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ladyylesbian · 2 years

Text

ripped jeans (18+)

pairing: top!natasha romanoff x bottom!fem!reader

summary: natasha eases her fiancée nerves while stuck in traffic

warnings: MINORS DNI! pretty public sex, car sex, fingering (r receiving), pet names (princess, baby, babe, good girl), daddy kink, degrading (whore, slut, brat, toy), praise kink, nipple play, clit play, exhibitionsm, dash of voyerism

word count: 2267

a/n: this is the first time i have ever written smut and idk if i will again lol but hopefully this doesn't completely suck. thank you to @kitmoas for encouraging me as i was writing, dealing with the mayhem that was me writing this, and for their loving editing of the fic for me <3

original inspiration: “Your ass looks good in these jeans” @loqov

you do not have permission to translate/repost my works anywhere! all mistakes are mine and mine alone. likes, comments, and reblogs are always welcome & appreciated <3

GIF by @thelastavenger-3000

As Natasha leans against the chilled front door she can just make out the sound of the engine of the car trying to warm up. The redhead knows that you’re nervous to meet her family and has been trying to think of ways to help calm your nerves; however even her own nerves cannot always be filtered out, “You need to hurry or we’re going to be late.”

You release a deep exhale at the sound of your fiancée’s words. Giving yourself a final look in the mirror, double checking that your makeup isn’t smudged and that you don't have a hair out of place, to try and release some of your nerves you give yourself a small shake. Walking out of your ensuite bathroom into your shared bedroom you begin to look for the perfect outfit. You don’t even hear the Avenger open the door as she enters. She notices you trying to decide on clothes to wear and moves quickly to grab her favorite pair of ripped jeans on you.

Natasha tosses the pair over to you, smirking slyly when they land on your head, “You should wear these— your ass looks good in these jeans.” You can't help but smile even as you roll your eyes. Checking the time, you hurriedly put on the pair of pants and throw on a simple white t-shirt before picking up your pair of flats as you rush out the door and get into the car.

----------

Looking over at the redhead you can tell she’s tense as well, but you’re unsure if she’s just sympathetically nervous about your first time meeting her family or something else. However, your thoughts are cut short once you see the standstill traffic ahead of you on the interstate. Natasha’s foot slowly applies pressure on the break as two semi-trucks stop on either side of the car, boxing you in.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you feel the former assassins hand land on your thigh, “Baby, you’re just going to get more stressed waiting in this traffic, so let me distract you so you’ll relax.”

As your eyes lock with hers you muster up the words, “I don’t think anything would be able to distract me enough to relax, babe.”

Natasha smirks at the statement, mumbling a quick witted expression of ‘oh I’ll take that challenge’. Her eyes dropped down as her hand started playing with the rips in your jeans causing the premade rips to widen. Quickly removing her hand to move on to untuck your white shirt from your jeans. “I’ll get you to be nice and relaxed, princess. Don’t worry.”

Pale fingers go to unbutton your jeans with ease, swiftly pushing down the zipper after. The red head ran the pads of her fingers along the fabric of your underwear, reaching down to lightly brush over your clit, causing you to take a sharp inhale. “Natas-”

“Daddy—” the Avenger corrected sternly, her tone unwavering.

You gulped desperately trying to find the redhead’s eyes yet failing before continuing, “D-Daddy… someone could see us.”

A dark chuckle breaks from your fiancée’s mouth, “Oh, princess, I hope someone does.”

Natasha removes her hands from your body causing a whorish whine to slip past your lips as she goes to move the gear shift into park. A devilish smirk plasters across her face as her eyes illuminate with desire as she scans you over, bringing her hands up to grope your boobs whilst brushing her thumbs over your nipples. “Can Daddy have some fun with her toy?” The former assassin questions, egging you on as she pulls tauntingly on your nipples. A shiver ran through your body at the touch as a breathless ‘yes’ left your mouth.

“As much as I love those jeans on you, I’m going to need them around your ankles now.” A shot of heat hits directly at your center causing you to still before speedily lifting up your hips to push down your pants with vigor. Your fiancée’s hand finds itself back on your thigh squeezing lightly before moving her up and inward. Her fingers curled into you, dragging her fingertips back up towards the apex of your thighs, leaving slightly elevated red lines from the paths her nails took.

Natasha moved intricately, her fingers running up your thigh and along the waistband of your black lace underwear, slightly slipping her fingers inside once she reaches the center of your pelvis. Small whines start leaving your mouth as you look over to the driver’s side of the car, a silent and warranted plea coming from you. A pleased smile makes its way across the Avenger’s face, “You need to tell Daddy what you want, princess.”

After a few seconds you finally respond to your partner, “I wan- I want Daddy… I want Daddy to finger me right here…right now.” The smile spread seductively on the redhead’s face, showing just how proud she is at asking for what you wanted.

Natasha brings her hand up to cup your face as you lean into her embrace, “Now that is my good girl. Daddy is going to take good care of you, don't worry.”

She dropped her hand from your face, sliding it down to glide over your covered mound. Her fingers slowly curled up and down, stopping right below your aching clit, feeling the wet patch grow tentatively on your underwear.

“Do you think you’re ready for more?” Natasha broods, watching her own movements.

You nod your head in anticipation, joining it with mumbled approval. The Avenger guides your legs as she places your feet firmly onto the dash and spreads your knees apart to give herself room. She pulls her finger up slightly to press down on your swollen bud, earning a jerk upwards from your exposed hips. A sharp pinch met your clit with a quick pull and release, the Russian passing a vulgar moan. She ran her fingers out to the sides of your underwear, pushing gradually underneath the edges as her fingers join back together applying fair pressure right at your entrance, “Only a true slut could be this wet when anyone can look to their side mirrors and see my pussy getting played with.”

Another wave of arousal hits, making your center clench around nothing and a grin to appear back on the former assassin's face. Natasha collected your wetness along her slender fingers before sinking them in knuckle deep to only pull them back out. A deep exhale came from your lips, “Daddy please..take me.”

The redhead releases her own soft moan at your begging, bottoming her fingers out inside of your gripping walls, glancing up to meet your eyes as she curls her digits— feeling for that spongy spot inside you and causing your eyes to snap shut.

Natasha removes her finger quickly, giving a firm slap to your inner thigh, making your eyes snap open connecting with Natasha’s, “Eyes open slut. I want you to know exactly the situation you put yourself in for your Daddy.”

Her words have always left you sputtering, spinning, and weak at the knees. She always knew exactly what to say to get your mind empty and incoherent, completely ready to be whatever she wanted you to be. Your eyes beg to stay locked onto the vibrant green in front of you as you feel your chin being pushed forward to look at the traffic in front of you. Your fiancée’s fingers slowly push back into you. Your eyes threaten to close again but you force them to stay open and remain focusing forward, “That’s my good girl. Such a good princess for me.”

Natasha’s pace is slow at first, wanting to feel every inch of you, to feel every clench and jerk your body makes while her other hand moves to the top of your head, pushing back the strands of hair falling in front of your face, “I don’t want to miss the look on your poor face as you cum on my fingers.”

After a few more slow pumps the former assassin starts to move at a faster pace. Your hands move from your upper thighs to your fiancée’s wrist, trying to control her movements, but when it comes to strength the redhead has always had you beat. Natasha has never been one to miss a day at the gym, but even more so on arm day. This one fact has always come in handy when she’s out saving the world as an Avenger, yet here she is unable to think of a better reason for her obsessive gym behavior than to have your feet on the dash fingering you as the two of you sat in traffic.

Dropping the hand she had placed on your head to the front of your shirt, she grabs roughly onto your breast as she keeps her ever increasing speed pumping in and out of your cunt, “There is something so undeniably hot about fucking someone when they’re still half dressed.”

Your brain is quickly becoming foggy at the actions and words falling from your fiancée. You desperately try to ground your focus on anything else except the growing tightness collecting in your stomach; so you look towards the traffic searching for something to focus on and notice the head of the semi truck driver in the side mirror. It was impossible to hide the wave of arousal washing over you at the realization all this driver would need to do is turn their side slightly to see you knees spread, panties pushed aside, getting brought to an orgasm. You don’t even notice the small rocking of your hips trying to desperately find the palm of Natasha’s hand to satisfy the pulsing throb in your untouched clit.

“Such a pathetic little slut. Do you need Daddy to rub some circles on this clit?”, the Russian cooes while placing alternating light and firm taps directly on your clit. No coherent response is able to leave your mouth as the Russian already begins to use her thumb to start applying tight circles on your clit. A moan catches with a gasp, falling trapped in your throat. You use whatever strength you can gather in your arms to lift your body up slightly from the seat, desperate to ease the overwhelming tightness in your stomach, “I’m waiting on an answer whore.”

“Ye-Yes, Daddy, ple-please keep..keep going ”, You stumbled over your words, unable to focus on anything except for your fiancée’s touch. The combination of her fingers filling you up and the attention to your clit had you reaching a new level of pleasure with each passing second. Any thoughts that try to enter your mind are thrown away as you feel a pair of lips start to kiss along your neck. The string of burning kisses coming to a stop right above your sweet spot, Natasha mumbles, “You look so pretty right before you fall apart.”

The former assassin begins to suck down harshly with full intent to leave a dark purple mark against your skin. She was never one to pass up the opportunity to let everyone know exactly who you belonged to. Subconsciously you tilted your head, opening up your neck to welcome the familiar pair of lips back onto your skin. The fire that had been burning in your core is now spreading up your body, the mark leaving behind a pulsing feeling as she pulls away with a pop. Biting down lightly right over the bruise, the redhead then soothes the area with a steady lave across it with the tip of her tongue.

A whine leaves your mouth as you feel Natasha pull out her slick fingers, “Don’t be a brat,” she hisses, adding a third finger. The return of her thumb on your clit has you winding up faster than anticipated. Re-inserting her fingers and adjusting her angle, the Avenger begins a brutal pace with her only focus being on making you cum.

Your breathing falls rapidly as your chest rises and falls. The feeling of your fiancée’s fingers repeatedly hitting directly into that soft, spongy spot which has your toes curling and your knuckles turning white from your grip on the seat. Right as you were getting familiar with the pleasure, she suddenly changes her movement on your clit. Hums and moans of approval start pouring out of your mouth filling the Russian with motivation as she increases her speed of driving into you.

“Be a good whore— and cum for me”, the name combined with the command causes your brain to short circuit. The tightening coil in your stomach finally snaps as you release a loud moan, coming undone on your fiancée’s fingers, “God you sound better than anything else on the radio.”

Panting as you come down from your high, you feel fingers poke at your lips, so you open your mouth to suck on the fingers greedily that had just been giving you intense pleasure. “Such a good toy” Natasha broods before grabbing your face and connecting your lips in a deepened kiss.

“God, now I’ll need to try and salvage my makeup and hair…” You exhale, pulling down the passenger seat mirror. “Natasha, you left a hickey! We are literally on the way to meet your family! I don’t have any makeup to cover this up!”

The smirking Avenger tunes you out quickly as she looks forward to that same side mirror, greeted with a smile and curt nod from the semi truck driver that she gladly returns, “I think these jeans could be your good luck charm.”

#natasha x reader smut #natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff x fem!reader smut #natasha romanoff fic #black widow fic #shay writes

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whythinktoomuch · 3 years

Text

Andrea sighs. “I hate this part.”

“And what part would that be?” Kara spares a small glance for her, but continues to tug on her socks, her shoes, and anything else that she might need on her way out of Andrea’s apartment without a second thought. Again.

“The part where you make me sleep alone.”

Kara whips her head around. “… I’m sorry?”

“Nothing.”

Andrea regrets everything as she buries her head underneath her pillow. Maybe she can blame this sudden onset of weakness on her most recent trend of foregone sleep, or maybe even the very reason for said lack of sleep now standing at the foot of her soon-to-be half-emptied bed. But it certainly isn’t something that deserves any more elaboration, much less voiced.

Unfortunately though, Kara’s never been one to let something go. The rustle of clothing dies away, leading to a padding of steps which leads to the sagging of Andrea’s bed as Kara sits down beside her. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Andrea repeats, her voice firm despite being muffled under her pillow. “Make sure to lock the door on your way out.”

“No, come on…” Kara’s tugging on Andrea’s arm, thumb rubbing gently into her skin. “Talk to me. Please? I’m right here.”

Groaning to herself, Andrea finally sits up, frown deeply set and disgruntled. “Where are you even going anyway?”

Kara takes a deep breath before answering, and Andrea hates how these are the kinds of things that refuse to escape her notice now. “I told you,” Kara says slowly. “I’m meeting a source downtown.”

“Right now? After midnight?” Andrea says with a scoff. “You don’t have a better, more business-friendly time—I don’t know—during the day to be meeting up with these people?”

“I have to go where the story takes me! And I also have to meet my sources on their own terms if I want to cultivate a lasting sense of trust and profess—”

“But for what article?” Andrea demands. “You’ve already met all your deadlines for this week. You wouldn’t be here”—she gestures aimlessly about her bed—“otherwise, so what else could you possibly be researching right now?”

“It’s…” Kara stumbles slightly, and Andrea wills her heart to harden into something that can never sink. “This is for a new story. One that I’m thinking about pitching. Soon.”

“Okay. What story?”

“I can’t tell you yet! It’s not ready,” Kara says, and Andrea just scoffs again. “Hey, seriously. What’s really bothering you? You never care about my work.”

“I’m your boss, Kara. It’s literally my job to care about your work.”

“Just tell me what’s actually bothering you, and I’ll fix it.”

Andrea rubs at her face. “I’d just… really like to know what it’s like to sleep next to my girlfriend for once…”

“Your girlfriend?” Kara echoes. “Who’s your girl—oh!” Her eyebrows nearly shoot up to her hairline. “Wait, oh…”

Groaning once more, now about ready to bury her entire body beneath her pillow if possible, Andrea just waves her hand. “Never mind, okay? Just go.”

“No, hey, hey, hey…” Kara tugs on Andrea’s wrist, refusing, per usual, to let an unwieldy moment die down on its own. “Girlfriend?”

“Forget I even said anything…” Andrea starts, but Kara seems quite unwilling to. In fact, she’s looking at Andrea in complete awe, and Andrea can’t help but straighten up at the attention. Maybe even pushing out her chest a bit just to make a point. “All right, fine, we can talk about this. But you should know right now, that I can’t date anyone who refuses to sleep with me.”

“Pfft, what do you mean? We literally sleep with each other all the time,” Kara protests, until Andrea shoots her a meaningful look—glare. “Oh… Right. You meant, just sleeping, sleeping. Um. Okay. Well, I guess that’s something we can try if you really want…”

Andrea rolls her eyes. “I don’t want you to try it just to appease me, Kara. I want you to want it too. For your own sake.”

“I do want it too! I just didn’t realize that it was something that you’d want. From me, especially.”

“Why the hell not?” Andrea says. “I’m sorry—was the past hour and a half not convincing enough for you?”

Kara flushes all over, sputtering, “No, what I meant was… I didn’t realize that you actually liked me like that?”

“Again. Was the past hour and—”

“I get your point,” Kara says, flapping her hands. “And okay. I, you know… like you too.”

“Oh, how promising,” Andrea mutters, but her nerves were undeniably starting to settle. The flow of conversation now comfortably in her favor.

“And I do want that too,” Kara continues, cracking a smile. “So… let’s do it. Let’s be girlfriends who, you know, sleep together.”

“Deal.” Andrea clears her throat, fidgeting with her sheets. “I imagine that it’ll have to start another night though, no?”

Kara rubs at the back of her neck. “I’m sorry. I just really have to meet this source tonight. It’s really important, I swear.”

“Fine,” Andrea says in a sigh. “It’s not like I don’t understand the need to put one’s career first.”

Kara pouts. She reaches out to cradle Andrea’s face, thumb tracing down her cheek, and Andrea’s not melting, she’s not melting, she’s not.

“I’ll come back,” Kara says at last. “No matter how long this meeting goes for, I promise to come straight back here and sleep with you.”

“Oh, you promise?” Andrea laughs, but there’s a serious glint to Kara’s eyes, twinkling in the way that they do in the strangest moments sometimes.

“Absolutely. I’ll be right back. And I’ll be right here for you, okay?”

Andrea lets out another laugh, ducking her head slightly. “Okay. I guess we’ll see how you do then.”

“Thank you,” Kara says, beaming. “But for now, I really do have to go. I’m actually kinda late now.”

“Then go. I ain’t keeping ya.”

Kara leans in, clearly in askance of a goodbye kiss, but when Andrea goes to cup her face, Kara resists just a tad. “Trust me,” she says. “You kiss me like that, and I’ll never make it out of here.”

“Want to test that little theory?” Andrea asks, her voice dropped into huskier territory, and Kara accordingly flushes pink cheek to cheek.

“Oh… boy…” Kara says in a hushed whisper. “I… er, I gotta go though, so…” She quickly shakes her head. “Yup, gotta go, gotta go. So sorry, but bye!” Pecking at Andrea’s cheek, Kara all but bolts out the door.

With a tiny unseen pout, Andrea sinks back into her bed, her moment of vulnerability already regretted with that aching part of her chest. But Kara promised to come back, and she seems the type to keep promises like that—the girlfriend type, that is.

Andrea’s final thought as she’s drifting off is a fleeting hope that wherever Kara’s rushing off to meet her source wouldn’t be anywhere near the sirens that have been going off. The last thing this would-be relationship needs is for Andrea’s would-be girlfriend to get stuck in traffic this late at night because of fire trucks or something.

Andrea wakes up to a sudden dip in her bed, coherent thoughts still slow to return as a column of warmth wraps around her middle from behind. She blinks blearily into the darkness. The sharp bite of smoke lingering in the air somehow only seems to get stronger the clearer her vision gets.

“Sorry I’m late, baby,” comes a sleepy mumble close to her ear, and Andrea starts to chuckle, her surprise melting into blessed relief.

There’s a wry comment sitting on Andrea’s tongue as she glances over her shoulder, but the specifics of it all gets lost when she sees Supergirl curled up against her. “Whoa. W-wait…”

“Oh, m’s’rry…” Supergirl says softly, eyes still squeezed shut. “Forgot to ask… Can I call you ‘baby’ now, since we’re girlfriends who sleep together and stuff…?”

Andrea is reeling, as she takes in the sight. That is to say, the sight of National City’s darling and daring hero rapidly passing out in her bed, blonde hair strewn across Kara’s go-to pillow like a golden halo, her bulk scrunched up into a tiny ball of warmth pressed into Andrea’s side, cape splayed out without a care.

“You’re…” Andrea clears her throat, hopefully ridding herself of the dry stutter caught within. “Excuse me, you’re wearing boots in my bed.”

Supergirl lets out a small whine—there’s a literal, bona fide superhero whining all disgruntled in Andrea’s bed right now—and kicks out her feet. “But I’m so tired, maybe-baby.”

“Maybe-baby,” Andrea echoes, rolling her eyes, because okay, this is definitely Kara all right.

She manages to extricate herself from Kara’s embrace with surprising ease, considering, then manages to tug Supergirl’s boots off one by one with far less ease. But the sight that Andrea’s greeted with startles her into soft laughter.

“Hey. What’s so funny…”

“I like your socks,” Andrea says, slipping back under the sheets, eyes fluttering shut when Kara sidles right up against her once more. “You know, you weren’t wearing those when you left me.”

“Is it really leaving when I come right back?”

“Yes.”

Kara snorts, burying herself into Andrea’s hair with a sigh. “Mm, I like my socks too. Was a gift from Santa,” she says, and Andrea can almost feel Kara wiggling her toes. “I like the smilin’ fruits…”

“Yes, I figured you would.”

Kara lets out a mock scandalized gasp, “It’s s’pposed to be secret Santa, you know…”

“You know what else is supposed be a secret?” Andrea shoots back, arching an eyebrow that is of course lost on her half-asleep almost-girlfriend. But Kara seems to know, because she grins.

“Hm. We can talk about it in the morning, mm’kay?”

“Oh, we most certainly will,” Andrea says, turning on her side, allowing herself to be happily spooned. “Good night, Supergirl.”

“Yeah, yeah, good night, maybe-baby.”

#bloooooooop.#my words.#superrojas

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

I was wondering if I could request something? Maybe Sirius' first night at the Dumais' place and Dumo can straight away tell that somethings wrong. Sirius makes polite conversation and it all looks so painful until he retires for the night and Dumo passes by his room and he hears Sirius crying maybe? Because of what his mother said, and maybe because he has trouble adjusting to new situations? Just an idea that popped into my head :) Only if you want to write it <3 Thank you

Yes, I can! I love writing Dumo, but for some reason I don't do it that often--his and Sirius' dynamic is just so wholesome and wonderful. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied child abuse and broken glass (no injury)

The first thing Pascal Dumais noticed about Sirius Black was how quiet he was. At only eighteen years old, Sirius was taller than most of the other Lions, with broad shoulders and gangly limbs. Yet he moved almost silently, padding along the wood floors in his socks and speaking only when spoken to. It was…honestly, a bit unsettling.

Dumo had expected a rambunctious teenage boy, still high on the thrill of being drafted to the NHL—instead, he found himself the guardian-slash-landlord of a ghost. Sirius unloaded his meager belongings with little fuss and accepted no help, his pale eyes never lingering on either of them for too long.

Celeste poked her head into the living room in the early afternoon when they returned from the grocery store; Sirius was sitting ramrod straight in the smallest chair they had with a thick book in his hands. She knocked gently on the doorframe, and he jumped. “Sirius, would you like some lunch?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said in that unusually soft voice.

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him.

“I can make myself a sandwich if you have other things to do. Really, I’m alright.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sirius blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I had breakfast at seven and a granola bar on the plane.”

“Sirius, it’s almost two.”

“Is it?”

“Come with me for a moment, oui?” She ushered him into the kitchen; Dumo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to seeing someone so physically imposing walk so small.

“Papa?” Someone tugged on the hem of his shirt and he snapped out of his daze, leaning down to lift Adele into his arms with a smile.

“Bonjour, mon chou! Did you have fun outside?” She nodded, wiggling a little in her excitement, and put her hands on either side of his face. Dumo’s stomach sank. “Why are your hands wet?”

“I washed them!”

“Why?”

“Because we played with chalk!”

Both the boys were at day camp, and Katie was down for her afternoon nap. Dumo wracked his brain. “Who were you playing with?”

“Sirius!” she giggled, then held the front of her shirt out. Wasn’t she wearing a different one this morning?“An’ he said chalk stains, so he lifted me up so I could wash my hands and helped me get my new shirt on when it got stuck and let me braid his hair! Can we keep him? Please, Papa, I wanna keep him forever!”

Dumo kissed her forehead as a wave of emotion tickled the back of his throat. Less than six hours in their home, and Sirius was already connecting with his children. “Oui, we can. Did you say thank you?”

Adele bit her lower lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Sirius?” Dumo called. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. “Can you come here for a moment?”

There was a beat of silence before he appeared in the doorway, looking paler than before as he walked over to them. This boy needs to eat more, the parental part of Dumo’s brain thought instantly. Slate-grey eyes flickered between them. “She—she had chalk on her shirt. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s alright. What do you say?” Dumo asked, turning to Adele.

She turned a beaming smile on Sirius. “Thank you!”

His whole face softened in the blink of an eye and he smiled back, giving her a light fist bump. “Pas de problem, petit papillon.”

-------------------------------

Sirius opened up a bit over lunch; Adele perched herself right in his lap with her peanut butter sandwich to his clear astonishment, but his smiles came easier after that and Dumo treasured each one. He was already grateful that Sirius did not seem like the type of asshole player that Dumo remembered from his high school years.

Marc and Louis returned to the house just as they finished, and though Sirius offered to help wash the dishes—the boy was a blessing, really—they shooed him off to play with the kids for a while. It would do them all some good to get out in the sun.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” Celeste remarked as they stood side-by-side at the sink. Her tone was casual, but Dumo saw the worry in her eyes.

He hummed in agreement. “He’s probably just nervous, mon amour. They can take a while to warm up.”

“Pascal, I don’t think—”

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the other room. The house held its breath. “Is everyone alright?” Dumo called, drying his hands on the nearest towel as his pulse picked up. “What happened?”

Hushed whispers floated out, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. He hurried down the hall with Celeste hot on his heels. “I’m so sorry,” Sirius said as they entered the room. He was kneeling on the wood floor, gathering fragments of a small water glass in one palm. “It was my fault. I hit it with my elbow.”

Celeste frowned. “Boys? Adele? I know you were here.”

Dumo didn’t miss Sirius’ hard swallow, nor the sudden nervousness—no, that was fear—on his face as the three kids crept out from around the corner, looking guiltier than anything. Adele stepped forward, but Sirius stood in a smooth, instinctive motion, keeping her behind him. “It was my fault,” he repeated. Dumo’s heart sank.

“Adele, is that true?”

She looked up toward Sirius, who kept his broad hand ever so slightly in front of her shoulder. Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Adele Marie, tell the truth.”

“No,” she said.

“Come here, please.” Dumo watched Sirius’ breaths go shallow as Celeste beckoned to Adele, but confusion took its place when she crouched to her level. “Thank you. What Sirius did was very nice, but we don’t let other people take the fall for our mistakes in this house, Adele. We accept responsibility. Who broke the cup?”

“I was chasing Marc and we both bumped into the table,” Adele confessed, toying with the hem of her butterfly-patterned shirt. “It was an accident, I promise.”

“Did anyone get hit by the glass?” Dumo asked. All three shook their heads. “Sirius?”

He cleared his throat. “No, Mr. Dumais.”

“Marc, Adele, I want you to find the broom and dustpan so your mother and I can clean this up. Thank you for being honest. Sirius, there’s a trash can in the kitchen, but be careful of the sharp edges. And please, call me Pascal or Dumo.”

But he didn’t stop thinking about the visible alarm on Sirius’ face when Celeste brought Adele forward all afternoon. Something was not right.

--------------------------------

If it wasn’t for the baby, Dumo would not have heard it.

Katie woke around midnight with a quiet whine, which devolved into whimpering, and finally into full-out sobbing for over half an hour. He carried her downstairs so she wouldn’t wake the others and gently rocked her, humming lullabies under his breath until his throat was dry and her tears abated. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, drying her pudgy cheeks with his sleeve.

The last bits of sleep faded away as he set her down in her crib again, and he sighed. The season didn’t start for more than a month, but he had been looking forward to a few consecutive nights of solid rest before then.

May as well check on the others, he thought, wandering down the hallway in his thickest socks and bathrobe to stave off the nighttime chill. Marc and Louis were each out cold; he took the open book splayed across Marc’s bed and set it on his dresser, turning the lamp off as he left. Adele was curled into a tight ball around no less than four of her precious stuffed animals and he tucked the blankets back over her shoulder.

Dumo’s feet carried him down the stairs before his brain fully caught up, and he paused—Sirius had been in their house for a single day, and already he had the urge to look out for him. The thought should have made him feel silly, but instead he felt…peaceful. He felt right. There was a lost and near-silent boy in his home, who protected his kids within hours of knowing them. Of course Dumo was going to make sure he was alright.

Summer wind rushed past the wide windows as he headed toward the basement. It was warmer there, and he took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for remodeling two years prior. Hopefully, Sirius would be comfortable.

A soft sound broke through his thoughts. Dumo stopped on the last step.

There was a harsh breath, then a sniffle, as if the person inside was trying and failing to keep their tears in past the point of no return. He heard a few shaky, weak inhales, then a choked noise that cut off abruptly with a gulp.

Dumo closed his eyes to hold back tears of his own and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

Everything went silent with a rustle.

“Sirius?” he whispered, raising his voice just enough to be heard through the door. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer.

“Can I come in?” he ventured.

An unsteady voice answered. “Ouais.”

The door creaked a little as he opened it and stepped into the dark room. Sirius was nothing more than a clump of shadows on the far side of the bed, squished tight against the wall with all his blankets wrapped around him. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Je vais bien.”

“Can I sit?” Dumo fully expected Sirius to tell him ‘no’, to make an excuse, to pull some arrogant teenager nonsense.

Instead, he tucked his legs up and made room near the foot of the bed with another sniffle. “Did I wake you?”

“Non. Katie was crying, and I thought I’d check on everyone.” He settled down and scooted until his back was against the wall as well—Sirius was still hiding in a cocoon of his duvet, but his hand came up to wipe his face. “Do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“You seem upset. I know the homesickness is hard for the first few days, but—”

“No.” The vehemence of Sirius’ answer shocked him into silence. “No. I’m not homesick. I just—so much has happened, and I—it’s—this is everything I wanted, right here, and—”

He broke off with a wounded noise that broke Dumo’s poor heart right down the middle. He moved closer until their shoulders touched; to his surprise, Sirius leaned on him and shivered. “How can I help you?” Dumo asked quietly.

“Your family…” Sirius shook his head and drew the covers tighter. “You have a beautiful family. You should be proud of them.”

“I am, every day.”

“Your kids love you so much.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Dumo sighed through his nose. “I know.”

“No, you don’t, they—you’re their hero. And not because of hockey.”

That was Dumo’s dream, laid out right in front of him. If someone he hardly knew could see that, then it must be true. The impact was greater than he ever could have imagined; his lungs felt tight. “Thank you. Is it alright if I ask you something?”

Sirius stiffened slightly.

“You’re not in trouble, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…worried.”

He felt Sirius shift. “This is about the glass.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oui.” Dumo searched for the words and scrounged up any sliver of tact he could find. “Sirius, do you—what happens when you break a glass at your house?”

Sirius’ breath rushed from his lungs in a near-silent sob. Dumo gathered him close in his arms and held him, letting tears dampen his shoulder as he murmured soft reassurances in French. “I’m sorry,” Sirius croaked, though he did not move away. “I’m sorry for—for intruding, and for ruining your shirt—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Dumo gave him a light squeeze of comfort and felt him go a bit boneless. “And you are not intruding. We love having you here with us.”

“Really?”

He sounded so unsure. So young. Dumo wished he could take away whatever horrible things had been said to ever make someone so kind feel so small. “Yes. Adele, especially.”

“She’s so…colorful.” Fondness dripped from every word.

“She is,” Dumo agreed. “She came running up to me, and went ‘papa, papa, can we keep him?’”

Sirius laughed a little at his imitation and straightened up, drying his eyes on his hoodie sleeve. They sat quietly for a while until the shaking stopped and his death grip on the comforter loosened. “Thank you, Mr. Dumais.”

“Call me Pascal, or Dumo if you like. ‘Mr. Dumais’ makes me sound like a grandfather.” They laughed together, then fell silent once more. “And you’re welcome. Any time you need help, you can come to me. I might not be your father, but—”

“You’re better,” Sirius interrupted, wiping his nose. His shadow turned to face Dumo in the dark, and though he couldn’t see his face, he could picture the earnest expression. “In every way. Please don’t tell anyone about this, though.”

“It never even crossed my mind,” Dumo answered honestly. “I should let you sleep now. We have some busy weeks ahead of us, eh?”

“Bonne nuit, M—Dumo.” The name carried new weight and he let it sink in as Sirius laid back down and kicked his blankets back into place. Something told him this was the beginning of a very interesting story.

“Bonne nuit, Sirius. Welcome to our home.”

#fanfic #my fic #sweater weather #lumosinlove #sirius black #pascal dumais #celeste dumais #dumais kids

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sylvie-writes · 3 years

Text

Long Haul

word count: 1694

pairing: harry styles x female reader

summary: just some fluffy moments along Harry and (y/n)’s trip back to England.

author’s note: this is my first time writing for harry, hopefully it is okay! it’s taken me forever to convince myself to write anything for him! if all goes well, i might write for him more often :)

please excuse any mistakes!

Globs of people swarmed the airport carousel, anxiously waiting for the buzz that would signal the first round of luggage. It was already dark out since the flight was what some would call a “long-haul.” A few lonely stars were peeking through the large glass windows and the shuffling of people had started to dwindle down.

Half an hour had passed since (y/n) and Harry had landed and unfortunately, it was one of those nights where the baggage was taking forever to arrive. Since (y/n) was ridden with sleep, she softly laid her head on Harry’s shoulder that was now clad in a black sweatshirt. The two had just flown back from the States where (y/n)’s cousin had her wedding. It was very clear that the man was handling the sudden time change much better than his girlfriend who hadn’t been on the road as much as him. Her sunken eyes would occasionally peer up at his glasses-covered ones, silently asking if anything had changed. When she noticed that nothing had changed and they were still stuck waiting, she’d just go back to leaning against the slender man as if he were a wall.

Granted, from the small sum of people that surrounded them, a few still recognized the tall, famous brunette. To shun their stares, he’d just turn his head and look at his phone or place a kiss on (y/n)’s head before anyone could be sure that it was him. Harry was never one to be rude to those who recognized him, but as any normal human, the last thing you want to do at 1 am is take a picture after having sat on a plane for twelve or so hours.

Finally, close to an hour after the flight had landed, a loud whirring awoke (y/n) from her mini nap on Harry’s shoulder and she looked up to see people crowding the metal carousel. Harry, too, noticed the commotion and looked up from his intense staring at the ground, now snaking his hands from his sweatshirt pocket to grab one of (y/n)’s hands. The two of them then hurriedly made a beeline straight into the crowd where their own bags passed by just in time.

With their flight having landed at such an early hour, neither (y/n) or Harry wanted to trouble any of his family members by asking to meet them at the airport. Instead, they opted to use a rental car which now led them on their next task. Fortunately, (y/n) had dug out the papers earlier while on the flight which now allowed for them to easily decipher which stand to approach. Luckily, not many people were renting cars at this hour. Looking to make an excuse to run off, Harry quickly excused himself to “run off to the loo,” seeing as (y/n) was capable of handling this herself.

Instead of actually running to the bathroom, the man took a slight detour and rather made his way to a small coffee stand that seemed to be open. He knew that (y/n) hadn’t eaten anything in a couple of hours and also knew that cinnamon rolls were one of the many ways to bring a smile upon her face. Oh how he loved seeing that gorgeous smile. It always made his day, albeit even if it was currently nighttime.

The exchange was quick, but not quick enough as (y/n) apparently had the same plan in mind. Harry turned to see the woman approaching his way and he couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle underneath his breath. She was halfway to the stand when she noticed her boyfriend, along with a coffee and cinnamon roll in his hands, causing her eyes to light up.

(Y/n) smiled brightly as she handed the large luggage to Harry and he exchanged with her the two goodies. While the woman indulged in the snacks that would hopefully give her energy, Harry leaned down to softly kiss the crown of her head before throwing an arm around her shoulders, guiding them both to the parking garage.

Once a second wind had hit Harry, he was a piper as a tiny dog while (y/n) struggled to keep her eyes open behind the wheel. She had been driving for some time now having convinced Harry to let her drive first, once they had left the airport. After some time of his own pleading, Harry was able to get the woman to switch seats with him at this gas station, ignoring her stubborn remarks. Normally on long drives, the two would take different “shifts” and technically it was now his turn to drive, despite (y/n) protesting that it wasn’t. The minute the man was in the driver’s seat and they were out in the road, (y/n) was more than alert. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Harry and his driving because he wasn’t a bad driver per se, but he was just a bit…too confident when he drove. Maybe it was the fact that he had a lead foot that made (y/n) physically push herself to keep her eyes open. For whatever reason, she just wanted to be awake, in case of anything that could suddenly occur. She’d much rather arrive at Anne’s in one piece and she was sure Harry would concur on the matter.

To stay awake himself, Harry had turned up the stereo and teasingly sang off key to some 90’s pop song, giving (y/n) a bit of a laugh (and minor heart attack, as he kept looking away from the road.) She’d uneasily laugh to shake his gaze off and he knew very well what she was doing, having been with her so long that he knew her actions (and thoughts on his driving) like a second nature. So, being the man of humor that he is, Harry would purposely do little things to get on her nerves while knowing very well she wasn’t actually angry and rather playing along with the charade.

“You alright there, (y/n/n)?” Harry, one hand on the wheel, placed his free hand on her thigh. He couldn’t help but slyly smile when (y/n) cut her eyes at him, the moonlight making them sparkle the slightest. “Just keep your eyes on the road, Styles.” (y/n)’s facade then broke, causing her to chortle a bit while a smile broke onto her lips. Harry noticed and his shoulders raised up in some laughter of his own. Eyes back on the road, the man blindly dragged his hand up her thigh and now into her lap, searching for her hand. Having found it, he intertwined their fingers, bringing the back of her hand to his lips. Needless to say, they stayed that way for the rest of the trip. Occasionally, the sleep deprived pair would participate in some off-key car karaoke of their own thanks to their current clouded judgement.

It was getting closer and closer to early morning by the time they had arrived. At this point there really was no point in sleeping as the day was about to begin anyway. Regardless of the time, Harry and (y/n) practically rushed out of the car wanting nothing more than some sleep. Leaving their unnecessary bags in the car, Harry fished out a key for the house, resting his hand on the small of (y/n)’s back, quietly ushering her inside.

Like teenagers sneaking back in after a night out, (y/n) and Harry tip-toed up the stairs, careful of the creaking, and safely made it into his childhood room without waking anyone.

In no time, (y/n) and Harry, arms wrapped around each other, were zonked out in the twin size bed. To save space, (y/n) pretty much threw a leg over the man’s hips while his own legs kinda fell off the side of the bed. It was very much comical and something out of a movie, but most of all, something they’d both feel later in the morning.

10 am.

BEEP!

The twinkling sound of Harry’s alarm went off, waking only him seeing as (y/n) was like a log to his side. Muttering a raspy “damn,” Harry quieted the annoying (and apparently forgotten) alarm. Never able to fall back asleep after waking, he opened an e-book that he had been dying to finish after months not having been able to, now relishing in the sun peeking into the room while his love peacefully dreamt beside him.

Not too far into his book, Harry noticed the door slowly opening to reveal his mother, a small smile on her face. Finding the best way to get out without waking (y/n), Harry padded across the floor, meeting his mom in the hallway where she stood with a breakfast tray.

“I saw your car out front and figured you two might want something.” Anne lifted the tray to show an assortment of breakfast goods. Scanning the tray, Harry noticed two lonely cups to the side, one of tea for him and one of coffee for (y/n). He gently chuckled at his mom’s attention to detail and thanked her with a kiss to the cheek, the two of them exchanging words of delight.

Going back into the room, tray balanced in his arms, Harry noticed (y/n), now sitting up in the bed and sleepily rubbing her eyes. A cheesy grin was on the man’s face as he climbed into the fluffed up quilt, setting the tray in the woman’s lap. Leaning across, he quickly pecked her lips, “Good morning, m’darling girl.”

“Morning, H.” She smiled at him, sounding well rested and chipper. (Y/n) gasped in excitement at the breakfast before her, going on about how Anne always thought of them and that they needed to repay her somehow.

Harry just nodded, listening to her every word as if it was gospel, an uncontrollable smile on his face the whole time. As the two shared breakfast in bed, both Harry and (y/n) thought to themselves, “This couldn’t get much better.”

✰ hi! i just want to say thank you if you made it to the end of this haha! lemme know what you thought! i know there wasn’t much dialogue or loads of fluff, but hopefully it was still up to par!

✰ if you guys ever have any ideas, feel free to send them my way and i will try to use them! xo.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

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mintaka14 · 3 years

Link

Locked Out

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Two - Unlocked

The knock came again, and Luka sighed, dropping the towel that he’d been rubbing over his damp hair around his shoulders. He padded out of the bathroom and over to the front door, yanking it open.

“Jules, if you’ve forgotten your keys again, I swear –“ the words died as he met the insanely blue eyes that he’d been dreaming about ever since he’d first seen them. Her gaze slid over the towel around his shoulders, and dropped to the towel around his waist, and then jerked back up to his face again, which he was pretty sure was turning all sorts of red.

“Here!” she squeaked. “For you. If you want them, the box, I mean. Not the underwear. That’s Juleka’s, obviously, not that she can’t have what’s in the box too. Because I made enough for both of you, and oh God I’m going to just stop talking now.”

With a strangled sound, she shoved a pair of silk and lace underpants at him, and a box with them. He caught box and underwear by reflex.

Unfortunately, the movement dislodged his towel, and he could feel it sliding. There was a confused moment when he grabbed for it, bobbled the box, and heard Marinette squeak. Through the dim mists of his awareness, it occurred to him that she’d probably automatically tried to catch the towel before it could go too far south. That was not, however, where her hands ended up.

There was a frozen moment when Luka became very conscious of small, warm hands on his bare skin, the towel caught and scarcely preserving his modesty as her palms pressed into the dip under his abdominal muscles. Wide blue eyes lifted to stare up at him in horror. Luka drew in a slow, calming breath and let it out, desperately trying to think unsexy thoughts. Those gorgeous blue eyes of hers were not making that easy.

“Out here? Really?” his sister’s voice drawled. “Are you trying to get us kicked out of the building for public indecency?”

Yep. That would do it. Luka looked up to find Juleka in the hallway, her hands full of shopping bags. Marinette squeaked again, and snatched her hands back, and somehow Luka managed to catch at the towel, the box and the underpants still perched on top without losing any of them. He ended up wedged awkwardly against the doorframe with the towel trapped between the wall and his hips, and the box wobbling precariously as he tried to tuck the towel more firmly into place, while his sister stalked towards him and Marinette turned a brilliant shade of red.

“Oh, hey, Marinette,” Juleka said casually. “You’ve met my idiot brother, right?”

She edged past them both, plucking the pair of underpants off the box in Luka’s hand as she went past. He felt a hand on his back, and a sudden shove, and then there was the sound of the door closing and Juleka’s evil cackle on the other side.

“Jules! I’m going to kill you,” he growled. His sister laughed harder.

Luka knew, even before he put his hand on the door handle, that it would be locked. It didn’t stop him from frantically jerking at the handle while Marinette watched with wide eyes. Finally, he accepted the inevitable, and turned back to his dream girl with a sigh.

“If I strangle my sister, will you testify that it was justifiable homicide at my trial?” he asked. Marinette gave a choke of laughter.

“For the right offer, I’ll help you hide the body.”

“What would you consider the right offer?” His worldly goods. His songs. His heart… she could have all of it.

That beautiful smile turned a little mischievous. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

One of the neighbours emerged from their door and threw them a scandalised look, and Luka remembered that he was still a little less than fully attired as the neighbour scurried away. He glanced back at Juleka’s door, which was still firmly closed. He sighed.

“In the meantime, I guess I’m stuck out here until Jules decides to take pity on me.”

Marinette held up a finger in the sign for wait.

“Give me a minute,” she told him, and before he could say anything, she’d disappeared down the hall and up the staircase to the next floor.

About the point when he realised that it was rather chilly in the corridor in nothing but a towel that was feeling smaller all the time, it occurred to him that he was actually standing around in the corridor in nothing but a damp towel at the request of a woman he’d only met twice under odd circumstances. That didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have.

He was still holding the box Marinette had shoved at him.

It did cross his mind that maybe he’d been the victim of some weird practical joke. Before he had a chance to get really worried, however, he heard the sound of returning footsteps on the stairs, and Marinette rounded the corner. She was focused on the black case in her hands and whatever she was pulling out of it, an adorable frown on her face, and as she got closer he saw the light catch on something metal. It looked like a peculiar ring of keys.

Marinette walked past him and bent down to the door handle. Luka lifted his eyes to the ceiling. The curve of her ass in those jeans was not something he wanted to be thinking about in the middle of the very public hallway, particularly while he was in a state of undress. He shuffled uncomfortably in his towel, listening to her muttering under her breath.

“I always wanted to try this,” she said, and he realised she was talking to him. “It turns out there are locksmithing courses you can do, and if I’d had my kit with me the other day I might not have had to climb up the balcony, but then we wouldn’t have met, which would have been a shame.”

Yes! he agreed with silent fervour.

“Still, at least it means I can try it out now, and …” Finally, there was a click, and Marinette straightened. “Tadah!”

She beamed at him, and reached out to turn the handle, swinging the door wide open.

“I knew that would come in handy one day,” she told him triumphantly as she slid the tool back into its case.

Luka came to a realisation that he was making a strange whining noise when she tilted her head quizzically.

“Marry me,” Luka said, and the words only caught up with him when he saw her eyes go wide. He scrubbed one hand over his face. “Oh, God.”

“Luka?”

“I’ve been trying to work out a way to ask you out that didn’t make me sound like a complete creep,” he admitted ruefully. “This was not what I had in mind. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of talking you into going out to dinner with me after this, is there?”

Her eyes flicked down and back up, so fast that he wasn’t sure he’d seen it.

And then she bit her lip. The look she gave him from under the sweep of her dark lashes with those devastating eyes of hers left him wondering if he was having an out of body experience.

“Oh, I don’t know.” The purr he could hear in her voice fried whatever functional brain cells he had left. “You might be able to persuade me. It might be a good idea to put some pants on first.”

“Pants. Yes. Right.” He looked around vaguely as if they might magically appear, and Marinette giggled, one hand going to her mouth. “Pants before dinner. Tonight?” he asked hopefully.

Words.

Would be useful.

Marinette smiled at him like the breaking dawn. “Tonight would be good. Juleka has my phone number.” She was walking backwards slowly towards the staircase, her eyes still on him and her smile bright.

“Call me,” she said shyly, and pivoted on her heel, running lightly up the stairs before Luka could collect his wits enough to respond.

Luka had no idea how he managed to walk inside, or get clothes on, but he was sitting on the couch in jeans and a tshirt and staring into space when Juleka came out of the bathroom and did a double take.

“How on earth did you get in? I locked that,” she said, and eyed the wide open front door. She kicked Luka’s bare foot a few times until he blinked and focused.

“Marinette,” he said blissfully, and Juleka’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know she can pick locks?”

There was a long moment while his sister stared down at him. He opened Marinette’s box which had somehow ended up intact. It was full of macarons, and he absently ate one. It was amazing.

“She’s incredible,” he sighed, and Juleka rolled her eyes, reaching for the macarons. Luka glared at her, and snatched the box away.

“You locked me out. You don’t get Marinette’s macarons.” He took another one and stared at it thoughtfully. “ Macaron. That’s pretty. Maybe we could name our first child Macaron.”

“What the hell did she do to your brain?” Juleka said incredulously. “You might want to wait at least a few months before you start planning the wedding and a family, though.”

“Oh, I already proposed,” Luka said vaguely. “She thought we should get dinner first.”

There was an even longer silence this time, then… “You what?”

He had a feeling that there was something he was supposed to remember.

Dinner. Marinette.

Tonight!

She’d said yes. She’d said yes!

He looked down, and he was definitely wearing pants. Marinette had said that that was important.

“Can I have Marinette’s phone number?” he asked Juleka.

She blinked. “So… you proposed to her… but you don’t have her phone number,” she said slowly. “That makes sense. Seriously, I’m a little terrified right now of what might happen if you two do get married and have kids together.”

Luka felt a goofy smile spread across his face at the thought. Juleka shook her head, and, in spite of his protest, swiped a macaron from the box he was guarding.

“Damn, that’s good,” she mumbled around a mouthful, and pulled out her phone with her other hand. “I’d ask if she knows what she’s getting herself into, but honestly, she’s even more bonkers than you are. You’re a perfect pair.”

“I certainly hope so,” Luka agreed happily, and wandered away with the box full of macarons to call Marinette.

#lukanette #pro lukamari #Locked Out AU #they're idiots your honor #oh no!#the towel!

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emilia3546 · 3 years

Text

Shadowsinger Part 6 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

*****

Azriel was still asleep when she opened her eyes, his hair falling over his eyes as his head dropped onto the back of the chair, had he slept there all night? She couldn't think how he actually managed to fall asleep in a chair of all places. He opened his eyes as she sat up,

"Morning, sleepyhead," she laughed, and he yawned,

"Morni-" and yawned again, setting Gwyn laughing again,

"C'mere, you're hair's all messy." She leaned towards him, quickly tiding it up, brushing it backwards through her fingers, not quite registering how still he had gone until she had finished and sat back, "There we go, that's better,"

"Thank you," he said, his voice much lower than usual, still with notes of sleep in it, she had never noticed it before, and she had to force herself to get up normally, and wash her face, without thinking about that voice. She stared into the mirror for a few moments, mentally preparing herself to face him again, "Gwyn, I'm gonna go and get dressed, I'll see you at breakfast."

"Okay," she shouted back, shit. How was the sound of his voice slowly shredding her self-control? It was just the change in his voice, nothing else, it couldn't be anything else she told herself. She was foolish to even consider it.

Apparently, Cassian and Nesta hadn't emerged yet, so it was just Gwyn and Azriel at the dining table that morning, forcing Gwyn to try to control her thoughts, to push any thoughts of him aside and focus on her food. She hated the silence, it felt wrong, unnatural, and she sighed, anything to break the stillness around them. Even that small sound seemed to wake Azriel,

"Gwyn," she looked up, startled, and smiled, "I just wanted to talk to you about what's going on in Illyria." Oh, she'd forgotten to ask Nesta,

"Okay,"

"I don't know how much Nesta's already told you,"

"I haven't had a chance to ask her yet, so very little."

"Okay, well, the bottom line is that there are those among the Illyrians who hate the changes Rhys has been implementing. Banning wing-clipping, and enforcing it, forcing them to train females, and putting systems in place for those who want help, so they can contact us easily, without their families knowing." Gwyn nodded, good, she'd heard about wing-clipping, seen what had happened to Emerie, it was about time it was finally gotten rid of, completely.

"Okay, so, some of them don't like it, then,"

"No, there are some who have been attempting to ignore the laws, and have failed," he added, seeing her worry, "And then there are those who are restless, hating that they fall under Rhys' jurisdiction. They want an independent Illyria, and freedom to treat their females how they wish." Gwyn gasped,

"They wouldn't survive on their own, right? They don't have a unified leader, anyone who wanted would be able to invade easily, and their army is paid by Rhysand, they couldn't afford it otherwise."

"Exactly, that's why the wannabe rebels are a minority, but they are there. I promised you no secrets, it's no good trying to protect you from this. There's nothing that could happen in Velaris though, any potential fighting will be in Illyria."

"You're going to fight?" He'd only come back from another war a year ago, and she couldn't face the thought of him, of any of them, on a battlefield.

"Maybe. Hopefully it won't come to that. Hopefully, the loyal Illyrians will be able to stop a full rebellion before it starts. Most of them do support Rhys' new laws, but the minority are very vocal."

"You need to know who is stirring up violence then. And where, and how many, and how strong they are."

"Y-yeah, exactly, have you been reading about this?"

"No, why?"

"Never mind, it's just, you seem to know exactly what to look for, and at dinner last night, you were paying attention to everyone."

"I was just trying to work out what to talk about, I doubt I'd remember it."

"Oh, really, who was complaining, quietly I might add, about the wine running out?"

"Mor."

"Yeah, and what did Rhys say?"

"That it served her right for drinking all his best wine." Azriel raised an eyebrow,

"And Feyre?"

"Laughed at both of them, and called Rhysand a pretentious prick."

"So you don't remember anything?" Gwyn laughed,

"I don't know."

"You instincts are spot-on. It takes months of training for some of my spies to learn to listen to a room like that," he mused,

"Then train me."

"What?"

"Train me. To be a spy, maybe I can help with Illyria."

"Absolutely not, you've not even trained to fight for that long, I'm not letting you anywhere near rebellious Illyrians."

"That's stupid, Az. Train me to help, or at least to listen, I visit Emerie at Windhaven quite often, so I can at least help you get a picture of what it's like there, if nowhere else. Please, I want to be helpful, I'm done being useless."

"You've never been useless, Gwyn, and I will train you, but only so that you have an extra skill set to defend yourself, not so you can go and spy in Illyria." Gwyn huffed,

"Az. You're being stupid, stop trying to keep me safe, train me, and then let me use those skills."

*****

Gwyn was glaring at him, annoyance glimmering in her eyes, he was being stupid, but some part of him couldn't bear the thought of her in danger. She kept her gaze on him as she finished eating, giving him a chance to think,

"I won't say yes," Gwyn shot him another exasperated look, "But," he continued, "You can be a last resort, only if my usual spies can't get in, or can't find anything, then you can go." She narrowed her eyes, considering, and nodded,

"Perhaps Em has heard something, we should ask her today." Azriel nodded, and quickly tidied up their plates,

"You wanna help set up for training?" He grinned, "Should be fun today," Gwyn sat bolt upright,

"Oh no, no, I know that look, you're going to be mean, is there an obstacle course of something?"

"You'll have to come if you want to find out," he slipped out of the room, chuckling as she swore and scrambled out of her chair to follow him. Gwyn's eyes widened at the sight of the course he and Cassian had secretly set up last night before dinner,

"What is it?" She breathed, pretending to be nervous of it, but Azriel noticed how she was shifting her weight from foot to foot, how her voice raised in pitch slightly, she wasn't scared. She was excited,

"It's sort of an obstacle course, but this one simulates enemies, so Cass and I can both watch you fight, without one of us having to be the opponent. And, as a bonus, the second half is brilliant for silent movement training, which is what we'll work up to if you want lessons from me." Gwyn nodded gleefully, and Azriel chuckled at her excitement, "There's only a few things I need to get set up now, the moving parts and stuff. If you like, you can get the weapons racks out and ready while I do that."

As expected, Gwyn was right at the front of the queue to tackle the course, with Nesta and Emerie right behind her, she was bouncing on her toes, waiting, waiting,

"Go!" Cassian's shout spurred her into action, and she leaped over the wall obscuring the course from her view, immediately ducking the padded bar swinging towards her head. She kept light on her feet as she ducked and weaved between moving obstacles, one wrong step and she'd be sent flying. Gwyn kept her focus on one obstacle at a time, facing one, and moving to the next, she rolled sideways, and leaped onto a wall to avoid the final bar, and it slammed into the wood next to her. She gasped, and glared at Azriel, but he chuckled, it wouldn't have really hurt her if she hadn't moved, just left a bruise perhaps, but the near-miss spurred her on, and she sprinted for the next obstacle, but her undivided focus left her exposed for the first 'enemy' to knock her feet out from underneath her. Gwyn gasped and rolled, and Nesta craned her neck to try to see at the sound, glaring at Cassian, and mouthed something at him,

"She says that if Gwyn's hurt, she'll kill us both," Cassian whispered, and Azriel snorted,

"She can try," Gwyn had rolled forwards, her hands automatically raising into her guard, and she easily blocked the next blow from the padded gloves,

"Wait! Az, how do I win?" She shouted when she ducked past and landed a blow, but barely ducked the backhanded counter-strike,

"You run, Gwyn. Run!" He shouted, "You have to beat the obstacles whilst avoiding your enemies, try not to activate the rest of them," Gwyn shot him a look before taking off, and made it past the next obstacle, before another 'enemy' activated, and she was trapped between the two of them. Azriel deactivated them with a quick command to his shadows before they could hurt her, but she was still stuck,

"Azriel!" She shouted, "Make them move, you idiot!" He didn't respond, and just chuckled at her annoyance, "Azriel!" She snapped again, and he reset the course, offering her a hand over the fence to the training ring, and chuckled when she slapped it aside, climbing over herself,

"Not bad for a first try. But, you've got to be aware of your surroundings a bit more, focus on the obstacle, but be aware of the rest of them, both of those enemies were avoidable, in fact, all of them are. When I tested this yesterday, I didn't set any off, Cass set off a few, but you should be able to avoid all of them. You're smaller than us, more agile, use that to your advantage." Gwyn nodded, and grinned when he marked her place, "Beat that next time."

Nesta came within spitting distance of Gwyn's record, a sprained ankle as she underestimated the distance of a jump sending her sprawling to the floor. She was still leaning against Cassian as he fussed whilst Emerie ran the course, only losing when a wing clipped an obstacle, knocking her off balance. She swore, but scrambled over the fence to join her sisters to watch the other females.

"Make sure you cool off, ladies," Azriel called, "Gwyn, you're with me," he stepped aside to a quiet corner of the ring. "First off, I want you to learn to move silently, it should be easy here, there's no stones to move, or creaky floorboards. Go and stand by the wall, and try to reach me without my hearing you."

"Your shadows-"

"They won't betray you, I honestly think they'd rather betray me than you," Gwyn snorted, "Make sure you place your feet carefully, and move slower than you think you need to." Gwyn nodded and Azriel turned his back, waiting for her footsteps to halt as she reached the wall. Ten meters. That was all she needed to cross. She took a deep breath, and fell silent, but after what must have been only a few steps, she rushed, placing a foot too quickly, and Azriel whirled, "Start again, you rushed, move slowly," Gwyn alerted him quickly three more times, groaning in exasperation each time he sent her back to the start, but gradually she started getting closer, only her excitement getting the better of her. She was one step away from him when she scuffed the ground,

"No!" she hissed when Azriel turned to face her, "I can do it, I can."

"I know you can, don't celebrate too early, that's the only issue." Gwyn sighed, and started again, this time remaining silent until she poked him in the shoulder and let out a whoop of delight, grinning at him, and he laughed. She was shining, and his heart leapt with her, his shadows too, her joy becoming his own, and she practically bounced up to him and beamed up at him. There was just something about her, her mere presence lifted his worries, and let his shadows roam, not constrained, but freed. She didn't chase them off as Elain had, or even Mor, she made them sing. He blinked, and realized he'd been staring, so coughed, and forced himself to look away, "Grab a sword, practice your basic movements silently."

Gwyn picked everything up remarkably quickly, it had only taken her half an hour to reach him, and now she was already adapting that technique to the swordplay, even moving the sword silently through the air. Azriel had begun coaching her through it, but now he too fell silent, just watching her, only occasionally offering pointers, and stopped her when he noticed her swings slowing down, her breathing speeding up,

"Go jog a lap, then stretch off, that's enough for today." Azriel stayed to watch, making sure she cooled off completely before leaving her to bathe and change, he should have reports to read from all his spies by now anyway, and Rhys would want an overview this evening.

*****

Gwyn toweled her hair off, and for the first time since she could remember, she had no work to do, Merrill hadn't sent her any messages, any demands more like, and she didn't feel like just sitting and reading on her own. She grabbed her book off her nightstand, and went to find Nesta, but made a face when she heard suspect noises from her friend's room, turning on her heel and heading back the way she had come. She still didn't want to be alone, so she knocked on Azriel's door, and pushed it open at the grunt from inside,

"Can I sit with you, Nesta is, uh, y'know, and I don't want to be on my own. I won't disturb you," she added, noticing the paperwork on his desk, and he smiled,

"Of course, it's just reports to go through,"

"Anything interesting?"

"No. Not yet, but I've only read through a couple, hopefully someone will have something." Gwyn nodded, and settled into an armchair to read. They fell into a comfortable silence, each reading their own material, at ease in each other's company.

As time wore on, Azriel's brows scrunched together, and he narrowed his eyes, even his shadows seemed agitated as they flitted between the two of them. Gwyn set her book aside, and crossed to his side, gently resting a hand on his shoulder,

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing important," he offered her a small smile, "Don't worry," Gwyn squeezed his shoulder softly,

"Az, what is it? Even if I can't help, let me take some of the burden. I won't pretend to know what your job's like, but please, let me help however I can."

"You are helping, by being here, by being safe, you're helping. I have so many people to worry about," he raised the papers, "I can't easily protect them, but you, and the rest of you here, I can keep you safe here. That burden lessens when you're all here." Gwyn softly cleared a spot on the desk, tiding the unusually messy papers, and sat in front of him,

"Did something go wrong?"

"No, I'm just worried it might, honestly, Gwyn, I'm fine." Gwyn narrowed her eyes disbelievingly but before she had a chance to respond, Azriel pushed his chair backwards, and made for the door, "I need to clear my head a bit, I'll be back in a bit."

"Oh, okay," of course he didn't want her help, she was probably just a nuisance, she couldn't possibly understand the stresses he faced on a daily basis. If he needed help he'd ask Cassian, she should leave him alone. But, even as she allowed him time, something made her feet move, made her climb the stairs to the roof.

The stars were beautiful, shining together, and she relaxed at the familiar sight, counting the stars as she had since she was a little girl. She stopped moving at the sight of another figure sitting on the edge of the roof, hunched over, his knees drawn up to his chest, with his great,beautiful wings drooping behind him. Gwyn made her presence known as she crossed the roof and sat beside him,

"Az," she whispered, and put an arm around his shoulders, "Please. Talk to me." he shook his head, staring into the distance still, even as a wing shifted closer to her, "What's wrong?" He just turned to face her, his beautiful face filled with despair, his eyes, usually so full of life were dimmed, empty. Gwyn moved before she knew what she was doing, cupping his face in her hand, and he leaned into the touch, "What happened?" She breathed,

"Nothing. That's the problem. Nothing. I can't even do my job." He broke off and turned away, but Gwyn turned him back,

"Talk to me."

"Rhys has a meeting with all the Camp Lords tomorrow, it could be the make or break moment for the rebellion. I was supposed to get information, who tries to fight his new laws, who wants to fight back, you know. I have nothing. He's going in blind. It's my fault, I failed him. Again." Tears pricked Gwyn's eyes at the despair in his voice, the self-loathing.

"You didn't fail anyone. You did everything you could."

"I could have gone in myself."

"To Illyria? They'd have clammed up completely at the slightest whiff that you were there. You have to trust your spies, and sometimes they won't find anything, and it isn't your fault."

"I couldn't even get them in to some camps."

"Again, they couldn't get in, not you. They work for you, but something that goes wrong on their end does not mean that you let anyone down. Sometimes things go wrong, and no-one is to blame."

"I can't keep letting him down."

"You don't keep letting him down. You could never let him down."

"I did. I wasn't with him when he went to that meeting. I could have stopped it." Gwyn knew the meeting he was talking about, "There was no-one to sniff his drink, if I had been there, she would never have been able to sink her claws into him." Gwyn just nestled into his side, letting him talk, "Fifty years, Gwyn. I failed to find a way to save him for fifty years! And then when he got back, I got injured at Hybern, I forced Feyre to go back to Spring. I am the reason that he almost lost his mate as soon as he found her. I should have known that the queens were after Feyre's sisters in the first place, but I failed them, too." Gwyn rubbed his shoulder, holding his gaze as he spoke, "I was too slow in the battle, he died because I couldn't help."

"No." Gwyn breathed, “He died to heal the Cauldron, you couldn't have done anything.”

"Yes, I could. I was with Helion, his specialty is spellwork. If I'd gotten him there faster, they could have worked together."

"You got him there fast enough to revive him."

"But without Feyre, we never would have had the chance. I can't risk something happening again, for all I know, they might all attack him at the meeting. He'd be fine, but still, I should know if there's a plan like that." Azriel finally stopped for a breath, his gaze returning a little, actually looking at her, not just seeing.

"Az, you have done everything and more that anyone could possibly expect. Plan for what might happen, with what you have, but we can't use what we don't have, so don't beat yourself up about it. Please." It broke her, seeing him like this, miserable, thinking he didn't deserve everything he had built for himself. She couldn't bear the thought of him suffering, alone, thinking that he'd failed those he loved most. Before she could reconsider, she was singing, singing the only song she knew would help him, his mother's lullaby,

Arrorró mi niño

Arrorró mi sol

Duérmase pedazo

De mi corazón

Cierre los ojitos

Ya se va a dormir

Que el pícaro sueño

No quiere venir.

Azriel's gaze remained on her as she sang, his breathing becoming more regular, until his shadows began to dance. She was still leaning against his side when the song finished, and she started again, tears pricking her eyes when he joined in, no hint of the misery left in his voice, just hope.

"Let's get to bed, it's late," she whispered, and Azriel didn't complain as she led him back to his room, but when she turned to leave, she couldn't. He needed her now. She perched on the bed beside him, setting a pillow against the wall, and sang again, stroking his hair as he drifted off to sleep, his head in her lap.

*****

Azriel actually felt rested for the first time in far too long, his mind clear, focused, and he carefully lifted Gwyn into his arms. She snuggled into him as he carried her back to her own room, leaving her sleeping, safe in her own bed. He left her a note,

Gone with Rhys to the meeting, I'll be back this evening. Thank you.

He stole one last look at Gwyn's sleeping form before slipping away.

#fanfiction #fanfic #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #Azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwyn #gwyn acosf #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara

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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 3 years

Text

I’ll Tell You My Sins (So You Can Sharpen Your Knife)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst! A lot! (ends in fluff tho), canon typical violence, briefly mentioned and very vaguely descried torture, blackmailing.

Word Count: eight fucking thousand words what the fuck

Summary: Reader hides important information about her past from both Steve and Bucky, causing serious damage to their relationships with her. When Bucky’s severely (likely fatally) hurt, the Reader tries to finally do what’s right.

Beta: @walkingaline and I genuinely couldn’t have done it without her. She’s the sweetest fuckin person.

A/N: I’ve dedicated my life to this for two weeks, and it’s positively the longest one-shot I’ve ever written. I’m rather proud of how it turned out, and the feelings I got to explore. Would really love to know what you think!

It’s- vines, climbing up her organs, endless, crawling, and overflowing, thorns stuck inside her skin, digging in, and the breaths come shorter, clipped, chest weighted. There’s no alleviating this pressure, this overwhelming whirlwind of emotions, chaotic, heavy and filthy, slimy and awful.

The rumble of her engine, a loud interruption to her vicious thoughts, digging their claws inside her eyes, filling them with tears. The world is blurry, but the vibration- it's a welcome distraction. Familiar and strong, her motorcycle drives her at this point, muscle memory leading to the Compound, tears flying off her face by the whipping wind.

She’s booking it. Time barely registers. It’s somewhere between lashing thoughts and trembling fingers that the off-white building rises between the trees, overwhelming and tall, glinting lights always on, no matter the time of night. Somewhere between gasping, fast breaths and stuttering heartbeats that she throws the bike to park and runs, fast passes every lock with her ID and forgoes the elevator, knowing full well that the adrenaline thrumming in her veins will carry her up the stairs faster.

Shoes as if weighed by rocks, she feels slow, stuck in mud almost, liquid cement, sinking, drowning in quicksand as she rounds the corner and- Steve’s there, arms crossed over his chest, busted bottom lip pursed with his top one, a deep sigh swelling his chest. His hair is longer than the last time she saw him, he looks battered and bruised, and she’s known him for years- she can read his face clear as day. And as situations like this always have him, she knows, in the clench of his jaw, the statue-still set of his eyebrows, in his stony posture; he’s as worried as he is determined.

The phone call had been rushed.

She shouldn’t have heard it, about to jump in her shower, had she not forgotten her towel on her bed. Naked, feet padding on her plush rug, she digs in her bedside table for her usually silent device. It’s Steve, and she hasn’t heard from him in nearly a month and a half. Instantly she knows something isn’t right.

There’s only so many seconds it takes for the words to sink in, words like “mission went wrong”, and “hurt”, and “won’t make it”, and “Bucky”. Soon she’s pulling on clothes at lightning speed like the universe depends on it, shower be damned. Keys, jacket, helmet forgone, tears stream down her face as if she’s already lost him, bike kick-started because what else is there to do but be there.

And now? She’s here. And she feels foreign and bizarre, stepping in a space that she barely belongs in anymore. It’s sorta how she imagines entering an old house that’s now inhabited by new residents feels like- it feels the same, but in the same way it feels all too different, strange and foreign; revisiting an old life that’s been made into a new one for someone else.

It really doesn’t matter though, does it? Because she’s not here for herself- not for Fury, not Steve, not for the Avengers, or the missions. She’s here- she’s here for him.

Steps even slower now, approaching the Captain himself, very much aware of her knotted shoulders, her shaking hands. It’s evident, suddenly, in his posture that he knows she’s there. His shoulders stiffen just this bit more, and with a breath with which his chin raises a notch, he turns to see her. One foot behind the other, and he moves out the way, letting her in his spot in front of the window of the room Bucky is in-

A gasp.

Time finally stops.

Unrecognizable. Buried under wounds and bruises, endless tubes- her lost boy, James, Bucky. Tears fall at a new speed, and she allows this moment of vulnerability in front of Steve, allows herself to cover her mouth, her expression crumples, her tears flow freely, and- despite being mad at her, despite having patches to mend (if they can even be mended anymore), Steve is there, solid as always, with a hand on her shoulder, urging her in his arms. Old friendships die slowly, she thinks bitterly, and sinks in the comfort, eyes unable to be torn from the sight before her.

It takes some time, a good chunk of it, to compose herself, to part from Steve’s warmth and wipe the wetness off her cheeks. She wraps her arms around her front and shakes.

“We got ambushed,” he murmurs, and the statement is heavy. There’s guilt, sorrow, she’s sure it’s not fun to recall. “My fault. Didn’t know they were that many, must’ve had false info. Barely got to get him out of there.” She shudders. The image is loud and clear in her mind; Steve limping with the leg he’s currently not leaning on, busted and bleeding, carrying an unconscious Bucky, blood dripping from his mouth. She flinches.

“Can I-“ hesitation. A deep breath, shoulders squaring, remembering she no longer asks, she states. “I want to go in.” Steve stares for a second, calculating, thinking, looks back at Bucky, limp on the bed. He nods.

“Go.”

Before she knows it, the door shuts behind her slowly, an industrial, metal click, signifying a sealed door, nearly impenetrable if it was locked. She tries to be calm, but there’s no way, no reason to look composed either, so she flings herself to Bucky’s side, fingers twitching, hands hovering over him, afraid to touch him in case he frails like a burnt paper, in case he turns to dust and disappears before her very eyes.

Tears, once again, fall freely on her cheeks, tracing paths already carved by the previous breakdown, and the prospect of never seeing his wonderful crystal eyes, blue and loving, tears her apart. Worse so, the idea that the last time she saw them, they were red, hateful, betrayed, staring at her as if she was a monster, nothing more than the true scum of the earth, and he was right, and she will likely never be able to make everything right again.

It feels like claws are tearing at her chest like it’s low quality linen, destroying every tiny piece of her into infinitesimal other pieces and then tearing those too. There she is, now, nothing but rubble and ash, on the floor, limp and bleeding. Heart far too heavy for her chest, breaking again and again, her temples feel like they’re about to burst from the pressure.

Sitting on the chair next to his hospital bed, her fingers tremble, carefully sliding under Bucky’s still ones, holding his hand between hers gently, like a lifeline, leaning her forehead on it. She sits there, folded, crumpled, and she cries.

Y/n’s palms are red and kind of stingy, but she pulls her sleeves over them and keeps holding the scalding cup of coffee between her hands anyways. Eyes closed, she lets the steam warm her nose, lets the scent comfort her, and she imagines, with her headphones plugged in her ears, that she is elsewhere, in her apartment with Bucky, on the fire escape, watching the sun descend beneath the skyline of New York City. She imagines his arms around her waist, sitting between his legs with her own dangling off the metal landing and over the street. His voice, vibrating through his chest, onto her back, murmuring teasingly in her ear, nose buried in her hair and his warmth all around her. It’s peaceful, it’s soft and warm and everything she has ever wanted.

When her eyes open, she’s met with sky blue ones, not the ones she was just dreaming of, and she flinches, suddenly very happy her coffee cup has a lid over it.

Steve.

With a sigh, she takes a calming breath, and pulls her headphones out of her ears, tugged by the wire pinched between her fingers. She places them gently on the table in the cafeteria for guests and low-level agents in the compound. It’s nighttime, and the lights in the cafe make Steve’s hair look golden and glimmering.

“How’re you holding up?” She’s not sure how much he means that, and she knows he’s still very much mad at her for everything that’s happened between them. She knows, however, he’s also the one that called her to let her know about Bucky. She feels heavy.

“I can’t stop fuckin’ crying, if that’s what you’re asking,” she tells him, no care to maintain a strong persona, not in front of the person she used to consider her best friend until not so long ago. She flicks the edge of the lid of her beverage with the tip of her nail and looks up at him. Steve looks better than she does for sure. Not because he cares less, or because he’s slept at all, but because the serum gives him more stamina than her. He’s not as tired as she is, despite the hours he’s been awake for. Still, despite his enhanced powers, there’s purple bags under his eyes. “You?”

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with a small shake of his head, sighing deeply. She takes that as her answer. Despite wanting to fiddle with something, a way to prevent her hands from shaking, a nervous habit, she pushes her coffee cup towards him, a peace offering, something to hopefully bring him the comfort it brings her. Steve doesn’t touch it. She fiddles with her sleeves instead.

The cafeteria, despite being open twenty-four seven, is quiet. A blanket of silence falls over them and Y/n crosses one leg under the other just to have something to do, something instead of opening her mouth and ruining the temporary civility between them. The words bubble, climb over one another like beasts, up her throat, and threaten to spill- and there’s just so much of them. So many apologies to make, so many explanations to offer, so many please let’s just go back to how we were ’s, so many this is killing me ’s, so many I can’t bear the thought of losing him without at least saying I’m sorry one last time. I don’t want that to happen with you too ’s. It’s all clogging the back of her throat like a spoonful of thick syrup that just won’t go down.

The idea that this might happen with Steve one day too overwhelms her. Two of the people she had found family in now hate her. She can’t let this happen with him, can’t lose him without telling him all of it. The realization; it’s the drop that makes the glass overflow. What if- what if tomorrow, or a month from now it’s Steve on that bed, Steve dying, what if she doesn’t get to tell him all of it? Never gets to apologize? How will she ever forgive herself for the things she didn’t say?

Her eyes well again. Her tongue feels like lead. It’s time.

“I…” She can’t bear to look at him. “Steve, I’m…” a shiver runs violently through her spine. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not Bucky, Y/n.” It’s like a kick in the stomach. She hears what he’s saying. I can’t forgive you for both of us. It almost sounds like your apology is useless.

“Well it’s not just Bucky I need to apologize to.” She looks up at him, and she wills the tears to be held at bay, matching his intensity with her gaze. She clenches her fists, fingernails digging in her skin just to distract part of her brain, to feel less numb. “Do you want to hear the truth?” Steve watches her. His irises bounce between hers, they do a once over of her stance, and she knows how small she looks in her seat, in contrast to him, who, despite his frame of mind, always makes a room smaller just by being in it.

His expression is grim, as he nods seriously. She takes a deep breath.

“This is the truth.”

The older she grows, Y/n keeps thinking that she’s experienced everything there is to. But it truly feels to her like she’s never experienced this kind of cold before. And it’s not- it’s not just external temperature. It’s icicles, lodged under her skin, brutally freezing, causing her to endlessly shudder, tremble like a leaf out in the winter, causing her jaw to lock, her limbs to knot up.

She walks and walks, a woman with a purpose, head held high, as high as a prisoner can hold it and- something really isn’t right with this morning. Something isn’t right, and she can tell because this morning she- she felt something she hasn’t felt in years, something she thought she’d never again feel, a bubble of emotion she truly believed they had snuffed out in her. But it becomes an itch, an itch she can’t seem to scratch, something she can’t exactly put words to, can’t name.

The more she walks, the more the feeling of dread climbs up her throat. This she’s familiar with; fear. Cold and fear, clouding her senses, paralyzing her, as Müller’s door raises in front of her, and she struggles to remind herself to keep walking, keep breathing, one foot in front of the other, inhale, exhale, calm down. There’s no way to escape this anyways.

Director Müller was as tall as his voice was shrill and loud. His features were sharp, glass-cutting cheekbones and dimples that showed far too often. His hair was strawberry blonde and his eyes sunken, as if he was seventy years old with one foot in his grave. His skin looked taught over his bones. Always sharply dressed and always hiding about a dozen knives and pistols somewhere in his office. He liked Japanese jazz, had an affinity for yelling, and drank his whiskey straight. The only affection he’d ever had was reserved for his two small birds, Friedrich and Brigitta, whose singing he adored and who roamed in his office freely.

When he’d first kidnapped her and her older brother, Y/n sat doe eyed and watched as they beat her only sibling, her last relative left alive, to a pulp right in front of her. They didn’t know she had things to offer then. They did it for fun, a show of their capabilities, power play. They did it to break her into submission. When they found out, though, about her knowledge of science, her love for technology… That’s when her life truly ended.

She walks, now, down the freezing corridors, and knocks on Müller’s door three times. Status report straight to me every four days, he’d muttered in sharp German way back when he’d first assigned her missions, back in the beginning, and true to his word, every four days, Y/n was forced to see the skin around his bony face tighten and stretch with another chilling smile.

“Come in,” he yells, and his awful voice bounces in the empty, concrete walls of the corridor. She hears his birds. The door creaks open loudly, metal as it is, and she quickly closes it behind her so that Friedrich and Brigitta won’t escape, something she’s learned to do over the years, after one particular incident no one likes to remember, never mind speak of. He calls her last name with lewd, slimy confidence, supposedly happy to see her, his rotten dimples making an appearance. She sits on one of his chairs, upon his prompting “How’s your assignment progressing?”

“Nicely, sir. I’ve reprogrammed the Chair and fixed previous faults.”

“See, Y/n…” He sits on the plush leather chair behind his desk, hands wringing together and as he says her name, he sits up, elbows on the arm rests. His long lashes and abyssal brown eyes examine her. “I think you’re not telling me the truth.”

“Uh…” Stance maintained, but lips pursed and hands just slightly trembling, she keeps his gaze. She can’t displease him. There’s no room for her failure. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir. There’s… surely ways to improve, b-but the chair- it works well.”

“Ah, but that is not what I hear.” Müller stands up dramatically, rounds his desk with slow steps, and Friedrich starts chirping consistently, sensing the sudden tension in the room, loud, high pitch hurting her ears. She dares not flinch. The cold returns fiercely, heart climbing up to her throat, choking her. This won’t end well. “As a matter of fact,” he leans, rests on his desk, right in front of her, loving his height difference and accentuating it by standing while she sits, a reminder to both of them that he’s superior. Y/n wants to melt into a puddle on the floor, never to be seen again. “I hear that Smith, your test subject… he has almost already recovered.”

Referring, of course, to the poor boy whom they snatched and have provided her as a sick guinea pig, a way for her to test the torture chair they have forced her to make. It’s a requirement, of course, that she tests it on him herself.

“Sir, I don’t think-“

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” In the flash of a blink, he’s pulled a knife from his belt and he’s pushing her back in her seat, by pressing his blade on her throat. “You know what HAPPENS,” a tilt of his head, “when you LIE.” Friedrich is joined by Brigitta, as well as the echo of Müller’s voice, and Y/n’s heartbeat accelerates, her breath is caught in her throat. She feels like her ears are about to burst.

“He was unconscious when-“

“What did I just say?” Lips purse, scared of making any sound that’ll piss him off further. “Seems to me like you’ve forgotten,” he murmurs, flicking his knife shut and narrowing his eyes. He takes a deep breath, straightens up and she doesn’t dare to move an inch, but it feels like her heart has plummeted to the center of the earth, and she wishes it could drag her too, as far away from this as possible. She’s well aware of what’s to come.

A chilling half hour later she finds herself sucking up tears that’ll only make her situation worse if someone were to see them. The cold, plastic, remote controller is in her hands, and it’s heavy as it’s ever been. She deems herself desensitized of the emotional toll forcefully inflicting torture on innocent people used to take. However, nothing, nothing, could possibly prepare her for what it feels like watching two HYDRA soldiers dragging her bleeding, thrashing brother from his armpits, and forcefully shoving him into the chair Y/n’s made. Director Müller watches her press the appropriate buttons with a sickly smile on his face.

She begs. For the first time in years, she begs God, the universe, something, to save her, to make her disappear. When this doesn’t work, when pleading for somebody to take mercy goes unheard, when the remote feels like the heaviest thing she’s ever lifted, her eyes draw to Müller, who’s watching her intently, waiting for her to carry on with her new assignment.

The millimeters her thumb has to cross feel endless. The process takes eons. The button is nearly unmoving.

Y/n will never forget her brother’s screams.

In the hours that follow, she’s trapped inside her chamber, a tiny room of blank four walls with a hard bed and an open toilet, looking more like a prison cell than anything, the only difference being that in the daytime she’s allowed to come and go as she pleases within the unrestricted areas.

Tears streak her cheeks for yet another night, and the despair has never felt like this before. She thought she’d escape it one day, the guilt, the weight, but it seems she’s trapped, like an ant under a boot, seconds before she bursts to pieces, with the pressure of the entire world on her chest.

The itch grows louder. It’s right there, in the bottom of her heart, something to pay attention to, in her state of absolute isolation and despair. She’s alone, has been alone for so many years, and she wonders, still, why she hasn’t killed herself yet, but the idea that if she does, they’ll probably also kill her brother comes and slaps her in the face. However, what else is there to do? How much torture can she make her brother go through because of her mistakes, how much guilt can she shoulder?

She sits on the bed, counts the bolts that are screwing the vent door on the ceiling, listens to footsteps pass by every so often, and ponders. Silent tears crawl down the curves of her face. She’s lost so much. She hasn’t spoken her native language in years, and sometimes she wonders if she’s forgotten how to.

A pair of heavy duty boots leisurely walk down the hallway, and she recognizes the voices of two guards. Conversation easily flows between them, and Y/n has no choice but to listen.

“Did you hear about the new chair the American has made?” one of them says. Her ears perk.

“The American? No, what about it?”

“They say it’s one of the most painful things they’ve ever used in HYDRA.” Y/n winces.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s what I heard. Wouldn’t wanna find out myself.” The soldiers share a chuckle. “Müller made the American do it on her brother. I hear he died about twenty minutes later.”

Y/n’s heart drops.

He- he’s- he’s dead?

“No kidding. The bastard survived six years. ‘S a wonder he’s lived this long” And as the soldiers pass by, Y/n’s left in her chamber. The silence grows deafening, but the echo of her heart splitting and falling apart, shattering on the hard concrete floor is ear-splittingly loud. All that she’s done, all the sacrifices, all the sheer, iron will she’s had to muster to maintain her sanity, all the awful things she’s done, the blood on her hands, the guilt, the pain she’s caused and- and in the end… he died by her own hand.

Chaos and confusion, an ocean of lashing thoughts violently crashing and pulling her under. It feels like the crescendo of the longest song that’s ever been written, six years of constant playing, and the orchestra’s hands are bleeding on the strings and buttons, coating everything with their own pain, worked down to the bone, and this is it- the minutes before it’s finally over. The roof is about to be blown off its hinges.

The itch is no longer underlying. It consumes her, and she knows, finally. She recognizes it. Escapism. Revenge.

Steve’s silent. He hasn’t looked away from her, hasn’t changed stance, still with his arms crossed over his chest and bulging underneath his dark green sweater. He’s staring at her, patiently as ever, with a set to his jaw that she knows isn’t there out of anger, but because he, too, is overwhelmed with emotion. His shoulders are no longer stiff, and he now has a cup of coffee too, finished in front of him. The bags under both their eyes are darker.

“I didn’t get to kill Müller. But I managed to run away. Barely. I disappeared, travelled to the States. I found Fury and sold all the information I knew about HYDRA and the department I had been held in, in return for protection. Fury took me in.” It’s a lifeless shrug, weighted and tired, and it’s then that Steve glances at his feet, then back at her. “I trained, learned how to fight properly. Used my knowledge for good. Made it to the Avengers in a desperate attempt to make up for all that I had done. ‘S when I met you.”

Steve seems to remember. He recognizes himself entering the story. It’s almost like he’s reliving the time they first met, back on that Helicarrier. A good memory, all things considered.

“There’s little excuse for me lying to you. I know. But please, you have to understand. The burden of getting to know the best friend of the person you’d been forced to help torture for years… becoming close friends with you? How could I ever say anything about anything and have you actually trust me?” She shook her head.

“What do you mean…?”

“They forced me to make weapons, new torture methods, even tried to make me refine Zola’s formula. A way to get a better grip on Bucky’s mind. I didn’t know much about all of it, nor who it was for, wasn’t my field anyways, and Zola’s formula was successful as it was, there wasn’t much for me to add. They later left me to the torture part, not the brainwashing. Even if I had known, though, I wouldn’t really have had a choice in the matter. I did anything I had to do to protect the only family I had left.” He nods seriously.

“We grew closer and closer and I wanted to tell you, to share my guilt with someone finally, but… the prospect of losing you was… too much. I didn’t want to lose the person that had reminded me for the first time in decades what it was like to be cared for. You were-“ a gulp “are like a brother to me.” Steve looks down. “I couldn’t see the betrayal on your face. It- it paralyzed me.

“I didn’t think you’d ever find out, honestly, how was I supposed to know you’d find my file? But don’t think I never felt guilty. It was always there, like everything could crumble at any moment, like a cloud looming over my head, but… I guess I kind of learnt to ignore it. I had found a family, Steve. After years of pain, pain received and pain caused, after so much darkness, I had finally found people who understood what guilt felt like, what it meant to be composed on surface level. I found people that loved me for what I was then and there. The idea of losing that crushed me.

“I know I can’t take it back, but for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Steve.”

Steve stays tight-lipped, pondering, staring at the table, then at her, then at the table again. He’s carefully controlling his expressions, clearly analyzing the information he’s been given, and she holds her breath. Whatever his reaction is, she thinks, nothing compares to the breath of fresh air she can allow herself to take, free of this awful, lengthy story. Finally, clear honesty, a sort of vulnerability with her best friend that’s different and new. True, down to its core.

It’s the sigh that does it for her. Resigned. Her eyes snap up at him. “You should’ve told me” He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before looking up at her, and shaking his head. “I would’ve understood. Nothing would’ve changed.” He looks right at her, very much like a discouraged parent. “What am I gonna do with you?”

And it’s- it’s the way he says it, as if everything makes sense now, shoulders dropping all the way down. The way he just- like he says you absolute moron, but in their own, loving, sibling-like way. As if he can’t stay mad for too long. Looking at her with the tiniest sympathetic curl of his lip.

It’s relief, because it’s in that half a smile that she sees it all. She sees the forgiveness, the understanding. She sees the love. It’s as if he’s looking at her, saying family, am I right? Despite her situation, for the first time in years, so, so many years, she breathes deeply, breathes oxygen that feels nurturing to her lungs, that makes her think she’s floating, and smiles, apologetically, trying to telepathically communicate I’m sorry for being an idiot. Sorry for not trusting you. Sorry for fucking up this badly. I promise to be better.

She knows, he’ll always be there to give her another chance.

It’s moments, a handful of them, in which time and space seem to stop existing, to warp into something else entirely, a world that’s so confused, nobody knows how to put it back. It seems, in those moments, one forgets where they are, how they got there, their brain has not yet escaped from the liquefied dreamland it’s manifested, can’t seem to fit in the strict, square rigidness of reality.

Bucky finds himself in that place. His eyelids seem to weigh about twelve tons, barely feeling his fingertips. It takes a great deal of effort to have thoughts, to- to maintain them, and as his mind slowly starts running a little faster, he remembers faintly, cloudy memories barely registering, that the last thing he saw was three soldiers, that had sneaked up on him, he remembers the gun being aimed at him, instinctively moving and getting nailed in the stomach multiple times.

Wherever he is now, it’s quiet. He worries for a second that he’s been left for dead in the HYDRA base, worries that he’s either dying on the floor or a vague prison cell, resembling something he’s been in already, but he’s comforted by the fact that the surface he’s on seems soft, the lights behind his eyes bright. Whatever the case, he should wake up now, he might need to get up and defend himself.

And as his eyes open, heavy and tired, he meets another pair of gorgeous ones, familiar and soft, and he feels warm all over. He’s- he’s safe. He’s safe because she’s here, and he loves her, with all of his being he loves her, and she’s holding his right hand close to her chest, he feels everything, her warmth, and he knows it’ll all be okay, it’ll all fix itself. He doesn’t have to try.

There’s something lingering just beneath his skin though, a need to recoil. Like a small bucket of icy water thrown over him, because, yes, he loves her, but she betrayed him. She could be out to get him right now, could be working with HYDRA still, and he might be trapped somewhere, and his heartbeat accelerates, because he has to escape and he can’t trust her anymore- until he sees the tears. The tears streaking her cheeks, over old salty marks, and a smile, broken but whole. This isn’t the behavior of a captor, he decides, deems himself, if not safe, then entirely incapable of fighting back, should he need to anyways. Why worry now? Let his future self do the work.

His eyes move around the room, blue-ish gray walls vaguely familiar, and- there’s another figure, another pair of eyes- blue, happy. It’s Steve.

Bucky feels safe. He knows he’s alive. He knows he’s home.

Like any other free afternoon, Y/n finds herself on her couch, curled up as much as she can with a book in her lap. There’s a short lamp on the side table, and she leans on the armrest comfortably with her toes curled, flying through pages and pages of words. Her hair is down, she wears comfortable clothes, and has a blanket over her legs. The weather’s been getting colder lately.

A warm sound, four soft knocks on her wooden door, are enough to pull her out of her novel, enough to make her eyebrows stitch together. She’s not expecting anyone.

Her feet are bare and she’s well aware of how close her knives are to the front door, just in case she has to fling herself over and grab one. She presses her eye against the little peephole, but it’s old and foggy and the workers who had once repainted the building managed to cover part of it with small drops of paint and she hasn’t gotten around to trying cleaning it. Doorknob cold under her palm, she tilts and-

Oh.

The first thing she notices is his shirt, a maroon Henley, buried under two more layers of clothes, a brown hoodie and a darker brown leather winter jacket. The buttons on the collar of his Henley are open, giving her a cheeky peak of the skin of his chest. She loves this shirt on him. It feels like someone tugged at her heart from every direction. Longing.

The second thing she notices is that this- it’s Bucky. Bucky standing in front of her door with an expression she’s rarely, if ever, seen on his face before. Her favorite, gorgeous light blue eyes staring straight at her after briefly scanning her down, as if he, too, is making sure she’s actually there. She is. And so is he. Here. Now. In front of her. Looking at her. Her feet are on the floor, she’s not dreaming, the world is round and Bucky is here.

Oh God. He’s really at her door.

“James…”

He seems to shiver. A shake of his head, something she recognizes as him convincing himself this is happening, then eyes meeting hers again. He shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. She holds the door less tensely.

“I think…” squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, looking at the floor. “Steve said to talk to you.” A heavy breath. Shoulders awkwardly, tensely shrugging, sorta like a kid forced to apologize by their parent. She doesn’t know how, but her head manages a nod, gulping. She pulls away from the doorframe, makes way for him to pass.

“Come in.”

New York sounds as alive as it ever does, even at eleven at night, and Y/n wishes she was sitting, because her legs are unsteady. It makes tears well in her eyes, seeing him here again, in her kitchen, looking around absently. The world feels different, much like it did in the Compound when she’d gone to visit him, even if nothing has changed in it apart from them.

Despite the passing cars outside, and people yelling, heard through the open window, it feels quiet. As if they’re the only ones in the world, being here with him feels like a cosmic event. She remembers what it was like sitting here and being so overwhelmed by the love in her heart, remembers what it was like to be surrounded by his arms and held so impossibly close to his chest. She remembers what it was like to look in his eyes and see them so affectionately looking at her, as if she’s everything he could ever ask for, as if she’s the light in his world. The cold of the night and of the space between them feels very much like a slap in the face.

“I know you no longer work for them,” and it truly breaks her heart how part of that statement feels like he’s trying to convince himself, or as if it’s difficult for him to process. How awful, the shift between being someone’s favorite person and being someone who’s trustworthiness is little over questionable. The weight of being responsible for fucking up the most important relationships in her life suffocates her. “Steve told me.”

There’s nothing to do but nod numbly. She looks at him, watches the warm, glimmering lights of her kitchen fall on the curves and edges of his face, admires the yellow-ish hue outlining his features, making his eyes look iridescent.

She mustn’t cry.

“He told me everything, actually.”

She must not cry.

Bucky doesn’t say a lot of words, but they’re there, at the tip of his tongue, floating in the air like dust particles. In this, there’s a lingering question, a large Why. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you hide all this from me? Why did it have to be this way?

Y/n looks down. What to say, really?

“I just- I can’t believe-“ she jumps at his loud tone, Bucky never one to have vocal outbursts. She sees the tears in his eyes, gaze lingering away from her, towards the living room for a second before looking up at the ceiling momentarily, then straight at her. His hands are shaking, and she sees it all then. The betrayal, the hurt, despair, the- the loss. There’s no alleviating this pain that overwhelms both of them. She hates herself for this, can’t believe she caused all of it.

“I- I did what I thought would be best for us-“

“No, don’t pull that shit with me.” He glares now and points at her, and she never, ever wanted to be in the receiving end of such an intimidating look. Venom is laced in his tone, harsh and biting, and it feels like the temperature in the room dropped below zero, her spine rigid. “You did what you thought was best for you,” said as calmly as the tears that slowly leak from the corners of his eyes and over the apples of his cheeks are. “In fact, I doubt you thought at all”

That’s not true though. The amount of times she’d sit in her bed, with his arms around her while he slept, weighed down by the lies and the guilt; the guilt of all the terrible things she’d done, and the guilt of hiding them from the most important people in her life. She’d scale the pros and cons of confessing everything, for hours she’d make lists in her head, extensively long, but the cons were always destructively larger and would always win. She’d choose to stay as she was, with them oblivious and happy, until they would finally see her for what she truly was, and she’d convince herself, it would all be worth it for the time spent with them.

“I couldn’t tell you- I couldn’t face the idea of losing you I-“

“So you’d rather lie to me? You’d rather hide your past from me? I trusted you, Y/n.” He hasn’t called her by her first name in so long, and it feels like he just took one of her knives on her kitchen counter and stabbed her straight in her chest with it. “I gave you all of me, I told you every single little thing about myself, everything I hated, everything I’ve done, and I trusted you to have it and- and you couldn’t even trust me to listen to you? To- to understand you?”

She deserves this, she does, but she can’t- can’t deal with him yelling at her and, reflexively, she lashes out- “I was scared, Buck,” –and it’s a pitiful excuse, she knows, but it’s the bitter truth and the reason behind everything. “You have to understand- this isn’t some black and white situation, I thought you’d hate me for everything, I didn’t wanna lose you, or Steve!”

“Scared?” he seethes, walking towards her with angry steps, and she starts stepping back too, entering the living room. She realizes how large he looks, how his anger fills every corner of the room. “You were scared?!” She can practically taste the condescension on her tongue. “And you think I wasn’t?! You think I wasn’t paralyzed you’d run away after everything I’d done? You think I wasn’t terrified of my feelings for you and how fast they came to be?” She wishes she could answer that, but part of her is terrified to know what he used to feel for her and how much of it she actually ruined.

“But I’m a fucking adult, and I dealt with it. You… you lied about everything. Did you even give a shit about how badly you were gonna fuck me over, if I ever found out?”

“Does it look like I fucking like it? You know how sorry I am, how much I hate myself for everything I’ve done to ruin both yours and Steve’s trust in me!”

“I don’t know shit,” her legs bump on the back of her navy couch. “You hurt me- hurt us. We gave you everything, I put my heart on the line for you, and you couldn’t even have a little faith in me to believe in you, and what you truly are.” A monster rings in Y/n’s brain. Nothing but a monster.

“Please, stop.” Submission. That’s all she has left, by now, because his words ring nothing but true. Because she can’t bear to hear everything she feels about herself being told back to her in his voice, it would literally be a nightmare come true. Everything drains in her body, and it all comes down to this. She just wants all of this to stop, the pain in both of them to stop.

“No,” he hisses, and she can’t really blame him. He’s close to her, about two feet away, and she’s trapped between him and the couch. “I’m not gonna stop just because things got uncomfortable for you, just because you had to come back because I was dying in a gurney. You barely tried to make everything right before that. Do you even care?”

“Don’t you see that I did everything because I love you?!”

Silence. Bucky nearly staggers back, as if the words that have never, before, been said came out and punched him in the face.

“Why the fuck do you think I didn’t tell you anything? Because I wanted to break your heart? No, you clueless asshole, I’m in fucking love with you!” His expression is stunned, eyes wide at her outburst, watching as she takes the steps she needs to close the gap between them. Her finger is jabbing at his chest, which is raising and falling with panted breaths. “I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, couldn’t take to watch your trust break, couldn’t bear the thought of you finally seeing I’m a monster!” And she breaks down, a sobbing mess now, the tears that once trailed down her face, now endless. She covers her mouth, face crumpled and red.

“I j-j-just wanted us t-to be okay, bec-cause I love you t-too much to fuck-king lose y-you”, As her eyes shut, crying relentlessly in her hand, throat feeling like it’s gonna burst, she feels so eternally cold, as if showered by a bucket of icy water. The idea that she might once again be left alone in the world while someone she loves is taken away, all because of her actions- it’s too much. It takes her back to the worst day of her life, brings back a kind of cold so furious, it knots her joints and sends shudders down her spine- her hands tremble at the thought. She can’t believe how colossally she’s managed to screw things up with him, how much he hates her and genuinely believes she did anything less than care about him. .

Like a tidal wave, the emotions overwhelm her, the self-hate like a boulder that smacked her in the face and threw her down a cliff and now everything hurts, and her stomach feels like it’s climbing up her throat. Her heart tears through her chest, painful and slow, and it’s all her fault, everything, and there’s nothing there to fix it all, to make it better- except, all of a sudden, warm, strong arms curl around her. She breaks down harder, curling in his chest because she fucking missed this, missed his affection, his protective embrace, his comforting smell.

Fists clutching his shirt, she sobs, acutely aware of her tears wetting the material of that maroon Henley she loves so much. The arms around her curl tighter, one hand dipping under her hair to hold the nape of her neck gingerly, keeping her against him, thumb rubbing gentle circles. And it’s then that she hears it, his own sniffling, his chest shaking. He’s crying too. The need to provide the comfort she seeks is overwhelming, and she lets his shirt go, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him together too. “I’m so sorry,” she cries, shoulders shaking, and Bucky shushes her, shaking his head slightly. His arms tighten briefly.

In her crying, she vaguely registers him moving them to the couch, both sitting down, and her curling up into him instinctively. For a while, until she calms down slightly, she lets herself be held and holds him back just as fiercely. It feels like she’s finally letting go, an outburst that frees her of part of the weight she’d been shouldering for years on end. It feels like release, a dam that broke and is spilling every last drop of water that’s been pushing at it for so long.

When she quiets down, when her sobs no longer hurt, no longer feel like they’ll split her ribcage to splinters, when her breathing sort of evens out, she pulls one of her hands to rest on Bucky’s chest, and pulls away to look at him. Bucky’s arms tighten to keep her close.

She’s well aware she must look like a mess, what with all the crying, but this is Bucky after all, her James, the love of her life. He’s seen her under all kinds of light now, and there’s no need to hide. Like he wants, if he is to care for her, after all this, he should care for her for all the things she is, not the things she pretends to be.

Bucky’s eyes are a little less bloodshot than hers. She cups his chin gently and watches his eyelashes flutter, his eyelids softly shut. With her thumb she gently strokes his cheek and notices the way he seems to lean into her palm, lips parting with heavy breaths. He missed her too.

He opens his eyes again to look at her and leans his forehead down to touch hers, holds her closely and brushes the tip of his nose on the bridge of hers so lightly she almost misses it. She sighs. “You have every right to be angry at me,” she whispers to him, pulling her hand back and tucking it in her chest. “I lied, and I didn’t trust you, and I acted the complete opposite way of how I should have. For all of that,” a breath sucked, almost clogged at the center of her chest, “for all of that, I’m sorry.”

Bucky, still infinitely close to her, shakes his head gently. He takes one arm from around her, and she thinks this is it; this is where he says goodbye-

But, gentle as always, he places his right hand on the side of her neck, softly nudges her head up to his and drops his lips on her own, a ghost of a kiss, short and unexpected, before he pulls back and looks at her. “I love you.” He whispers, breath hitting her lips, and her eyes well with tears once again, as she looks up at him. She never thought she’d hear those words, not after everything. Bucky kisses her single fallen tear away, noses at her temple.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, the same way you didn’t think I am one. You helped me heal, helped me learn that those things I did, they weren’t me. I didn’t have a choice.”

“B-but-“

“No, you listen to me.” He tells her, his grip around her body tightening, giving emphasis to his words. “You did what you had to do to protect your brother. What you did… The blood isn’t on your hands.” He has not let her gaze go for a second, and she’s transfixed, tears still overflowing- she wonders when she’ll finally run out of them. “I love you.” Her bottom lip trembles. “I love you more than I thought I was ever capable of. Thinking you betrayed me completely incapacitated me, but I understand you. I see you. I forgive you.”

She gasps, shudders, and in the spur of a single waking moment, lunges at him, kisses him fiercely, holds him tightly. Their lips mold together, and the last pieces of the universal puzzle of the cosmos click to place. Everything settles, mouths moving in sync, desperate, hungry, all the emotions tumbling out all at once, and it’s like the slingshot snapped, and the missile hit the target. She bites his bottom lip, and the groan he lets out comes from deep within his chest, tongues tangling together. His metal arm crushes her against him, hand buries in his hair, their noses smush together, breaths strangled, air shared, and…This- this feels like belonging. No- more like, this feels like coming home.

Inevitably, they part, trying to suck in much needed air, foreheads knocking together gently and chests heaving. It seems like they feed off each other’s personal space, like they hold each other in one piece, while also completing one another. To Y/n it feels like a breath of fresh air.

“This doesn’t mean we’re perfect yet,” Bucky utters gently, not in a menacing way, but as a soft clarification, a request even. “I- I’m gonna need some time.” She’s grateful he even chose to give her a chance at all. Y/n smiles up at him affectionately and nods.

“Of course, Buck. All the time you need.” She caresses the side of his face with gentle fingers, traces his features with a feather-light touch, then cups his jaw. “Thank you.” And it’s weighted, hangs low in the air. She looks at him intensely to make sure he knows she means it. Bucky closes his eyes and leans into her touch, then blinks them open, brilliant, sky blue irises staring right at her. “I love you so much.” He breathes out heavily.

“Say that again,” he whispers. She grins at him as if he’s all good things in the world, because he is.

“I love you, Sergeant Barnes.” A kiss pressed to his cheek. “I love you with all of my being.” A kiss gently tucked on each of his eyelids. “I love you for all that you are.” And she kisses him on his lips sweetly, and he responds like she’s made out of glass, like she’s fragile. He sighs out. They breathe close to each other for a while.

“I know you said you need some time. Do you… wanna go out with me? Coffee? At Michelle’s?” Bucky grins. Their spot. He nods.

“I’d really love that.”

It’s not much, but it’s something. An olive branch. The first step to gain his trust back. There’s nothing Y/n deems more important. With a deep breath, she knows. She’s ready to do anything, to work her hardest to earn a place in his life, the one he’s so graciously offered her. To get to build a future with him, on steady foundation this time.

Their life begins now. Y/n can’t wait to live it. With him.

A/N 2: please tell me what you thought!

#mcu #marvel #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x fem!reader #steve rogers #sebastian stan #chris evans #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #mcu fanfiction

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scullydubois · 3 years

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memory-bound: a revival one-shot

Set between Rm9sbG93ZXJz & My Struggle IV, Scully moves back into the Unremarkable House after her smart home burns down and returns to an age-old ritual: coloring her hair.

T, 1.8k, fluff/domestic fluff, read on ao3 here.

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Lamp light casts shadows on the wall as Scully unpacks in a place she never thought she’d find herself again: the master bedroom she and Mulder shared for almost a decade. She lays her remaining clothes on the tribal-patterned bedspread and smirks at how little the room has changed. She expected to be put up in the guest room and was perfectly fine with that. They had rarely gotten any use out of it--she figured an inhabitant would do it some good. Imagine her shock, then, when Mulder told her he hadn’t slept in “their” room since she left. That the room was all hers.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that after a decade of a bed, he returned to what he knew upon losing what he had known. He swapped the couch he slept on for seven years for a Barcalounger. An old man needs his amenities, he joked while showing her its heat and massage functions. And she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, the mark of a fool.

She salvaged what she could from the fire, but most of her Bethesda things were ruined. That soulless smart house was never worth its automated thermostat system, let alone any of its other data mines disguised as gizmos. Mulder hated it--hated it, like, wouldn’t step foot in it, and if she’s being honest, that was the only selling point for her: the shelter it offered from his incessant search for truth & his unsatisfiable conscience. This was back when she felt like that was something she needed to get away from, of course. She had wanted to settle somewhere and mean it. Now, she realizes they were settled all along.

She rests a pile of folded clothes in the crook of her arm and pulls open her old dresser. She envisioned cobwebs--maybe even a whole family of spiders--in there, but instead, a ratty New York Knicks t-shirt greets her. And a Spaceship Earth one under that, and a Wile E. Coyote one under that. Her holy trinity of Mulder t-shirts. She refused to take them when she left, though he insisted. And in protest, he hadn’t worn them. She knows this instinctively, though the lack of laundry scent confirms it. They’ve been waiting in this drawer all along, captives to Mulder’s fantasy that one day she would open it again.

Scully squeezes her eyes shut, slips the pile in next to the shirts, slams the drawer, and grabs her toiletries bag off the bed, striding into the bathroom. She can’t dwell...she can’t. She’s learned by now that regret is a state of mind that freezes her up, and there’s no being frozen, not any more.

Unzipping the bag, she lines her various products along the counter. Age-defying this, anti-aging that...sunscreen is really the only thing that’s done her any good. That, and hair dye. She keeps the others around for show.

Speaking of...she pokes at her roots, scouring the mirror for signs that yes, she could theoretically be a grandma--and she can’t say for certain that she isn’t--but to her knowledge, she’s not, and as long as no one calls her Grandma, she won’t accept the title.

She won’t accept the gray hairs, either. One day, sure, but not yet. Mulder’s not even gone gray yet, and he has years on her. She’s told him that he would look great, and that the silver fox nickname would be nothing short of perfection, but he swears that he just hasn’t lost his “natural luster” yet, that he’ll embrace the gray when (if!) it comes.

Scully’s not been so lucky, though it doesn’t show. She’s been coloring her hair every three weeks since she was twenty-eight to keep the ravishing red. She’ll never forget when Mulder realized it wasn’t her natural color...the way his eyes widened as he moved between her legs…

It’s not as if he didn’t know; her mousy auburn had been on full display when they first met, and yet he’d gotten so used to seeing her as she is that it slipped his mind that she hadn’t always been that way. And once they moved in together--in this very bathroom, actually--he loved to help her with the coloring process, was as fascinated by it as the prospect of alien-human hybrids.

She chooses the tube of Rock it Like a Redhead dye from her product line-up, looks at her reflection. It’s been five--no, six--nearing seven--years since she performed this ritual in this room. She glances down, and sure enough, the tile still bears a rust-colored stain from one of her sessions gone wrong. It makes her smile...she has a history here. They have a history here.

She sighs. For old time’s sake, she might as well...she’s found herself thinking that a lot lately.

Her old robe--her usual attire for the occasion--fell victim to the fire, but she’s got a good substitute in mind. She pads back into the bedroom and plucks the Wile E. Coyote shirt from the drawer. It’s black, hopefully that will hide any stains. Her slacks are too damn expensive to risk an accident, so she briefly considers stripping to her panties before settling on a pair of gym shorts.

Her get-up in place, she grabs a few clips from her bag and pins her hair up in four sections. This is one of the reasons she got her chop; her long hair was sexy, but it was a bitch trying to cover all those layers. Plus, Mulder is fond of “the Scully shag” as he calls it, though she corrects him every time (it’s not a shag Mulder, it’s a bob!). It reminds him of their firsts, she imagines. It’s almost as if the longer her hair got, the further apart they drifted. And once they were okay again, it was imperative that she bear her neck to him...show him the place where his lips should land.

She decides to stand in the shower (water off, of course) so any mess can be rinsed away. She wonders, suddenly, if the square mirror they used to keep is still suctioned to the glass interior. It’ll be hard to do this alone if it’s not.

She peeks in, and it’s not there, and that must be the only thing in this house Mulder has moved. Figures. She slips off her shoes and grabs the applicator and dye tube. She’ll do the best she can, then use the bathroom mirror to make any touch-ups.

Scully steps into the shower. Its characteristic lemon scent is gone, and that makes her sad. It used to be a welcome change from the antiseptic hospital smell she dealt with all day. Wielding her tools, she starts at her roots, spreading the dye along her scalp with expert precision. Surely this counts as a workout--it takes a lot of energy to hold your arms over your head for this long. Will her Fitbit calculate how many calories she’s burning, she wonders?

She’s just started a new strand when a gentle rap echoes through the wall.

“Scully?” Mulder’s voice rings from outside the bedroom. She pulled the door slightly shut when she entered.

“Come in!” she calls. “In the bathroom.”

She hears footsteps in the adjacent room, then a hesitant breath as Mulder pauses at the doorway. “Are you decent?”

Scully looks down at herself. What a picture. “I’m in a Wile E. Coyote t-shirt and gym shorts. Does that answer your question?”

Mulder shuffles in, smirking at the sight of her through the open shower door. “What are you doing?”

She points to the crown of her head--which is already well within his field of vision--so she’s not sure why he needed to ask the question.

“Well, I see that,” Mulder concedes, “but I mean, why are you hunched over in here like you’re hoping to grow a third arm?”

Scully shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“That’s just as lame as ‘boys will be boys,’ and you know it,” he counters, remembering a spirited lecture she once gave him on the misogynist undertones of the phrase. Scully smirks. They had that conversation years ago...post-William, pre-Bahamas. She’s surprised that it stuck with him.

She tilts her chin in a way that makes Mulder certain she’d have her hands on her hips if they weren’t occupied. “What do you suggest?” she challenges.

“Let me help you,” he proposes before she can launch a protest. His sneaker’s rubber sole meets the shower tile as he slips in beside her. The wall is cold against her elbow as she scoots back to make room for him.

“I’m fine. I’ve been doing this on my own for years, and I was long before you.”

“But now you have me,” he professes. “Here. Right now,” he clarifies, not meaning to label their as-yet undefined relationship status.

Their eyes meet, and Scully’s hit with the last time the two of them were in here--her legs around his waist, his hands sliding through her hair, droplets that couldn’t be placed as shower water, sweat, or tears. Her spine straightens against the very wall where she was pinned. Times change, yet they don’t. History repeats itself in a slightly different key.

“When I was younger, I did this because I liked the color,” she tells him, finishing a section and lowering her hands. “Now, I do it out of necessity. It’s sad, Mulder.” She juts her lower lip out in a faux pout. “We’re getting old.”

He would hug her, but he’d mess up her hair and it would be a whole thing. “Hey, I’ll be pushing your wheelchair with my wheelchair, remember?” he says, taking her slip into sentimentality as permission.

Scully nods, the delicate memories of years past bringing a slight frown to her face.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, raising to her tiptoes, then lowering again. Her eyes twinkle.

“Of course.”

She offers him the tube of dye, looks up at him with a smile.

“Can you get right here?” She points to a spot right above her temple, one she could definitely reach herself if she wanted to.

Mulder admires her. His woman, back in his old t-shirt and all. He plants his lips on her temple, breathing her in. No matter what she says about aging or being old, he’ll never believe her. She is as she was back then: the only semblance of peace he’s ever known.

He pulls away to meet her gaze, his voice warm and smooth. “Is that about where you want it?”

Scully grins. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

#this might be the only revival fic i ever write & i really enjoyed it #a chance to reflect and take a trip down memory lane <3 #the x-files #txf #txf fic #mine #todayinfic

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kaaytea · 3 years

Note

Im the anon who requested the Koushuu x manager/Kazuya's sister reader

Since im still completely in love with the dinner headcanons, I was wondering since it its Koushuu's bday, if i could make another request?^^

About how manager/kazuya's sister would surprise him? Maybe she finally convinces Kazuya to let her spend some time with Kou in the dorm room and they have this really special, fluffy moment cause he deserves some love on his bday🥺🥺

I’m honestly surprised at how quickly I wrote this (see what happens when you guys inspire me😤) so hopefully it sounds consistent. As a fellow Koushuu lover I had sO much fun writing this. Technically bc Wolfy's birthday is in the winter, Miyuki wouldn't share a dorm with him anymore but for the sake of this oneshot let's pretend third years are allowed to stay on the team 🤭 I hope you like it anon! 💖

Reason

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"Please Nii-chan!"

Kazuya's face scrunched in displeasure as he twirled the bat in his hand.

"How many times do I have to say no?" He flatly stated. Kazuya kicked his foot against the crate you were sitting on, his way of trying to end the discussion and get you to continue tossing balls for him.

You let out a deep sigh before picking up another baseball, briefly letting your fingers brush over the worn stitching and scratched leather then lightly tossing it up where Kazuya cleanly hit the ball into the net. You sat there stewing in your thoughts as you continued to half-heartedly toss the balls up, putting in only just enough effort to get the ball up for your brother to hit. You didn't flinch at the sharp clang of the bat, once upon a time you might have, but at that moment you were too upset to even give it a second thought.

"Ok, but what if-"

"(Y/n)," Kazuya cut you off with a stern look, his tone was frighteningly reminiscent of the one your father used to scold you. The simple utter of your name immediately sent chills up your arms as you fought the urge to cower as you did when you were a child. "I said no, I'm not discussing this with you anymore."

You shot up from the crate, gripping the ball in your hand tightly as you glared up at your brother. You weren't going to let him play the older brother card -not this time! You would keep pushing for this until he broke down.

"But it's not fair! You hang out with your friends all the time! Why can't I?!"

"Because Dad told me to look after you, and that includes keeping you from mischievous boys"

Your face screwed up in a sour expression, "If you wanted to keep me from boys why in the world did you let me become a manager for a BOYS baseball team?"

Kazuya stared down at you, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words to respond to you.

"That's.....that's actually a good question. Any chance you'd consider resigning?"

"NII-CHAN!"

The boy broke out into a fit of laughter leaning his weight onto the bat to keep himself upright as he gasped out phrases like: "your face!" and "You actually thought I was serious!"

You huffed at your brother’s childish behavior and slumped back onto the crate, leaning your head on your palm as you spun the baseball around In your other hand. You were completely frustrated with Kazuya, he was treating this like a joke, and somewhere deep in your heart you were a bit hurt by his lack of faith in, not only you but Okumura as well.

Kazuya's laughter started to die down as he straightened up and got back into his batting stance. Only this time you didn't toss him a ball to hit, he watched as you dejectedly dropped the ball in your hand back into the crate.

"Do you really not trust me?"

You heard him sigh through his nose, followed by the sound of another crate being dragged over so he could sit in front of you. He kicked your foot gently, an unspoken way of him telling you to look at him while he talked.

"Look, it's not that I don't trust you, you're very smart and have always been careful with who you make friends with," he offered you a small smile making you fight the urge to smile back, "It's more the fact that you asked to be alone in a dorm room with Okumura. That boy confuses the hell out of me, I never know what he's thinking so it's difficult for me to give you permission to leave you unsupervised with him."

You snorted at what he said. Your brother made Koushuu sound like a mysterious delinquent when in reality he was anything but.

"Nii-chan, Kou can't look me in the eyes longer than 5 minutes. You don't have to worry about him doing anything bad."

"Kou?!" He gasped out. The catcher brought a hand to his forehead dramatically, "You're on a first-name basis with him already! What do I do?! You're being corrupted!"

You groaned, rubbing the heels of your hands into your eyes trying to distract yourself from the unavoidable headache that would surely appear in the next few minutes.

Kazuya stood up from the crate and pushed it to the side with his foot.

"Two hours"

"What?"

"I'm giving you two hours with him -but that's it!"

A grin spread across your face and you jumped up trapping Kazuya in a tight hug. One of his hands ruffled your hair as you babbled out thank yous.

"Yeah, yeah whatever. Now get off, I wanna get through the rest of this crate, and then I'll walk you back to your dorm."

--------------------------------------------------

The day was finally here! Your brother had graciously granted you two whole hours to hang out with Kou in his dorm! Safe to say you were a little more than excited as your dorm mates teased you about seeming extra lively that morning. You simply brushed it off as having gotten a good night’s rest, but the heat radiating off your cheeks contradicted your efforts.

You checked the gift bag hanging loosely from your wrist for the thousandth time as you approached the familiar door. After confirming that his gift was still safely stowed away, you gently knocked and impatiently bounced on the balls of your feet while waiting to be let in.

It didn't take long for the door to swing open and reveal the familiar eyes that always shone with warmth, a juxtaposition to their icy color when you were around. It took you countless hours and silly conversations to melt Okumura's frosty exterior, leaving something reminiscent of a loyal pup.

"Hi," he softly said, already moving to the side to let you into the dorm. When the door closed you threw yourself at Okumura, wrapping your arms around the boy’s neck and pulling him into a hug. The action startled him slightly, his body stiffening up from surprise before he cautiously wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Happy birthday, Kou!" You chirped, beaming up at the blonde, whose cheeks were quickly tinting a soft pink.

"T-thanks," he sputtered as he untangled himself from you. Before Okumura could get a chance to process and compose himself you were already pushing his gift into his hands while chanting "open it open it!"

He sat down on the edge of his bed —with you doing the same, positively vibrating with excitement— and gently pulled out a little bundle of blue tissue paper neatly folded over the gift. Okumura carefully unwrapped the object revealing a new pair of batting gloves.

He turned the gloves over in his hands inspecting them. A mixture of white and deep blue detailing produced a very clean look to the gloves. The thicker material around palms and the very obvious brand name instantly made him realize you probably spent a good amount of money to get these.

"Do you like them?" He turned to look at how excited you seemed. The sparkle in your eyes made his heart flutter, but he couldn't shake the slight guilt that ate at him. "Takuma helped me a bit with finding a style similar to your old pair -but, I noticed you rub at your palms after batting so I got you gloves with extra padding around the base of your hands!"

Okumura was a bit surprised at how observant you were. It's true his old gloves, a pair he's had since his second year in junior high, had started to wear down. It always amazed him how you could pick up on small cues in the sport. Although to be fair, you were a Miyuki and had basically been trained by your older brother in everything baseball-related since you could walk.

"They're really nice," he slipped one of the gloves on, clenching his hand a few times to get a feel for them, "you didn't have to spend so much on me though."

You rolled your eyes and bumped your shoulder against his.

"I knew you'd say that...Think of it this way, these will probably last you the rest of your time at Seidou, so technically they were a valid investment on my part." You sent him a gentle smile which he returned before taking off the glove and moving to put them in his practice bag.

While Okumura was occupied your attention was stolen by the laptop sitting open on his bed.

"You weren't doing school work, right? I'm not interrupting or anything?"

The boy looked back at you and shook his head, his blonde hair bounced slightly at the movement. He walked back over to the bed returning to his spot next to you. In one quick movement, he dragged the laptop over to the both of you and unplugged the headphones he had in. Immediately your senses were filled with the voices of announcers and the crack! of a wooden bat.

"The Hanshin Tigers?," You looked up at him where he confirmed your guess with a short nod, his eyes not leaving the screen as he watched the team’s left fielder catch a pop-up, "I didn't know you were a fan."

"I wouldn't really consider myself one," he softly said, "Taku made me watch all their games with him when we were kids, and the habit sort of stuck."

You smiled at the thought of a younger Koushuu being forced to watch games with his enthusiastic friend. You wished you were there at that time to see a younger version of your two friends, Takuma most definitely shaking Koushuu’s shoulders excitedly at any play that seemed remotely difficult.

It was obvious that Okumura was still invested in the game, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't interested in seeing how it was gonna play out, so the both of you found yourselves sitting up in his bed.

You quickly lost track of time as you both watched the game, pointing out plays and betting on what would happen. Although, the longer you sat the more sore your arm was becoming. Okumura didn't have the largest build compared to other players on the team, but his shoulders were still significantly broader than your own. Because of that you had bent you right arm and shoulder in an awkward position to watched the game. You started to fidget around trying to find a more comfortable way to sit. Koushuu was about to offer to set the laptop up on a desk instead, but his thoughts were cut off when he let out an involuntary squeak as you picked up his left arm and draped it across your shoulders.

"Is this ok?"

He could only stiffly nod as he felt his heart rate pick up and heat spreading across his cheeks. The heat spread to the tips of his ears as he felt you snuggle closer into his side and rest your head on his chest.

As awkward as he felt in the moment, Okumura had to admit that having you tucked under his arm was a nice feeling. He enjoyed being able to connect with you, somewhere deep in his heart he hoped this moment was what would push the both of you to become a little more than just friends. Slowly Okumura relaxed into the feeling, pulling you closer into him and gingerly leaning his head on yours.

--------------------------------------------------

"Koushuu?" You questioned as you both watched the ending ceremony to the game being displayed. He responded with a hum, dropping his hand to play with the ends of your hair.

"Would you play professionally if you were given the chance?"

He sighed, twisting a lock of your hair around his finger as he pondered your question. He was quite familiar with this topic, his family had been asking him that very question for the past few years and he always had the same response.

"If I found a reason to."

He gazed down at you, watching your eyes shift around his face as you studied his expression.

"I've always just followed Kazuya from team to team, managing and learning so I wouldn't be left behind," your eyes flicked to his lips briefly before locking back on to his crystalline hues, "But he leaves in a few months....I've been trying to find a new path to follow."

A greedy voice from the depths of Okumura's mind whispered 'me'. If he were to be honest he already found his reason to continue perusing baseball, and that reason was you.

In only a short time span you had somehow given a new meaning to the game, your passion and joy for the sport had spread into his heart and, as selfish as it sounded, he hoped that you'd join his side and face the sport together as partners once your time at Seidou came to an end.

Neither of you had noticed how you were slowly leaning closer and closer to each other, a magnetized energy pulling you together. With your noses just barely touching, you cupped his jaw and started to tilt your head up.

"YOUR TWO HOURS ARE UP (Y/N)! ITS TIME FOR YOU TO LEAVE NOW!~"

The magnetic feeling vanished the instant the door slammed open and Kazuya practically sang for you to leave. Luckily, Okumura had quick reflexes and was able to put a decent amount of space between the two of you the moment Kazuya's voice echoed around the room.

"I'll walk you back to your dorm," he said softly, avoiding looking at his captain as you both shuffled out the door.

The walk to your dorm was silent. There was nothing to say as you were both too embarrassed to mention what had almost happened.

Okumura was somehow even more aggravated by Miyuki, the both of you were so close to finally admitting and giving in to the chemistry that had been slowly and steadily building since summer break. All of that progress was ruined in a matter of seconds by the nuisance of a captain.

You stopped in front of your dorm door, quickly looking down both halls only to find the area vacant of any other girls.

"Koushuu," you tapped his shoulder making him turn his attention from the floor to you. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you reached up on your tiptoes, your lips a hairs width away from his.

"Happy Birthday," you whispered before pressing your lips together.

Okumura gently returned the kiss, his hands hovering near you —unsure of what to do with them— until you moved his right hand to cup your cheek. Instinctively he tilted your head up slightly.

You both pulled away with batted breath and burning faces. In those few seconds following, your actions caught up with you. Your body burned in embarrassment as you stuttered out a 'bye' and slipped into your dorm.

Koushuu's fingers drifted up to his mouth as he walked back to the baseball team's dorms, still slightly in shock at the situation.

Hopefully, that first kiss showed you your new path just as it had confirmed his.

#kayquests #okumura koushuu x reader #okumura x reader #okumura koushuu #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace #ace of the diamond #ace of diamond x reader #ace of the diamond x reader #ace of diamond #diamond no ace #diamond no ace x reader

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romeoandjulietyouwish · 2 years

Text

I'm having some writer's block and only feeling inspired to write about my d&d character so please excuse this

Some context: My character is a half orc paladin (oath of the mage guard) who swore an oath to protect her best friend Wylie who was killed by moorbounders when she couldn't protect him. She turned to some very unhealthy coping mechanisms that led to her becoming a gladiator, much to her brother's disapproval and that's where she met her fiancee, Kalara, an earth genasi.

Ellenir's knuckles are bloody and bruised, but she doesn't care in the slightest as she keeps hitting the punching bag over and over. This late at night the gym is empty so there's no one to watch as tears start to well in her eyes.

With each thwack of her fists on the bag, her vision gets blurrier and blurrier with tears. All she can see is Wylie's face, almost unrecognizable from the claw marks. Similar ones mirror her face and chest. She hears the growl of the moorbounders in her ears, the metallic scent of blood.

Then the screams of Wylie's mother as she carried their dead son through town.

Elle cries out in frustration in pain as the next thwack of the punching back leaves a blood stain. She steps back and looks down at her hands, they skin is broken completely, bleeding and painful.

"Fucking dammit," Elle curses loudly, crying out in frustration, slamming her foot into punching bag before padding across the floor to where she left her bag and shoes, hopefully there's still a roll of bandages in the bottom.

As she plops down onto the floor, leaning against the wall, there's footsteps in the hallway, she has half a mind to hide her hands, but she's never been able lie very well, not to the people who matter.

And sure enough, appearing in the door is Kalara. "Ellenir, have you-" her girlfriend pauses, taking in her bloody hands and teary eyes. "Who do I have to punch? Is it Milton? I'll punch him again just fucking watch me."

Elle chuckles as Kalara walks over to her, sitting down in front of her. "You want to punch my brain?"

Kalara rolls her eyes, "No, but I will do this." She rises to her knees and presses a kiss to Elle's forehead. "Better?"

Elle can't fight the smile that crosses her face, "You're secretly a softie."

Kalara glares at her softly, "No, I'm not, I'm a bitch." She starts to dig through Elle's bag, pulling out a half used roll of bandages. "Give me your hands." Kalara doesn't wait for Elle before she reaches over and grabs Elle's wrists and starts to wrap up her knuckles. "What happened?"

"Nothing really, just something Arie said earlier got stuck in my head." Elle doesn't look at Kalara's face, but rather at Kalara's grey hands gently wrapping her green ones. "It doesn't matter."

Kalara squints at her, "We're going to talk about it at some point. Because I will punch them if I have to."

"You don't need to punch them, Arie didn't really mean it, she doesn't know about Wylie." And the mention of her friend's name, Kalara's hands still on Elle's. "It's fine, Kal. Seriously."

"Uh huh." Kalara sighs, "I don't want have to do this," she gestures to Elle's teary face and hand, "every time you think about what happened. You can talk to me, Elle."

"I know." Elle leans forward and kisses her girlfriend softly. "I know, I really do. I love you, Kali."

"Love you too, now sit still," Kalara kicks Elle's side gently, making her laugh just a little bit.

#i honestly have no idea if this will make sense to anyone but me but hey i had fun #lis cries about her dnd character

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mizelophsun11 · 3 years

Text

Mizeloph's Tale Chapter 12

Pairing - General Kirigan x OC Sun Summoner is still the pairing, however with each chapter it gets closer to the switch over to Kaz Brekker x OC Sun Summoner

Summary - Crossing the Fold was not easy, but a band of 4 was able to make it with no casualties. Now a plan, get into the Little Palace, a heist for something that would get them closer to the target. The closer they get makes his wonders about Anna closer to the front of his mind.

Word Count - 2012

They had made it through the Fold, another step closer to completing their goal, now they had to find a way into the Little Palace.

Arken appeared with a poster in his hand “this is our way in, The Little Palace Winter Fete. However, a fair warning that it will be crawling with Second Army, but they will most likely be too focused on the party”

“If we do go during the Winter Fete then we need to know the outlay of the Little Palace, that way we can get in and get out” Inej said, knowing that they could not go into this blindly

“A way in and a way out, that means blueprint” Kaz was beginning to think through a plan

“I know that the Kribirsk archives house has the Little Palace blueprints, unfortunately they are guarded under lock and key. Extreme precautions to make sure that they are kept away from the prying eyes of the public” Arken sighed, not thinking anything could be done about it

Jesper smirked “well, far away from the public, needing to break in, you all know what that means” Kaz and Inej both smiled, seeming to be in on the inside understanding

Arken looked at them confused “what does it mean persay?”

Jesper was getting excited “time for a heist”

However, before they could start their plans for the heist, Jesper had to do something very important. He eventually found someone that would take Milo and give him a home, a nice barmaid. He was slightly heartbroken by having to send Milo away, as he handed Milo to the barmaid he placed a necklace with a bullet around Milos neck.

“Goodbye Milo, I leave you with this bullet to remember me, never forget me Milo and I will never forget you. I must go, this lovely barmaid has promised to take you in, she needs your support” Milo bleated for Jesper as he was taken by the barmaid and all Jesper could do was watch

“I have a job for you, we need a ride east to the Little Palace, make friends” Kaz told Arken

Arken chuckled “that’s the hardest job”

Kaz smirked a little “you won us over, didn’t you?”

The trio went to a table closer to the back of the room to figure out what they would be doing, this heist was an important step towards the bigger goal, they could not fail.

“Royal Archives heist, here's the plan. Watchmen are always walking the halls, the key is to get in and out as quietly as possible. Jesper that means no guns” this heist was all about stealth and so using guns at any moment could blow their cover

Jesper pouted “fine”

Kaz looked to Inej “the dome on the roof is directly above the repository where the blueprints are kept”

Inej nodded “my way in”

“I’ll set a phosphorus trail that will help lead you to the correct compartment where they keep the blueprints. The repository has a two-part lock mechanism that is secured at all times, so Inej you have to leave the way you came. Sunset in two hours, Jesper you will need to blend in”

Jesper already had a plan in mind “I think I have an idea” Kaz nodded

“The second floor is where the light valves are” Kaz looked between Jesper and Inej

“Lights out is my cue, then follow the trail to the blueprints” Inej realized that this mission had her playing a big role

“The archivist has to pull them a number of times in a day, meaning we can’t steal them or they will know something is up. We will have to make a copy, buy carefully, if a heavy had is used the ink could bleed”

“Don’t worry I know what I am doing” Inej said, they finished up going over the plan, now it was time to take action

Kaz got into a costume to make him look like a painter. He walked with his cane into the Kribirsk archives house entrance where he walked up to the desk.

“Hello, my name is Ivanovski, The sculpture.” Kaz gave a fake enthusiastic smile

The archivist looked up “alright.. Do you need something?”

“Yes, I desperately need your help, I am working on a real show stopper for the Winter Fete, the Little Palace entrance dimensions are what I need. It would be quite awful if my grand masterpiece could not fit through the door frame. The king would have my head if his statuary must be kept out in the courtyard” Kaz said

“Damn fete..” the archivist sighed “having to pull the blueprints everyday.. Wait here”

Kaz tossed the phosphorus pad which landed underneath the archivist's foot, he waited at the desk. For the moment that he had to himself he thought about Anna, if she really was the Sun Summoner, this heist was just the next step to her. He needed time to think about what would happen when they were face to face, the anticipation of her possibly recognizing him was on his mind. Right now he was ready to use their childhood friendship to his advantage for the kruge, but that was now, things could change.

The archivist came back “the dimensions to the entrance of the Little Palace”

Kaz put the fake enthusiastic smile “may the Sun Summoner bless you”

“I honestly don’t believe” the archivist said

Kaz leaned in “truthfully, I don’t either”

However, Kaz was not sure what he believed. Answers that he so desperately wanted were in the hands of a childhood friend that had meant the world to him. Days where he missed her had brought him to the present and with her being labeled the Sun Summoner made things interesting. Eventually he would have the answers, but that would come in time.

A few hours later the sun had set allowing for Inej to sneak in through the dome of the archives room. Inej used a rope to get down into the room, the darkness allowed her to see the phosphorus footprints on the ground. She followed them to the drawer, opened it and pulled the blueprints out and laid them onto the ground. Pulling out a blank page out of her bag then laying it over the blueprints, she sprayed it with perfume and applied the slightest amount of pressure. Through this she was able to make the copy of the blueprints without the original ink bleeding. Inej put the original away then the copy went into her bag, but suddenly the lights came back on. She ran to the rope and pulled it down so then no one would suspect that someone had gotten in. A guard came in and began to inspect the room, Inej was able to get behind the man and just barely stay out of his view. When the guard went to leave he turned around one more time, Inej hid behind a desk to make sure her cover was not blown. Everything was once again locked, Inej went to the gate and tried to open it, but it did not budge. Jesper in his disguise went up to the gate and tried to see if he could open it, he noticed that the clock was about to chime.

“Inej stand back” Jesper pulled out his gun and at the chime of the clock he shot the lock, which then opened

They both made their way back to the courtyard where they were going to be meeting Kaz, but a guard was standing there. Inej brought her hand up for Jesper to stop and took one of her knives out. She slowly snuck up to the cladded stranger and just as she was about to strike but a recognizable cane stuck out, it was Kaz.

“Bit slow on the draw there” Inej said

Kaz smirked a little “or just in time”

They left with what they needed, now they had to meet with Arken and figure out what the next steps would be. Once they got back to the tavern they went back to a more private part and laid out the map to get a better look.

Jesper looked over the map and pointed to a section “you think this?”

Inej shook her head “it wouldn’t..” she pointed to something that would allow guards to see them which would lead to their capture

“Oh..” Jesper said and went back to thinking

Inej pointed to a hallway “what about here?”

Jesper shook his head and pointed to a guard tower “they would see us”

“No way in..” Inej sighed

“No way out..” Jesper said

“We will have to come up with something else” Kaz motioned to Inej to close the map, they were done looking at it and he wanted to make sure no one suspected them of anything

Arken sighed “well, I thought this plan might not work..”

Suddenly, behind them a performer slipped from her silks and onto the floor, definitely injured. Arken had a certain look about him, like he knew why that girl had fallen, but made sure that he didn’t see, incredibly suspicious. The trio went up to the bar to get a drink, something to hopefully fuel some sort of crazy idea to get them into the Little Palace.

Jesper sighed “I mean, Kribirsk isn’t all that bad. Maybe we could even open a bar, brew East Ravkan beer for Westerners?”

Inej and Kaz looked at him “shut up Jesper” they said at the same time

“I miss Milo” Jesper was still having a hard time with parting from his goat friend

Arken approached them with a smile “Friends”

Kaz looked at him “and what could you be so cheery about?”

Arken motioned over to the other man standing close by “this is Marko, he is the leader of a traveling troupe known at the Pomdrakon Players and his group has been invited to this year's Winter Fete. They have the wonderful opportunity of getting inside the Little Palace, however, one of their star performers was injured in a freak accident. They have become desperate in finding someone with the same set of skills and as Ketterdams’ premier talent manager, I came up with an idea”

Both boys looked at Inej “a good friend once said, ‘if I can’t crack this, none of us are going anywhere” she got up and went to were the silks were

Through Inej talent, she performed an extraordinary routine that had the room standing on their feet applauding.

Marko walked up to her “the Saints must have sent you, yes! The show will go on” he snapped his fingers and one of his assistants brought over a very colorful leotard “so, do you think you can fit into this?”

Inej looked at it unsure but Jesper walked up to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders “of course she can, in fact those are her favorite colors! However, Inej is what you call, a package deal”

“No free rides” Marko said “does anyone else in your group have talents?”

Jesper was able to shine by using his guns. He sat on a chair with his back to Inej and his gun resting on his shoulder pointed towards her. She was hanging upside down with a card in her mouth, Jesper cocked his gun and shot the card in Inej’s mouth splitting it in half. The people clapped and cheered, impressed by the talent that had suddenly fallen into their laps.

“What about you sir? Got any talents for us to see?” Marko asked

“I’ll make my own way” Kaz was already coming up with a plan for himself to get in

They had found their way into the Little Palace, it would only be a few days for them to finish up the details of their plan. Kaz knew that he would have to prepare himself for possibly seeing Anna after all this time apart. He was feeling something that he normally wouldn’t before anything, nervous, the great Kaz Brekker was nervous.

Author Note - Hello Everyone!! I am looking forward to giving you this chapter, it might be a bit more of a filler, but it is all building up to the important Winter Fete. Please let me know what you think if you have the chance, I would greatly appreciate any feedback people would like to give. I would also like to let anyone who is new to my story, or if you would like to, be added to my tag list. Feel free to message me or leave a comment, I will make sure you are added if that is what you wish.

Tag List - @rika90 @itsemy01 @hotleaf-juice @teatimeforusreaders @benbarnes-supremacy @graciefullygracie @aleksanderwh0r3 @klaudosh @herbatkazmilosica @hiddenbisexuell @atemgirl94

#grisha fic #grisha netflix #grishasworld #the grisha series #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone fanfiction #ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander x reader #freddy carter #freddy carter x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader

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horcruxmanor · 3 years

Text

“not too long ago...”

Clementine Orleans finds herself at Hogwarts, in 1977. How exactly? She doesn't know.

part 1

"You're coming with me, stupid half-blood." A man in black spat at the girl.

Clementine Orleans flinched and with a shaky hand, she wiped the spit off her face. She bravely looked at him and shook her head. The death eater looked at her in disgust.

"Why you shakin' your head? You think you have the right to defy me? Think you're better than me, eh?" He then grabbed her with his tattooed arm and dropped her to the floor roughly.

"You should die- she should die, shouldn't she, Dolohov? I think we've had enough of her," The death eater grinned, showing off his yellow teeth.

Clementine shook her head repeatedly, stuffing her hands in her pockets out of instinct to find her wand. A stupid mistake as they had taken it from her long ago. However, there was something there. She felt a cold chain. She thought fast and wrapped it around her neck. She spun it mindlessly, just as she heard the words,

"What are you doing? Is that a time turner?Avada Kadavr-"

And into the darkness she went.

Clementine landed on the grass with a bump, and hit her head on a rock, knocking her unconscious.

"Is that a body?" Someone asked their friends.

Moments later, the group of friends stood in front of Clementine.

"Merlin!" Sirius Black exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"That's a lot of blood, mate. Should we take her to the hospital wing? St Mungos maybe?" James Potter bounced his foot.

"How the fuck would we take her to St Mungos??" Sirius questioned.

"Calm down, guys. Let's just take her to the hospital wing and hopefully she'll survive." Remus Lupin attempted to calm them.

"Hopefully??" Sirius repeated, "Bloody hell."

Using the levitation spell, Remus carefully led her to the infirmary, Sirius and James tagging along behind.

"Madame Pomfrey, she- this girl-" Sirius hollered out, only to be shushed by the matron.

"Hush now, boy! She will be fine, place her on the bed, Remus, dear. Thank you." Madame Pomfrey replied, moving to look at Clementine.

"What happened?" She asked in shock, looking back to the boys.

Remus shrugged, "We don't know. We found her like this. I think she hit her head on a rock near the lake." he responded.

Madame Pomfrey muttered incoherently to herself as she moved around the room, grabbing potions and ointments off of shelves. Before she began to work on Clementine, she looked back to the boys.

"You may leave now, boys." She said curtly.

"Can't we stay?" Sirius pleaded.

Clementine had intrigued him. He looked at her dark brown, nearly black hair, with the tips dyed red. He thought it was a questionable hair choice. Definitely made her stand out.

James had been studying her too, and he tried to think of how she appeared at Hogwarts, the way she did.

"If I'm not mistaken, you're missing your classes right now. Leave now and I won't inform the headmaster."

Remus scratched the back of his neck before firmly putting a hand on Sirius' shoulder. He could barely keep his eyes off the girl, too.

It seemed all three of the boys had been stuck and captured by this mysterious girl.

Peter Pettigrew walked into the hospital wing, looking for his friends. He looked at his three best friends and wondered why they looked at the girl so weirdly. He cleared his throat, causing James to snap back to normal.

"Guys, Lily will be leaving her charms class soon! Come on!" James exclaimed.

His words seemed to bring Sirius and Remus back to earth, as they instantly looked at him and began to walk away with him.

They walked into the castle in silence, and only began talking once they got closer to Lily.

"Lily-Pad! Wait up!" James yelled, running towards the red head.

"He's obsessed with her." Sirius stated.

"You're only picking that up now?" Remus questioned.

Sirius rolled his eyes, "oh yes, after six years of him yearning after Lily, I'm only just noticing it now. I'm just stating a fucking fact, moony."

Remus scoffed and shoved Sirius lightly.

"Hey guys." Peter said, walking up from behind them.

Remus looked over at him curiously. Wasn't he just with them?

"Hey Peter." Sirius greeted, as if not realizing.

"What're you all up to?" He asked. The three looked to James, who was grinning at Lily. Lily, however, was frowning at him.

"She'll come around." Sirius said, though not entirely believing it himself.

"Yeah." Remus agreed sarcastically, sending Peter another suspicious glance.

The next day, Sirius, Remus, and James all rushed to the hospital wing to see the girl they had rescued. Peter was busy, for some reason unknown to the other three boys.

"Is she up, Poppy?" Sirius asked as soon as they had walked in.

"Yes, Mr Black. But, she needs to rest so please do not be so..." Madame Pomfrey trailed off.

"Enthusiastic?" James guessed.

"Annoying?" Remus asked.

"Charming?" Sirius grinned.

"Loud." She said, "Speak gently with her."

They nodded and headed to where Clementine's bed was.

Clementine looked to them and gave them a curious look. They looked familiar. As she examined them, she tried to remember where she's seen them before. Her memory was hazy.

Madame Pomfrey had told her that because she had hit her head, she had a lot of memory loss. Now that she thought of it, Clementine couldn't remember anything before waking up in the hospital wing.

"Well you're a sight." Sirius said breathily.

Clementine gave him a flat look, narrowing her hazel eyes slightly. Remus whacked his arm while James smirked.

Sirius winced, "alright, alright! Sorry. What I meant to say was; you're pretty, I consider myself handsome. Want to go out for some butterbeer after you're let out?"

James and Remus gave Sirius a look, as if to say "really, mate? Already?"

Clementine looked amused at first, but she shook her head slowly.

She smirked before saying, "No, thank you."

Sirius pursed his lips and nodded, "okay, okay."

Remus, noticing the awkward change in atmosphere, jumped to introduce himself.

"I'm Remus." He said with a small smile, "that's Sirius. He's a bit of a ladies man, I apologize for him."

Clementine turned her gaze to Remus, "I'm Clementine." She responded, smiling.

"And I'm James!" James exclaimed, "I'm here too.. yeah."

Clementine looked to him, "Hey," she said, chuckling at his awkwardness.

James grinned, scratching the back of his neck.

"So, why exactly are you here? How did you get to Hogwarts in such a state?" Remus asked.

Hogwarts. That had sparked Clementine's memory. She used to go to school at Hogwarts. She gasped slightly as she got flashback.

A crowd full of children stood with her. They were all eagerly awaiting for their name to be called.

"Clementine Orleans!"

Clementine felt her heart beat loudly in her chest as she walked up. She could sense all the eyes on her.

"Well well.. who do we have here? Smart enough to be in Ravenclaw but you definitely do not belong there... you're witty.. charming, too... however.. Slytherin does not seem to suit you. Hufflepuff is out of the question completely. This leaves you to....

GRYFFINDOR!"

Loud cheers were heard from the Gryffindor table. Clementine grinned and hopped off the seat to join a boy with circle shaped glasses and a girl with big, frizzy hair. The three were later joined by a boy with ginger hair, who seemed to have many brothers there at the table with him. The four became acquainted immediately.

"Clementine, was it?" The girl with the big hair asked.

Clementine nodded.

"I'm Her-"

"Helloooooo?" Sirius waved his hand in front of her face, snapping her out of the memory.

"Oh, sorry. What was the question?" Clementine asked.

"How did you end up here?" Remus asked, looking at her slightly concerned.

"I'm not sure. I'm suffering from memory loss. Madame Pomfrey said need to speak to the headmaster as soon as I could." Clementine said urgently, as if realizing something for the first time, "She said his name was Dumbledore? Right?"

"Uh.. yes, but-"

"Brilliant! Could you please get him?" She continued.

"Yeah, we can get him." Remus accepted, pulling his mates along with him.

"She seems odd but..." He said as they walked at a fast pace towards Dumbledore's office

"She's nice." James and Sirius said in unison.

The two exchanged a look and quickly looked back in front of them, continuing their walk.

"Clementine Orleans," Dumbledore started, "you, my dear- were sent from the future."

"The future?" Sirius mouthed to James, who shrugged.

"Guys, I really don't think we should be eavesdropping-" Remus tried to say only to be shushed quietly by the other two.

"What? Sent from the future? I highly doubt that, sir."

"Nonsense, Miss Orleans. We found a time turner in your pockets. Clementine Orleans didn't exist here until yesterday."

"You found a what?" Clementine questioned.

She still knew her magic. But she didn't have her wand. She knew she was a witch. She knew a lot of things, what she was taught at Hogwarts and what she studied alone. She knew her way around Hogwarts, too. She just didn't know why she was there, how she got there, and who exactly she was.

She knew that she was Clementine Orleans. She went to Hogwarts. She knew she was a Gryffindor. She knew her age.

But... did she have friends? Did she have a family? The children she saw in her memory, were they her friends? She didn't know and her head was beginning to hurt just trying to think about it.

"A time turner, Miss Orleans. We're doing everything we can at the moment to try and get your memory back. However, it could take time. You must tell me anything and everything you remember." Dumbledore said firmly.

Clementine paused before saying, "I know I went to Hogwarts. I'm a.. half-blood. I am a Gryffindor. I'm 16. I know my magic- what I was taught at Hogwarts and by myself. I know some wandless magic, and I know I'm a half blood. I also don't have my wand with me. I don't know anything else."

Dumbledore nodded, smiling kindly.

"Very well. Thank you, miss Orleans. You can purchase a wand at Hogsmeade during the next trip. The other professors and I can lend you some money. While we try to mend your time turner and attempt to help you gain your memory back, you'll be a student here. A sixth year, as you were in your time. I'll have Professor Mcgonagall bring your robes in the evening." Dumbledore continued, "the veritaserum should wear off soon. For now, you must rest, Miss Orleans."

And with that, he left the hospital wing.

A/N: this has been previously posted on Wattpad!

#marauders #the marauders era #Harry potter #James potter #remus lupin #sirius black #peter pettigrew #marauders x reader #marauders x oc #harry potter time travel #time travelling au #marauders time travel

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settersprouts · 3 years

Text

꒦ ikanaide : chapter three ! ꒦

病欠

. . : iwaizumi gets sick and doesn't tell oikawa. oikawa notices he's not at school and skips practice for the first time to take care of him.

or, iwaizumi doesn't like to take medicine and oikawa can cook.

sniffles. coughs. that's all that could be heard through the iwaizumi household at five am, the time hajime iwaizumi was supposed to be getting ready for school. hanako iwaizumi sighed, not ready to deal with a sick hajime. reluctantly making his way out of the bed he shared with aiya, he got a bucket, a couple of rags, and starting the trek to his son's room.

``hey-`` hanako started, but was interrupted by a coughing fit. ``hajime. how you feeling?``

his son smiled up at him grimly, wiping at the snot in his nose. ``like shit.``

``language.``

``sorry.``

hanako let out another sigh, wringing one of the rags out and placing the damp cloth on his forehead. ``symptoms?``

``cough, sneezing, my nose is runny- and my throat hurts,`` iwaizumi managed, his voice dry and scratchy.

``that bad, huh?`` hanako set the bucket down on the floor, pulling out his phone and thumbing at his screen. ``i'll text your coach and teachers to let them know you can't make it.``

iwaizumi nodded, letting out a small groan. his eyes suddenly flung wide open, and he sat up abruptly, scaring hanako a little. ``don't tell oikawa! he's going to try and skip school to take care of me, i'm sure.``

hanako chuckled, giving his son a little thumbs up and pushing him back down. ``i got it. i'll just let him figure it out himself.``

his son sighed in relief, letting his entire body relax. ``thanks, old man.``

``i'm not old. want some oatmeal?``

``that'd be great. thank you.``

a smile pulled at hanako's lips. ``alright, coming right up, kiddo.`` he made his way out of iwaizumi's room, leaving the door open so air could filter through.

``don't make it sweet! i hate it sweet!``

``i know that!``

hanako made his way into the kitchen, almost running into his wife. ``whoa- oh, good morning, love.``

``morning, hanako.`` aiya yawned, her face contorting into an expression of confusion. ``where's hajime? he should be getting his breakfast ready by now.``

``the kid's sick,`` hanako replied, kissing his wife on the cheek. ``i'm getting him some oatmeal for breakfast.``

aiya nodded, opening a drawer and pulling out a thermometer. she handed it to her husband. ``make sure to take his temperature, too. i want to know if i need to have a doctor over.``

hanako deadpanned, letting out a gruff laugh. ``babe, that's a meat thermometer.``

``oh, is it?`` she smiled apologetically, putting it back and switching it with the other thermometer. ``here, take this, then.``

he reached out to grab at the cool metal, letting it sit in his breast pocket as he got iwaizumi's oatmeal ready. ``can you go get him some cough medicine, or something for his throat? hajime says it's sore.``

his wife nodded, and padded over to the fridge, reaching above it to open the medicine cabinet. she sorted through bottles and bottles of over-the-counter medicine, before finally reaching the cough and sore-throat remedies. pouring a little bit into a plastic cup, aiya put the bottle back and closed the cabinet, placing the cup onto the tray with her son's water glass and oatmeal on it. ``there. have you called hajime's school, yet?``

hanako nodded. ``mhm. already done. hajime doesn't want oikawa-kun to know he's sick yet, so don't tell his mother. knowing her, she'll spill the beans somehow.``

aiya let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth as she did so. ``i understand. he'll probably want to skip school and tend to hajime all day.``

``that boy is something else.``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

oikawa tapped his foot impatiently, standing at the intersection where he and iwaizumi usually meet up. they were supposed to get there early so oikawa could grab something from the convenience store- it was his nephew's birthday, after all, and he wanted to buy some red velvet cake mix.

he let out a sigh, pulling out his phone to check the messages he had with the ace.

› Messages with : Iwaizumi, Hajime

[Sent:To Oikawa, Toorū] go to sleep already, you idiot

[Sent:To Oikawa, Toorū] i know you're up watching volleyball matches

[Sent:To Oikawa, Toorū] it's late, get some rest or i'll hit you

¹¹⁻³⁹ ᴾᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] yeah, yeah, got it iwa-chan ಠ_ಠ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] you don't have to be so rude, you know

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] and why r u so obsessed w hitting me ?

¹¹⁻⁴⁰ ᴾᴹ

[Sent:To Oikawa, Toorū] goodnight

¹¹⁻⁴⁰ ᴾᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] goodnight, iwa-chan :D

¹¹⁻⁴¹ ᴾᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] morning, iwa (*ﾟｰﾟ)ゞ

⁰⁵⁻³⁰ ᴬᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] where r u 人´∀｀) i'm @ the intersection

⁰⁶⁻⁰⁴ ᴬᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] iwa we're gonna be late i need to go to the store φ(。。*)

⁰⁶⁻⁰⁵ ᴬᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] iwa-chan i'm leaving you >:p

⁰⁶⁻⁰⁷ ᴬᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] im gonna kill you when i see you

⁰⁶⁻¹³ ᴬᴹ

despite what the messages ensued, he still hadn't left without iwaizumi. he let out another sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. he really had to leave, but he didn't want the ace to be mad once he figured out oikawa had went on without him. oikawa inhaled through his nose, and out through his mouth. pushing aside the fear of a very angry iwaizumi showing up to first period with homicide on his mind.

the sun was rising and starting to shine brightly, slightly blinding oikawa as he glanced at the star. if iwaizumi were here, he would've already been geeking out about it to him, trying to annoy the vice. he wasn't really that obsessed with space and extraterrestrial life, oikawa just liked to annoy his best friends.

``hey, oikawa!`` the setter turned at his name being called, and was instantly greeted with someone running straight into him. arms wrapped around his torso in what he thought was a hug, but couldn't be sure, since all the wind was knocked out of him in the process. familiar tufts of pink-brown hair tickled his nose, and his lips pulled into a small, genuine smile. he wrapped his arms around the attacker's torso, too, breathing in the scent he considered a second home.

``hey, makki. morning.`` oikawa smiled, pulling away to see his friend's beaming face.

hanamaki linked arms with oikawa, pulling him along. ``c'mon, we're going to be late for class!``

oikawa looked down at his phone, checking the time. 06:19 AM, it read. ``makki, it's only six twenty. we have plenty of time.``

``but..`` makki groaned, making a big show of rolling his head back and exposing his neck to the sky. whether or not that was an impression of oikawa on one of his days, oikawa may never know. ``we can be early for once.``

``class doesn't start until seven thirty.`` oikawa sang, pulling away from makki's grip and dragging him along. ``plus, i gotta get something from the store for takeru's birthday.``

his companion made an 'o' shape with his mouth, succumbing to oikawa's charms and letting himself be lead to the nearest store. ``nice. what are you getting?``

``cake mix. red velvet.``

``red velvet? holy shit, can i come to the party?`` hanamaki gasped, giving his friend his full attention now. oikawa laughed, and nodded.

``yeah. i was planning on inviting you and mattsun anyways.`` he replied, scratching the back of his neck. ``iwa-chan gets a free pass, since my mom knows him.``

makki gasped in mock offense, holding his free hand to his heart. ``she knows me too! how come i don't get a free pass? does she not like me?``

oikawa shrugged. ``well, you're kind of.. how can i say this. um-`` he laughed nervously, ``-too energetic, for her taste?``

``this is atrocious. i even did her dishes for her, once.``

``key word, once.`` oikawa retorted, eyeing the store up ahead. ``oh hey, look, there's sakanoshita. think we'll find cake mix there?``

hanamaki shrugged. ``probably. doesn't karasuno's coach work there?``

oikawa nodded. ``hopefully tobio-chan didn't stop by on his way to school. i think i might throw up if i see him.``

``how immature.``

the two of them made their way into the small store, muttering a little "pardon the intrusion!" to the staff, who turned out to be a short, older woman, not karasuno's coach. they both let out a sigh of relief- anything could've happened if it was ukai who was sitting in the little swivel chair behind the counter. possibly just them having to endure the shameless torments from the latter, but who knows.

oikawa and hanamaki glanced at the small signs labeling the aisles, quickly finding the one they were looking for and walked down to the middle, where all the cake mixes lay. the captain sifted through the red velvet mixes while the other eyed the brownie batter with starry eyes. oikawa skimmed the backs of four boxes he settled on, tossing them all into the little basket he had picked up as soon as they walked in. turning to his partner, he couldn't help but let the wide smile overcome his facial features. hanamaki was practically drooling at the pictures of the brownies on the boxes.

he padded over to the wing-spiker and picked up a box, tossing it into the basket as well and waltzed out of the aisle- hanamaki at his heels. ``whoa, are you seriously buying that for me?``

oikawa shook his head. ``for me. to make for you when you come over later.`` he stuck out his tongue at his partner, smiling at the laugh he was able to get out of him.

``sure, whatever you say.``

the captain turned to the lady at the desk, reading the nametag on her shirt. hana sakanoshita. ah. so she was the owner. sakanoshita smiled at him, taking the bag out of his hands and scanning the barcodes on the backs of the boxes. ``find everything okay, honey?``

``yep, great, thank you! could we also get two packs of that strawberry gum?`` he pointed, putting on one of his award-winning smiles. she seemed to melt at this and nodded, quickly bagging up his stuff and handing his credit card back.

``you have a good day, boys.`` she said, waving at them as they exited. the two smiled and waved back, turning towards aoba johsai and resuming their trek.

hanamaki checked his phone, letting out a sharp whistle. ``nice. we didn't take as long as i expected- we have fifteen minutes 'till first period.``

oikawa grinned. ``told you so.``

``yeah, yeah. oh- by the way, where's iwaizumi?`` hanamaki looked around as if he were looking for the teen, turning back to oikawa once he figured out he really wasn't there with them. ``he walks with you, right?``

the latter shrugged, pulling out his own gum pack and popping a strip into his mouth. ``dunno. he didn't show at the intersection where we meet up, so i just went along without him. he didn't answer any of my texts, either.``

``huh.`` hanamaki said, putting his index finger and thumb on his chin in a thinking pose. ``that's weird. maybe he overslept?``

``doubt it. the man sleeps with his phone on so loud, he'll wake up immediately as soon as he hears one of my texts. plus, he has like, fifty alarms back-to-back to wake him up.`` oikawa replied, shutting down makki's theory so fast, he didn't even see it coming.

makki sighed. ``ah. i see.`` he shook his head as to clear his mind of any stray thoughts, and extended his hand. ``i want some gum. hand it over, peasant.``

``yes, my lord.`` oikawa said jokingly, gracefully whipping out the pack of strawberry gum and placing it in his hands. he folded makki's fingers around it, never breaking eye contact with his teammate. ``here it is. do what you wish with it.``

the two snickered at their antics, slinging their arms around one another. ``we're so going to be late.``

``yeah, probably.``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

``oh, yeah, we're so sorry ms. sato. we got stuck in traffic- there was an accident over by my house.`` makki sighed dramatically, shaking his head slightly. ``we would've gotten a late pass, but we didn't think we were going to be so late.``

ms. sato shook her head quickly, smiling at the teen. ``it's okay, hanamaki-kun. just try not to let this happen too much, okay?``

hanamaki nodded. ``yes, ma'am.`` oikawa mentally facepalmed at his antics, and the two walked to the back to sit down in their seats, next to matsukawa, who was struggling to keep a laugh in.

``jesus,`` matsukawa breathed, ``the amount of bullshit in that was immaculate.``

``right?`` he and hanamaki fistbumped, grinning widely like the idiots they were.

oikawa sighed, turning his head slightly to talk to iwaizumi, then stopping himself before he could say anything. iwaizumi's desk stood empty next to his own. the captain frowned, checking his phone for any recent texts from the ace. nothing popped up.

makki slung an arm over oikawa, concern lining his features. ``hey, what's up?``

``he still isn't here.`` he pointed to iwaizumi's desk, the frown growing by the minute. ``and he's not answering. makki, i'm worried.``

a head full of black, unruly hair obscured the view he had of his phone. matsukawa laughed, stepping back. ``so he didn't tell you guys?`` when hanamaki and oikawa looked at him with confused expressions, he chuckled, and continued. ``guys, he's sick. coach was talking about it with ms. sato this morning. if you got here earlier you would've known.``

the captain facepalmed. ``of course, that makes sense. why couldn't he have told me though?``

``dunno.`` mattsun ignored the small pout resting on his captain's lips, shoving at his shoulder a bit. ``lighten up. he probably didn't want you to skip school and take care of him.``

oikawa let out a puff of air. ``yeah, okay. you're probably right.`` he was about to continue but ms. sato had started class, and a comfortable silence fell upon them as they gave the woman their full attention. makki and mattsun glanced at oikawa, worry clearly etched on their faces. perhaps they shouldn't have told him what happened with his best friend.

``oikawa,`` ms. sato supplied, stalking over to his desk and setting two thick packets on the hard wood. ``here's iwaizumi-kun's work. i trust you'll be able to get this to him?``

the latter sighed, looking up towards his sensei with the fakest smile he could muster. ``yes, sato-san, i'll give this to him as soon as i see him.``

ms. sato smiled, patting the boy's head and walking back to the front of the class. ``alright, so, has anyone written down the notes on the board?``

oikawa glanced at the chalkboard, internally groaning as he noticed it was completely filled with notes. where the hell did she find the time to write all that?

he let out the fifth-hundredth sigh that day, picking up his pencil and getting to work. iwaizumi totally owed him.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

``you want to, what?`` coach irihata stared at his pupil, shock painting his features. oikawa stood before him, fumbling with his practice clothes, a faint blush plastered over his cheeks and nose. ``you want to skip practice?``

``yes.`` oikawa nodded. ``it's only for today, so i can go home and take care of iwa-chan. he has a lot of work to catch up on,`` he added, holding up the many papers he had collected from his professors in each class, since his and iwaizumi's timestables were identical.

irihata stared at him some more, then shook his head quickly, smiling at him. ``alright. i don't see why not.``

oikawa brightened, clearly glad by the news. ``thank you so much! i promise i'll make it up to you!`` he chimed, switching his volleyball shoes for a pair of regular sneakers. ``all your meals this week, on me!``

``you don't have to- and he's out the door.`` irihata sighed, glancing at the now agape gym door. the warm afternoon breeze rushed in, leaving an unpleasant, humid feeling. mizoguchi came up behind him, watching oikawa sprint off into the distance. ``that boy is something else, isn't he?``

``definitely.`` mizoguchi laughed, walking forward to close the doors. ``iwaizumi's lucky to have a good friend like him.``

the older coach nodded. ``we're all glad to know him.``

dammit, someone's talking about me, oikawa thought, as he sneezed for the seventh time since leaving aoba johsai. he rubbed his nose, pissed off at the irritation of his sensitive organ. his legs already burned- he had sprinted all the way to the intersection, and was now leaning on a streetlamp, catching his breath. he probably should've put on his knee brace if he knew he was going to exert a little energy on running home, but he was in a rush.

pulling out his phone, he quickly navigated to his email, frowning at the lack of messages from his dear friend hajime iwaizumi. he hadn't read the texts either, so he probably was really exhausted. slipping the device back into his pocket, he started the rest of his trek home, popping another strip of gum into his mouth.

the grocery bag swinging on his arm contained all the contents oikawa thought iwaizumi would need : some cough and cold medicine, a couple of boxes of tissues, a mask for himself, disposable rags, and a heating pad. the materials cost him about ¥800 each, which wasn't that expensive.

finally, after what had seemed like forever, the captain had arrived at iwaizumi's house. there were no cars in the driveway, which meant his parents weren't home. what were they thinking, leaving poor iwa-chan alone while he's sick? oikawa frowned at this. what a silly idea.

he flipped up the doormat, grabbing the key that was strategically placed underneath and unlocked the door. pushing it open, he let out a little ``yahoo~ anyone home?`` to let iwaizumi know he was there. he wasn't expecting a reaction, so seeing iwaizumi come downstairs to greet him kind of scared him out of his wits a little bit.

``jesus! iwa-chan, can't you warn a dude first?`` oikawa panted, placing a hand over his heart. the ace deadpanned, walking over and snatching the bags out of his hands.

``what the hell do you think you're doing here? i'm sick, go home.`` he retorted, his eyebrows furrowing so much, they looked like they were attached to his eyes. he sifted through the bag, pausing once he realized what the plastic bag contained. ``what is this?``

oikawa rolled his eyes, taking the bag back and setting its' contents on the kitchen counter. ``it's for you. you're sick, so i decided to skip practice to come here and take care of you, and to reteach everything that you missed today.`` he replied nonchalantly, shoving iwaizumi towards the direction of his bedroom. ``go back to bed, i'll cook you some lunch, since i'm sure you didn't eat yet.``

iwaizumi didn't reply, because (a) he was right. and (b) he was shocked that the toorū oikawa skipped volleyball practice for him.

``anyways,`` oikawa said, opening his fridge and scanning its' contents. ``how do you feel about egg?``

``i can eat it. i don't feel nauseous or anything,`` iwa replied, sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. ``and wait- you're going to cook?``

the setter turned around, tying an apron around his waist. ``yeah?``

iwaizumi blinked, shaking his head and leaning down on his forearms. ``nothing. continue. don't burn down my kitchen.``

oikawa grinned, having just been granted permission to make his best friend's food. ``alright! on it, iwa-chan!``

``shut up and start cooking.``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

``you have to take it, iwa-chan!``

``NO! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!`` iwaizumi jumped onto his couch, holding a fork towards oikawa like a weapon. ``GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME.``

oikawa let out yet another sigh. ``jeez, if i knew you were going to be this bratty about taking your medicine, i wouldn't have came.`` he took another dangerous step towards iwaizumi, holding out a glass of water and a small cup of liquid cough medicine. ``iwa-chan, if you don't take this, you'll never get better.``

``so? that thing's disgusting.`` iwaizumi fake-retched, the look of disgust on his face almost believable. he should've taken the drama course at school.

another step. ``you seem to have forgotten that i have a kid nephew, who i always got to take his medicine, no matter how big of a tantrum he threw about it.`` another step. ``you're acting like a toddler. just take your medicine and get better.``

``assikawa, if you so as much take one more goddamn step towards me, i'll kill you.`` iwaizumi growled, clenching the fork tighter. of course he wouldn't kill him, he'd just said that to frighten him. somehow, oikawa didn't seemed phased, and took another step.

``hajime iwaizumi. if you don't come down off that couch and take your medicine right now, so help me god, i will bring my mother here and she will be furious when she realizes how much of a tantrum you're putting up right now.`` the setter mused, shaking the glass of water like he was calling him towards him, like a dog. iwaizumi gulped. the aura surrounding oikawa was downright terrifying. his eyes seemed almost lifeless, and it scared the wits out of him. ``on the count of three. if you haven't taken the medicine by then, i'm calling her. one.``

iwaizumi flinched, backing up slightly. could he make it out the front door without oikawa catching him? probably not. his legs were longer, so he'd cover more ground easily.

``two.``

how bad would the punishment be if he just didn't take the medicine? it's not like oikawa would actually call his mother, he wouldn't do that. right?

``three-``

``okay!`` iwaizumi jumped off the couch, grabbing the medicine and pouring it down his throat. he made a face of disgust, snatching the glass of water out of his hand and gulping that down too. he shuddered, trying to force himself to keep the atrocious liquid down. ``there. happy?``

``very.`` oikawa grinned, patting iwaizumi's head. ``good job.``

the ace burned with pride at the praise, letting oikawa's nimble fingers tread through his hair. ``thanks for coming over.``

``of course.`` his friend replied, giving the shorter a warm hug. ``don't mention it. i'll skip practice for you every time.``

``you better not.``

oikawa smiled. ``no promises.``

─── sick day.

chapter 4 !

#oikawa tooru #sickfic #sickness #iwa's sick #iwaizumi hajime #iwaoi #iwaoi fluff

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