go.”

He moved his hips with a grunt, slowly fucking you into the couch. It didn’t take long for you to moan with him and set a pace that left you both breathless, chasing that much needed release.

“God, you feel so good,” Aegon’s whispered in between ragged breaths,”It’s totally…fucking unfair…how good you make me feel.”

All you could do was nod while biting your lip, his eyes were on you the entire time, not breaking eye contact once and it made the whole thing feel much more intimate.

You knew Aegon’s reputation better than anyone, biggest slut in the city who didn’t do relationships only quick fucks, yet nothing about the way he was looking at you and touching you right now felt like a quick fuck, it felt like a whole lot more.

Something you would have to think about and analyze later when he wasn’t a few seconds away from giving you another mind blowing orgasm.

“Aegs,” you moaned desperately.

“You close, baby?”

“Hmmm,” you breathed,”So close.”

His hand moved down between your legs to find your clit, giving you that last push you needed to fall apart completely and when you clenched around him he followed suit. His face buried into your neck, muffling his loud moans before he pulled out and spilled all over your thighs.

Desperate little whimpers against your shoulder when he came down from his high, clinging to you with all he had and then his lips were on yours again, kissing you so deep and slow you felt like you were falling again.

When you broke the kiss to look at each other you both let out a deep breath that ended with you giggling and Aegon biting his lip and being unable to take his eyes off you.

“You good?” he asked.

You nodded,”Yeah, you?”

He nodded and placed a soft kiss on your cheek,”Can we stay like this for a while or…?”

“Or?”

He sighed,”I don’t…this is usually the part where the girl leaves.”

“Where she leaves or where you kick her out?”

“A bit of both, I guess,” he confessed and traced your jaw with his thumb.

“Do you want me to leave?” you leaned into his touch and looked up at him from under your lashes.

He quickly and firmly shook his head,”No, I…I want you to stay with me. I mean…if you want, it’s your choice.”

You smiled softly and leaned into him,”I’d love to stay. But I would like to get off of this couch first and get cleaned up.”

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded and was quick to help you sit up before disappearing behind the bar to find a wet towel.

You spent the rest of that night in bed with him, doing nothing but talk and sleep, and kiss a little in between.

When the sun came up the next morning Aegon was back between your legs, waking you up with his tongue and his lips and sending you into another toe curling orgasm.

“You better be careful, Targaryen,” you warned him afterwards,”I could get used to this.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” he smiled while resting his head on your chest and looking up into your eyes.

“To get me to stay with you?” you asked, caressing his hair until he hummed into your touch,”It’s okay, Aegs, I know you don’t do that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Date, have a relationship, that kind of stuff.”

“Oh,” he sighed and you watched his expression fall,”Right, of course, how could I forget? I'm the kind of guy you fuck, not the guy you date. Who in their right mind would want to end up with Aegon Targaryen anyway, huh?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you tried to soften the blow but he was already pulling away from you and grabbing his shirt. He put it on without looking at you. The sudden silence in the room was heavy.

“You should go,” he then whispered.

“Is that what you want?” you asked softly and you didn’t move from your spot in the bed, hoping he would grant you another look. It took a while but he eventually turned around and looked into your eyes.

“You know that’s not what I want, sweetheart,” he sighed quietly and your heart leaped.

“It’s not what I want either,” you confessed.

“It’s not?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

You reached out your hand to him and he took it eagerly, letting you pull him back into your arms. He cupped your neck and kissed your lips, soft but hungry, waking up an entire army of butterflies in your stomach.

“I want to do all that stuff, with you,” he then whispered in between kisses,"I want you so bad....I've never...never felt this way about anyone before. And I know I’m not boyfriend material and you can do so much better than me but…”

“I don’t want to do better, I want you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Wait, did you just insult me?” Aegon teased, making you both laugh but then his gaze turned soft and serious,”I know I’m not the Targaryen your mum had in mind but…will you give me a chance? Will you be my girl?”

You leaned into him and closed your eyes,”I'm already your girl, Aegs.”

He smiled and put a lingering kiss on your forehead.

”Fuck, our families will be so pissed over this.”

#aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon targaryen #hotd fanfic #aegon smut #tom glynn carney fanfic

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