#this was supposed to be comforting fluff but my sadness seeped through

[maeby-cursed]

slow weekends with suguru geto after… the incident.

he wakes up early every day because that’s just how he was raised; it was always satoru who preferred to sleep until lunchtime, sprawled out in bed. the memory brings back with it a bittersweet feeling in the pit of his stomach that only grows when he looks at you, with mimiko and nanako, lying the same way his old friend did. he gets up, stretches, pushes the memories down and ties half of his beautiful hair up, getting ready to start the day. 

you wake up an hour later to the smell of rice and coffee and fresh fruit. 

“morning,” you whisper, dragging your feet to where he is.

“good morning,” he smiles, preparing you a bowl of your favorite fruit and kissing the tops of his girls’ heads.

you spend the rest of the day together, the tv on in the background for the girls as you do a crossword curled together on the sofa, as you eat lunch, as you open the windows and stare out at the passersby. the constant buzz of it is pleasant, like a soft song, the light coming from it illuminating the whole room.

after mimiko and nanako go to bed, suguru likes to watch national geographic and horrible soap operas. he tries not to think of who he used to watch them with, of everything he’s lost.

you squeeze his hand in yours.

and it’s enough. for a moment, he doesn’t think. time slows down and it’s just you and him and the tv buzz and the damp smell of a cold saturday night.

[httpiastri]

lucky charm? – al12

arthur needs your support after the feature race in austria.

genre: fluff, comfort

pairing: gender neutral!reader x arthur leclerc (i think i used the female form of a french word, but that should be the only female mention)

warning: hmmmm none!

requested: yes!

author's note: hello hello! i had bigger expectations on myself for this but i haven't been able to write a lot these last few days soooo... anyways! please forgive me if i use the wrong terms when i wrote about the dams garage and drivers room and so on, i don't really know how it all works and where people are allowed to be haha! hope u enjoy<3

f2/f3 masterlist

you feel yourself being unwillingly pulled out of your sweet sleep way too early for your liking. you could just as well just turn over and fall asleep again; the combination of the soft mattress and the fluffy hotel covers could lull anyone into a deep slumber. but just as you’re about to relax again, you hear the shuffle of socks against the carpet, followed by a thud and a quiet swear word.

you open your eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the morning light seeping in through the messily closed blinds, before they find arthur standing by the edge of the bed.

his eyes fix on you too, a guilty look spreading across his face. “did i wake you?” he asks. “i’m sorry, i dropped my phone…”

he reaches down to pick it up from the floor as you shake your head. “it’s fine,” you hum. “good morning, love.”

“good morning, ma chéri.” he flashes you a smile as he scoots over to you, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

you shut your eyes again. “why are you up so early?” you ask. “didn’t we say breakfast at seven?”

“it is seven,” arthur chuckles, but just as you’re about to sit up and scold him for not waking you up in time, he speaks again. “don’t get up, i’ve already had breakfast. you can continue sleeping.”

you frown with your eyes still closed. “what’s that supposed to mean? why-”

“i’ve been called in for an extra team meeting. they want me to meet them there in 30 minutes.”

your eyes open again, looking at your lover now sitting right by you on the bed. he’s got a hint of sadness in his eyes, and he feels another sting of guilt pass through his body.

he still looks as handsome as ever, though, and you can’t help but to let your hand cup his cheek. “when did you get up? you must be so tired.”

he shakes his head, a slight smile adorning his features; half due to the concern in your voice, half due to the love he can feel even in your touch. “we went to bed so early, i’ll be fine. you can still get another hour or so in, though.”

you pout. “i can’t sleep without you.”

arthur’s pretty laugh meets your ears. “you had no problem falling asleep while i was brushing my teeth last night, amour.” he takes your hand from his face, intertwining his fingers with yours. “but if you really don’t want to sleep any more, you could get some breakfast and then watch me get ready in the garage.”

you consider the options for a moment. “maybe i will,” you say, squeezing his hand once.

he takes your hand up to his mouth, placing a few sweet kisses to your knuckles. "my lucky charm." even more kisses. "i do unfortunately really need to go now. but i'll see you on the track?"

you nod, looking up into his eyes. "good luck, darling."

your boyfriend leans down towards you to meet your lips with his. both of you are still sleepy and it's evident in the kiss because it's lazy and slow. yet, it's filled with so so much love. when you feel him starting to pull away, you place a hand by the back of his neck to keep him close. he laughs against your skin before he manages to leave your lips – his neck muscles are apparently stronger than your hands.

"i'll see you soon again, okay?"

"mkay."

and after one last kiss, he's gone through the door, leaving you all alone in the big bed.

arthur was, as usual, quite busy right before the race.

that meant that he didn't have a lot of time to spend with you, but by now you'd learned to enjoy spending time in the dams garage, despite how different it felt to the prema garages you visited last year. you followed arthur on the tv as much as you could during the race, while also having time to chat a little with the crew every now and then.

you found it funny how it seemed like arthur and his friend ollie bearman found each other even on the track, the two of them following their former teammate through the laps and even into the pit stops.

arthur came out on the track just before ollie, which made many of the dams workers cheer. but just a short while after they left the pits, it happened. one of the few things that was not allowed to happen.

in one of the turns, not even one minute later, one of his tires flew off the car.

arthur couldn't have done anything to stop it or make the situation better. it was in no way his fault, and yet, it had all of the worst consequences for him.

thankfully, there was no crash and the tire didn't hit another driver, so it wasn't really a dangerous incident. but when arthur gets up out of the car and you can tell he's uninjured, you still let out a thankful breath you didn't know you were holding. you know this is awful, as it is any time he's forced to retire out of a race, but at least he isn't physically hurt, which was the most important to you.

a couple of minutes later, arthur arrives back in the garage, where he receives a bunch of pats on the backs and compassionate looks from team members. you are still sat on a chair a bit further into the garage, wanting to give him some space instead of approaching him, but you watch his every move carefully. his dark eyes stay aimed on the floor and he doesn't give out much more than small nods to the people trying to talk to him. he's holding his helmet in one hand, his balaclava still on and helping cover what you assumed was a regretful look.

you were so sure he wouldn't notice you, but his eyes land on you just as his hand reaches for the door to his driver's room. you kind of expect him to give you some kind of reaction. a smile, a nod, anything. but just like to everyone else, he looks away.

as he's gone through the door, you feel some kind of disappointment in the pit of your stomach. you know it's not personal, but it still pains a little to think about him treating you just like everyone else.

you wait until the race is over and the staff is busy celebrating the other dams driver's podium before making your way towards the door. after knocking on it a few times, you can hear his voice from the inside, muttering something about leaving him alone.

"arthur, can i come in?" you ask, ignoring his request.

when he hears that it's your voice seeping through the cracks of the door, he's instantly on his feet, making his way to you.

when he opens the door, you're met by an exhausted face. the balaclava is off now, lines on his face still showing where the seams had been pressing for the long race. he steps aside to let you into the room and then closes the door behind you. he sits down on the couch and you take a seat right next to him, eyes never leaving his sad ones. he's looking everywhere but at you, though, feeling way too sensitive to take in the way that you were looking at him. with so much comfort, support, love.

"i'm really sorry," you say, voice low. "that sucked."

he nods, eyes moving to look down at his feet as he leans his elbows onto his knees. "shit happens."

you stop for a moment but then you decide to be brave, putting a hand on his shoulder. when he doesn't shrug it off, you begin stroking over his white fireproof shirt with your thumb, hoping to comfort him even the slightest.

"i just... felt like the pace was good, you know?" you nod, even though he isn't looking. "i was ahead of ollie, and he ended up in p5..." your hand moves to the back of his neck, softly rubbing up and down his skin. "i don't know, i just feel like i could've scored some points too."

"yeah, definitely," you hum at him. "you did really well, love."

one of his hands comes up to wipe over his face, before he finally turns to look at you. "thank you." a slight smile takes over your lips. "and thank you for being here."

"of course. anything for you, mon amour."

arthur leans towards you, molding his lips against yours. the kiss is a lot different than how he kissed you earlier this morning; it's soothing, tender, gentle. yet, it's filled with just as much love.

"sorry i wasn't your lucky charm like you said i am," you tell him once you pull away, faces still close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

his mouth curls into a smile before he kisses you again. "don't worry," he moves to give you a couple of pecks along your jawline. "i'll buy a new charm since having you around doesn't work."

you gasp, slapping his chest as a big, teasing grin lightens up his face. "hey!"

and when his wholehearted laughter fills the room, you smile, despite his insult just moments earlier. you smile because you know it's all going to be fine; you smile because after his next race, he will be smiling too.

[sonics-atelier]

Shelter in the Storm

For @bagginshieldweek24 Day 7 : Sky / Storms

Summary : It's raining in Erebor, Thorin and Bilbo reminisce about their past and how far they've come, fluff.

a/n : ahh I'm so sad that bagginshield week is over :( but never to fret I have a big project planned and am working on it, till then, hope you enjoy this <3

In the heart of Erebor, the grand halls of the Lonely Mountain were quiet as a storm gathered strength outside. Dark clouds loomed overhead, and the distant rumble of thunder echoed through the stone corridors. Bilbo Baggins, now a cherished resident of Erebor, watched the approaching storm with a mix of awe and trepidation from one of the high balconies.

Thorin Oakenshield found Bilbo there, his silhouette framed against the turbulent sky. "A storm is coming," Thorin said, his voice calm and steady, as he joined Bilbo on the balcony.

Bilbo nodded, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon. "I’ve always found storms to be quite mesmerizing. The power and beauty of them, all at once."

Thorin glanced at Bilbo, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Aye, they are a force to be reckoned with. Much like you, my dear hobbit."

Bilbo chuckled, his tension easing slightly. "I suppose there’s a certain poetry to it, isn’t there? The calm before the storm, the chaos, and then the peace that follows."

As the first drops of rain began to fall, Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo, pulling him close. "Do you remember the storm we encountered on our journey to the Lonely Mountain?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Bilbo nodded, leaning into Thorin’s warmth. "How could I forget? We were soaked to the bone, but we found shelter together. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once."

Thorin’s eyes softened as he gazed down at Bilbo. "That storm brought us closer. It taught us to rely on each other, to trust and to care."

Bilbo's thoughts drifted back to that fateful night on their journey. The rain had come down in torrents, cold and relentless. They had been miles from any proper shelter, and despite his thick cloak, Bilbo had been shivering uncontrollably. He had tried to appear strong, refusing any offers of help from the dwarves, determined not to be seen as a burden.

"Bilbo," Thorin had said, noticing the hobbit's stubbornness, "you’re freezing."

"I’m fine," Bilbo had insisted through chattering teeth, attempting to put on a brave front. "Just a bit of rain, nothing of consequence."

Thorin had not been convinced. Without another word, he had removed his own cloak, a thick, warm garment, and wrapped it around Bilbo's trembling shoulders. Then, pulling Bilbo close, Thorin had enveloped him in a strong embrace, sharing his body heat.

"You’re too proud for your own good, Master Baggins," Thorin had murmured, holding him tightly. "But I won't let you freeze."

Bilbo had finally relented, resting against Thorin's broad chest, feeling the comforting warmth seep into his bones. It was a moment of vulnerability, but also of deep connection.

Back on the balcony, Thorin smiled at the memory. "You were so stubborn," he teased gently. "Refusing any help until you were half-frozen."

Bilbo laughed, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "I suppose I was a bit foolish. But you saved me from my own pride that night."

Thorin's eyes twinkled with amusement and affection. "And now look at us. We’ve faced many storms together, both literal and figurative."

The rain intensified, falling in sheets and drumming against the stone balcony. Thunder rolled, and lightning split the sky, illuminating the world in stark flashes. Yet, standing together, Thorin and Bilbo felt a sense of peace amidst the chaos.

Bilbo looked up at Thorin, his eyes bright with emotion. "You’ve always been my shelter, Thorin. Through every storm, literal or otherwise."

Thorin’s heart swelled with affection. He cupped Bilbo’s face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing Bilbo’s cheek. "And you, My Love, have been my guiding star. When the world seems dark and uncertain, you are the light that keeps me going."

The storm raged on, but in that moment, they were lost in each other. Thorin leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Bilbo’s lips. It was a kiss filled with all the love and gratitude he felt, a promise of protection and devotion.

When they finally pulled apart, Bilbo’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. "You’re my everything, Thorin."

"And you are mine," Thorin replied, his voice thick with emotion.

They stood together, watching the storm, feeling its power and beauty. The winds howled and the rain poured, but they were unafraid. They had weathered many storms together, and they knew they could face any future tempests as long as they had each other.

As the storm began to subside, a calm settled over the Lonely Mountain. The rain softened to a gentle patter, and the sky began to clear, revealing a tapestry of stars. Thorin and Bilbo remained on the balcony, wrapped in each other’s embrace, content and secure in their love.

They were each other’s haven, their constant in a world of uncertainties. And as long as they stood together, they knew they could face any storm that life might bring.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 , do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form.

[takadokii]

✴ what the heart wants !! ‧₊.࿐

summary You try to test your luck and have a vulnerable conversation with Satoru. But all he's thinking about is kissing you, and he doesn't understand the concept of crying anyway. pairing high school!gojo satoru x f!reader tags soft fluff, comfort, gojo doesn't know emotions (canon) warnings reader mentions that they cried last night, one nono word word count 810 links collection ; taglist

this is an additional chapter of my series "caught in the middle", if you enjoyed this, consider checking it out! 🩵

"When was the last time you cried?" 

The question caught Satoru off-guard. Sometimes, words would leave your mouth that would make him feel so small and stupid. He straightened his back, standing tense and tall. A million thoughts raced through his head about what could have possibly prompted you to ask such a silly question.

Did he look like he cried recently? Are you asking just out of pure curiosity? What made you think about that right now in the first place?

"I cried yesterday when you punched me, remember?"

You punch him again.

"Stop fooling around, you know what I mean...like really cry." You don't look at him when you say this. Trying to get Gojo's mood to match yours was about as easy as getting him to shut up for more than 5 minutes.

But tonight, you felt extra vulnerable for no apparent reason at all.

"I don't remember. It's been a while. I probably haven't cried since I was five." 

You hum in acknowledgement, your hand running up the material of the sweater you had worn that night, fingernails brushing against one of the larger loops in your knitted sweater.

And because it's Gojo, of course, this rare, vulnerable sentence must be followed up with a 3-minute monologue with the sole purpose of sucking his own dick.

"I mean... What would I even cry about? I'm pretty. I'm talented. I'm funny and smart. I have no reason to waste my tears. Tears of joy, maybe. Because I was born so pretty and smart and talented and-"

"I cried last night," you interrupted Gojo with a shrug. It was spoken with so little emotion like you were just throwing it out there. A quick, fun little life update as if you were telling him about a new show you started last night.

"...huh?!" Gojo was shocked. He was unable to process this information, as well as unsure what he was supposed to do now. Because, unbeknownst to you, in his eyes, you were just about as talented and intelligent and maybe even a little prettier than him, so this didn't make any sense.

"Why would you ever need to cry? Who made you cry?!" This sentence left his mouth in a way more harsh, belittling and "invalidating your problems" kind of tone than he had intended.

This was Gojo Satoru, after all, of course, the question is who, what else could there be but people that hurt people?

You, knowing he was just a spoiled, confused little child on the inside (and the outside), recognised his intention behind the sentence anyway and answered.

"I don't know...I just wanted to."

"Wanted to?" Gojo was beyond confused. Crying had become a distant concept to him a long time ago. Usually, whenever he felt overwhelmed or hurt, his emotions would skip sadness and instantly transform into annoyance or anger. But for you, it seemed freeing.

For Gojo, crying was a line that mustn't be crossed, a door unopened, its key buried in a drawer in the room he grew up in.

"It's okay to want to cry. Nothing to feel guilty about. The heart knows what it wants."

But for you, crying was something good, letting everything you had carried with you seep out, wipe it away with a tissue and let it dry out, long forgotten in the trash.

You had learned not to let it overflow or push yourself to test how much you can carry. Sometimes, you just felt weak, and everything else felt heavy, and you had accepted that.

Of course, Gojo Satoru wouldn't know what that's like. He had never felt weak in his life, and something inside of you told you that you wouldn't live to see many instances in which he would.

"I felt much better after," you elaborated, seeing him go through the mental turmoil you hoped to ease his mind, "I feel much better now."

Gojo doesn't understand. He understands so little he doesn't even know where he'd begin to attempt to understand.  

He's physically distraught by the confusion you had just set aflame in him.

"Well...if you ever cry again, you better not come to me because I am not at all emotionally capable of handling that."

You roll your eyes but grin nonetheless, nudging him with your shoulder before stepping closer and pressing yourself into him. Instinctively, Gojo raises his arm, letting you slip underneath as he places his hand on the sleeve of your sweater.

One of his fingers gets stuck in a loop, his eyes get stuck on your smile, and he tries hard not to kiss you right then and there.

Continuing to stare, a fluttery hot feeling formed in his chest, and he realised just how braver you were than him for giving in to what your heart wanted.

thanks for all the love on my latest one shot! :)

i hope the layout of my collection isn't too confusing, I'm working on making it more manageable and easy to understand!

i've put a lot of heart into this universe, the dynamic and my characters so I'm probably just thinking too far ahead.

i'm very happy i've started this and i can't wait for you all to see what i have in store!

love, jae 🩵

[hanchette]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄, 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 : ( twisted wonderland characters )

a/n : hello anon! im glad the scenario were of help to you! i could only do 4 since it's the general character maximum i can do! much love <333 take care of yourself!

consist of : comfort, fluff, angst, established relationship — tw: after an attempt

𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐌 𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐌, “tell me..” kalim mumbles through your neck, his fingers intertwined with yours, there's a wet spot that's beginning to form on the silky covers. “y/n.” he breathes. it shakes. a man like him who wears his heart on his sleeves, left petrified on the door of your room and as your name left his lips, never have you heard your own name in such horror—kalim, who used to call you with so much joy, couldn't even scream at that moment. “tell me you don't want to leave.” he hiccups, “say i am enough to make you stay. i know it's not true, but please just say it.” and your heartbeat lies in sync with his.

𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐓, “vil, why do you stay? ” perhaps it was a signage, that question that's laced with self-consciousness hidden under the pretense of curiosity. he should've known, he could've read further. saved you from your own thoughts, now here he weep with the blame seeping into his every vein. perhaps it's the unstable emotion that cradle him knocks rationality out of place, but he couldn't help it, not with the situation at hand where he just cries with you. his hand rubbing your left wrist, dragging it to his lips. “because you're here.” his hair is a mess, his posture trembles, but none of it matters, “i'm here, so could you please stay a little bit longer?”

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐀, mighty, unyielding, strong, are the many words that describe malleus draconia—the supposed heir of the briar valley, expected to never break but how could he? you could be addicted to a certain kind of sadness, one that could call your name left and right as it slowly swallows you whole. “that human child whom you are giving your heart to, my dear, has dipped their hands further down. if you don't let go of them, you'll drown with them.” he knows, malleus knows. as he stares at you, your eyes blank until realization hits. the prince rushes to your side, shouldering you as he reassure you—or is it him? “then let me drown, for i cannot bear the thought of them suffering alone.”

𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄, caress your cheek as his face soften more and more at the realization that slowly kicks in. “y/n?” and his voice comes out of a sweet whisper yet the clear urgency in his tone becomes obvious. he panics but does not show- there's franticness that itches at his very skin but lilia drowns it all down. you need him. you need him. you need him. lilia tells to himself, swallowing the pain that strikes him as he comforts you, “honey? shhh it will be alright. c'mere. ”

[cor-obscenum]

Solo ascolta il mio cuore (Papa Emeritus x g/n reader)

Summary: noticing you've had a bad day, Papa comforts you the best way he knows.

Tags: Teen & up audiences, SFW-ish, but still fetishy, so YMMV. Any Papa you want. Mentions of bad mental health, unspecified condition. Cardiophilia (heartbeat kink). Hurt / comfort. Fluff, cuddling and ear-stething. Google-translated gratuitous Italian.

It's getting bad again. You can feel it.

The setting sun seeps through the stained glass windows of the Ministry, drawing colorful shapes on the floor, but that doesn't distract you from your pain. You walk through the hallways, crestfallen.

As you try to fight the countless intrusive thoughts that lurk somewhere in your racing mind, you can feel tears welling up in your eyes. But you can't break down. You have to be strong, at least until you get into your room. But the way to your room seems endless, as if the hallway stretches right in front of your eyes. You take a deep breath, which doesn't really help. The air doesn't seem to fill your lungs or oxygenate your brain.

Finally, you arrive at your own place and open the door with a sigh of relief. You sit on your bed, silently, and rest your head on your hands. Then you break down crying. You've been too strong for too long, and the tears just start streaming down your cheeks for a long time. You feel defeated and humiliated by your own mind, the place where you were supposed to feel safe, but no. Your mind was playing tricks on you again.

Your meltdown is interrupted by the sound of someone opening the door and coming into the room, sitting right beside you on the bed.

Papa.

"Bad day?" he asks, rubbing your back up and down. You can only nod, sniffling softly between the tears.

"Oh, amore mio, mi spezza il cuore vederti soffrire così." he says softly, cupping your face with his hand and palming the tears away from your cheek. His mismatched eyes look genuinely sad as you look into them. "Wanna talk about it?" He asks.

You shake your head.

"It's okay, tesoro, it's okay. I understand." He pulls you close into a hug, your head resting on his shoulder. He pats your back, rocking back and forth for several seconds. But that doesn't fill the painful void in your chest, and the tears keep coming.

"You know what? Do you want to hear what my heart's been up to?" He suggests. Your face instantly lights up.

"Yes, Papa. Please." You plead.

"Okie dokie, lay on top of me."

He pulls away from your embrace, smiling coyly at you and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He lays down on the bed and pats his bare chest right above his heart, signaling for you to rest your head there. Trembling with sudden excitement, you crawl upon him and bury your face into his chest, nuzzling at the sparse hairs and planting little kisses from his collarbone to the bottom of his sternum, before resting your ear on your favorite auscultation spot, Erb's point.

You close your eyes. And then you finally hear the sweetest sound in the world: the soft, steady thumping of Papa's heart. The sound of life. The sound of a heart that beats for you.

You let out a mewl of pleasure as you delight in every beat, each systole and diastole of that beloved heart that kisses your cheek with its melodious thumping. You envision the heart muscle contracting and relaxing, healthy valves opening and closing as the blood is pumped through the arteries. You feel your own heartbeat syncing with his. Because your hearts are tied together by the love and desire you feel for each other.

"Thank you, Papa… This feels so good… So relaxing" you softly murmur against his chest.

"Feels good, no?" He chuckles, kissing the top of your head and running his fingers through your hair. "I know you love it"

You sigh, content in the moment, focusing on the sounds from inside Papa's thoracic cavity. The steady, gentle rhythm of his heartbeat reassures you and lulls your mind into a deep, trance-like relaxation; it's like each beat whispers "I'm here, I'm here" right into your ears. His tranquil, deep breathing is like the sound of the sea lapping the shore: melodious, rhythmic and soothing.

"Sono qui per te, tesoro. Non c'è bisogno di preoccuparsi. Respira e rilassati." He whispers into your scalp.

You take a deep breath, inhaling Papa's scent and nuzzling your face into his chest, cooing softly. He's so vulnerable like this, and you're the one who he allows himself to be vulnerable with. The proud Papa who gets on the stage and leads entire crowds of people into delirium with his singing is now just a man, flesh and bone and a beating heart against your ear.

Suddenly, all pain is gone. All worry, all anxiety, all stress have disappeared. All thanks to the mesmerizing sound of Papa's heartbeat as his gloved hand caresses your head gently. You both love and cherish these moments of sheer intimacy, laying skin to skin and basking in the warmth and pulse of each other's body. You listen to his heartbeat, he feels your body relax against his, the tension from your muscles slowly going away. This is your life drive, love in its purest form.

You don't know for how long you just lay there, listening to the gentle th-thump, th-thump, th-thump of Papa's heart. His heartbeat is some kind of magic, it's like it can stop time. And cuddling is Papa's love language, he knows how stressed out and touch-starved you can get from time to time and will promptly offer his chest for you to snuggle into and lose yourself in the sound of his heartbeat. He cares for you, he wants you to be happy and healthy.

Your problems aren't all gone. You still have the next day and new worries to come. But in this moment, as you listen to Papa's heartbeat, it doesn't matter. It's your moment to relax and take a break. It's a moment to enjoy life, to the sound of life.

……………………………………………………..............................

"Oh, amore mio, mi spezza il cuore vederti soffrire così" = oh my love, it breaks my heart to see you suffering like this

"Sono qui per te, tesoro. Non c'è bisogno di preoccuparsi. Respira e rilassati" = I'm here for you, my dear. There's no need to worry. Breathe and relax

[rosesrflo]

hiya I wanna request some william comfort fic bc I had a bad day today but where I can find your rules? I'm currently using tumblr app, so I cannot find it

Feat; William James Moriarty x gn!reader (MTP). Genre; fluff, comfort

Prompt; ❛❛I’ll hold you tight.❞ Warnings; bad days, ugly crying/lh

Desc; IN WHICH William is always the first to pick you up on your worst days, not only is he a great crime consultant - he’s also an excellent comforter.

A/N; heyy lovely! Sorry i’m a bit late with this request, but i do hope you’re feeling better now - the reason you couldn’t find my rules is bc I haven’t made them yet. Mostly bc I’m using mobile + this blog is quite new - but I’m working on it atm ❤️ thank you and enjoy!

We all have bad days.

And in all his genius, William certainly isn’t a stranger to them.

In fact, most of his days used to be plagued with storm clouds, with no sunshine or light until you stumbled into his life.

You were a gift, your very presence lifted him from the darkest depths, you were undeserved.

Back then, he had realised how angelic you were - Liam just knew that you were too good for him so he tried to scare you off by showing you his intentions, his thoughts, he trusted you with the worst of his plans.

Yet, you didn’t bat an eye. Only acknowledging each and every part of him, you saw him for who he was and began mending his heart because you love him.

It’s a WIP

William can still feel your warmth encasing him in a hug - that December night, the first time you ever saw him cry. You held him close, stroking his hair and kissed his head like a mother would. You filled that empty void in his chest.

That’s why he wants to do the same for you, Will believes he is forever in your debt.

And when you cry, are upset, have a bad day, he’ll hold you tight; just as you did him.

Also because you are literally the last person in the world that should go through any type of pain.

The corners of your lips downturned as you sat in the living room, cross legged with a cup of cold tea, your hands trembled, biting frost bite seeped into your bones and reached the depths of your soul. You felt heavy in sadness. No thoughts except crystal teardrops cascading down your frowning face.

There was no particular reason for the gloomy mood.

Today just so happened to be an off day, one where no matter what you did to escape it, you couldn’t. Your tea was near frozen over as cold, December nights bled into the estate. You were alone, shivering and crying with no one to confide in.

They’d all gone out to celebrate the closing in Christmas, maybe you should’ve joined them but it was far too late now.

What would they say if they saw you like this?

In your moment of pondering, you didn’t notice a familiar criminal mastermind standing behind you, his arms crossed and a thinking expression plastered on his face. William was confused as to why you hadn’t gone out with the rest of the organization. “(y/n)? I thought you were celebrating with the others.”

You froze in the spot, why was he here? In order to not reveal your distraught state to him, you stayed still without turning around to face him, “So did I.” Nonchalantly reaching for the cup of tea, you shivered upon the sudden coldness against your hand.

“I suppose we’re both in the same boat,” He smiled passively, realizing you were both alone together, “but I’d rather you tell me why you’re upset first.” Liam tapped two fingers on his other arm in anticipation.

A weak laugh echoed across the room, you being the source of it; even though he called your unsaid bluffs, you hadn’t flinched once, you didn’t take William an oblivious man, he was smart and easily figured you out, “I don’t know.”

After your empty chucking fit, you whispered a hoarse reply, nothing but honesty in your disappointed tone. He simply observed your manic attitude, not moving an inch, “I see.”

Staring down at your upturned hands, you felt dissatisfied, unhappy for showing yourself in this depressing light, the one part Will hadn’t seen yet. He was never supposed to see you like this, you were an utter mess today and what’s worse is that he saw it.

You felt the feeling before the sting of your hand as you slapped yourself lightly, “(y/n)-“ William jumped to action immediately, he rushed in front of you in case you dealt anymore harm to yourself. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, I shouldn’t be crying over…something so simple.”

“Cry all you need to, although I despise seeing you distressed - it’s quite normal and let me tell you a secret-..” He lent to your face, cupping his hand near your ear to whisper something, “..-Sometimes, even I cry.” You giggled slightly at his jest, not noticing that this was his way of cheering you up.

William let a sly grin slide on his lips, “Now that’s the smile I love.” He linked your hands together, landing an intimate peck on your lips, his eyes softened at your delighted face; you were as beautiful as ever, especially when you were happy. He felt some sort of proudness at achieving this.

No one knew you like William.

[andsheloved]

Happy Drabble Thursday ❤️ How about the prompt "gift giving" for Loki please?

happy drabble thursday to you my friend!! i hope you're doing so well!! thank you so much for sending this in!! my brain absolutely exploded with ideas with this one, so i hope you enjoy!!

pairing ~ loki x gn!reader

word count ~ 980

warnings ~ fluff! loki being a bit unsure of himself and awkward, but literally just fluff!!

prompt ~ gift giving

Loki squinted as he observed the scene unfolding in the kitchen. It wasn't that he was not used to the general behavior of most humans by now, it was only that he would occasionally find himself to be surprised with the discovery of something new that some Midgardian's would consider 'normal'.

Natasha wasn't doing anything particularly odd while she fixed herself a cup of coffee, but it was that sweatshirt she wore that caught him off guard.

Clint's sweatshirt.

Was this something everyone did? Exchange clothing with each other? Loki had also seen a few other members of the team trade shirts and hats before, but hadn't really thought about it until now.

Loki sensed your warmth as you settled in the stool beside him with your cup of tea, though he couldn't bring himself to greet you, he was to intrigued by this new... 'Tradition', he had now discovered, to think of anything else.

"What is she wearing?" Loki whispered, leaning over to your side as he did.

You let out a soft hum of confusion before answering, "Natasha? She's just wearing a hoodie."

He could feel the confusion seeping your tone, and he couldn't blame you, he almost found himself just as dumbfounded. "But it isn't her own...?" Loki added.

"No" You muttered under your breath, "It's Clint's."

"Why..." Loki found himself unable to even form a question over the idea. He had no doubt seen Natasha in many sweatshirts of her own, it wasn't like she was lacking clothing, so why was she wearing another person's things?

"I don't know" You huffed, "It just happens, I guess?"

"Have you ever worn someone else's things?" Loki asked, quickly turning to you when you almost spit out your drink, making a sort of gargled, choking noise.

"Not really..." You replied slowly, a hint of sadness in your tone.

Loki responded with a contemplative 'hmph' as he continued to examine the apparently communal hoodie. The more he thought about it, he was also fairly certain that he had seen Clint wearing one of Natasha's sweatshirts as well, and as he recalled further, he was now absolutely certain he had seen the two exchange clothing on countless occasions, though he still couldn't understand for what reason.

"They've known each other for years" You interrupted his thoughts, "Longer than really any of us have, it just sort of... Happens"

"So, they care for each other, correct?"

"Mhm"

"So they switch clothing?"

"Exactly," You smiled, "I guess it's sort of comforting. To have a piece of someone you care about with you through the day"

Loki didn't miss the way your voice was tinged with a certain type of longing as you spoke, though the feeling of something deep and warm blooming in his chest was surely unexpected.

That night, Loki found himself lacking of sleep, his eyes glued to the ceiling as he thought.

Sharing clothing was never a concept he found on Asgard, nor any other planet he had found himself on throughout his years. It was so uniquely Midgardian and it puzzled him, yet you seemed so fond of the idea.

Loki had never thought of sharing many things in his life, his things were exactly that, his things, and in many circumstances, he'd much rather destroy something before simply giving it away for someone else to ruin.

'To have a piece of someone you care about with you through the day'

The words echoed through his mind. He supposed he could understand the appeal, but one thing he truly could not comprehend was your tone. You seemed almost wistful as you spoke about it, had no one ever exchanged clothing with you?

He couldn't believe it, how could he? You were so very cared for by everyone in the tower, enchanting everyone you had met with your mesmerizing smile and glittering eyes, at the very least, he could absolutely say that you had most certainly enchanted him.

Before he could tell his legs to stop though, he found himself stomping over to his dresser and suddenly making his way down the hallway.

Loki's hand shook as he balled it into a soft fist, taking a deep breath before finally knocking.

He was met with only silence at first, his hammering heartbeat and unsteady breaths the only sounds to be heard as he waited. Though his eyes quickly flickered to the doorknob as he heard a muffled shuffle from behind the door.

"Coming!" He heard you exclaim before you swiftly opened the door.

Loki's gaze suddenly fell to the floor as you stood before him, his face suddenly feeling very warm as he attempted to recall the words he had practiced on his way to your room.

He hesitantly held the fabric out to you, the deep, forest green tee shirt almost looking black in the dimness of the hallway.

When he finally looked up at you, he was met with your kind expression, a soft, sleepy smile gracing your features.

"I wanted to give you this." He stammered, cursing himself for sounding so insolent, "I- uh, I care for you."

Loki could have sworn he heard your breath hitch at his words, and he did his best to conceal the sly smirk that threatened to break onto his face.

"Hold on just one second" You muttered, quickly scampering into your room, only to return just as hastily, now carrying a neatly folded piece of fabric in your arms. "I don't know if it'll fit you, but... I care for you too."

If only you knew how precious you were.

Loki had only meant to bring you one of his shirts to show you how he felt for you, and without any hesitation, you ran into your bedroom to retrieve something for him as well.

If only you knew you never needed to give him anything at all in return.

He would always be yours regardless.

i am simply so soft, like literally the softest for this concept!! oh to be trading shirts in the middle of the night with loki, i am simply pining. thank you so so so much for this ask my friend!! i hope you are doing so well!! i hope you all enjoyed and are having a wonderful rest of your day/night!!

want more loki? check out my masterlist!

[kuroosweakness]

imagine dad!kuroo comforting his child after they have a nightmare

kuroo would such a caring and supportive dad omg this is the best thing i’ve written in a while :’ <3 pls tell me what you think of dad!kuroo >:) 

“oh?” kuroo turns at the sound of the door creaking open. as expected, his five-year-old daughter tilts back and forth with her stuffed brown bear in one hand. 

she looks up at him with doe eyes, hoping he’d start the conversation and asks what’s wrong so she can spill it out all to him. kuroo lets out a small laugh and walks over to her. “did you get lonely being in your room all by yourself?” 

he extends his arm and she slowly slips her hand into her dad’s. 

“no...” she begins. they walk towards the bed, where kuroo lifts her up and places her on the bed. he flips off the light switch and the room goes dark. shadows of tree branches made by moonlight seeps through the curtain. 

a gush of wind enters through the window, sending chills down his daughter’s back. she clutches her bear close and pats the mattress for her dad to sit down. 

“did’ja miss me too much?” kuroo teases as he runs a hand through his hair and plopping down next to her. 

“no...” she scootches close to him and hands him her bear. “teddy got scared because nightmare.” 

“hmm” kuroo rubs the bear’s face with his thumb and puts on a thoughtful look. “but...how does that relate to me?” 

“he wants to sleep on your bed because you’ll protect us.” 

kuroo slowly nods and cups half of his daughter’s face. “are you sure you washed your face after dinner? what’s this piece of rice doing here,” he laughs. she looks at her feet, a little embarrassed. it’s just like the time a kid made fun of her for having sauce around her mouth at kindergarten. 

“didn’t know it was there,” she quietly says as she reaches out to grab her bear back for comfort. 

“aw it happens to the best of us,” kuroo says while patting a nearby pillow to distract her from the topic. “c’mere, your favorite pillow.”

she crawls toward the pillow and lays her head down, looking up at her dad in hopes that he understands how ‘teddy’ feels. 

“back to what teddy was saying,” he starts while sliding across the mattress before laying on his stomach. “what am i supposed to protect you guys from again? i need to be prepared, ya’know?” 

“bad guys,” she whispers, as if they can hear her and attack at any moment. she inches close to him and curls against his chest. “teddy had a nightmare and bad guys jumped in my window and had weapons with them.” she looks at him with damp and overly bright eyes. 

kuroo’s eyes soften. “no one’s gonna hurt you...and teddy,” he confidently says and slings his arm around her tightly. “why don’t you and teddy sleep next to me so even if the bag guys come, they’ll get me first?” 

her eyes widen. “b-but i don’t want them to get you-” 

“don’t underestimate your dad,” he chuckles and grabs her clammy hand. “i’ll fight them off before they even step a foot into our room!” 

she blinks and nods, deciding that that’s good enough. “daddy? what’s underesmate?”

“hmm...it’s like thinking someone is less capable than they actually are. it wouldn’t be really nice if i thought teddy couldn’t do anything useful, would it?” 

she nods. “okay.” 

“so....” kuroo sits back up and stretches his mouth into a yawn. “you ready to go to sleep?” she looks around his room and watches the red clock blink 10:45

“mhm! i even brushed my teeth!” she proudly shows him her clean, bright teeth that she even flossed with the flossing tool he bought her. kuroo’s eyes crinkle. 

“alright, alright~ i’ve gotta admit you’re a lot better at brushing your teeth than me when i was your age.” he fluffs up the pillows and lifts up the bed covers. 

“w-wait! ... i forgot ellie,” she quietly says while pointing to the door. kuroo’s mouth forms a small ‘o.’ 

he nods toward the door. “go get her and all of your other stuffies” 

she runs off and pads across the apartment. it doesn’t take her long to come back with an armful of stuffed animals ranging from elephants to pandas, and of course, teddy. 

“oh wow,” kuroo laughs. “you brought the whole crew.” 

“want them to be safe too!” she sets the big pile on his bed and he starts organizing them in a row. “if i left one, they’d feel sad.” 

“we wouldn’t want that,” kuroo quietly replies. he lifts her onto the mattress and motions toward the bed side against the wall. “i’m gonna sleep on the outer side–wouldn’t want you falling off in the middle of the night.” 

she stops organizing her stuffies and frowns. “daddy, you’re underesmating me. i’m not gonna fall off of the bed!” 

kuroo shakes his head in amusement and sets her stuffed dolphin aside. “just tryna protect you from bad guys, which includes gravity sometimes.” 

~~~

the night concludes with kuroo giving her a goodnight forehead kiss and him waking up three times because teddy got a nightmare twice. the other time was because he mistakened her stuffed turtle for his pillow and to her horror, tim couldn’t breathe. 

[inactive-luv]

The Absence of Rain

The Absence of Rain

"the absence of rain is when good things are most present."

the absence of rain

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N meets a stranger in the rain

Pairing: (Spencer Reid x Autistic!Fem!Reader)

Details: I hope I did my best to convey proper Autistic traits; my ASD is not the same as the readers' character, the same way no one's ASD or Autism is the same.

Category: fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Autism

A/N: I decided to make the reader Autistic. This was originally just a short story I made in English lit class my senior year, but upon rereading it, I decided to use the same prompt to write this fic

...

It's two in the morning. The Virginian rain drizzles as it has for the past two days without stop. She loved the rain, even if it was a sign of sadness or sorrow. She misunderstood it when people said the absence of rain was when good things happened. Until tonight when the theory was proven very, very true.

...

She walked from her job down to the bus stop at two in the morning when it started to rain harder than the usual drizzle from earlier in the evening. She spent time analyzing the splashing of droplets, echoing in her head after a long day. Her head raised to watch the water slap against the glass roof above her.

She stayed like that for a while, soothed after a stressful day by the calming aspects of the rain. She was watching and waiting, sitting in her bus stop seat. Her hands folded in each other to scratch lightly at her fingers, bundles of nerves across her skin aching to be touched.

She wants to stay here forever and quietly wishes for a late bus before her peace is interrupted when she sees a dark figure move across the station bridge. Her face turns puzzled, trying to analyze the new person in her space.

He looks tall from a distance. That's the first thing she notices about his body before she investigates further. She thinks about his satchel bag and his converse shoes, how he holds his umbrella in his right hand, and a book in his left. She can't make out the cover, but it must be pretty slim from how fast he blows through it.

She thinks about what would happen if he would walk over to her. She's seen him only a few seconds, yet she feels drawn or compelled to wonder further. He steps to his side, adjusting his stance, and his face falls under the light of the bus station for a second.

His jawline, eyes, lips, and everything about him leaps out immediately, catching even more of her attention. He must have felt her gaze over him, like an ocean wave crashing over a beach. A certain persistence to discover makes her eyes stay glued to the dark figure.

He swallows his lips before turning to see if she was maybe looking at someone else. He expected it. He expected not to be expected of. So when her eyes stayed fixated on him, he was a little curious. And during this time, all she can think about is if he came closer. Suppose he could turn to her so she could find the thing. The thing about him that made him so compelling.

And he does it. He starts to walk over with his book in one hand and the other in his pocket. The sounds she once found comfort in faded as he walked up to her, and everything turned to silence. The soft patter of the rain, once saturated and abstract ringing through her head, turned pale and hushed.

He watches how her eyes still stay attached to him, almost obsessively. A silence fills the space between the two before he breaks it so haphazardly, she can't help but shudder a little.

"Excuse me?" So she turns her head and is met looking up to the dark figure. He's much taller now that he's closer to her, and his hair is long. Long hair so obviously stretched under the rain, with soft curls ever so innocently framing his face.

He doesn't know what to say after that. He couldn't make out exactly who she was or who he was even expecting but, she was beautiful. He finally took notice of the more calming features about her rather than the creepy stare. He saw how her skin glowed, and her lips parted slightly as if in deep thought.

During this time, he notices the silence forming again, and he breaks it once more before he can hear her voice. "Uhm, can I sit?" He murmurs as an excuse he perhaps too eagerly came up with, taking notice of her puzzled expression. "Yeah, here, let me move my bag." Her voice dribbles out of her mouth, laced with an extensive kindness that intrigued him incredibly.

He mumbles a small 'thank you' back while he undoes his umbrella and takes a seat next to her. His head is facing the street now, but he still feels her eyes on him. It takes him a minute to swallow the lump in his throat before he turns to her again, craning his neck to meet her eye-line looking up at him.

His eyes meeting hers makes her pause for a moment before hastily averting her attention from him to anything in her way. The grass peeking through the concrete or the way the rain filled the puddles on the sidewalk.

And just like that, the silence, as well as it faded out, fades back in. The soft sounds of rain climb back through her ears to fill her brain again. Easily and slowly, she listens to the buckling of the stranger's bag, as if he was trying to make an as little sound as possible not to annoy her. But the sound doesn't upset her. It calms her.

It intertwines with the rain in a calming way. Everything blends smoother than she expected. She expected sounds to scare her as much as they usually do meeting a stranger, but the sound of his skin against the leather, and the pitter-patter of the rain, calm her.

So she's at peace when he breaks the silence once more. Although now, his words don't break the silence as much as they seep into the silent sounds, merging to form a tranquil melody. She realizes she could get used to his voice.

"Where are you coming from at," He looks down at his watch, over his sleeve for convenience, a trick she notices because she does the same thing, "two in the morning?" His tone acts as if he made most of his living in the night; the calmness, even in such an abundant presence of darkness, leads her to believe he'd done this a million times.

"I lost track of time in the library." He smiles again, "I thought only I did that." She smiles back at him and feels her cheeks start to swell and pink. He listens to her words; there weren't any libraries open this late at night he of all people should have known that.

He contemplates asking; further, he really wants to. He wants to listen to her voice again and again over and over because, unlike anyone else's, he thinks he'll never get tired of it. But he doesn't pester; he waits, hoping she'd further the conversation herself.

Little does he know she's thinking the same thing. She was thinking about every question he's asked and every question she wants to ask him. But he was a stranger even if she hoped he wasn't for much longer.

It takes a lot of strength for her to continue the conversation but noticing his peaked interest, her tone of voice heightens, "I was working at the university, that's why I was out so late." His questions are answered and followed by more, "Really? What do you do?" he wanted to know everything about the mysterious girl at the bus stop, and she was willing to answer every one of his asks.

"I help my friend who's a professor there, but I'm a medical examiner." His eyes light up, "Really? That's cool." He tries to keep his voice calm, but it trickles out so quickly, and this time she can catch his investment, and it gets easier to talk to him as if she'd known him a hundred years.

"I look at dead bodies all day. You think that's cool?"

"Well, to be fair, so do I,"

"Oh! Are you a serial killer?" Her best shot at sarcasm was successful, he laughed.

Like a modern orchestra erupting into its triumphant climax, the rain, the air, his laugh soothes her ears until she's blessing the world for her ability to hear. It's a kind of sound that reverberates in her mind and stores itself to her happiest emotion.

A type of sound she wants to hear for the rest of her life, but sadly, all of this excitement at once becomes too much too quickly, and her smile slightly fades while his head is turned.

She didn't have too much trouble with sound, so her anxiety heightened slightly when she became overwhelmed. A type of overwhelmed he could sense before he tried to lighten her mood. "No, I just catch them," He turns to reach into his bag, swiftly pulling his federal badge out and showing it to her.

She reads his badge quietly, "Doctor Spencer Reid." That's the first time she learns his name. A doctor working with the FBI. She reciprocates his actions and reaches into her pocket to pull out a card. On it, her name and medical license. "Doctor Y/N Y/L/N." A doctor working in a hospital.

"I'm in medicine. What about you?" Spencer clears his throat and holds up three fingers in one hand, clutching the card tightly in his other. "Chemistry, mathematics, and engineering." Her eyes widen, and her mouth forms a small 'o'; he just twists his face as if he was used to that answer.

And then, abnormally sudden, the rain started to let up, proving good things do happen in the absence of rain.

...

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Bloom // H.P.

Summary: Healing doesn't happen overnight. It’s a process that can take months, if not, years to come to terms with. It’s been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War. Harry finally feels ready to confront feelings that have long been sat, growing unattended in the recesses of his mind and soul.

A/N: This was inspired by the made-up fic title that I did a few weeks ago. I got so stuck on this, I couldn't get any further, but inspiration somewhat struck and here we are. I know this is long, but I am so so proud of this, I would love some interaction with this. Take a chance, please.

Warnings: feelings of sadness, grief, worthlessness, more visits to graveyards, talks of death. This sounds dark, and parts are, but there is so much fluff and comfort and pining in this.

Word count: 9.4k

Harry’s Flat, London, England, October.

For the fourth night this week, sleep evades him. Deciding to surrender this particular battle, Harry sits up in bed and reaches for his glasses on the bedside table.

With clearer vision, he turns to the digital clock next to where he places his glasses. He hangs his head in his hands when he reads the time. not even two hours of sleep before he awoke; his mind unwilling to alleviate him long enough for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.

He supposes it could be a good thing, or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he throws the covers off his body and swings his legs out of bed. As he sits on the edge of his bed, Harry gives himself a moment.

He gives himself only a single moment to give into the tidal wave threatening to drown him. A single moment simply to feel everything before he packs it all away into corresponding drawers in his mind.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he plods into the living room and through to the kitchen. As he boils the kettle, he thinks of you and your ingrained belief that everything can be put to rights over a cup of tea.

Settling in the living room, he grabs the remotes for the television. Turning it on, he switches the volume to mute, not wanting loud noises, but rather the comfort of monotonous moving pictures. Harry cannot tell what the programme is; a muggle show dedicated to archaeology, he thinks, but he pays it little mind.

He runs a hand down his face; feeling the tiredness deep within his bones. The insomnia had started in the months after the end of the war; beginning with repetitive nightmares in which he would suffer through the deaths of his friends countless times before being awoken by the sounds of his own screams. From there, it shifted into a fear of sleep, a terror of closing his eyes and seeing Hermione’s or Ron’s lifeless bodies. He knows – he knows they are alive and well, but the fear remains.

He wonders how long he’ll continue to feel like this should do nothing; how long he will deal with the sleepless nights and the nightmares that greet him when he does close his eyes.

However, as he watches the soundless pictures play on the television, he cannot help but feel an urge to get better. To do better and to be better in all that he does. At the age of eighteen, he defeated the darkest wizard to have ever walked the earth in the last century. At the age of twenty three, five years later, he feels close to laughter that he has let his life come to this.

But no-one warned him of the aftermath of the war. No-one readied him for the feelings of guilt that twists his stomach; leaving him unable to eat. No-one explained to him just how long the nightmares would last; seeing the faces of those that fell at the battle of Hogwarts and before as he tries and tries to dream of happy things.

Harry’s bottom lip begins to wobble. The tears won’t fall. It’s been years, Harry thinks, since he had cried in earnest.

As Harry sits on his couch for the fourth night that week, he readies himself to start putting his life back together again.

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, October.

The Burrow had always, to Harry at least, been a place full of happy memories. The home of the Weasley family physically exuded warmth and happiness. To put it bluntly, it was Harry’s safe haven; the place he could go where he would find no judgement for his state of sleeplessness or lack of appetite. He would catch Molly watching him worriedly, but she knew not to press, and for that, he was thankful. To appease her worries, or at least to lessen them slightly, he visits the Weasley matriarch once a week.

Immediately, Harry is wrapped up in hug after hug. Molly keeping her hands on Harry’s cheeks as she moves his head side to side, getting a good look at him. She clamps her lips together to keep the frown from forming on her face; worry rises in her gut, but she does not voice it.

The food cooking on the stove has Harry’s mouth watering as he walks through the kitchen to the large table in the dining area. There, he finds your eyes. They remain on the door as he walks through, as if you knew it wouldn’t be long before he entered.

“Mate,” Ron greets; pushing a drink into Harry’s hand. Harry nods at Ron, taking a swig of his drink before smiling at Hermione.

He moves to sit next to you; wanting nothing more than to sit by your side so he can tell his plan of which he came up with by himself. All around him conversation continues as if he had never walked in in the first place. He supposes that’s bit big-headed of him to think, but as he looks around those he classes as his family, he comes to realisation that they’ve all started to move on.

It hits him then and there; just how terrified he is of being left behind.

“How have you been?” You ask; voice gentle and caring as you lean into him.

Harry smiles at you; spooning vegetables onto his plate but feeling no pangs of hunger. “You just saw me last week,” Harry reminds in humour; his attempt at avoiding the twinges of fear ravaging his gut.

You roll your eyes, “That means it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. So, how have you been?”

Harry hears the meaning in your words; he hears the undercurrent of worry in your voice, and it only adds to the pit growing in his stomach. After his decision the other night, it was as if all the realisations hit him at once and he came to see just how much of a bad friend he had been to you all. He’d had been so caught up in his self-loathing that he failed to see just how much you were struggling with it all; he hadn’t even noticed that Ron and Hermione had also sought out help too.

Harry nods; reaching for his knife and fork, “I’ve been okay.”

Even he can hear the lie in his voice, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Thankfully, you don’t address it. You simply nod; patting his hand twice before turning your attention to your own meal.

Cutlery scrapes on plates as happy conversation lightens the atmosphere. It isn’t mentioned, but it is there – the absence of Fred’s laughter and his smile, the pointed comments, and his love for his mother. It is there, and it only adds to the guilt pooling in Harry’s stomach and invading his bloodstream.

It’s as if you sense it; as if you sense Harry starting to spiral, his thoughts turning to that dark place that he so often finds himself in. It’s as if you know; changing the hand in which your fork sits to free up your other hand so you can take Harry’s under the table and squeeze. A silent reminder if there is any.

I’m here, you remind him, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.

Harry squeezes back; unable to do or say anything else, meeting Arthur Weasley’s pained eyes from across the table, and beginning to wish that he had in fact done and said more.

At the age of eighteen years old, harry defeated the darkest wizard in a century. Yet, he had lost a friend he had classed as a brother, and now finds it hard to look Molly and Arthur in the eye.

There is a lapse in conversation and Harry slips his hand free of yours, needing to leave the room before the guilt he’s sitting in drowns him. He smiles apologetically at each Weasley, eyes lingering on the empty chair across from George and promptly leaves the room.

The night air is cold against Harry’s bare arms as he sits on one of the many benches littering the Weasley’s gardens. It’s so cold that his breath is coming out in white puffs, but he doesn’t feel the need to fetch his coat. In fact, he would rather feel the cold against his skin. It reminds him that he’s alive and that he’s breathing. It reminds him of those are who no longer living.

He stiffens at the sounds of footsteps behind him; his hand immediately reaching for his wand kept in his back pocket.

Harry relaxes somewhat when he realises it was you who followed him outside, and not Ron or Hermione. He doesn’t turn, but he smiles when he hears you swear quietly, having tripped on a rogue stone.

You sigh as you sit down on the bench next to him; rubbing at your sore knee.

“How are you not freezing?” You ask; rubbing at your clothed arms, not happy with the chill seeping through to your bones.

Harry releases a breath; it puffs white, “I don’t feel it.”

You raise an eyebrow; running a finger over his arm which is covered in goosebumps, “I beg to differ.”

Harry doesn’t reply; he flashes a smile your way before returning his attention to the night sky and all that he can see of what the Weasley’s own. For a few minutes, no words are spoken between you both. Sinking into a silence that could only be described as comfortable; he doesn’t feel the constant need to reassure you that he’s okay. You check in on him every now and then, but no true pestering takes place.

Truthfully, Harry basks in your attention. He rather likes the fact that you do make a fuss of him when you check in on him because he’s sure that without you, he would be doing a lot worse than the nightmares and insomnia.

Breaking the silence, you broach the subject of Harry’s health, “Harry, can I give you the name and number of my therapist? I’ve made real progress since working with her, and I think you will too.”

Harry smiles at you; feeling grateful for your help but feeling like an awful friend for shaking his head and declining your offer. “I just… I don’t feel ready yet to speak to someone.”

You nod your head, “I get that, but Harry, it’s been five years since the end of the war, and you know how I worry.”

He nods, letting the conversation collapse into nothing in front of him. This is the time, he realises, to tell you his plans for getting better that don’t involve divulging his deepest and darkest secrets to a stranger, even if they are a trained professional.

“I have a favour to ask you,” Harry prompts, “And I’ll understand if you say no.”

“If I can help you, Harry, I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t want to speak to anyone, not yet at least, but I do want to start moving on.”

“So what’s the favour?” You ask; your curiosity piqued with his mystery.

“I want to visit the places where things have happened, whether they’re good or bad. I want to go back, and I want to see them in a different light.”

“That,” You pause; thinking of your next words, “That sounds like a really good idea, Harry. Where do I come into it though?”

Harry smiles at you sheepishly; running a hand through his forever messy hair. “I want you to come with me,” He states as plain as day.

“What?”

“I’d like for you to come with me,” Harry amends, “I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“What about Ron or Hermione? I’m sure they would help.”

Harry shakes his head, “They’re both so busy, and they’re starting their lives together. I don’t want to dredge up bad memories for either of them if I can help it.”

You sigh, picking at an invisible thread on your sleeve, “How were you thinking of doing this? I have to work too, you know. Not everyone can inherit a fortune, Potter.”

Harry blinks, letting your words settle before a small smile breaks across his face, “You’d come with me?”

“Harry,” You start, “I don’t think there was any chance of me saying no to you. If I can help you in any way, I can. I’m always here for you.”

The familiar burn of tears starts at the back of his throat. Harry has to avert his eyes; glancing up at the night sky as he swallows past the lump in his throat. He should have known you would say yes; you’ve been by his side for everything since Third Year, but the small voice in the back of his mind had him doubting whether you would.

“Thank you,” He whispers eventually.

“So,” You begin, “Where too first?”

Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, November.

Upon the untimely death of Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been passed down to Harry through Sirius’ will. Sirius had no children for the house to go to, but Harry was as good as.

Standing on a residential street in Islington, you watched as the house appeared as if from nowhere. Appearing amongst number eleven and number thirteen as if it had always been there; as if it was part of the furniture at this point.

Thick dust covers each and every surface. Simply opening the door sends a cloud of dust into your face; leaving you coughing and sneezing as Harry battles the enchantments placed upon the home after the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Turning your gaze to Harry, you could remember the last time you had stepped foot in the ancestral home of the house of Black. It hadn’t been long after Sirius’ death; Harry’s gut-wrenching screams still echoing in your ears as you had bundled him up in any blankets you could find and sat him down at the kitchen table.

He hadn’t spoken much; he hadn’t even cried. Instead, his face set in steely determination, his desperate need to avenger his godfather overriding any common sense. That night, instead of comforting him and drying his eyes, it had been argument after argument, trying to make Harry see sense.

It took hours; the both of you tired not only from the arguing but from the grief sitting on your shoulders. It took hours, but Harry eventually agreed with you, choosing to sit back and wait for the right moment instead of lunging headfirst into attack that would surely get him killed.

Memory after memory washes over you, dragging you into its grips. If the memories are this strong for you, it was not hard to imagine how it must be for Harry.

You focus your attention on him, watching him warily as he wanders further down the hallway, heading for the kitchen where you still expect to hear Sirius’ raucous laugh despite years having passed since his death.

“How are you feeling?” You ask; running a finger across the now clean surface of the kitchen table.

Harry releases a shuddering breath. “I thought,” He starts, “I thought by coming here it would help me come to terms with Sirius and what happened in the Department of Mysteries but being here simply makes me hate his family more.”

“What makes you say that?”

Harry gestures to the large room. “He hated being here. He despised being locked up in the house that he left at sixteen, but he wanted to help the Order, so he stayed here and let it be used as the headquarters.”

“That… That is a very noble thing to do,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the man in front of you, taking in his tight fists and clenched jaw.  

Harry laughs without humour, “The noble house of Black.”

Silence lapses and the tension in the room only increases. Biting your lip, you can only think that this was the wrong thing to do, that this is only pushing Harry further away instead of helping him come to terms with the last years of his life.

“We can leave, Harry,” You remind him, “We can leave right now and do this another day, when you’re more ready.”

He shakes his head, shaking himself out of his funk but also steadfastly refusing to go. He’s made this far; he’ll see it through to the end. He throws you a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes and your heart cracks a little.

Holding a hand out to you, Harry states, “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

The room he enters is one he has told you about countless times; describing it with so much detail that as you enter the room behind him you feel as if you’ve already been inside.

It cannot be denied that the tapestry is nothing short of piece of art. It cannot be ignored that the depth of detail to the Black family tree is not breathtaking, but at the same time it is so utterly heartbreaking to see the scorch marks litter the walls. The consequence of turning against one’s own family, you think as you step further into the room, taking in its beauty but also its darkness.

“The noble house of Black,” Harry spits, gesturing to four walls, pointing at each scorch mark before settling on the one that once showed the portrait of his beloved godfather.

“He got out,” He states brokenly, “He left his blood family to live with his found family. He had a life ahead of him. He had my father, he had Remus. He had his family, and it was all taken away in one night. In one night, Sirius lost his best friend and then his freedom.

“And all I feel when I think about Sirius is anger. At how he was treated. He was good, (Y/N),” Harry states, his tone pleading, full of emotion, “He was good, and he was treated like shit. His real family didn’t care but his found family did and then he lost all of it.”

“He found you, Harry,” You remind him, “Sirius found you. You didn’t have half as long with him than what you should have, but he made sure to be involved in your life. After the Triwizard Tournament and you had come back with Cedric, Sirius would not leave your side in the hospital. I remember seeing him every morning and he would stay every night. He loved you, Harry – remember that.”

“And what did I do?” Harry laughs, “I got him killed. Some godson I am.”

“Harry, you are not to blame for Sirius’ death.”

He scoffs, disbelief and derision echoing off the walls. You stalk over the green eyed man, your determination growing with every step. You grab his face in both your hands, bringing his face to your level, “Listen to me, Potter. Are you listening?”

He nods, eyes wide and voice silent.

“Good,” You smirk before turning serious. “You are not to blame for Sirius’ death. He knew what was happening in the Department of Mysteries. He knew that there was a chance he was not going to come out of there alive and he still went in to find you, to protect you.”

“If I had paid more attention to what Voldemort showed me though… I could have figured out it was fake…”

You shake your head, “You were a sixteen year old boy, barely trained in occlumency and legilimency. You weren’t to know that what you had seen was fake. All you saw, Harry, was someone you care about being tortured. You acted on instinct.”

“Foolish instinct,” He argues.

You roll your eyes, “Not foolish at all. More brave than foolish.”

Harry remains silent; letting your words sink into his skin, binding them to his bones. It isn’t going to be as simple as one speech and all is forgiven, it is going to take time to forgive himself for the death of his godfather. There is always going to be an element of himself that believes strongly that he was the cause of Sirius’ death; if he hadn’t acted so rashly, if he had stopped to think things through, to go over exactly what Voldemort had shown him, Harry might have been able to delay Sirius’ death.

If, if, if.

If, if, if. He repeats that word; hindsight is a wonderful thing. If he had done this, if he had done that. Hindsight was going to be the death of him.

Harry focuses his attention back on you and the warmth of your hands on either side of his face. Gently, Harry places his hands on top of yours, “Can you let go of me now?”

You smile before pursing your lips, pretending to think through the answer. “I don’t know,” You ponder, “Are you going to continue to argue with me?”

“Probably,” Harry admits, “But I’m ready to go now.”

Harry lets his hands drop from yours, his eyes running over your face before stepping back. Your hands drop to your sides, clenching as if they wished to be touching him some more. His face feels cold now that you’ve let him go, as if all the warmth his body carried was in your hands.

“Do you think you’ll come back?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

Harry pauses, closing the door to the Black family tree behind him. He looks up and down the hallway; thinking of the memories he has cherished over the years. He had Sirius in his life for far shorted than he deserved, but he had Grimmauld Place to help him discover the man he idolised.

Meeting your stare, he nods. “I think I will eventually.”

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scottish Highlands, December.

It didn’t matter how long it had been since your last visit; it didn’t matter how long it had been since you roamed the corridors of the place you once considered your second home, seeing Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry rise out of the Scottish Highlands would never be something you could get used to.

From your spot in Hogsmeade, you can just make out the turrets of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Slight unease spreads through your chest as you think back to the last time you had been at the school; still a student, hurling curses and jinxes at any Death Eater that happened by you.

Reflexively, you curl your hands into fists, your fingernails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. You gasp slightly as the pain; your mind becoming clearer and your focus becoming sharper. Harry’s hand takes yours; unfurling your fingers and replacing them with him, tangling your hands together.

“(Y/N), are you okay?”

You take a deep breath; mentally working through the exercises given to you by your therapist,. Shakily, you smile at Harry, “I’m okay, Harry, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

His eyebrows furrow as he squeezes your hand. “I’ll always worry about you,” He says gently before continuing, “I’ll be okay though. I have you.”

You smile weakly; letting yourself be led through the well-worn path from Hogsmeade to the school. Small conversation is made; Harry bringing up happier memories of your education at the magical castle. The time when Ron received a Howler from his mother; the time when Hermione punched Draco Malfoy in the face.

Happier times now turned to memories; each one tinted with age.

Hogwarts soon looms in front of you both. Harry’s hand tightens on yours, fingers squeezing to the point of cutting off blood flow as he leads you into the grounds of the school.

It feels like coming home, but it also feels like facing your worst enemy. The Battle of Hogwarts had been hard on everyone who found themselves there; it had been hard for students and teachers. You would never forget the screams and the sound of breaking stone. It would be a long while until the sight of dead bodies could be scrubbed from your mind.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greets from the stairs; voice warm and fond, “To what do we the pleasure of this visit with Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“I was hoping to walk the school and its grounds for a bit, Professor. If you don’t mind, that is. I’m trying to get better,” Harry states; sincerity ringing in his voice so much so that even McGonagall looked to be taken aback by his words.

She nods; finding her voice but needing to clear her throat first of all the emotion he had brought up, “Of course, Potter. Take as long as you need.”

Harry smiles at the beloved Professor gratefully, stretching out a hand towards you. You take it, resisting the urge to tangle your fingers together as Harry leads you to the Great Hall. “Where do you want to start?” You ask; eyes scanning the familiar walls, lingering on the Gryffindor table.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits, sounding lost as his eyes dance around the repaired room.

“It’s strange for me too,” You whisper, voice loud in the cavernous hall.

“It was entirely destroyed,” Harry recalls, sweeping his gaze over the large wall of windows by the Ravenclaw table.

You hope up on the closest table, crossing your legs as you watch Harry work through it all in his mind. He hadn’t been in the hall too long, but even that was long enough to have to branded into your memories.

“The tables were pushed back against the wall,” He states, gesturing to both walls before sweeping his hands above the floor, “And bodies were laid out on the floor, resting on blankets and towels,” Harry turns towards the staff table, pointing to a flagstone just in front of it, “That was where Fred laid – Molly and George crying over his body,” Harry spins, his finger now pointing back in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, “Remus and Tonks rested there. Teddy, my Godson, now an orphan… like me.”

“So many lives lost,” He whispers brokenly; eyes lined with tears that won’t fall, no matter how sad or broken he feels.

You slip off the table, going to his side and clutching his hand. “We lost a lot that day,” You whisper, “There isn’t a person here who doesn’t feel that same loss, Harry.”

“I was terrified of finding you laid out in the Great Hall,” Harry admits though not for his own good; he’s coming too close to admitting his feelings for you, but this is something he had never told a living soul, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to tell you.

“What?” You ask, all thoughts emptying out of your head as you focus on Harry entirely.

“I was terrified of finding you in the Great Hall. I was so scared that I even hesitated at the door, wondering whether to walk in or walk away. I have dealt with a lot, and will continue to deal with a lot, but if there is one thing I cannot cope with the idea of, it is you hurt or worse,” He takes a deep breath, “The Battle of Hogwarts brought that out of me.”

“I’m here, Harry,” You reassure, “I’m here and I’m whole.”

“I know that now, but then I didn’t and even thinking of it drives me close to madness.”

“I wouldn’t leave without saying anything,” You laugh, “You know that Harry.”

Harry laughs, but there’s no heart to it. “I have you now, that’s something.”

Your heart skips a beat; thudding in your chest so loud you believe that it is entirely possible that Harry could hear it pounding away in your chest. You lean in, hiding your face in Harry’s shoulder – a rare moment of tenderness from both of you. Harry’s hand slips from yours to wrap around your waist, holding you to his body.

Hiding your smile in Harry’s shoulder, you murmur as loud as you dare, “You have me now, Harry. You have me forever.”

Neither of you make it further around the grounds of the castle; sticking to its interiors, wandering the corridors when students are firmly placed in classrooms, not wanting to be a distraction to their education.

Harry’s words continue to play through your mind; how he would not be able to cope if he lost you too. It makes this all more important for you, helping him come to terms with what he has experienced in such a short amount of time.

However, a small part of you rejoices in his admission, the words echoing in your head with a hint of hope. A hope that Harry may feel the same as you after all.

Hogwarts is left with a wave to McGonagall and a promise to write soon. Harry’s muscles relax the further he gets from the castle; the tension leeching away as he breathes in fresh air and Hogsmeade comes into view. He adored Hogwarts; it was his home, but he had to admit that it would be a while before he could face the whole castle without wanting to scream at the walls.

It’s a start however, Harry thinks as he grabs your hands and apparates the two of you back to his flat. It’s a start, he thinks, and now for the rest of it.

Little Hangleton, England, January.

Little Hangleton resides six miles from its paired village Great Hangleton. Little Hangleton was very much a village that was powered through gossip; the rumour mill only grew upon the deaths of the Riddle family. By the time an arrest had been made, the town had become judge, jury and executioner – sentencing poor Frank Bryce to a life of social exclusion even after being proven innocent.

Little Hangleton is made up of one main high street; five or six shops with a pub near the middle. It has a small village green where the local cricket team likes to practice every Saturday morning. It isn’t an extraordinary village; plain in comparison to other dwellings, but it’s history with the Riddle family would go down in wizarding lore until the end of days.

Harry continues to hold onto your hand long after you apparate into the village, landing in side street rather than in the high street as not to attract too much attention from the villagers. You refuse to be the first to let go; admitting to yourself that you rather like the way his hands fits in yours, how it feels like a steady anchor holding you in place.

Taking one look at the dark haired man next to you, you knew in your gut that this was going to be a hard day for him. Harry doesn’t talk about his nightmares often, but form what he has told you, this picturesque village features enough that you can see the tension line Harry’s jawline.

Nudging his shoulder, you smile softly, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry’s hand tightens on yours. He doesn’t reply verbally; nods his head and focuses on finding his destination. He can’t verbalise his gratefulness; he cannot put it into words just what this means to him because Harry is fairly certain there are no words to cover the scope of what he feels for you in this very moment.

He knew he was asking a lot of you to keep doing this; to visit these places and relive his darkest times with him. He knew it affected you more than you admitted, but he still was selfishly grateful you choose to come every time.

He thinks that he wouldn’t have been as half as productive with his feelings if it wasn’t for you. Harry’s feelings for you only having grown through these visits; he remains in awe of you, as he always has been, but now he can no longer deny himself the depth of his love for you. To deny himself that would be a grievous crime.

However, even Harry is aware that he is nowhere ready to confront the idea of a relationship. In the last few months, he has only been able to accept that Sirius’ death and your injuries at the Battle of Hogwarts were not his fault.

He has to keep working on himself; he has to keep healing so he can be worthy of a love like his parents had.

So for now, Harry is more than content to hold your hand with each apparition, to savour the way your hand fits in his perfectly and how each squeeze of your fingers sets his heart racing.

For now, Harry is happy to remain in the throes of puppy love, but still eager for the day when he can proclaim his love for you in the hopes that you feel the same.

Such thoughts are thrown out of his head when his eyes catch the sign for graveyard. His steps falter, before coming to a brief stop by the sign. Your free hand touches his arm and Harry turns to you, seeing the question reflected in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” He asks, voicing the unspoken question.

You nod, “Ready when you are.”

The graveyard looks just as it did all those years ago; dark and miserable.

You shiver as Harry pushes open the creaky metal gate. He holds the gate open for you out of politeness, but he does not return your smile of gratitude. Harry keeps his facial expression neutral as he turns to face the memories that still plague him all these years later.

His eyes run over the gravestones as he puts one wary foot in front of the other. You follow behind him timidly, footsteps slower as you too read over the names written in marble, granite, limestone.

It doesn’t take long to find the place. Harry’s feet take him there automatically despite the fact that the last time he was here, he had been apparated in and did not walk out.

The Reaper stands proudly among the gravestones; his scythe crossed against his body in readiness. Harry stills, coming to a stop in front of it. He tilts his face; staring into the faceless stone hood of the figure that had him trapped like prey all those years ago.

Harry doesn’t turn from the figure as he points directly behind him. “That is where he killed Cedric,” He states bluntly, hearing the thud the Hufflepuff’s body made as he landed lifeless at Harry’s side.

Your eyes leave Harry; body tensing as you make eye contact with the patch of grass that would be the last thing to touch Cedric’s body.

Harry finally turns; gaining control of the anger and upset that had been raging in his body since landing at the graveyard gates. He needs to approach this carefully; he needs to approach all of this carefully, so he doesn’t fall back into the dark pit he found himself in months ago.

Harry gestures to the centre of the small copse and then to the Reaper, “That is where I had to watch as Voldemort rose again.”

“Oh Harry…” You whisper, voice breaking as you say his name.

Harry’s eyes shutter closed, and his bottom lip begins to wobble. He had been fourteen years old; he had not had his first kiss and yet, he had to duel the darkest wizard to have been produced in a century.

“I thought I was going to die that night,” He confesses after a moment; opening his eyes to once again focus on the faceless depiction of Death himself. “I thought I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

Resolve steels your nerves and once again, your feet find their way to Harry.

“You did make it out, Harry. You made it out alive.”

“Two of us went in, (Y/N).”

“It can’t be ignored,” You start, “Cedric’s death was an utter tragedy; completely unexpected and blindsided everyone in the school, but you cannot blame yourself for this, Harry. Cedric died at the hands of a madman – not you.”

“I could have done something!” He screams, finally losing all grip on his temper, “I should have done something. Instead, as Wormtail murdered Cedric, all I did was shout his name as if it was going to help. I did nothing, I as good as murdered him.”

Breath leaves your body in one fell swoop; you had never seen Harry like this. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration as he tries to get a hold on his temper, reigning it in. You remain silent as Harry works to control himself; you watch him pace the small copse, flattening the green grass under his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, breaking the silence, “I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

“Harry,” You sigh, “I am more than capable of handling you shouting at me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong though, and I just take everything out on you.”

You laugh, short and sweet, “I think this is the first time you’ve ever shouted at me, Potter.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I try not to make a habit of shouting at my friends,” Harry states, throwing you a look that states the obvious.

Wringing your hands together, you brace yourself for your next words. Meeting Harry’s stare, fixing your gaze on him, you politely demand, “Tell me more about that night, Harry.”

So he does.

It comes rushing out of him in a torrent; words flying so fast that his speech gets muddled up and he sometimes has to say his sentences again. For so long he has been holding this in; there are very few people who know what happened that night in this very graveyard and out of those, many are dead or imprisoned so Harry has been left to deal with the pain.

It feels like a confession. It feels as if he is seeking forgiveness from his crimes; seeking repentance from a priest of his choosing because he needs to get it out, he needs to know whether penance is possible for the sins committed that night.

Harry feels as if a weight is being lifted off his chest as he tells you about duelling Voldemort and the spell that had taken place beforehand. Harry seeks solace in your comforting gaze and reassuring smile as his voice breaks when he speaks of his parents, not having seen them in any physical form since that night with the Mirror of Erised.

Once he starts, he finds it hard to stop. He stutters over his feelings over Cedric’s death, pausing once in a while to let you interject a thought and for the first time since starting this exercise, since asking you to come along with him, Harry feels as if it is starting to work.

Eventually, his voice falls quiet as does his mind.

“How do you feel?” You ask; an expected question that accompanies each location visited.

Harry nods, “Better. Happy to have finally said what happened that night.”

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell you.”

“I trust you with my life,” He states honestly and plainly.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze to wander across the dark graveyard once more before finally turning to face Harry. “Are you ready?”

Harry nods: more than happy to leave this place and never return. What happened in Little Hangleton will always remain a heartbreaking tragedy; a life cruelly taken before it even got the chance to begin. The village would always be stained with such misfortune, but now, Harry feels that part of his life come to a close.  

As Harry reaches for your hand, readying himself to apparate you back to your flat, his heart soars at the words you utter with conviction.

“You’re a good man, Harry.”

--------

Landing back at his flat, Harry takes a seat on his couch and hangs in his head in his hands. He had dropped you off at your flat; needing to be alone to deal with the emotions that had been threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. Whilst Harry had accepted that he played no part in Cedric’s death, he still had to confront the magnitude of what had happened to himself.

It hits him all at once; the scale of what he had been through throughout his education. From the ages of eleven to eighteen, Harry hadn’t seen a school year through without injury or battle. It’s as he sits there that he realises the extent to which he was used by the headmaster he looked up to; used as a pawn to further the game of chess being played by Dumbledore and Voldemort.

The waves never cease; his parents, Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, and Cedric.

No tears fall; he isn’t sure he has the capacity to cry anymore. Tears haven’t fallen since they fell out relief for the end of the war, but out of sadness for the deaths of Fred, Remus, and Tonks.

Sitting on his couch, shivers overtake his body. His teeth chattering as he reaches for the blanket kept across the back of his couch, wrapping it around his shoulders. Harry bites back the scream that is slowly crawling up his throat; he pushes it down as he fights for control of his mind.

Collecting his thoughts, Harry comes to a conclusion.

He needs to return to where it all began.

Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, March.

Spring blooms real and true, and Harry feels ready enough to return to Godric’s Hollow. Harry could count on one hand how many times he has stepped foot in the village his parents once called home. He had been born in Godric’s Hollow; at the end of July to two loving parents who adored him just as much as they adored each other.

Out of respect for James and Lily Potter – murdered at the age of twenty-one – the house in which they lived had never been repaired. The thatched roof remains caved in; a large hole in the middle of it, letting the elements now batter the house.

It had been twenty-two years since Harry had stepped foot inside the house he was born in. It had been five years since he stood outside of it with Hermione; only beginning to feel the grief for the parents he never truly knew.

It was this that had plagued Harry from the moment he turned eleven and arrived at Hogwarts. How does he grieve for those he never truly knew?

As crass as it is to say, Harry didn’t know his parents outside his need for food, comfort, and love. The memories of his mother and father are so clouded; he can no longer tell whether they are his own or whether he’s simply simulated a story told to him by family friends.

He was fifteen months old when they were murdered. He was fifteen months old and barely aware of his own shadow.

Whilst he hadn’t visited the house much – it being too painful to see the sight of his parent’s murder – he had visited their graves in the years that have passed.

With you in tow, Harry leads you down the worn, familiar path. He slows his pace every now and then; warning you of an upcoming dip that may make you lose your balance.

All too soon, however, you stand in front of the grave of James and Lily Potter.

Quietly, he asks, “How do I grieve my parents when I never knew them?”

Your heart breaks for him; unable to stop yourself, you wrap an arm around his waist offering any form of comfort you can. Shakily, you answer, “I guess you can mourn what could have been or you grieve the fact that they were so young. Either way, Harry, they’re never going to leave you.”

“I know that,” He whispers; gaze fixed on the grave of his parents, “All I know of them is what I’ve been told. I feel as if my memories have been tainted, and I know that they all mean well, but sometimes-”

He cuts himself off with a huff; kneeling down and drawing out his wand. Silently, Harry conjures a bouquet of Orchids, Chrysanthemums and Lilies and then bows his head in silent prayer, continuing to grieve the parents he would never know.

You place your hand on his shoulder, “Sometimes you what, Harry?”

He sighs, “Sometimes I wish they would stop. I was so young when they died – any memories I have of them are practically gone but sometimes I have these flashes. I have no idea whether they’re real or not, but I feel as if they are. Yet, when friends tell me stories of what it was like to go to school with them or to fight alongside them, it’s like they’re pushing they’re version of James and Lily Potter onto me. Does that make sense?”

Squeezing his shoulder, you answer, “It makes perfect sense. The James and Lily you knew is different from what Sirius knew or what McGonagall knew.”

“I just worry that the more stories I hear, the quicker I lose what I know of them.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Harry.”

“You don’t?” He asks, shifting to his feet and facing you.

You shake your head, “I don’t. I think you’re going to remember your parents for the rest of your life; their morals and values make up yours, Harry. You might not think, but you are a lot more like them than you realise.”

Harry bows his head, feeling the familiar burn of tears at the back of his throat. He clamps his mouth shut, begging the feeling to go away. Quietly, almost ashamedly, Harry asks, “Do you think they would be proud of me?”

Then and there, your heart breaks, cleaving itself in two for the man standing before you. It’s the only dream of a child; to make their parents proud, but what about children who do not have parents – who grew up in a home that did not cherish them like it should have?

Silver lines your eyes; tears threatening to make an appearance as you reach for Harry’s hands, pulling him into a hug. Against his shoulder, you state with conviction, “They would be extremely proud of you, Harry. So proud of you it would shine out of them.”

Harry sniffles; ducking down somewhat to tuck his head against your neck, hiding his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. From the outside, it looks as if two lovers are embracing, unable to keep their hands off the other for too long. However, you know that Harry is trying his best to maintain his composure, to try and gets to grips with the emotions that follow never knowing the ones who were supposed to raise you.

Minutes pass and neither of you move; neither of you willing to be the one to break this moment, but for the day to progress, you need to step away from the only man you have ever loved.

Releasing Harry, you send what you hope is a reassuring smile in his direction, “Come on, Harry,” You prompt, “Show me the rest of Godric’s Hollow?”

Framing it as a question, you offer Harry the choice. He is in control of this moment; h can choose whether he shows you the rest of the wizarding village or whether the two of you apparate back to his flat and spend the rest of the day mooching about.

Harry smiles: it’s watery, but fixed as he nods, stepping around you to lead you out of the graveyard.

Hands brush every now and then as the both of you wander back to the high street. A simple brush of hands, a simple twitch of fingers and your heart would start to race, practically shouting for Harry to take your hand and tangle your fingers together.

“I think I’m going to live here,” Harry murmurs; eyes scanning the high street.

“Are you sure?” You ask; worried not only for the fact that you may miss him while you remain in London, but also for any potential setback this may cause him.

Harry nods; his eyes now focused on a small café straight across the road from where you stand. He gestures towards it with an open hand, “Let me explain over some food.”

The bell above the door tinkles as you follow Harry inside. He chooses a table on the left hand side of the shop; sitting at the seat that faces the window and the door. It’s with stark realisation that you come to see that he’s chosen this exact spot so he can have eyes on each entrance and exit point.

You sigh as you sit across from him; old habits die hard, you guess.

Menus are placed in front of you by a teenaged witch looking as if she would rather be anywhere else but here. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in Harry’s form; the menu in her hand shaking as she places it down before him.

You bite your lip to repress the ever-growing smile on your face as you watch the waitress grow flustered under Harry’s smile and green eyes. She walks away in a daze after having taken your drink orders – coffee for Harry, Yorkshire Tea for you.

You shake your head fondly at the young witches departing figure; noting how she bumps into numerous tables before making it safely to the kitchen. Harry follows your gaze, wanting to know what’s taken your attention from him, “What is it?”

You shift your gaze back to the wizard, “You still don’t see the effect you have on people, do you?”

Harry frowns; his hand reaching up to touch his forehead self-consciously. He had grown his hair longer in order to cover the scar that mars the centre of his forehead; his black hair now fell around his head in curls he didn’t know he had until you had found an old picture of his father. The glasses and the curls along with the smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts; he was the spit image of his father.

“Not your scar, Harry, nor your name. I meant how you look; you have to know you’re handsome.”

Blush paints Harry’s cheeks as your words settle. The last thing he expected from today was to be told he was attractive; least of all, from you. He’s never had the chance before; to act upon his feelings for you. He realised just what he felt for you at the end of Sixth Year, and then the war happened, and he absolutely refused to let anything happen to you. He couldn’t tell you his feelings for you should it put a target on your back, and if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself.

He laughs, shaking his head, “You’re a flatterer.”

You hold your hands up in playful surrender, “Only speaking the truth. You’ll see it one day.”

“One day,” He promises; eyes earnest as they gaze into yours.

It’s too much; just like that, it’s too much and you have to avert your stare before you end up blurting your inner most thoughts and scaring him away for good. Clearing your throat, you wait for the teenage waitress to place your drinks in front of you before you change the subject, “Why do you want to move here?”

Harry shrugs, picking up his coffee and taking a long drink, thinking over his words. “I think,” He begins, “I want to be close to them, but I also want to start carving out my life properly and this place is so peaceful. It’s so peaceful and it’s beautiful. I think it’s one of those places that if I don’t move here now, I’ll still move later on.”

You nod, “I get that. It is gorgeous here.”

Harry hums, “I’d still be in London every week.”

“You’d commute?” You ask, puzzled in terms of train schedules.

Harry barks out a laugh that turns into silent shaking of his shoulders as the teenage waitress returns, her pad in hand as she waits for your food order. Harry continues to repress his laughter throughout his order. As the waitress walks away, you fix Harry with an unimpressed stare. “Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

Harry smiles at you; as in, he really smiles at you. He beams as he whispers somewhat in awe, “I love you. You’re one of the smartest witches I know, and you still forget about the fact that we can apparate.”

You reel back in your chair, knees knocking into the table as the air leaves your body in a single breath. “What? What did you say first?”

Harry’s smile, if possible, grows as he shrugs his shoulders, “I love you.”

“Since when?” You demand, wondering how on earth he could discuss something as important as this as nonchalantly as one would discuss the weather.

“Sixth Year,” He confesses, blush beginning to paint his cheeks.

“That long?” You ask, voice hushed, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Harry finally frowns, finger tracing the lip of his coffee cup, “There was a war, and then I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”

Of course he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to confess his love for you, you admonish yourself. He had defeated the Dark lord and then had to cope with the survival guilt for years. It had only been in the last year that he finally let himself let go of the guilt surrounding the casualties of war.

“I love you too,” You admit, chewing on the inside of your cheek from nerves.

“You do?” Harry asks, about as breathless as you were when he confessed only moments ago.

“I do,” You confirm, smiling.

It isn’t much in the way of confessions, but the look on Harry’s face says it all. His green eyes remain bright and the smile wide on his face even as the waitress returns with your food. He looks as if no wrong could be done in that moment; the food could be the worst he has ever eaten but it wouldn’t matter.

You love him.

You love him as he loves you, and suddenly it all makes sense. His motivations through the war; not only wanting to rid the world of Voldemort but wanting to secure a safe future in which he can love you.

The food is eaten quickly; the both of you rushing to make it outside where you can talk more, and in private.

The bill is paid. The waitress wanders back to the till; stunned at the sight of Harry’s smile – and you couldn’t blame her.

Harry stands from his seat, reaching for his jacket and waiting patiently for you. Electricity thrums between you; holding promises of more to come, the headiness of it having you gripping the table tightly as you rise to your feet. One look at Harry’s face and you know he’s feeling it too.

Pausing outside the small café, you hold your hand out for Harry to take.

A soft breeze blows through Godric’s Hollow, disturbing your hair and the trees around you. Harry holds onto your hand tightly as the both of you begin to wander down the high street; the blossoms of the trees fluttering around you as they fall to the floor. Harry inhales deeply; the floral of the blossoms mixed with the sweetness of your perfume providing the perfect backdrop to his future.

Harry’s Flat, London, England, September.

Healing is a process. It is neither quick nor slow; it follows its own pace.

Through this process, Harry has realised that he is in fact getting better. He has his bad days; days where he seldom leaves his bedroom and refuses to stare at anything but the wall.

However, those days are becoming scarcer. Harry can sometimes go weeks before he has an episode that leaves him bedbound, and for that, he is proud of himself.

He doesn’t do it alone; he has you by his side through it all as you both prepare for the move to Godric’s Hollow. For both the good and the bad days.

********

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[sugako]

sweetness

osamu xf!baker!reader sum: your unrequited crush on the man you sell to is weighing heavily on you until one little party later it isn’t an issue cw: 18+ minors dni, a lil fluff, a lil angst (reader is sad bc they don't think samu feels the same), mentions of drinking/alcohol/party (no one is drunk during), kinda confessions, first time with each other, nipple play, oral (receiving) wc: 3.5k a/n: hi !! uhh i have had this is drafts for months bc i struggled to post it and idk why,, it's def a little longer than usual and little more plot-heavy(ish) but i hope you all enjoy pussy king samu <3

It felt as though you were admiring him from a distance even when he was standing right beside you.

The afternoon that the owner of Onigiri Miya had called up your small bakery to partner with his business you had been overjoyed. Honestly, you were still happy, it was just tinged by something deeper or different now. You were certainly still happy to sell your goods through the business, but your feelings had really gotten the better of you.

The day, actually the moment you met Osamu you told yourself to get over the petty crush you had developed within minutes of meeting him. His big, tall frame made you feel as though he could wrap his arms around you and everything would be okay. His pretty, steely eyes and soft features relaxed you, made you feel at home.

A week later you were groaning into your pillow when he texted a simple, polite compliment about your baked goods. Desperately, you hoped that the fuzzy feeling would melt away any day now.

Every single time you had to see him again and again to drop off your bi-weekly delivery, the feelings didn’t fade. If anything they grew stronger. The quick, comfortable banter you shared made your chest fill with molten gold that always seemed to harden into a tough little peach pit, strangling the words from your throat whenever you got back into your car.

A month later you were crying to yourself at 2 AM about how you couldn’t get over him even though you hadn’t even been close to a relationship. It was impossible. How were you supposed to get closure from someone you were merely business partners with.

You cursed the way your heart sped up when you got a new text from him. Over and over again you had to remind yourself that it was purely business.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Hi, do you want to swing by tomorrow? Lunch is on me

Fingers swiped over the keyboard, groaning as you asked what you should bring for the restock, not realizing it had been two weeks already.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Everything is selling fast, but I won’t need anything for a bit, just wanted to chat not about business

Without hesitation you agreed. Even if you were sure he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep up a personal relationship with a business. The fact that he had texted you deep into the night without prompt didn’t make it into your busy mind.

Those two little texts were how you found yourself taking a deep breath outside the Onigiri Miya a little after the lunch rush. You stepped into the nearly empty building, immediately greeted by Osamu’s soft, low voice.

“I have to run to the back, but I put a plate for you out.” He calls, disappearing just as the door closes behind you.

It’s painful to admit how your heart swells at the gesture. Your favorite onigiri of his is neatly plated in front of a corner seat at the bar. The two other people on the opposite side of the store are quietly chatting, paying no mind while you settle into your seat. Before you can take a bite he’s bustling back in.

“Sorry ‘bout that, got a call.” He says, leaning over the counter in front of you. The way his broad chest is squished by his shoulders.

“No worries.” You say just before biting into the food. He snatches one of the rice balls from your plate, but your mouth is too full and you’re too grateful to protest. “So,” you begin after you swallow, “what did you want to talk about?”

You can’t tell whether the air is thick with awkward tension or if it’s just you.

“I mean, obviously not business.” As you speak, a strangled, little chuckled forces its way out of the back of your throat, but you take another bite of food before it gets out of hand.

He’s silent for a moment, slowly chewing his food. Maybe savoring it or maybe thinking, you can’t quite tell which.

“Can you take nights off from the bakery? I remember you saying ya do a lot of baking and prepping at night.” His expression is impossible to read and you want to tell him that this is, at least for you, business talk, but you hold back and simply answer the question.

“Well, yeah, if I needed to. Uh, why?” You catch how his shoulders tense and lower, his eyes shifting across the windows in the front. Unfortunately, his own anxiety does very little to quell any of your own.

“My brother is having a party and I’m… obligated to go, but I won’t know many people there, they’ll all be his teammates, so I was wondering if you would like to go with me? If you don’t have a… I mean, if you don’t have any plans.” His expression remains still, but there’s a small flush in his cheeks that you catch on immediately. Something in your heart softens with hope.

“You’re twin volleyball brother?” You ask, biting back a smile. “Also, you’ll have to tell me what time the party is and then I’ll let you know if I have plans, but I’m probably free.”

The flush deepens as he recognizes his mistake and slowly blinks, shaking his head. “Yes, ‘Tsumu, the volleyball brother. And the party is next Friday. Around nine.”

Within the limited time you’d spent with him he’d told you about his brother and his old friends. Confidence growing, but not quite steady, you uneasily treaded into your next words.

“Yeah, I’m not working next Friday actually, so that sounds good. Should I text you for the address or…?”

“Meet me here, I can take you. Best to take the train, but it’ll be easier if we go together.”

Deep in the center of the city, standing close enough to smell the soft fragrance of cologne, you still weren’t sure how easily you had ended up here at the house party filled with strangers hosted by your customer’s pro athlete brother. It was a little much to think about if you took too much pause. Before you could slip into your own brain too much your cheek smushed into the thick muscle of Osamu’s solid back that had suddenly stopped moving, and as you sputtered out an apology the door swung open without him even knocking.

“Hey! Did you really not a-” The blonde mirror image of the man standing directly in front of you eats whatever words are about to spill out of his mouth when he notices you peeking out from beside Osamu. Realizing how ridiculously childish you must look tucked away behind him, you clear your throat and step out so you’re by his side instead.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You say politely, extending a hand for him to shake. Atsumu’s eyes flit between you and his brother, not bothering to hide a smirk.

“Oh, I know.” He finally says when he takes your hand. Out of sheer embarrassment or maybe anxiety, you feel pricks of heat chase out to your fingertips. The sensation is only compounded by Osamu’s feather-light touch that grazes the small of your back as he tries to lead you past his brother.

“Really,” you start, with a sly little smile, “he’s told me about you’re very impressive-”

“Okay.” Osamu says a little too sharply. He’s glad you’re at ease, but less glad that you’ve immediately taken to lightly teasing him with his brother. “Let’s head in.” The warm breath of his whisper jolts through you and you find yourself nodding, letting his touch lead you.

Just as the door is closing behind you and the excruciating reverb of the music seeps into your ears, you barely catch what Atsumu mumbles before he slips into the crowd of people. “Maybe you’ll finally show her how much ya like her.”

Osamu doesn’t respond, and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear him, but the way his fingers dig into your back tells you otherwise. You simply pretend that you heard nothing, pointing to the drink dispensers lined up on the kitchen counter across the room. After a quick drink of the sweet, burning mystery drink and after Atsumu started to keep his distance - too busy hounding his one teammate with the dark curls whose name you couldn’t quite remember - things went smoothly.

Time passed quickly, helped on by the dozens of new people you were introduced to. The small talk and repetitive questions had you mentally winded, but Osamu’s constant touch whether on your elbow or back or shoulder grounded you. Instead of feeling your heart race as it usually did when he was near, you only felt calm.

It all came crashing down sometime deep into the night when most of the guests had headed home and those left over passed out, scattered everywhere about the house. Well, everywhere aside from the neat guest bedroom tucked away toward the back that Osamu had pulled you back to when the last man (who had drunkenly tried teaching you how to say ‘volleyball’ in Portuguese) had finally passed out.

The single drink you had gulped down hours ago was long gone from your system, but even without it you still found it easy to speak with him, even as his arms inconspicuously wrapped around your torso and brought you down to lie beside him on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment while the two of you remained in short silence, a thought came to your head, another thing you want to tell him or ask him. You’re not sure which because in the next moment, when you whip your head to face him, he does the same.

If you had been any closer your faces would’ve smashed together. Any farther away and you wouldn’t be brushing lips. Just as soon as the touch begins, it ends with you scrambling away, stopped from falling off the bed by his strong arm wrapping around and pulling you back to his chest. The silence thickens with every second that neither of you speak, but he thankfully breaks it within the minute.

The words fumble around the front of your mouth like your mouth is numb. “I’m so sorry that-!”

“Well, that wasn’t really a proper kiss.” He says plainly, a smile barely etching its way onto the corner of his lips.

“N-no, it was not.” You whisper. It doesn’t quite feel real when he kisses you for real, and for a second you’re worried you’ve deluded yourself. You sigh into his firm touch, finally releasing the tension in your chest and letting your own lightly trembling hands trace up the space between your chests to settle against his. His body is softer than you had thought it would feel, somehow so much more comforting and homey than you could have imagined.

After an endless moment, his mouth strains against yours as he forces himself to pull away with a little huff. Your eyes find his, bright and hopeful, and still a little bit surprised. Between all your personal longing and resignation that he didn’t feel the same, you hadn’t noticed the way he smiled more when you were nearby, the little blush that dusted his cheeks when you complimented his cooking that first time, and so much more.

“Wanted to do that for a long time.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and letting his heavy eyes close. Hiding your grin in his chest, you nod, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling in closer. When your knee glides against his thigh in an attempt to get more comfortable and flush to him, he clears his throat. “We should get changed if we’re going to sleep here. I have extra clothes in the dresser.”

“Okay.” You nod slightly, not wanting to move just yet. He seems to be with you because, despite his own words, he remains exactly in place with his grip just as tight as ever around your waist. “...Samu?” You finally ask, pulling back far enough to look up at him.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “then kiss me again.” The crooked, giddy smile you’re giving him seems to tense him up even more.

He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes darkening as they flicker across the planes of your face. “I wanna, but I don’t want to push this unless you feel the same.”

If your tired heart could vibrate any harder it would probably be bursting out of your chest.

“Well, I feel that we should kiss again,” you press a peck to his cheek hoping it’ll steady your next vulnerable words, “because I’ve thought about you a lot, and I really like this.” You emphasize your words by glancing down at the negative space between your bodies and running your hand up the built expanse of his shoulders.

Humming, he cradles the back of your head, gracefully moving to straddle you and ghost his lips over yours. “In that case, tell me when to stop.” The hot breathy fan of air from his whisper barely hits your cheeks before he’s pressing a deep kiss against your lips.

You slot together like perfect puzzle pieces, limbs finding the just the right spots to fit into. Mouths move desperately, passionately and without thinking your fingers start dancing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the hot skin beneath. With a tempered groan, he uncouples his lips from yours, kissing along your jaw and quickly moving to trace down your neck. The kitten nips and licks against your collarbone send electricity through your bones, forcing you to flex into him, hips awkwardly jutting forward for something more.

“You… you, ah, are so perfect.” You pant, eyes blinking wide open when the calloused tips of his fingers roughly trail under your shirt, up your sides, stopping just short of your chest to flip your shirt up.

Groaning so quietly you barely hear him, he buries himself between your breasts and sighs against your skin. “Yer even more beautiful up close and without all this,” he pauses for the briefest moment to undo your bra and lift it over your head with the shirt, “extra stuff on.”

Scoffing out a short giggle, you relax back, watching how his eyes drink you in as though they’ve been starved. “By extra stuff you mea-!” The quip is promptly cut off by the feeling of his mouth latching around one breast, the other being tended to by his opposite hand. Not a moment later he pulls away, smiling as you let out a pitchy whine.

“Yer pretty mouthy when yer comfortable, huh?” He mumbles, lips ghosting over your nipple while the one in his hand continues to be teased.

“N-no,” you rush to disagree. Judging by the eye roll he gives you, he doesn’t seem to believe you, but he doesn’t say anything more, simply bringing his attention back to your chest.

The way his suckles tiny, bright purple marks into your skin sends heat pooling into your stomach, hips noticeably grinding up against him now. As the seconds drag on, he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than your tits, enamored with the way they feel in his hand and mouth. It’s almost too much, and you feel your stomach tightening with every moment the teasing continues.

“Samu,” you whine softly, “samu, please, can’t s’too much, really need…” The words are jumbled and garbled. You can’t quite sort your brain to come up with anything coherent, distracted by the wet pooling in your underwear and the weight of his body crowding over yours.

“Sensitive tits?” He coos with a sharp glint in his eyes, gears obviously moving in his head for the future. “That’s okay,” he continues while pressing a soft kiss to each of your breasts, “What do you really need?”

“Need you to touch me.”

For a second, his mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. You fear he’s going to tease you, make you explain in lewd detail how bad you need him and where you want him to touch you, but he doesn’t. He simply nods, truthfully too caught up in the intoxicating feeling of your body and too impatient to feel you for the first time to drag this out.

“Good girl, I’m gonna take these off.” He starts, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear to take them off together. Without hesitation, his eyes travel between your legs. “Such a pretty, little cunt.” He hums already squeezing in between your thighs. Obviously distracted, he peppers little kissed up the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, still caught up staring at your soaking mess.

“Samu, please…” You whine. While you know he isn’t purposefully teasing, well you don’t know but you don’t think at least, it’s just as frustrating. Your knees lock around his thick shoulders, pulling him closer to your heat.

“Okay, okay, pretty girl.” He grumbles, lapping right at the crook of your thigh and hip. There’s a split second of tense silence wherein he carefully spread your lips admiring the glisten of your slick under the dim light of the lamp. Your entire body is tense with anticipation, legs shaking as they struggled to spread around his wide frame.

And just like that quiet moment is over - he laps you up so desperately and greedily you’re twitching under his grasp, clawing at the wrinkled bed sheets below you for anything to ground you. He doesn’t stop when he shifts your legs over his shoulders and wraps his hands around the bottom of your tummy to keep your jostling hips in place.

When you finally look back down to grab his hand, keeping a vice grip around his fingers, you also glance down for the first time. His dark, hazy eyes meet yours and you completely relax at last.

The feeling doesn’t last long, not when he pushes his tongue into your tight, unprepared hole, slurping all he can get and pushing in as far as he can go. Osamu’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation, your cum dribbling down his chin and coating up to his nose that keeps brushing against your throbbing clit.

With a solid, squelching pop he tears away from you. “Taste so good,” he heaves, lips coming back even as he’s speaking, ghosting over you. He buries himself in your cunt again, this time focusing solely on your clit, cycling through different motions until he finds the one that makes your hips strain under his sturdy hold.

“Feel so good!” You sigh. “Please, please wanna cum.”

Smirking against you, he takes the hand you’re not clinging to back under your thigh and props it against your ass, slowly teasing a finger in. Absolutely gushing now, it slips in easily. You can feel his smile grow again for a moment before he refocuses on your clit, motions speeding up and increasing the pressure with which he worked. It’s impossible to not shudder under him now, especially with one arm only holding you down.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum.” He murmurs, easily hooking a second finger into you, pumping and curling them in time with his tongue. As he feels you flutter and cream he can’t help but rut into the mattress, cock swelling from the taste of you. The pressure inside is too much and your want to let go is pushing you closer and closer, although it’s his mouth and fingers that really push you forward.

“C-cu-!” The words get trapped in your throat, overtaken by a hushed moan you struggle to bite back, trying - but very much failing - to be mindful of all the half-sleeping people strewn through the house. He slowly brings you down, fingers winding down and tongue lapping up your swollen clit while you convulse at his touch in time with the fluttering of your cunt.

At last, you have to drag him off, needily tugging up on his hands until he lets go. You try to pull him in to kiss, but he hesitates, his strength far outweighing your weak, blissful one and he hovers above you. There’s no reason to ask because almost immediately his fingers that were inside of you, absolutely drenched, come up to his mouth so he can make a show of sucking them dry for you.

“Taste even better than the stuff you make.” He sighs, letting you drag him down to your face. You can smell and taste yourself so strongly on his damp lips, it clouds your already hazy senses.

“Hmm,” you manage out, when he rests his entire body weight against yours, lips pressed into the side of your head. It’s only when you go to shift that you feel him pressing so incredibly hard and flush to you exposed skin through his soft pants, that you perk up. “Samu,” you begin brushing your fingers through his soft, dark hair, “can I...wanna help you.”

“Mhmm,” he nestles against your neck, kissing over the spots he left behind earlier, “in a minute, pretty girl, we have a lot of time ahead of us.”

[satoruvt]

for a moment i forget to worry

pairing → xu minghao x reader

word count → 3196

genre → fluff + angst, college au ↳ tags: strangers to friends to lovers </3, college kinda sux, ROOMMATE CHAN MAKES AN APPEARANCE OR TWO, dance major minghao, reader is completely lost but its ok who isnt, lots of cute couple stuff, pov ur entire relationship with minghao. thats it, a sad break up scene, a solid amount of crying

summary → there’s something about minghao. maybe it’s the way he dances, vibrant and youthful, or maybe it’s the way he loves you. based off of hunger by florence + the machine.

warnings → i hint at sex but its pretty vague, i also mention a breakdown type deal (revolving around school/life after school)

a/n → first of all this was NOT supposed to be 3k words i dont know how it happened. second of all i’m only kind of happy with this HAHA i feel like the story itself isnt bad but i wanted it to match the song more ... idk :/ i hope u guys like it regardless !!!

pieces of you masterlist

The first time you see him is by accident.

Really - all you’re doing is trying to find Chan. You’re passing by the practice rooms, looking into them in hope he’ll be there, stopping to gaze at decorations and medals and trophies lined up on the walls. It’s when you approach a room that music plays from that you think you’ve found Chan, but when you gaze in, it’s definitely not him.

You don’t know who it is, but he moves like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

It’s hypnotizing, almost makes you want to drop your things and dance with him. There’s a sense of youth that comes from him and it’s almost overwhelming - but it’s not in energy, necessarily, but rather from the precision of his movements, the technicalities that he seems to both follow and break at the same time. Something vibrant seeps out between the seams of his body, colors you can barely recognize as they splash against anything they can reach. It’s almost tangible. 

You watch him long enough for him to finish his performance (an unknowing one) with the last notes of a song you forgot was even playing. His eyes meet with yours, slow as he completes an eloquent turn, and at the same time, a hand meets your shoulder.

A small wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you turn towards whoever touched you, effectively breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Chan asks, hair still wet from what you assume was a shower.

“Looking for you,” you tell him, following as he starts to walk towards the exit. “I wanted lunch, and you owe me for that time I took your British literature quiz for you.”

Chan groans but agrees to pay, and you laugh, though the world seems a little paler than it did a few moments ago.

The second time you see him is by chance.

(Maybe.)

You’re waiting for a lecture to start, tapping your fingers against your laptop idly as you watch students trickle in last minute. It’s not a strict course, but it does start at nine in the morning, and most everyone shows up with a coffee.

You look down to brush a stray hair off of your table, and when you look up again, the dancer from before walks through the door, then looks right at you.

You feel a blush heat your face and it’s like he wants to make sure that you know that he knows, because he almost refuses to look away. You break eye contact first (like the last time, you remember for no reason) but still watch as his figure moves up the stairs, past the rows, and you hope he’ll just move past you too…

He doesn’t. He takes the empty seat right next to yours, and you don’t say anything, instead finding the peeling sticker on your laptop incredibly interesting. The professor comes in and decides that today he’ll take extra long to set everything up, apparently, and you want to scream.

“So,” the dancer says, voice quiet. It takes your breath away, the way he sounds. “Mind if I ask why you were watching me the other day?”

You cast a glance at him - not too long, you don’t think you could handle more than five seconds tops - and finally open your laptop so it makes you look busy. “I was waiting for a friend.”

“And?”

The smile in his voice is palpable. You’re already exasperated.

“You…” you start, finally deciding to look at him as some sort of subconscious power move. “You’re a beautiful dancer. It was hard not to watch.”

Beautiful doesn’t even cover half of it, but you figure he already thinks you’re weird for watching him, so you hold back the thoughts of youth and vibrancy and color. The dancer looks at you, almost blank for a moment, before a soft smile draws itself on his face. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He says “thank you” with a gentle tone, sincerely felt.

The class starts, and the two of you don’t speak throughout the next hour and a half. You type out notes on your laptop and you see him write down names of the paintings being shown on the projector, little thoughts and notes written afterwards.

By the end of class, your professor assigns an optional partnered project, and you’re more than prepared to head back to your apartment and start on it yourself. The dancer stops you before you leave, however, asks if you’d like to be his partner.

(And he says it like that, would you like to be my partner, polite and somehow sweet.)

You know your answer. “I don’t even know your name,” you stall, standing from your chair. 

“Minghao,” he tells you. “I’m Minghao, and I’d like for you to be my partner.”

You say yes easily, put your number into his contacts even easier. The sky is blue when you leave the lecture hall, trees dotted with pink and purple flowers, and it is all so bright that you forget it wasn’t this way in the first place.

The third time you see him is for school.

Underneath the excitement of giving Minghao your number, there is the knowledge that it’s for the sake of an assignment. He texts you the day after to ask if you’re free to meet up to work and you tell him sure.

(Sure is what you send back, but he doesn’t have to know that you burst into Chan’s room immediately after, plunging face first into his bed just to scream into his pillows. Chan had sighed, turned around in his desk chair to look at you, then asked what happened. He gave you two minutes to rant and then kicked you out, back to your own room.)

You and Minghao agreed to meet at the library on a day that neither of you had any afternoon classes, and you get there early, spend some time working on other classes. You have somewhere around thirty minutes to freak out to yourself before you see Minghao come in, dressed like he knows what he’s doing to you (which is really just a hoodie and jeans, but you think it’s the cap that really pulls the whole boyfriend look together), smiling when he finds you at a table in the corner.

“How are you?” is the first thing he says when he sits down, and you pull down your laptop screen a little to see him better.

“I’m good,” you say, feeling your heart pound. “What about you?”

Minghao sends you a kind smile. “Really good. Should we get started?”

You lose count of how many times you see him after that.

Meeting up to work on the project soon becomes just meeting up, and after the project’s done and turned in, it happens even more. You hang out and get lunch, send each other texts and stupid videos, take walks around campus together. The weeks pass, summer mellows into fall, then into the early days of winter. You develop a genuine friendship with him, finding comfort in his presence, looking for him wherever you go. 

(Although the crush is still there, potent and patient, stubborn in a way you’ve never experienced before. You wonder if it’s a sign of some sort.)

You’re in one of the practice rooms with him, sitting in the corner. You had a class nearby and he’d wanted to practice a little more, so you told him you’d work on your own stuff while he finished up and then the two of you could grab something to eat.

But you made a small error on your part - the dancing. You’d forgotten the way he moves (you haven’t seen him dance since that first time) and in no time at all you’re letting your screen go dark in front of you and watching him. Honestly, it’s not your fault, you really can’t help it. 

But of course he notices.

Minghao meets your eyes through the mirror and raises his eyebrows at you, and all you can do is look away, desperately try to get your laptop up and running again so at least it seems like you weren’t watching him for too long.

“You’re staring,” he says, long after you’ve looked away.

“Sorry,” you tell him anyways, immediate, quick. 

Then he says, “I never said anything about stopping.”

In a second, you look up from your laptop and up at him. He moves closer, crouches in front of you. His eyes are kind - they’re never not - but you think you see something a little more in them. “Sorry, I think I missed that last part,” you respond, blinking. Minghao smiles like you’re endearing.

“I said I want you to keep looking at me.”

You think you’re barely breathing when he shuts your laptop for you, slides it off of your lap and onto the floor (gently, with care, and it’s a wonder to you how he can focus on that right now). He practically crawls over you, one of his hands eventually reaching the junction of your jaw and neck and holding there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” he says, but doesn’t move. You nod as soon as his words reach your brain, eager and quick.

And the next few hours get a little wound up in your head, a little mixed in with the feeling of his body - that moves so youthfully, with so much vibrancy that it reaches everything around you - melting into yours and the sound of him asking you to tell me what you need, honey, and the still-playing slow jam music he was practicing to.

You watch him sleep next to you, hand curled around yours against his pillows, and think that nothing bad could ever touch him.

The two of you… come together, after that.

Neither you nor Minghao use any proper labels, but you both seem to know. No labels are needed, really. You have each other and that’s all there is to it. And everything is really good.

You work together and laugh together like you’ve always known each other. He tries to teach you to dance with him when you’re in the practice room with him, pulls you up by your hands and guides you through your giggles. He was the first person you called when you realized that you had no idea what you were working towards, didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do with your life. He gets along well with your friends and you text his because they’re basically yours, now, too.

Winter turns back into spring, slow and easy. Vibrant and youthful. You’re not able to meet Minghao’s parents, but he meets yours (and you’re sure a quick introduction to his mom over a FaceTime call has to count for something). The two of you take advantage of the newfound warmth of the season and try to get out as much as you’re able to, with picnics and city dates and anything you can think of. A drawer in his dresser is reserved for your things, you bought an extra toothbrush for him to use when he stays over.

You watch him dance. It still feels like the first time, like color and breathlessness. You tell him he’s beautiful every time, feel yourself fall a little deeper when he still gets bashful amidst his comedown. You tell him you love him for the first time after he gets done with a performance - a proper one, for a showcase of the dance club he’s in. He says it back.

You think he put all the stars in the sky just for the two of you to gaze at them together.

Things shift the beginning of your junior year.

Minghao tells you about a program he’s applying to, a proper dance academy in New York that could really kickstart his career. Training under some of the best choreographers and performers in the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him after he tells you, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. You’re studying at his apartment tonight.

“It’s just…” he frowns. “It’s so far away, you know?”

Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in the excitement of him being able to apply at all. A quick sigh leaves your lips, and then you reach for his hand, hold it between both of your own.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, though now that you’re thinking about it, you feel nervousness in the pit of your stomach. “We can work something out, though, when we get that far. We’ll figure it out.”

Minghao nods, a fond look in his eyes. He pulls one of your hands to his lips. “We’ll think about it if I even get accepted,” he says.

It’s bittersweet, but a promise nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes after you get a call from Minghao, there’s a knock on your door. 

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re worried, but, well. Everyone’s experienced the jump of anxiety when they get hit with the “I want to talk to you about something” line. Nonetheless, you stand from the couch to open the door, mentally preparing yourself for any and everything. 

“Hey,” you greet when you see Minghao, opening the door to let him in. His face is unreadable. “Everything okay?”

He walks a few steps into your apartment, waits for you to close the door before turning back around to face you. Then he holds up a piece of paper, the creases from where it was folded still bending. You send him a confused look.

“I got in,” he says, a grin breaking on his face, and you blink, then feel your jaw practically hit the floor. Minghao only nods like he understands, and before you know what you’re doing, you launch yourself at him, holding him close.

“Oh my god, Hao, that’s amazing,” you say into his sweater, then step back to get a proper look at him. Youthful, vibrant. “I’m so proud of you.”

He seems to soften at your words, pulls you back into him again with a gentle kiss to your head. “Thank you for believing in me,” he tells you, tenderness palpable in his voice. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Minghao spends a lot of time away from you after that.

You’re not really hurt in any way - even though he got into the academy in New York, he still has to practice. You get it, this is important. He doesn’t text you as often, isn’t able to stop by as much, and you miss him, but you know how much this means for him. But it gets… weird, almost, after a while. Strange, even for him. It feels weird that he’s set to leave at the end of January and it’s December and he’s distant.

Both of you are laying in your bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, when you decide to bring it up. “You’ve been… kinda far away lately,” you start, nudging him with your shoulder gently. “Everything okay?”

His eyes stay on your ceiling, but you feel the way he sighs. “It’s about the program,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And about… you and me.”

Oh. That doesn’t… sound the best. “About, like… what we’re gonna do?”

Minghao nods.

You say, “I wouldn’t mind visiting every so often. It’d be hard, but I’m sure we could find something to work.”

Minghao shakes his head, says, “no.”

You pause, and when you look at him he’s already looking at you. What does he mean by no? Does he want you to move with him? Or does he -

He reaches for your hand and you think oh.

His eyes are a little glassy. You feel the tears come, too.

“Oh,” you say out loud. Minghao squeezes your hand. “So this is… this is it?”

Your room is suddenly cold, and you want to crawl under the covers and stay there. The person in front of you is blurred into something unrecognizable, but you can’t be bothered to blink away your tears.

“I think so, love,” he whispers back to you. “I think it has to be.”

The two of you cry like that for a while. In your bed, loosely intertwined and broken. Even the way Minghao cries carries a kind of vibrancy that’s overwhelming, makes you think of the first time you saw him so long ago, and now -

When you manage to get a better grip on yourself, you ask him if you can still see him off at the airport. He says, “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Then you ask if you can kiss him again. He responds by kissing you first. 

And it’s sad, it tastes like salt and sorrow and you feel like the promises you never got the chance to make are broken. It feels like the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen, and you know it’s only a branch of Minghao’s color.

He leaves soon after that, pulls on his shoes and his coat and turns around at the door to give you a tired smile. After he’s gone, you drag yourself to Chan’s bedroom, and once he sees the state you’re in, he offers up one side of his bed. Neither of you say anything, but the friendly reassurance of his hand in yours says enough.

You don’t fail to notice that everything seems to be washed out, a blandness you’re not used to.

The last time you see him is at the airport.

It’s a cold day, despite being sunny. The airport offers little warmth, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here for long. 

It doesn’t take you very long to find Minghao - you still look for him wherever you go, even if you’re not looking for him. Even then, it’s still so easy for you to find him, to pinpoint that vibrancy, that youth. He’s talking to a few others, you think you met them. Soonyoung and Jun.

Minghao meets your eyes and you freeze, but then he waves you over with a gentle smile. You follow like you think you always will. 

You greet Soonyoung and Jun and the four of you talk, albeit a little awkwardly, even when Soonyoung tries his hardest to lighten the mood. Eventually he has to leave, and Jun follows with a shy goodbye. They both hug Minghao before they go.

You’re not sure what to say, but after a minute, you find words. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you tell him, a little selfishly. 

Minghao says, “you’ll do good. I know you will. I’m not worried about you.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and you think he’ll give you a stiff and sad goodbye, but he steps a little closer to you. Looks at you the way he used to.

“Maybe…” he starts, then pauses. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Maybe, you think. Maybe.

“I hope so,” you tell him, then watch as he leaves.

[bonny-kookoo]

Brave Girl (J.JK x Reader) ☁️💜🎀🔞

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (ft. Med student!Namjoon)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Good Girl!AU

Warnings: Heavy angst, traffic accident, injury, hospital, Jungkook is panicking, MC gets hurt, Koo is just lost and hates hospitals :(, Namjoon being the hero he was born to be, fluffy and dramatic smut, overstimulation, mild DDLG themes, protected sex because we wrap it up in this household smh

Summary: you were supposed to be home at 6 to help Jungkook devour the feast that is the freshly baked pizza he’d made to welcome you back from your trip to your parents, yet when the clock strikes 9 you’re still not home. Just when Jungkook is about to call you since you didn’t react to his texts, he receives a call from you; and he swore his heart stopped beating. Loosing you had never been a thought in his head until now, but he might just gotten closer to this reality than he ever imagined being. And he hated it.

Good Girl || Sweet Girl || Smart Girl || Brave Girl || Pretty Girl

"Alright, do we have everything now?" Jungkook asked, helping you place your pastel pink travel bag into his car, careful not to scratch all of the sparkling and colorful stickers on it. They looked a bit worn already, but you always felt a bit upset if there was another scratch to a prized posession such as your sticker-collection- yet when Jungkook told you not to put any more on your bag, you began to pout as well. You asked with a simple nod, already excited to meet your parents again after a long time apart. Jungkook offered to drive you to the bus station, not being able to bring you there entirely because he, quote unquote, 'didn't feel ready yet'. Many would've felt offended by that, but you knew not to read too much into it when it came to him- there were a lot of things for him that were still new, and his love was strong enough for you not to question it. You were both growing comfortable at your own pace, and that was enough for now.

Your parents had understood as well, even though your father had been a little more skeptic than the rest of your family; but he'd always been a little overprotective, so it didn't surprise you at all. While you were driving home, knees against the seat in front of you, you rummaged through your small backpack, taking out a small pack of gummi bears Jungkook had packed inside. He'd been so careful with everything, insisting on buying you this specific backpack because 'it's so soft, you can use it as a pillow inside the bus so you sleep better'. Maybe you were slowly making him soft as well? You were glad however that he had packed your headache medication in as well, long rides sadly having this effect on you sometimes.

Ever since you were a kid, you've always felt safe within public transport. You've been taking the bus and train to school for years, never truly thinking about the danger it could hold. Even now, with the pouring rain outside, you felt calm. Something that would change soon.

For now however, you just noticed how the jacket of the young man next to you slowly slipped off of his lap. He was asleep, you at least thought so, but you couldn't help but reach for the jacket before it could truly fall down onto the slightly muddy floor, your own shoes slightly at fault since it was quite muddy outside before you came in and sat down. "Ah, thanks-" He suddenly said, making your eyes widen at noticing how he only head headphones in. Maybe he hadn't been asleep after all?

"No problem" You said, putting your feet underneath your butt after having taken off your shoes. Your boyfriends' advice had proven to be quite nice after all, putting on comfortable loungewear such as your soft sweatpants and a large white shirt of Jungkooks collection (he had packed it in actually) were slowly proving to be way better than your typical attire. The guy next to you- Namjoon you'd found out on your first ride, having been seated next to him as well- looked quite casual as well. Instead of his more formal clothing he'd worn the first time you had talked to him he had switched to simply jeans and a loose sweater, something that made him seem a lot younger. "Listening to a podcast again?" You casually asked him, and he smiled, taking out one of his headphones.

"No, just music this time. That whole trip kind of drained me if I'm being honest." He explained, crossing his legs before conversing further. "What about you? Had fun with your family?" He said, genuinely interested it seemed. It was rare to find someone as honest as him. At first, you had been a bit careful, knowing that men usually had intentions that differed from what they were actually saying, but Namjoon had been just as friendly as before when you had told him about Jungkook. He just said that he seemed like a nice guy, nothing more to it, and still talked to you just the same.

You nodded your head at his question. "I was kind of sad when I had to leave again, but I also can't wait to come back home!" Excitedly you wiggled around a little, before you found a good position in your seat that didn't make your legs sleep in from being bend so much Namjoon smiled at you.

"I bet. I can't wait to fall into my own bed again as well." He said, before the bus swayed a bit, making you hold onto your belongings to keep them from falling down. Namjoon leaned into the middle a bit, to look at the front window and the driver. "Jesus, he's been driving like this for a few minutes now." He mumbled, making you a bit nervous. He was a very observant person from what you'd gathered until now, your first interaction had been him asking you about your headache even though you were sure it hadn't been too noticable. He was a med student however, top of his class he'd told you, so he probably had a third eye for things like that. "Hopefully they'll change drivers soon. He seems tired." He said, and gave you a reassuring smile. "It's gonna be fine-" He said, before the bus swayed again, this time however, pushing you against the front seat from the force. Seconds later the direction changed drastically, windows shattered, and the only thing you felt when you were able to gather your thoughts again was how cold it was.

The wet ground was slowly seeping into your clothes, the weird feeling of muddy grass underneath your hands as you pulled yourself into a sitting position foreign. One of the first things you were noticing was the incredibly high pitched ringing in your ears, sounds muffled as if someone was holding their hands over them. Things were blurry, lights passing by, and something was moving in front of you. For some reason however, you were only having one thought. Jungkook. He'd know what to do. But where was your phone?

You slowly got up, yelping in pain when your knee gave out and made you fall back down again, scratching the palms of your hands open on some random branches and.. glass? Suddenly you remembered the bus, Namjoon talking to you, and then- it was as if someone skipped a video you haven't seen before, an entire fragment missing completely. You crawled out of the bushes and onto the pavement when you spotted your wet and dirty backpack, your things and several unknown items of other passengers scattered everywhere on the street. And there, just a small distance from you was you phone- the hello kitty charm ripped off and probably lost forever. The screen was an absolute mess, yet it was still working when you reached it, unlocking it with your passcode because your fingerprint scanner was a definite goner for sure. Your headache was killing you at this point, your nose running from the cold, and your mouth had a metallic and bitter taste. It started to ring. One time. Two times. A voice.

"Creepy, I was just about to text you princess. Are you close to the station yet?" He asked, you could hear the TV faintly in the background, then a little movement, his earring clattering against his plastic case he had around his phone, something that still didn't help him with his curse of breaking his screen in record time. "Hey, you there?" He said chuckling, when you eventually answered him. "Hm?" He said, suddenly furrowing his brows invisibly for you on the other side of town, ceasing his movements and instead getting up to grab the remote, silencing the TV. He could hear faint talking on your side, yet it didn't seem like casual chatter, but frantic.. almost as if someone was panicking in the background.

"I said uhm-" You started, swallowing the weird taste before looking around, noticing no movement, but someone began to shout a name, another one softly wheeping, noises increasing with every passing minute. You could faintly spot headlights behind the bus, someone driving past had noticed, and people suddenly stood at the sides. But your vision hadn't cleared yet, so maybe you just couldn't see. "I think- I think we had an accident 'Koo, I-" You said, suddenly chocking a little on the fluid in your throat, coughing to get things under control and your voice back. The mention of an accident, the way you spoke, and the cliche noise of you coughing made him get up immediately, frantically running to his jacket, reaching for his car keys. You always told him how funny it was to you how he always told everyone how organized he was, yet always loosing his car keys. Right now he wished you would make fun of him, he wished you would just say sike and reveal your joke, yet deep down he knew you would never joke about something like this.

“It’s okay baby, you’re gonna be okay, where are you?” He stresses, trying yet failing to keep his own demeanor calm over the phone. You answer him that you don’t know, and he just feels the confusion radiating off of you. Something was terribly wrong, he could feel it deep inside his veins by the way you seemed to be unable to catch an actual thought. “Are you hurt anywhere?” He asks, even though he fears the answer you might give him.

“I..don’t know? My head hurts.. I- Jungkook I think I’m bleeding, what do I do?” You stress, and feel your own panic rising in your throat, making your eyes water and nose burn. You wished you could just tell Jungkook where the hell you were but you didn’t know, streets completely strange to your eyes, shifting around like a fever dream, as if you’d never seen them before. “Kookie, ‘m scared.. I wanna sleep-“ you began to mumble, less and less conscious, your head beginning to rest on the cold ground, the bus now beginning to shift out of focus. There we’re a few people walking around and you wanted to wave, to tell them you’re here, but one of them who you recognized faintly as the guy who’d been sitting next to you during the ride noticed you anyways.

Jungkook started to panic on the other end of the line, desperately trying to pin your phones location. “No no no baby, you’re so brave, you’re such a brave girl, don’t sleep in on me right now okay?” He pleaded, growing more and more anxious the less you answered him. “Baby? Don’t stop talking to me now please.!” He said, trying to get an answer out of you. But the only thing he could hear was the soft white noise, no trace of your voice whatsoever. “Baby? Please-“ he said, eyes watering out of frustration as he noticed the sudden commotion outside, cars suddenly driving out of his nearest police station, sirens loud and clear. “Please, y/n, talk, say anything!” He begged, voice choked with unshed tears, throat closing up.

“Hello?” A stranger answered.

“Who are you? What happened to y/n? Is she okay? I-“ he tried to rush his questions as if that’d get him the answers faster.

“She’s- uh- I don’t know, the bus just suddenly lost control and she- I think she’s still breathing but uhm- look, we’re at, uh-“ Jungkook wasn’t listening after he’d gotten the information he so desperately craved. He knew where you were. He’d get to you. He needed to get to you. And for the first time ever, Jungkook actually started to pray.

He finally found his car keys, ripping the door open to close it with a loud bang behind him, TV running but long forgotten. His stubborn car door didn't open instantly, making him almost growl in anger at it, eyes watering again when he remembered how you always told him to just get it fixed instead of buying a new one. You always had this idea of things having a soul anyways, so you always told him he needed to be nice to his car, or it would be upset. Right now he was not fit to drive. He did it anyways.

He groaned at every red light, hating how he couldn't just run them over because your absolutely stupid voice kept ringing in his ear to drive safely, he hated it right now, so so much, he could've screamed at nothing right now at how enraged he was. Why didn't he just fucking jump over his own shadow and drive you to your parents? None of this would be a thing if he would just finally man up instead of cowering all the time, simply believing that his time with you was endless. He knew it wasn't. He knew one day you two would pass. But that was supposed to be when you both were old and wrinkly, when you both had kids and grandkids, when both of you had enough stupid and disgustingly sweet stories to be able to make them gag at how he would still call you his most beautiful girl. This wasn't happening. He was going to make sure of it.

He reached the destination a little too far away, cars already stopping traffic, people on the side, watching, and he felt agitated again. He decided to simply turn his steering wheel, half-hazardly parking his car almost in the bushes next to the road, before opening the door with his key and phone in hand, closing his car door way too harsh as he could hear something crack, but his legs were already making him run at the fastest pace he had ever before. His hair and clothes, the black zip hoodie he had thrown over his grey shirt were growing damp from the mild rain coming down, yet he didn't care. He had his hood up, before it slipped down, his hands pushing past people, the need to insult them for staring and taking pictures instead of actually helping strong inside his veins, yet he simply portrayed his distaste at his not so gentle shoving to get past them.

Somehow he had apparently arrived before police or the ambulance had, because there was no one there yet. "Y/N!" He yelled, his voice frantic and almost unrecognizable, even to his own ears. He could spot people laying around, some helping others, and some simply waiting for help as he searched for your figure among them. He saw some of your stuff, the travel bag you had, now wet and scratched, your backpack, thrown on the street and some small items he could recognize as yours such as the formerly white bunny jacket he had bought you before you went on this trip. "Y/N!" He yelled again, and got someones attention a bit off the side near the woodside next to the road. "Oh no-" He whispered under his breath when he could see the guy leaning a bit over you, your head on the ground below, soft socks a darker shade than usual from the moisture they had picked up by now. You were laying on your side, the young man pushing a flannel shirt against your hip. He ran straight towards you, reaching out to grab you, just to have the stranger grab his hands instead, pushing at his chest. "What the fuck-?!" He exclaimed, ready to burst.

"We don't know how serious her injuries are at the moment. If you move her you could make the damage worse." He said, serious. "It's better to leave her like this, and wait for the ambulance." He said, unable to make the younger ones angry and frustrated face calm down, but he listened anyways, knowing deep down that he was right. "Kim Namjoon by the way, Medical student- trust me, I know what I'm doing okay?" He refrained from telling the younger one that you would be okay, having sworn to himself when he started as a med student to never give out false hope. Jungkook nodded, tears finally falling as he swallowed hard, simply running his hand over your hair, trying to give you reassurance- or maybe he tried to reassure himself that you were still there. Maybe even both.

When the ambulance arrived, you slowly gained a little more consciousness again, hand grabbing at nothing. "..'Koo?" You said, unsure if he was really there or if the smell of his bodywash on the shirt you were making was playing tricks on you. He gasped, leaning down, his other hand running over your bare arm softly as to warm you up.

"I'm here, I'm here baby, you're okay." He said, this time saying these words to reassure himself purely. Namjoon noticed you shivering after Jungkook did, and he instantly took off his jacket, even though it was thin, simply to cover you up. Namjoon yelled for the ambulance to notice them, and both of the guys breathed a sigh of relief when they were running over towards you three.

However, now Jungkook had to face another fear, apart from still possibly loosing you. He hated hospitals. Not in the quirky kind of 'ugh I hate the smell of disinfectant' kind of way, the kind of 'I rather cast my broken wrist with duct tape and wooden icecream sticks just to not have to go near this place' kind of way. When he was asked if he would like to ride with you his terrified eyes looked at Namjoon, the answer he gave an unsure, yet clear nod. He had to be strong right now. You needed him right now, more than ever.

Inside the ambulance, he didn't let go of your hand. You had a hard time answering questions, so Jungkook had to step in now. He kept his eyes on your face, trying to blend out the equipment around you two to not get riled up. Someone had to be there a hundred percent. The nurse noticed pretty quickly, laying a hand on his shoulder to hopefully calm him down. "She's stable right now, okay? We'll wheel her in as soon as we reach the hospital, someone will ask you for her information since we couldn't find her ID or anything on the scene, alright?" He asked, and he nodded, clearing his throat before he resumed watching you breathe. He would've never guessed how happy he would feel just to see such a small thing from you.

A hot cup nudged his hands that were over his head, and he slowly looked up, surprised to see Taehyung of all people in front of him, his newly red hair in complete dissarray as well as his clothes. He looked like Jungkook felt if he was being honest. "Tae?" He asked, voice rough while taking the cup from his friend. His friend simply shrugged, before He sat down next to him, eyes red. "What-" He started, but Taehyung leaned back, speaking quitely, oddly calm, considering his usually loud personality.

"I-" He started, before he seemed to think a bit about how to phrase his next words. "Someone I know was on the same bus." He said. "I heard you talk to the nurse at the counter." He explained when Jungkooks brows furrowed in confusion. "They've managed to stabalize her, but she'll need surgery tonight." He said, and Jungkook wanted to ask who the person was- yet he refrained from doing so. Him and Taehyung were close, sure, but exactly that was what made him stay quiet about it. He knew when it was okay to ask, and when to just shut up. And right now, he simply nodded at him.

"So we're both gonna have a sleepover here?" He asked grimly, pathetically trying to lift the mood. Taehyung just nodded.

When you woke up, it wasn't like it was usually displayed in movies or cheesy novels. It wasn't a slow, gentle breeze from your window, or the way your boyfriend spoke next to you. No, it was actually absolutely silent, except the constant beeping next to you. You actually woke up way faster than you hoped for, your eyes opening like you've just got ripped out of a dream where you fall downstairs or something alike. You heard Jungkook groan sleepily, before he eventually moved his head a little, turning so you could see how exhausted he looked. His eyelashes looked damp, tiny hairs bound together into little groups as he sniffled, head on your hand, open palm holding his cheek as if he needed to feel you even in his dreams. The sight calmed you down.

The change of heartbeat and pulse made the machine next to you switch sounds, and soon you heard the door open, a friendly nurse walking in, smile on her face as her gaze found Jungkook still in the same position as hours before, unbeknownst to you. "How are you feeling, miss?" She softly said, quiet as to not wake the young man who had been switching between crying, watching, or sleeping next to you for the past days. You swallowed, mouth dry, and nodded towards the empty coffee cups next to you on the small bedside table. "I'll get you some water okay? Welcome back miss. I'll just check your vitals for a second." She said, and you nodded at that. Checking the machines and you, she walked out, leaving the door open so you could hear a bit of what was going on in the hallways. Footsteps and sometimes the tune of someones phone going off, random words you were too tired still to understand, and an elevator. Jungkook stirred next to you, opening his eyes after taking a deep breath, yawning before his eyes found yours.

It took him amusingly a couple of seconds before he shot up, immediately coughing from having inhaled his own saliva. You laughed at that, flinching a bit when it made your body ache, before taking him in. He looked horrible, hair a mess, eyes red and skin a bit pale, yet he smiled brighter than he did back when you bought him the new destiny 2 game for his playstation as a surprise. His eyes glistened, suddenly getting a sparkle to them before his lip started to quiver. He dropped his head on your shoulder, silently crying, but this time, he cried from relief. From happiness. From just how much he loved the world right now for giving him more time with you, for giving him a chance to be the embarrassing father and naggy grandpa he always wanted to be someday. Your arm bend and your hand ran through his hair, not minding the long unkempt locks one bit.

The nurse came back in, smiling brightly with a tall doctor in tow, who had a friendly face as well. "Good to have you back miss. How are we feeling?" He said, trying not to grin at Jungkook, who had yelled at the man several times when he'd tried to tell him to go home and rest. You were oblivious to this obviously. Jungkook raised his head a little, using his flannel sleeve to dry his tears, clearing his throat to at least try to look like he got his shit together.

"Uhm, I feel like I had to take my fitnessgram pacer test again, plus a bit more muscle pain in my hip?" You said, making the man chuckle.

"That's completely understandable considering you flew quite a distance miss. We were quite surprised that you were fine breathing on your own, considering everything. You're quite lucky; but we're gonna keep you under surveillance until friday. Your bodyguard can take you home after 12 whenever he likes." He said with a smirk in Jungkook's direction, the one spoken of growing a bit red on the tips of his ears. The doctor leaves after asking you general questions such as, if you knew the current year, your address, and your personal information such as your birthday.

The nurse left the cup of water and a straw on the small table. "I'll let you both catch up. Please make sure she drinks the whole cup, but only a couple of sips at a time alright?" She said to your boyfriend, who nodded, having calmed down a little by now. He moved, his hand a bit shaky as he ripped the top of the papercover of the straw off, before taking the plastic drinking help out of its minimalistic packaging. He put it inside the cup after bending it a bit, before he moved to you, helping you with outmost care to sit up a little. You winced a bit when you tried to move too fast, and Jungkooks face got a little more serious at this. You began to pout at him.

"What?" He said, voice still a bit rough from the lack of using- and the simultaneous shouting everytime he'd opened his mouth these days. He sighed. "Come on, you heard the nurse- you gotta drink." He said, but you stubbornly moved your head to the side, sideeying him. His brow raised in a questioning matter, before he noticed your posture. You had your arms in front of you in a hugging manner, and he suddenly realized how his behaviour must've looked for you. "I'm sorry princess I just.." He said, putting the cup down and running a hand through his hair. "I just.. I was so terrified when I saw you there-" He said, having to swallow hard again so he didn't end up crying again. God, what was it with him again? "Why didn't you call an ambulance? Why did you call me instead?" He asked, a bit of whine to it. You shrugged, deflating a bit in your position leaned up against the pillows.

"You were.. dunno, the first one I thought of." You explained. In Hindsight it had been a bit dumb, why did you call him as if he could magically appear in that second to make everything better, but somehow your brain made that story into a real possibility. "You always make everything better, and you know.. you always know what to do so.." You said, and Jungkook breathed out in a sight.

He leaned closer to you, tattooed hand brushing away some of your hair to place a kiss to your forehead. "Oh baby.." He simply said, resting his against your head for a second, before his thumb brushed over your cheek. "I'm driving you anywhere you need to be from now on." He said, and you nodded with a smile. "Alright. Now come on, drink something." he spoke before picking up the cup, helping you with the straw, taking it away from you after a couple of sips, making you whine. "I know doll, but we don't wanna overdo it alright?" He said. You looked at him with a smile, and he happily returned it.

"Jungkook I can do that-" You said, before he silenced you with a look.

"I'm sorry, as cute as you look walking around like a newborn babydeer, I really like to keep you from falling down again, thank you very much." He said, accusingly pointing to the small bandage on your knee from having stumbled on your way into the kitchen yesterday. Your visible wounds were healing well, but you still had a bit of nerve damage from your nasty fall, which made your legs feel like they're constantly in a state between sleeping in and waking up, minus the pins and needles. They moved, yeah, you could feel them, yes, but it felt like they were wrapped in plastic and someone messed with the controls. Jungkook found it a bit adorable, but he rather not have you give him a shock again from almost hitting the kitchen tiles. Slowly, he came back with a glass of water, making you smile and thank him. He'd currently taken time off from work, having explained to his boss that he had to nurse you for a bit until you could be home by yourself. His boss had been pretty understanding, agreeing to him taking his vacation earlier and with short notice.

One thing you noticed however, was how careful Jungkook was around you. Now, that itself wasn't a bad thing, since right now you're a bit more fragile then usually so, but he was careful in a different way. Ever since you both left the hospital on friday, he stopped giving you goodnight kisses. He rarely hugged you, only ever if you initiated it, and he refused to be close to you during the night, making up excuses like 'I'm scared I'll roll you over during the night babygirl.' That was utter bullshit, because he'd never been worried about that in the past. He's a heavy sleeper and barely moves when he sleeps, so why would it be an issue now?

That was when the goddamn thoughts came back to you. Maybe he realized how close he'd gotten to you and didn't want that anymore? Maybe he wanted to go back to his old way of living, without any strings attached to anyone?

That night, you decided to speak up. Jungkook and you were sitting on the bed, you criss crossed, and him with his back towards you, feet on the carpeted floor. "You can, uhm.. you know, drive me back to the hospital tomorrow so I can get checked back in." You quietly said. He instantly turned around, his phone no longer worth his attention as his brows furrowed.

"Why? Are you okay? Did the stitches open up again?" He said, a bit of panic making his words hurry on their way out of his mouth. You shook your head.

"No, but I don't wanna, you know. You don't like me saying I'm a burden so I won't say it, but yeah. I get it, you know? Its okay, really-" You said, head lowering until you stared your lap. You heard and felt him move, his hand softly on your back.

"What're you saying princess? Why the fuck would you think I don't want you anymore?" He knew your innuendos by now, and he didn't like that you implied a breakup in your sentence one bit. "Baby I'm gonna take care of you now and everyday you need me to, you know that." He said, confused.

You looked at his throat, unable to shift your gaze any higher up, in fear of what his eyes would tell you. "But, you know.. if we're good, why.. why 'm I not getting any kisses anymore? No hugs? No nothing? " You said, starting to pick at your fingers. Maybe you were just making it worse for him. Maybe he'd just tried to figure out how to tell you in a good way, and you just made it so much harder for him to do so. However, the hand on your back left, just so he could take your body into his arms. "I'ts okay, you know-" You started again, and he hushed you.

"None of that, please don't talk like that, please don't." He said, almost breathless as if he was scared to say the words out loud. "Getting told I could loose you for good was terrifying enough already, thank you very much." He said, a dry laugh escaping him, humor nowhere to be seen in it. Typically he would relish in the feeling of his broader and stronger frame compared to you, he would smile at the mere size difference of your hands or the way he could easily pick you up and carry you anywhere he wanted to. But right now it only reminded him how fragile you were, how careful he had to be not to hurt you. He felt helpless, and it was a feeling he decided he'd hate until he died. "I just- I'm scared I'll hurt you." He said, quietly, hoping that maybe you won't hear. But you did.

Holding his face in your hands you were reminded again just how inexperienced he was in this entire thing as well. You always thought he could lead the way without problems, that he knew everything and could teach you what you wanted to know. Yet maybe you both could learn from one another, more so than just you from him. "You won't." You said, and you stubbornly kissed him as he tried to protest, pecking his lips with a newfound courage you didn't knew you had until then. He tried again, just to get another kiss. This went on for a bit, until he deepened the gesture a bit, hand finding its way into your hair, before he pulled away.

"Don't rile me up baby." He groaned, running a hand through his hair. He hated how much you could get under his skin right now, covering his lower half under the blanket you both shared almost shamefully. You kissed him again, making him laugh, finally this time for real. "Stop, I'm serious. You're still healing, or did you forget?" He said, and you whined.

"But you can be gentle! My stitches are coming out on Monday anyways, I'll be fine!" You said, and he had to chuckle at you, his mind being torn from side to side. He didn't know if he could, but the way you trusted him made him wan't to at least try. With a little hesitance he dived in again, making you smile against his lips.

He made you lie down again, slowly, crawling over your form, unhurried, as if you both got all the time of the world. And you had, he knew you had. When you whined, he simply grinned at you. "No no Baby, let's just be close, okay?" He said, voice low and soft, making you melt underneath him. For the first time ever, as cheesy as it sounden, it wasn't about reaching your highs anymore for him. He was a believer that good sex had to finish with as much pleasure as possible for him, yet that had entirely began to shift when he'd met you. Suddenly things weren't about him anymore, suddenly he started to become less and less self-centered; but this time nothing mattered at all. It wasn't about reaching your goal and claiming your prize in form of an orgasm, it wasn't about pure pleasure and satisfaction. No, this time it was about feeling as close to you as he could, he needed to feel every inch of you simply to reassure himself that you were still here, real, and with him.

He reached for the first drawer of the bedside table, your kisses on his chest and biceps making his heart race. Slipping the condom on with your help, not because he needed it but because you wanted to, he made himself at home inside you, mind slowing down with every move he made, his thoughts and body being reminded that you were okay, you were fine, you were still here with him, you didn't leave. Maybe he should be scared of how dependend he'd become on you, how you had sneaked your way past all his walls and made yourself at home inside his soul. Maybe he should be afraid or worried how he couldn't escape you anymore, how he couldn't take a fast exit out of the situation you both had made. But right now, none of that mattered.

Your mind was fuzzy, no thought able to be caught properly, and you let yourself slip even further, giving your entire being into his posession. This was just about being close, and you felt protected and safe with him, his pace slow and unhurried, gentle, and his hands reaching for yours, intertwining your fingers in a soft gesture. It showed just how much he was actually hurting, how much the entire situation had affected him; this was so unlike him that it made you feel proud of yourself to be able to witness it at all. He was laying himself bare in every way for you, and you didn't dare threw salt on his exposed flesh.

He didn't notice if he or you had come at all, continuing to move, yet never picking up his pace. When he watched your blissful face underneath him, his eyes stung again, tears knocking at the back of them, and he gently placed his head on your shoulder, kissing every part of your skin he could reach there, gasping and breathing hard. Never in his wildest dreams he would've thought that this would be the situation he would found pleasure in, yet it happened in that moment, and god, he felt like he couldn't stop. He felt like he could torture himself like this forever if it meant he could show you how utterly terrified he had been of loosing you, how terrified he still was deep down, and how terrified he would always be. He needed you like oxygen at this point, and it scared him shitless, yet even that was something he accepted with open arms and a smile in exchange for your affection. He was whipped for you, deep down bound to you by iron shackles, but he would never ask for a change whatsoever.

The night ended with both of you exhausted yet happy, tangled together under wrinkled sheets and a blanket thrown over your forms.

"I absolutely love you." You said, eyes wide and sparkling at the amount of junkfood your boyfriend carried inside the living room, coat still a bit wet from the rain outside. He brought a wave of cool and fresh air with him, making you shiver for a bit before your hand dived into the first paper bag, the crinkling sound ever so present. He laughed, throwing his coat over the side of the couch before he sat down next to you.

"You only love me for food, how tragic." He said, playfully sighing at it, watching you pout at him. "sorry baby, 'm joking." ruffling your hair he snatched a fry from the small bag you had in your hands, making you whine, but laugh at the same time.

Straightening your back you tried to look taller than him, making him chuckle. "I see this as a reward for not crying today!" You said proudly, and he smiled, nodding. You had gotten your final stitches removed, and even though it was still terrifying for both of you, Jungkook had finally faced his fear and came with you to your appointment, although he had still been heavily uncomfortable, rushing you both out as fast as possible. He was proud however, because even though you had every reason to, you didn't cry- simply squeezing his hand a bit, but nothing too much.

"I know, I know." He said, rummaging through the second large brown bag to fish himself a burger. "That's because you're the bravest girl ever-" He said, yelping when you snatched the food from him. "And also the most daring it seems, you gotta share baby!" He said playfully accusing, reaching for it just for you to hold it further away. "Good girls share, come on, I deserve a reward too you brat!" His hands reached for the item of his desire, making him raise his brows at you. Kissing your slightly greasy and salty lips, he laughed when you made a whiny sound at him. "Come on, this shit was expensive, let's eat."

"I've never seen you cry so much."

"Shut up."

"It was cute though-"

"Oh I'm about to be really fucking cute, get over here young lady!"

Taglist: @sweetenedcooky @ggukkieland @btsismybias22 @darkgvk @daddypkj @flowerprincess24 @crazylittlemay @zeharilisharaban

[manndo]

not today, but someday [oberyn martell x reader]

gif credit

pairing[s]: oberyn martell x female!reader

warning[s]: 18+ due to heavily implied sexual content (no actually smut), sexual references/situations, mentions of breeding (in reference to conceiving a child), swearing; talks of pregnancy & the inability to conceive; fluff; angst; oberyn being oberyn (is that a warning??); no mention of ellaria; possible inaccuracies about got (see notes)

word count: 5.4k (ummmm, whoops?)

prompt[s]: none.

summary: all you had ever wanted was a little one, a child to call your own. and yet, months later, you were still without child. still barren, and your dream of becoming a mother seemed to be slipping away. 

author’s notes: okay, so, let me start off saying this -- oberyn martell has taken over my life and i have spent much time yearning over him. and, in doing so, i got this idea one day because, as we know, oberyn had eight daughters. so, i thought, what if he had a s/o who could not seem to conceive? hence, this fic. but, i have never watched an episode of got in my life. i have seen his scenes (besides, you know, that scene because in my head, oberyn is alive and well and having all the berries and orgies he wants & i just can’t handle that much violence) and i have read some articles about the show, seen the gifs/posts on tumblr, and talked to people who have watched it in the past eight+ years. but that the extent of my knowledge of got. so, i apologize in advance for any inaccuracies that this fic holds. and i hope that my characterization of oberyn is good. also, no ellaria -- i just did not feel like she fit in this in anyway possible, and i did not want to force her into the story, so to speak. well, i think that is it! so, on with the show! all mistakes are my own. comments/reblogs/likes are much appreciated. thank you! ❤️

“I am sorry, m’lady.”

You did not know what else you were expecting. You knew, deep down, that nothing had changed. You did not need the maester to tell you that you were still without child — you knew. But, Oberyn had instead you call up on them, and you were too tired to argue. You also hoped you were wrong, and Gods did you want to be wrong. But, you were not.

You plastered on a polite smile for the maester. “It’s quite alright,” you said, your voice tight as you forced your emotions down. You weren’t going to shed any tears in front of the maester; you would never give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you cry, save for your husband. You nodded your head toward the door. “That’ll be all. Good day.” The maester bowed lowly before turning on their heel and exiting, the large wooden door shutting with a resounding, empty thud. 

The sound echoed in your head and heart; it seeped into your veins, and began to settle in your bones. The sound felt like a finality of sorts. An ending before anything could even begin.

A short, broken sob escaped your lips, and you quickly slapped your hand over your mouth to stop the sound from breaking free. However, it did not matter — the dam had broken, the heartache released. Another sob escaped, muffled by your palm as you squeezed your eyes closed, and laid down on your bed. Your body curling into itself as tears easily flowed down your cheeks, staining them. You felt as if your body was turning on you, tearing you apart at the seams as you shook violently with your cries.

For eight months now, the two of you had been actively trying for a babe, an heir for Oberyn. Not that he himself required an heir — he had eight beautiful daughters, his Sand Snakes, whom he loved dearly no matter their status. But, when the two of you had been wed over a year ago, there had been an unspoken expectation placed upon you both. Oberyn paid no mind, and told you to do the same, but that was easier said than done.

You had always wanted to be a mother, wanting to have babe upon babe running around, mucking up your home and tugging at your skirts. To watch them grow and prosper, becoming handsome young lads and beautiful young ladies, all whom would be intelligent and strong, but caring and kind. To have your legacy, no matter how small or large it would be, live on thorough them. Perhaps there was a small sense of duty, as a woman, that made you yearn to have children. But, you knew that was not the whole picture. Children were beautiful, wonderful, and loving. They were gifts, and you want to have those gifts, to cherish and love them till you were dead and buried. You wanted it, with all your heart, and yet, it seemed like fate was delivering you a cruel hand.

There had been, one fleeting moment in the very beginning of your wedded bliss, where you were positively sure you were with child. You had been so sure, so eager to see the maester; however, you had quickly been proven wrong by your own body betraying you. You’d spent the day in your chambers, unwilling to leave for any reason. Oberyn had found you curled deep in your silken sheets that evening, and try as he might with his quiet, reassuring words, he was unable to pull you from your depressive state. So, he had held you — silently, but tightly, pressing soft kisses across your shoulders, your neck, your jaw. He let his fingertips brush against your skin, tracing nonsensical patterns across your hips, your stomach, your chest, anywhere he could reach. His touches were light, and his movements were sluggish. He comforted you silently, the best way he knew how, and you allowed him to do so. It hadn’t eased the pain completely, but it had been enough.

But, slowly, the days had turned to weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and nothing changed. It did not matter that the two of you had stopped bringing others into your bed to focus solely on each other, for Oberyn to focus solely on you. Nor, did it matter how many times he filled you with his seed, or how willing and open you were to taking what he offered. It did not matter day, afternoon, or night. Nothing mattered. Because here you were, still without child. Barren.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed as the tears flowed and the sobs continued to wrack your body as you laid curled in your marriage bed. Your hand maiden had knocked on the door at one point, but you had been quick to dismiss her before she could enter and find you in your current state. She had not come back and you were grateful. 

But then, finally, everything came to a standstill; the tears you had been crying seemed to dry up, and your body had stopped trembling. You took a deep, shuddering breath and unfurled yourself, allowing your limbs to stretch out across the sheets. The tears were still clinging to the corners of your eyes, but most of them had already dried and stained your cheeks and neck. You pushed yourself to sit on the side of your bed, and roughly wiped away at your face, brushing away the outward sings of your heartache. You silently wished you could easily wipe away the heartache in your chest, too. The one that had buried itself so deeply in there. 

You hadn’t even noticed the door to your chambers opening, didn’t even hear a voice calling out to you. It was only when the door shut — that hollow, empty thud — that you were brought back, your head whipping toward the sound. “Oberyn,” you said, your voice soft, a breathless whisper. He wasn’t supposed to be here; from what you recalled, he was supposed to be kept busy with mundane princely duties (his words, not yours). You weren’t supposed to see him till this evening — and from the way the sun was peeking through the curtains, it could only be mid afternoon — which would have given you plenty of time to steel yourself. To gather yourself together, lock your heartache and pain away before delivering the news. To pretend that it didn’t cut into your soul, didn’t rip you apart from the inside out. “What are you—”

“I had a free moment,” he said, making his way toward you, his golden robes flowing effortless around him. There was a smile playing at his lips, which told you that he actually did not have a moment — he made a moment to come and see you. 

You felt the heartache clawing at your throat, fighting to be released.

Quickly, you pushed yourself to stand, and turned away from him in a futile attempt to hide your face. He would come closer; he would see your pain, your sorrow. Because, though you had wiped away the tears and the stains they had left behind on your cheeks, your eyes were still red and puffy. The pain and heartache still lingering behind your eyes.

God, you had hoped to have more time, more time before you had to tell him. Before you had to watch the sadness and disappointment appear, filling his rich, beautiful brown eyes. You wanted more time. 

A pragmatic pause. “Love,” he said, his voice sounding strained, painful. Your actions had spoken louder than words, it seemed.

You could feel a fresh set of tears springing to your eyes, your hand grasping at the dress clinging loosely to your side. You fisted the fabric tightly and closed your eyes, willing yours tears to stay put, to not fall. You heard Oberyn call out for you again, this time your birth name falling from his lips just before you felt him come closer. He hadn’t touched you, not yet, but you could feel his presence only mere inches behind you. 

“Love,” Oberyn whispered once more, this time as you felt his hand wrap gently around the fist at your side, the other coming to wrap around your waist. “I am—”

“Don’t,” you breathed out, the word sounding more like a broken sob than anything coherent. You broke away from Oberyn, and thankfully, he let you go. “I cannot bare another I am sorry, especially from you, husband,” you said, your voice harsher than you had intended, angrier. Not at him, no, you could never be angry with Oberyn. No, you were angry at yourself. This was your fault; you were defective, broken, unable to provide him and yourself with the one thing you had so desperately wished for. “I have heard enough apologies to last me a lifetime.”

You felt his fingertips brush gently against your arm, the lightest of touches, barely there. A soft gesture to tell you he was there, and that he would not leave. You took a shaky breath, and loosened the grip on the fabric in your hand, letting the dress fall back against you. “There is no rush, my love,” he said, his voice soft and tentative, as if he knew he was treading rough water. And, he was.

A choked chuckle escaped your lips, and you turned to face your husband. “For you, perhaps,” you said, letting your eyes take in his appearance. He looked as handsome as ever, but he was growing older, as was the consequences of living. Over time, more grey had appeared in his hair and his beard, and a few more lines and wrinkles adorned his regal face. Even his stomach had gone a little soft (not enough for anyone besides you to notice). But, he was still the man you had met many moons ago. Still the Red Viper. Sill the man could make any woman or man fall to their knees and beg for his cock. “You, my stallion, can breed until you’re dead. The same cannot be said for myself.”

“I do not think I would call myself a stallion, my dove. Not anymore.”

You snorted, and turned away from him, letting your eyes look down at your marriage bed. You ran a hand across the silk sheets. “With the way we’ve been fucking these past few months, I’d disagree.”

You heard an amused chuckle escape his lips. “I may be able to still mount you like a stallion, but perhaps, I can no longer bred you like one.”

You looked over your shoulder at Oberyn, and raised your eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the father of eight daughters doubts his ability to breed?”

His shoulders gave a small shrug before he reached out to you, wrapping his callused hand around your wrist. Oberyn brushed the rough pad of his thumb over your pulse point. “I am not in my prime anymore, my dove. Perhaps, the fault does not lie on you.”

You looked away from him and back toward your marriage bed. You felt him take a step closer before you felt the press of his lips against your shoulder in the briefest of kisses. The hand holding your wrist slide down, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You’re taking pity on me, husband,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I would never,” he said, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. He pressed another kiss to your shoulder before his chin came to rest there, his beard tickling your skin ever so slightly. “I am merely stating a possibility,” he mumbled, the hand holding yours moving, arm shifting to wrap around your waist, hands still tangled with one another. “A truth, perhaps.”

You scoffed. “You cannot be serious, my prince.”

Oberyn hummed, and placed a soft kiss on your neck. “I am,” he mumbled into your skin. “I could deny reality, if I wished, but denying the inevitable does not change the outcome.”

“So,” you swallowed and looked down at your tangled hands that were resting on your stomach. You took a deep breath. “You do not think of me as a failure?”

Before you could blink, Oberyn had spun you around to face him. His rich, dark eyes were narrowed, but there was no anger behind his eyes. “You are not a failure, my love,” he said, his voice filled conviction. He reached out, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Please, do not think of yourself as one.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “There are not many things women are afforded in this life, Oberyn. Many of us are not giving the promise of kingdoms, riches or lands when we are but babes,” you stated, your voice hard, irritation lacing your words. “But this, the gift to bare children, we are born with that. That is ours,” you said, your voice softening as your throat tightened and tears welled at the corner of your eyes. You closed your eyes, and feel another swipe of his callused thumb across your cheek. “I know I am worth more than my anatomy. I know that my anatomy does not define me. That this, this failure,” you said, your voice catching in your throat, “this inability to conceive, does not define me.” You swallowed, and opened your eyes, looking into Oberyn’s deep, chocolate orbs. “I know these things, Oberyn. I know them. But, it cuts me deeply, so deeply that I feel as if I am bleeding out with no way to close the wound.”

“My dove,” he said softly, his other hand coming to rest on your other cheek. He held your face gently between his hands, his features soften, and you could see a pain in his decadent eyes. A pain that was reflected in your own. “Your pain is my pain, know that. And know, there is nothing I would not give up in this world in order to give you the gift of a child,” he said, and you could tell that he meant what he said. He wanted this as much as you did, you both wished for this, silently prayed for this. And yet, barren. 

You watched as he removed one of his hands from your cheek, sliding it down your neck, shoulder, down the middle of your chest, between your breasts and coming to rest on your stomach. Oberyn looked down at his hand, as did you, and spread his fingers across your stomach. “What I wouldn’t give to see you swell with our babe,” he said, and if you listened close enough, you could hear the slight hitch in his breath. You placed your hand over his on your stomach, fingers resting between his. “To see them suckle at your breast, to tug at your skirts, to wreak havoc in the halls.” He gazed back to you, and you felt a lump forming in your throat, a fresh set of tears prickling at the back of your eyes. “The sound of their cries and laughter filling the rooms. To see them as they grow and blossom.” He paused, and you could see he was choosing his words carefully. You felt a knot grow in your stomach. “But, I am starting to think—”

“Please, Oberyn,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as you closed your eyes, your fingers tightening their grip on his. “Do not say—”

“We need to take a step back, my love.”

Your eyes snapped opened. That was not exactly what you expected. You had expected him to say that you two should give up, forget the notion of ever having your own babe. Perhaps, he would even suggest an orphan child; you were not opposed to the idea, you loved children and would gladly be a mother to a child in need of one. But, you were not ready to give up the idea of having your own yet. 

“A step back?” you asked, your eyes filled with confusion as you released your grasp on his hand. You were not entirely sure where your husband was going with this statement. You could not imagine that he was implying to stop fucking. Though Oberyn had aged, he still enjoyed the pleasures of sex (as did you) and the idea that he would give that up? Preposterous. “Are you suggesting we stop fucking, dear husband?”

Oberyn looked aghast at your suggestion, and it made the corner of your mouth tick up. “What a ridiculous notion, dear wife,” he said, mimicking your words back to you, his voice sounding almost betrayed that you would think such a thing. Even suggest such a thing. “Besides,” he started, voice dropping an octave in tone and pitch as he moved both hands, the one on your stomach and the one on your cheek, to come and rest on your hips once more. Oberyn’s callused fingers dipped into your hipbone and held tightly, almost too tightly. It barely phased you. “The idea that I could keep my hands, mouth and cock to myself around you is absurd,” he muttered, a wicked grin spread across his face, his dark eyes flashing with lust. It lasted only a moment before the smirk fell, and a serious look appeared upon his face. “However, if you wish to cease—”

You shook your head. “No, no,” you muttered. “I could not do that to you.”

“My love—”

“I’ve already asked too much of you by ceasing our activities with others.”

“Which,” he started softly, “I had no issue forgoing for you, my dove.” He paused and removed on have from your hip. He placed a finger under your chin and pushed up, lifting your head to make sure that your eyes caught his rich, dark orbs. “You have my body, my heart, and my soul. I love you. Whatever you need, I will comply.”

Your heart swelled in your chest. Oberyn partook in every pleasure imaginable, had never denied himself and tried almost every sexual act under the sun. And yet, here he was, willing to forgo sex for you. You knew he loved you, but this? This proved how far he would go for you, the lengths he would go to make sure you were well, that you were content. Whatever you needed, it seemed, he would gladly give it to you. 

“No, Oberyn,” you started and he opened his mouth once more, but you stopped him as you placed a hand on his cheek. “I am — I have no problem continuing our sexual activities.”  

You watched as Oberyn studied you, his dark eyes scanning your face for any sign that you might be hiding the truth from him. After a moment, he seemed content with what he found. He nodded and removed his finger from your chin. “Then, that is settled. But, I think, my dove we may have put too much pressure on ourselves,” he murmured, turning his head into your palm, and pressing a soft kiss to the center of it. “Not that our lovemaking is not pleasurable, it most certainly is, always,” Oberyn said, turning his gaze back to you, slipping on another mischievous smirk his let his free hand come to rest just below your breast. “But, perhaps, we’ve forgotten what it is like to be us,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your neck as you let your hand fall from his cheek and back to your side. “Without pressures.” Another kiss, lips moving down. “Without worries.” And, another, lower. “Only us.” His final kiss landed on your shoulder. “Return to an earlier time, when we had first laid eyes upon each other. Do you remember those days, my love?”

You nodded. You remembered those days vividly; the hours spent walking through the water gardens, talking about everything and nothing. The nights spent together, tangled in each other, exploring each other with hands, lips and teeth. Back then, all you had wanted to do was learn about the man you shared your bed — and soon, your life — with, and he had wanted the same. Oberyn still attended to his duties, as required, but every moment when he was not busy, he was with you and you were with him. 

Then, when you had married, more of your time had become consumed with your own requirements and duties as well as his own. Much of your time together was spent was in the evenings, in your bed in hopes of conceiving a child. 

“Perhaps, my love,” Oberyn started again, “we need to allow ourselves to enjoy each others company, get lost in each other.” A brief pause. “In and out of our bed.” You caught Oberyn’s dark orbs, and him yours. The hand on your ribs was removed, and placed instead upon your cheek. You leaned into his touch. “What do you say, my dove? We do not forgo our dream of one day having a babe of our own. We just,” he paused, for a moment, a thoughtful look in his eye, “allow ourselves not to be pressured or burdened by the notion? Return to simpler times, so to speak?” 

You let your husband’s suggestion mull in your head for a moment. Perhaps, he was right; perhaps the two of you had been too focused on conceiving a child that you had, unintentionally, made sex a burden. Oberyn was not wrong; your times with him were always pleasurable and the two of you never fucked if either of you was in no mood to engage in sex. But when you did, perhaps, the burden was there, always lingering in the back of your mind. That the burden had become an unknown weight upon you, upon Oberyn. It would be nice to silence that burden for a while. 

“My love?”

You blinked and focused your gaze back on Oberyn. His deep brown eyes were studying you, patiently waiting for your response. You smiled softly at him. “You are right, my prince,” you agreed, and you watched as a triumphant look filled his eyes, the corner of his lip ticking up. You narrowed your gaze slightly. “Watch that ego of yours, husband.” Oberyn chuckled lowly and moved to grasp your hips. He pulled you tight against him, a wicked smile on his face.

“Or what, dove? Hm?”

“Or,” you started, lifting arms and wrapping the loosing around his neck and shoulders, “it will get you killed one day.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “Will it now? By whom?”

You held your chin up. “Me.” Oberyn laughed, the sound filling your shared chambers, and now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow. “You doubt me, my prince?”

“I do not doubt, your strength, my love,” he said through the laughter, which slowly began to die down as the milliseconds passed. “Or your cunning wit. However, I do know that you love me too much to even harm a hair on my head.” He paused and titled his head. “Well, unless in the throes of passion, of course,” he added, another mischievous grin pulling at his lips. “Then well?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It cannot be helped.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, but you knew the smile pulling at your lips betrayed you. “Whatever you say, my prince,” you muttered.

Oberyn hummed thoughtfully. You had thought to say something else, but before you could even open your mouth to speak, Oberyn’s lips were on yours, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. And, you willing granted him entry. His tongue slid harshly against yours, warm, wet and unyielding. A small moan escaped your lips as your arms tightened around his neck, fingers tangling into the curls at the nap of his neck. You used your hold to pull yourself even closer to him, pressing your chest against his as you slipped your thigh between his legs, pressing it against his swelling cock. A low growl escaped his throat, one that was eagerly swallowed by your lips as his grip on your hips tightened.

There was a loud knock at your chamber door.

Oberyn barely pulled away, mumbling, “ignore it,” against your lips before sliding his lips against yours again. And, you had planned to, already lost in the taste of him. However, the moment his tongue had slipped back in to your moth, there was another knock. This time, much louder.

“M’lord?” It was one of the man servants. “Are you in there?”

Oberyn groaned and pulled his lips away from yours reluctantly. “Yes,” he responded, his voice stern, but somewhat out of breath. You smiled. “But.” One of his hands travelled from you hip, up to your side, coming to rest on your breast. He kneaded the flesh, and you let out a soft mewl, heading falling back, eyes closing. “I am very, very busy. So, if you’ll ex—”

“Your presence is requested, m’lord.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes. “By whom?” he asked, but he did not bother to move toward the door to let the servant in, only lowered his head to your neck. He gave the skin at the base of your neck a quick, hard nip. You let out a small yelp of surprise mixed with pleasure as you tugged on Oberyn’s dark locks once more.

You were sure the man servant now knew exactly why Oberyn was busy — or, more accurately, whom he was busy with.

“Your brother, m’lord,” he answered, his voice tight and proper.

Oberyn growled against your skin in irritation before he nipped the skin again, this time worrying the skin for a brief moment. “Oberyn,” you whined, the sound a little louder than a whisper. Another nip in the same area. You were sure you’d have a bruise within the hour. You straightened your neck and opened your eyes. “Oberyn,” you said again, trying to quell the ever growing arousal pooling between your legs. However, his name sounded too breathless and needy on your lips. You glanced down at him the best you could, and saw his dark orbs shining with lust. Oberyn gave a sly smirk.

“M’lord?”

You knew he didn’t want to go, that he would rather lose himself in your body and pleasure. However, you knew that if he did not go now, it would only mean more time away from each other later.

“M’lord? He wishes to speak with you as soon as possible. If you could please open this door, and—”

“Go,” you whispered, ignoring the man servant’s plea, scratching at the back of Oberyn’s neck and giving him a soft smile. “The sooner you meet with him, the sooner you are back in our bed.”

Oberyn raised his head, his eyes watching you closely. The hand resting on your breast slide up and over your shoulder. His callused fingers began to play with the strap on your gown. “And you will be waiting for me?”

“Of course,” you answered, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Unless, you’d like to visit the brothel tonight?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow. “It’s been a while, my prince, and that is my fault. I know I asked you, and you willingly followed my request. But, I do not wish to hold you back anymore. If you would like to share a bed again, I am more than willing to share tonight.”

Oberyn leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, but before it could go farther, he was pulling away. He grinned down at you. “Perhaps another night, my dove. Tonight, I plan to keep you.” The hand on your hip slide off and over, his hand cupping your clothed and aching center. A small whimper escaped your lips, and Oberyn’s own lips twisted into a wicked smile. “And, this pretty cunt all to myself tonight.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering near your ear. His warm breath ghosted over the shell, making you shiver. “Make you come undone upon my tongue for hours,” he whispered, the word sending a fresh flood of arousal between your legs.

“Oberyn—” your voice sounded choked, hoarse, needy.

“Before I finally sink into that tight little cunt.” He pulled your earlobe between his teeth, and worried the skin. You groaned, eyes falling closed as you grasped at his upper arm for support. His teeth released your lobe. “And fuck you until the sun rises.”

You bite down on your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape your throat. Oberyn pulled back, hand sliding from your aching center to your hip, and looked at you, that wicked grin still pulling at his lips. “Perhaps—”

“M’lord?” The man servant sounded terse, clearly annoyed that he was still standing outside the door. You glanced at Oberyn to see him roll his eyes, irritation clearly written on his face. “I am sorry, but, I believe—”

“Tell him I will be there in a moment,” Oberyn all but growled through the door at the man servant. You gently swatted at his chest, and gave him a look that silently told him to be nice. Oberyn sighed. “If you would be so kind,” he added, his voice much less demanding as he glanced over his shoulder toward the door.

“Um, I would,” the man started, “but he — he requested that I personally accompany you, Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn rolled his eyes once more. “Of course he did,” he muttered.

You bite your lip once more, this time trying to stifle a giggle that threatened to erupt. However, it escaped — a meager sound, but a giggle nonetheless. “He knows you all too well, my prince.”

“That he does,” he muttered, and let out another heavy sigh before turning his head and attention back on you. “You’ll be fine, my dove?”

And, you knew what he was asking. He was not just asking if you would be fine while he was away, or if you would be fine for the rest of the day. No, he was asking that and more, much more. Oberyn was asking if you’d be fine from here on out with what you two had agreed upon. Would you really and truly be fine with forgoing your want for a babe? Forgoing the need you had created to conceive a child for the foreseeable future. Were you, for now, fine with only having him in your life? No children, only him, only your prince. Only your husband. Only Oberyn. 

You smiled sweetly, and reached out, placing a hand upon his cheek. “Yes, my love. As long as you promise to stay by my side until one of us takes our dying breath.”

Oberyn smiled, his dark orbs shining brightly with love and adoration for you. He reached out and covered your hand on his cheek with his, squeezing your fingers gently. “Promise.”

You nodded. “Now,” you started, letting your hand slide from his cheek, his fingers still grasping at yours, “go on. Before your brother comes and hunts you down himself.”

Oberyn scoffed, and looked toward the door. “That’ll be the day,” he muttered, and you chuckled softly, shaking your head.

“Go,” you said, voice a little stern as you gently pushed at his shoulder in an attempt to move him toward the door.

Oberyn laughed softly and untangled his fingers from yours. “Fine, my dove, I am going,” he muttered, leaning down to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips. “I will see you in a few hours.” Oberyn took a step back from you, his eyes never leaving yours. He grinned and took another step back. “Make sure you’re ready for me.”

You smirked. “Do not worry about me, my prince. I will be,” you said and he grinned, all teeth and wicked before turning on his heel, and leaving your shared chambers.

The door shut behind him with a resounding thud, but this time, it did not cause you heartache. There was no finality or dread that sank into your bones. It was just the sound of a door opening and closing, as they always do.

Perhaps, you had closed the door on your dreams of having little ones. But, it wasn’t locked; you could open that door once more, when the time was right. Or, perhaps, you’d find another door, another way. However, right now, you would enjoy the idea of a closed door.

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[darthkruge]

Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader ~ It’s Alright, My Love

Summary: Anakin comforts the Reader as she struggles with feelings of abandonment and loss surrounding her parents’ divorce. 

Warnings: Divorce (Reader’s parents), Reader’s really sad, talk of sadness and abandonment, comfort angst, soft!Anakin, I wanted to put in like emotions (angst) but also lots of comfort and fluff for you <3

Words: 2.1k

A/N: I went with an Anakin x Fem!Reader, I hope that’s okay. I love you so fucking much @starwars-whore. I wrote this quickly because I wanted to get it out for you tonight, I hope there aren’t any like egregious typos but if there are I apologize in advance! And I hope I captured a piece of what you are feeling and that this brings you some comfort :)

gif credit

You curled deeper into your bed, a pillow clutched to your chest as tears soaked into the fabric. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been crying. So much shit had been piling up in the recent months and you pushed it down, trying to move forward and just… survive. Even so, the pressure of your suffering, of your anguish, it couldn’t stay buried forever. 

You’d been thinking about it today, allowing your thoughts and emotions to roam. It was never a good idea, going that far in your own head, but some days you were unable to stop it. The onslaught of emotions, of doubt, of grief, of anger, of pain, it was equally unbearable and imminent. Somewhere among the swirling of your thoughts, the tears began. They haven’t stopped since.

You almost blamed yourself- why couldn’t you just talk to someone, voice your emotions, something. You hated the situation you were put in, your parents' breakup affecting you to your core. You doubted constantly, people, relationships, love. How were you supposed to trust in it? You buried your nose deeper into your pillow, fingertips clutching it tighter as you thought about the wonderful man you had in your life. You wished you could tell him. A broken sob left you as you thought about all the times you wished you’d told him everything going on in your brain. But despite the wishes, you never could. Something told you that today, that just might change. 

Further, how were you supposed to trust yourself? Why weren’t you good enough for your own father? Why, why, why? The questions are what hurt you the most; you constantly searched for answers and yet you knew you’d never get them. There was no reason a father should make his daughter feel disposable. You thought back to before, to when you were young and innocent. To when all this shit didn’t fucking matter. 

You sometimes doubted you’d ever get that back. It all felt too overwhelming, too impossible to overcome. You sighed, remembering your tendency to push away those closest to you. It took everything in your soul to not do that to Anakin. You loved him and he loved you, it was clear. But that voice in your head that told you to run, it never fully left. 

You barely heard the door opening, too caught up in your current plight. It wasn’t until a soft pair of eyes came into your field of vision that you registered much of anything at all. 

“Love…” Anakin said softly, his flesh hand coming up to caress your cheek, “What happened?”

His voice gave you all the strength you needed to try and talk to him. “He’s gone and I- I keep pushing him away and I know I’m losing him but he…” You trailed off, not knowing how to even put this into words. 

Anakin encouraged you, his gaze kind and understanding. You reminded yourself of his love, his devotion. He wouldn’t judge you, nor would he ever leave you. 

You took a deep breath before continuing, trying to steady your shaking voice. 

“My father,” You clarified, “I feel like I’m losing him. He’s always with her and I don’t know when I stopped being enough for him. I don’t understand, how could he have just found someone new?! Anakin, I’m his daughter.” Your voice caught, the word choked in your throat. 

Tears continued to run down your cheeks as you spoke and Anakin wiped away each and every one. You could tell his heart was shattering at your words. 

“I, uh, I feel like it’s kinda my fault, too, I guess. I’ve had to let him go. I just… I love him, a part of me always will, I think. But I have to distance myself from him, you know? Because being around him, every single time it tears right through my chest. And that pain, somewhere along the line he stopped being worth holding onto because, Ani, it was killing me.” 

Anakin nodded, giving you a moment to collect yourself. He ushered you forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. The sensation caused your eyes to close, more tears staining your cheeks. 

“But I guess that doesn’t make it any easier, does it?” You let out a humourless chuckle, the sadness in your voice making it sound painfully like a sob. 

“You know you have to let him go, and although you wish it were different, you know it isn’t. And it hurts.” Anakin finished for you, looking at you quizzically to see if he accurately picked up on your emotions. 

You nodded and allowed your head to drop into your hands as sobs tore through you. 

“Shh, come here my sweet girl,” Anakin said, sitting himself against the headboard of your bed and pulling you into his lap. He tucked you into his chest, arms wrapped protectively around you. 

You tried to say his name, tried to usher a “thank you” but your hiccups and sobs broke your speech too heavily, it was nearly unintelligible.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t need to speak, I know,” Anakin reassured you. You nodded into his chest, hands coming up to grasp the fabric of his tunic. 

Softly, you asked, “Why? Why me? Why do I need to feel so much? Why can’t it all go away?!”

Anakin rocked you back and forth in his arms, pulling you closer as his own tears dripped down his cheeks. He hated that you were in this much pain. As powerful a Jedi he was, he couldn’t stop your suffering and he hated himself for it. 

“Anakin, why do they leave? Why do I push them away? Why, fuck, why am I always left behind, trying to pick up the pieces of things everyone else broke?” You felt like a child, uttering these words to your strong boyfriend. Even so, they were the questions that plagued your mind and haunted your dreams. And here you were, in Anakin’s arms, just feeling so understood and safe, it was all coming out. 

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, softly pressing a kiss to your hair. “I don’t know why they leave. But I do know that you don’t deserve it. You’ve been so strong, dealing with this, something no one should ever have to go through. And you’ve remained so kind, so loving. I don’t know how you do it, angel. And please, please believe me when I say it isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”

His words seeped into you and somehow chased a bit of the darkness away. It was hardly anything compared to the storm you faced internally, but it was a start. You clung to him as if he was your only hope, the only thing keeping you afloat. 

As you exhausted yourself of your tears, he continued to hold you. As he wrapped you closer, he constantly whispered how much he loved, how you were everything to him and how, even though it felt horrible now, you’d get through this. You’d eventually shifted so that you were hugging him, your legs straddling his as you sat on his lap, your face tucked into his neck. His flesh hand held you close, smooshing you into him as his metal one worked through your hair and gently came up to massage your scalp. 

Slowly, the tears began to quell. After a while, Anakin was sure you’d fallen asleep. Then, you softly shifted and looked up at him. Even with your eyes rimmed red from the crying, your hair a frazzled mess, and your skin blotchy, he thought you looked beautiful. 

“Can I carry you somewhere?”

You looked at him, confused, but nodded. You were too exhausted to even argue. He picked you up, allowing you to continue to hold onto him as he walked you into the bathroom. 

You blinked up at him in question and he smiled, placing a kiss on your cheek. 

“How does a bath sound, my love?” His voice was sweet and gentle and his words moved you. It was a simple question, after all, but it spoke to your deeper intimacy. He would always take care of you, he would always comfort you. It meant the world. It was in this that you reminded yourself why you refused to let yourself push him away. You loved him too damn much. 

For the first time in hours, your lips slightly curled into a hint of a smile. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” You winced at your words and at the way they sounded; broken and sore from all the crying. 

“It’s alright,” Anakin said. Of course he noticed.

He filled the tub with the Force and helped you out of your clothes before peeling his own off. He looked at you and insecurities started to pop into your head but he cut you off with one word: “gorgeous.”

Anakin picked you up and settled you between his legs in the warm water, your back to his chest. You went to pick up your favorite soap but his hand grabbed yours, gently stopping its movements. He took the soap from you and lovingly worked it into your body. He urged you to relax into him, to finally allow your mind to rest. 

He was so soft with you. He treated you the way you thought girls were only treated in dreams and childhood stories. He massaged shampoo into your hair, following the process with conditioner, the one you loved and that made him want to bury his nose in the strands atop your head, its scent so associated with you that he couldn’t help but love it.

When he finished, he once again gathered you into his arms. He called a towel to him and wrapped you up in the warm, fluffy fabric before doing the same for himself. You whined as he stopped holding you to do so and Anakin chuckled but worked a little faster, immediately picking you up and walking you back to your bed. 

He settled you onto the mattress. Your eyes shot open, suddenly panicked as you felt him get up. 

“Shh, it’s alright, my love. I’m just going to go put on some clothes, okay?”

You nodded, feeling stupid for wanting his comfort so bad.

As if sensing your internal conflict, Anakin came back and looked you deep in the eyes. “Hey, hey, none of that. I’ll be right back and I won’t get up again, I promise.” 

You nodded once again, eyes remaining on him as he stood up and put some underwear and sweatpants on. He turned back toward you and held up a shirt and some of your undergarments, looking at you in question. You smiled, already knowing what he was planning. He came back to bed and slipped the clothes onto you, touch feather-light as he metal and flesh fingers danced across your skin. 

Once you were both settled, he pulled you into his chest, allowing you to deeply inhale his clean scent on his bare chest. His metal fingers were playing with the ends of your hair while his flesh one worked up and down your back and arms. 

“How are you feeling, my love?” Anakin asked, breaking the silence.

“I’m not sure,” You thought for a moment. “Better.” 

“I know it won’t all go away, I know I can’t do that for you. But I hope that you know that I’ll always be here when you feel like this and when you don’t. I know you feel abandoned, upset, angry, scared, and a million other things right now. Please, also feel my love for you, sweetheart. Because it’s so, so strong.” 

“I do,” You whispered. “Thank you. For allowing me to talk to you, for taking care of me, for being the one I can turn to, for loving me, for your patience and your kindness, for everything. You don’t know how important you are to me, Anakin.” 

He looked at your sweetly before pressing a kiss to your lips. “If it’s just a mere fraction of how important you are to me, I know.”

You leaned in, kissing him again. It was as though when you kissed him, you somehow felt like you’d be okay. You weren’t sure how and you sure as hell didn’t know when, but if he could love you this much, you had to be okay, someday. 

You broke apart and rested your head on his shoulder. Anakin craned his neck to plant a few more kisses on your head. You closed your eyes, allowing everything else, all the thoughts, all the worries, all the people, to fade. You were left with him and you. You and him. You smiled; once again, your love remained. 

As you drifted off, you heard the words that finally allowed you to rest. “I’m sorry life’s been so unkind to you. I wish I could fix it and give you the family you deserve. I promise, my love, I won’t ever leave you. You can always come on me.”

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