the-chosen-fanfiction · 2 years ago
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Jesus | Eyes On Me | Platonic
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Dialogue prompt: “The only thing that matters is who you are in Me.”
Requested: Yes
You have always felt like an outcast amongst Jesus’ followers. Jesus reassures you that it does not matter what others think of you, and that perfection is the last thing He requires.
Note: I’m not on the spectrum myself but tried my very best to display it respectfully. If there is anything you think I should change, please let me know!
Laughter reaches you across camp, but you remain in your tent, hunched over your bowl of beads. The necklace you’ve started stringing ever since daybreak is long past its required length and could be looped over five, six, seven times, but you don’t feel like stopping. The familiar wooden texture is comforting to you, and even though you do not see the colours anymore in the low light of the few torches around camp, which causes everything to be a blur of grey and black at this point, you have settled upon a pattern in shape – one big bead, then three small ones, a medium sized one, three small ones again, and another big one. 
You continue like that for a while, the bowl becoming more and more empty as you work in silence. Every so often, talking and laughter streams from the fire towards your place, but you do not pay it any mind.
Joining them would make you feel uncomfortable. They already seem to have a great time without you, so you reckon they weren’t missing you to begin with. You’ve learnt to have peace with it. You maintain your distance, not seeing yourself in any position within that group. 
Everyone has a close friend they hang out with often. The brothers of Thunder have one another, Simon and Andrew, Nathanael and Thaddeus. Even Matthew has managed to grow close to Philip, despite his social anxiety. 
And you? Where does that leave you? 
You know that you’re different from them. You’ve always heard it from the children in your village. You’ve always heard it from your parents, from your father, who had you help out in his shop from a young age. And when he passed away and your mother couldn’t keep it up and running, eventually forced to shut it down, you fell into a dark pit, feeling utterly lost within society and within life.
Somewhere in the distance, Andrew barks a laugh as Simon Zee shouts something, earning a cheer from Philip in turn. You jolt at the unexpected sound. With a heavy sigh, you halt in your actions.
Will you ever belong?
A knock on the frame of your tent nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “(Y/n)?” a familiar voice sounds close to the opening flap. It contains no pressure nor hurry, yet Jesus’ voice is always so disarming and warm that you can’t do anything else but respond.
“Yeah?”
“May I come in?”
You are silent for a second. “Yes.” you then say, even though you were more than content in your loneliness this evening. If there was anyone to come and keep you company, you are glad that it is Him.
He moves aside the flap and light streams inside from the fire and the lantern that He is holding in front of His face, a kind smile on his features. “I was already wondering where you were.” He muses, stepping in and closing the tent again to give the two of you some privacy. “Are you alright?”
You shrug and twirl the necklace you’ve been working on around your fingers, fiddling with it so that you don’t need to look Him in the eye. Jesus patiently sits next to you, placing down the lantern before clearing His throat. 
“So, I missed you during dinner and now you’re sitting here whilst the rest is at the fire. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
With a small shake of your head, you sigh. “I… I’m not much of a talker.”
“Oh, I know. But sometimes it is necessary to get to the root of things.”
Brow furrowing, you tilt your head slightly to the side so that you can see Jesus from the corner of your eye. “What do You mean by that?”
Jesus hums and takes a moment to formulate a reply. “Something is weighing heavy on your heart. Do not be afraid to share that burden with Me.”
Nothing ever stays hidden from Jesus, you are fully aware of that, and you do not like lying, especially to Him, so you swallow thickly and open your mouth to speak, better to reveal it now than to delay the inevitable.
“I don’t think the others miss me.” The words sounds alarmingly cool.
“Hm. What makes you think that way?”
“Because I’m… Different.”
“Different how?”
Turning your head, you finally dare to look at Jesus, who is giving you an expectant look.
“I think You know that,” you say with a tone that remains respectful. “That I’m different.”
Suddenly, tears sting behind your eyes. You have never cried about this. You never cry in the first place. But Jesus is smiling so understandingly that it almost lures said reaction from you. You avert your gaze, rubbing your neck. A few tears slip out regardless of your battle against them.
“Different how?” Jesus repeats. It is not that He hasn’t heard you, or that He hasn’t understood you. He wants another response than the one you had just given Him.
You think over your answer for a moment. “My mind works in another way,” you state, “They don’t understand me and I don’t understand them. It’s like… We’re speaking different languages. As if we’re not from the same country. I-It’s nothing new, even my mum has just… Given up on me? She doesn’t say it outright, but I know that… That I’m just… I feel like a burden.”
Silently crying, you find Jesus’ gaze.
“And how does that make you feel?” His question stings, for you’re not fond of talking about such emotions. With a dry sob, you take up the necklace you had draped into the bowl and start playing with it again, wrapping and unwrapping it around your fingers, the thin fishing line you had found amongst the supplies digging into your skin. 
“It makes me feel sad,” you say through the blur of your tears, “I-I don’t like to talk about it. Can we talk about something else?” You rapidly blink to force back your tears. 
Jesus is quiet and stares at you for a minute or so, making you squirm on your spot under his scrutiny. You sniffle.
“I think it is good that you empty your heart to Me. You’re being very brave, (Y/n). I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder, okay?” He queries. You nod, but flinch anyways, although you relax after a moment. “How much do you think this matters in the Kingdom of God?”
Puzzled, you frown, your cheeks feeling raw. “What do You mean, Rabbi?”
“Let me tell you something. Everyone has different talents, different things they are good at. For example… What is Philip good at?”
You bite the inside of your cheek and rub your runny nose on your sleeve. “Hm… He’s good at reciting Scripture. He’s very well-read, very knowledgeable.”
“Right. How about Nathanael?”
You shrug but can’t fight the watery smile. “He’s always brutally honest. It does get him in trouble from time to time, though.” Jesus chuckles at that.
“Right. And Simon?”
“He’s a good leader.” you reply.
Jesus smiles. “And you ?”
Silence. Fresh tears well up in your eyes.
“Do you trust Me, (Y/n)?” Jesus asks.
“Of course I do, Rabbi,” you immediately tell Him without an ounce of doubt in your being. Your voice quivers. “More than anyone.”
He gives a friendly nod. “I know, my Daughter. You know very well who you are in Me. So, I will ask you again. What are you good at?”
“I…” you squint, shoulders slumping. “I… Don’t know.”
“Do you want to know what I see?” 
You nod meekly, rubbing your raw cheeks with the back of your hand. Jesus cups your face carefully and inhales. “I see someone who focuses on the differences compared to the others in the group, but that is not what determines who you are. I know you struggle to find a true connection to the others in the group. Trust me when I say that these people will become your friends, but you should first see your own worth. The Kingdom of God requires many different people. If they were all the same, how uninspiring would that be? It would be but a shell of what love could be. No, the Father can use anyone, no matter the circumstances.”
His words make you emotional, so your voice wavers when you ask for clarification: “But what does that have to do with me ?”
There is never reprimand behind His eyes yet you shrink. He thumbs away your tears.
“You’re someone who is unswervingly loyal to Me.” Jesus says, “Your faith is so strong that it will withstand any storm. You are also very honest. That is very admirable about you. ”
Your cheeks turn red and you look at your lap, where your hands are still wrapped up in the necklace. 
“What matters is not who you are as an individual, (Y/n),” Jesus says. The words sound odd and you’re about to ask what He means with that, when you realise there is another part to that sentence: “ The only thing that matters is who you are in Me. You find your identity in Me, as do the others. That is what connects you, what brings you together. Try to hold onto that when you go out there to speak to them. You may not understand it yet, but a firm foundation built on Me will bring people together, no matter their differences.” 
“I still don’t completely understand,” you say in all fairness.
“That’s okay,” Jesus replies. “The Spirit will eventually guide you there. You will understand with time. You always belong if you trust in Me - you belong to the Kingdom of Heaven. Even if you don’t always feel like it, I will never forsake you. Do not forget that.” 
You smile at Him, a bit more at ease. Your fingers relax and the necklace slips back into the bowl of beads. 
“Thank you, Rabbi,” you state. “That was very kind of You to say.”
Jesus laughs and opens His arms. “May I give you a hug?”
You accept Jesus’ embrace without hesitation, burying your face into the crook of His neck, whilst He smiles softly. You weep, shoulders shaking, and He holds you through it as you let your pent up sorrow go. It makes place for hope, patience and trust, for it relieves your heart. Jesus doesn’t pressure you and holds you for as long as He needs to, not letting go. 
You are the first one to pull away and wipe your face dry, sniffling a few times. “I feel so much better already. I really needed that.”
When Jesus smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle up slightly.
“Now, on that note, shall we both head to the fire? I believe that Mary has kept some fruits apart for you and Thomas wanted to show you a trick he has learnt.”
Your eyes widen. “They’ve asked about me? I-I mean, okay.”
Jesus stands and takes the lantern before holding out His hand to you so that He can help you up. You follow Him out of the tent, towards the fire, where warmth and careful company welcome you.
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wkemeup · 4 years ago
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The Only Kindness
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summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause
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The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.
It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.
Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.
He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.
“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.
Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.
“Go to hell.”
Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.
They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.
His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.
But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.
“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.
He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.
He didn’t know much at all, really.
But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.
“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.
The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.
The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.
It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.
“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.
Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.
Zola merely smiled.
It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.
“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.
Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.
He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.
Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.
“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.
Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.
Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
But he could scream.
It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.
He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.
“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.
“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.
“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”
Let them.
The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.
There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.
“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.
“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”
“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.
The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.
He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.
She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.
“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”
Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.
She held her ground.
“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”
As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.
“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.
She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Maybe not today, but it will be.”
Then, he was gone.
The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.
“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”
“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.
But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”
She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.
“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”
There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.
“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.
“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”
He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.
Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.
“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”
She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”
“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.
“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”
He shook his head.
“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”
The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.
“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”
A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.
She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.
“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.
She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”
A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.
“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”
She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.
He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.
He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.
“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”
Yeah, might as well.
He offered her his hand.
He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.
When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.
“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”
He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.
“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”
She smiled at that.
“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”
***
It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.
No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.
A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.
Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.
They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.
He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.
He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.
In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.
***
A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.
Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”
They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.
Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.
“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”
Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”
A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.
“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”
“You don’t give us orders, princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.
“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”
The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.
“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.
He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.
“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.
“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.
He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.
"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"
“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”
There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”
“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.
Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”
“Nah, this is perfect.”
Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.
She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.
Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.
“What are they doing to you...”
Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.
“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”
She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.
“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.
***
He forgot her for the first time a few days later.
The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.
They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.
He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.
He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.
“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”
She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.
“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.
She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.
He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”
She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.
“You will, Bucky.”
He hoped that were true.
***
Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.
She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.
“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.
“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.
“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.
He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.
She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.
“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.
“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”
“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”
“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”
“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”
“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.
“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”
Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.
“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”
“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”
“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”
He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.
Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...
“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”
Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.
There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.
Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.
His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.
Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.
And he was.
The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.
In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.
The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.
“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.
Then – darkness.
***
“We need to be more careful.”
“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”
“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”
He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.
A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.
“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.
She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.
“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”
He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.
Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.
He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.
A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.
He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.
“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.
“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”
The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –
Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.
“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.
“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.
The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.
“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”
Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.
“Get away from her.”
Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.
“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.
But the Soldier did not move.
“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.
“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.
She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.
Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.
He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.
There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.
“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.
Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—
“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”
He froze. There was that name again...
He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.
“Bucky, look at me.”
He did.
Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.
When he met her eyes again, he understood why.
“Y/n?”
She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.
“Y/n... I—”
The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.
“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”
Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.
“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”
“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.
“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”
She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.
“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.
The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.
Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”
Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.
***
The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.
It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.
He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.
Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.
“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.
A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –
There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.
“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.
She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.
“How are you feeling?”
The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.
“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.
She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.
“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.
Regardless, the Soldier nodded.
As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.
He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.
“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”
Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.
She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.
When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?
“Bucky?”
He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.
“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.
“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.
She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.
“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”
“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.
The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.
“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”
Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.
“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”
He nodded. It pleased the scientist.
Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.
Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.
---
Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨
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izzabeean · 3 years ago
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Chapter 6 : Bad Luck
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pairing : fushiguro toji x fem!reader
warnings/tags : 18+, alternate universe - office, eventual romance, explicit language.
genre : angst + fluff + smut
word count : 3,183
a/n : whoot, feeling like I posted this next chapter with a good amount of time in between the last one published. I've changed up my writing process a bit, just write and write without any worry then go back later and let myself proofread once I feel like I've hit my limit. I think this has been the most efficient way as of lately because I don't feel pressured to whip out a new chapter each time I post and this way, I can get my main ideas on paper. this new process kind of came from this idea of writing as an architect or a gardener. I'm more of an architect because I like to plan my thoughts out but I think changing up the process has helped me get out of my writer's block.
anyway! thank you again for your patience. the dialogue has been so fun to write in this chapter between Toji & Y/N. please enjoy xx
18+ minors dni!!!
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“How could you possibly just lose it?”
The director's words pierce Toji from across the room as a searing headache forms from the screeching sound of his voice. For once Toji was speechless, unable to explain his actions. He didn’t know what happened to the project. Didn’t know what he had done wrong. Didn’t know how it could have just disappeared from his computer. There wasn’t any sort of self-sabotage behind it, for once in his life, he was trying to complete something and, of course, all his effort was for nothing.
“What am I supposed to tell the client?” The director continues, pacing back and forth behind his desk while Toji blankly stares at him slouching in the chair. “That my employees are incapable of administering a simple project? The utter humiliation–”
Stress exuberates through him more and more with each passing second while the sound of Toji’s heart beating rapidly in his chest starts to outweigh the intensity of his boss. He should’ve kept his head down, should’ve just worked in the background without making much effort, spending the rest of his days just getting by. That’s what he’d be doing all his life and now because he went off track from his normal routine… Things got complicated.
For one, the alcohol that normally congratulates him after a long day is only seldomly effective. The liquor coating his tongue doesn’t relax, only spreads more awareness of his unruly existence. On top of that, sleeping with women wasn’t the same. There’s a heaviness that weighs him down every time he even touches a woman. There’s no thrill or excitement, only the depressing emotion of sex with another stranger shortly after he climaxes. 
Everything that used to get him by seemed so dull. Perhaps there was a limit to what stimulated him and he just discovered it or maybe the depression he’d been side-lining has finally caught up to the impending doom he’s been feeling every waking hour of the day. Regardless, he still finds his decisions to be the reason for his destruction.
The door bursts open, interrupting the director’s rampant pestering. A breath of fresh air sweeps away Toji’s self-deprecating thoughts as he turns to see you walk into the room.
“My apologies, I got here as fast as I could,” you say, smoothing your hair down while rushing up to the desk to stand behind Toji. An urgency falls upon your face as the director explains what had happened. Your eyes widen while your jaw locks. It was a look Toji had never seen before – you looked completely distressed. Your eyes dart to Toji. “You didn’t check if it was saved as another document?”
“If I had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Toji says and you huff at his response.
Perhaps it’s the essence of HR steaming off of your panic but you look quite concerned for him. Your eyes gleaming with uneasiness, the biting of your bottom lip, the steady breathing showing that you’re in deep thought, thinking of a possible solution. Most of the time, your emotional outbursts have taken over at Toji’s presence but now you are remaining logical.
“We can’t have this client waiting on us,” the director exclaims firmly. “There’s just too much risk.”
“Sir, if I may make a suggestion,” you ask to which he nods in reply. “I think you should ask for a week extension–”
“L/N-san, do you hear yourself? That will humiliate–”
“I’m sorry sir, but there’s more than just the company's reputation,” you interrupt with an apologetic look on your face, to which the director holds back his words with a frown. Toji’s eyes widen as you completely dismiss the director’s attitude to continue explaining your idea. 
“Our client is quite reputable in the market. I believe we can complete the project to continue our relations with them. If we do so, it could bring us other opportunities from other investors.”
The director raises an eyebrow, listening closely to the calm and composure of your words. Toji has never seen you in a professional setting before, your competence, integrity, and confidence shining through your word. Now he understands why someone at your age could receive the title of "Human Resource Manager".
“I believe Fushiguro-san has shown his dedication to the company, especially since you were looking quite forward to the finalization of the project,” you exclaim. “And I think he is capable of completing the project once again.”
“You know that project took me almost a month,” Toji intervenes.
“Then since you’ve already completed it, it should only take half the amount of time,” you argue.
“Perhaps that’s a good idea,” the director chimes in. “But it’s very doubtful they’ll be inclined to do so.”
The silence stretches among the three of you and the lingering stress forms a pit in Toji’s throat. He’s never really fucked up so bad, he most definitely would rather die than have to redo the entire project. From the beginning, he has been a little unlucky, but now it just feels like the entire world is against him reminding him that his existence isn’t futile.
“I’ll talk to them,” you say. “I will just insist on an extension.”
“Alright, L/N. I’m trusting your judgment,” the director agrees after a moment. “Fushiguro, I’ll give you a week and a half.”
You’re so nonchalant about this inconvenience it makes Toji sick. He’d rather just walk out on the company instead. What was even the point of putting an effort into something? Honestly, he should have never even tried so hard. Everything was just fine before this project… Before you showed up.
“Sir I–”
“If this is going to be completed on time, we will need to suspend the organization of the company event,” the director says, eyeing you both with a very, very serious look on his face. “Also, Fushiguro, this project is very important to the face of the company, therefore I would hope that you take good care in the completion.”
A menacing look dresses his face without even a laugh to support the comment. Toji wanted to say 'fuck it, fuck you, I don’t care about this anymore, I quit.' But something strange overcomes him at that moment. Perhaps it was some grace from his morning coffee, or perhaps he felt sorry that you believed in him. Nonetheless, he looks at the director with determination on his face.
“You have nothing to worry about.”
  Now Toji’s ego feels on the line. He didn’t think this decision through as his fingers clicked away on the keyboard, back to the beginning of where he was a month ago. He can feel the tension in the office as others pass by giving him unappreciative looks. Quitting was a better option.
“Yo!” Kong steps up to Toji's desk, both hands in his pants pocket. There’s a slight concern on his face and he watches Toji barely look up from the computer. “Heard about the project. Man, that’s gotta suck after so much overtime.”
“Pretty sure the entire office knows about it,” Toji mutters, still not looking up. “Pro’ly gonna have to sleep here until it’s done.”
“Tsk, maybe don’t work yourself too hard,” Kong says with a chuckle trying to make light of the situation. When Toji continues to type without a reaction, Kong realizes now isn’t the time to joke around with his buddy. “Seriously, it’s not worth losing sleep over.”
Toji stops and looks up at Kong with a smirk. “Then maybe I should just quit.”
“You could,” Kong laughs.
“But…”
“But?”
Toji looks past Kong to see you walking by, you hand over some paperwork to a co-worker and exchange a couple of words before turning back to your office with a smile. Kong follows Toji’s eyes.
“Ahh, now everything makes sense,” Kong exclaims. “You have a crush on the new HR manager.”
Toji snickers, prying his eyes away from you to get back to work. “You still trying to be funny?”
"You know, it's not a bad thing to want to do more than just sleep with someone," Kong says watching Toji’s face remain unchanged. "Unless… All you want to do is sleep with her."
Toji remains impassive. Of course, he doesn’t have a crush on you. "I gotta get back to work, not enough hours in the day."
"Alright, let me know if you need anything,” Kong offers. "Don't stay here too late."
  Toji watches everyone trickle out of the office as the day comes to a close. He still feels miles away from completing this project and time is ticking against him. His lips crave a taste of whiskey as his productivity starts to plummet. About to get up to leave and give up on this assignment, he watches as you walk by the front of the office. Purse in hand, snug in a warm coat, you very easily accepted no responsibility for the completion of this project. Sure, you never worked on it in the first place, but because of you, Toji has to start from the beginning with less than half the amount of time to hit the deadline. Frankly, you should be helping him. 
Getting up from his desk, he takes long strides towards the elevators to stop you from leaving the building. He doesn’t catch you waiting, but most definitely sees an elevator door open waiting to depart. He rushes up to it, sliding his hand between the doors about to shut and a gasp sounds from the other end. A woman Toji has seen in the office before but has never spoken to gazes up to him and you're next to her brows furrowed to a glare.
“Leaving early?” Toji asks.
“My day is done,” you pout, pushing the close door button hoping Toji will take the hint to let you be. 
“Are you sure about that?” Toji gives a smug look, triggering the rising loss of patience. “Think there’s something you need to help with or are you busy with Kai–”
“Oh my god, alright!” You cut him off before he has a chance to finish his sentence. The irritating chime of the elevator sounds warning that the doors have remained open for too long makes you rush off the elevator and Toji snickers as the doors shut behind you. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Careful, don’t want your co-workers to see how much of a bitch you are,” Toji teases.
“I’m the bitch?” You growl. “How about you, asshole?”
“Is that the new nickname now?” Toji says, he knew you were on the cusp of punching him in the face, but he wanted to take that chance noting how hot you look angry. “What happened to pervert ?” 
“You can have two can’t you?”
“Well, that just makes me feel special.” Toji’s voice was relentless as he continued to poke at you insistently. He knew the right words to say just to get you all riled up and he’d be waiting patiently all day for the right moment to grace you with his presence. 
“Believe me, you’re not that special,” you shoot back with a wide spiteful grin.
“Wow, who pissed you off today?” Toji asks, a little bit wounded by your comment.
“Look, if you want to blackmail me, get it over with. But I fucking helped you not get fired.”
“I never really asked you to,” Toji’s mouth twitched in irritation. “What if I’m tired of this shit-ass job.”
“Then why don’t you quit?” You stand crossing your arms.
Toji just shrugs in response.
“Fuck,” you groan frustrated from the conversation. “Just tell me what you want from me?”
  You both sit down at Toji’s desk for a couple of hours- you working off your laptop and him working on his desktop. The majority of the time, a silence fills the air between the two of you, even when Toji looked at you in his peripheral, all he could see is a persistent frown since the moment you started helping him. It made him almost laugh a couple of times, especially when your eyes look up to him, anger deepening as you catch him staring. Luckily Toji wrote out notes of what he’d remembered from the lost report and all your job was to type it out. You seemed good with your words, capable of writing material good enough for a proposal. 
Your company wasn’t all that menacing though, once the time started to reach 7:30 PM, your face seemed to relax as a yawn emerged from your mouth.
“I think I’m good for the day,” you say, slouching back in your chair.
“Let’s see,” Toji says, turning the laptop to him. His eyes widen in shock seeing more than what he needed to be written up in the document - another reason to believe why you are in a management position at your age. As he looks up at you, he sees you standing up and putting your coat on. Though he didn't expect you to stay almost three hours after work, he appreciated your effort. He didn’t want to say it aloud though. It wasn’t quite his style.
“Wanna go for a drink?”
You pause for a moment caught off guard by his invitation. He can see you processing it and he wonders if you misheard him, but once you let out a little chuckle followed by a disturbed look on your face, he already knows the answer.
“You’re joking, right?” You study his face looking for an answer, but alas it's unreadable. “You going to blackmail me to have a drink with you?”
Toji clicks his tongue and returns to his work. He can sense a stutter in your movements with a hint of regret as you pause before you leave. But it doesn’t last long as you turn and murmur “Goodnight” before walking away. He doesn’t reply or look up, almost bitter at you for thinking he’d force you like that to just have a drink with him. It’s almost more impactful for him to not reply to your childish games at this point. Plus it’s late and he’s getting tired, he doesn't have the patience anymore.
  The next day, Toji sees you from across the room. The irritation had left his body last night after some alcohol and sleep, but there was still this curiosity about whether you felt sorry for him or not. He feels like an idiot for testing you but he doesn't want to force his presence if you were only disgusted by it. And yet his body seems to have a mind of its own as he watches you step away from your co-workers and down the hall back into your office.
“Morning,” Toji greets in the doorway, noting the cute suit you’re wearing today as you stand behind your desk. A tight skirt with a fitted blazer, you were just asking to be gawked at. So how could he not stare?
Looking up from your desk, the melancholy look on your face turns deadpan. “You here to annoy me already?”
“Well, I gotta get through my daily tasks, and irritating you happens to be one of them,” Toji jokes with a sincere smile.
“Somehow, I can’t see that in your job description,” you pipe back.
“Who says that it is?” He purs, stepping into your office. “Maybe it’s just a way to make the day a little less boring.”
“So pissing me off is your version of fun?” You scowl hoping to get rid of him, but of course, it wasn’t all that easy.
“I can’t admit something like that to the head of HR,” Toji teases. He places both hands on the desk leaning over towards you. It’s tempting how close you are to him, how much he wished you’d close the gap between the two of you. “But it is quite fun to get a reaction out of you.
He sees your mouth twitch in aggravation as you pull out your chair to take a seat. “You’re driving me out of my fucking mind.”
“But you like it,” he grins as you continued to stare at him. Luckily for you, Toji wore a fitted dress shirt today, optimally outlining his physique, a tie wrapped around his neck, but a bit undone along with the top button of his shirt. His hair was slicked back, some strands falling on his face and for the first time in a while, he felt good. Undoubtedly he knew he looked good.  “You like the undivided attention I give you. Don’t you?”
“From a pervert?” You smirk. “I don’t think so.”
“Is the only reason you’re calling me a pervert to deflect how attracted you are to me?” He watches you start to get uncomfortable as you cross your arms against your chest as if to shut out any emotions. But it’s plain to Toji that his words are working diligently, breaking away at your ego, taking you down a notch to where you need to be. On the desk, getting fucked silly.
“God, you’re irritating,” you say. 
“Ignoring my question because I’m right?”
“Don’t fucking test me.”
“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”
A fit of anger boils within you that is about to explode, and Toji can’t believe it as you stand up from your seat to grab his tie. He leans closer hoping that the reaction will be a sloppy kiss instead of a blow to the face. No matter what it is, the passion in your eyes is very fiery. The fact that he’s struck a nerve and has you almost ballistic in front of him, turns him on so much. He could feel himself getting rock hard each waking moment.
“Am I interrupting something?”
The two of you look to the front of the office to see Kaito with a stern look on his face. The raw tension almost makes Toji laugh, but the feeling of being caught protrudes off on you. You weren’t hasty or worried about it, just bothered.
“No,” you say flatly before rolling your eyes and letting go of Toji’s necktie.
“Can we have our meeting, now?” Kaito askes. He sounds defensive, full of spite with a sprinkle of jealousy. That’s all Toji needs, to piss off the guy you’re fucking on the down-low or maybe that’s what he wants. If at all, he just really wants to show you who’s better.
“Of course,” you nod. “Fushiguro, if you can–”
“Leave?” Toji finishes your sentence with a chuckle then rolls his eyes before lazily standing up straight. The gaze he receives from Kaito is far from friendly as if Toji is receiving a target on his back. “She’s all yours.”
The surprise from Kaito shifts to anger as he watches Toji leave the room.
“Shut the door on your way out,” Kaito calls out, giving the last word.
And Toji leaves the room with an awful taste in his mouth. What a fucking joke that is. He can’t believe that guy and how full of himself he is. It’s irritation at its finest.
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tags: @brumous11 @cosmotoic @slurptheskinoffshiggysfatdick @gojosoath​​
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sandorcentral · 3 years ago
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Welcome Home (Sandor x Reader, NSFW)
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Pairing: Sandor Clegane x F!Reader
Summary:  It was requested I write a fic in an AU where Sandor survives Season 8 and is married to Sansa's seamstress, in which Sandor is reunited with his wife and things get..spicey. 
Wordcount:  2435
Rating:  Explicit
Warnings: canon divergence, swearing, explicit language, Sandor being mildly sexually aggressive, Sandor fucking BITES and I do not take criticism on this, me not writing dialogue for Sandor very well, size kink, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, unprotected sex. 
A/N:  I suck at writing for Sandor but this is only my first attempt.  Be kind, and comment if you feel so inclined. (:
Also I'll be reblogging this later with the AO3 link.
You'd tossed and turned all night.   Every night without Sandor by your side was fitful.  A generous quantity of wine before bed helped, just not enough. You had spent so many years comforted by your husband's warmth and sheer size that it just didn't feel right trying to find slumber without Sandor's arms wrapped around you, his warm breath and soft snores in your ear.  The burly mastiff that the Clegane house had provided as a wedding gift those years ago huffed and curled up behind your knees, attempting to provide you with the company you were so sorely lacking.  The pressure of the massive dog leaning into you was all that encouraged you to somnolence, as you imagined a much more substantial hound was providing you the warmth needed for rest.
***
The sharp clank of your door's lock shifting roused you instantly.  The mastiff sprang to its paws and a growl rose from deep in its chest, but a heavy gauntleted hand patted the creature's head and calmed it instantly.  "All right, you bloody mutt.  That's a good dog."  
It felt like a dream, hearing that deep rasp.  It had been a dream on so many occasions since Sandor left to accompany Queen Sansa on her visit to consult Bran in the Crownlands.  You'd slept so little the entire time he had been absent that it felt like a vision, suddenly seeing your husband's towering visage before you. 
After shoeing your mastiff into the hall, Sandor sat down heavily before you on the bed, and discarded his gauntlets upon the floor.  The moment you sat up he captured your face in large, calloused hands and kissed you with a ferocity that took your breath away.  His kisses could be harsh but his lips were soft, save for the fur around his mouth that tickled you.  For a lingering moment you wondered if this perfect moment was indeed just another dream.
With a low rumble under his breath Sandor pulled away, planting the softest kiss upon your forehead, before wrapping huge arms around you and folding you against his chest.  If there were seven heavens then this was indubitably one of them, surrounded by your husband's warmth, the light musk of his skin, and his fingers absent-mindedly stroking your bed-befuddled hair.  
  
"I was wondering if you were ever coming back," you jested quietly, turning your face up to meet Sandor's gaze.  Your chiding words were immediately punished by sharp teeth nipping at your lips, followed by a tender kiss where he'd now left a light red mark.  You clutched his thickly furred jaw in both hands, thumbs occasionally ghosting over his cheekbones, almost trying to convince yourself he was real.  
Sandor leaned back, suddenly looking lost.  He got like this sometimes, especially following any significant absence of you.  Originally you only saw this reaction out of him when you'd stroke or kiss the marred half of his face; you'd always loved pressing your lips to that downward-drooping brow.  It had bewildered Sandor for the longest, the fact that not only did you have no qualms about looking at him, you had no apprehensions about touching his melted skin.  An almost tranced expression overcame his face, his thumb stroking your cheek absent-mindedly as you moved closer to him.  
"I missed you," Sandor rumbled hoarsely, his wolfish gaze of his good eye dropping to your lips.  
"And I love you."
"Mm. Daft as always," Sandor grunted, with his tiny quirk of a smile, before kissing you once more with fervor.    
"I was going to offer you wine but you already taste like it," you chuckled against his mouth.  You had long since begun to associate the deep sugary flavor of red wine with Sandor's coarsely furred lips, and you were perfectly fine with that.  
"What the fuck else am I supposed to do on that ride back?  Besides.  The Broken King can afford Dornish red." 
"Don't call him that."  You gave Sandor the same puppy eyes you did when he casually insulted any of your acquaintances in the Stark family.  
Sandor snorted and suddenly you were being pushed back onto the bed.  "Quit your talking," he rasped.  "We've got lost time to make up for."   
You weren't about to argue with the huge man as his lips found your neck and he deftly undid the lacing of your dress until it loosened from your shoulders, revealing your chest and stomach to him.  Looking you up and down, Sandor absent-mindedly drew his lower lip between his teeth.  He looked hungry, not unlike the way he appeared when he was itching for a fight to start.  
More lacings came undone and more harsh kisses and bites ensued.  Sandor worked his way down your body, nipping at your collarbone then showing delicacy to your nipples - swirling his tongue around them until you shivered and tightened your fingers' grip in his hair.  You loved the fact that his hands were more than large enough to entirely encompass each of your breasts in his palms, and that his mouth was deft in his exploration of your body. 
It was not long before Sandor was wriggling your dress over your hips and discarding it upon the floor, before taking a moment to admire the form of his wife, drinking in your visage.  He had this way of smiling at you that didn't quite reach his mouth but the crinkles around his eyes betrayed that he was pleased.  He ran one large, rough hand down your side and over the sharp curve of your hip, before taking your knee and spreading you open before him.  
He kissed your inner thighs delicately, starting near your knees and moving closer and closer to your core.  His beard tickled you here and there but that was soon forgotten when his warm mouth reached your nub, his large tongue languidly lapping up and down your folds.  One calloused hand gripped the junction where your thigh met your hip, while the other tentatively stroked your entrance, gauging how ready you were.  
"Sandor, please," you breathed, and that was all he needed.  Two long, thick fingers slid into you, before curving upward in a come-hither motion, stroking the spot inside you that made your eyes roll back immediately.  His talented tongue swirling around your nub had you shuddering uncontrollably and tightening around his fingers, making Sandor sigh against you in satisfaction - a low noise that reverberated through your core and had your thighs quivering on either side of his head.  
Your fingers twisted in his hair, attempting to gather long locks away from his face the way he would for you when your mouth was full of his cock.  Gasps and mutters of his name fell from your lips as you felt shocks snaking up through your body.  His fingers quickened their pace, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, as he suckled at your nub like his life depended on it.  
For a moment you looked down at the tantalizing man between your legs, overcome with the fact that it was him you had managed to marry and that was pleasuring you, the Hound, that was exploring you so intimately.  Years of being together had never dulled this exhilaration; had never lessened the inherent excitement of being ravished by this notoriously huge, powerful man.  For a moment his "good" eye met your gaze; the other eye was too weighed down by his maimed, melted brow to see you at such an angle. 
"Sandor, I'm -"  Your voice cut off suddenly, unable to process the amount of sensation coursing through you. 
In response he slipped a third finger into you, at which point you were certain he was not simply enjoying playing with you, he was getting you ready.  "Go ahead."  His rasping voice rumbling against you, and the sudden crook of his fingers inside you against that special spot was all you needed.  You tightened your grip in Sandor's hair and cried out as stars burst behind your eyelids, your back arching up off the bed.  
A fewmioments and Sandor sat up as you lay quivering and spent, wiping your moisture from his lips and beard.  His eyes were dark with lust, and he was breathing nearly as hard as you were.  
As you slowly came down from the high that his ministrations provided, you had the pleasure of watching Sandor stand and shed his layers.  He was quite adept at undoing his own armor, the result of having never accepted a squire, swiftly leaving him in the loose small-clothes that were your honor to remove.  You sat up, still remarkably shaky in the legs, and took the hem of his tunic in your hands.  You laid a kiss upon each section of your husband's flesh that you revealed, savoring the soft tickle of the dark hair that covered the expanse of his broad chest and abdomen.  
Tunic removed, you graduated down to the buttons of his trousers, teasingly avoiding the swelling you encountered.  Your husband's arousal was no small thing to avoid - to your original intrigue and dismay, you had discovered Sandor was exactly as well-endowed as one would assume a man of his stature might be. You kissed the deep brown fur from his collarbone to his navel, while your hands worked on freeing him from the confines of his trousers.  
Cloth slipped over his hips and Sandor sighed in relief, his stiffened length no longer uncomfortably restrained.  You began laying adoring kisses on your husband's stomach, following the thick trail of brown curls from his navel to his root.  A low rumble worked its way out of the huge man as you placed more kisses on either side of his cock, his warm shaft just barely grazing your cheek.  
"Enough," Sandor growled, taking a handful of your hair, and once again you found yourself being gripped by the shoulder and pushed back onto the bed, though with more fervor this time.  He crawled onto the bed after you, a hungry, predatory gleam in his eyes as he moved atop you.  
Sandor clutched your face in both large hands, resting his forehead against yours.  His breath was hot on your face and his  warm member slid back and forth over your entrance, his leaking length heavy and rubbing against your nub.  You squirmed a little in anticipation beneath Sandor as his tip sought your entrance.
Sandor's lips found yours again before he leaned into you, the weight of his body driving his cock home.  You gasped sharply, all of you tensing as he filled you suddenly and nearly to the hilt, your fingers tangling frantically in your husband's llong hair. You couldn't blame him - he was desperate, he needed to be one with his wife after all this time, but that didn't change the fact that in his urgency Sandor was forgetting you might need some extra time to adjust to him after all these moons of his absence.  
Sandor drew back, his lips exploring from your jaw to your ear. Your nails dug into his shoulders and you yelped as he bottomed out in you with the next thrust; he still wasn't even buried to the hilt.  With a few insistent strokes the burn of him stretching you began to fade, or it became easier to ignore when Sandor filling you to the brim was sending shocks resonating through your core.  
If you really needed convincing to ignore the short-lived pain of his entrance, Sandor sank his teeth into the side of your neck, distracting you with a sensation he knew you responded well to.  The bite was sharp but sent a delicious, dull ache resonating through you as he held on, like a dog mounting its bitch.  You were fully aware that this would be a blue or purple bruise tomorrow, the way his teeth were baring into you, but you didn't care.  In fact the prospect excited you particularly.  Few things satisfied you as much as visible reminders that you belonged to the Hound - it was your honor to wear the marks of the Clegane dog claiming you, branded in your own misplaced blood.  Perhaps one day that honor would be worn as a swollen belly full of Sandor's pups.  
You wrapped your legs snugly around his midsection, allowing a less overwhelming angle as his pace began to pick up rapidly.  What had been relatively methodical strokes were now frantic and restless, eliciting gasps and shrill moans from you every time Sandor's cock came up against that wall deep inside you, sending tendrils of sharp pleasure up through you.  Your eyes rolled back in your head and the rest of the world began to drop away, nothing existing in that moment but your union with Sandor; the musk of his skin surrounding you, the tickle of his dark helical strands falling around your face, the breath-taking sensation of him filling you relentlessly.  He was absolutely intoxicating.  
The force of his rutting eventually sent you over the edge again, and you cried out frantically enough that you stuffed your own fist into your mouth with celerity.  Sandor immediately grasped your wrist, holding your hand captive above your head.  "No," he snarled, gripping the hair of the back of your head, "let them hear what I'm doing to you."  Undoubtedly referring to adjacent rooms in the castle.  You whimpered against Sandor's furred lips, unable to control your body tightening around him convulsively, drawing from him his own climax.  Sandor took your throat between his teeth with a low snarl as he suddenly spilled into you, his warm seed filling you to the point of overflowing.  
You kept your legs tightened around your husband's waist as he loosened his teeth on your flesh and rested his damp forehead against the swoop of your shoulder. You were unwilling to experience the absence of him within your body just yet.  Sandor's cock still pulsed and twitched, his breath ragged on your neck, as your insides milked the last few drops out of him. 
A small whine escaped you as Sandor withdrew slowly, settling beside you on the bed and collecting you to his chest.  You nuzzled against the soft curls of his collarbone and gently entwined your legs with his.  "I love you," Sandor rumbled sleepily, resting his chin atop your head.  
"Welcome home, love."  You laid a languid series of tender kisses beneath his jaw, though Sandor was already snoring softly, arms still clasped solidly around you.  You smiled against his chest, and it wasn't long until you fell into the only peaceful sleep you'd found in fortnights.  
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babyboibucky · 4 years ago
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Undeserving (Deserve Better Part 2)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: You confront Bucky about his decision to abandon you.
Word Count: 2,868
Warnings: More angst lmao I’m sorry for this
A/N: Honestly struggled with this because 1) I couldn’t decide on how to end it and 2) I was pressured from the feedback I got from Deserve Better. I’m not entirely happy with how this came out and initially, I planned on doing an epilogue for those who’d prefer a different ending but decided against it. Anyway, if you guys have more questions about this, send me an ask! I’d love to discuss more about this lol luv u all as always. Feedbacks are highly appreciated and I hope this was good enough for y’all who enjoyed Deserve Better xoxo
Deserve Better || Undeserving || Deserve The Best
MAIN MASTERLIST
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You chose to stay.
Despite seeing the love of your life— whom you had waited for years— in the arms of another, you stayed at the gala. It was after all, to honor Steve’s legacy and you respected him enough not to walk away and miss out on the speeches given by people dearest to him, Bucky included of course.
You weren’t sure if he had seen you and the way your eyes brimmed with tears when everything finally made sense to you. He wasn’t far from you when you stopped in your tracks, mouth parting as a soft whimper escaped past your lips.
You had never imagined that heartbreak could be so physically painful. And it wasn’t the regular pain you’d feel after an intense workout or when you scraped your knee. The hurt was different, like your heart was being tightly squeezed into someone else’s palm. It was choking you, constricting you of oxygen as if you were drowning. No matter how much you tried to reach the surface, the pain just kept on pulling you down until there was nothing but darkness and well, pain.
Once the program was over and all the guests were left to mingle, you carefully slipped out of the crowd. Mindlessly, you walked and walked and walked until your feet began to hurt from the heels you were wearing. When the cold and crisp air of the evening embraced you, it was then that you realized that you reached the compound’s garden, just behind the main hall where the gala was happening.
The quiet gave you time to think and process everything that had happened. Bucky left to find himself and to become better, that he did. And you waited only to discover that he’d been back for quite a while now but chose to be with another.
As you looked out in front of you, your vision turned blurry as a new wave of tears escaped your eyes. Your grief had resurfaced after repressing it for so, so long. Grief from Bucky’s goodbye, from his absence and from waiting, grief from seeing him with someone else; no matter the cause, all in all it was grief nonetheless.
Bucky’s soft voice calling your name echoed in the evening air, it was so soft that you almost thought that you were hallucinating. But then he’d called you again, using the pet name that used to make your stomach flip and your heart to flutter. It still had the same effect now, you realized, only that it came along with an immense amount of pain that made your blood boil.
Hearing Bucky call you that, it almost felt like poison. It was quiet, gentle even but it left a bitter taste in your mouth as you felt its venom run through your veins until you could no longer feel anything but pain.
“Doll—“
“Don’t.” you seethed and turned around, pointing a shaky finger right at Bucky. “Don’t call me that when you’re with someone else, James.”
Bucky flinched at the way you had addressed him. You saw how his face faltered upon seeing you like this. His vibranium arm was restless against his side, as if he wanted to reach out to you but knew better than to do so.
“I waited for you!” you spat.
If he found somebody else to become better for, he could at least let you know. But he didn’t and you needed to know why he chose to abandon you. You needed it so badly, for your own peace of mind. For closure. You deserved that, at least.
“I’m sorry, I—“
“No, you don’t get to say your side until I’m done with mine!” you insisted. “I have every right to be selfish right now. I can choose to lash out on you or refuse to even listen to whatever your reason is for abandoning me no matter how valid it is. I fucking deserve that, Bucky.”
Bucky closed his mouth and nodded; you hated how he was staring at you as if he just lost his moonlight, as if he still loved you. If he did, you wouldn’t be confronting him like this and you wouldn’t have seen him with someone else.
“When Steve told me that you disappeared, when it felt like there was no way to bring everyone back, I waited. It didn’t feel right for me to move on from you just like that and deep inside I knew that you were going to return. Five years, Buck. I waited five years for nothing.” you said quietly, recalling how devastating those five years were.
You didn’t know what would happen then, nobody knew. Would they still come back? The chances were slim and yet you trusted your gut and decided to remain hopeful. It wasn’t easy to wait for something or someone that may never come back. But you still did and it never even crossed your mind that you may just be wasting your time.
You let out a breathy chuckle, “And then you came back and I felt alive again. But then you said goodbye.” you pursed your lips in an attempt to hold back your tears but to no avail.
It took you a while to collect yourself and Bucky let you, until you spoke again and told him how much it destroyed you when he walked away from you.
“Everyone else told me that I shouldn’t wait. Not again after those five years. But it felt easier this time around because you told me you wanted to get better. For me. And I was excited, Bucky.” you told him with a chuckle. “I was excited to see your return. I looked forward to how we’d spend our time together when you come back, if you’d cut your hair. If you’d wear the same cologne that I loved.”
A smile tugged at your lips as you recalled those times you daydreamed about Bucky’s return. The wait was agonizing but it gave you something to look forward to. At least you weren’t waiting for nothing anymore. Bucky was leaving but only temporarily, you were sure he’d come back. But the smile vanished as soon as it appeared and before you knew it, you were sobbing again.
“And now you’re back and so much better. But you aren’t mine anymore.”
At this point, your grief had consumed you both physically and mentally. You knees wobbled but you didn’t hit the ground, no. Instead, there was warmth against your skin followed by the smell of a certain cologne, enveloping the air around you. Bucky caught you in his arms and he held you tight as you cried into him.
“Shh, doll. I’m here now.” he whispered before pressing a kiss onto your crown.
As much as it felt right to be in Bucky’s embrace, it wasn’t enough to overcome the betrayal he did. You groaned in frustration and pushed him away, stepping back and hugging yourself instead.
“Why?” you asked quietly.
“I need to know why and how we came to this.” you asked, almost begged for Bucky to give you the closure you badly needed.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he paced before you, his cheeks stained with his own tears. “I came back for you.” he said.
You frowned, “When?”
“I couldn’t wait to see you again and as soon as I got back, I went straight to your office. But then you weren’t working there anymore, I found out that you finally landed your dream job at the law firm.” he said with a small smile. “I was so proud when I heard that. I was supposed to go to your apartment but something came up and I needed to meet with Sam first. Weekend came and I was on my way to your place when I saw you. And you were with someone else and you looked....happier, the happiest I’d seen you.”
Something clicked and you quickly shook your head, “Andy. No, he’s not...we were never together. This is a misunderstanding, Bucky. He and I were never—“
“I know.” Bucky admitted.
“What?” You asked, voice soft from utter confusion.
“You looked happy with him, not because of him. I know you weren’t in love with him because if you were, you would have looked at him the same way you’re looking at me now.” He explained sadly.
Hearing Bucky’s explanation made you angrier. If he knew that, then why did he still leave? What reason could be bigger than that to make Bucky wake up one day and decide that he no longer wants to come back to you?
If he knew you loved him so much to actually wait, why did he leave you like that?
Your brows creased, “If that’s not the reason, then what?”
Bucky shrugged, “I realized that you didn’t deserve me. I left to better myself for you, god I really did. But when I saw you and how you managed to be successful without me by your side, I figured that you were better off without me. I thought I got better, but seeing you again looking so beautiful, happy and just...maybe I’ll never be the right one for you.”
You bitterly chuckled at Bucky’s revelation, “This doesn’t make any sense to me, Bucky. You chose to abandon me because you thought I was happier without you?”
You felt offended that Bucky even thought of that. Did he not trust you when you told him you’d wait for him? He didn’t even show up to tell you that, to give you the chance to reassure him how much you love him. He just decided that it was better for him to leave you hanging?
“That’s bullshit, Bucky.” you spat. “You left me hanging because you thought you were weighing me down and the next time I see you, you’re with Sharon now. Who by the way, used to date your best friend. I don’t understand any of this.” you told him.
Bucky looked at the ground as he evened out his breathing. There were a few seconds of silence between the two of you. Only heavy breaths and the distant sound of the music from the gala lingered in the air. It was almost comforting. Almost.
“Sharon and I...it wasn’t easy for us when Steve left. It was something that we both had in common. We wanted to fix ourselves and in the process we just...it happened. I didn’t mean for it but it just happened.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
The pain was replaced with grief and then anger. A little sympathy was thrown in the mix too upon hearing Bucky’s reason but now you were back to square one. Pain.
“You worried for her when Steve left but didn’t worry about me when you chose to leave me hanging? You told me you needed to fix yourself alone because you didn’t want to hurt me in the process of doing so. Guess what, Bucky? You hurt me all the same. Even more so when you chose to stay for Sharon and when you allowed her to help you fix yourself.”
Bucky remained silent as he simply gazed at you and let you say your piece. You just couldn’t understand where he truly was coming from. You knew about his insecurities and you accepted each one of them. You’d wholeheartedly accepted Bucky from the moment you knew you loved him, that included his flaws and demons, even on days he hated himself.
“Don’t shut me out like that again, please?” You asked Bucky, when he finally let you inside his room after isolating himself for days.
He had those days, when he couldn’t bring himself to come out and just...live. He’d push people away and torture himself with negative thoughts. But you always stayed no matter what.
“‘m sorry doll, I just...sometimes...I love you so much but sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough of it to actually show you. And you don’t deserve that.” He explained.
You smiled and cupped his cheek, “That’s okay, Bucky. I love you and the amount of love I have for you is more than enough for both of us.”
Was your love not enough for him all along? For him not to consider how you would feel if he just decided not to come home to you anymore? You shouldn’t be blaming yourself for everything, you did your part. But you couldn’t help but wonder whether it was because of you that Bucky chose to walk away.
“I love you, I really do. And you deserve the best and I’m not...that. I chose to let you go so you can have that.”
“I don’t need the best version of you, Bucky!” You quickly cut him off. “I just need you.” You added.
When Bucky decided to leave to get better, you let him even though you hated to see him walk away. You’d be selfish not to, especially when Bucky was finally free to decide things for himself. It was for the best, but honestly speaking, you didn’t want a better version of him.
Whether it was the Winter Soldier or James Buchanan Barnes, whatever version of him he’d give to you, you love Bucky all the same.
You love Bucky so much that it was so painful for you to hear that he actually thought you’d be happier without him.
“You don’t deserve someone as damaged as me. Even if I got better, I’m still struggling and I don’t want to make things hard for you.” Bucky said.
“And you don’t get to decide what you think I deserve! You don’t get to abandon me like I was nothing, like we were nothing to you.” You seethed.
Bucky looked away, blinking his tears away as he tried to compose himself. His jaw tensed as he looked at you with an apologetic gaze.
“You shouldn’t have waited for me. You didn’t have to.” He said the same thing to you when he left, and it hurt just as much.
“I love you. I’ll wait, Bucky.” You murmured and tugged at his hand before he could even let you go.
Bucky smiled sadly at you, “You don’t have to, doll.”
You shook your head and brought Bucky’s hand to your lips as you cried, “I want to. And I will.”
“I know. But in all those years you were gone, I woke up each day and chose to wait for you. I always chose you, Bucky.” You said with a sad smile.
You stumbled a bit and lifted your dress enough to reveal your bleeding foot. You’d walked that long, for your feet to get wounded and ironically, you couldn’t feel anything but the pain of seeing Bucky again. He tried to approach you and help you out but you waved a hand and kept him at an arm’s length away from you. You removed your shoes and straightened up, looking at Bucky and his ocean blue eyes for one last time.
“I’m sorry if you felt like you weren’t enough. You’re more than enough for me, Bucky. I really thought that I could love and fight for the both of us, but I guess not.”
Bucky didn’t say anything else, and you hoped he would. It might have been pathetic of you to wish that he’d come back to you, but you really hoped he would say something to fight for you. He didn’t and that was enough for you to make a decision.
“Goodbye, Bucky.”
You bit your lower lip as you turned around, holding back your tears as you jogged back into the gala. You walked past everyone in the crowd in a hurry, wanting to head home as quickly as possible. And then you came face to face with someone you weren’t prepared to confront.
It’s as if time stopped when you saw her, Sharon. She must have found out about your presence. Did she know of Bucky’s decision to abandon you? You wondered how she helped Bucky better himself, why he let her stay as he fixed himself.
Why Bucky chose to be with her instead of coming home to you.
You could feel your chest constrict again, the pain continuing to consume you whole. If you stayed any longer, you were afraid you might break.
“Do you love him?” You asked her softly.
Without missing a beat, Sharon nodded her head. “I do.” She whispered.
“How much?” You asked again.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.” Sharon responded and you could feel the sincerity in her statement.
The way she said it wasn’t meant to hurt you nor mock you. It was reassuring, in fact. Like she was making you a promise that she was going to take good care of Bucky the same way you did. Maybe even more. You swallowed as you nodded, forcing a small smile before looking away to wipe a tear that slipped.
“That’s good.” You simply said. “Because I’d do anything for him too.”
Anything. Even if that meant walking away and giving up on a battle that you’d already lost the moment Bucky decided to abandon you.
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Everything Bucky Tag List:
@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar  @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @i’m-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @tcc-gizmachine @prettyintopeerpressure​ @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit​ @bloodhon3yx​ @dressed-in-prada​ @lizette50​ @​thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi 
Deserve Better Special Tags:
@nervous-plant @wintersfilm 
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rintarhoes · 4 years ago
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“KISS ME SLOWLY” — suna rintarou ;
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𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: female reader. fluff—established relationship. angst if you squint. comfort. mention of drug use. like, one swear word.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2k
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: suna rintarō is so much more than his bored eyes, the blunt between his lips, and his tendency to slack off and you’re one of the very few people who know this.
♡: repost (: this was written way before it was announced that suna was a part of the japan olympic players so.
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It’s you who find out first that there is truly so much more to Suna Rintarō than his expressionless exterior, sleepy eyes, and bored gaze towards even the most ridiculous situations. It’s when his self assured stance dwindled as he walked towards you once upon a time, introducing himself first before asking you for your number.
“My number?” You echoed his request, trying your best not to gawk at his attractive features and six foot two stature towering over you so easily; making you feel oh so small. (Which is funny, given that you were already standing straight on your heels.)
“If you don’t mind, ’s cool if you say no,” he replies, tearing his gaze from you as if he was actually anxious you’d say no.
It’s funny, really. It’s not every day a famous pro-athlete known for both his good looks and skills walk up to you, asking for your number and actually considering you’d say no to him and his pretty features—in fact, nevermind that he was pretty, it was more the fact that he wasn’t so full of himself to actually think you wouldn’t say no.
That’s what makes you nod your head; your heart already beating right out of your chest as he gives you a lazy grin and his phone to press your number in. When you’re done, you hand it back to him and you mentally pat yourself at the back for not visibly trembling.
“Y/N?” He reads your name from the contact information, and good God, did your name sound so beautiful coming out of his mouth. He doesn’t wait for your reply anymore, looking back at you from his phone, the lazy smile still across his lips as if he knew it was a heart killer.
“Thanks, I’ll text you later,” is the last thing he said before he walked away from you.
It didn’t take long for you to fall in love with someone like Suna Rintarō—underneath his detached personality also lied someone who was truly passionate with the things he set his mind to, gave his time to. Like you or volleyball or the video game he’s been waiting to release for a whole month—it only had to be something or someone who was special enough, then, he would give it his all.
The smoke that filled his lungs occasionally did nothing to lessen your own intoxication of Suna Rintarō and his passions—because every exhale, his dark green eyes would meet yours and oh so easily, he offers you that same lazy smile yet one that was dripping in affection.
“Should you even be smoking that, Rintarō?” You had questioned him before, about the second time you’ve seen him put the rolled blunt in between his soft lips, inhaling it.
“It’s a once in a while kinda thing, you don’t actually think I’d sacrifice my career for this don'tcha?” He grins at you, amusement flooding his usually bored eyes—now glazed over with the effects of the weed—from the way he gazes at you with an eyebrow raised.
It’s when you realize that Suna Rintarō was independent and knew what he was doing—did what he did with full awareness, full control, full flexibility. It’s as if who he was in court was who he was in person as well.
“You’re really interesting, y'know that Rin?” You had mumbled against his chest once before, it was at the first few months of dating—he had one of his arms around you with you cuddled on his side, watching a movie from his couch.
“Yeah?”
“I mean—you’ve always been so good at what you do, huh? But you still work for it.”
“What makes you say that?” You can feel him looking down on face against his chest.
“C'mon, don’t be silly. You were scouted at middle school and you only got better as you grew up!” You say, finally moving your head to meet his gaze.
But all you get is a flick on your forehead and his low chuckle, “’s not that deep, y/n,” he answers.
But you already knew better.
Suna isn’t one for words, and no matter how much you insist that he was beyond the description of words, he only rolls his narrowed eyes at you. You find out Suna Rintarō, your boyfriend, was a huge inspiration during your sixth month together when you finally met his little sister.
It’s hard to say it wasn’t amusing how snarky she was, just as he was to his friends whom you’ve met a few times before—Atsumu and Osamu Miya, you remember. She’s quick with her tongue, easily retorting back to her brother’s comments.
“Are you sure you didn’t just pay Y/N-san to be your girlfriend, nii-san?”
“Nah, you still jealous I came out prettier than you?” Suna bites back, a teasing grin plastered across his face. His sister only scoffs, looking back at you.
“You can tell me if he blackmailed you to come here!” She attempts to whisper. You’re not sure whether you should be worried or continue to laugh, but you do neither as you choke on the drink you were sipping on right as she told you this.
“Shit, Y/N,” Suna curses as you cough, your throat burning at the drink’s intrusion, but Suna’s quick to rub soothingly against your back as he offers you his water, his eyes glazed over in panic.
“You okay?” He asks when you stopped coughing, and you nod in response—throat remaining slightly sore. Suna lets out an aggravated groan, “Be careful next time,” he manages to scold you, but oddly enough, his words remain saccharine.
There’s something about the way that his little sister doesn’t seem the least bit surprised with his reaction that somehow lets you know that perhaps, Suna Rintarō might just be quite the caring brother behind closed doors.
After that, it was when Suna excused himself to take a call from his manager, leaving you with his sister.
“Hey, nee-san, promise you’ll take care of Rin-nii? You won’t break his heart, will you?” His sister asks, eyes gleaming with something akin to hope, expectation, wonder. It easily takes you by surprise.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll promise I’ll take care of him, promise I won’t break his heart,” your voice easily softens, nodding. His little sister’s gaze remains on you, as if she’s assessing you and as if she would easily tell whether or not you meant the words that came out of your mouth.
It makes you hold a breath until she nods slowly, smiling at you lightly just as Suna comes walking back, eyebrows raised, knowing he must’ve missed something.
“Whatcha girls talkin’ bout?” He asked as he slipped back on his seat beside you.
“None of your business, obviously,” his sister quickly answers.
They’re truly quite similar, it’s enough to make you smile and get through meeting his little sister until both of you dropped her off back to the train station.
“What’d she tell you?” Suna nudged you after seeing her train leave.
“Nothing, Rin,” you answered with a wide smile, leaning up to place a chaste kiss against his lips—yet just as you pull away, one of his hands has found its way behind your neck, pulling you back to him.
You never thought a kiss could feel so loving before—but it really seemed as if Suna Rintarō had a knack for proving you wrong, over and over again.
It was the day that the Olympic team was announced when you see so much more of Suna Rintarō. Quick like the blink of an eye, or lightning that leaves the thunder chasing it; Suna felt the exhaustion, the pressure, the burnt-out feeling that’s been repressed in the back of his head. It comes to him, crashing down like boulders not just on his shoulders but weighing down every part of his body.
Did he lack somewhere? He wonders. Where did that lacking end and start? What could have he done? Was it training, where he spent most of his time now? Suna had end up seeing you less and less since the drafting of olympic players started and you’ve been nothing but patient.
What was he supposed to tell you? After all the time it has stolen away from you—that he didn’t make it?
When he opened the door to your shared apartment, he doesn’t look up at you with a relieved sigh as he usually would—he avoids you gaze entirely, he avoids your observing eyes from the couch you sat on, watching him slowly shrug his shoes off.
“I’m just gonn—” he started, about to make an excuse to avoid looking at you.
“Prepared your bath, Rin. C'mon,” Suna hears you say but it doesn’t sink in his head, watching you take his hand, leading him to the bathroom.
Suna remains silent as he looks down on the bath you prepared for him, warm and inviting.
“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done, okay?” He hears you say, followed by the echo of your footsteps walking away.
You easily understand that Suna Rintarō was more than his talents, his efforts, and every little thing about him when you feel his large arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressed against your back and his face buried on the crook of your neck. His fresh scent right out of the shower engulfing you and invading your senses, flooding you with him.
“’m sorry, bunny,” he mumbles.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Ri—”
“It’s odd, thought I’d pull it off, thought it’d be nothin’ if I didn’t make it. Don’t know why I’m so upset right now,” he continues, cutting you off, “Been so patient for me too, bunny. Thought I’d be nice to make you proud, ya know?”
Your sigh comes out sharp from the heavy feeling from your chest, not knowing what to do to make him feel better—like he did with you, always knowing his way around your low moments.
You wriggle out of his arms, making him grumble until you fully face him. He looks back at you with a small frown, eyebrows furrowed, watching your expression.
“I’m always proud of you, Rin. Olympic player or not, you make me so proud,” you speak softly, your hands cupping each side of his face.
“Don’t even get why it matters to me this much, it’s just—” it was your turn to cut him off, tipping your toes to press a lingering kiss against his lips. Suna smiles against your lips, carrying you to sit on the kitchen counter like he always did—knowing you always would have to tip on your toes to reach him.
Soon, the lingering kiss turns slow and passionate—lips softly grazing the other, and it feels more like pouring the heavy weight of love out of your chest and into the other. A kiss so loving, so reassuring, so passionate—the kind that easily takes your breath away and makes your mind go blank. When Suna pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. You smile at him because it’s all you can do when your heart feels like it’s going to leap out of your throat just to offer itself to him entirely—and Suna smiles back at you, pecking your lips before wrapping his arms around you again, resting his chin on your shoulder.
You run your fingers through his hair, hoping it would help soothe him, and then you say, “I promise that you’ll make it next year, Rin. I’ll be with you now, and I’ll still be with you then.”
It only makes him hold you tighter, closer to him, “I love you, Y/N.”
“I love you, Rintarō. You deserve the world and all the stars in the galaxy.”
“’s too bad there’s nothin’ more I need than you, then.”
That’s what Suna tells you—Suna, who was smoke in his lungs, dumb videos of the twins to blackmail them with, little mistakes, bored eyes, and lazy attitude. The same Suna who was slow kisses, passion, and genuine smiles reserved for you—the same Suna who gave his passions his all, the same Suna who held you securely in his arms every night, the same Suna his little sister admired. Most of all, the same Suna Rintarō you loved with every beat of your heart, every fibre of your being.
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📞 violet is calling… all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.
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sunarintarouproperty · 3 years ago
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A Promise
A Promise
Fandom: Haikyuu
Genre: Fluff
Includes: Timeskip!Suna Rintarou
Warnings: None
A/N: I finally managed to finish this! The entire concept of this is too cute! I even created a little something to go along with it!
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“RIN!” You screamed as the roller coaster suddenly took a sharp dive from it’s high descent. Wind rushed past your figure causing your slightly squinted eyes to water from the pressure as you clutched desperately to Suna’s forearm who was laughing freely at your expense.
If he could, Suna would take numerous photos of your terrified expression to remember this moment, but opted not to in fear of losing his phone during the ride 一 something he was sure you’d make fun of him for.
It was your guys’ fourth year anniversary and Suna managed to find some time to take off his busy training schedule to take you to the carnival that arrived in town as a date to celebrate.
Despite appearing a deadpan, quiet person to many others, you understood his thoughts and signals better than anyone. It was behind that indifferent facade that you spent countless years gently peeling back the layers from when you found a genuinely caring and intelligent human being. In return, Suna gradually became more expressive in your presence, because he understood that he would never be able to hide anything from you. Your entire relationship was built upon years of mutual trust and respect that Suna would never trade away.
Upon arriving at the carnival, the both of you went straight to the food vendors to see what was new to try this year, while also taking countless photos, both individually and with each other. Some would be posted to your social media accounts, while others would remain in a special folder that you both had dedicated to each other on your phones.
Waiting for your stomachs to settle, you guys walked around the carnival with his arm wrapped around your waist as you looked at the various activities and tried to decide what to do. In the end, you both decided to go on the biggest roller coaster there. You were totally fine with the idea, expecting to sit further back on the ride, until somehow Suna managed to finesse your way to the front.
Which is your current predicament as you had a vice grip on Suna’s forearm and screaming your head off as the ride progressed. With eyes screwed shut, all you could feel was the sharp turns as the cart rocked violently back and forth.
Despite Suna finding it somewhat humorous of your reaction, he understood the fear which is why he placed a hand on top of yours that never ceased its grip on him. Feeling the weight and warmth, you slowly peeked your eyes to find Suna gazing at you adoringly with his fox-like green eyes and a comforting smile. He gave your hand a small squeeze as he shifted your palm into his before intertwining your fingers.
Without saying anything, you understood the promise that Suna was trying to convey to you in that small moment. Seeing you visibly relax caused Suna��s smile to grow a little wider as he slowly raised your intertwined hand into the air, silently encouraging you to do the same with your other hand that gripped the bar. Ever so slowly, you copied his movements with both hands in the air as you turned to stare in front of you.
From the corner of his eyes, he watched your eyes widen in amazement as a beautiful smile overtook your features and a joyous laugh escaped past your parted lips. Because it was during that moment when he knew that you trusted him enough to know of his silent promise of not letting anything happen to you as long as he was around.
★★★
“You’re such a sore loser!” Suna snorted as he watched you toss the circular ring only for it to skim the top of one of the glass bottles before falling out of bounds.
“BUT DID YOU SEE HOW IT WAS SO CLOSE!” You raved, throwing your head back in exasperation. “I swear… There’s some otherworldly forces in play.”
“Nah, I just think you suck at this.” Suna said with a small grin at another failed attempt of yours.
“Then why don’t you try if you’re so good at it?” You playfully glared at him, bowing mockingly and holding out the ring to him.
“Step aside peasant and watch the master.” He grabbed the ring and looked at all the glass bottles lined in a row. Suna actually seemed to be planning a strategy before he carefully tossed the ring.
Only for it to fall out of bounds…
You openly laughed at him before saying, “I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, great ol’ master!”
Suna playfully glared at you before reaching for another ring and tossing before watching it fall out of bounds once again. Behind him, you weren’t even trying to hide your excessive laughter as you watched Suna slap more money down the counter.
“Again!”
In the end, you walked away with one of the small stuffed animals as a prize that your boyfriend won miraculously with a few lucky tosses, but much more broke than before.
“You’re such a sore loser, Rinnie.” You teased with arms wrapped around the prize as Suna threw an arm over your shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I still won a prize for you” His voice was smug as you could still see the small grin playing at the edge of his lips.
“And I’m your sore loser.” Suna said before placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.
★★★
“Promise me that you won’t ever let go of me?”
It was towards the end of your night when you extended your pinkie finger with a shy smile in his direction, looking expectantly at Suna.
Suna scoffed, both fists shoved into his pockets as he slightly slouched in place.
“What are you going on about?” He asked, towering over your figure as he leaned in close to your face with lips hovering over yours.
Pinkie still extended in between you, you repeated your question, “Promise me that you won’t ever let go of me?”
Placing a quick kiss upon your lips but still hovering over you, he linked his pinkie with yours.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, my pretty baby.” He mumbled. Suna really couldn’ dream of it, because he couldn’t fathom a future without you by his side. A future without you is not a future at all.
“Stamp it.” You demanded.
He smiled slightly, going along with it. With pinkies still linked, he moved his thumb to press it tightly against yours.
“Now seal it.”
Suna rolled his eyes, but still complied with a small smile as he leaned in once again to press his lips against yours.
Pulling away, you stood on his left side before grabbing his hand and dragging him into the direction of the cotton candy stand.
Right hand stuffed back into his pocket, he ran his thumb along the velvet box that weighed heavy on his mind and heart.
“I promise…”
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crescentsteel · 4 years ago
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Keeping a Secret - Part 7
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pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn wc: 7.4k
Part 6 || Part 8 || masterlist
[a/n]
I’m so sorry for the delayed update. Things are happening in my personal life that my writing has incredibly slowed down. 
To that anon who was asking for updates, I’m sorry if I made it seem like you were rushing me (in case you weren’t). Sometimes, I just tend to feel so pressured that I easily project that to others. 
Y’all been excited for this. Here you go, a drunk Tsukishima to make up for the slow update. 
AO3 link is on the masterlist in case Tumblr crashes on you from how long this update is. 
Your eyes widen at the current state of Tsukishima. You look around warily, checking if there’s any mutual classmate you know who is around. But with how dim the club is, the attempt to do so is futile.
“Tsukishima…” you protest while prying his hands away from your waist. 
“We’re in public!” You hiss at his behavior, but he’s completely unfazed. His hands keep creeping back at the spot they were rooted at. 
His facial expression doesn’t falter either. He’s still wearing that silly grin that looks nothing like his usual ones. “So? Didn’t you hug me publicly, right in the middle of the Sendai Gym?” he counters with a cocked brow as his elated grin turns to a clever smirk.
Oh God. What has Tsukishima turned into? He’s like one of those guys who hit on you, but the difference is you’re actually flustered by it. 
Even with his hands and gaze glued to you, you turn to the bartender. “How long has he been here?” you shout. “A while now,” the bartender shouts back. 
You glance at Tsukki’s consumed glasses again. It’s only one glass and two shot glasses. How can he be this drunk already? 
You don’t wonder too long before figuring it out. Tsukishima’s definitely a lightweight, shown by his level of intoxication at the moment even though in reality, he hasn’t had much to drink.
Why did he even drink in the first place? He said he doesn’t see the point of parties. Why is he here getting himself hammered? You grimace when you realize that there’s training tomorrow. You’ve scolded members before for such behavior and now they know better than to get wasted when there’s practice the next day.
You did not expect such irresponsibility from Tsukishima, who’s always exhibited exemplary behavior.
“You should go home.” You mean to sound strict, but with his body being a bit too close, your voice falters. 
He cups the back of your head and pulls you so that his lips are ghosting against your ear.
“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” he says haughtily.
It’s a very familiar scenario with a very different Tsukishima holding you in place. If he’s his usual self (sober and pissed off at you), you’d be teasing him for coming to this club. Instead, you’re the flustered one as his fingers brush your nape while his breath fans your ear. 
“G-go home, Tsukki,” you stutter as you feel his grip on your waist tighten.
“But why?” His hand on your nape travels down on your spine. “Didn’t you say I was welcome to go here?” The ends of your hair prickle up as he presses the warmth of his lips on your cheek when he pulls away slightly.  
It was almost the same scenario when you first saw him in this very same club - the whispering, the closeness, the incredible urge to feel his mouth on yours. The difference is Tsukishima himself. Unlike before when you two were fighting the pull of the temptation, this time, it’s worse because of his suggestive demeanor. 
“Stop it,” you chastise him with a little bit more conviction.
“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” He withdraws until his lips are only an inch away from yours. 
You take a deep breath, collecting yourself before pushing yourself away from him. “Go home, Tsukishima. You have training tomorrow!” you shout to make sure he hears you without leaning close to him. 
He looks at you like he doesn’t understand shit. His tipsy grin is now wiped off, replaced with an  empty, clueless Tsukishima staring at you. You don’t falter though. You continue glaring at him. Luckily, it seems to  sink in his head after a few seconds as he finally stands up.
At the first step he takes, he staggers like a high school student who got drunk for the first time. You start to feel bad for him because he looks like he really is struggling with it while continuing to fiddle with his glass as if that’s the cause of his apparent dizziness.
You position yourself underneath his arm and help him balance himself. 
You groan as you wobble when he rests some of his weight to you. How can you momentarily forget that he’s a professional athlete weighing more than 160 lbs? You’re always surrounded by tall men, and this has made you think that that height is normal, when in reality they can crush you in a snap. 
You realize that Tsukishima is a lot more busted than you thought. You can see he’s actually trying to walk normally but is failing miserably. 
You’ve already talked to most of your friends so you don’t mind helping him get back home. Not that it matters. You’d still be helping him get back home even if you hadn’t. Aside from being one of your players, he’s also your study partner. You can’t just leave him be. 
With a very drunk Tsukishima on one shoulder, you hail a taxi and carefully make him sit inside. Your initial plan is just getting him a ride home, but looking at him now, you’re not sure if that’s the best idea. He might suddenly pass out. Who knows what will happen to him then?
You sigh as you get yourself inside the cab as well. 
You give the driver the address of the Tsukishima’s while he rests his head on top of yours. “This car is moving too much,” he complains with discomfort crisp in his voice. The vehicle is rather stable. It’s the alcohol in his head that’s making things shaky for him. 
Instead of letting him lean on you, you carefully settle his head against the headrest of the car seat so he’s leaning back instead of sideways. You kneel instead of sitting so you can use your hands to keep his head steady because he’s too darn tall. 
After a short while, he lets out a sigh of relief from the stability your hands provided. His features are more relaxed now that his brows are no longer scrunched up and his lips no longer pressed in a strained manner.
He opens his eyes and tilts his head a bit to look at you. He grasps one of your wrists as he gives you a faint smile that doesn’t resemble anything he’s given you, not even the dumb one he did at the club.
It’s a tender and genuine smile that softens up his usually stern face. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”
Yes, you’re well aware. You hear it all the time that the word lost any shred of novelty it once had. 
But when Tsukishima says it, your heart skips a beat.  He isn’t flirting with you. He’s looking at you like he’s stating an observation he finds pleasing to him, like you’re a sight he’s truly enjoying to see.
You almost let go of his face from the uncanny feeling on your chest that’s making you uneasy, but you halt yourself when you remember that this guy’s world will spin faster than Jupiter’s rotation if you let him be.
You let out a deep sigh to calm yourself down.
“I know,” you respond firmly to hide the fuzzy mess that you are on the inside. 
“If I’m not so fucking plastered, I’d kiss you.”
You suck in a sharp breath upon hearing it, the yearning to do so creeping up fast behind you. 
You can do it yourself. You’re not dizzy. It’d be so easy. His face is already in your grasp anyways. You just have to lean forward a bit and you can easily grant him what both of you want. 
Should you?
It’d just be one of your harmless kisses, right? You’ve done it countless times before. One more shouldn’t hurt. 
“We’re here.”
You’re harshly brought back to sanity by the driver’s cue that you’ve reached his home. You’re thankful for it because you were really about to kiss him even though you’re the one who said that the deal is no more. You would have slapped yourself if your hands aren’t full.
You pay the driver and help Tsukishima get out of the car. 
You get under his one arm again and assist his steps so he doesn’t stumble. Once you reach their doorstep, he gets his keys from his pockets but scuffles trying to insert it in the keyhole. Instead of getting pissed, he laughs sardonically and faces you. 
“Look, y/n. The key is fucking stupid,” he says, completely believing that it’s the key’s fault and is actually snickering at the inanimate piece of metal’s ‘incapability’ to shoot itself where it needs to be. 
You can’t help but laugh. Even at his drunken state, he still roasts things he deems doltish. It’s funnier cause he talks a bit dopey while insulting the innocent key. He’s still failing after a while so you volunteer to do it. 
“I can do it,” he says seriously and on his next attempt, he does get it in. Then he looks at you and smirks proudly. “See?”
You shake your head and roll your eyes at how absurd he’s acting, but the grin on your face remains. He is still very much himself. It’s just that his rudeness is comically misplaced. Yet as entertaining as it is to watch, you can feel the strain in your shoulders and upper back already. 
You open the door and hope that a relative is somehow still awake to take Tsukki off your hands. Still no luck for you as you’re greeted with nothing but silence. 
“Where’s your room?” “Upstairs, left.”
Great. Can this get even worse? Your original plan is just getting him a cab. Now you have to personally walk him to his room since he’s hopeless treading on a flat surface. What more on a flight of stairs?
You ask him to close the door and lock it before you head up. “Alright, Tsukki. Let’s get you in bed,” you tell yourself as a motivational push to get the task done. 
You huff every step you take because he really is too heavy for you and you’ve had a long night already. You’ll be sure to reprimand him tomorrow for this.
“Y/n?” 
You lift your head up from wooden steps and see Akiteru at the top end of the stairs.
“Aki-san!” You can’t be more thankful upon his arrival.
He urgently goes to you, stopping a few steps up from you and Tsukki.
“What happened to him?” Akiteru asks concernedly. 
“He’s…” you try to think of a more decent word but you can’t think of any at the moment so you tell it as it is. “He’s drunk,” you admit. 
Akiteru’s expression is even more incredulous than yours was back in the bar. He’s looking at you and Tsukki interchangeably. 
“You... you got him to drink?” 
You don’t know if you’re offended or amused because Akiteru looks like he’s extremely grateful that you caused this to his brother.
“I-uh... no. I found him like this in the club. I think you should take him already,” you suggest. You’re about to lift Tsukki’s arm off of you when you feel him resist. When you turn to him, he’s already looking at you with displeasure. “You said you would get me in bed,” he states.
Is he fucking serious? Hell no. You have no reason to do so when Akiteru is here already. “Aki-san, please,” you implore while glaring at Tsukki. 
“Umm... you heard him, y/n.”
You harshly turn your head at Akiteru from disbelief. When your gaze lands on him, he’s sporting an innocent smile, a stark contrast to knowing that the intention behind it is not so innocent.
“Aki-san?” your voice rises a bit from bewilderment at what he’s insinuating. 
“Why do you call Nii-chan by his name?” Tsukki slurs as he asks. 
“Huh?” You eye Tsukki exasperatedly. You have yet to absorb what Akiteru is implying and Tsukki is already adding up to the initial question mark hanging on your head.
“You just met him and you already call him Aki-san. We’ve been working together for three years, yet you don’t call me Kei. Not even when we ki-”
You cover his mouth and laugh awkwardly and loudly. “Tsukki! What are you talking about?” You make yourself sound clueless as you give him a very subtle glare while smiling, hoping that he gets your warning.
“When you what?” Akiteru prods, his eyes still friendly, but with amusement lurking beneath them.
You form a smile but with Tsukki’s weight and his intoxicatedness that’s causing him to babble nonsense, it comes out distressed.
“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” you persist. “I should really go now. It’s really late, Aki-san. Please,” you press on.
“You can stay,” Tsukki suggests with a faint smirk.
“I agree with Kei. It really is late. We’d be responsible if something happens to you,” he explains kindly, but you know his concern is only second place to what he’s actually thinking. You can tell he’s rooting for you and his younger brother.
“Yeah, I don’t want to be responsible for you,” Tsukki announces with his voice a bit garbled.
Akiteru laughs at Tsukki’s remark but thwarts it immediately as he eyes you apologetically. “Sorry about my brother,” he whispers with one hand covering his mouth. 
“Just sleep with me in my room.”
Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, it does. Your mouth gapes at Tsukki from how he just uttered that inappropriate statement right in front of his older brother. 
You turn to Akiteru defensively. “It’s not what you think.”
Akiteru’s courteous smile doesn’t faze as he says, “I’m not thinking anything, y.n.”
The whole situation makes you want to let go of Tsukki’s arm and jump off the railings of stairs. Then, you’ll wake up in the morning and find that you’ve escaped this entire scenario altogether.
You sigh and wave an imaginary white flag in your head. “I’ll make sure he’s fine,” you say to Akiteru.
You see his eyes light up. Since you and Tsukki are already occupying the narrowness of the stairs, Akiteru can’t go to Tsukki’s other arm to help you. Instead, he goes back up and opens a door on the left.
He keeps it open until you reach what you surmise is Tsukki’s room.
Once you get inside, you hear Akiteru speak, “Thanks for taking care of my brother, y.n.” He closes the door before you can say anything.
Rather than minding Akiteru, you pour your attention on Tsukki, getting him to sit down with his head leaning against a wall.
You feel the instant relief on your shoulders with Tsukki’s weight off them. However, you can’t ease up yet. You have to go to their kitchen and get this guy some water.
You’ll complain later or tomorrow, but for now, you’re going to focus on getting shit done.
You’re about to head out of his room when the door opens itself, causing you to yelp from shock. 
“Sorry,” Akiteru apologizes with a hushed voice. In his hand is a huge bottle of water which he extends to you with congenial fondness. 
“Goodnight,” he says prior to closing the door.
Akiteru is pleasant, but he can’t be more obvious on how he eminently pairs you up with his brother.
You don’t delve into it further as you need to get Tsukki all fixed up. You walk over to where you seated him and make him drink the water Akiteru gave.
You need to make sure he’s not totally hammered when he sleeps. You don’t want him with a hangover tomorrow and skip training when the next match is just a week away. 
He seems in need of the liquid too since he quickly finishes the bottle as soon as he takes it. He clumsily slams the empty bottle on his desk and stands up precariously.
“Woah there. Where are you going?” you ask imperiously.
“Bathroom,” he answers. He tips his head towards you as a corner of his lip shoots up. “Why? Care to join me?”
You want to fight back with a sarcastic ‘No, thank you,’ but he still walks a bit funny so you can’t exactly let him be. You sigh as you take his arm again and aid him as he walks.
“Only until the door,” you patiently answer. 
As much as you want to be a smartass like him, you need the Frog’s starting middle blocker to never miss a training. You can’t have him tripping, falling flat on his face, or accidentally bumping on a wall. 
You let him inside the restroom. Luckily, they have one on this floor so bless your shoulders and upper back. When he comes out, he looks a little less disoriented and his sense of balance is somehow stable with how he’s standing. 
You follow him as he goes back to his room. To your shock, he immediately crawls to bed without changing. ‘Disgusting,’ you comment mentally. He came from outside, a club specifically. How could he not bother changing?
“Aren’t you going to change clothes?” you ask, your grossed out tone clearly heard.
“I’m tired and I’m still slightly dizzy,” he says nonchalantly.
He begins settling down while you’re standing there, tired and dumbfounded. “Where am I supposed to sleep?” He glances around his room, probably trying to recall where he put an extra mattress. Only two seconds later, he gives his bed one firm tap as if to tell you that you’re sleeping beside him. 
You close your eyes from exhaustion and exasperation combined. You don’t want to sleep next to Tsukishima but it has been one hell of an evening already that you’ll take what you can get. He’s already sobered up a bit anyway. You’re at ease that he’ll keep his hands to himself.
You walk to his drawers and find a pair of loose clothing he can comfortably sleep in. Then you stride to his bed and give it to him. He looks at the clothes you’re holding then at you.
On a regular day, he wouldn’t dare sit on his bed without changing after spending time outside.. Tonight is the only exception because he truly isn’t up to the task anymore. He’ll just change his sheets tomorrow. 
He only wants to lie in bed and shut his eyes already. But with you handing him a change of clothes, he has no reason to not to do so anymore.
No reason but to get back at you for giving him hell when you got yourself sick and passed out with only him present to take care of you. 
“I told you I’m dizzy,” he says without accepting the clothes you’re offering him. 
“Don’t tell me I have to change your clothes myself.” He can hear you’re about to lose it and it’s spurring him on even more. He hides his smirk and shrugs indifferently, leaving it to you to decide that for yourself.
You palm your face furiously and it’s almost breaking his resolve to keep a steady face. You prove to have a sensible amount of control on your temper as you recover after one excruciating deep breath. He’s not exactly surprised though. You’ve been a manager for three years now and handling male athletes is not exactly a walk in the park if one has temper problems.
You put one knee on his bed as you start tugging his shirt up. “Why did you even drink?” 
 “Why do you care?” He answers the same way you did when he asked why you bother going to parties.
“Because I’m the one taking care of you!” you almost yell as you dress him in a new shirt. When you successfully change his shirt, you glance at his pants then to his eyes. You didn’t have to utter a word to let him know that you don’t plan to change that particular piece of clothing.
He doesn’t falter though. If he tasted hell because he had to undress your top while you were passed out, he couldn’t miss the chance to return the favor.
“So? You didn’t hear shit from me when I had to take care of your sick ass,” he says, pouring salt to the right burn so he can push you to go along with his scheme.
You clench your jaw as you avert your eyes from his.
“You were a real handful, you know that?” he continues on. “Come to think of it. You’ve heard not a single complaint from me about that night. Should I lecture you now?” His lips betray his apathetic facade when a smirk forms on his face. 
You smile at him with utter displeasure but don’t say anything as you start unzipping his pants, your spiteful eyes never leaving his amused ones.
“I’d love it if you help by lifting your sarcastic butt,” you sound distressed as you try to pull down his pants. 
He grips both your hands that are tugging on his waistband. He props himself up a bit, leaning down and closing in on your stunned yet still delightful face.
“Why do you look so surprised? You asked me to help you, right?” he asks with a subdued voice as he tugs his pants down. 
You turn your face away from his and don't answer his question as you continue what he started. His eyes never trail off your features until you successfully take his pants off
With your face still turned away from his, you grab the shorts you took earlier and toss it to his face. “Seems like you’re not dizzy anymore,” you say as you head to his closet. 
For no fucking reason, he’s laughing elatedly. He might not be dizzy anymore but he can still feel the aftermath of the drinks he rushed drinking at the club. Is this why people get drunk? Because even the most trivial things are funny?
No. It’s because he’s drunk. It’s because of how entertaining you look when you’re a flustered mess. Before you looked away, he caught the wild blush on your cheeks, the stir in your eyes, and the way your hands trembled as you undressed him.
Initially, he wanted you to put on the shorts you got for him as well. But he figures he can show you mercy and do this one on his own since he already had his fun seeing you in a flustered state.
You open his closet and pick your own set of fresh clothes to borrow. Without saying anything, you step out of his room and head towards their restroom.
The first thing you do inside is check your reflection and goddamn it--you’re blushing like a teenager about to lose her virginity.
You groan frustratedly as you softly slap your cheek with your free hand. Tsukishima is tipsy and is just messing with you. Why do you have to be so affected? 
You turn the faucet on and hurriedly wash the heat off your face. When you feel like you’ve cooled off, you look up at the mirror to check if you’re no longer a bursting tomato.
You sigh with relief when you see that your face is back to normal. You turn off the faucet and begin changing to Tsukki’s clothes.
As expected, everything is loose. His shirt is almost a dress. Actually, it already is with how it’s draping just above your knees. You had to use your hair tie to knot a portion of his shorts’ waistband for it to not to drop on your ankles. 
It’ll be uncomfortable sleeping with lumped fabric on your hips but you’d prefer that than not wearing anything underneath his shirt.
You neatly fold your clothes and go back to his room. Another wave of relief hits you when you see him lying down with his eyes closed already. His glasses are already off too. Despite the strenuous and outrageous turn of events earlier tonight, you’re actually glad that he’s safe and sleeping soundly. 
Hopefully tomorrow, he’s going to be fine and forget the shit he pulled on you tonight. 
You take a deep breath as you sit on his bed. Fortunately, his bed is wide enough for you to have some decent amount of space away from him. He also has another pillow so you can sleep comfortably with one of your own. You just pray that it won’t be so cold because there is only one blanket.
Oh well. You’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 
You get his extra pillow and lie down. Once your back hits the soft mattress, your eyes shut close on their own. You feel the weight in your legs and back settle as your body starts to relax. You know that any moment now, you’ll fall asleep so you turn to your side with your back facing Tsukishima. 
You were right. You already feel your consciousness drifting off not long after, only to be disrupted by an arm sliding over your waist.
“What the-”
“My head hurts.” 
Even if Tsukishima doesn’t say anything, you already know how close he is with warm breath fanning your nape. You’d scoot away but you’re already at the edge of his bed.
You harshly remove his arm and face him to give him a not so peaceful piece of your mind. You toss around to face him and when you do, you forget your annoyance as you’re met with a very distressed Tsukishima. His eyes are closed and his brows are furrowed together in almost a straight line. 
“How bad is it?” You ask as you gently brush his hair away from his forehead. 
“Like someone’s driving a fucking nail on my head,” he spats out with the crease on his brows getting deeper. 
You gently slide one hand under his head and so you can massage his temples with both thumbs, hopefully it’ll soothe him even just a bit. 
Thankfully, the crease on his brows and the tension around his nose and mouth eases up. “Where are your painkillers?” I ask softly. “I’ll go get one for you.”
He opens his eyes, a certain tenderness dancing in his orbs while he stares right onto yours. “Just stay here,” he utters delicately as he gradually slides his arm back to your waist. With a firm but still gentle grip on the small of your back, he draws you closer to him until there’s almost no space between your bodies. 
This is different, way too different than he was earlier. And to be honest, you’d prefer that over this. This… it’s something even you cannot name. 
Your thumbs stop moving on their own accord as he inches his face closer. You almost gasp for air with how heavy and thick it suddenly feels. 
“Uh..,” you trail off without even saying anything. You just thought if you said something, it would break the tension. However, it only made it worse.
“Hmm?”
You seem to be the only one uncomfortable as he’s still gazing intently at you like it’s nothing. 
“W-Why are you staring at me like that?” What the hell did you stutter for? This is just Tsukishima, goddamnit.
“It hurts less when I do.” You’d think he’s joking but there’s no trace of derision anywhere on his face. He removes his hand from your waist only to rest it on your neck, his thumb grazing your jaw as he says, “I don’t like that I can’t see you clearly right now.” 
It’s too much. 
Your chest feels like it’s about to explode from how fast your heart is pounding. You want to retract your hands away from him, but you can’t move them because having them there makes him feel better. 
Then he looks down on your lips, a knowing look that you’re very much familiar with.
“Tsukki, we can’t do this,” you whisper, causing his eyes to go back on yours. 
“What are we doing anyway?” he asks as if he’s not aware of what he’s stirring in you. 
“You know what,” you insist. There’s no way he doesn’t.
“I don’t. Maybe if we actually do something, I’ll know what you’re talking about.”
You squint at him with disbelief, not buying the innocent act of him not grasping the situation when he’s the one causing it. “We already broke that deal, Tsukki.”
“Then let’s bring it back,” he counters right off the bat. 
You sigh while shaking your head disagreeably. “You’re drunk,” you state plainly, reminding yourself of this fact to rationalize the way he’s behaving, to calm the havoc that he’s inciting in you. 
You put your thumbs back to work and knead his temples again.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees as he closes his eyes again. He lets out a reposed sigh, then removes his hand from your neck.
You can now rest easy as the temptation backs away himself. You keep at it, observing his stern features which are getting more lax while you continue massaging him. 
Finally, he does as you want him to do: sleep and keep his hands to himself. 
So why is there a nagging emptiness brimming inside you? You’re not actually disappointed, are you? 
“Tsukki,” you utter his name in hushed tones, hoping that he won’t respond. 
With his eyes still shut, you thought he wouldn’t. Yet, he answers just as softly as you called him. “What?”
You sigh. Why is he still awake? He could’ve been asleep already or just stayed quiet and ignored you. Then you’d be able to sleep soundly knowing that you didn’t do anything that you could possibly regret in the morning. 
You stop encircling your thumbs on his head and rest your palms on his cheeks instead. You lean closer to his face. 
“If you change your mind in the morning, forget this happened,” you whisper before you succumb to the snares of attraction you’ve been running away from since you saw Tsukishima in the bar. 
You capture his lips, gradually easing into it, giving yourself time to retreat before he responds. Apart from you not wanting to, he doesn’t give you much time at all as he puts his hand back on your neck and returns the kiss with a guttural sigh.
He eagerly nips on your lips, ardently moving against them as if he’s been wanting to do this for a while already. You respond with the same passion, pressing yourself closer to feel his body firm against yours. 
He moves his hand from your neck to the back of your head, lightly gripping your hair as he coaxes your mouth open with the flick of his tongue on your lower lip. 
You immediately yield to him, parting your lips so you can have more of what he’ll give. When he slips his tongue in and grazes yours, you taste the slight tang of alcohol. It’s very subtle, barely there, but it’s causing a buzz in your senses that no other liquor has provided. 
It’s only a kiss, but you know that this is unlike the previous harmless ones you’ve shared with him. 
Your soft moans on his mouth and his lips growing greedier with each nip tells you that this is one very dangerous kiss. 
You drag your hand from his cheek to his chest to push him away, but he suddenly tugs your hair down, giving himself access to the column of your neck. This time, rather than nudging him away, you clutch his shirt tightly, feeling his mouth trail along the sensitive skin of your neck. 
“T-Tsukishima,” you whine as his hand travels down your ass, his huge palm and long fingers tugging on the fabric as he gives one cheek a firm squeeze.
“Hmmm?” he hums on your skin before you feel his tongue swipe down on your collarbone.
Your skin is on fire but you feel like you’re drowning. Everything he’s doing is compelling you to want to go further than this, to let him touch you beneath the clothes you’re wearing, to let him kiss you wherever he pleases.
Tsukishima wants nothing but precisely that. He’d blame the alcohol, but nothing’s more intoxicating than the sound of your whimpers and your body deliciously pressed against his. His clothes hanging loosely on you only adds to his delirium. 
He knows this is going to lead to something incredibly stupid and totally reckless, but stupid and reckless has never felt this delectable. How can he not indulge himself when the promise of your rapture is just within his grasp? 
He just needs to know if you’re willing to cross the obscure boundary of the deal you once had. 
He puts his free hand to use, sliding it underneath the baggy shirt you’re wearing. He carefully skims his hand up, grazing his fingers just below your bra. Meanwhile, his other hand on your bottom goes a bit further down, only for him to slip his hand inside the oversized shorts and feel your almost bare ass.
With his other hand feeling empty, he moves his palm up and kneads one supple bosom. 
“Ah,” you clench his shirt tighter as you mewl from his touch. Even though he can’t see you clearly, your voice and the way your arch your body even closer to him is enough to cause a tent to form in his shorts. 
He withdraws away from your neck and gets back to your lips. With his hand on your behind, he lugs you closer and grinds his erection on your thigh, letting you know how much you affect him, how much he wants you right now. 
Then your body stills along with the quivering of your lips. 
He pulls back to look at you and even with his blurred vision, he can sense that you’re frightened. “What’s wrong?” Just a while ago, you were melting within his embrace. Now, you’re shaking like a leaf.
“I-” Your breath hitches when you speak. “I can’t do this,” you whisper weakly even though you’re the one who instigated the kiss that led to this. 
Although he’s confused about the sudden change of heart, he doesn’t push it. He immediately removes his hands off your delicate parts and puts considerable space between you. 
“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to seem so scared,” he tells you with an insipid, yet reassuring tone. 
You are scared, but not of Tsukishima. You’re afraid of yourself, of your own desire that’s starting to get out of control. You know that one more kiss and you’ll totally cave in. 
It shouldn’t be a problem since you know that he wants you just as you want him. The hard thing poking at your thigh is enough proof. 
But what happens if morning comes and he wakes up regretting his inebriated urges? He might not be batshit drunk anymore but alcohol is still running through him. If not, he wouldn’t be openly flirting with you. 
What about you? What will be your excuse if the sun rises and he asks why you went along with his intoxicated whims?
None.
You’ll be held responsible for leading him to dance the devil’s tango when he’s not capable of consenting to it with a straight head. You don’t want that. You don’t want to see disgust and regret splashed on his face in the morning, not when you terribly enjoy his kisses and touch.
So you softly push him away. “I’ll sleep beside you, Tsukishima. That’s all I’ll do,” you say with your head down and palms flat on his chest.
“Okay,” he obliges right after you said it. “Do you want me to turn away from you?”
Your eyes shoot up and meet his somber golden ones. “N-no. It’s fine. I’ll do it,” you stammer as you shift your position so your back is facing him. You take a while before you feel your heartbeat getting steady again as the temptation dwindles down. 
You’re about to close your eyes when a gentle hand lands on your shoulder.
“Can I hold you like this?” he asks, his voice a bit farther than it was a while ago. You can tell that he’s maintaining his distance this time. 
“Just like this,” he reiterates with his hand squeezing your shoulder to let you know that his hand won’t drift anywhere else. 
You shut your eyes with a faint smile on your lips. You place a hand over his and give it a light squeeze as you murmur, “Yeah.” 
Your hand starts to slip down when tonight’s events offer you a last surprise. As your hand glides down while you’re starting to drift off to sleep, he laces his fingers with yours to keep it in place. 
You hum peacefully with a gratified smile fully forming on your lips. 
You allow yourself to have this. 
What harm can come from holding hands with your tipsy blonde middle blocker?
--
You wake up a bit refreshed. However, you can still feel the aftermath of Tsukki’s heavy figure slouched on your shoulder last night, or was it morning already? You try to massage your shoulder but as you move your hand, you feel someone else’s intertwined with it.
You press your lips together to prevent a smile when you realize that you two slept together. It’s nothing. You shouldn’t be smiling because of it. It’s just a tiny gesture of reassurance that things are okay between you two despite what almost happened.
You carefully untangle your fingers from him before you sit up. You glance sideways to see if you woke him up. He shuffles a bit but doesn’t seem to have been disturbed. 
You look out the window and see that the sun has barely risen, meaning you haven’t gotten enough sleep. You know it’s no use getting back to sleep since your mind is already fully awake. You wouldn’t dare get out his room but you’re parched and you need to use the restroom. 
You step out of his room and gently closes the door. After you finish using the restroom, you carefully go down their stairs. You take a peek if any of his relatives is up and are relieved when you see that their kitchen is empty. 
You saunter your way to their kitchen, remaining as quiet as you can be while you fix yourself a glass of water. 
“Morning.”
You flinch and almost drop the glass you just finished when you hear the unexpected greeting. You look at the source and see Akiteru, leaning sideways against the fridge with an amicable smile. 
“Oh!” You exhale a huge breath of relief as you put down your glass on the counter. You turn to him to greet him but when you face him, he eyes what you’re wearing. You follow his gaze and realize that you’re wearing Tsukki’s clothes. 
‘It’s not what you think,’ is what you want to say, but you already said that at the stairs. If you repeat it again, you’d seem more defensive than you already were. But how else would you explain yourself?
You look at him with pleading eyes and a weary smile. “I swear, it’s really not what it looks like,” you insist weakly. “I just had nothing to wear,” you add to your defense. Akiteru laughs and waves his hand considerately.
“Don’t worry! I believe you, y/n,” he says with his honest, kind smile. “It’s a bit early for you to be up though,” he remarks. 
“Yeah. My mind is all...” You hover your hands on both sides of your head and shake them while you roll your eyes inanely. 
He chuckles from the antic you didn’t even realize you did. “Wanna chat for a bit? Since you’re all,” he imitates what you did with your head but quelled and contained. 
You smile from how pleasant he is despite teasing you so much for taking care of his brother. “Sure,” you answer kindly. 
He walks towards their dining table and offers you a seat. You follow curtly and sit across him. He regards you decorously, making you feel at ease even though he’s practically a stranger.
“I have to ask, y/n. There’s really nothing between you and Kei?” he asks genuinely. You can tell that he’s looking out for his younger brother, hence the straightforward question. 
You shake your head with a courteous smile. “Nothing. I don’t know if you know, Aki-san, but I’m also his manager.”
His eyes widen.
“You’re the Sendai Frogs’ manager?”
He’s seen Kei’s games but didn’t really have the chance to meet those who stayed on the bench. In one game he has watched, he heard some people beside him saying how blessed the Frogs are for having a ‘hot’ pair of coach and manager. Although he glanced very briefly because of his curiosity, he didn’t really see much of said pair for he was too far away in the stands. You beam proudly at him as you nod, confirming that the other half of the duo is indeed as lovely as the rumors he heard. “For three years now.”
Akiteru scans your face and can’t help but feel like he’s misjudged you a bit. He thought you’re a university student who likes going out and enjoys the most out of college life. He didn’t think you’d be working as a manager for a team. “I was just making sure he got home okay because we need him for practice. The next game is already next week.”
“Isn’t it tough to be his manager?” he asks, curious about what you think of Kei as an athlete. 
“Not really. I like everyone in the team. To be honest though, he was a real pain in the a-” you cut yourself off and clear your throat. You must have realized that you’re talking to him, Kei’s older brother. Although, he wouldn’t really mind if you continue what you were about to say. It amuses him actually. 
“What I mean to say was he was a bit difficult at first. But over time, I got used to him and actually found him nice to have in the team. He’s very smart and very disciplined. Even if he’s apathetic and sarcastic at times, I know he loves being part of the Frogs,” you explain.
“I’m glad you think so,” he says truthfully as he sees that you’re fond of Kei when your eyes shimmer a bit brighter when you talk about his brother. 
“Sometimes people misunderstand him because he acts detached. The truth is when he starts caring about something, he cares deeply. That’s why he has that cool, uncaring facade,” he adds as he stares at the surface of the table. 
When he raises his gaze to you, you look a bit mystified. 
“I’m sorry! I rambled a bit there, didn’t I?” he laughs tensely. 
You smile graciously and wave your palms. “No! It’s fine. I just wasn’t sure why you’re telling me this,” you admit with an apprehensive simper. 
He grins warmheartedly. “I just felt like sharing,” he answers even though the real reason is because he’s convinced his brother likes you too and you might need to know that aspect of him.
Kei wouldn’t have allowed you to take him home no matter how drunk he is if he isn’t comfortable with you. The entertaining exchange you three had on the stairs was another clue. Lastly, Kei let you sleep in his room and you’re even wearing his clothes.
“Has he always been like that?” you ask. 
“Not really,” his smile fades, for he knows that he’s a big factor why Kei is extremely apprehensive of getting too passionate about something. He brushes it off and continues, “But he’s always had that sarcasm ever since he was little.”
You giggle at his answer. “Why am I not surprised?” you say amusedly before your eyes wander to the window. 
“The sun’s up,” you announce softly. “I should go back to Tsukki’s room. I need to change and leave soon so I can attend my earliest class.”
“Of course! Thanks for the small chat, y/n,” he says dearly.
“Any time, Aki-san,” you respond buoyantly then stand up. Instead of going back to Kei’s room, you head to the fridge and get a bottle of water. 
“He’ll probably be thirsty as f… hell when he wakes up,” you explain, receptive of Kei’s condition even though his drunk brother must have given you a hard time last night. You bow thoughtfully then head up. 
He watches you get back upstairs, careful not to make so much sound from your steps since it’s still early. Then he walks to the kitchen to get him some coffee while thinking how well you suit his younger brother. Part 6 || Part 8 || masterlist taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)
@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu @expectonothinfromme @finnydraws @namelessidentity @hqbeesun @yatoatyourservice @mrkozume @suzuyamitsuki @celestialarchiveshq @yongboxerrr @gomenpudding @kutiekoge @fizzfrick @flamingosis @korean-bbq @ihaterainbowsprinkles @red-lint @backtonormalthings @borpcorp @lonelyheartxn @venomouscreatures @lucyrocks86 @shawtiie @honestlysora​
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tamagochiie · 4 years ago
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pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader
synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you.
Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting…
tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint
warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing 
w/c: 2.5k
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a/n: welcome to the first chapter of this series! i’m very excited to start this, and i hope everyone who reads it enjoys it as well! i got the idea from a manga i was binge reading a while back, so the themes and a few of the plot points are different, but as it progresses, i’ve made it my own. 
anyway, happy christmas! see you next week! 
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master list
life as she’s known it >> 
You notice the subtle clench of Kenma's jaw beneath the warm glow of the hallway's light. His hooded gaze strained by hours upon hours of gaming meets your wavering grin. The gears in his head are turning very slowly, and since silence has fallen upon the atmosphere of your shared apartment, you can actually hear the little squeaks as your poor boyfriend tries to fathom the sight before him.
You have quite a knack for bringing peculiar things home without permission; the little frog you adopted on the side of the road during your commute home one stormy night, the mud pie your nephew made for you that stunk the entire apartment for weeks because you didn't have the heart to throw it away—at least not immediately; and the dinner you brought home from the self-proclaimed "legitimate" kebab restaurant that resides in the sketchier side of the city.
All quirky things that Kenma had accepted and grown used to.
But this? This was so far from the bar you had set for his expectations, he can't help but wonder if you're pulling a prank, or maybe even actually committing a crime. But the glint of guilt and sorrow painting so deep into your face tells him otherwise.
Oh, how the poor gamer wishes it was a prank.
You swallow your fear, forcing it all the way down to the pit of your stomach. You've practiced all you've needed to say in the ride home, but all you can manage is stuttering, "I-I can..I can explain," in rather hushed tone.
There goes all my practice, you think to yourself.
Kenma raises a brow, still peering at you with the driest expression. The child in your arms begins to weigh heavier than the pressure placed upon your chest.
Ah, he just might break up with me after this...
"This is—uh, this one behind me is Eiji—Ejij say hi." The young boy behind you bows shyly, his greeting softer than a whisper it feels like you imagined it. "And this little one—sleeping soundly—this one's Yuki..."
Kenma blinks away at your words, face unamused. You regret not even trying to bring home some cake. Maybe if you did, he wouldn't be so...upset? Is he upset or is it just his face again? You can never really tell.
You huff, quietly jumping to the harsh conclusion this'll be the moment he ends things with you. But you won't go down without at least a little fight.
"Look," You sigh, shifting your hold beneath Yuki's tiny bum so he doesn't slip away, "They needed a place to stay, and no one was willing to take them!" Your lips fall dry and the more you speak, the more your words come out strained. "In a room full of people who—who called themselves your family for so many years fall silent the moment they needed help! No one spoke up to help them! It was so bad, Kenma! I-If you were there you—"
You bite your tongue, catching yourself before you're swept away by the current of your rage.
A deep, shaky sigh escapes him. His eyes finally tearing away from you as he cranes his head back, seemingly accepting his temporary defeat. "Let them sleep in the spare room and we'll talk after," is the only thing Kenma says to you before turning around walking away.
The constricting feeling in your chest eases and you sigh in relief. You mentally high five yourself for your momentary win before twisting your gaze over your shoulder to look at the young boy towering over you, motioning him to follow you.
You never noticed how wide the apartment actually is. Maybe its because of the emptying feeling you were left with back in the hallway, but it all seems so eerily wide. Like, what are two people doing with such a big space?
He'll definitely break up with me after this.
There's still a lingering prickly feeling in your heart; a mixed emotion of a win and a loss. You try your best to prepare yourself for whatever the outcome may be, but deep inside you're already prepared for a break up.
The young boy trails behind you all the way into the bedroom, leaving a considerable amount of space between the two of you.
You switch the lights on, revealing a room big enough for more than just two kids. A desk on the side, a king size bed at the center, and a window with a good view of the city. It was usually the room Hinata crashed whenever he came back from traveling with his team, but he hadn't been here in months. Traces of him were left in the form of dust.
"Will this be good enough for now?" You ask Eiji as you shrug Yuki's backpack to the floor before making your way over to the bed.
His head is lowered, eyes still failing to meet yours. He's been like this since you pulled them from under the gossiping gaze of your family.
Family, you think. The word seems so meaningless now.
"When someone speaks to you, you ought to look at them," You say it with a genuine smile, hoping that the little warmth you have left in your heart radiates off you and onto him.
God knows he needs it more than you.
"Y-yes, you're right. Thank you." He stammers, "I'm-I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude—"
"Hey," You say, gently cutting him off as you hold your smile. He's still as soft and shy as the day you first met him. You can't help but smile at the thought that he never changed. "I'm not mad or anything...Its just a teaching moment. Remember it."
You watch as Eiji slowly shifts his gaze away from the floor, slowly raising his head to meet your eyes."There you go. You've got pretty eyes, you shouldn't hide them."
He hums a quiet thank you before turning around and shifting his attention to his backpack. You take care of the little one still hanging onto you, pressing a kiss onto his little forehead and rubbing his back before settling him down onto the bed.
You're careful not to stir him as you slip his shoes off. You tuck him in, brushing his hair away from his face to reveal his long lashes and puffy eyes.
Ah, there goes the heaviness in your chest again; a recurring feeling for the day. You wonder when it'll end and your heart sinks even deeper when you remember Kenma waiting for you.
Hesitantly, you excuse yourself and make your way to the door. You let Eiji know where the bathroom is and tell him not to be scared to ask you for anything, "Please don't scared," is the last thing you mutter before leaving the boys to rest.
You tiptoe across the living room, down the hall and towards your shared bedroom. The wooden floorboards creak beneath your feet whispering, "You've done it now", "You've crossed the line", and "He's definitely going to yell at you".
You clench the knob of your bedroom door. The thumping of your heart deafens your ears and your throat grows too dry for you to swallow your fear.
You shut your eyes and pray to the deities, hoping for a good outcome—hoping for any outcome than the one you're expecting.
It takes a moment—five minutes to be exact—but you muster a sliver of courage to push the door open. For some odd reason, you imagined Kenma would be sitting at the edge of the bed, silently brewing in his anger. But instead, he's on the floor, knees up to his chest as he fiddles with his Switch.
And you can't tell if you're annoyed or relieved.
You shut the door behind you before joining him on the floor. You keep your head down, picking off your nail polish while you wait.
Kenma pauses his game, setting it down to the side before completely leaning against the bed, lulling his head back to take a breath. You shut your eyes and you take a deep breath when you feel him shifting in his place to face you.
Here it is. He's going to yell at me, you think.
"What are you plotting?" He asks, not a single trace of irritation found in his voice but rather sheer curiosity dripping from his words. You keep your head down and eyes shut. "You ought to look at someone when they're speaking to you," Your name rolls off his tongue playfully, covered in nothing more than love and sincerity.
You peak an eye at him, lifting your head. "You're not gonna to yell at me?"
"When have I ever yelled at you?" His face contorts in judgement and a little concern, wondering if his girlfriend's broken or just completely stupid. "Why would I yell at you now?"
"I brought home two stray kids..."
"Yes, you did," He says matter-of-factly, "and we need to talk about that. So, can we please talk about that?"
You nod slowly, bringing your knees up to your chest before turning your whole body to face him.
Kenma sinks his elbow onto the end of the bed, cupping his chin for support before he speaks, “Who are those kids and why did you bring them home?"
Kenma looks at you directly, his face emotionless, but a bit softer compared to when you were first standing in the hallway. He blinks at you, waiting patiently till you're ready to speak.
"They were my cousin's kids," You say in a strained whisper. "The—The one that died in the accident." Kenma hums in response, signaling you to keep going. "We weren't close—as you know or else you would've heard a lot more about him—but we felt close enough...given what our family's like..."
Growing up with the kind of family you had and having met everyone from your extended family was kind of like living in a block of ice that never melted; solid in their beliefs, slippery with their anger, and had no room for any other emotion.
You made this very clear to Kenma when you first started dating, especially when he had asked to meet your family. He wasn't one to socialize or even initiate it, but he would do it if it meant doing it for you. But you turned the idea down fast, warned him that there'd be no reason to have to go through all that stress just for you; and though he was just as stubborn as you, Kenma gave in and never brought it up again when he saw how upset you had gotten.
But in chest full of ice cubes, there was your cousin, Akihiro-san. Like you, he was different. He wasn't cold, but he was so genuine and real, you couldn't help but doubt his kindness.
A kindness you failed return when he needed it most. So, when you saw your moment of opportunity, you snatched it, regrettably leaving your boyfriend as an afterthought to your decision.
"I owe it to him, Kenma..." You plead in whisper. "I owe to him because he was the only one who was ever nice to me..."
"These are kids," He counters, dipping his head to meet your glossy eyes. He takes your cheek into the palm of his hand, his thumb tracing circles over your skin. "This would be different if it were a puppy or a plant—but these are living and breathing kids and we know nothing about raising kids. My love, we're only in our twenties..."
"But—"
"You should've called first." He cuts you off, his tone still soft , but firm. You’re at least grateful he’s called you your pet name. "You should've called me and asked."
"You would've said no..."
"How do you know? You never called me." There isn't resentment in Kenma's words. Its still  playful and light, but you can feel his hurt and you feel dumb because you know exactly why. "I would've liked to have been included in this decision...especially since this is my home and you are my girlfriend, and you promised that we would make decisions together."
You frown, tears brimming to the surface as you realized what you've done and how you've probably made him feel.You denied him of his choice, and you were silly to believe that it was okay to go over his head and behind his back.
As you whisper a string of apologies, Kenma presses his forehead onto yours, smiling at you. He was angry at first, but not so much anymore.
"Are you going to break up with me?" You sniffle, voice breaking at the thought. "I'd understand if you wanted to break up with me...But I just—I really wanted to help them. I'm so sorry I didn't ask you first, I couldn't just leave them—"
"Shhh," His breath fans against your skin, "I'm not breaking up with you, stupid. Given, this is probably the biggest wild card you've thrown at me by far, but its not enough for me to break up with you."
You hide your face into dip of his neck, sobbing into the material of his sweater, letting go of the strength you had from holding back and stain it with your tears. You had always been reckless, but it never turned him off. He never raised his voice, he always heard you out, and even when you slipped up, he always forgave you in a heartbeat.
It makes you question if you’re deserving of such a love as this. 
“I was very angry and very offended,” Kenma begins, “I didn’t like what you did. It made me feel like you couldn’t trust me, and it made me feel like you saw me as some kind of terrible person that would turn away kids that need a home...”
You shake your heard, muttering a “no” to his assumption. 
Kenma runs his fingers through your hair and down to your back, soothing you until you've caught your breaths. He'll soft press his lips against the crown of your head, discreetly swiping the little sweat off his lips to keep you from being offended.
"S-So, what do we do about the kids?" Your question muffled but Kenma can hear you just fine.
He sighs, and as he's about to pull you away from his chest, you tighten your hold around his waist. "Please look at me," Your shoulders fall and you pout when you come face to face with him. He chuckles at how ridiculously childish you look, "Do you really want to do this?"
Your eyes widen, "Y-yes. I want to do this, but if you don't want—"
"Better us than anyone else, right?" You blink at him, processing. "I don't know shit about kids, but if you really want to do this, I'll support you. But you can't expect me to be good at this."
Kenma falls onto your shoulder and rests all his weight onto you, letting out a sigh. Panic envelopes his heart, his stomach flipping and churning as he stresses over all the things that's yet to come.
“We’ve been dating for four years, and I’ve just only gotten the hang of you now...” He admits in a heavy sigh.
I'm still a kid, he thinks, groaning. He's plays games all day, forgets to shower, and doesn't know how to cook either. He works from home, rarely goes out unless he needs to or if you want to. Out of the both of you, you're--surprisingly-- more put together than he is.
Can he really do this?
"Please don't expect much from me," He begs, "I don't do well with kids, and you even took in a grown one. What if it doesn't like me or if it forget to feed it?"
You chew on your lip, holding back a laugh and quietly smile to yourself. Vulnerability paints well on your boyfriend, and you wish for even more moments like this.
“I promise it’ll only be until we kind find some other arrangement for them...Something better." You’re not entirely confident in your words, but you understand the idea of having them stay with you isn’t the most sound solution. 
"I suppose if we mess up, we'll mess it up together." He says in defeat, sprawling his legs open before wrapping it around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. He cradles your body tightly just as Yuki had done. "You don't understand how unbelievably lucky you are that I love you."
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miyanom · 4 years ago
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DEVILS PARADISE (part two)
MASTERLIST | JEAN KIRSTEIN X FEM!READER
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synopsis: arriving in paradis, y/n slowly grows close to the devils she was taught to hate.
warnings: mentions of death, let me know if I need to add anything else!
notes: i feel like this chapter isn’t the best, but i wanted to write about y/n and jean a little and also write about y/n’s friendships with the people of Paradis before we head into trost arc.
word count: 2479
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Shaky breaths fell from Y/N’s chapped lips as she held on tightly to Annie, keeping the unconscious girl from slipping off the Armoured Titan’s shoulder as he ran through the town beyond the wall.
Reiner had his hands raised to protect the others from the rubble of the gate as he crashed through, but as his hands moved to his sides once more, Y/N found her eyes widening.
Chaos. It was utter chaos.
Homes had been crushed from debris that went flying after the Colossal Titan kicked the gate, people had been crushed in attempts to escape, and mindless Titans were flooding into the city.
Y/N’s eyes continued to scan the area, only stopping as they fell onto a woman screaming for her husband who had been crushed beneath a Boulder.
With an arm still wrapped around Annie, Y/N used her other hand to pull them closer toward the armoured titan’s neck, fear coursing through her veins as the image of the crushed body weighed heavy in her mind.
The Marleyan’s words echoed through her head, reminding her of the sins of the Eldians; the sins that brought this destruction to them.
But Y/N couldn’t stop herself from questioning the things she had been taught as more screams filled the evening air.
Did they deserve it? Did they deserve it? Did they deserve it?
“Armin Arlert, from Shiganshina District, sir!” A blonde boy answered the training instructor.
If Y/N remembered correctly, it was Shiganshina that the warriors destroyed all those years ago. The day still weighed heavy on her heart, though she knew it was the only way.
What other choice did they have? If they were to go home to Marley without the Founding Titan, their terms would end prematurely.
“Yeah? That’s a stupid name. Your parents give you that?” Shadis questioned.
“My grandfather!”
“Arlert, what are you doing here?!”
“Trying to aid humanity’s victory!” Armin answered immediately.
When ordered to about face, Y/N’s eyes met Armin’s cerulean. Trying to aid humanity’s victory… humanity’s victory would only come when the devils were gone, that’s what Marley told them all.
The instructor passed by Y/N, barely sparing the girl even the smallest of glances as he moved down the row.
Jean Kirstein was the name Y/N heard as she tuned back into the initiation. His goal caused the girl to frown in distaste, and it took everything in her to not just roll her eyes.
To live a safe life in the interior, he had said.
The island devils truly were selfish, Y/N realised.
How could anyone hear about what happened in Shiganshina and choose to escape further into the walls? Do the devils not care about their own?
Would they rather save themselves than save the people they care for by ridding the world of Titans?
If Y/N were in their shoes, she knew what she would pick; the chance to save the people she cared about.
That’s why she was here, after all. It was why she went through the rigorous training of the warrior unit. All to make her family honorary Marleyans, to save them from the life of the Eldians.
She was here, pretending to be an island devil, pretending to be the thing she was taught to hate, all for her family.
The devils couldn’t say the same, they wanted to retreat further into the walls, into what they believed was safe.
If only they knew…
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“Huh? You’re from Wall Maria, too?” Mina’s eyes widened slightly as she stared at Y/N, who sat across the table.
Y/N rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly as she nodded. It was a cover story the warriors had come up with a while ago, it made it easier for them to blend in when the survivors of Wall Maria found refuge in Wall Rose.
A family had unexpectedly taken Y/N in just a few months after the attack. It wasn’t Y/N’s idea to take them up on their offer, they were devils, after all.
But Reiner had urged her, he told her it could help them with their mission, that perhaps this family could provide more insight into life inside the walls.
He had been right.
The family helped Y/N understand what life was like for the devils of Paradis, though she’d never tell Reiner and the others just how much she had come to pity these people.
The family had lost their son when the armoured Titan broke through the inner gate, apparently he was a soldier in the Garrison.
Y/N spent nights upon nights thinking about that. Each night giving her more and more reasons to think that maybe the devils didn’t deserve what the warriors had been brought here to do.
That family had shown her kindness, a kindness she never saw from own mother. So maybe-
No. This is the only way, Y/N repeated to herself. This is the only way…
“Y/N?” Mina spoke up again, staring at her with concern painted across her visage. “Are you alright?”
“Ye.. yeah.” Y/N nodded, averting her gaze nervously. “I just- it’s not easy to think about what happened.”
It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Y/N hated thinking about the day she arrived inside the walls, whenever she remembered it, she remembered all those bodies she saw…
She remembered the screams and the blood, and the thought that maybe the Eldians were innocent and it was them who were the bad guys.
“That’s okay. I’m sorry for asking,” Mina let out a sigh, placing her hand over Y/N’s that rested on the table. “I’m-”
“It’s okay,” Y/N shook her head, quickly knocking Mina’s hand away as she stood up and grabbed her plate. “We should get going anyways, everyone’s cleaning up.”
As Y/N left the mess hall, she let out a frustrated sigh. No, that wasn’t suspicious at all…
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Oddly enough, learning to use the odm gear the devils designed to kill Titans came fairly easy to Y/N. And before she knew it, they were moving onto hand-to-hand combat training.
When Y/N had been assigned to the mission to attack Paradis, she never expected she would join yet another military program. Not when the things they were learning for the first time here, were things she had known before she was even 10 years old.
“Go easy on the devils,” Reiner had warned them. “We don’t want suspicion to be drawn to us. Not now, we’re too close.”
Y/N hated to admit that he was right. Not about being close to the finish line, but about not wanting to draw suspicion to themselves.
But it was hard to remember his warning when she had been partnered with Jean Kirstein for training… She had known it on the day they met, and she knew it now, almost three years later.
Jean was a selfish, cocky bastard.
“Aw come on. You can do better than that.” His annoying laugh filled her ears as she quickly turned back to look at him, her eyes narrowing into a glare as her grip on the wooden knife tightened slightly. “By the time you take me down, I could’ve taken on at least eight people.”
“Yeah, why don’t you try testing that, Jean?” His name fell from her lips with venom as she chucked the knife in his direction, watching as he caught it with ease.
How much more annoying could he possibly get? Y/N asked herself.
Jean rolled his shoulders back in a stretch before getting into the correct stance, and within seconds, he was running at Y/N.
His eyes widened as the girl grabbed onto his arm, twisting herself around so her back was facing him as she kept pressure on his arm to keep the knife pointed away from her. This wasn’t a move they were taught by the trainers, he realised immediately.
He reached out for the knife with his other hand, though as soon as Y/N caught his movement, she kicked her left leg back, her foot slamming against his bottom calf causing his knee to buckle beneath him.
Putting all her strength into it, Y/N took advantage of Jean’s shaky footing, throwing him over her shoulder and watching as his back hit the dirt with a loud groan of pain falling from his lips.
With a smirk, she crouched down to pick up the knife, twirling it between her fingers as she glanced back at him.
He was still on the floor, staring up at her with wide eyes and a light blush painted across his cheeks. “Aw come on, Jean. You can do better than that,” she taunted.
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Jean was ignoring her, Y/N realised as the trainees from the 104th settled down in the mess hall for dinner that night.
She didn’t blame him, she would be embarrassed too if she were in his shoes.
It wasn’t exactly his fault that she had been through this before, in a much harsher environment where the punishment for a failure like that was much worse than a simple comment made by their instructor.
Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her hand as her eyes scanned the dining hall, the sound of chatter filling the room. It wasn’t like this back in Marley, they would always eat in silence, in fear.
But in Paradis, those fears no longer weighed heavy on her shoulders. She no longer had to sleep with one eye open, terrified the Marleyans would decide to torch Liberio in the middle of the night.
She would never say it aloud, but maybe the devils were right to flee and hide here.
“-right, Y/N?” Christa’s voice snapped Y/N out of her thoughts, causing her to quickly turn around.
“Huh?”
“There she goes drifting off again,” Ymir commented, her arms crossed as she stared at Y/N. “With an attitude like that, you’ll become Titan chow the second you step outside these walls.”
Christa had quickly become Y/N’s friend within the first year of training, now that they were coming close to the end of the third and final year, Y/N realised that she had practically been inseparable from Ymir and Christa during training.
Maybe she had followed Reiner’s orders too quickly, he told them to blend in with the devils. Or maybe she had found peace within the unexpected kindness… it was wrong, that’s all she really knew.
She wasn’t supposed to be getting along with the island devils, she wasn’t supposed to call them her friends and wish they would be far away from Trost when the warriors plan comes to fruition.
But they were kind, they weren’t anything like how Marley described them to be.
A conflicted feeling settled in Y/N’s stomach once more as she averted her gaze, no longer able to look Christa and Ymir in the eyes without remembering what was to happen.
They didn’t deserve it, they didn’t deserve it.
Or did they? Their ancestors had committed atrocities against the entire world, after all.
But that was their ancestors, not them. Christa, Ymir, Mina, the family that had taken her in when they found out she was a so-called orphan from Wall Maria… they didn’t do what the Eldians of the past had done, they didn’t kill anyone, did they really deserve to pay for crimes they didn’t know about?
Y/N was snapped out of her thoughts once more as Ymir waved a hand in front of her face. “Sorry,” Y/N muttered, glancing at the girls who sat at the table with her.
Christa stared back with a look of concern, while Ymir seemed to not care that much at all.
“Anyways,” Ymir looked back at Christa. “I was just telling Christa here all about the tension between you and that cocky bastard when you knocked him on his ass in training today.” The girl seemed to smirk slightly as her eyes flickered back to Y/N. “I didn’t realise blockhead two had a crush on-”
“And I was telling Ymir that it’s not like that. You would’ve told me, right, Y/N?” Christa asked, looking back and forth between her and Ymir as she awaited an answer.
Y/N couldn’t tell how Ymir had come to the conclusion that she and Jean were crushing on each other, not when they had nothing but bicker constantly. Maybe almost as much as Eren and Jean did, and everyone knew how bad that was.
“It’s not like that,” Y/N confirmed, beginning to pick at her breadroll. “He was being his usual annoying self, and I put him in his place.”
“Yeah, well, looked like he enjoys being put in his place,” Ymir teased. “If you know what I-”
“Ymir!” Christa squeaked out, staring at the taller girl with wide eyes. “You’re going to embarrass them.”
I can’t like Jean, or anybody for that matter, Y/N wished she could tell them.
How could she let herself fall for an island devil? It would be enough to get her killed when she returns to Marley. Retrieving the Founding Titan wouldn’t make up for the sin of loving a devil.
No, befriending them for the sake of the mission was one thing, but loving them?
And Jean of all people? She would never love him. Even if he was from Marley and she was allowed to fall for him, she wouldn’t.
“An easy life, deep inside the walls?” Eren spoke up, his eyes narrowed in Jean’s direction.
The tone of his voice was enough to break Y/N out of her thoughts as she realised the boys would undoubtedly get into another fight.
Her eyes flickered toward Reiner, a frown tugging at her lips. It reminded her too much of how Porco was always fighting Reiner back in Marley.
“Until five years ago, this was considered deep inside the walls,” Eren continued.
“What’s your point, Eren?” Jean crossed his arms.
“You don’t need to go to the interior.” Eren placed his cup on the table. “You’ve gone soft enough in your own head, Jean.”
Y/N hid her smile by resting her head in the palm of her head, though her smile faltered for a moment when her eyes met Jean’s, who had turned to look in her direction.
As Jean turned back toward Eren, the boy began speaking again. “Don’t you think it’s strange that we’re training to fight Titans, just to end up farther away from them?”
“Who cares? For my own sake, I hope they keep this stupid system,” Jean told him.
Right, the island devils were selfish people.
And Y/N was definitely not going to fall for Jean Kirstein. Not in a million years.
155 notes · View notes
embrassemoi · 3 years ago
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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 25
Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader   CW: Language, implied sexual content, angst 
【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】
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Chapter 25: Theories of Emotions
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April 30th, 1976
“HAHAHA!” Y/N let out a scream of mirth. She laughed so hard that her knees buckled, meeting the soft grass beneath and wand slipped from her grasp. Her eyes swam with heavy tears, gasping for air as she rocked back and forth, clutching her ribs. Nonplussed and unamused, Regulus gawked at her.
“You wart. You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
It was a passing joke, that she would teach Regulus how to swim but he took it a little too literally. Now, swimming — or attempting to swim in the shallow area of the black lake, wearing bright yellow floaties to keep him afloat, Regulus kept making large splashes; his arms failed around, legs unsynchronized as he kicked to propel his body.
“When you said your swimming skills were horrific, I thought you were being humble!”
Regulus’s face turned a dark pink, but he wore a sheepish grin. He doggy paddled his way out of the lake, which made her laugh even harder and waddled on land. Y/N got up, threw him a towel and ruffled his hair.
Regulus had been looking a little more lively lately, and Y/N was just happy that he seemed to be doing better.
“We can work with this!”
Regulus tossed her a dirty look, “Promise me you’ll never become a professor.”
“Whatever you say, Reggie —” “Hey!”
Once dry, they walked back to the castle and broke off into separate directions. Y/N promised to meet Remus a little earlier than usual at the library, but before then, she stepped into McGonagall’s office and sat in the chair opposite to her. Career meetings have been going on and her scheduled meeting had been weighing her down.
“Hello, Ms. L/N. Biscuit?” McGonagall gestured to the metal tin in front of her.
“No, it’s okay.” “Don’t be absurd.” Y/N was too afraid to reject again, so she took one.
“So, how are you feeling about the upcoming exams?”
“Nervous. Anxious.”
“I can imagine. You did struggle with the change of curriculum at the beginning of the year, but you’ve consistently improved.” McGonagall flipped through her stack of notes; her little glasses perched up high. She cleared her throat again. “You've always excelled in Defense, Potions and Transfigurations — and I’ve talked to Flitwick, he’s said you’ve improved drastically. Although, you struggle with History of Magic.”
Y/N sighed and nodded. Professor Binns wasn’t exactly helpful. “It’s never been a… strong suit of mine.”
“We all have our strengths and weaknesses, no? It doesn’t concern me much. I’ve heard you and Mr. Lupin are quite amicable — you two do study with each other..?”
“Yes, I attend his study sessions.”
McGonagall flashed her a rare smile and Y/N felt immense pride fill her. McGonagall smiling was almost as rare as getting a letter from her mother. “I can proudly say I have faith in you.”
“Thank you.”
“Then, I can assume you’ve given thought to what career you want to pursue?”
This was what she was dreading; thinking about her future. She’d give thought, loads, but it felt like there was such little time to decide the rest of her life. McGonagall waited for an answer as she watched Y/N struggle. “Do you have plans of continuing your education in America or..?”
She tried to make eye contact and her palms suddenly became damp. “I’m having doubts about working in the wizarding world.”
McGonagall pursed her lips.
“It’s not like I don’t want to — I do!” She explained, “I’ve thought about being a Healer. My mother is a Muggle Doctor.”
Professor McGonagall soaked in her words. “Are you struggling because you’re not sure if you want to become one, or do you feel pressured by your mother’s decisions?”
She sat straighter at this. “Er — Yes? No? That’s not my problem — honestly, I think my mom would discourage me from becoming one. It’s just… I mean…” She looked back to McGonagall who nodded encouragingly. “It’s just… the war… I’m not sure if I can…”
“What do you mean?” Her voice shifted, becoming brittle and it took Y/N by surprise. McGonagall wore a look so unlike her. Any trace of her firm, yet strict-kindness facade vanished. It was replaced with deep exhaustion.
“I’m a New — Muggleborn… most people — wizards — aren’t kind to someone like me… and I heard that they’re training them to be medics. I would be in the midst.”
McGonagall took off her spectacles, unveiling her red-rimmed eyes like she’d lost sleep or been crying. She sighed, so sorrowful and heavy that it even affected Y/N. “I won’t lie and say you’re wrong…” Her palms rubbed her tired eyes. “But you can’t let them win. Don’t let go of your dreams to submit to them. I won’t let my students diminish their talents and dreams.”
The professor took a long pause. “I know several institutes that transfer magical credits into Muggle credits if you’re seriously considering disconnecting from Magic. But, I urge you, think about it.”
She nodded gravely. There was already a considerable disconnect from her and the Muggle world that going back seemed impossible, but it was probably the safest.
McGonagall broke the silence, reshuffling her papers.
They continued to talk for some time, jumping from courses and mark requirements for NEWT level courses and Y/N left with a stack of papers and mock schedules. With a heavy heart, she headed towards the library. It seemed like every week when exams neared, the earlier group sessions would be.
Y/N flopped down on one of the couches near the back and let her head loll to rest on the cushion. She wasn’t alone for long before she felt the couch dip beside her. She peeked open one eye; Sirius in all his glory was there. In one hand, he held the Marauder’s map before she snatched it.
“Now you’re stalking me?”
His head made a funny gesture. “You know about the map?”
“... James.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“I haven’t told anyone. I promise!”
He beamed and when Y/N flipped through the papers McGonagall gave her, she felt Sirius place a hand on her thigh, slowly inching up.
Snogging — shagging — it made life a lot more fun. Unresolved anger between each other? Broom closet with heated words between kisses. One of them was stressed? Take it out on the other. Wanted fun? Sneak up to Sirius’s dorm. Sirius being a fucking asshole? Kiss him and he’ll shut up (although, Y/N had a sneaking suspicion that he knew this and was purposely being a dick to get a reaction now). Their anger was slowly dwindling to extinction. Moreover, rather than brooding exchanges across the hall, there were one or two sly smiles.
But, they had four unspoken rules they followed:
Never talk about whatever they were,
Because surely, neither meant anything to the other,
If they were with anyone else, they would have to tell the other,
And most importantly; never, ever, tell anyone.
“You look ravishing.”
Y/N felt her face heat. “I wish I could say the same about you."
Sirius smirked, his fingers trailing dangerously close to her inner thigh.
“Here?" She hissed, "What are you doing?"
“The thrill is the fun part.” He pressed a few sneaky kisses to her jaw, “You spend too much time here with Lupin and not enough time with me.”
“Jealous?” Y/N’s brow rose and she turned to look at him. “Of Lupin?”
Sirius didn’t answer but momentarily pulls away. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”
She rolled her eyes. “Slag.”
“You know French?”
“Second official language in Canada.”
Sirius nodded. “Well, I’m a slag… for you.” She teasingly smacked him on the head with her papers.
“I can’t stand you sometimes.”
“Feelings mutual, princess.”
Y/N hid a smirk, resuming to ignore him as she flicked through the stack of papers. There was a dreadful feeling settled deep within. Everything was moving too fast and she felt like she had nowhere to turn. Overwhelmed, she pressed herself into the couch further and groaned out, “Fuck —”
“Maybe we can do that later?”
An involuntary chuckle slipped out which had Sirius grinningly like a fool. There it was again, that Sirius Black grin… it made her heart do wild flips. “You’re a literal dog.”
“And aren’t you a lovely witch?”
Y/N rolled her eyes, flipped him off and went to tug on Sirius’ hair to pull him off before a loud moan ripped from him and echoed throughout the library. Y/N’s eyes grew large, mouth agape. Sirius was unapologetic though; his smile grew bigger.
“I promise I’ll let you slap me, lightly,” he winked and wiggled his brows. “Or hard, whatever you want.”
She shook her head and shoved her things into her bag and pulled Sirius to his feet before he led her up to his dorm. His name spewed from her lips like a prayer and consumed every thought.
At some point, they flopped down on Sirius’ bed as they breathed in deeply, catching their breaths. Y/N was filled with content and went to turn on her side, facing Sirius and cuddling up to him. Gently and mindlessly, pressed a series of light kisses to his forehead while massaging his scalp.
The sun made one last feeble appearance before being engulfed by dusk. Rays of golden glow spilled in as she embraced him. Her hands ran feather-light touches up and down his bare skin and Sirius’ head hugged close to her chest. The soft touches were filled with nothing but her (not so) hidden affection and calm peace. She didn’t think much about her actions.
Something she’d come to learn during their stolen kisses and nights under white satin sheets; Sirius was beautiful in a wild, carefree way. He was wild like how wind sweeps through the branches of willows trees and meadows on a cool summer's eve or carefree in the way waves from the ocean crashed upon rocks. He was hauntingly beautiful in a turbulent, pliable way — wild in not just beauty, but essence too.
And it hurt. What were they doing?
Everything moved so quickly. Not even a month ago, she was supposed to be hating Sirius — now their limbs were tangled together. The ever-present war crept up during the worst times and she and Lily hadn’t spoken since their fight.
Lily…
Y/N tried to be indirect, catching her eyes during class or in their dorms, but nothing. She would always re-direct her gaze. It’d grown awkward in the dorms; Marlene and Dorcas caught in the crossfire.
She really missed Lily. Their late night talks, silly games, Lily keeping her in line and Y/N getting Lily to let loose; everything and more.
Usually, once she and Sirius were done with each other, they would leave, peel off each other but Y/N was so tired of — well, everything.
Trapped in thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Sirius’ body go rigid until his body began to tremble. Sirius made a small strangled noise that she originally mistaken as a laugh or snore until she felt wet droplets fall on her skin.
Y/N pulled back to find Sirius silently crying. She watched him, thinking that she should comfort him but was rooted in place and eyes drifted to the door, thinking of leaving. It felt like an intrusion being there with him and comforting someone was not on her list.
“Er — Sirius?” She whispered, alarmed. Her smile fading and his breath hitched. She awkwardly patted him before going to stiffly stroke his arm, but it only seemed to make him cry harder. She quickly ripped back her hand and put distance between them. Her mind raced a mile a minute as she listened to him. “Sirius? Hey — what’s wrong?”
“Get out.”
She froze and looked back at him. “Do you want me to get someone —”
“GET OUT!” He yelled. It scared her so much that her body jolted and Sirius hid his face with his hands. Sirius crying and screaming at her unprovoked made her panic and recline. He stayed quiet after that, rolling over, pulling his blankets above his head.
She chewed on her bottom lip so hard that a metallic taste flooded her mouth. In a rush, she quickly threw on her clothes and grabbed her bag. She shuffled towards the door but then looked back at Sirius; he looked so small and his cries made her fill with immense sadness. She debated; should she leave and respect his wishes? But the way he was crying, so hysterically and abruptly — she worried he might’ve done something impulsive and stupid.
She decided on leaving and sat right outside the door just in case. She listened to his sobs that managed to seep through the walls.
She waited there for a very, very long time that she almost fell asleep before she heard his muffled voice and swore he said her name.
She knocked twice, “You okay?”
There was a knock back.
“Was I that bad of a kisser?” She tried to joke after some time. Luckily, she heard Sirius choke out a heartbroken giggle. This time there were two knocks. A no, she assumed. 
Silence crept back in and Y/N leaned against the door and looked around the hall. Nobody else was there, but just in case put up a spell for any prying ears.
“Do you still want me to leave?” She asked. “Just say the word.” Communication with him felt weird.
Sirius remained quiet but then she heard him hop off his bed, feet coming closer to the door. She then felt a small nudge against the door as Sirius slid down to sit on the opposite side.  
“You can talk to me,” Y/N said nervously, not wanting him to blow up again. “Did I do something? I promise I didn’t mean it.” She remained still, listening to his quiet sniffling.
Two knocks. 
“Er — I won't push and you don’t need to tell me but — um, I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even the other Marauders. It’ll be our little secret.”
It takes a long time before Sirius eventually stops sniffling and she listens to his uneven breaths; she's extremely uncomfortable and baffled. He tries to speak several times but ends up cutting himself off.
A sharp exhale came from him, shallow and irregular. In a small, weak voice that made it feel like an invisible weight pressed against her chest, he finally spoke.
“Je suis —” Sirius started before switching to another foreign language. Y/N was able to pick up on a few words: it was Italian.
“Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.”
More silence ensues; Y/N thinks that he might’ve walked away until he speaks again.
“Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo.” Sirius stops, taking a shaky inhale, “Non sono ancora pronto.”
Then, she hears the door click open and the knob turns. She backs away until it opens and her head peaks in. Sirius is staring at the ground to avoid her eyes, hair acting as a curtain to hide his face. She shuffles in, Sirius leans against the door and shuts it. Y/N shifts to sit in front of him. He’s dressed again, but the sleeves of his shirt were damp with tears.
She inches closer to place an encouraging hand on his but stops, remembering earlier. “Can I touch you?”
He closes his eyes — like the question was a mental battle before he nods. Y/N reaches up, pushing back the strands of fallen hair, revealing his red, puffy eyes. Her thumb strokes over his skin tenderly — intimately, but it causes a broken whimper to escape him, but leans into the touch.
“Whatever you said,” Y/N mutters, “Thank you for telling me.”
Pink floods his cheeks and he hesitantly reaches out, his arms going around her waist to pull her into a hug.
“Mi sbagliavo su di te.” He mumbled to her shoulder and Y/N was left to think.
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They both missed the study group and dinner. Eventually, Sirius fell asleep and Y/N snuck out of his room before the Marauders came in. She didn’t want to go back to her dorm to face Lily and was extremely hungry. She then thought back to Sirius before going to grab food for both of them.
She slipped out into the night, being accompanied by Nearly Headless Nick who had a worried expression on his face. Y/N didn’t think much of it, if anything, she was rather annoyed; after the day she’s had, she wanted to be alone for a while.
The house-elves helped to line a large platter of food before she thanked them, making her way out of the kitchens. Nearly Headless Nick floated close, urging her to speed up.
“Sir Nick, I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you following me?”
“Making sure you get back to Gryffindor’s tower safely.”
That caught her attention. “Safely?”
Sir Nick’s eyes widened. “My poor girl, haven’t you heard?”
She and Sirius missed a lot when they were together. Nobody was quite sure what happened to Mary; she wouldn’t speak a word of it, not even to Marlene. All anyone knew was that Mary was a victim of Dark Magic and was found in a torpid state by Hufflepuff’s Head Girl; used as an initiation for Mulciber for the Death Eater ranks.
Word ran wild around the school of Mulciber’s expulsion and everyone was left on edge. Rumours went around of the Imperius curse. Mary was fine physically, Sir Nick told her, but mentally…
Y/N’s blood ran cold while Nick had a sorrowful smile of reassurance. “You’ll be fine — your friend will be fine but you need to come with me, now.”
But out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen a shadowy figure peek out from the shadows and Y/N drew her wand, Sir Nick floating right behind her.
“Lumos!”
There, tall and unwavering was Snape.
He marched up to her, but Y/N began to quickly walk away until he reached out and yanked her back by her shoulder with bone-crushing strength.
“Lay your hands off!” Sir Nick cut in.
Snape ignored him, “What did you say to her?!” His cheeks were tear-stained; eyes glowing with something dangerous and Y/N wanted to run. “She won’t even talk to me!”
Lily must’ve finally confronted him.
“Let go of her! Let go, let go!” Sir Nick chanted, wisping through Snape until he stumbled back.
Y/N turned around, and heard Snape mutter darkly, running off. A cold wave embalmed her as every hair on the back of her neck rose.
“Come with me now,” the ghost said. She didn’t need to be told twice.
The moment she stepped inside the common room, Y/N felt every bone in her body relax. Her footsteps were quiet and rounded into the main area when she saw everyone there. James and Lily were pacing back and forth. James tugged down on his hair; Peter was by Dorcas and Remus, Marlene looked deathly pale, the two Head Boy and Girls were there. Sirius sat in a chair, his arms cradling Toulouse as he nervously swallowed, face imprinted with distress.
Remus was the first to notice, his head snapping up once he sensed her presence. He stood, “Y/N!”
Everyone’s head snapped towards her. James shouted, running up to her. “Are you okay?” His hands went straight to her face and handled her like a doll. “My Godric! We were so worried — we were about to go and search for you!”
Sirius abruptly stood up; chair screeching, eyes wide but then quickly took a seat as everyone tossed him an odd look.
“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just missed dinner and wanted to get food!”
James tackled her into a hug and she almost dropped the plate of food.
Her eyes then travelled to Lily, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. Lily made a move to go up to her, hand slightly outstretched before stopping and quickly ran up the staircase. Everyone noticed but didn’t mention it. Then the Head Girl and Boy exited wordlessly.
Lily leaving fucking hurt.
“I heard from Headless Nick, how’s Mary?”
There was a collective sigh. Marlene got up, going over to her and pulled her into another hug and pulled back. Her usually smooth skin was now littered with furrowed lines. “She’s with Madam Pomfrey, I’m going to sneak into her room now. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Should any of us come?” Peter interjected.
“No… I don’t think she even wants me there. It might overwhelm her.”
“Be safe,” Dorcas said, her eyes wide with worry. And then she left.
Y/N made her way to sit down, James practically glued himself onto her as she plopped down next to Sirius, but still far enough to avoid suspicion.
“I’m glad you’re alright,” Remus said. “When you didn’t show up for the study sessions and dinner we all… thought the worst.”
“Sorry…” Then her eyes wandered to the staircase, thinking about Lily again.
Dorcas stirred in her seat. “Don’t take Lily’s absence as offence. She was really worried.”
“She suggested we go out to find you,” Peter said. “Also had a nasty row with Snape in the courtyards too. Everyone saw it. What a bell end, Snape.”
“I think, for now, we all ought to start pairing up,” came Remus. A solemn noise of agreement went around. Nobody talked for a while and Y/N placed the large metal tray of food on the table, no longer having the appetite to eat.
James was the one who broke the silence. “Where were you?”
Sirius stopped petting Toulouse and listened carefully. “I was busy talking to McGonagall. Something about careers. Then I just got tired and ended up sleeping through dinner.”
It technically wasn’t a lie and everyone seemed to believe it.
The air was tense and James wouldn’t stop fretting. Ultimately, Dorcas began to talk to Peter, Remus had a pensive look before going to crack open his book but seemed tense. It was only until she felt Sirius nudge her foot. She shifted her head gradually to examine him.
‘You okay?’ He mouthed, searching for any kind of lie or injury. His eyes were still puffy but overall looked better.
She shook her head. ‘I’m okay, you?’
A nod.
His reaction earlier had new questions arising but she saved that for another time. Her eyes darted to the plate of food and then to him. ‘It’s for you.’
But then she peered up and saw Remus watching their interaction. He seemed to be deep in thought and took a large inhale. She swore his eyes flashed a golden glow. Worried he was catching on, she initiated a conversation. “Moony?” She teased.
When he wore a judicious look during times like these, Y/N is reminded just how smart and intimidating he could be. It was like he knew everything before anyone else did.
“Sorry — thinking ‘bout something. Anyway —”
While occupied with Remus, Sirius glanced shyly over to Y/N and bent over to take a treacle tart, biting into it. The gesture was so heartbreakingly touching to him; so unexpected coming from her.
Sirius was left in a transitional phase. A lot of the inner turmoil he held — or thought he had — was released today and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Whatever irritation he held towards Y/N vanished. He looked forward to their bickering, shy forehead kisses and the feeling he got that was the opposite of dread or disgust after being with someone.
It felt nice, doing something he truly wanted for once — not engaging in intimacy out of coping rather than genuine interest.
But then, it unleashed everything else he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. His reaction to touch earlier had set off a bomb buried so deep within him but Merlin — he hadn’t realized it would’ve affected him that much.
Truth be told, now all he wanted to do was ruin her to bits and pieces but he was getting too ahead of himself — becoming attached too quickly and he already felt himself disconnecting. The only thought that lapsed in his mind was: run, boy, run.
It echoed through his head again, love wasn’t — isn’t a magic potion, far from it. So what was he doing? He needed to make a decision; continue doing whatever they were doing, work on himself or run.
Running away is easy. It’s always been easy. But he was tired of it.
And after the intense fear that paralyzed him, that made his mouth go dry and heart pound in his chest when nobody could find her when she left — after knowing what happened to Mary; it almost caused Sirius to spike and go into a panic attack.
Sirius wasn’t afraid of many things. After all, he’d already gone through so much that there wasn’t much to be afraid of anymore. But if he had to choose, and it was at the forefront of his mind, it would’ve been her.
━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━
Y/N headed to bed early as Dorcas waited for Marlene to return to the common room. It left her alone with Lily.
It was already dark, aside from a small lit candle that seeped through the cracks of Lily’s bed drapes. She did her evening routine before slipping into bed, listening to Lily faintly scribble in her diary. Only when Y/N felt herself relax, she heard Lily get out of bed and drew closer to her.
“Y/N?” Her voice was apprehensive. Y/N’s back faced her. She pretended to be asleep. “Psst… hey?”
Lily sighed before she sat down on the edge of the bed and didn't move for a long time. When they heard footsteps coming to their dorm was when she rose and uttered, “I’m glad you’re alright…Gave me a bit of a fright there… I’m sorry.”
Lily rushed back to her bed, drawing her curtains together when Marlene and Dorcas entered.
Y/N finally exhaled heavily, balling her blankets tightly. A thousand words, questions and thoughts were left unsaid. But, when she knew everyone finally was asleep, she uttered out an inaudible, I’m sorry too, and shut her eyes.
━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━
Translations
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
Do you want to sleep with me?
Nessuno dei miei amanti mi ha toccato così senza volere qualcosa in cambio. Non mi fai sentire usato e ne ho he terrorizza.
None of my lovers have touched me like this without wanting something in return. You don't make me feel used and I'm terrified (of it).
Il modo in cui mi fai sentire mi spaventa e non riesco a gestirlo. / Non sono ancora pronto.
The way you make me feel scares me and I can't handle it. / I'm not ready yet.
Mi sbagliavo su di te.
I was wrong about you.
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haztory · 3 years ago
Note
hello hello ! first, congratulations on 300 !! and if you are still taking requests, may i request the angst dialouge “Can you look at me? Please?” with nanami ? thank you & keep up the wonderful work !! :)
“Can you look at me? Please?” from my writing event! (come request something)
warnings: angst, only angst
nanami kento x gn reader
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“Tilt your head upwards,” Two fingers prod against your chin, gentle yet firm pressure lifting your face and pressing a wet cloth onto the surface of your cheekbone.
It stings, worse than any regular cut that splits the skin. The wound having been laced and imbued with a cursed poison, the kind that simultaneously numbs and burns the surrounding area. Given only when you were taken off guard, caught too hastily in your preoccupation with the man currently standing in front of you instead of the fight at hand.
A foolish mistake on your part— one you understand the gravity of quite thoroughly, even without the disapproving stares and the extended periods of silence that weigh heavily onto you, imparted by the stoic man and impromptu healer.
Nanami halts his movement, his hand hovering over the injury, and his dark eyes— laced entirely too much with dismay— flicker quickly towards yours, of which you pointedly avoid. 
He waits, silent in his plaguing stare that truthfully discomforts you more than the injury itself; He waits for your sighs of pain to subside, waits for you to meet his gaze. Waits for you to understand that behind the neutrality of his stature and the calmness of his demeanor as he led you back from the mission and into the sanctity of his office at the school, lies a brewing lecture of turmoil and overwhelming disappointment.
You didn’t have to look at him to know that, though.
“Are you alright?” He asks after a minute of heavy silence fills the space of the room. He towers over your seated body, feeling miles away in superiority and physicality despite being right in front of you, his hands touching your face and your knee placed between his open legs. He couldn’t be any closer, not with the rich musk of his cologne swirling around you and the heat of him transferring itself onto you.
And yet, you couldn’t feel further from him. 
“Yeah,” keeping your eyes downturned, you mutter lowly, “‘m fine.”
His hand lowers and with it he drops the rag onto the surface of the table. He sighs, the weight of his stress and the exhaustion from the mission exhaling into the air, settling heavily on top of the already apparent displeasure with the situation. 
With you.
You can only push your head down farther and slink away from the expanse of his body in some feeble effort to minimize the extent of your burden on him, even if you may have had good intentions upon doing so.
If only you hadn’t gotten distracted; If only you remembered that out of the two of you, he was the more qualified sorcerer. There was no need to be so concerned for the likes of his safety, especially not when your own was so intensely threatened in that moment. If only you hadn’t turned your head, yelled his name, pleaded for him to move— 
“(Y/N),” Nanami says, voice soft and silky yet still. Foundational. A pillar that pushes itself into the whirlwind of your thoughts and refuses to budge, forcing you to acknowledge it. To acknowledge him and the depth of the irreparable impression you’ve made on him.
You can hear his words before he even says it, forced to sit with the impeding knowledge of the fate of this conversation and take the daggers of despair that will no doubt pierce every part of your fragile heart as he points out the obvious mistake you made. Droles on about how imperative it is to keep business and feelings separate.
Reminds you of the vow he made upon becoming a sorcerer.
Why couldn’t you have just— 
“Can you look at me?” 
You can’t. 
You can’t have him see that as much as he may be disappointed in you, you are even more so disappointed in yourself. Understanding full and well what your mistake means, even if it is something as simple as a cut on the cheek. You can’t have him see and confirm the large crack that has been made in the solid wall of duty to your occupation that can no longer be reversed. 
If you look at him, if you so much as make eye contact with him, he will know the weakness that you possess, the disadvantage you carry with you into every mission. The sharp Achilles heel that has made itself abundantly clear before the two of you and every cursed spirit that saw you stumble. 
Nanami Kento, in whatever fashion he may exist, has the entirety of your attention in the palm of his hand and the cool swing of his arm. And try as you might devote your focus to any matter at hand, you can never successfully win the battle in keeping him out of your thoughts. 
Nanami Kento is the root of your mistake and the inevitable reason behind your downfall. You’ve known it for far too long, and now, he does too. A prophecy in the making, a tragic tale playing its beginning notes before you that’s too sweet for you to try and end.
But he will. 
He will know of the taint in your commitment to this life, the compromise of your duty and the manner in which he plays an active part in it, and he will remove it in the name of safety. 
Dread fills your stomach.
“Please?” He tries again, quieter this time. 
Soft yet firm, comforting, and wrapped in the linen of silk. Lined with the scent of his musk and coated entirely in a sweet, dripping concoction that refreshed you with one word alone. The sweetest of tones that have your heart accelerating with the single word alone.
You want more, you need more for as long as you can have it. That is your prophecy, the destiny written in the fate of your stars and consolidated by the sharpness of his cheekbones and the gentleness of his touch.
He is error in your duty that you can no longer see as a mistake. You’re not sure you ever saw it as a mistake.
You look up at him, throbbing pain in your cheek no longer felt, instead replaced with the sorrows of his eyes and the slow push of the dagger in your heart. Propelled by him, his hand wrapped around the ornate handle, with your own settled on top of it, guiding its entry, because you have done this to yourself.
You fell in love with someone who could not be loved, who did not want to be loved.
And worst of all, you laid it bare before him when you prioritized his safety over your own. You bear the physical mark of your profession that swirls with draining poison that he gentle tries to patch up. A wound that he tries to heal and leave with no trace of himself in its wake.
His mouth remains closed as you finally meet his gaze, but his eyes tell you everything you need to know.
There’s the furrow in his brow and pity in his stare as he whispers, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
The malice you expected is absent, replaced with a saddened realization of the truth that you both tried so hard to avoid. You find that you would’ve much preferred a furious lecture than whatever this is.
This pathetic rejection on the basis of violated principles and foolish duty; A halting of something that hadn’t even had the chance to begin.
You should feel something, something deep and burning in you pointed desperately at him, for depriving you of the chance of a truthful embrace. But you can only hum, a wry one that punches him in the gut, even when you try to keep it void from all emotion.
“I know.”
He tries to find some consolation in the fact that you at least know that your feelings were meant to die here. He should feel less guilty in the admittance that you never bought into the enticing fantasy of living a domestic life with him, a romantic and fulfilling one in which things could end happily and your jobs weren’t the brutal forces of despair.
He should feel some relief in knowing that you knew as much as him that it was better to leave things unsaid, than to act on them, for then, he could keep you close without having to acknowledge the blurring boundaries.
It doesn’t though. Only leaves him with an aching hollow in his chest and a pain reverberating along his spine.
If only you didn’t know that this love was a tragedy in the making, then maybe he could’ve given you a reason to hate him. He could’ve broken your heart brutally, right here and now, and sleep peacefully at night knowing that you truly believed him to be an insignificant monster that ruined a chance of happiness.
Maybe you could’ve believed him to be an end of a route that would lead to a better future, one that you unabashedly deserved.
But you do know. You’ve carried the truth of that burden alongside him, and you admit it. That’s the worst part.
Nanami sighs again in some effort to exhale the heavy weight that lumps in his throat. It’s futile. His eyes drift, if only to break themselves from your own sorrowful gaze, but much like you, he finds himself inevitably being drawn back—unable to stray from the entrancing state of your eyes.
Unable to stop himself from gazing at the long-awaited happiness he finally found in your irises. The one he longed for.
His hand cups around the back of your neck, bringing your foreheads together and noses bumping gently into one another. The closest he can let you be to him, without breaking his dutiful promise.
He breathes you in shamelessly, memorizes the feel of your skin against his, closes his eyes and imagines that for just a moment, he could have you without restraint in this space. You do the same, soaking in the forbidden lifetime of forever in this brief second. You wish, that in all his empathy and compassion for those around him—that in his exorbitant effort to minimize the extent of the damage his eventual death will amass—he will give you just a minute more; Just a second more to keep him close.
Reality is never that kind.
He pulls away, stray strands of blonde falling in front of his forehead that he hardly minds as he picks the rag up once more and places it in your hand.
“Keep this on the wound. I’ll go find the first-aid.”
He turns, quick in his motion and set in his path as he makes his way to the door. Leaving you and the air of lost infinite possibilities behind. He opens it, and just as he is about to step out, he pauses.
“After tonight I will put in my request for reassignment. I’ll make sure they pair you with someone capable. And from now on, it would be best to distance ourselves. We should avoid making a mistake of this kind again.”
And then he leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him, no room for argument in the bluntness of his words. No room for interpretation. Not even a brief hesitation as he confirmed that his vow of loneliness would trump any attempt of momentary happiness he could have found with you.
A statement, strict and concise, affirming what you already knew. You could love Nanami Kento all you wanted, and you could hope and plead desperately that he would love you too, but in the end, all that would be left was the fruits of your mistake.
No.
Not a mistake.
Only a love that was lost before it could even be found.
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a/n: apparently the only thing I know how to write for nanami is angst. hope you enjoyed this one anon!!! feel free to request more!! and thank you for the congrats!!
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gyucore · 4 years ago
Text
long live the king
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pairing: mage!hueningkai x noble!reader
tags: fluff, royalty au, friends to lovers, hueningkai can do magic
word count: 3.3k
prompts:
011: "May I have this dance?"
019: "I don't think anyone could ever be as lovely as you."
020: "You look incredible in that."
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Tonight had been advertised as the night to end all nights— a masquerade ball held by the king at the palace, and a brightly lit ballroom decorated with gold and the continent's finest silk, adorning the kingdom's rose insignia. Entertainers and musicians positioned around the vicinity to perform their best acts and tunes, and the gates were left wide open to welcome everyone who wanted to join in, given that they tried their best to dress for the occasion.
Today was an event open to all the kingdom's citizens, from high seated nobles to common men by the streets, everyone was welcome to participate in the king's annual ball. However, that fact didn't matter for a family such as yours. Your father was the Marquess, which meant that you were invited to every single ball or gathering held by the nobility for the nobility. At least, that was how it had been until the incident.
The peering eyes of both the nobles and commoners alike have left you frozen on your spot by the pillar. Your bright red ball gown, although beautiful, was not helping you hide away from the eyes of the crowd. It was evident they were all thinking the same thing.
The unfortunate daughter of a fallen marquess.
News had gotten out about your family's crisis and had spread to the public like a disease. The Grand Marquess losing money, property, and power: The fall of a great noble. The story made headlines for weeks on end— rumors mixing in with the truth, and eventually, everyone had drawn the same conclusion. Pitiful.
You worry about your parents at the other end of the room, doing their best to mingle with the other nobles. The heavy atmosphere was weighing down on your chest.
Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you try to think of the things that calmed you down: the rustic smell of old books at the public library, the warm feeling you'd get when the rays of sunlight touch your skin as you sit by the window with your face buried deep into your favorite classic, the bright smile the common mage boy would give you everytime you crossed paths—
"Wow."
A familiar voice brings you back from your thoughts.
"You look incredible in that." The same bright smile you'd envisioned earlier now stood in front of you.
You gaze in awe at the man before you, dressed in what you could only describe as the most beautiful and elegant ensemble you'd seen tonight. The way the white suit hugged his waist left little room for the imagination. You doubt even the king himself could top this off.
"Lady Y/N. I believe fate must have brought us together in this fine evening." The man gently bends down, taking your hand and planting a kiss so fleeting that you barely felt it. Even with the golden mask on, you could easily tell who it was.
"Kai.."
"Ah, and here I was hoping I'd be a little more mysterious tonight." Kai holds back his laughter as he gazed upon you once more. You can't help but do the same.
Tonight, he looked nothing of a common mage but that of a king himself. If you hadn't known him beforehand, you would've mistaken him as so, especially with tonight's main event— the reveal of the king's successor. But alas, what the mage boy had going on for him was merely for appearances. A commoner like him could never be king in a world where even dreaming of becoming one was considered to be of highest absurdity.
"I thought you said you weren't attending?"
Kai shrugs, folding his hands behind his back. "And refuse my lady when you so graciously asked me out?"
His response catches you off guard. "I don't recall ever asking you anything of that sort."
"You asked if I'd attend."
"And that counts as asking you out?"
Kai chuckles. "When you asked me with such a cute look on your face, it was difficult to think you weren't looking forward to me being here."
And he was right. Given your circumstances, Kai being here with you was like a breath of fresh air. You'd been praying all night that he'd magically arrive to help you take your mind off of things, and you felt like crying out in joy when he actually did.
Kai looks around, seemingly getting a sense of the pressure you were in. "Shall we take a stroll around the garden, my lady?"
You follow his line of sight and spot the royal garden just outside the window. "I'll let you accompany me if you drop the whole my lady business."
Kai purses his lips as he takes your hand in his. "Can't you let me be fancy for one night?"
Every moment you'd spent with Kai up until this point had been the highlight of your days. As the daughter of the Marquess, you'd spent most of your time holed up inside your manor. Women barely got any education aside from the usual classes on manners and societal etiquette, and that included nobles as well. But that never stopped you. Once a week, when the guards changed shifts by the gate, and the maids and butlers were all busy with the weekly general cleaning, you'd take the opportunity to slip out in disguise, undetected by anyone. The main goal was to get to the public library and obtain access to educational material— ones that didn't involve any prim and proper rubbish that you've read over a thousand times.
The first time outside was rather difficult. You barely managed to get inside the library's more educational section while passing as a man. However, every succeeding attempt became easier and easier until coming out in secret and gaining access didn't seem like that much of a hassle anymore.
At the library, you were free to read any book you want, and used this opportunity to brush up on some business and economics as well as some of the basic sciences. You spent the first few months stocking up on knowledge until you felt it fine to relax a little and start reading novels to pass the time without the help of a disguise.
There was a section in the library that you hadn't checked; one that you'd deemed unnecessary as it only contained children's literature. It wasn't until you'd heard the sound of a man's voice followed by children's laughter that you felt compelled enough to take a peek.
"And then, the dragon swooped down onto the village and attacked the innocent villagers! ROARRR. Breathing fire as hot as, well, uh— FIRE!"
You slipped up and giggled at the young man's amusing narration, piping down a bit after realizing that he had noticed you from behind the shelves, throwing a knowing smirk your way.
It was then that he pulled down his cloak. Wavy brown locks gracefully reaching the back of his neck, bright eyes that could make any person let their guard down— he looked around your age which made you feel more at ease.
The young man steps back, dramatically breathing fire out of his mouth as the children cheered. Some were yelling at him to continue until only smoke came out, and you swore you heard one of them ask if he could make the fire turn green. Ridiculous, you think. But you were no different from these children, only being able to stand there in awe at the young man's trick. Perhaps turning the fire green wasn't such a terrible idea.
You've heard of mages among the commoners before, and had met a few that visited your manor but this was the first time you'd seen one in action. The flames that came out of his mouth looked awfully hot but the young man didn't even blink or showed any signs of pain.
He stops the fire and clears his throat, now kneeling down to face the children. "The villagers were worried sick! What would happen to their crops, their produce, their livelihood? If only a hero would come along and save them!" He makes an overly exaggerated wail before gasping.
"Well, who do we have here? A warrior has come to save the villagers!" The young man points at your direction and you feel your blood run cold as all the children in the room had turned their attention towards you, hopeful.
"A young maiden has arrived to slay the evil dragon!"
You quickly shake your head at his statement, holding your arms out in a cross. "No, kids. Don't believe what this man says. I am not a warrior, and I'm certainly not here to slay any dragons"
The young man raises a brow, getting up from his spot. "Then why do you have the magical sword that was forged to slay the mighty dragon?"
"What sword?"
The young man snaps his fingers. "That sword."
The weight on your hips dip on one side and you couldn't believe your eyes as a sheathed sword had magically manifested beside your waist out of thin air. "How did you— wait, is this a real sword?! You can't play around with real swords in front of children!"
The children turn towards the young man in confusion.
"Well, kids. Do you want the kind lady to slay the dragon with a real sword?"
"YES!" The children cheered.
The young man turns to you with a smile. "You gotta give the kids what they want, Miss."
An exasperated expression makes its way to your face. "I am not slaying any made up dragons!"
"Now, what's all this talk about slaying dragons?"
Taehyun, one of the stricter librarians, had come out of nowhere, surprising everyone. His eyes scan the room and quickly notices three things: (1) the dangerous sword hanging on your waist, (2) the excessive amount of children in the room when the sign on the way in definitely mentioned a capacity of only five, and (3) someone let the mage boy inside the library again. The culprit was evident.
"Jung Kai, I swear to the heavens I will—"
"Alright kids, time to go! We'll end the story next time!" The young man, Kai, rushes the disappointed children out of the section before they heard something they shouldn't.
You were about to walk away yourself but was quickly stopped by Taehyun's hand blocking your path. "Kai, didn't I tell you that you're not allowed to perform magic inside the library? And seriously," He confiscates the sword on your waist, holding it up in the air. "Violence?"
Kai looks at you and grins. "I suppose we could've gone with a more romantic ending. Something like the warrior's kiss saving the dragon from his curse, and he turns back into this super handsome, super cute, and super macho mage."
The way he shamelessly described himself left you speechless, and you steal a glance at the librarian who looked as equally disgusted as you are.
"Just clean up the mess before you leave. And that means you too, Miss Dragon Slayer."
"But I didn't even—" You cut yourself off after Taehyun dismisses himself from the room.
The section falls silent and Kai walks up to you, a smile ever present in his face. "I'm guessing this is the start of our new friendship?"
And that was what started it all. Everytime you'd visit the library after that, you seemed to bump into Kai more often than you liked. He saw through the disguise the first time he saw you wearing it and had promised to not utter a single word to anyone. The mage boy was much more reliable than he seemed to be, often helping you in your studies and teaching you more than the books ever could. Sometimes, he'd convince you to take a stroll around town and had shown you sights and wonders you wouldn't have expected to see inside the kingdom.
Before you knew it, Kai had become someone you'd cherished, and someone whose company you genuinely appreciated. He was patient and understanding as your makeshift mentor, and was this fun and outgoing guy whenever you two were out together. Kai became the first friend you'd made on your own regardless of status and the only friend you wished to keep by your side.
"I take it that the people in the ballroom were too much?" Kai speaks the moment arrived at the garden.
"Please. I couldn't even breathe in there." You play it off with a chuckle but thoughts of worry still plague your mind. "I'm guessing you probably know by now."
"About what? The fact that you're the daughter of the Marquess or that the Marquess has been in a crisis for a while?"
"Both."
Kai reaches for your hand, holding it reassuringly. "I've known for a while but that doesn't change anything now, does it? We became friends without the burden of our status, and we'll stay as friends regardless."
You hated this, hated how he always knew exactly what to say. The heat rushes up to your face and you squeeze his hand tighter, avoiding eye contact. "Thank you."
But truthfully, there was a little voice in Kai's head that wished you could be something more. Not after you'd shared those intimate moments alone at the library at dusk, not after he rushed in to catch you in his arms when you fell while shelving a book on the top shelves, and especially not after you almost shared a kiss after saying goodbye that night he'd helped you sneak back in.
Even now, as he lovingly gazed at your silhouette beneath the moonlight, he'd hoped that he'd have the chance to tell you how he felt. But then again, the chance could be right now at this very moment. The two of you were, afterall, at the king's ball.
"So, how were the gentlemen earlier?"
"What?" You raise your head to face Kai.
"I've no doubt that hundreds of people had been lining up to dance with you all evening." Kai grins as he gently lets go of your hand.
"Please, I haven't danced at all tonight."
"I find that quite hard to believe."
You sigh, recalling the events from earlier. "No one would want to be seen dancing with a fallen Marquess' daughter now would they?"
"Not when you look this beautiful?" Kai jokingly walks around you and you shy away from his gaze.
"You know I never say things I don't mean, Y/N." Kai bends down and holds your hands in his. "And believe me, I don't think anyone could ever be as lovely as you."
"Is flattery your main personality trait now?" You say as an attempt to not let his compliment affect you any further than it should but fail miserably so.
Kai stands before you with an unreadable expression. You'd argue this was the most serious look he's ever had since you'd met him.
"Care to dance?" Kai asks, leaning in closer, your faces merely inches apart. You feel your heart beating loudly in your chest, and you're almost afraid he might hear.
The moonlight casts a shadow on Kai's face, and despite the darkness, his eyes glistened, reflecting your own as you stared into his. You've never seen anyone look so beautiful. And here he was, telling you that you're the loveliest person he's ever known.
"Right now?"
Kai nods, taking off his mask and tossing it over to the side. "And I'd like it if we could dance without our masks too. I've been wanting to get a good look at your face all night."
You chuckle, removing your mask and tossing it to to the ground next to his. "And how do you suppose we dance without music? My reputation's already dirt at this point and I do not want to be branded as the crazy noble dancing at the royal garden in complete silence."
Kai fails to suppress his laughter, holding on to your shoulder to maintain himself upright. "Well, I wouldn't want to let my dear lady look crazy now would I?"
"And what are you planning to do?"
"Well, I am a mage." Kai smirks as he manifests a scepter out of thin air, leaving a trail of golden dust flurrying down.
This was the first time you've ever seen it in person. Kai had mentioned how he needed the aid of his scepter to perform high level magic, but he'd never taken it out in front of you until now. One look at the scepter and anyone could tell not just any old mage owned the darn thing. It looked majestic by all means, intricately decorated with gold and topped off with a brightly colored red gemstone you couldn't seem to identify. You'd heard that mages often created their own unique gemstones as a manifestation of their mana but for Kai's to be red, which had been said to be a quite powerful variant, made you wonder just how powerful your friend had been.
"And here we go." Kai takes the scepter in his hand and drives it into the ground. The impact causes a wave of light to burst from the scepter and spread throughout the reaches of garden. In a split-second, the wave of light rushes back into its source, compressing into a huge orb of light lifting up into the sky, rivaling the moon with its glow. The orb splits into smaller pieces and starts to dance around the garden, leaving you in awe at the spectacle.
Kai finds himself grinning from ear to ear at your reaction. He'd studied magic as an expression of rebellion against his father but now, he'd found another purpose to perform these little tricks of his. He places his hand on your waist and pulls you closer. "Wait for it."
The orbs of light find their places around you, slowly taking the shape of various instruments you've seen inside the ballroom, from strings to percussions, and even wind instruments. Smaller pieces of light continued to hover the surroundings, resembling glowing fireflies in the dark.
"Kai, this is beautiful." You look up at the young man, and he steps away, bowing his head as he plants yet another kiss on the back of your hand.
"May I have this dance?"
His eyes meet yours and you feel your heart skip a beat. It was rather difficult to explain. The Kai in front of you right now had been the same Kai you've always known, but somehow.. different.
You raise your hand for him to take, guiding your other hand to find perch on his shoulder, and his finding its place on your waist. With the first step, the instruments started playing. It's a piece you've heard before, one that Kai had fondly hummed nearly everytime you were together at the library.
It was as if the world had faded into the distance, and at this moment, there was only you and him, dancing alone in the garden. He pulls you close, his hold gentle and warm. Kai spins you around. The heel of your shoe collides with a rock, and you nearly stumble back until Kai manages to grab you by the waist on time, pulling you back into his arms.
You spot the smirk on his face under the moonlight, and you press a finger against his lips. "Not one word."
"I wasn't going to say anything." Kai lets you go, and you quickly grab a hold of his arms to find balance.
"Of course you weren't."
"Well, I do have something I have to tell you. A few things, actually."
You cock a brow at him, and he steps forward. "I'll tell you the most important part first."
"And that is?"
Kai reaches out to cup your cheeks, gazing into your eyes as if asking permission. You didn't need to say anything for him to understand, and he closes the gap between you, pressing his lips against yours. The feeling was foreign but certainly welcome, and you soon close your eyes and reciprocate, wanting to feel more of his soft lips, and wanting to hold him closer and closer.
For long had you held out on this, on actually acknowledging your growing feelings for the lad in fear of having to live with the thought of him not feeling the same. But in this moment, you felt a heavy burden being lifted from your shoulders.
"Kai, I.."
The light from the orbs dim down and soon dissipates. Kai pulls away, gazing upon your flushed face. "You mean the world to me, Y/N. I don't think my life would ever be the same without you."
The trumpets blare in the ballroom, a signal that the new king was to make an appearance soon. You feel Kai's hand around yours. "As for my other confession, I think it's best we head back first."
He leads you back into the ballroom, and disappears the moment you find your parents in the crowd. You join them in the center as everyone gathers to get a glimpse at the new king.
The herald makes his way beside the grand staircase, straightening himself up to make the announcement that every citizen had been waiting to hear all evening.
"Presenting the next in line to the throne, to rule the vast lands of our esteemed nation, and lead us into a continuing era of prosperity! Our future King, His Royal Highness, Kai Kamal Huening!"
The doors open, revealing Kai, your Kai, adorned in the royal family's crest, robes, and jewelries as he made himself known to his loyal subjects.
Behind him was public librarian, Kang Taehyun, who had been revealed to be serving as one oc the King's advisors, and now, for the new monarch.
"Long live the King!"
Kai could pick out your from the crowd in a heartbeat, hos gaze meeting yours as he flashes you his signature smile. You couldn't believe what was happening— Kai, your best friend in the whole world, had just confessed his love to you. And now, that same Kai had revealed to you and to the public that he had been the future ruler of the country all along. The crowds cheered.
"Long live the King!"
"Long live the King." You whisper to yourself, wondering what the future has in store for you.
134 notes · View notes
svnflowervol666 · 4 years ago
Text
Ma Petite Chérie: Sweet Creature (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)
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Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!
Word Count: 3.8k
Summary: Harry goes out of town and leaves Tallulah with Y/N for the week. 
Author’s Note: Hiiiii. I decided to turn Ma Petite Chérie into it’s own little “thing,” so here’s another look at Harry, Tallulah and Y/N’s life! I’ve found it much easier to write in little blips rather than following a direct plot, so expect random little moments featuring the three of them. Also, this is not proofread and I am going through a period of having full blown insomnia, so I’m praying there aren’t too many mistakes. I hope you all enjoy and send any ideas, asks, or questions you have for them my way and I’ll be happy to respond! Take care and TPWK.
“I left her car seat in the garage. If she starts gettin’ fussy during the day, just put her in her room and turn on the noise machine and let her color - that usually does it. I refilled her medicine the other day, didn’t I-”
“Har-,” she shushed him, “We’ll be fine. I know the drill. Allergy meds and gummy vitamins in the morning, french vocabulary every other day, no tv before bed, and no sugar after six.”
He took a deep breath in and placed his palms on top of Y/N’s that are gripping his shoulders to ground him. He was a mess, but how could he not when one of the only people he trusted with his daughter, his mother, was away on holiday and couldn’t stay with her when he had to go on a week-long business trip? It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Y/N, he absolutely did. He just hated feeling like she thought he was using her as a free babysitter rather than the loving girlfriend she actually was. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but his anxieties always had a way of getting the best of him.
“Sorry. Always get nervous leavin’ her. Feel like something bad’s gonna happen every time and I won’t be there t’ help her.”
“It’s just a few days, bubs. She seems to like me, or at least pretends to. I’ll keep her entertained. Take her to the park and go get our nails done or something. It’ll be like one, big sleepover.”
“If yeh take her t’ the park, make sure yeh put sunscreen o-”
“Harry,” she’s stern and it shut Harry up immediately.
“Right,” he paused and took another intense, labored breath in an attempt to stop himself from canceling his plans and just staying home with Y/N and Tallulah for the week.
“She does like yeh. Asks about yeh all the time when you’re gone. Loves yeh a lot, actually. We both do.”
That word used to scare him, love. He realized long ago that he had only ever truly been in love with his daughter, so making himself vulnerable to sharing those same emotions with another person was genuinely terrifying. But each and every time, Y/N does something to remind him that it is well-worth the internal struggle he’s endured. 
The proud smile that adorned Y/N’s face at his words is another one of those moments. It’s full of light and reassurance that his baby will be perfectly safe and healthy while he tended to business an entire continent away.
“I love you both as well. Might have a slight preference towards Lulah, but it’s nothing to worry yourself over.”
“Swear yeh only datin’ me because of her,” Harry muttered under his breath.
“You’re absolutely right,” she scoffed, “I only come over five nights out of the week to watch The Little Mermaid with her and I just tolerate you.”
Harry laughed, a genuine cackle that reared his cavernous dimples and turned the apples of his cheeks a pale shade of pink.
“I’d do the same,” he said with a shrug.
“Harry, you’re stalling. You’re gonna miss your flight if you don’t get on the road soon. I don’t think you want me to kick you out of the door.”
He feigned ponderance and tapped his index finger on his chin.
“I do love it when yeh mean t’ me.”
“Harry, go.”
“Alright, alright. I’m leaving. Just...check in with me every once in a while. Let me know how she’s doin’, yeah? I’ll call every night t’ talk t’ her.”
“Was already expecting you to.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she repeated.
He cleared his throat, heart weighing heavy in his chest. He knew he was supposed to leave for the airport ten minutes ago, but he couldn’t find himself to wheel his luggage out to the trunk of his car.
“Goodbye, Harry,” Y/N whispers in hushed tones.
She reached up on her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss on his bright pink lips, which he then took upon himself to deepen by loosely wrapping his fingers around her throat and applying just enough pressure to make her contemplate giving into his obvious hesitance about leaving.
“Tell Lulah I love her when she wakes up, okay? Feel like shit leavin’ her in the middle of the night.”
“I’ll tell her first thing.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too, Harry,” she smiles, “See you in a week.”
//
Their first few days went by smoothly, a little too smoothly, Y/N thinks. She’d let her pick one activity to do each day and it seemed like to Harry and Y/N, she was having the time of her life. 
Monday was the park, an obvious choice for a toddler. Tallulah wore herself out so much that she’d gone to bed that night with no trouble whatsoever.
Tuesday was a pampering day. Y/N had tried to get them into her preferred nail salon for pedicures, but there were no empty slots so she’d made up Harry’s master bathroom to look like a spa. She painted Tallulah’s nails blue (because Tallulah said blue was her dad’s favorite color), ran her a bubble bath with more bubbles than Harry ever allowed, and even let her put on some of her expensive face mask cream (Harry nearly shit himself out of pure adoration when he received a selfie of the two of them with pink goop smeared all over their faces and cucumbers over their eyes).
Tallulah’s request for Wednesday was a trip to the carnival that was in town, in which Y/N spent nearly fifteen dollars trying to win a stuffed bear for her but was unsuccessful. They went home with a real, live goldfish instead that Tallulah named Carrot because she claimed he looked like her favorite vegetable - she told Tallulah not to mention it to Harry and that she’d break the news to him later. She even let Tallulah have sugar after six o’clock (what Harry knew wouldn’t hurt him and besides, she told Y/N that she’d never had cotton candy before and Y/N totally wanted bragging rights for introducing her to basically a two-year-old’s fever dream of eating pink clouds).
She hadn’t asked about Harry once.
It wasn’t until Wednesday night after the carnival and her bath and daily FaceTime call with him that she began to get antsy with Y/N, claiming that she wanted her dad to tuck her in and read her a bedtime story. No matter how many times Y/N told her that Harry couldn’t do that but that he would be home in a few days, Tallulah didn’t understand why her dad wasn’t there to give her cuddles and rub her back until she fell asleep like he often did. Eventually, her exhaustion caught up to her and she gave in to the need for sleep, but Y/N had a feeling that that wouldn’t be the end of her tantrum.
It was nearly eleven o’clock, and Y/N was in the living room enjoying a glass of red wine from Harry’s vast collection of alcohol that he kept in his office (for some reason he had an irrational fear that Tallulah would somehow get into it, so he kept it locked away in a room where she wasn’t allowed in). The fermented concoction had almost lulled her to into a light slumber right there on the couch in the middle of a documentary about how agriculture influenced climate change when she heard the piercing cries of a toddler coming from down the hall.
Y/N rushed towards Tallulah’s room, all effects of the wine immediately dissipating as her mind went to the worst possible scenario. She’d fallen off her bed and hurt herself, she was having an allergic reaction, there was a strange man in her room trying to kidnap her. But there was seemingly nothing wrong with Tallulah when Y/N flung her bedroom door open so quickly she almost broke the knob.
“What’s wrong, Lulah?” she asked as she approached her on the bed that sat low to the ground.
Tallulah was red in the face, covered in a thin layer of sweat, and tears continuously flowed from her bright, green eyes that looked exactly like Harry’s and even shifted a teal blue in the sunlight.
Y/N’s heart sunk when she heard it. Over and over again. Nothing else. Only crying out one word.
“Daddy.”
She didn’t want to overwhelm her, so Y/N laid down next to Tallulah and pulled her close. As she brushed her curls away from where they were matted to her sweaty forehead, Y/N cooed her reptitiously in an attempt to calm her down. After about three minutes of incesant crying and copious amounts of fat, shiny tears, Y/N needed a better idea.
“I know you miss him, bubs. I miss him too. But he’ll be home soon, okay? I know something that might make you feel better. Do you want to come in daddy’s room with me?”
It was quiet and muffled over her blubbery cries, but Y/N heard a tiny, “yes,” escape through her lips and then she was scooping Tallulah up into her arms and carrying her off to the master bedroom.
She placed her in the middle of Harry’s bed and quickly began digging through Harry’s dresser for what she was looking for. When she found it, she ran back to Tallulah’s curled up body on the mattress.
“Okay, whenever I miss your dad, I put on one of his shirts because it smells like him. It always makes me feel like he’s close to me. Do you want try that?” 
The toddler had calmed down dramatically since she’d left her own bed, most likely due to exhaustion from crying so much in such a short period of time. She gave Y/N a gentle nod and let her take off her matching set of pajamas and replace them with the shirt of Harry’s that dropped almost all of the way to her feet. It was a white t-shirt with the words “Dream Boat” screened onto the fabric, which was perhaps a bit controversial for his two-year-old daughter to be wearing, but it was the smallest shirt of his that she could find. Otherwise, it’d be falling off of her shoulders and she wouldn’t be able to move.
“Can you smell it?” Y/N bunches the fabric in her hands and raises it to Tallulah’s nose.
“Smells like daddy, doesn’t it?”
Tallulah inhaled the best she could through her stuffy nose.
“‘mells good,” she whimpered, reaching her short arms to wrap around Y/N’s neck.
“Do you want to lie in daddy’s bed with me for a little bit? You can sleep in here, if you want,” Y/N spoke softly into Tallulah’s hair while she held her.
Y/N felt a nod against her chest and that was all it took for her to climb towards the pillow with Tallulah in her arms. She laid Tallulah on Harry’s side of the bed, hoping that the extra scent he left in the sheets would further will her back to sleep.
And it worked.
After reaffirming what felt like a million times that Harry would cuddle her for an entire day straight when he got home because he missed her just as much as she missed him, her eyes slowly shut and peace took over. Y/N thought the coast was clear and a crisis had been averted, and she also remembered that she hadn’t taken her makeup off yet. So she wriggled Tallulah off of her chest and slipped stealthily out of the bed like a burglar attempting to not get caught and tiptoed away into the bathroom to wash her face.
Right when she was patting her face dry with one of the plush towels on the rack in Harry’s bathroom, she realized that the coast was indeed, not clear, and Tallulah began wailing once again.
“It’s okay, Lulah. I’m right here,” Y/N consoled the small girl that looked even smaller in Harry’s king-sized bed.
But she wasn’t interested in Y/N at all. Her sobbing was louder than the last and it was Harry’s name that fell from her weepy lips like it was the only thing keeping her alive. This time, Y/N knew there was nothing that could soothe her besides Harry himself.
“Here, baby,” Y/N wriggled the toddler out of her arms and reached over to the nightstand to grab her cell phone, “Let’s see if daddy’s awake and maybe you can talk to him again, okay?”
“Okay,” Tallulah huffed, but it sounded more like “o-tay.”
Under any other circumstances, Y/N would be awing at the way she said certain words, but now, she just wanted Tallulah to go back to sleep. She was just as exhausted as Tallulah and was starting to become overwhelmed by the nature of everything that was happening.
Harry picked up her FaceTime on the second ring, eyes wide and concerning even though Y/N could tell that her call had woken him up.
“What’s goin’ on? ‘S she alright?”
Her cries that he heard through his speaker broke his heart, and he wanted nothing more than to jump on the next flight home to hold his sweet little girl until all of the tears had dried from her face.
“She’s been crying for the last hour, Har. She wants you. Maybe talk to her a little and see if she calms down?”
She heard Harry curse under his breath and rub the sleep out of his eyes. There was a sense of relief that washed over him when he realized that everything was alright and his daughter wasn’t in any immediate danger, but he didn’t quite feel better by any means. Y/N tilted the phone down towards Tallulah who had taken to rubbing the corner of Harry’s pillowcase between her thumb and forefinger.
“Lulah, baby. Talk t’ me. What’s the matter?”
“Daddy?” her face lifted from where it was buried in her stuffed elephant that she’d had since she was a baby and looked up to see her father’s face lit up on Y/N’s phone screen.
“Hi, lovie. Why’re yeh cryin’?”
“Want you come home,” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out in a way that made her look far too adorable for how sad she really was.
“I know yeh do, petal. I’ll be home soon. I promise. Then, we can have a big cuddle. Does that sound good?”
“You come home tomorrow?” she asked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
Harry internally cringed when he saw her wipe it on his sheets, but he was obviously not going to scold her for it at the moment.
“Not tomorrow, but soon. I’m not goin’ anywhere for a long time after this so it’ll be just me and you for a bit.”
Tallulah grew upset by this, and understandably so. Her dad always gave her cuddles when she was sad. Why was he telling her that he couldn’t?
He sensed her tears springing back to life, to which he quickly diverted her attention away from.
“Tell me more about what yeh did with Y/N today at the carnival, bug.”
After sucking up a few slobbery breaths, Tallulah was able to speak to Harry again.
“We got a fishy.”
Damnit.
Harry’s ears perked up.
“A fishy? At the carnival? How did yeh do that?”
“Y/N gotted it.”
“She did?”
Y/N knew Harry was not only talking to Tallulah but also to her. A tone that suggested Y/N had some explaining to do, but he wasn’t going to bring that up now.
“Yeah, she winned a game.”
“Does the fishy have a name?”
“Carrot.”
This made Harry snort, as he was not expected that one.
“And did Y/N get Carrot a nice bowl and some food?”
“Mhmm,” Tallulah nodded, “He’s in the kitchen.”
“Well, that sounds lovely. I can’t wait to meet Carrot. Gonna give him cuddles when I get home, too.”
“He said he loves you.”
“That’s very sweet of him. Tell Carrot I love him, too.”
There was a long pause in which Harry, Tallulah, and Y/N all yawned, clearly overtaken by the urge to fall into a deep sleep.
“It’s really late, Lulah. Yeh think yeh can go back t’ bed for me?”
Tallulah brazenly shook her head from side to side, no. 
Harry sighed heavily, his frustration and sadness becoming all too much for him to bear. He was nervous to do what he was about to offer, but he knew it was the last resort in anyone in this scenario getting any sleep whatsoever.
“What if I sing yeh your song? Will that make yeh feel better?”
He watched as her eyes light up with a glint of joy and he knew that that was possibly the cure to everyone’s problems. 
“Peas?”
“Of course, baby. Thank yeh for usin’ yeh manners.”
Y/N laid the phone down so she could reposition Tallulah in her lap as Harry’s melodic voice began to pour from the speakers.
It was her favorite song in the entire world. No matter what was wrong or how upset she was, the second he sang the first few notes and the sound registered in her ears, Tallulah was always able to bring herself back down to earth. 
The first time he sang it to her, she was only ten weeks old, just two weeks after she was brought into his life. He first thought it was a one-off chance that the song had lulled her to sleep, but he quickly found out he was wrong and that she took a genuine liking to it. He’s always assumed it brought on a sense of familiarity and comfort to her whenever she felt like her tiny, two-year-old life was crashing down on her. 
Y/N had never actually seen him sing to her. She’d heard it a time or two through the door of her bedroom when she stayed over, but she’d never asked Harry about it. She had always let their song be just that - their song.
Hopefully, and he genuinely means hopefully, the trick works just as well as it usually does despite him not being there physically. He’s got to be up at five and he refuses to hang up the phone until his baby isn’t sad anymore.
It took a bit longer than usual, but by the second round of the chorus, her eyelids were heavy and the grip she had on Y/N’s lotus pendant had weakened. Hell, the song almost put Y/N to sleep as well. Had she not been worried sick over waking Harry up in the middle of the night and his daughter spilling the beans about the fucking fish, she would have been out well before Tallulah. She loved his singing voice, but she only ever got to hear it when he bopping along to a song on the radio or when he was really, really drunk. 
As the last few notes of the song trailed to silence, both Y/N and Harry took a peek at Tallulah through the phone screen, eager to see if she was fully asleep or just in a state of tranquility. Sure enough, she was out cold.
“I think she’s asleep,” Y/N whispered.
“Thank god,” Harry muttered, “Bloody awful, that was. She’d been cryin’ like that the whole time?”
“Pretty much. Sorry for calling so late, I didn’t know what else to do.”
“‘S alright. Honestly, I was waiting for it. When she stays with mum, I usually get a call or two just like this. By the way, was she wearin’ my ‘Dream Boat’ shirt?”
Y/N starts to chuckle but remembers there is a fragile (both physically and emotionally) child on her chest and she can’t move too much in fear of waking her back up.
“Yeah, she is. I told her I wear your shirts and sleep on your side of the bed when I miss you because they smell like you and thought it would calm her down. It kinda did, but she woke up when I left to go to the bathroom.”
“Christ,” Harry wipes his face with his large, ringed hands.
“What?”
“That’s the cutest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. I love you. A lot.”
“I love you a lot, too,” Y/N grinned.
After a brief moment, Harry talks again.
“So, what’s this about a fish named Carrot?”
Y/N grits her teeth together and sucks in a deep breath.
“Have you seen her face? I know you have. What was I supposed to tell her? No? Got that fucker on the first try after spending seventeen dollars trying to win her a stuffed animal.”
A laugh from deep within Harry’s belly reached the surface and he stifled it with his fist.
“You’ve got a point, princess.”
“I can get rid of him, if you want. I figured she’d get bored and forget about him in a few days, so it wasn’t a big deal.”
“No,” Harry insists, “Keep him. Teach her how t’ take care of him. Give her a responsibility. Maybe she’ll stop harrassin’ me about gettin’ a damn cat.”
“Already done,” Y/N smiles proudly at the camera.
“She knows we feed him in the mornings and she told me she’d help clean his bowl once a week. Even taught her how to say ‘fish’ in french.”
“Have I already told yeh that I love yeh? ‘Cause I do.”
“You did. But I don’t mind hearing it again.”
Harry took a moment to just look at her. Her eyes were bloodshot and he knew she probably felt like she’d just been to hell and back, but there, with his baby girl on her chest, she had never looked more beautiful. He was physically incapable of stopping the words that left his mouth.
“Move in with me.”
“Hmm?” she lifted her head from where it was resting halfway on her pillow and halfway on Harry’s as if to see if he really just said what she thought he said.
“Only if yeh want to. I know it’s a bigger deal because of Lulah, so I get it if yeh still want yeh space. Just...really want yeh around all of the time. And I know she does, too.”
Y/N smiled from ear to ear and placed her free hand that wasn’t holding the phone on top of Tallulah’s curls. She’d been wondering when this conversation would happen, given that she sleeps over at Harry’s more than she does her own apartment and she’d slowly taken over half of the drawers in his bathroom and three shelves in his closet; she just hadn’t expected it to come at midnight, directly after his daughter had the biggest meltdown she’d ever witnessed.
“If I say yes, will you sing to me like that every night?”
Harry blushed beet red as he breathed heavily through his nose.
“If that’s what it takes. Then, yes.”
“Think Lulah’s strong enough to help me carry some boxes?”
844 notes · View notes
rodeo-boots · 3 years ago
Note
omg u opened ur requests!!! may i please get some flaco x reader smut? any gender for the reader :^) thank you <3
it's been an absolute pleasure to write for Flaco, and I hope you'll enjoy it!! I picked a gender-neutral reader for this one :')
Rating: Explicit
Words: 1844
AO3
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Snowflakes whirled behind you as the heavy door to the cabin fell closed, your eyes needing a couple blinks until they had fully adjusted to the darkness within. You released a deep breath, one you hadn't noticed you've held in the first place, dropping the bag with the take to the floor.
"Back already?" The voice permeated through the shadows, a deep tenor that had your little hairs stand on edge. Flaco hadn't moved from his spot, huddled in the corner of his cabin, tucked away where the worst of the wind wouldn't reach him. His hat hid his eyes well, the glass upon the table indicating what he'd been doing during your absence.
You pulled the gloves off your hands, stuffing them into the deep pockets of your coat. "Wasn't hard," you answered, remembering the fright in the traveler's eyes, their readiness to give you all they had at the point of your gun. It left you feeling on clouds, the rush of adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin.
And maybe you had ridden a little harder than needed. Maybe the prospect of seeing Flaco as soon as possible had driven you more than you cared to admit.
The man stood, floorboards creaking under his heavy boots as he moved closer, picking the bag off the ground to inspect the valuables within. He whistled, weighing his head in a satisfied fashion. "You've done well." His praise got to you as it always did, made the exhaustion and strain dissipate right off your shoulders. After a job done well, there was nothing else you needed than some validation, and Flaco had always been one to supply.
"What're you thinkin' about?" He had caught onto your silence, reaching for your chin to tilt it upwards, dark eyes meeting your own. The bag in his hands seemed forgotten, carelessly dropped again while the contents within clanked and jingled.
Your lips quirked up into a sly smile, the apples of your cheeks cold like your nose. "I'm thinking 'bout my reward," you answered, your hands easily finding their way to his upper arms, fingers digging into the thickness of his coat. He knew how to dress accordingly, seemingly never running into trouble to stay warm – though this man was a furnace all by himself.
His warm breath hit your face, your eyes fluttering shut in expectancy of a kiss. The next gust of hot air left him as a chuckle, however, Flaco reaching up to take the hat off your head and place it aside. "All in due time," he muttered, removing his own next to join yours.
You would never complain about sharing a drink and a talk, about basking in the company of the older gunslinger. He was more to you than a source of income, than a partner in crime. His tips were helpful, sure, but even if he didn't have a job for you, you'd still seek him out at the end of the day. Because no matter what you gave him, the attention and companionship you were more than happy to offer, he would always return it tenfold.
Up here, you were his alone, and you would always know to cherish that.
Teasing never lasted long between you, Flaco being as unwilling to waste his time as you were, straight-forward in more ways than one. Where you had made the first step initially, he preferred taking the lead from there-on out, but who were you to complain?
"That's it." He hadn't waited long after denying your first kiss, had crowded you back against the wall to work on your coat, your own hands mirroring the actions of his. His lips were on your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive and cool skin, your breath hitching when he sucked down over your pulse.
The whiskey on his breath was undeniable, but it was just another part of him, another addition to the intoxication man you couldn't get enough of.
You wanted to touch him, pushing at the heavy coat around his shoulders, fingertips raking up the nape of his neck to slip into his hair. There were too many possible places for your hands to be, a small frustrated noise slipping past your lips when you couldn't feel everything all at once.
Flaco tossed his coat to the floor eventually, not minding the dust and the dirt you had dragged inside, the snow now molten and leaving muddy puddles behind. It all didn't matter to him, nor did it to you, both your minds entirely encaptured with the press of one pair of lips against another, Flaco finally giving you what you'd yearned for ever since stepping into the cabin.
"Let's move this to the bed," you muttered, hands lowering to work on the man's belt, impatiently pulling the leather from it's loops. You palmed him through his trousers, got a good grip on him just to squeeze, sighing at the familiar weight of his heavy cock behind the fabric.
He bit back a curse, muffled his voice in the crook of your neck. By the time you had freed his cock, he was getting ready to speak again. "Why should we?" He asked low and deep, kissing the magical spot behind your ear before briefly nibbling on your earlobe. "If I can take you right here?"
That sent a shiver down your spine, the excitement within you welling up and doubling in intensity, your nod too quick and needy to be brushed off. "Please–" But you didn't get farther than that, Flaco's lips returning to your neck as his fingers slipped under your shirt, warm palms roaming cool skin, eliciting goosebumps and a soft moan from your throat.
He caressed you like you were some treasure, leaving not an inch of skin untouched as he gave your body all the attention it could ever need. While you had loosely stroked his cock all this time, he only gradually began to open your pants now, encouraging you to step out of the fabric before pressing you back against the wall.
You whimpered when your tender skin met the cold air, your arousal bared for Flaco to see. There was no shame in it, however, not when the man in front of you looked like he was ready to consume you entirely.
"Wrap your legs 'round me," he directed, still clad with only his flushed cock on display, standing proud and erected while droplets of pre-cum already rolled off the tip. He held onto you, lifting you in time with your legs finding their designated spot. "Good?" Flaco searched your face for signs of discomfort, humming at the nod of your head.
His fingers dipped low, finding their target right away as he focused on your sex, giving you a taste of the pleasure he would soon allow you to feel. You gasped at the first touch, hips inching closer to his hand, no matter how much you were locked in place by the position.
"C'mon," the tone of your voice was more of a plea than a demand, every part of you aching for more – for everything Flaco would give you. "N-Need you inside," you muttered, your head lolling back at his continuous but slow caress, of the stimulation that barely fell short of being enough.
He hummed again, leaning in to soothe you with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to distract you from the finger entering you. "F-Fuck-" your walls clenched around the intrusion, slowly relaxing when Flaco started to work you open. He added one more finger and another, preparing you thoroughly for what was to come, the sensation of his hard cock against your skin reminding you just how dearly you needed to be stretched beforehand.
You whined when his fingers grazed the tender spot inside of you, instantaneously canting your hips to chase that delightful pressure. But Flaco didn't want you to come without him, pulling his fingers out to replace them with his cock, pushing in steadily to let you adjust to his size.
"Doin' so well," he grunted, resting his forehead against your own when he bottomed out, holding onto the back of your thighs with his balls pressing against your sensitive skin.
He breathed deeply, getting used to the heat and tightness of your walls, gyrating his hips experimentally to watch your response. When all you showed him was unbridled pleasure and need, however, he knew that he had no more reason to hold back.
Your back dug into the wall behind yourself, hands clutching Flaco's shoulders for dear life, holding on as he started to move his hips. He didn't start out slow, didn't build up any more than he already had, his cock dragging out only to be pushed back inside, balls smacking against your skin the more he repeated the action.
The breath was knocked from your lungs just like that, the man's cock hitting all the right spots inside of you, filling you in the exact way you needed. You couldn't hold back the noises from your throat, couldn't withhold anything as you tossed your head back again, eyes fluttering from the sudden rush of pleasure.
Flaco wasn't one to be overly vocal, none to scream his lust into the world for all to hear. But right now, he seemed as lost in his ardor as you were, grunting and groaning, staring at your face to miss none of the expressions that passed over it. "Eyes on me," he demanded, momentarily slowing to reach up and tilt your chin to him, locking your gazes as he continued to fuck you.
You didn't feel cold any longer, didn't feel much else than his cock moving inside of you, the rocking motions that pressed you closer to the wall with each passing moment. The pleasure had built within you all this time, first at the anticipation and now the pay-off, your head spinning while you inched closer and closer to the edge.
Flaco caught on to your impending fulfillment, dutifully reaching down between your legs to stroke you to completion, his fingers dancing over you with practiced ease. "Go on, I'll follow" he buried his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his own sounds of enjoyment, the vibrations of his voice driving you off the wall and into your orgasm.
You came with a sharp moan of Flaco's name, the taste of it still upon your tongue as your pulsing walls made him lose himself inside of you. His hips gave a couple more jerks, breathless curses filtering through to your clouded brain. He still held you in his arms, only slowly letting go of your legs to let you place them on the ground again.
His spent dripped down your thighs after his softening cock had left you, your muscles trembling but pleasantly warm.
"Now, we can move to the bed," he spoke up, his voice a little hoarse and rough, but you loved it either way. After all, you couldn't get enough of everything this infamous gunslinger was.
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moonlit-raven-haven · 4 years ago
Text
The Past II
Where the reader and Harry no longer speak.
This is unedited!
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: angst, car accident, mentions of blood, hospital environment
A/N: Here’s part two! I hope you guys enjoy it :) I’ve decided to make this a mini series with maybe four parts, so stay tuned! There will be information at the very end regarding tag lists.
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This series is inspire by the Instagram edit below :)
“Oh don’t worry ‘bout it hun, I’m just glad ya got here safely.” Y/N hears Anne’s voice comfort him as she hears wheels slowly being dragged across the floor and the closing of the door. Y/N felt frozen, unsure of what to do. Five years with no contact with the man that was speaking to his mum and sister in the living room they once used to spend hours talking in. Now they’re strangers, perhaps she was more of a stranger to him; the tabloids don’t exactly keep track of everyday people.
“I’m sure you’re hungry, there’s some leftover food in the kitchen from dinner.” Anne says, a smile evident in her voice as Y/N hears two steps of footsteps walking towards the kitchen. Her heartbeat increases more, this time the change is noticeable as she hears the uneven rhythm in her ears.
“Finish setting up the games for us Gem!” Anne calls out to her daughter as she steps into the kitchen, Harry trailing only a few steps behind her. Y/N has her back turned to the entrance of the kitchen, not finding the strength to turn around, although she knew it would be necessary eventually, but the longer she could avoid it, the slightly more at ease she felt. Her hands are gripping the edge of the sink, her knuckles white due to the pressure. She finally hears Anne’s light footsteps, followed by slightly heavier ones and a small gasp.
As Harry walked into the kitchen, looking up in the direction of the sink, where the refrigerator happens to be, he can’t help the small gasp that escapes past his lips as he sees the girl hunched over the sink, her hands gripping onto the edge of the sink as if her life depends on it. He hasn’t seen or contacted her in five years, and she never tried, having changed his number and blocked her out of his life in a slow but obvious manner. Suddenly the winter coat he’s wearing over his hoodie feels a lot warmer than usual, and his hands become clammy. The guilt is eating him up, but happiness is right next to the guilt, happiness to see that she’s okay, happiness that they’re in the same room after five years.
“Y/N?” His voice is like a sweet melody to her ears, being able to hear it more clearly she can hear the grogginess to his voice; the way it would sound every time he came home after a long flight. There’s a hint of shock, happiness, and something else she can’t quite put her finger on. And despite still feeling frozen in place, the grip she held on the sink counter loosens as she takes a deep breath and turns around, still hearing her heartbeat in her ears.
It was cheesy really, feeling like your breath is being taken away after seeing someone for the first time, or seeing them for the first time in years. But that’s what she felt in her chest, the air leaving her lungs, much like when Harry would return home and go to her house, embracing her so tightly she could no longer breathe. Y/N had seen pictures of him online and magazines, but having him in front of her didn’t compare. His face has matured more since she last saw him five years ago, stubble adorning his face, completing the medium length of his curly, chestnut hair. His legs are covered by black skinny jeans, and his feet by black Gucci boots, a signature look she had seen over the past several years in magazines. He wears a gray hoodie, a black jacket over it to keep warm in the cold weather, and her heart beat seems to quicken just a little more, it’s the jacket she had gotten him years ago, and the memory is crystal clear.
“Harry! Would you please wear a jacket?!” Her tone was serious and worried, fearing that he would get sick. They were going out for dinner at the local diner around the corner from their flat and to say it was cold out was an understatement.
“Okay mum.” Harry had rolled his eyes at her playfully, heading over to their shared closet and pulling out a gray hoodie, he pulled it over his body and headed back to the living room where Y/N was patiently waiting for him, despite her stomach growling.
“There, happy?” Harry asked her, his voice sounding like one of a snappy teenager who had to do something against their own will. Y/N shakes her head.
“It’s the coldest day of the year, and you’re wearing a hoodie that’ll barely keep you warm...you need a winter coat Harry.”
“I don’t have one.” Harry responded to her, causing Y/N to raise her eyebrow at him.
“You live in the UK and don’t own a winter coat?” She had questioned incredulously.
“Correct.”
“You’re unbelievable Styles.” Y/N had said with a shake of her head and a small laugh. They walked over to the diner, and as she suspected, Harry was shivering once they got inside, sitting next to her in the booth. It was unusual for them to do so, preferring to look at one another directly, rather than having to turn their heads when they spoke, but in that moment Harry needed to return to his normal body temperature. Y/N had hummed a soft “living in the UK without a winter coat” under her breath, causing Harry to laugh softly as their food was brought to them and they began to eat.
The day after, Harry had one final meeting with management and the boys, the one calling the official end of One Direction. So Y/N had taken it upon herself to go shopping to find a winter coat for Harry, her idiotic best friend who did not own a winter coat, plus, she hoped it would be able to boost his mood a bit. She had settled on a long black coat, simple but stylish and fitting whatever outfit he might have chosen to wear. She headed home with the coat in its own zip up bag, she could have put it in a gift bag, but she had felt it wasn’t necessary; the coat was more of a necessity rather than a gift. Harry had not come home yet, so she hung the coat on their bedroom door and then began to cook dinner.
When Harry returned to their shared flat, they had embraced, and Y/N smiled up at him, her attention temporarily away from the food on the stove.
“I got you something, it’s in the room.” She had said, the smile adorning her features made his heart beat a little faster than usual, something he had noticed but chosen to ignore, telling himself that he was excited for the item she had bought him and nothing more. He had walked over to their room, grinning from ear to ear as he unzipped the clear plastic bag and ran his fingers over the slightly rough material. Harry unsheathed the jacket from its bag and hanger, shrugging it over his body. He walked out into the living room with a smile on his face, doing a little twirl and posing with a hand on his hip once he faced her.
“How do I look?” Harry had questioned as he watched Y/N place their plates of food onto their table.
“Absolutely dashing, as usual.” Y/N had complimented as she walked over to him and fixed the collar, she gently patted it in place before looking up at him with doe eyes. He was mesmerizing to say the least, the way his hair was tied back in a messy bun, and his green eyes looked directly at her. Unconsciously they moved closer to one another, Harry’s breath fanning gently over her face.
“Thank you, love…really needed a winter coat...and a little mood booster.” Harry had said, his tone sincere, because he genuinely did appreciate her actions.
“O’course….plus you had gotten me that satchel...had to make up for it somehow…” Y/N had said with the smile that Harry had grown to love. He couldn’t deny his feelings anymore, he loved her.
He had leaned in closer to her face, but Y/N had moved away, her heart beating rapidly as she cleared her throat.
“We should probably eat before dinner gets cold.” She had said rather nervously.
“Oh right, yeah, o’course.” Harry replied, his throat was dry, and his heart had felt more heavy than it ever had.
They made their way over to their table, where they sat down and quietly ate dinner. They weren’t laughing and talking like they normally did, but instead there was a heavy silence weighing over them, and Y/N knows it’s her fault. She had wanted to kiss him, but she was unsure if she could really cross that line. Her doubts and worries had gotten the best of her. What if things didn’t work out and years of friendship went down the drain? But little did she know that would happen eventually. After that day, Harry began to keep his distance from her, it was slow, starting off with leaving the house often, to coming home late for dinner, often returning once she had gone to bed. Then he moved out, saying that their flat had gotten too cramped, which wasn’t a lie, it had gotten cramped with tension that had become unbearable. Eventually he stopped visiting her, and the calls completely stopped, and the texts had come to an abrupt halt. And then he changed his number, his address was unknown to her as he had said he wanted to keep it a surprise for when she came over the first time, but that day had never come. She had tried hard to contact him, even asking Anne and Gemma to talk to him, but it was no use. Harry had slipped from her fingers, and she couldn’t even try to get him back.
So caught up in the painful memory, Y/N didn’t realize that a tear fell down her cheek, or that Harry moved closer to her, his face full of worry as Anne left the room, saying something about the food being in the refrigerator and to heat it up.
“Hey Harry.” Y/N finally replies, wiping the stray tear off of her face, and she feels an urgency to leave, not sure if she can handle being around the man she called her best friend for so many years, the man she had loved but refused to go further than friends, afraid she would lose him.
“Um...I should really get going, especially since they’re expecting a storm.” She says, refusing to make eye contact with him as she moves past him, shrugging on her discarded coat and swinging her satchel over her shoulder.
“You kept it.” Harry states, although it sounds like more of a question as he looks at the worn down satchel hanging on the side of her body.
“You kept the coat.” Her voice falters in the slightest, but it’s enough for Harry to notice. At the mention of the coat he tenses, his mind briefly wandering to the day she bought it for him. He wants to tell her that he’s an idiot, and that he should’ve talked to her instead of running away like he did, but he can’t bring himself to do it, scared that he’ll mess things up even further.
“Um...like I said, I should really get going…” She mumbles softly, finally looking up at him and looking directly into his eyes for the first time in five years. They look their same vibrant green, but tired, perhaps from the long flight, or maybe the emotional exhaustion he surely felt the way she did in this very moment.
“You should stay...haven’t talked in awhile…I could make us some tea.” Harry offers, it was almost as if he wants to restart that tradition they had all those years ago, but Y/N shakes her head and makes her way to exit the kitchen, seeing that Anne and Gemma had begun a game already.
“Storm is starting, I should really get going…” Y/N says, her voice is no longer a whisper, but the various emotions can be heard, her eyes tearing up. The rain can be heard hitting the window, it’s soft, but she knows that in time it’ll get harder, making a dangerous ride home. She tells herself that she needs to leave for her own safety, rather than needing to be away from Harry. She had spent nights with Anne and Gemma when stoma would occur, so he excuse was lame, not thought of thoroughly.
“Please stay, love…” Harry’s voice is pleading, he wants to fix things, talk it out, explain himself and why he had acted the way he did. Y/N feels her heart ache, the dull pain gone, now replaced by the painful pang she had learned to ignore; overcome by emotion, she snaps.
“You don’t have the right to call me that anymore Harry! You left me, couldn’t even explain yourself...couldn’t even talk to me ‘bout it. I tried to contact you, but you pushed me away like I meant nothing, Harry! Absolutely nothing…” Y/N voice starts off strong, but cracks as her body shakes with emotion and tears begin to fall down her face. Harry is stunned, the guilt is now coursing through his body, realizing how badly he has hurt her. He moves closer to her, attempts to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she moves away from him, her eyes getting a slight red tint to them as she shakes her head.
“I need to go…” She murmurs, walking away from him, and as she walks into the living room she sees Anne and Gemma looking at her worriedly, the words Y/N had said moments before were enough for them to get a glimpse into the untold story that ended Y/N and Harry’s friendship.
“Sorry Anne and Gemma...can I get a rain check on game night?” Y/N asks with a sad smile as she walks over to the women and embraces them.
“Of course, Y/N. Are you sure you���re alright to drive? The storm seems to have finally picked up.” Anne says worriedly, and Y/N finally hears the rain pelting down against the window, and while she knows it probably isn’t safe for her to drive, especially with her heightened emotions, she refuses to stay another minute in the house where Harry would try and talk to her.
“I’ll be alright Anne. Thank you guys for dinner.” And with one final wave Y/N is out the door, gripping onto her coat and satchel as the heavy raindrops call against her clothing, becoming soaked in a matter of seconds. She runs to her car, pulling the keys out the satchel and unlocking it before climbing in, shivering at the cold clothes that now clinged to her body. She shrugs the satchel off and puts in the passenger's seat, putting her keys in the ignition and turning it on, waiting for the car to heat up before turning the heat on. She sees Harry run out of the warm house, his hair clinging onto his face as his hoodie takes on a dark gray color from the rain, it was rather really cinematic really.
“Y/N! Please!” She hears Harry shout, his voice muffled by the loud rain and comfort of her car. Y/N shakes her head and drives off, her hands gripping the steering wheel the same way she had done with the counter of the kitchen sink minutes before. Her mind is clouded with thoughts and memories, her eyes becoming heavy with tears, blurring her vision. I should pull over, compose myself. She thinks to herself, but decides against it; the quicker she got home the quicker she could break down in the comfort of her flat.
Her mind keeps wandering to the scene that played out at Anne’s house, causing the tears in her eyes to finally fall down her face, and she wants to stop crying, but she can't. Y/N’s vision becomes more blurry than before, and her mind is elsewhere, not truly focusing on the road in front of her, which is why she doesn’t notice the traffic signal she ignored, the red light now barley processing in her mind as a car crashes straight into the passenger's side of her car. The impact takes her by surprise as she’s suddenly very aware of her spinning car, and she grips the steering wheel, trying desperately to gain control of her car again, but it’s of no use as she crashes into the traffic light, the impact isn’t as hard as it should’ve been due to her breaking, but the traffic light still flickers, going black just like her vision.
-*-*-*-
Y/N’s eyes strain open, bright fluorescent lights filling her vision before adjusting, finding herself in a hospital room. She hears the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the soft click of the IV drip, oxygen being pumped into her lungs in a small steady stream.
“Hey you.” She hears a soft gruff voice next to her, the voice she recognizes as Mark’s, her boyfriend of two years.
“Hey babe.” Y/N says with a weak smile as his hand finds her, slowly bringing it up to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently.
“Was worried ‘bout you when I got the call, thankfully nothing too serious, just a sprained wrist on your other hand and a small cut to your forehead…but why didn’t you stay at Anne’s like you normally do when there’s storms?” He questions softly, concern filling his orbs as he squeezes her hand gently.
“Um...just wanted to get home…” Y/N lies to him. Despite being together for two years, Mark knew nothing of her past with Harry, or why she avoided talking about him whenever Mark would bring up some new headline about Harry and his success. As far as Mark is aware, Harry is another celebrity out of reach from their lives.
-*-*-*-
Anne received a call minutes after the accident, being one of Y/N emergency contacts. Harry was in the living room, his face between his hands as Gemma tried to comfort him while scolding him for messing up such a good friendship all those years ago. But when Anne walked in with a serious look on her face the two looked up at her worriedly.
“What happened?” Harry was the first one to speak up, removing his hands that had once been covering his face.
“It’s um...it’s Y/N...she’s been in a car accident.” Anne said quietly, and upon seeing Harry’s face become anguished, she quickly followed her statement with an urgent, “She’s okay.” And Harry’s face is washed with relief.
“We should go.” Harry says, his clothes were still drenched when he got up from his spot on the couch, leaving a wet spot from where he sat.
“You should change first hun, don’t want you getting sick, or have people recognize you.” Anne quickly chimed in before he could have walked out the door. Harry had nodded, quickly understanding the second part to her statement. He was wearing the same clothes from the airport, making it possible for someone to recognize him easier. He hums a “I’ll be right back” before disappearing upstairs with his luggage.
-*-*-*-
Upon arriving at the hospital after a rather treacherous and slow car ride, they all climb out of Anne’s car and head towards the entrance of the hospital, umbrellas in hand. They receive guest passes before making their way up to the second floor of the hospital. Harry is anxiously biting his lip, because despite not talking to Y/N for five years, he still cares deeply for her, only worsening his guilt about the whole situation.
They finally reach her room number and Anne opens the door quietly, making Y/N and Mark’s quiet moment watching television come to a halt.
“I’ll be back in a bit to give you three...four...some privacy.” Mark says to the group, planting a gentle kiss on Y/N’s forehead. He leaves the room, his brows slightly furrowed at the sight of Harry Styles in the room, visiting his girlfriend, throwing him in a loop. And as he makes his way down to the cafeteria for a coffee, the pieces slowly start to assemble in his head, the reason Y/N didn’t like to talk about the famous star, and why she probably hadn’t stayed at Anne’s house like she normally did; the two have history.
Harry closes the door gently once Mark exits the room, his face scrunching up slightly in distaste at seeing Y/N with another man who wasn’t him, even if her and Harry were never truly together, it still hurts. He recalls when he came home after his first solo tour, he was having dinner with Anne and Gemma, the topic of Y/N briefly coming up.
“Oh Y/N is so wonderful darling! It’s such a shame you two stopped talking.” Anne had commented over dinner.
“Yeah, she’s wonderful...deserve the whole world.” Harry had replied quietly, a small smile coming onto his face at the mention of the girl.
“She’s got a boyfriend now, his name is Mark...seems serious if you ask me.” Anne added as she had taken a sip of her wine. Harry had felt a pang in his chest when he heard the word boyfriend, wishing that it was him and not some other bloke. But Harry had foolishly run out of Y/N’s life.
“Does she seem happy?” Harry had asked seconds after, a hint of jealousy to his tone, a hint of jealousy that he truly had no right to have.
“Yeah...seem a bit tense there, Harry, almost jealous…” Gemma had finally chimed into the conversation. Harry had simply laughed at her comment, shaking his head as he denied the claims of jealousy, carrying their conversation elsewhere as dinner continued.
That was two years ago now, she has been with Mark for two years. Mark is the one making her happy, kissing her, taking her out, buying her gifts, making sure she’s treated properly, not Harry. He no longer has a place in her life, at least he thinks he doesn’t. So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize that Anne and Gemma had left the room, leaving Harry and Y/N alone. Harry clears his throat.
“Where are Gemma and my mum?” Harry asks Y/N, his voice a bit hoarse.
“Went to the cafeteria, said that we should talk…” Y/N says as she looks up at him from her position on the bed, and for the first time since entering her room, Harry looks at her, wincing at the cut on her head, part of her hair dried with blood, and her wrist wrapped in a bandage. And he can’t help the bubble of guilt within him that seems to grow more; it was his fault she was on the bed, if he had stayed quiet, she would’ve probably gotten home safely, or been willing to spend the night at Anne’s house.
“You okay, Harry?...” Y/N asks quietly, noticing his lack of words or movement, and the tears that fell down his face. She is still mad at him, but above all, she is hurt, but she still can’t stop herself from caring about him. Harry, finally noticing his tears he shakes his head and sniffles, wiping his face clean with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“‘M okay lo- Y/N...thank you for caring.” He says softly, quickly catching on to the mistake he almost made once again.
“I should get going…” Harry says softly. He knew Anne told Y/N that her and Harry would need to talk to fix things, but her willingness to do is what makes him head for the door.
“Harry! Wait...I reckon we really do need to talk.” Y/N calls out after him from her position on the hospital bed.
“Uh...yeah, just not right now Y/N. I really should get going…” He catches himself trying to run away again, and quickly stops himself. “When do you get discharged?” He questions, still standing by the door as he turns to face her.
“Tomorrow morning.” Y/N states with a small smile, one that almost manages to make him feel better in an instant, but he doesn’t allow himself to feel better, he deserves what he’s feeling after having been the cause of her emotional turmoil, the reason she’s in that bed.
“Dinner tomorrow? My place? 7’oclock. We could talk and catch up.” Harry proposes, fiddling with his fingers nervously.
“Dinner tomorrow, your place, 7’oclock.” Y/N repeats softly, perhaps they could try and go back to normal, be as close as they once had, as best friends. Harry hums in response, nodding his head before opening the door and gently closing it behind him, leaving Y/N with a gentle smile on her face and a heart that no longer aches as much.
-*-*-*-
A/N: I will be making a two master lists for Harry Styles content! :) One for ALL Harry Styles fics I will do in the future, and one for JUST this fic. Comment “All Harry fics” or “Just this Harry fic” if you would like to be added.
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