#HOPEFULLY i manage to just scratch by and NOT catch it from fluffs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sakkiichi · 10 months

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NOT IF IT’S YOU.

“I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Luka, Seele x gn! reader.

genre/cw: angst to fluff, feelings of not being good enough, mentions of blood & injury, but soft comforting vibes.

✧ JING YUAN

Muffled cries and a darkened room are all the company you wish for tonight.

You messed up.

You utterly and completely fucked up.

Not only were you not able to catch the stellaron hunter, but you also got severely injured.

In your defense, the guy was skilled with that wicked sword of his.

And yet, that doesn’t make you feel any better.

Pressing your hand down your bloody side, you reach home.

And for the first time since you started dating him, you really hope the general is already asleep tonight.

The creaking of the wooden door makes you cringe when you enter the main hall, memorized steps guiding you to the bathroom.

Hopefully you’ll be able to patch yourself up without making too much noise.

A low purr greets you when you reach your destination’s door.

“Shhh, Mimi, please…” you utter, weakly, patting her fur with the hand that’s not soaked in blood. “Be a good girl and keep quiet for me?” The lion purrs again, as if unsatisfied, sensing something’s clearly amiss.

Wincing, you close the bathroom’s door behind yourself, pent up tears blurring your vision as you rummage the cabinets for disinfectant and some bandages.

“And just about what do you think you’re doing?” A familiar baritone sternly asks.

You stop in your tracks, a roll of bandage in your bloodstained hand.

“Jing Yuan…” you meekly manage. “Sorry I woke you up.” You lower the dressings in your grasp, defeated.

“You’re bleeding yourself out and me having woken up is your first concern?” He asks, disbelieving, leaning off the doorframe, walking towards you.

“I’m not bleeding myself out, general.” You respond through gritted teeth, your tone harsher than intended. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

And yet, the pained hiss you let out begs to differ.

“Let me see.” Your lover prompts, placing a calloused hand on your shoulder.

“No!” You pull away from his touch, something you had never done before. “I already told you, it’s just a scratch, it’s not worth worrying over, I’m not worth worrying over...”

“Don’t say that again.”

Jing Yuan’s tone leaves no room for argument, steely as the spear he wields. His usually soft amber eyes are akin to raging embers now, glueing you in place, a gelid chill running down your spine.

“But it’s tr-“

“Don’t. Don’t let me hear it.” The arbiter general cuts off, his voice a contrast to the tenderness with which he takes the stained gauze from you.

And under the warmth of his touch, you let yourself be shielded by the rainfalls of lightning with which he’d struck down any who dared hurt you.

Careful hands remove your sticky shirt, a deep gash criss-crossing your abdomen in ominous shades of crimson. With as much softness as he can muster, your lover applies antiseptic, stinging pinpricks in his wake.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” You mumble, voice milliseconds away from breaking. “It’s trouble, I’m trouble, I failed the mission and now you have to patch me up and take care of m-“

Slightly parched lips land on yours, ardently, as if wanting to cauterize the raw soreness from your open wound. Jing Yuan’s hands settle on your waist, like stitches putting shards of you back together, your brokenness, a myriad of pieces glued back into a colorful mosaic.

And in his healing hold, you let yourself fall, because you know no matter how small the pieces, by his side, you’ll find a way to solve the puzzle.

“You are never trouble to me.” Is your general’s affirmation when he pulls away, leaving a lingering kiss on your brow as he begins wrapping your gaping wound.

Perhaps this once, you’ll believe it, you think, as the ache dulls and exhaustion starts to take over.

✧ BLADE

The moment you see his weapon fly out of his grasp, all caution is thrown to the wind.

You weren’t used to the sight of him anything but defeating with ease any who dared to cross him.

Yet now, he bleeds.

Staggering to the side, Blade tries to reach for his discarded sword.

To no avail, for he drops to his knees, sickly crimson pooling at his feet.

Whatever cursed fragmentum creature he’s parrying against will land its last strike.

You can’t imagine a world without Blade. Without Ren.

Not like this, not ever.

The next sound in the desolate battlefield is the clang of metal against metal and your strained grunts.

“[Y/n]…” your lover musters, barely any strength left in his usually steely tone. “Go…”

“Like hell I’m leaving you here!” You yell back, your muscles sore from blocking the enemy’s fatal blow. “I’m not abandoning you, Ren!” A lone tear slides from the corner of your eyes, because of the effort or the thought of a world where you don’t get to wake up by Blade’s side, you are not sure.

“[Y/n]… I’m done for.” He coughs.

“Shut up, shut up, shut the hell up!” You scream, now locked in combat with the creature launching their piercing weapons at you.

You manage to dodge a few of its pounces, ducking and parrying as best you can.

But eventually, their chainsaw-like armament grazes your collarbone, your sky shattering cry hurting Blade more than the deadly wounds he bears.

You can’t let this end here.

Mustering strength from aeons know where, you impale your own weapon into the monster’s middle.

Flecks of fiery dust fly around you, before the construct goes up in flames, the image burning in your teary gaze.

“Ren!” You call, running to kneel by his broken form.

“Why?” The stellaron hunter wonders, ebony hair plastered to his face, deep night skies shadowing the underside of his ruby eyes. His bleeding hand reaches to cup the side of your face. “Why did you save me? I’m rotten.”

If it wasn’t because the guy is quite literally holding himself together in tatters, you’d be slapping some sense into him.

Instead, tears stained in yours and his shades of red careen down your cheeks.

“You are not! You never are! And you never will be to me!” You fling your arms around him, holding his weakened body as close to your heartbeat as possible.

Blade never believed in angels, but tonight, you might as well have been one. His savior in a battlefield where he otherwise would have breathed for the last time.

✧ DAN HENG

Night stars and daylight seem to mingle together lately.

Aboard the astral express, you find yourself buried in work. Records from expeditions, blueprints from parts of the train you need to memorize should they need repairing, leads and clues on the whereabouts of the stellaron hunters… the lines of text begin to blur before your tired eyes, eliciting a sigh from your lips.

It might be good to go grab a coffee, you muse.

But looking at the time, you should work for a while longer without distractions, you really could use a breakthrough in the stellaron investigation… Everyone’s working so hard, and the last thing you want is to be dead weight.

As you stretch your arms and attempt to re-focus on your task, three knocks resound through your room’s quiet.

Resignation makes itself apparent on your tone when you ask:

“What is it?”

“It’s just me.” A familiar voice, smooth as a breeze combing through greenery states.

“Dan Heng!” A relaxed smile tugs at your lips, as you get up from your desk to let him in. No matter how many galaxies you transversed, Dan Heng’s presence was always the brightest constellation to you.

Now, it’s not like you can admit your feelings to him, but you’ll enjoy this fond closeness you have now while you can.

“You’re still up?” You prompt, more of a statement than an actual question. “What brings you here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He deadpans, arms crossed over his chest.

“Work.” You sheepishly say, with a mirthless smile.

“Have you eaten?” The dark haired man questions, the lilt of his tone indicating he is very much aware of how you have indeed not dined.

“Uh… I drank fruit juice and coffee? A while ago?”

Now it’s his turn to sigh in exasperation.

“How many times will it take of me repeating it to you for you to take care?”

“Sorry.” You lower your head. You know your friend is right and you’ve been neglecting yourself, but can you be blamed? The amount of work you took on is hefty, to say the least.

“Since you aren’t doing it yourself, let me take care of you.” His aquamarine eyes pierce through you, but they hold a warm gentleness to them. Every time you get lost in his gaze, you feel like you’re swimming in luminescent lakes under a thousand starry nights.

However, the reverie is short lived.

When you feel his hand around your wrist, pulling you out of your airless room, a shadow of guilt lodges at the back of your mind.

“Dan Heng, I can’t let you do that.” You stop in your tracks, averting your gaze, not allowing yourself the pleasure to dip in the profound waters of his eyes.

“Why not?” The boy’s hold on you slackens a little.

“You have enough work yourself, I can’t burden you anymore…” You mumble the last part, but it doesn’t escape him.

“You’re not a burden.” The wielder of cloud piercer assures you, incisively.

His hold on you tightens a little, his hand descending to find yours.

“But surely you’d prefer spending your time doing something more fun or, I don’t know, useful, at least…”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He responds. His hand squeezes yours in silent reassurance.

You could get used to his touch.

You’d like it very much, actually.

Instead, self-doubt robs you of your voice again tonight.

“Why?” Is the question echoing in between the corridor’s walls.

“Because I like- no, because I love you.” Is Dan Heng’s confession, cheeks matching the maroon of the maple leaves you’ve sometimes studied together.

Loud heartbeats and frenzied euphoria mingle in your chest, your hand squeezing his this time.

“What? Really? No, don’t get me wrong, it’s good- I mean, thank you- I mean, are you sure? Because I’m flattered but- Well, I love you t-“

Your speech is cut short by familiar hands steadying your shoulders. Dan Heng heaves a shaky breath, then:

“I’m going to show you how sure I am.”

A second later, his lips carefully, tentatively, envelop yours. It’s hesitating, and your noses bump a few times, but, to you, it couldn’t be any more perfect.

Your hands find themselves clinging to the front of his shirt, his still poised on your shoulders.

And as you leave fields of stars behind and enter new woods of shining asteroids, you finally let yourself submerge in the pools of jade contained in the mysterious man’s gaze.

Taking a break was certainly worth it, is the thought crossing your mind, as you lean in for another less innocent kiss.

✧ LUKA

“Ouch!”

“Stay still, Luka.”

“But it stings!”

“Oh and the blows you took out there didn’t?”

“But I won, right?”

“You always say that, yet at what cost?”

That is the currently ongoing conversation (or scolding, depending on how you look at it); the same one that repeats every week, after every victory he achieves in the fighting ring.

Because no matter how many times he emerges as victor, Luka always comes back to you beaten up and bruised. Bloody sometimes too, and you can only be grateful for no fractured bones.

You were no healer, but you still remember the first time you saw him fight.

—

It was his first ever combat, against a much bigger opponent.

Luka was smiling when his arm was lifted announcing his victory, and yet, you will never be able to shake off the sight of his concealed flinches every time his chest rose and fell.

His bruised ribs didn’t escape you.

In the same way that you didn’t miss the redhead lingering for a while after the crowd had dissipated.

Those coughs of his naturally wouldn’t let him go too far.

“Hey, are you alright?” You approached him.

“Sure, I’m fine!” The fighter tried to smile, only for it to turn into a fit of coughing that didn’t sound good at all, especially not with how he keeps holding his sides every time his ribcage so much as slightly stirs.

“No, you’re not fine.” You scoffed, arms crossed over your chest. “You have a black eye, your ribs look bruised and you’re limping. How is that being fine, again?”

“I’ll get through it.” He smiled. His blue eyes glinted in the dim light of the venue, akin to patches of clear sky in the soot-filled air of the underworld.

“How exactly? Passing out from pain? Come on, sit down, I’ll patch you up.” You offered, hurrying around the rundown gym, in search for something resembling a first aid kit.

“You don’t need to-“

“No buts.” You stated, leveling him with a gaze, pointing at him with a newly acquired roll of bandages.

—

“You know, you don’t have to waste your time on m-“ he tries to retort now, summer ocean eyes averted, his usual smile replaced by a frown you’re not fond of.

“Luka.” You stop him before he can continue his self deprecation.

“But you could be doing so much bette-“

“I won’t hear it.” You cut off, applying more pressure than needed while disinfecting a cut on his cheekbone. “We’ve already talked about this. You keep getting roughened up on the battlefield, I’ll be here to patch you up. No buts.”

A smile crosses the redhead’s face, the swirling typhoons in his gaze calming down to ripples over a lake. But still, some clouds linger over the surface, no sunlight quite filtering through in harp like beams underwater.

“Don’t you get tired, though?” Luka ventures, hesitation and bashfulness lacing his tone.

“Never when it comes to you.” You assure him, without having to think twice. “And no buts.”

“No buts, huh?” The corner of his lips curves upward, the cheeky smirk you always adored back. “But what if I asked you to kiss it better, would you?” The fiery haired warrior teases.

“Oh, you…” And yet, you can’t hide the wide smile helplessly illuminating your features.

Softly, your lips brush over each of the clean bandages you applied.

And Luka could swear your lips are better than any painkiller.

“There, all healed.” You whisper when you pull away, enchanted by the lights dancing in the sapphire expanse of his stare.

“Not yet.” He breathes, pulling you to him by the hand, your weight falling against his bare chest.

“Luka…” Is all you can muster before he’s kissing you full on the lips, his hands on the small of your back, the softness of his skin and the iron-hardness of metal making your every hair stand on end. You cup his face tenderly, brushing sweaty auburn strands away, as you drown in the colliding waves of his intense tide.

“Now I’m all healed.” Are Luka’s words when he pulls away, dopey smile adorning his bruised face.

You’re definitely never getting tired of this.

✧ SEELE

By moonlight, she waits.

From her vantage point on the rooftop of Goethe Grand Hotel, Seele counts down the seconds for your return.

She’s noticed.

Your leaves in the dead of every night, when you think everyone’s sleeping soundly.

Your returns before dawn, covered in dust and bruises.

The puffiness and redness of your eyes, the shadows under them.

In the starless silence, the butterfly stills her wings, listening to the steps crossing Boulder Town’s plaza.

With a swift motion, the wildfire fighter steps down from her perch, leaning against the hotel’s front wall.

“Good night to you too.” Seele calls.

Your eyes widen in shock. Why is she here now? She wasn’t supposed to see you in such a state.

“Seele! You startled me…” You try for a reassuring smile, as if to say ‘hey, everything’s fine’, but alas, when it came to you, nothing escaped Babochka.

“Cut the act, will you?” She scoffs, a hand resting on her hip. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

“Nothing’s going on.” You meekly answer, tone cold and distant.

Your girlfriend’s violet gaze dilates, concern overtaking her frown.

This detached iciness… This isn’t like you at all.

But Seele’s forte were never hugs and promises for better days to come, no. A fighter honed in battles for a mere glass of water, she always knew how to hit you with honesty, a scythe shredding the rainclouds dampening your light.

“So, are you going to keep looking miserable and isolating yourself?” She scoffs. “Be for real, you are barely talking, you leave at ungodly hours every night and you look like you’ve been crying for ages every morning. So are you going to tell me what’s wrong already?”

You heave a breath, the simple action exhausting.

“I just… I don’t feel like I deserve anyone… I’m not a good enough fighter, I’m not smart enough, I don’t really… I’m not proud of my personality and just…” you inhale, the night breeze unbearably frigid, even though the weather’s not even cold. “These nights, I’ve been going into the mines, to try and help, I guess, or to avoid thinking…” your shoulders slump.

Seele sighs, the bite in her tone completely faded, concern and care lingering as the indigo pigments of a butterfly caught in your palm.

“You can talk to me, you know?” She says, softer this time, her hand finding your blistered one from these last days.

“I know, I just… I don’t want to be a bother…”

“You never are, silly.” Your lover flicks your forehead, wrapping strong arms around your trembling form. “You never are.”

Quiet sniffles escape you at her warm embrace.

You had missed this.

You had missed her.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” Seele utters, barely above a whisper, like a monarch’s flutter.

You nod, wiping the tears that started falling, glinting in your lashes like doomed satellites.

“I love you, never forget that.” Is your partner’s promise, with the moon as witness.

For the first time in weeks, you would fly in the sweetness of dreams tonight. By her side.

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yoongifis · 2 years

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💌 | myg drabble 07

where yoongi tries to make up for his mess-up.

; pairing: idol!yoongi x female!reader

; genre: smut, some angst, fluff

; warnings: usage of mature words, fingering, female receiving, established relationship

; rating: mature audience!!

a/n: here’s some bf yoongi content :] thought he was cute hereeee enjooooyyy ~ ♡

He’s such an idiot.

Both of you two knew that he is, in fact, an idiot.

Don’t get it wrong, Yoongi is a musical genius—a hard-working, a talented-ass producer, writer, rapper, and sometimes singer. He released hit after hit, wrote raps with the craziest flows, and also had either heart-feeling or bad-ass lyrics to them.

But in this case, we aren’t necessarily talking about him being an idiot in that department.

He had his little moment in his studio, in which he has been in for long hours, where he glanced over at the time that displayed at the bottom corner of his screen. Of course, it was a bit late—about 1 am. It didn't bother him that he was still up at this hour. However, what had him have to take a double-take was the date.

The damn date…

…How the hell did he make this stupid mistake? Forgetting the day you have been patiently waiting for and been constantly reminding him—the little date you had planned out for the day right after he finished with recording stuff with the members?

Fuck—he’s such an idiot.

It didn’t take long for Yoongi to save his files, grab the main necessities—his phone, keys, and his wallet—, and rush out his studio and out the HYBE building.

—

He places a hand on the handle of the door, gently pushing onto it to open it. He makes sure the door swings open slowly, only opening it wide enough for him to swiftly slide through. The living room was completely dark—in fact, it appeared the whole apartment was dark.

“Baby?” He calls out, quietly closing the door from behind. Yoongi manages to find the cord to the tall lamp in the living room, wanting to have some source of light in the room. Without a thought, he first makes his way towards your shared bedroom, figuring that you’d be fast asleep. However, the bed was still nicely made and you were nowhere in sight when he creeped into the room. He scratches the back of his neck, thinking hard where you could be at. Yoongi drags his house slippers across the cold hardwood floor, going back out to the living room.

He stands there in silence, scanning the room until an unfamiliar object or ‘thing’ spread on the couch catches his eye. He internally has his little ‘ah-ha’ moment, immediately registering that it was you underneath the thick blanket. Yoongi walks over to you, being very light with his steps.

“Babyy,” he mutters, hand grazing over a curve on the blanket, which he knew that had to be your shoulder. You’re quick to react, moving your shoulder away from his touch.

“Don’t want to talk to you.”

Yoongi can’t help but frown at your reaction despite him knowing that you were probably going to be this way. I mean come on—who wouldn’t?

He crouches down so that he can hopefully look at you at the same eye level when you remove the blanket.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he reaches over to the same spot, gently caressing the outline of your shoulder down to the side of your arm and back.

“I completely forgot about today. I was too caught up with work and it just slipped out of my mind,” he’s tugging the blanket from your hold to try and remove it, “could you please look at me?”

You let him remove the blanket from the upper part of your body, only for him to be face-to-face with the back of your head. You’re all curled up so close to the back cushions of the couch, still not saying anything after what the boy had to say.

“Please, baby? I’d like to see your pretty face when I talk to you,” he mutters softly, bringing his head closer to yours to place a gentle kiss on your head.

You didn’t say anything but shook your head no.

“I know I screwed up and I’m really sorry. I’ll skip everything I have to do tomorrow and we can do what you wanted to do today. I’ll have a couple things planned too.”

There’s a couple seconds of silence before you grab the upper part of the blanket that was laid over your waist, bringing it over your head again. He removes his hand from your shoulder, allowing you to roll around inside the blanket. You scoot back a bit, making sure your back was against the cushions you were facing earlier. When you stop moving, he takes that as a signal for him to remove the blanket from covering just your head. There he’s met with your face—the only face he wants to ever wake up to, has all the moles and little freckles all memorized, and would never get tired of looking at. However this time you looked a little more different. It wasn’t a bad type of different, but more of a ‘painful to see’ different.

“Baby…,” he mutters, taking his hand to cup your jaw, a thumb brushing against the dampness of your cheek.

The first thing he noticed was your wet eyes—all the tears that were threatening to spill. You looked at him with your glistening eyes, eyebrows furrowed, slightly red nose scrunched, and pouty, plump lips.

God he hated himself for making you cry.

“I’m so sorry baby…Fuck, I’m such an asshole.”

“Yes, you are,” you quietly mumble, sniffling.

He sighs to himself, still running the rough pad of his thumb against your cheek.

“I hate seeing you cry because it makes me sad, but this time it’s me who made you cry which makes it even worse. God, I’m so sorry baby.”

“It hurts a lot knowing that you kind of stood me up for our date,” your eyes shift from his to somewhere else but him, avoiding his gaze. “I get that you’re busy and that work sometimes has to come first, but try to at least tell me that you’ll be coming late or you won’t be coming at all so that I don’t have to keep waiting for you.”

“I know—I should’ve taken a breather and called you before I headed straight to my studio. I’m not taking any more chances in making you cry like this again, so I’ll make sure that I constantly remind myself of the times and dates of all the dates we have planned that might happen before or after work. I’ll write a bunch of sticky notes and put them everywhere I’m usually at and write it down in my reminders app on my phone. I’ll even try to use my studio here rather than at the building, since you can get to me faster if you need me or anything.”

You look back up at him, realizing that his eyes never left you.

“How about we go to bed and get some rest for tomorrow, yeah?” He hums, removing his hand from your cheek and placing it on the dip of your waist.

You huff, annoyed with how stupidly cute he is with the way he was trying to make things up for what happened today and how you’ll easily just fall right back into his arms.

“I wanna sleep by myself tonight, so you can go take the bed.”

He scoffs at your words. “How am I supposed to sleep if you aren’t next to me?!”

You roll again to your other side, facing the cushions again.

“I dunno. Think about me I guess. G’night, Yoongi.”

He’s baffled with the way things just escalated to this.

“Why would I need to think of you being next to me when I’ve got the real thing here.” Yoongi is lifting up the blanket, inviting himself underneath.

“Yoongi—! There’s no room!”

He’s already laying on the couch, spooning you from behind as your bodies are against each other. He’s wrapping an arm around your waist and tangling his legs with yours to be more comfortable.

“Yes there is,” he’s bringing his face to the side of your neck, nuzzling it in the crook, “you smell good.”

“No funny business,” you mumble, sighing in defeat.

It was kind of too late for you to say that because he was already slipping his hands underneath your shirt and placing a line of kisses down your neck and to the top of your shoulders.

“Can’t I do something to make up today for you?” He hums against the exposed skin on the back of your neck.

It didn’t take you long to understand what he was implying. His hand that was laid on top of your tummy, gently drawing circles and other shapes you couldn’t decipher with his fingers has made its way down to the thin band of your panties.

Yep, you were definitely in trouble by just wearing a (his) oversized t-shirt and panties.

“Please, baby?” His fingertips tickle against your skin as he’s dragging his hand to follow the path of the elastic band.

You huff again, trying to act annoyed but he already knew you’d like this.

“30 minutes.”

He chuckles lowly, one of those throaty ones.

“I’ll take it, but I know you can last longer than that.”

You’re pushing his roaming hand away from your body.

“So annoying,” you mumble, a little more annoyed with his teasing words.

You knew he was right—all that stupid teasing he usually does before he gets going is always right. He loves asking you questions he knows the answer to. It makes you squirm around all flustered and whatnot—it's a pretty sight for him to see. It catches you off guard when you don’t feel him pressed up against you. You eventually find yourself rolled onto your back after a firm pull backwards by your shoulder. There you see Yoongi swiftly swinging a leg over you, his knees on the outside of either of your legs and his hands right next to your head, caging you.

“Now, are we going to be a good girl today?” He hums, face really close to yours. “I really wanted to give you whatever you wanted to make up for today.”

The two of you stare at each other for a couple seconds before you answer, the close proximity making you a little nervous. You roll your eyes at him, nodding your head against his. He’s chuckling, a big smile on his face.

“‘Atta girl.” He’s quick to steal a kiss from you, a slow smile growing on his face when he pulls back to look at you again. You scoff at him with a small smile on your face.

Cheeky bastard.

His face immediately goes to the crook of your neck, burying himself there. You extend your neck by moving your head to the side, giving him some more space. He’s scattering the side of your neck with light kisses, stopping at that one sensitive spot on the front of your neck. The boy swipes his tongue on that spot, drawing circles before placing his lips on it. He sucks on it harshly, nibbling at it a little afterwards.

“Th-thirty minutes!” You squeak, trying to suppress any other noises that you want to let out when he’s back to messily sucking the spot again.

Yoongi’s chuckling into your skin, vibrations tickling you. He pulls away to look at the dark purple spot he marked on you, kissing it before he’s removing himself from being above you. You find him getting up and taking a seat right in front of the couch, facing you.

“Thirty minutes is all I need, baby. And I guess it’s all you get, hm?” He’s teasing you, a smug smirk appearing on his face. He glances over at the clock on the wall, taking a mental note of the time.

“Sit up for me, sweetheart. I can’t waste anymore time.” He’s tugging the blanket off you, exposing your bare legs. The boy then gets a hold of your leg, impatiently pulling it to the edge of the couch.

“Hold on, hold on!” You mumble, sitting yourself up and trying to wiggle his hold from your leg by shaking it off.

“And stop being bossy,” you huffed. You turn your body around so that you’re sitting properly on the couch, legs pressed together as you stare down at Yoongi who sat criss-crossed on the floor right in front of you.

“How can I when I know you usually like it when I’m bossy?” Taking a large, rough hand of his, he places it on the side of one of your thighs to caress it.

“Open your legs, baby. Time’s ticking.”

You do as he says, slowly spreading your legs apart. He takes his other free hand and lifts the oversized t-shirt, pushing it up so that it sits on your tummy. The lower part of your body now exposed to him, panties full on display. Yoongi leans over, taking his hand to spread your legs a little more further apart. He presses his lips against the inside of your thigh, giving you a teasing kiss.

“You’re all wet baby, I can see the little patch on your panties,” he chuckles, “too excited for me?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. Yoongi’s mouth immediately goes for your dampened, clothed folds, messily kissing it to make it even more wet. He takes his tongue and glides it in between your folds, teasing you.

“Y-yoongi—!” You mewl, but immediately cover your mouth to stop any noises from coming out. You’re leaning back against the couch, slouching.

“Ah, ah, ah—,” he removes himself from you, grabbing a hold of both of your hands and removing it from your face. He places them both back on your side.

“If 30 minutes is all I get, I want to hear everything.” He pulls on your panties, sliding them off your legs with some of your help. After throwing your panties somewhere in the room, he’s grabbing your legs and moving them further apart, bending your knees even more so that your legs are pressed up against your chest.. The boy was face to face with your dripping pussy, clenching around nothing. God, it was embarrassing to you despite having done this a bunch of times.

“So pretty,” he mumbles, licking his lips, eyes hungry for you. He’s taking his thumbs, spreading your lips open to watch your glistening hole.

“P-please,” you whimper.

He presses a quick kiss to your inner thigh before licking a wet stride along your folds, from your tight hole and up to your sensitive bead. He stops there, wrapping his lips around it to suck on it harshly, tongue sloppily circling it. He’s making the most obscene noises—slurping and lips smacking. Soon he’s giving you quick kitten licks, flicking his tongue against your bead.

“A-ah!” You whine, moving your hips upwards, wanting him to press his tongue harder against you.

Yoongi quickly removes his mouth from your swollen bead, a string of saliva connecting from it to his lips. He’s hooking an arm underneath your thigh, taking his hand and pressing it down on your hip to keep you from lifting yourself. With no warning, he goes straight to your gaping hole, sticking his tongue right in. He hums, vibrations causing you to let out a groan.

“F-fuck—fingers—please!” You choke out, and he immediately listens. He’s removing himself from your dripping pussy, sitting back up to get a good look at you while he licks your essence off his lips.

He runs two fingers down your folds, scooping up your arousal. Glancing over at the clock for a split second, he slides the two fingers into your pussy, realizing his time was running out.

“God, look at you—so wet. My fingers just slid right in.”

He’s already picking up the pace, curling his fingers up to hit a squishy spot that’s got you rolling your eyes back. You’re loud—way too loud that it was too embarrassing. However, he loved it all. All your desperate moans, cute whimpers, and pleading cries were all motivation for him to keep going. He’s watching you with dark eyes, plunging his fingers into the same spot repeatedly.

“Please, Yoongi—!”

One thing that you seem to always do whenever things get down to these situations is that the majority of the time you just beg for him. You don’t know what for, but it appears to be your favorite thing to do when you’re in bed with him. And he surely enjoys hearing it.

“What is it, baby? Use your words.” He hums, uncurling his long fingers and adjusting the angle of them so that he’s ramming them deeper into your pussy. He didn't let you say what you wanted to say; he couldn’t wait for you to spit out your jumbled words. Instead, he brings himself back to your clit, wrapping his lips around it to suck on it harshly, brushing his tongue over it during the process. You squeal at his actions, a hand moving toward his head to push away, which he does with a chuckle.

With his other free hand, he’s taking another two fingers and pressing it firmly against your abused bead. He’s rubbing his fingers side to side, while picking up the pace of his other fingers thrusting into you. You can feel your mind going blank, the knot in your stomach getting tighter. Yoongi watches your face twist and turn, and your pussy clenching onto him tighter. You’re curling your toes, hips slightly moving—god, his long fingers were hitting you too good.

“Yoongi! Yoongi! Fuck—!”

He’s smiling, already aware that you were close.

“Gonna cum?”

You’re squirming around, hips bucking up by themselves. The knot inside you was about to undone.

“F-fuck—yes! Yoongi, please—!”

He’s thrusting his fingers even faster and rubbing your clit with more aggression, as if that was even possible. You’re moaning, mumbling words that don’t make sense. You’re clenching even tighter, moans becoming higher pitched. You feel your legs shaking, it was getting harder for you to keep going. You knew you were so close to reaching that high point, the moment of release.

“Cumming! I’m—!”

Yoongi quickly stops his movements, removing both hands from your pussy.

“Yoongiiii~,” you whine, breathless. The knot formed in your tummy was gone. Your clit, however, was still throbbing, and you continued to clench around nothing.

A smug smirk is on his face when you look at him. He’s bringing up the fingers that were inside you and takes them into his mouth, sucking off the arousal you left on there. You swallow your own saliva, watching him.

“30 minutes are up, baby.”

You huff with a pout on your face, scooting yourself up to sit properly and closing your legs together to stop being completely exposed to the boy.

“Don’t be mad, baby,” he chuckles, “I’m just following orders.”

You hit him on the shoulder with one of your feet, pushing him slightly backwards.

“You already knew what I meant earlier,” you whined.

He’s scoffing with a smile on his face, enjoying the way you were. He’s standing up, eyes still locked on yours as you look up at him. You tilt your head to the side in confusion, pressing your thighs together while pulling the bottom of your shirt even lower in an attempt to somewhat cover a part of your bare thighs. You were feeling a bit shy from the way he was just staring at you.

Yoongi couldn’t help but admire the way you looked—even if you were pissed at him for denying your orgasm. He’s lucky. He always thinks about how he was able to score the most beautiful and amazing girl in the world. He shouldn’t be making stupid mistakes like he did today, or else you could just slip away in his hands—something he absolutely does not want to ever happen.

“Whaaat?” You whine again, weirded out by him, “what are you up to?!”

All Yoongi does is chuckle before he’s squatting down, arms wrapping around the back of your knees. He’s pulling you to the edge of the couch, now closer to him. He’s picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, earning another squeal in surprise from you.

“Yoongi!” You’re trying to pull your shirt down again, while he’s already starting to walk away from his couch and onto his final destination.

“I’ll make up everything for you for real this time, alright, baby?”

“You’ll just tease me again, you liar!”

“No, I’m serious! I’ll give you everything you want this time.”

You can hear the creek of your bedroom door open. He’s walking inside, making a straight line towards the bed.

“You promise this time?” He’s carefully bringing you off his shoulder, holding you by your bottom as he carries you as if you were a koala.

“Only if you give me a little kiss and tell me that you still love me.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, making you have to sit on his lap. His hands easily find the sides of your waist and rest there.

You scoff with a smile, rolling your eyes at him. You wrap your arms around his neck, keeping the contact between you two before you lean in closer to quickly peck his lips.

“I still love you, idiot.”

A wide smile is plastered on Yoongi’s face. He’s already leaning into you again, pressing a couple kisses before pulling away.

“Good,” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to the side of your neck to pull you towards him and crash your lips against his in a feverish manner. His other hand pushing down on your hip, encouraging you to grind your bare pussy against his clothed hard-on that you’ve been sitting on for the past few minutes. You feel your hips move by themselves, the rough material rubbing against your sensitive pussy making you wet. You’re moaning into his mouth, which he takes this chance to suck on your tongue, then force his tongue into your mouth to explore every inch of it, exchanging saliva.

As much as he hates it, he’s already pulling away from you. He’s standing up carrying you, turning around so that he could lay you on the bed.

“God, I can’t stand this anymore. I’ve gotta fuck you.”

You giggle at him struggling and rushing to take off his sweatshirt, sweatpants, and boxers. When he’s finished, he’s already helping you with removing your t-shirt off, exposing every inch of your body.

“God, so pretty,” he mumbles.

With the way Yoongi was looking at you, you knew that tonight was going to be one of those nights where your limits were definitely going to be tested.

check out my other work here! 💌

#min yoongi #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi drabble #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #yoongifis #suga x reader

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seobseobs · 9 months

Text

pierce my heart, mr cupid!

cupid!jungsu x human!reader (they/them prns) • 0.6k

romantic; fluff, s2l

[ yn is one difficult aim but they know how to flirt so its okay , cupid falls in love at first sight trope ]

back to suite

jungsu had never found his job hard. well... until now.

by some weird coincidences, jungsu's target of the day keeps missing his arrows. not once or twice, but precisely twenty three; he counts, yes, he's furious, yes. suddenly ducking to scratch their heels, sliding their body to the side to show off a dance they just learned to their friends, a vehichle passing by right as the arrow nears, and the list goes on.

all those arrows could have been used for two full days but some lame person named y/n decides that they get to waste all of that on them. and even in ways that are just too good to be true? like what do you mean a person littered a sandwich wrapper and another slips on it like they're in some cartoon and their bag flew and received the arrow instead?

it felt like a whole crowd is pointing and jabbing at him doing his job "poorly" when it's not even his fault in the first place! argh! isn't jungsu the one playing fate right now? why is some bastard giggling and jumping as if everything is okay?

and there again it goes, by sick chance, as if you heard him mocking you, your eyes are suddenly meeting his.

thump.

the cupid managed to follow you to the park, heaving a sigh of relief at the lack of distractions and people. if he ignores the fact that you're talking to yourself out in the air, everything should go smoothly now.

he gets back into his shooting position for hopefully the last time that day. you're sitting on a bench, facing right in front of him, all that's left is to shoot straight, this should all be easy. he's done this thousand of times. he waits for the wind to die down, for the birds to chirp less, for you to stop flapping your hands around and releases the arrow.

except there's a shriek from your mouth from the sudden wooden texture in your palm.

are you fucking kidding me? of course you just had to raise your fist at the same time, the hole formed prior to your fingers curling into a fist had perfectly caught the arrow. really now? what kind of sick twisted destiny is this? can you even call that a coincidence anymore?

you inspect the thin long item in your hand, head lifting only to fix your gaze on jungsu. he watches as you take in the large white feathers peeking from his back, the golden accesory he adorns on his head, the bow now held loosely by his side, and finally his face again.

it's quiet for a moment before the corner of your lips quirk up into a grin, "you're not from here are you, cutie?"

he ignores the stammering of his heart at the nickname, "none of your business." "right," you trail off as you hold out the arrow, "now what do i do with this?" and it takes jungsu exactly two steps closer to you when the arrow turns greyish and dissolve into particles. perplexed, you throw off the whole thing as it completely evaporates.

eyes widening at the scene, you turn to the winged creature, "is it supposed to do th—" "you werent supposed to catch it in the first place", he rolls his eyes, biting back from calling you stupid. nodding slowly, more to yourself, there's a silence that follows before you stand. "welp, there goes your arrow.

maybe you can try again tomorrow."

'that's not how it works' is what jungsu wanted to say but then you send him a wink, walking away with your sweet laughter ringing in his ears. he can't decide if your voice or his heartbeat was louder that day.

✒ this was made to stall my other drafts ehe also posting this causw yesterdays my bday smtg smtg idk

#seobseobs writes 💖#xdinary heroes fluff #xdinary heroes x reader #xdinary heroes scenarios #xdh fluff #xdh x reader #xdh scenarios #jungsu fluff #jungsu x reader #jungsu scenarios

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pickabetterusername · 2 years

Text

Closer

Pairing: female!reader X Matt Murdock

Word Count: 4.0K

Summary: you’re trying to work and Matt just wants to be close to you

Tags/Warnings: fluff, kissing, slight angst

A/N: for some reason your request, @multifandomgirllol took me toward fluffy angst, so i just let it unfold the way it felt natural. hopefully this scratches that ‘Matt being clingy and giving out kisses left and right’ itch (i’ve never done a request before). hope you like it! :)

i don’t know how some people get their work out so fast. this took me forever. something about it irks me, but i just need to put it out there and learn when to stop editing…i think

ᕙ(▿´)ᕗ (ง’̀-‘́)ง ᕙ(▿´)ᕗ

It was dark out by the time you heard keys jangling at the door. A smile curled your lips up, illuminated by your laptop. You'd been sitting at the little desk Matt set up for you for hours, eyes glued to your tiny screen. Not even dinner had crossed your mind.

You wondered if Matt heard the frustrated sigh you'd exhaled just a minute earlier. If when he entered the building he could feel your annoyance through the floors. Or maybe it was tangible from three streets down. Either way, you were glad he was home.

Matt set his ID cane against the wall before making a b-line straight for you. He spun your chair to the side, grabbed your face between his hands, and crashed his lips into yours. Mm! A noise of surprise left you, but you melted into him anyway.

When he pulled away, his mouth swept kisses along your cheekbones, your nose, your temple. A wide smile stretched across your lips as you struggled to get away from the unexpected affection.

Every time you leaned back, his lips followed, eliciting giggles from you. Finally, you managed to grab both sides of his face and force his forehead against yours, noses bumping in the process.

"Hey, you," you breathed out.

His thumb brushed over your lips to feel your smile and a full grin lit up his face.

"Hi," he responded, laying another kiss on you.

Matt reluctantly backed away only to kneel down in front of you. His hands skimmed down your neck to your arms, stopping when he had a hold on your hands. You watched as he brought one to his mouth pressing a kiss to your knuckles. It made you laugh.

Matt Murdock, ever the gentlemen. He did look pretty on his knees...

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. No time for that right now.

A happy sigh slipped past your lips as you teased him, "What's gotten into you today?"

He kissed your hand a few more times before he answered, "I just missed you."

You bit back a smile. It wasn't often he was so upfront with his affection. Usually, it felt as if he had to steal every touch and every kiss to make them his own, but right now he chased after them all, and he'd be damned if he didn't catch every single one.

"I missed you too, handsome," you said, leaning down to take his glasses off and set them on your desk.

You ran your fingers back through his hair, enjoying the way his eyes fell shut. He looked so soft. Smooth, not a single stress line disrupting his features. If you could you would stare at him for hours, just to keep him in your hands this way. A peaceful picture of Matt seared into your brain forever.

It was too often he came home bruised and bloody, needing to be stitched back together. Generally in more ways than one. Too often you came home to see his lips pressed into a tight frown, stress sitting heavy on his brow.

You could hardly stand it, wishing you could just kiss away all his troubles. If that were the case, Matt Murdock would be the picture of health. But it wasn't and you couldn't, so you grew used to sewing up his skin and holding bags of frozen peas to his bruised ribs.

But none of that mattered right now. Right now he looked like a dream and felt like putty at your fingertips, pliable and relaxed as he leaned into your palm.

His hands had fallen to your knees, rubbing small circles against your skin. When they inched up, you bit your lip, sparks spreading in your lower stomach. It took every ounce of self-control to peck him on the lips and stop his adventurous fingers.

An annoyed whine escaped your mouth, the explanation coming out as more of a complaint, "As much as I love this, and you, Mr. Murdock. I do have work to finish."

Matt's only response was to lean forward and press sweet kisses to each of your kneecaps. You sucked in a breath, heartbeat quickening as you watched his lips ghost along the tops of your thighs, never quite reaching the hem of your shorts. One corner of his lips turned upward and you knew he heard it. It was the exact reaction he was looking for. Every tiny effect he had on you rushed through his ears.

"Work you can finish later, Ms. y/l/n?" he tempted, his sultry voice nearly drawing you in...but you had to stay strong. After your work was done, he could have anything he wanted. You would gladly give it to him.

"I wish," you responded with a frown. "I told my students their papers would be graded two days ago."

A guilty cringe crinkled your nose. When you were in school you always hated the professors who put grades in late. It never made sense why they couldn't finish things on time back then.

You completely understood now.

Okay, maybe your professors didn't live with a superhuman vigilante, but they probably had their own distractions. Somehow you sincerely doubted any of them lived up to the dark-haired man who loved to keep your life unpredictable. Not that you would have it any other way. Someone could come knocking at the door with a four-million dollar offer and by nightfall, you would still be sitting in this apartment, half broke and stitching up the Devil.

Matt's quiet sigh broke your reverie. He stood up, leaving a brief kiss on your lips before relenting, "Okay, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything."

You smiled sweetly up at him, hoping he could see it. The way he grinned back let you know he did. A blink later he was headed for the bedroom and a frown took its place on your lips. Only a couple strides away and you already missed his presence.

Later, you told yourself. Just grade these last few papers and you were all his. You turned your attention back to your screen, struggling to read sentence after boring sentence. These students made it really hard to do your job sometimes. There were only so many ways you could explain the difference between 'effect' and 'affect'. Shouldn't college students know that? This one sure didn't.

A loud sigh caved your chest in as you highlighted yet another glaring mistake. Another F in the waiting area. The poor guy might fail your whole class if he didn't put in some effort. All you could do was shake your head and send him an email, asking to set up a one-on-one meeting.

In the corner of your eye, Matt caught your attention, standing up from the couch. You hadn't noticed him come back out of the bedroom. Sometimes you swore he moved around like a cloud, floating over the old wooden floors, never making a creak. He made his way back to you, his regular suit exchanged for sweatpants and a t-shirt. Your eyes wandered at the way it clung to his chest.

A smirk played on his lips as he crept up behind you without a word. His hands were on your shoulders before you could turn, rubbing the tension from them. Skilled fingers dug into each knot with just enough pressure.

His voice came out low, "You seem stressed," he said.

Your head fell forward against the desk with a quiet thump in response. You were too engulfed by the goosebumps forming on your skin to care. His hands always felt so good. It didn't matter if he was digging into knots, making you forget how to speak, or simply holding your arm on the sidewalk. You would take any version of his touch.

"Mmm, Matty," you all but moaned, making his hands still, just for a second, before continuing to squeeze your shoulders and neck.

"That feels really good," you sighed out.

It wasn't long until he pushed your hair aside and replaced his fingers with soft lips. Tingles danced down your spine and you let out a shaky breath. You felt the telltale edges of his mouth curl up against your skin. He pulled at your collar to reveal your shoulder, trailing feather-light kisses across. Every touch made you shiver.

Your head was still against the desk when you swallowed the lump in your throat and let out another aggravated noise.

"Matttttt," you whined, "I really gotta finish this—oh.”

He tangled his fingers in your hair, grabbed ahold of the roots, and pulled up. His teeth scraped against your pulse point, knowing just how to steal your breath away. Your head fell back into his hand, eyes closed. Just a few touches and he’d reduced you to a mess.

"Matty," you barely whispered. It was less of a warning, more of a plea. If he didn't leave you alone soon you weren't going to get anything done at all.

"Okay," Matt answered against your ear, his low voice a little darker than normal. Then his hands were gone, lips too, leaving you cold.

A pout formed on instinct and he reached out, swiping his thumb across your exaggeratedly plump bottom lip. He bent down to give it a quick kiss and then he was back off toward the couch. You watched him leave, squinting at his back. If he was teasing you on purpose, you would so get him back later.

You tried to contain your dissatisfied sigh, knowing he would hear you. Plus, it may only encourage him to come back, so you focused on taking deep, silent breaths to get your heart rate back to normal.

Matt's unsuppressed chuckle filled the air from across the room. You looked over at the back of his head, shaking yours. Even when you tried to hide it, he knew exactly what you were doing. It was pretty unfair, you thought.

He wasn't usually like this. When you were working, he would leave you to it until you were finished. Sometimes you would sit together in the living room, both working on your own things in silent company. That time was important to both of you.

Tonight something was different. Off. Matt seemed...needy? You weren't sure you'd ever thought to describe him that way. The Matt you knew would take the whole world on by himself if he had to. He didn't need much of anything from anyone and could stand up twenty times after being knocked down nineteen.

It amazed you how resilient the man could be, his exterior at times hard as steel. You had to break down that wall a lot...but maybe you hadn't seen every side of him yet. Maybe there were walls lurking in places you hadn't thought to look.

You ignored it, for now, going back to work marking red after red on the same paper. Ten minutes passed before you were finally done with the disaster student. The next paper should go faster, but you needed to stand up for a moment, stretch your legs. You'd been sitting for far too long.

As soon as your hands stretched up into the air, Matt was off the couch again. He rounded your chair and grabbed your wrists, pulling you up. Your chest was against his in an instant, his nose nuzzling into your neck. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you as you closed your eyes. Instantly, the familiarity of knowing him without seeing him made you relax.

"Matt," you dragged out his name, enveloping him in your arms nonetheless.

His breath tickled your skin as he breathed you in. For a second you wondered what you smelled like to him. If he only took in your strawberry shampoo or if he could smell the way it mixed with your vanilla body wash. The scent was always so intense right out of the shower, but a few minutes later it was always gone. It didn't stay around nearly as long as his cologne.

You lost your train of thought when his fingers pressed into your ribs, hopeless to find some grip as he clutched you impossibly closer. It was like he wanted to completely meld your bodies together, every shape and curve.

Something had to be going on with him. There was no way you had imagined that.

"What?" he said, anticipating your question. "I just want to hug my pretty girl, is that a crime?"

Matt raised his head, smiling down at you. His joy was contagious. Every time he laughed or simply grinned you found yourself in a much better mood. Even when you didn’t know if it was genuine, you couldn't help but smile back.

"No, not a crime at all," you responded with a small laugh before your tone went sober. "Are you okay though? Seriously."

Maybe you misinterpreted, but you weren’t so sure. His eyebrows furrowed for a split second before his lips were on every part of your face again.

"Perfect," he muttered, "just like you."

Before you could voice your doubt, his mouth found yours, then branched off to your cheeks, your nose. He even pressed soft kisses over your eyelids. You sighed, slipping further into bliss with every touch.

You wondered if there was something you missed, some date or anniversary you'd forgotten. Matt didn't bring home a dozen roses, but he sure brought four dozen kisses.

Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe you hadn't forgotten a single thing and Matt really did just miss you today. It was cute, adorable even, that he rushed over to you and could barely go ten minutes without coming over to touch you or breathe in your skin. You’d rejoice in every second of it if he didn’t seem so off.

"Could you do your work on the couch?" he asked, his light fingers brushing wisps of hair out of your face.

You looked up at his sightless eyes trying desperately to find yours, the slight crinkle between his brows begging you to say yes. He needed this, needed you. Maybe there was a silent reason or one Matt didn't have words for yet, but he just needed you close.

"Okay," you breathed out. "Yeah, sure."

He exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath, forcing a small smile. His eyes struggled less and he let you go, but his hands were never far from your body. As if he was ready to spring into action were you to suddenly collapse.

You wondered what you could’ve done to scare him or if something happened at the office. You racked your brain for any other odd behavior you might have glanced over in the last few days.

Nothing.

The week had been relatively normal. You both went to work and you both came home for dinner, then Matt went out most nights. He hadn’t even come home with bruises in over a week. If anything, maybe that was odd.

Whatever it was, you hoped he would talk soon because you were beginning to worry.

Scooping up your laptop, you padded after him to the couch. He sat criss-cross so you had a perfect spot to plop down next to him and lean into his chest. His arm rested around your shoulders. A few minutes passed and low and behold you were still not close enough because he pulled you onto his lap.

You giggled, loving the way he wrapped his arms around your torso and how he leaned into your back. His ear laid flat against you as if he wanted to eavesdrop on every little thing going on inside your body.

He could already hear your heartbeat from a mile away, so you imagined this was like turning the bass up to the max on a car stereo. It seemed to mellow him out though and you'd never deny him that.

You graded the next paper with ease until Matt's hands splayed out against your stomach, trying to fuse your bodies together.

Closer, closer, closer.

It seemed like all he wanted. Your back straightened out as he slipped his hands beneath your shirt, his fingers skimming the edges of your ribs.

"Okay," you breathed out, setting your laptop down on the coffee table.

You squirmed around in his arms until he let you loose enough to turn around. Your legs straddled his hips now, your chests inches apart. His hands stayed in your shirt, resting against the warm skin of your lower back. You brought your hands up to each side of his face, his stubble rough against your palms as you gave him a sweet kiss, then touched your forehead to his.

You would ask just one more time, "What's goin' on with you, Matty?"

"Nothing's going on," he answered simply, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch.

"Nothing?" it came out softer than you intended, worry weaved through your voice.

"It's like I said," he answered, his hands left your back to intertwine your fingers against his face, pressing a kiss into your palm. "I just missed you today."

"You're acting strange," you responded, unrelenting.

If something was wrong, you wanted to know. Matt spent enough of his life pushing people away, keeping secrets, finding separate cubby holes to store his fear away. He didn't need to do that with you.

It took him a long time to realize you weren't going anywhere. That you loved him for everything he was and not just the upstanding lawyer he appeared to be in the public eye. It didn't matter how bruised or bloody or dark he got because nothing could scare you away.

There were multiple occasions he said you were too good for him, that for some reason God put the Devil in him, and everything he touched turned twisted and ugly.

You saw something different, something Matt couldn't. Sure, maybe God had put the Devil in him, but an angel lived in him too. Maybe he didn't always pull his punches, maybe he took pleasure in winning a fight, maybe he was a little rigid on the surface, but he was also gentle. He was soft-spoken and loving and cared for people—complete strangers, in ways some families can’t even manage.

A sigh dragged from his lips, his thumb tracing down your arm and pulling you from your thoughts.

Matt spoke softly, his voice pleasant as ever, if a little sad, "You know I hear a lot. That's the sense I use the most. It's how I see. I can pick up voices from four blocks away, machines dinging, car horns, sirens. I can hear heartbeats. I can hear when they stop. I can always hear your heartbeat." His palm pressed flat against the left side of your chest. "The way it skips or sinks or slows."

Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure of where he was going with this. You were well-versed in his abilities, his senses. He could taste and smell, hear and feel things nobody else could and it amazed you more often than not. It was spectacular. He was spectacular.

Matt continued, "It can all be a lot sometimes, overwhelming if I'm not careful. But you make it all go quiet. Listening to you makes everything else fade for a while." His hands fell to your thighs, squeezing them lightly. "It's not always enough though. I heard a lot of heartbeats stop today. There's nothing quite like that sound... It's awful."

A grimace narrowed his features and your lips parted, unable to imagine being subjected to hearing people die so often. You leaned forward and wrapped him in a tight hug, holding him as close as you could.

That isn't what you thought he was going to say at all. You were prepared to tell him he was an astonishingly good man, but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t something you could kiss better, or talk him through. His abilities gave him the upper hand a lot, insight into people, situations. You'd never stopped to think of the negatives.

His voice was right in your ear now. "Hearing can be deceiving. Sometimes if I hear something enough, it echoes even when it's not really happening. So coming home and being able to feel you, feel your heartbeat and your skin and you. It's all I wanted today."

You peppered kisses along his neck, leaning back just enough to whisper in his ear, "I love you. I love you so much.”

His arms wrapped around you so tight you couldn't move even if you wanted to. A deep breath rattled his chest. It was relief, you thought. He was relieved to feel you, to slip his hands back under your shirt to feel your skin against his.

You pulled back, only enough to ghost a kiss over his forehead and his nose. A small smile curled his lips up and a breath left you. He wasn't upset, it had just been a long day, and all he wanted was to come home to you. Your heart filled to the brim with love for this man.

Matt's eyes fluttered open, staring somewhere over your shoulder. He muttered, "I didn't want to get into all that."

Your hands came up to rest on each side of his face and he tried to find your eyes again.

"I'm glad you did," you responded, "it isn't often I get to know what's going on in that brain of yours."

A funny smile sat on his lips. He knew it. Matt was one of the most difficult people to read. A skill you prided yourself on until you met him. Even knowing him as well as you did now, there was still room for doubt. When he talked to you about his feelings or thoughts, you reveled in it. It made you feel like you were one step closer to figuring him out. If you ever could.

"You done with your work?" Matt asked before pecking your lips.

"Yes,” you mumbled.

He tilted his head to the side slightly. That was a lie.

"For now," you corrected yourself.

"Mhhm," he hummed, standing up as you clung to him.

A giggle left you as he carried you to his bed, pretending to drop you once before setting you down softly. You basked in his gentle laugh, wishing you could listen to it all the time. The lives you led left little room for joyous cackles or rib-splitting laughter so you took comfort in any chuckle that blessed your ears.

Matt hovered over you, holding his weight on his elbows. His lips met yours with an intimacy that made you melt into him. He only pulled away to slide his t-shirt off. You smiled up at him, your heart skipping a beat. Your hands ran along his skin, feeling every indent of his muscles and every scar.

He swallowed hard, tensing when you traced along the top of his sweatpants. You hooked your fingers in his waistband, but he grabbed your wrists, pulling you to sit up. His hands tugged at the hem of your shirt and you raised your hands above your head to help him pull it off.

Your back hit the silk sheets and Matt leaned over you. He kissed your shoulder, your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. Every inch of your skin was his to commit to memory—and he did.

When he came back up he laid on his side next to you, pulling you over into his arms. He kissed you once, twice, three times before nuzzling his head into your chest, just below your left collarbone. You knew now that he was listening to your heartbeat as close as possible, trying to feel the way it thumped in your chest.

His voice came out so quiet you almost missed it, "Can we just lay like this for a while?"

You kissed the top of his head, wrapping your arms around him so half his body blanketed yours.

"Of course," you barely whispered back.

Matt’s warm skin felt like heaven against yours and you ran your fingers through his soft hair. Your free hand traced circles along his back.

Peaceful silence took over until he murmured, “I love you, y/n,” his breath evening out. Warmth shot through your chest and you cuddled him as close as possible.

You soon followed suit, your eyes falling shut to sleep in the arms of the man you so hopelessly loved.

The man who rushed home so he could feel your heartbeat through your skin. If you could put it in his hands, you would. Matt Murdock was the only one who ever held it anyway.

#Matt Murdock #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fic #matt murdock my beloved #marvel fandom #netflix marvel #netflix daredevil #marvel

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yuzukult · 2 years

Text

yours, but not yours (teaser) || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours (series teaser) pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, future smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon wc: 888 (for teaser) summary: when a nice guy gets too overbearing, you’re stuck with the option of having a fake boyfriend. warnings: implied sex, profanity a/n: !! here’s a little preview of what i’ve been working on !! this ,,, fake dating seungcheol series hahahaha,, hopefully this isn’t a flop when it comes out LOL

A lollipop stem sticks out of the corner of his mouth, and he pairs it with a furrow of his brows as he wipes his hands off on a greasy stained rag. With a ‘suck’ sound, he tosses the used cloth in the corner where his crimson red tool cart sits. “I’un get it.”

“You… You should shut the garage door when I’m not home.”

Pulling the stick out his mouth, Seungcheol tilts his head as he leans against your raggedy old Toyota Camry. The grey paint is chipping off, the locks don’t work on the back passenger door that you need to manually fasten it, and starting the engine was riskier than buying a lottery ticket. Even so, Seungcheol found pleasure in a challenge, so he offered to try and fix that hunk of junk.

But it’s becoming more of a hassle than anything.

Not the car though. You mean Seungcheol.

“Why, baby,” he queries, the term of endearment slipping off the tip of his tongue like he’s your boyfriend but he’s not. He’s just some guy you hooked up with once, who then got hooked onto you, and now rents out your garage below your apartment to fix cars. Truthfully, you don’t know how you got here, but you blame his endless charms for it. Even the toughest people fall victim to Choi Seungcheol. “You scared some strangers are gonna rob me? Don’t worry. I work out,” he flexes with a wink. “I got it.”

Rolling your eyes, you snatch the pink lollipop from his hands and fling it into the trash bin. “You’d think candy would shut you up.”

“Only your lips can.” Sleazy.

It’s been a couple months since your agreement with Seungcheol. The apartment you bought yourself sits on top of a garage, one that doesn’t have doors that lead into your home, and the only entrance requires going up the stairs mounted to the side of the building. The dusted red brick masonry bedecks the exterior, giving it a bit of a homey feel, despite the oddness in the architecture. The garage remained abandoned, untouched, and unloved for a while; rectangular, wide enough to fit a car with a little extra space, the ceiling, walls and floors were made of concrete and on winter days, it can get colder than below freezing. You never really had a good reason to use it.

Sure, you had a car and could leave it safely in there, but truth be told, if you were to admit to any flaw, the one you’d confess to is that you can’t park for shit.

So when Seungcheol asked who was the cause of those paint scratches on the side of your car, you pulled some bullshit story out of your ass about how your neighbor did it. But when he quirks a brow, you’re quick to concede that it was your fault that there were white lines etched in the grey paint.

Albeit it seemed impossible to house a makeshift auto shop in the bareness and void called your garage, but he insists that there was potential for the space and he’d pay a hefty amount in rent.

Plus, you couldn’t really turn him down when you saw exactly how many zeros were scribbled on the first month deposit.

If it’s just a ploy to spend more time with you, then you’re not entirely sure, but nonetheless, he seems to be enjoying his days there and manages to work on multiple projects at a time. Motorcycle parked outside by your front steps at 6am, you expected a lazy bum like Choi Seungcheol wouldn’t arrive until noon. Yet he’s already onto the next car in the queue, wearing a pair of worn out jeans with his music humming in the background to pay respects to your sleeping neighbors.

And when you return in the afternoon, you catch yourself doing a double take of the time when you still see that his bike remains idle, left in the same spot as it was in morning, and you spot those familiar legs dangle out from underneath another car.

It used to be so lonely coming home.

Since Seungcheol came, it’s become more… pleasant.

Except for one particular issue.

“Namjoon might stop by,” you state, arms crossing over your chest.

He shrugs. “Nice, aight. What of it?”

“He doesn’t like you.”

Seungcheol scoffs, shaking his head before you lose him behind the propped hood of your car. “Why does it matter what he thinks? He ain’t your boyfriend.”

“He’s not,” you confirm, the sternness of your voice lightens as you walk in his direction. “But he’s my best friend’s brother, and I care about what he thinks. I get that he likes me—”

Seungcheol’s head pops out for a moment. “—loves you,” he corrects before he goes back in.

You roll your eyes once again. “Fine, fine, he loves me. But that doesn’t take away the fact that he doesn’t like you. He thinks you’re a bad influence, that you’ll play with my heart.”

He clicks his tongue, pushing the rod off and shuts your hood with a thud. “Baby, you realize the only person playing with anyone’s heart is you with mine? I’ve been tryna get you to date me.”

“We’re not going to date, Seungcheol.”

Or, that’s what you thought.

#scoups fanfic #scoups #seungcheol fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #gyukultfics

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aerynwrites · 3 years

Text

A/N: Still playing catch-up! Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 911

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Smut, PiV sex, unprotected sex, sex in a closet, creampie, both parties are semi-clothed, some fluff? Kinda?

Join the Kinktober Taglist HERE!

Being in a relationship is hard when both parties are involved in a war. Yet, you and Rex manage to make things work, even if it is a little...unconventional at times.

Like right now.

The supply closet that Rex had dragged you into has become a familiar one. Not only because you are in and out of it all day with your job as a medic, but also because Rex for whatever reason has chosen this specific space as the one to hide you both away when you can’t get a moment alone.

It’s also conveniently sound proof. So, no one can hear the rattle of supplies as they fall to the floor when Rex pushes you up against the shelves, lips devouring yours like a man starved.

“Waited weeks for this, Cyare,” he murmurs between kisses left on your skin, his deft fingers undoing the buttons of your top as you begin working on his codpiece, “Our deployment couldn’t have ended sooner.”

You smile at the meaning behind his words, “I missed you too, Rex.”

You thought he would respond, say something sweet back like he usually does, but instead you’re met with another mind melting kiss as he shoves your skirt down your legs, taking your underwear with it. “Rex, what-” but a sharp nip to your lower lip silences you as bronze eyes blown wide with lust finally rise to meet yours.

“Please, cyare,” he begs lowly, hands dropping down to grip your bare thighs, “I can’t - I just - can I-”

“Maker,” you moan out, skin heated with anticipation and cunt dripping from the moment you entered the small space, “Please, Rex. Yes, please, just do something-”

You had to say no more.

In the blink of an eye Rex hoists you up against the shelves behind you, strong hands holding you steady as he slides into you in one swift thrust. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively and a sharp cry rips from your throat at the sudden feeling of fullness. You feel no pain, but after weeks of using your fingers, it takes a moment for you to adjust to the soldier. A strangled groan leaves Rex’s lips as his hips meet yours and he drops his head to rest against your chest, mind reeling as he tries to keep himself from spilling inside you right then and there.

It’s been too long. And you’re so wet and warm and hugging him so snugly he can’t even seem to take in a full breath. As usual, your entire being overwhelmed him completely, and it takes you squeezing his shoulders tightly and a high pitched whine leaving your lips to finally get him to move again.

More supplies fall around you as Rex sets a steady pace. His cock brushes up against the most sensitive areas inside you at this angle, and makes you see stars with each thrust. “Shit,” you hiss, nails digging into the black beneath his armor as he continues to spear up into you, his own fingers no doubt leaving marks behind as he grips your thighs in a vice. “Rex I - I think I’m close,” you manage to stutter out between gasps of pleasure.

Rex nods quickly, sweat beading on his temple before trailing down his neck and disappearing beneath his blacks. “I know,” he grunts, hips starting to lose their rhythm, “I’m close too. Maker,” he moans, leaning forward to press his forehead against your own.

It only takes a few more well aimed yet sloppy thrusts from the man holding you to send you over the edge. A comforting warmth washes over you as your release runs through your veins and you gush over the Captain's cock, pushing him to his own end.

His hips snap up, pressing himself flush against you and pushing you harder into the wall as he spills inside you. You watch as he clenches his jaw, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as breath grunts slip through his clenched teeth.

He doesn’t let you down immediately, instead dropping his head down to rest against your chest, warm breath fanning over the sweat damp skin there. You reach a shaky hand up to rest against the back of his head, fingers scratching through the short blonde hair you love so much as you both try to catch your breath.

After just a few short moments, Rex sets you down slowly, both of you sighing as he slips out of you and your feet touch the floor. You instinctively clench your thighs together as you feel him leak out of you, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips at the blush that darkens the Captain's cheeks.

“Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

You shake your head as you stoop down and pull your underwear and skirt back up your legs before standing and taking his hand in your own. “Don’t be,” you say gently, pulling him closer to you and bringing your lips to meet his own in a quick kiss before pulling away and sending him a sly look, “Now I’ll have something to remember you by during the rest of my shift. And hopefully something to look forward to when I get off?”

A smirk of his own tugs at Rex’s lips as he pulls you closer to him, bronze eyes sparkling with mischief, “I’ll see you in 0600 hours, Doctor.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Kinkotober Taglist: @stayherefor-evermore @phoenixhalliwell @babewantstoread @classic-criminals @snixx2088 @chewychewyque @diagonallie5400 @withasideofmeg @altarsw @thotbeans @phrog-seeds @mamamory @mindidjarin @saradika @gallowsjoker @wordsfromshona @c4psicle @sunnshineeexoxo @mandogimb @meabravo @star-wars-fan-2005 @princessxkenobi

#Kinktober2021 #aerynwritesKT21 #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #the clone wars x reader #clone wars x reader #Captain Rex

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officialscaramouche · 3 years

Note

HOLAA 🕴 COOULD I ASK OF A READER THATS THE YOUNGEST HABRINGER (like teenager) AND LIKE THE HARBINGERS BECOME LIKE A FAM TO THEM AND OLDER SIBLINGS AND PLATONIC FLUFF? JUST IMAGINE MEAN SCARA LOOKING ALL INTIMIDATING AND THE READER NEXT TO HIM WITH THEIR PYRO VISION AND SOME FIREWORKS LIKE A CHAOTIC CHILD-

I didn’t explicitly say that they’re in ur little circle but I mean it’s pretty obvious ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

pairing: platonic Tartaglia x reader, platonic Scaramouche x reader

tw: there are two fucks

wc: 1,019

It was incredible how you could hold a ball of fire and not get burned by it. You wiggled your fingers as the flames warmed your hand, staring into the brightly colored fire intently, before crushing it between your fist. The dreadful feeling of embarrassment and shame washed over you as you recalled your recent assignment.

You were recruited by the Fatui not long ago. Apparently someone had died and you took their place. You were young, but you weren’t ignorant to battle. Growing up in Natlan taught you how to survive with only your fists. But the Fatui was more than you imagined on the day of your recruitment. “You’ll be acting as a representative of our organization,” the recruiter explained. “You are the full stop when things don��t go our way. And you will be face to face with strong opponents.”

“I can handle that.” You said simply, not truly knowing what was in store for you.

Your first assignment was given to you by the Tsaritsa herself. Her beauty and kindness fueled you with pride and excitement. The people around you warned you not to celebrate too early, but your fellow Harbingers told you otherwise. “You’ll do great,” one of them said.

“Something like this is easy.” A pair of twins said. “It’s difficult to fuck up reconnaissance.”

But somehow you did manage to fuck up reconnaissance anyway, giving away your team’s position to the enemy camp. You were overwhelmed and unprepared, as reconnaissance assignments don't require on-field battle equipment. At most, everyone was given a flare gun for MIA soldiers.

Needless to say, you were pretty embarrassed to meet with the Tsaritsa for an informal report. You were practically shaking in your boots while waiting for the Tsaritsa’s call, when one of your fellow Harbingers took the seat beside you. “What happened out there?” He asked, his hair matted and filthy from being in the field for two weeks. “You were deployed, like, three days ago.”

You buried your face in your hands and shrunk. You pulled your knees up to your chest and hid behind them so as to avoid making eye contact with him. “I messed up!” You cried, your voice muffled against your thighs. “It was all my fault! I slipped on some weak stonewall and fell right into their camp! My team was right behind me, with nowhere to go and no directions to follow!”

The harbinger put his hand on your back and pulled you in. He was the friendliest of them all, you thought, as he was always talkative and cheerful. “Ahh, it’s okay comrade! We all make mistakes!”

“Not like this,” you grumbled, peeking over to look at his blue eyes and vibrant orange hair. “I pushed all further assignments back by at least two months!” The man laughed at your worries and nearly keeled over in his chair. “It’s not funny, Tartaglia!”

“Don’t worry, I said! I promise you everyone is delighted about having their assignments pushed back. Except for maybe the ones on the field.”

“Huh?” You tilted your head. “I thought I was the only one out there? Who else was on the field?”

“Me.” You hear a hoarse voice behind you. You spin in your seat in shock, hoping to dear Archons that it wasn’t who you thought it was.

“The B-Balladeer!” You cry out anxiously. “I’m so sorry!!”

Scaramouche looked as cool as ever, despite not donning his mushi no tareginu. He had swapped his shoes for the building’s clean ones and was nearly in an entirely new outfit. The only exception was that he still wore his Harbinger badge and held his insignia, that is normally on his chest, in his hand. “It’s fine,” he kind of sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was out there with the twins. However, everyone was recalled.” Scaramouche took the other seat next to you, sandwiching you between the two Harbingers.

Tartaglia reached across you and pointed at Scaramouche. “What did you do about the equipment?” He chuckled as he spoke.

Scaramouche slapped the hand away from him and snarled. “What else do you think we did?! You think the recovery team will come out on such short notice?!” Tartaglia erupted into laughter, clutching his abdomen and throwing his head back. Scaramouche rose to his feet and grabbed Tartaglia’s grimey collar. “I really hate you, you know! You’re so annoying!”

Before you realized, you had a little smile on your face. It was relaxing having them bicker and make fun of each other, and made you forget all about your upcoming informal report. But when you did remember it, you weren’t the only one there to give one. They were here for that too.

Tartaglia raised his hands in defeat as his eyes swirled with dizziness. Scaramouche continued to shake the man by his collar with a nasty scowl on his face. “Thank you, guys,” you giggled, catching their attention. “I’m feeling much better now.”

Still in the Balladeer’s hold, Tartaglia sobered up and gave you a charming grin. “Everybody makes mistakes, [Y/N]. I’ll always be here to cheer you up and help you train.”

Throwing the man back into his chair, Scaramouche dusted his hands off of the dirt and sweat from Tartaglia’s clothes and coughed into a fist. “Yeah, me too or whatever. But I won’t be able to help you if you get written up.”

Tartaglia scratched his chin. “Oh yeah, we can’t do anything about that, sorry.”

You clap your hands together proudly. “That’s okay. I’ll give her my best pathetic performance and hopefully I can convince her to let me off with a warning!”

The men kind of chuckle at your comment before your name was called from the Tsaritsa’s room by her assistant. “[Y/N]!”

You feel the sweat running down your temple but there was nothing you could do about it now. “Kick some ass, [Y/N].” Tartaglia cheered, extending out a closed fist to encourage a fist bump. You lightly tap the backs of your fingers against his and steady your resolve as you stand.

#writing #oneshot #Tartaglia #Scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #tartaglia x reader #platonic

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angelicyoongie · 3 years

Text

Out of the Woods (II)

— pairing: wolf hybrid namjoon x human f!reader — genre: fluff, angst, slight smut — word count: 5.5K — warnings: injury, blood, mentions of past abuse — summary: Promising Jihyo that you were going to stay away from your writing for one weekend had been easy in theory, but much harder to actually do once you reached the little cabin the woods. To make matters worse, the only thing that rivals your inability to keep promises is your terrible luck – and after a particularly bad choice leads you to get lost in the mountains, you suppose that it's only karma that you end up face to face with a wolf that looks ready to rip your throat out.

Part I / II / III

You stare at the hand wrapped tightly around yours as the wolf hybrid leads you down the rest of the slope. You can still feel the imprint of his chest against your back, the lingering heat from his body still wrapped around yours. The ghost of his raspy, smooth voice brushing over your ear, his words branded into your chest.

Please don’t leave me.

You wince with each step, the dull pain in your ankle growing harder to ignore. You can see the muscles in his golden arms tense as your step falters, the wolf hybrid’s grip tightening before you can stumble down the last stretch of the incline. He’s keeping your hand almost at height with his shoulders, making it easier for you to borrow some support as you hobble forward.

You keep yourself focused on his hand, on how his long and slender fingers are enveloping yours. They’re a little rough against your skin, but they’re still pretty. Your cheeks are flushed red as you limp forward, but you blame that on the near death experience you just had – and certainly not on the hybrid’s thumb absentmindedly running over your knuckles every few steps. And it’s definitely not because the man in front of you is completely naked. The close proximity means that the expanse of the hybrid’s broad back fills most of your vision, but you’re not willing to take any chances. His body isn’t there for you to ogle at. So, his hand is a good, safe, place for you eyes to latch on to. The hybrid clearly doesn’t have any qualms about his lack of clothes, and it makes you wonder just how long he’s been out here on his own – how long he’s been alone.

You swallow thickly as the ground underneath your feet begins to flatten out, the strain on your ankle becoming a little less painful. You can probably walk on your own now, but it doesn’t seem like the wolf hybrid has any plans of letting you do that, his fingers wrapping even more firmly around yours as you try to let go of his hand. You see a few faint marks on the inside of his wrist, but the angle his hold your hand makes it too difficult to make anything out. If anything, it’s likely just some scratches from the wilderness. You can’t help but notice that one of his gray ears seem to be permanently turned in your direction, only twitching when you let out little huffs of air.

He hasn’t spoken since he uttered those four words – not since he begged you to stay, and the only thing you could think to do was shakily step out of his embrace and ask him to bring you back down. You can’t stay. You're not quite sure why the realization makes you feel so torn. Sure, the hybrid has taken care of you, but you don’t really know him. Hell, you don’t even know his name. But still, your heart stutters painfully as you remember the desperation in his voice, the subdued whine that escaped his lips as you pulled away. The hybrid had only given you a curt nod in response to your request, his back turned to you and hand outstretched before you could even get a good look on his face.

You sneak a quick peek at his profile as he helps you along the path, your breath getting caught in your throat as you catch a glimpse of his strong jaw and oh no, is that a dimple? The wolf hybrid’s silver ears and messy hair compliments his sunkissed skin beautifully, and there is no doubt in your mind that this man must be stunning. Maybe it’s a good thing you haven’t gotten a good look at his face yet, getting weak in the knees sounds like bad plan when you’re already one foot down. You quickly push the thoughts away, turning your attention back to the forest in front of you. You swear something about it looks a little more familiar than before. You only need to hobble through the forest for another few minutes before you realize why.

The wolf hybrid has lead you straight to the lake you and Jihyo passed two days ago, the exact one you were trying to find when you managed to get lost. The weather might be slightly gloomier today, but it still looks absolutely breathtaking as you draw closer. The tension in your shoulders ease up as you realize just how close you are to the cabin, it probably won’t take much longer than an hour to get back even with your throbbing foot. Which is great, but the release of tension also makes you acutely aware of just how irritated your ankle truly is, and it feels like it might break clean off if you don’t get a break soon.

“Can we, uh, rest for a little while? My foot ..” You trail off uncertainly, watching as the hybrid’s head cocks in your direction. He stops in his tracks, ears swivelling around rapidly as he listens to the forest, his grip still tight around yours. He gives you another nod after a few seconds of silence, steering you carefully over to a fallen log. You close your eyes in relief as you sit down, a groan falling from your lips as you finally get the chance to alleviate the pressure on your ankle.

“Thank you,” You murmur, glancing down at your foot as you try to best position to rest it in. You freeze as you see the wolf hybrid’s bare feet out of the corner of your eye, heat creeping up your neck as you realize the position you’ve put yourself in. You’re at eye-level with his dick. There’s no way to look up at him without seeing it, and that’s not something you want to deal with right now.

“Here," You hastily shrug off your windbreaker, offering it out for the hybrid with a grimace, “you can use it to cover up.” Rough fingers brush over your own as the wolf hybrid grabs your jacket, presumably–hopefully–wrapping it around his waist as you keep your eyes firmly on the ground. You don’t dare lift your gaze until the hybrid sinks down on the log next to you with a huff, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you find his eyes already locked onto your face.

The wolf hybrid is beautiful. Your lips part open in surprise as you take in his face, the slight pout to his lips and the gentleness in his expression leaving you a little breathless. He looks kind. Sweet. You don’t understand how someone like him could be left out here all alone.

“I-I'm sorry,” The wolf hybrid cowers under your stunned gaze, his ears falling flat against his head. “Should I stay .. wolf? You upset,” His voice is hoarse and pained as he stutters out his words, his lips forming awkwardly around the syllables. The intention behind his words hits you like a slap to the face. He thinks you don’t like his human form, and he’s willing to turn back to not make you upset.

“No!” You blurt, “I mean, I’m uh, not upset. If you want to, please stay in your human form. It’s nice to be able to talk to you.” The wolf hybrid doesn’t quite seem to believe you, his ears pressing even flatter against his head as he shakes his head.

“What’s your name?”

The hybrid's mouth is pressed into a thin line, and for a second you think he might not answer, but then he mutters out a soft, “Namjoon.”

“Namjoon?” You echo, finding you like the way his name rolls off your tongue. The wolf hybrid’s ears perk up at the sound of his name, the bushy tail behind his back doing a startled wag as Namjoon’s eyes find yours. You give him a soft smile, rubbing your hands nervously at your thighs as you finally ask the question that has been burning away at your curiosity for the past few hours.

“Why are you out here all alone?” The muscles in Namjoon's shoulders tense at your question, the warmth in his golden brown eyes hardening into something you can’t quite decipher. The wolf hybrid looks ready to bolt any second, his eyes flickering around the forest as he says, “Ran way .. bad place. No going back.”

You detest that you’re not even surprised, that the mistreatment of hybrids is so common that it has become almost more normal than treating them like actual human beings. The wolf hybrid looks to be your age, maybe even a little older, and it makes your stomach drop to think about just how many years he must’ve spent out here in his animal form for speech to become this hard – for it to become a struggle.

“I’m so sorry Namjoon, it must’ve been hard being all alone up here,” Your fingers twitch against your thigh, resisting the urge to reach out for him.

“Not alone now, have you,” Namjoon’s raspy voice sends a shiver down your spine, the certainty laced with his next word making your heart skip a beat. “Pack.” The wolf hybrid carefully reaches out for your hand, slowly wrapping his fingers around yours as he watches your mind trying to process his words.

You know it normally takes a long time for a hybrid to consider someone, especially humans, to be a part of their pack, so the fact that Namjoon refers to you as his after only a few days leaves you stunned – and a little bit out of your depth. Then again, Namjoon’s situation isn’t exactly normal. Usually hybrids are much more in-tune with both their human and animal side, but from what you can gather, it doesn’t seem like Namjoon has tapped into his humanity in years. It would make sense for his animal instincts to be more dominant, for doubt and hesitation to take a backseat. But still, his pack?

You catch the slight motion as the wolf hybrid’s eyes stray to your neck, the memory hitting you at full force now that you realize the implications behind your actions. In the midst of your panic when you thought Namjoon was going to tear you limb from limb, you had bared you neck. You had submitted. And Namjoon had accepted you. You wince, sucking in a deep breath as unease swirls in your stomach. Even if you weren’t aware of what you were doing at the time, this is still your fault. You really want to fix this whole mess, but you fear that the one thing you can’t do for him, is the only thing the hybrid wants.

“Namjoon,” You hesitate as you feel his tail wag happily against the log, the words feeling heavy on your tongue as you say, “I can’t stay.” A lull falls over the forest as the rhythmic thumping stops, the grip around your hand slackening as the wolf hybrid hangs his head.

He keeps his eyes on the ground as he whispers out a broken, “Don’t go.” You feel your heart ache as you watch him open and close his mouth, the furrow between his brows deepening as he can’t seem to find the words he needs. “Take care of you. Please.” You think it might hurt less if you just let the wolf hybrid rip you to shreds instead, the pained desperation in his voice making you eyes sting.

“I’m sorry,” You mutter, “I need to go home.” The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Home. At the start of your trip you couldn’t wait to return to your apartment, but when you really think about it, have you ever truly considered it home? Sure, you've managed to make it nice and cozy over the last years, but there’s no warmth there, no sense of belonging. Still – you can’t stay here in the mountains.

Namjoon’s ears are pressed flat against his head, his expression turning blank as he withdraws his hand. “Okay,” The wolf hybrid’s jaw is tense as he stares out at the lake, his gaze empty and distant. You ignore the throbbing in your foot as you clamber back up to your feet, taking a few steps forward as you take in the sight of the lake for the last time. The scattered wildflowers don’t seem as charming anymore, and the large body of water suddenly feels more imposing than welcoming. You freeze as Namjoon lets out a low groan, the sound suddenly transforming into a whimper behind your back. You nearly jolt out of your skin as something wet touches your hand, a warm breath spilling across your fingers as you look down. You meet Namjoon’s golden eyes, the wolf letting out a small huff before he nudges your windbreaker closer to your feet. You don’t know why it feels like a defeat that he transformed back, but you can’t shake the hollow feeling in your chest as you thread your fingers into his fur, jacket wrapped around your waist as he leads you back to the cabin.

The wolf’s ears starts to flicker a few minutes before you can pick up Jihyo’s frantic speech in the distance, the dark roof of the cabin coming into view. You’re a little off the trail, the forest much denser around this side of the clearing. Namjoon suddenly halts as he reaches the edge, and you wince from the extra force on your foot as you stumble to catch yourself. The wolf’s tail is tucked between his legs, a pitiful whimper filling the silence as you gently untangle your hand from his fur. You brush it down carefully, already missing the coarse yet soft hairs tickling against your skin as you take a step back.

“Thank you Namjoon,” You swallow around the lump in your throat, forcing your lips into a soft smile as you gaze down at him. The wolf turns his head back to the forest, golden eyes scanning the area before he quickly pushes his head against your hand, guiding your palm over the fur between his ears. Your knees go weak with fondness as you pat his head, the wolf swiping his tongue over the exposed skin of your wrist as you scratch behind his ears. It’s Namjoon that reluctantly pulls away first, his golden eyes soft yet sad as he pushes his snout one last time against your palm. He sits down with a huff, turning his head in the direction of the cabin. The message is clear; he’s not leaving until you are. The goodbye grows and dies in your mouth, your lips refusing to let it slip past as you look down at him. You spare him one last glance, trying to commit as much of him to memory as you can, before you stumble out of the tree line.

It only takes a few steps before you hear Jihyo’s shrill, “Y/n!” and you watch as your friend sprints across the field to meet you. Jihyo knocks into you so hard you nearly topple over, her arms wrapped around your body so tightly you almost fear she’ll squeeze you to death.

“Where were you? What happened? Oh my god, you’re hurt!–” You let Jihyo’s concerned rambling distract you from the empty feeling in your stomach, each step feeling heavier than the last as she helps you walk back to the cabin. You spare one last glance over your shoulder, hoping to maybe see a flash of silver through the trees, but there’s nothing.

Namjoon is gone.

And you’re both alone again.

It was all a rush after you returned. Jihyo had been searching for you night and day, a few of her father’s best employees helping out. The road up to the cabin had been cleared, so instead of having to trek down on your sprained ankle, Jihyo had whisked you away in a car with the destination set for the closest hospital. It took a while before you could collect your thoughts enough to tell her what happened, the words sounding ridiculous even to your own ears as you retold the story.

Jihyo had a deep frown on her face from the hospital to your apartment, uncharacteristically silent as she helped you to your couch. Sinking down on the mountain of plush pillows felt like heaven after sleeping on the ground for two nights, your limbs tired and aching. You really need a shower, but the temptation to rest your foot for an hour is frankly too strong. You watch as Jihyo raids your fridge for drinks and food, the frown not leaving her lips until you’ve stuffed your face with a sandwich.

“Why didn’t you just ask him to come with you?” You nearly choke on a piece of bread at her sudden question, quickly taking a sip of water to chase it down.

“What do you mean?” You croak.

“Well, it’s not like he specifically asked you to stay up in the mountains right? He only asked that you would stay with him. I’m not sure how much I like this, but he did take care of you, and he brought you back safely. If he wanted to hurt you he had many opportunities to do so,” Jihyo purses her lips, her eyes flickering around the room.

"You seem .. smitten. I can remember the last time you looked so fond talking about someone else. It seems like he already considers you to be his pack, so if you want to, I don’t see any harm in asking him to come home with you,” You feel a steady blush rise in your cheeks as Jihyo talks, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of having Namjoon here in your apartment. You couldn’t ..

"It’s not natural or healthy for hybrids to be alone and shifted for such a long time, so you would honestly be doing him a favour. Even if he doesn’t stay with you, he needs to get checked-up.” You find yourself nodding along to Jihyo’s words before you can stop yourself, her eyebrows rising in amusement. She is right, after all. Even if Namjoon doesn’t want to stay, it’s important to make sure he’s healthy. Even you go in for yearly check-ups, and you’re sure it’s been far too long since Namjoon did the same. You have to go back and find him.

“But–” Jihyo presses a finger to your chest, “you’re not going anywhere yet. The doctor said full rest for a week, so that’s what you’re going to do.” She shakes her head before you can protest, giving you a stern look as she says, “You’re in no condition to go after him now, you need to heal up if you want to find him again. I’ve seen enough animal planet to know that wolves have pretty big territories, and you won’t be able to cover that much ground with a sprained ankle.” You sink back down in the couch with a disgruntled sound, hating the fact that she’s completely right. You’ll have to wait until you’ve healed. You just hope it won’t be too late.

“Namjoon?” You wince at the rawness in your throat, your voice ringing through the silent forest. You’ve been out here for hours, but no matter where you go, there’s no sign of the wolf hybrid. You even managed to get back to the little cave Namjoon had brought you to, but that too was completely untouched. The only trail you had is dead. The area you’ve ventured into is much denser and harder to navigate, but you refuse to leave until you find him.

You grumble under your breath as a branch almost whacks you straight in the face, and you push it away with a little more force than necessary as you trek on deeper into the woods. Your ankle has healed up nicely, but there’s still a dull ache from the amount of walking you’re putting yourself through. The sprain wasn’t all that bad; it was mostly just the fact that you kept aggravating it that made it so painful. A week of rest did you wonders, and a little bit of discomfort is a price you’re more than willing to pay if it means you’ll find Namjoon again.

“Namjoon?” You call out again, halting in your tracks as you strain to listen for any sounds out of the ordinary. You let out a sigh at the silence that greets you, shaking your head lightly as you take a step forward. You freeze as your foot connect with the ground, a distant howl echoing through the forest. Namjoon.

You can barely even hear the second howl over the frantic beat of your own heart as you take off, stumbling and tripping over roots and twigs as you run in what you hope is the right direction. The mountain is disorienting at best, but you have no fear of getting lost this time. Jihyo made sure you would be properly prepared.

It’s not until the fourth howl that you realize two things – one, the sound is much closer than you anticipated, and two, it sounds pained. You urge your legs to move faster, your gaze shifting wildly over your surroundings as you call out for him again. You swear you see a flash of silver behind a cluster of trees, and you quickly switch your direction, running straight for what you hope is the wolf hybrid.

“Namjo–” You choke as you skid to a stop, your stomach dropping so fast it leaves you feeling dizzy.

Blood. There’s so much blood. Namjoon’s gray fur is stained with it, the hairs matted and red. You can see the rusted metal of an old bear trap clamped tightly around one of his hind legs, the bone snapped in an awkward angle. Oh god. A pained whine rips you out of your building panic, and the sight of the wolf hybrid attempting to drag himself closer to you despite the trap on his leg finally jolts you back into action.

“No no no, stay still!” You cry as you scramble forward, your stomach doing a dangerous flip as the metallic scent of Namjoon’s blood washes over you. The wolf hybrid is panting as you drop to your knees in front of him, his ears plastered against his skull as he lets out low whimper.

“It-it’s going to be okay,” You hear your voice tremble as you reach out for his head, gently cupping his cheeks between your hands. Namjoon lets the tension in his neck drop the moment you get your hands on him, his head heavy in your hold as you run your fingers over his fur. The wolf hybrid’s body is shaking, his golden eyes barely open as he lets out another whine. You have no idea how many hours he’s been like this, but it’s been too long. He's lost way too much blood.

“You’re going to be fine Namjoon,” You swallow down the bile in your throat as you shuffle around, shifting your hold to gently place his head in your lap. He immediately tries to shuffle closer, not giving up until he’s plastered against your stomach.

“Just, don’t shift, okay? Please don’t shift,” You hastily dig your burrowed phone out of your pocket, vision blurry as you type in Jihyo’s number. Seeing Namjoon’s human form might make it easier to gauge his injuries, but if he shifts while he’s still trapped, you have no doubt it’s just going to tear his leg up even more.

He lets out a whine as you hands leave his fur, his eyes almost rolled back into his head from the pain. The leg that’s trapped doesn’t even twitch, and Namjoon’s body feels horribly cold as you hurry to run your hands over his fur.

“Y/n? Did you find him?” Jihyo’s voice has never sounded more angelic than when she picks up the phone, you body sagging with relief.

“You can track my location, right? It’s Namjoon–” You force down the sob bubbling in your throat as the wolf hybrid whimpers at the sound of his name, the sound soft and weak. “–he’s hurt.”

“Excuse me,” You whip your head up at the sound of someone clearing their throat, a rather frazzled nurse standing in front you. “Are you here with the wolf hybrid? Kim Namjoon?”

“I am. Is something wrong?” You push out of the plastic chair with a wince, ignoring the queasy feeling in your stomach. It’s been hours since you arrived at the hospital, but the image of Namjoon’s blood pooling around his body doesn’t seem to want to let go of you just yet.

“He’s–" The nurse let out a deep sigh, “I think you need to come with me.” She turns on her heel, motioning for you to follow without another word. Oh god, what if he’s dead? The wolf hybrid had been rushed into an emergency operation immediately upon arrival, so there wasn’t much else that you could do than wait. Hope that he would be okay.

You hurry after the nurse, nearly tripping over your own feet at quick speed she keeps as she marches down the hall. You’ve barely managed to catch up when she halts outside a door, an exasperated expression on her face as she says, “We’re keeping him under observation for now and he’s not really supposed to have any visitors yet, but he’s being … difficult.” You jump as something clatters to the ground inside the room, the deep growl hardly even muffled by the closed door.

“He’s a still a little out of it, but not dangerous. You’ll see what I mean,” With that, the nurse pushes the door open, stepping aside to allow you entry into Namjoon’s room. You suck in a breath as you step inside, the floor littered with scattered papers and trays. Namjoon is perched up in bed, a heavy cast around his leg. Whatever they were trying to do, the wolf hybrid obviously wasn’t having it. He’s twisted towards the doctor by his side, the man keeping a good distance from the injured hybrid as he let out another harsh growl. You stare in shock as Namjoon bares his teeth, his posture rigid and tense as he eyes the doctor distrustfully. The doctor notices you before Namjoon does, a soft 'thank god' muttered under his breath as he waves for you to come closer.

“Hey Namjoon,” The wolf hybrids nose wrinkles just as your soft voice carries across the room, his ears springing up on his head as he shifts his attention to you.

“Y/n,” Namjoon’s eyes light up as he catches sight of you, his hands practically tearing up the bed sheets as he tries to untangle himself. The action feels awfully familiar to when he tried to drag himself closer despite the bear trap, and you have no intention of watching him trying to walk on his broken leg.

“I thought I told you to stop moving,” You rush forward before he can get himself fully out of bed, pushing him back with a firm shove to his chest. Namjoon falls back without protest, his wide eyes scanning over your face as a loopy smile blooms on his lips.

“Sorry,” He rasps as he engulfs your hand with his, keeping it tucked securely against his body. You can feel the steady thrum of his heart against your palm, beating in rhythm with the soft beeps from the monitor he’s hooked up to.

“We were trying to explain to Mr. Kim that we need to do some tests, but he doesn’t quite seem to share the same sentiment,” The doctor glances back towards the door as a the nurse brings in a new tray of equipment, a weary frown on his face as he picks up a shot. The growl builds in Namjoon’s throat so fast you nearly jump out of your skin, the hold he has around your hand feels like he’s two seconds away from snapping it in half.

“It’s okay, it’s just some standard shots,” You hesitantly bring your hand up to his face, slowly turning his head back in your direction.

“You haven’t had check-ups in a while right?” The wolf hybrid shakes his head, his ears twitching as his attention flickers back and fourth between you and the doctor. “It’s just to make sure you stay healthy.” Namjoon nuzzles against your hand with a soft whimper as you run your thumb along his cheek.

“Makes me feel .. bad. Sleepy,” Namjoon’s speech seems to flow a little easier than it did a week ago, but the struggle to find the right words is still there, his brows furrowing in concentration as he whispers, "Don’t like it.”

You swallow thickly, your stomach in knots as you ask, “Did your owner give you those? The shots that made you sleepy?” The wolf hybrid makes a low sound of agreement, his ears turning back. The marks on his wrist you couldn’t figure out, they’re needle marks. You’ve heard of it before, how some owners would drug their more exotic hybrids to keep them calm and docile – to silence the part of their genetics that make them so unique. You glance down at Namjoon, the wolf hybrid staring up at you with so much vulnerability and trust that the thought of someone taking advantage of that it makes you feel ill.

“These won’t make you feel that way, I promise.” You muster up the warmest smile you can manage as you peek over at the doctor, a silent plea in your eyes.

“Oh! Don’t worry Mr. Kim, there are no side effects to these shots. You’ll hardly even notice it,” The doctor quickly adds as he takes a careful step forward. Namjoon lets out a slow breath, golden eyes finding yours and his tail draping across his lap as he grumbles out a hesitant “Okay.”

“–All done!” You can see the doctor’s shoulders visibly drop as he finally gets the chance to move back, obviously relieved to put some distance between himself and Namjoon. “I’ll be back later to check on your leg and make sure everything is okay.” The sour expression on Namjoon’s face softens as the doctor hurries out the door, the grip around your hand loosening slightly as it clicks shut behind him.

“May I speak with you outside alone for a minute, miss?” You look up at the nurse as she finishes placing a band-aid on Namjoon’s arm, the empty shots rolling around in the tray as she picks it up.

“Oh, sure,” Namjoon lets out a whine as you try to step away, lips formed into a soft pout as you gently extract your hand from his grip. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” You give his shoulder a squeeze before you follow the nurse out, shooting Namjoon what you hope is a comforting smile over your shoulder. The wolf hybrid keeps his eyes trained on you as you leave, his distressed gaze still burning into your back as you close the door behind you. You only take a few steps down the hall before the nurse turns to face you, her expression troubled as she looks you up and down, “I take it he’s not your hybrid?”

“No, he’s not,” You quickly shake your head. “I came across him up in the mountains. He said he ran away from his old owner, and that it was a ‘bad place’. I’m pretty sure it must’ve been a couple of years at least,” You wince. The nurse nods, her gaze shifting around the busy hallway as she thinks.

“I’ll have someone look into it. We need to settle his hospital bills, and only his legal owner can do that.” She must see the way your face drops, because she quickly adds, “I could tell from his old scars that he’s likely been abused. Even if we find his owner, they’re not going to be allowed to take him home. It’ll be looked into.”

“Right, thanks.” You muster up a weak smile. You know how these things go. Even if there’s an investigation, the police are too easy to buy off. There are frankly too many cases like Namjoon’s, and too few cops that actually treat their abuse seriously.

“Can I stay with him until his owner shows up?”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but yes, you can. I don’t think he’ll actually stay inside his room if you don’t.” The nurse lets out a huff, a flash of amusement in her eyes as she waves for you to go back inside. “I’ll let you know once we figure it out, it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Thank you.”

Turning to face Namjoon’s door, you try to shake off the anxious feeling festering in your stomach. You’re not going to let him go back to his old owner. You’re honestly not even sure how you’ve managed to grow attached so quickly, but there’s just something about the wolf hybrid that makes you ready to fight tooth and nail for his safety and happiness – even if it means he won’t find it with you.

a/n: ahah heyy ... let's just ignore that it took me two months to update this, okay? thank you aksjsk. i decided to split the last part into two, to give myself more time to write a little bit of extra fluff (and smut)! so the third and final part is hopefully coming next week, but if not, it will at least be posted by the end of november. namjoon's speech will get better in the next part and we will learn more about him + his and y/n's relationship will grow! if you like the story then please drop me a reblog/comment, that would mean the world to me! (ps. this story has no tag list!)

as always, see you all soon and stay safe! <3 and in case you enjoy my stories and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖

#hybrid bts #hybrid au #namjoon x reader #hybrid namjoon #wolf hybrid namjoon #hybrid!bts #bts au #bts fluff #bts angst #hybridbtsnetwork #bts x reader #out of the woods

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qyllenhaal · 3 years

Text

❛ Home ❜

Series: The Devil I Know

Senator!Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k~

Summary: Chris makes it back home after time away from Y/n.

warnings: 18+ only!!! Unprotected sex, age gap (reader is in her late 20s), this fic is largely fluff and sleepy sex.

A/N: I have another WIP and hopefully it will be out this coming week.

Enjoy!

After three weeks of in-party fighting, stonewalling, and a lackluster bill passing, Chris needed this. He needed to come home from D.C. and feel Y/n's sweet embrace engulfing him.

His plane landed two hours ago and he was already with her. He was surprised that she was still up, but she was more surprised that he showed up at her door in the late hour.

"What are you doing here? Did you just get in?"

Her voice was scratchy but he found it sexy; along with her pajama shorts and his sweater draping over her body. She's wearing his sweater from college that has his alma mater proudly stitched into it.

She had more questions for him, but he just ignored whatever came out of her mouth as he rolled his suitcase into her apartment. The TV and a small table lamp gave him enough light to see that her coffee table is littered with papers.

"Aren't you tired? Don't you want to go home-"

"Come here girl," he quickly cut her off to grab her arm and pull her into his chest. Y/n stopped firing off her questions and melted into him when she felt just how warm he is. She felt him inhale deeply to take in the scent of her.

Y/n had missed him so damn much. It was tough navigating her days without Chris here. There were no secret texts or notes for her to come to his office. Meetings weren't that fun when there wasn't someone to steal glances at. She missed seeing that look in his eyes that meant he was going to take her on his desk after the meeting was over. Having him stand right here in front of her almost felt surreal.

"I missed you so much. It was hell without you," he whispered into her ear.

Chris wrapped his hands around her waist/ He brought Y/n closer to his body. Both of them know that he didn't just come here to watch TV or "catch-up"; they could do that later.

His hands palmed the exposed part of her ass. He nearly knocked the window out of her when he pressed his lips against hers. Chris moved his lips against her with hunger. The taste of bitter coffee lingered on her lips and he nearly became giddy with excitement because he was finally with her.

Y/n felt his hardened cock press into her front. The desire for him had only doubled since he appeared at her door that it almost made her feral. She was nearly tearing his clothes off. His shirt came over his head and Y/n started fumbling with his belt.

"Be patient Button," he taunted her breathlessly as he stopped her. As much as it would be hot to fuck her against the wall, he was too tired to continue standing up. Besides, nothing would be better than getting a nice ride from her, it would be a treat.

The irony of telling her to be patient while he could be that was not lost on her. He pulled her flimsy shorts down but he kept the sweater on her. He is very possessive over her and seeing her adorn his sweater makes him proud.

Chris sat on her couch and she straddled him. His large hands rested on her sides as she kissed him again.

"I want to feel you inside of me," she whimpered between their rough kisses. "I want to feel you splitting me open."

Chris groaned at her filthy words, wanting the very same thing if not even more than her. The time he finally let her take his cock out of his pants. A dull ache sat in her belly seeing just how hard and thick he is for her. She touched his cock as if it was fire. Pre-cum leaked out from the tip when she gave him a few pumps.

"Let me feel how wet you are," the tone of his voice made his words sound like a demand.

His hand snaked under the oversized sweater on her so he could feel how slick she was. Something about feeling the wetness on his hand that made him turn primal. What he really wanted to do was flip her onto her back and fuck her into the couch. He may be too tired now, but he has plenty of time now that he's back home.

Y/n didn't stop kissing him even though she was finally sinking down on his cock. Her gasp turned into moans muffled by his mouth. There was a slight discomfort as she filled herself to the brim with him but that didn't stop her from bouncing up and down on his cock. He helped her out by thrusting up into her. His hips moved sloppily but Y/n kept a steady rhythm.

A hand slipped under her shirt and Chris cupped her breast. His thumb ran along the ridges of her hardening nipple. Her cries of pleasure vibrated against his mouth and she began to swirl her hips against him.

"Fuck," Chris pulled away from her lips and buried his face into her neck. How much he missed her and how it feels so good to be inside of her overwhelmed him. He kissed her warm skin in all the places he knows she loves so much.

"I wanna cum so bad," she whined.

Chris looked up at her, deep into her eyes, and held her face. She slowed down her movements and focused on taking him deep inside of her.

"Missed feeling you so tight around me. Can I cum inside of you? Are you going to let me cum inside of you?"

Y/n nodded frantically before resting her forehead against his. The closeness and bond she felt with him almost brought a tear to her eye. His desires are felt and equally shared too. Just as much as he loved her warmth, she loved the feeling of his thick cock spearing her open. Every time he slid home inside of her and his tip poked her cervix, she felt delirious. He continued to spear her open with every blissful inch of his thick cock.

"Please cum inside...I missed you so much," she quietly sobbed.

She was spent, physically and emotionally. Her sleep schedule had gotten completely out of whack and her performance at work suffered because of it; deadlines were missed and papers were filled out haphazardly. It was somewhat embarrassing to admit, but seeing, or at least talking to Chris is a part of her daily routine. The absence of him disturbed her routine which resulted in staying up until the sun began to rise and buying too much coffee for her own good.

Y/n would never admit it though. She'd never admit it to Chris's face because she does not like having dependence on him. He was like a boyfriend, he even referred to himself as such, but she did not have the privilege of even holding his hand in public. It is absolutely unfair she can't scream out to the world that she is in love with him.

"I'm close," he whispered hastily into her ear. She closed her eyes and waited to feel his essence blessing her insides.

Chris's grip on her could not get any tighter as his levels of desire began to boil over. He feels lucky to be sliding into her slick heat once again. He's utterly possessive of her. The reason for why she is wet and crying into the crack of his neck is solely because of him.

She smells so good, just like the shampoo she uses. He almost becomes lightheaded with lust that turns his thrust sloppy. The grip he had on her became even tighter and he pounded away, his length rubbing against every sensitive spot inside of her to create the sweetest friction.

"I'm gonna give it all to you," he grunted, his accent as thick as can be. The increasing gruffness of his voice scratched a certain itch inside of her. And the stubble of his bear literally scratched the skin of her cheek.

He slowed down, nearly coming to a halt, as he began to release inside of her. Feeling him spilling inside of her made her sex contract around him. Her walls milked him as she began to cum just from feeling the warm sensation. His grip on him loosened and she fully sank down on him. The blunt tip of his cock hit her cervix, sending shivers down her spine. How she feels can only be compared to an intense, euphoric sensation.

Her orgasm hit her just seconds after his. Feeling his warmth inside of her really sent her over the sharp edge and diving head first into total pleasure. He didn't have to move anymore to know that he's still giving all that's left of his energy to feel good.

"I missed you...all of you," he whispered against her damp neck. He grabbed at her sides as if he was ready to go again.

"I'm so tired," she managed to say. Her nights have been so restless. Right now is the first time she has felt like her energy has been spent completely.

"I know, Button. Lay your head against my chest."

She listened even though her alarm for work is going to go off any minute now. Instead of worrying, she let herself be lulled by the sound of his heartbeat and succumbed to sleep.

#chris evans x reader #senator!chris #senator!chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans x y/n #smut #tdik series #fic #chris evans

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ronsonlywhore · 3 years

Note

Hi im new in here,so i don't know exactly what you write so could you please write something like wolfstar being the readers parents with the fluffy prompts 3,13,19,34,and 39,sorrt if that was weird,i have major daddy issues and see them both as father figures,thanks for the attention and sorry again if you don't write this kinda of stuff

❛ 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝗻𝗲. ❜ dad!wolfstar

summary: in which (y/n) is the light in both sirius and remus's life.

prompts: fluff/ 3. "stop moving around and let me braid your hair." / 13. "oh! my heart! it's too full of love for you! quick, i need a doctor!" / 19. "you can't leave without letting me hug you first." / 34. "help! there's a spider holding me hostage over here!" / 39. "i had a nightmare...can i stay with you tonight?"

a/n: au where neither sirius nor remus dies and sirius is cleared and they live happily ever after the war with a little girl they adopted. OKAY THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE. i didn't know if you wanted like a little reader or an older reader, so i included both! thanks for requesting anon <3

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"(y/n)! come back here right now, you little devil!"

(y/n)'s giggles echoed throughout the house, her wet hair leaving a trail of water droplets on the floor. sirius could hear the quiet pitter-patter of her feet on the hardwood floors, and he quickly dropped a towel on the floor to clean up the mess she had made running away from him.

"(y/n)! this isn't funny!" sirius shouts into the silent house. it's quiet...too quiet.

"oh, i see...you're hiding from me are you? well, hopefully you're not hiding...behind the curtains!" he rips away the curtains enthusiastically, only to find an empty space behind them.

sirius creeps over to the closet, putting an ear to the door. he swears he can hear his five-year-old shuffling around and pulls the door open, feeling triumphant. "caught you!" he says, victorious.

his face falls when he's met with an empty space as well, and now he's starting to get worried. where could she be?

suddenly, he hears a small ah-choo! and a gasp followed by the sneeze. he smiles and drops down beside the couch. there (y/n) is, trying to hold in her giggles and wiping dust from her face.

she screams when sirius appears next to her, and laughs (the most angelic laugh sirius has ever heard) when her dad picks her up and hoists her on his shoulder.

"thought you could sneak away from me, huh?" sirius says as he sits (y/n) down and tickles her. "i just need to brush your hair before it gets all tangled."

(y/n) sighs. "i know, but you pull too much. i like it better when daddy does it. when is he coming back?"

sirius takes out the brushes and sits behind (y/n). "he'll be back today, i promise. now, sit still and let me brush your hair."

(y/n) moves away before sirius can start though, and he's starting to lose his patience. "(y/n), if you don't sit down right now, i'm not taking you to diagon alley with me. i'll just drop you off with harry while i go and have fun at fortescue's ice cream parlor," he threatens.

(y/n)'s eyes widened. she liked staying with cousin harry, but her dad was talking ice cream here, so there was no way she would let herself be hauled off to harry's while her dad got to stuff himself full with sorbets galore.

"no! i promise i'll let you brush my hair...but on one condition. you have to let me eat the last slice of cake right now. for breakfast." (y/n) crosses her tiny little arms and pulls out the puppy eyes, the puppy eyes sirius can never resist.

so how could sirius say no?

"you've got a deal, my little devil." sirius says as he shakes (y/n)'s pudgy toddler hand. she giggles, sits down obediently, and lets sirius brush through her hair, only painfully wincing twice.

later, as (y/n)'s barreling forkfuls of cake into her mouth and sirius is hastily trying to clean up her face before she messes up her shirt, the door opens, and (y/n) squeals happily. "daddy's home!"

she jumps down from her chair before sirius can say anything, and runs like mad to the front door.

remus is there, taking of his coat and grimacing as his sore muscles protest. his face is pale and and there are a few scratches running along his cheeks and neck. he hears (y/n) before he sees her, and quickly turns around to find the girl jumping into his arms.

"you're home!" she shrieks happily and tightens her hold around his neck. remus laughs and hugs back tightly. he notices frosting around her mouth and asks sternly, "and what is this, young lady?"

she smiles sheepishly and says, "it's cake! do you want some?"

sirius appears and remus turns to him. "sirius," remus starts, "you let (y/n) have cake for breakfast?"

sirius throws his hands in the air defensively. "i don't even get a hello kiss? not even a 'good morning, darling'? nothing?"

remus rolls his eyes and says grudgingly, "good morning, darling."

"that's better," sirius says as he leans in and kisses his husband's cheek. "if you must know, (y/n) and i made a deal. i let her have the cake in exchange for her letting me brush her hair. apparently, she likes it better when you do it."

remus looks back to (y/n), who's staring intently at his face. she picks up one of her little hands and places it on the cuts running from his chin to his right eye.

"what happened to your face? she asks sadly.

sirius and remus look at each other morosely. (y/n) doesn't know about remus's...condition, both men agreeing to tell her when she's older.

"just a...rough night at work, sweetheart." remus answers as he puts (y/n) down and walks over to the couch, throwing himself down on it. sirius follows him and runs a hand through his hair. (y/n) runs off into the kitchen, probably wanting to finish her cake quickly.

"was it a bad one?" sirius asks as he sits down beside remus.

remus shrugs. he always feels tired after a full moon, especially since he travels so far, as far away as he can to keep his family safe.

suddenly, (y/n) is standing next him, smiling as she dots his nose with frosting. remus laughs and picks her up again, holding her above her head. she stretches her arms in front of her, mimicking a superhero in flight, and remus "flies" her all over the living room until they hear a yelp of pain.

remus turns to see sirius doubled over, holding his chest. he quickly puts (y/n) down and hurries over to him, while (y/n) asks, "what's wrong with daddy?"

"sirius? darling, are you alright?" remus asks worriedly.

"oh! my heart! it's too full of love for you both! quick, i need a doctor!" sirius exclaims, feigning agony.

remus scoffs, grabs a pillow from the couch, and whacks his husband over the head with it. "that wasn't funny!"

sirius, rubbing his head, drawls, "oh, you wanna fight, do you? don't say i didn't warn you; you mess with the bull, you get the horns." he grabs a pillow and smacks remus's side.

remus doesn't care that he's dead tired, doesn't care if he's hungry and terribly needs a bath: he will take sirius down in this pillow fight even if it's the last thing he ever does.

(y/n) squeals and gets on the couch, jumping up and down, cheering both of them on.

after, with both pillows destoyed and feathers littering the living room (sirius definitely won, although remus would never admit that to anyone), sirius and remus flop down on the couch, preparing to doze off, when (y/n) exclaims, "but who's gonna clean this up?"

"oh...we'll worry about that later. come here, my little devil." sirius says tiredly and pulls (y/n) into his chest. remus loops an arm around sirius, and the three soundly sleep into the late hours of the evening, all interwined together.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

years later

"dad, i'm not five years old anymore. you don't have to do my hair anymore."

"stop moving around and let me braid your hair."

remus's fingers were definitely getting a bit too aged to be able to braid (y/n)'s hair with ease like he used to when she was small, but he was able to manage decent plaits to tame (y/n)'s wild hair.

both remus and (y/n) look into the mirror, and remus smiles. he places his hands on (y/n)'s shoulders and sighs wistfully, "oh...look at how much my angel's grown."

"don't start getting all sappy on me now, dad." (y/n) laughs as she shrugs off her dad's hand as she starts downstairs.

remus blocks the door way. "nuh uh. you can't leave without letting me hug you first."

(y/n) smiles and rolls her eyes, but gives in either way. she wraps her arms around her father's waist tightly, and remus can swear he's the happiest man in the world.

they pull apart when they hear glass shattering from the kitchen. remus and (y/n) rush downstairs and find sirius balancing on top of a chair, holding a pan in the air defensively. two glass cups are sitting on the counter, the third one in broken shards on the floor.

"sirius, what on earth are you doing?" remus asks as he moves into the kitchen.

"oh, good, you're here! you have to help me, there's a spider holding me hostage over here!"

(y/n) laughs. "dad, we've been through this before! all you have to do..." she trails off as she graps a cup and traps the spider in it, then takes a table mat and slides it under the cup, "is catch it, and set it free."

she places the spider on the open windowsill, and it scuttles away into the garden.

sirius precariously climbs down from chair as remus sweeps up the broken glass. "you're a lifesaver, you are," sirius says as he claps a hand on (y/n)'s back.

"that's me, full-time superhero."

. . .

sirius and remus are on the couch, watching the telly (that sirius begged to have), and almost dozing off when sirius feels a tug on his sleeve.

"dad? dad, are you awake?"

sirius groggily opens his eyes and sees his daughter staring into his face. "(y/n)," he asks, "what's wrong?"

the soft voices wake up remus as he too sits up and rubs his eyes. he takes notice of (y/n), and a worried expression crosses his face. "are you alright, sweetheart?"

(y/n) nods her head quickly and says, "everything's fine, it's just...i had a nightmare, could i sleep here with you guys?"

remus and sirius instantly scoot apart to make space for (y/n), who squeezes in between them. she's not as small as she used to, but is cozy enough as her dads close in beside her.

"remember when you were smaller and would sleep in sirius's arms?" remus asks his daughter.

she nods sleepily, "i'm far too big for that now."

remus and sirius laugh, and cuddle in closer. the scene is a sight for sore eyes, and (y/n) easily dozes off, glad she has the warmth of her dads on either side of her.

because two is always better than one, right?

#wolfstar #wolfstar imagine #dad!sirius #dad!remus #harry potter fluff #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #harry potter angst #wolfstar fluff #remus calling his daughter sweetheart😫#sirius calling his daughter 'my little devil'😫#remus x sirius #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #sirius x lupin #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black and remus lupin

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

the girl in purple (1/8) | r.b.

summary: In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight. Or, four years ago, Bertholdt asked for a favour and you said yes.

WARNINGS: swearing, ass jokes, flashbacks and flashforwards, mostly fluff and banter, pining and angst at the end, bertholdt is our soft best friend <3 pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 5.0k

a/n: pt 1 of 8 of a birthday present for the legend, the icon, the bad bitch herself, ISABEL!!@!@!@ @luciilferss ALSO, song not mine! it’s the sea shanty called wellerman.

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

You sigh, wiping the back of your hand before grabbing the next hay bale that needed to be lifted to the loft. Your back aching, you grit your teeth as you lug it towards the ladder. It’s the last one and after a sweaty afternoon, you just want to get into bed. Hopefully Annie did end up getting you supper—you had to work through it just so Shadis didn’t get your ass up tomorrow to finish the job.

“Here, let me help.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, glancing to see your savior and a warmth shoots through your body when you realize it’s Bertholdt. “You know if Shadis catches you helping me, it’s going to be hell to pay, right?” The boy smiles, shrugging, and you can’t help your own grin as he gestures for you to climb up. Skirting up the ladder, you turn around to take the hay bale and pushing it towards the corner before jumping down and dusting off your hands. Stable clean-up is never fun, but with autumn right around the corner, they all want to get a head start before the chill sets in.

“I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you were in here,” you tease. “Shoot.”

“Well, we have visiting privileges next weekend,” Bertholdt continues as you walk around the stables, picking up tools as you make your way towards where the broom is leaning against the wall. The tall boy ambles after you and you shoot him an amused look, curiosity pricking at your fingers.

Half-way through their training in the corps, and Bertholdt still manages to keep you guessing. You don’t know what it is about him, but your friend’s always been the quiet one. It’s part of why you like being around him, but you just wish his friend liked you. Annie seems more than fine with you.

Reiner, on the other hand, can barely even look at you. It’s a real downer.

“I was just wondering…”

“You should ask Annie,” you cut off before he can finish, picking up the broom to begin sweeping the stray hay into a neat pile. Bertholdt’s spine goes ramrod straight and his cheeks redden so intensely you can’t help but laugh. “I’m pretty sure she would say yes. You guys are friends, right?”

“Yes, but we’re—we’re not—why would I ask Annie, specifically?” he stammers. The horses neigh as you walk past, their necks stretching out for treats but you ignore them, heading for the entrance. “She could go with a bunch of other people.”

“Yeah, but she always goes with me.” Glancing at Bertholdt, your eyes narrow when he smacks his forehead, covering his flustered expression miserably. Poking him in the gut with the handle of your broom, you continue, “And she only likes a few people here. You’re one of them, Bertl.”

“Well, if you think so. I mean, you’re her dorm mate, not me, so… argh!” he groans as you walk past him, sweeping. “You’re not helping!”

“Helping with what?” you ask innocently, not paying him a second look. You hear him let out a sigh as you brush hay to the back of the stables. “You’re the one who wanted a favour.”

“Yeah, and I still need to tell you.”

“Literally no one’s stopping you, Bertholdt.” Another resigned sigh. “Okay. Okay. Ask me. I promise I won’t tease you for the next ten minutes.” Turning around, you rest your broom against the post between two stalls. A horse nudges at your face and you scratch the stallion’s chin as Bertholdt walks closer. His eyes inspect your own expression, searching for trickery, but you only grin.

Then, he drops his crossed arms and says, “Someone wants to ask you out next weekend for our visit to Trost.”

“Er, okay? Why didn’t they just ask me themselves?” Crossing your own arms, you lean against the post, the lantern hanging above your head and casting everything in a warm glow. It softens Bertholdt’s smile as he shrugs mischievously. “Who was it?”

“Reiner.”

“Reiner?” His name is punched out of you, sharp with shock, and your broom slides off the post, clattering to the floor between the two cadets as you stare at Bertholdt.

“Mhm?”

“Reiner Braun.”

“Yep.”

“We know the same one, don’t we?”

“Blond, makes ass jokes, this tall?” he shoots back, raising a hand that comes just near his ear. You nod. “Yeah.”

“But he hates me.”

“What? No, he doesn’t. Why would you think that?” Bertholdt’s eyebrows knit together and you stare at him incredulously, not sure if he’s joking or not. Shaking your head, you let out a scoff and bend down to pick up your broom to continue your sweeping. Mind a swirl, you try to reconcile the Reiner, who has never said more to you than ‘pass the grease’ during ODM maintenance and ‘you have dirt on your chin’ after forest exercises, with the Reiner who had to ask Bertholdt to ask you out for him.

Sounds fake, but you digress.

“Okay,” you drawl, unable to help the disbelief from creeping into your voice. “This was a good attempt at a joke, but you need to try harder next time.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I ever believe you?”

“Because I would never li—make something up like that,” he says, correcting himself, and you send him a strange look. “Just… when we get to Trost, you know that bakery that sells the stuffed cream buns. The one you mentioned before?”

“Yeah. Annie likes them,” you inform him pointedly, and Bertholdt’s mouth drops open to argue but he seems to think better of it this time.

“Yes, that one.” Fighting a furious blush on his cheeks, he continues, “If you’re there at noon, you’ll see I’m not lying.”

“And if I’m not there?”

“Reiner will be very sad for the rest of his life,” Bertholdt declares and you can’t help your serious expression from sliding off. “Will you please just consider it?”

Staring at your friend, you study his expression. It’s completely genuine, open, eyes wide and you feel a part of you melting at how adorable he is. For such a tall guy, he’s so goddamn gentle it blows your mind he’s a fighter. You can’t see him hurting even so much as a fly.

It’s for that reason you relent. Because Bertholdt’s never gone out of his way to scheme your downfall. He doesn’t have that in him. “Fine,” you say after a moment. “Fine, I’ll consider it.”

When Reiner steps back into the port city, he can’t help but think what he always thinks when he gets off a battlefield. Four years, and every thought is the same. Routine, almost. Or maybe, a habit to keep something alive.

And he almost takes comfort in it. That you would’ve loved it here. In Marley—Liberio, or otherwise. There are so many kinds of sweets, pastries, so many sights to see—the water stretches on for miles and miles, and you could’ve tried seafood. Maybe you would’ve liked it.

You never tried seafood. He promised. He promised—

Fucking hell.

He steps out of the barracks, insides twisting into a tight knot as the sun blinds him. Lifting a hand, he squints and blinks, trying to get used to the brightness as people pass him by. Galliard’s voice trails after him like a ghost, and he scowls to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He feels like he hasn’t slept a wink, and his body aches in places so deep he can’t rub it out.

“I saw you through her memories. You acted like the tough, reliable type. Not at all like yourself. And you were with that girl. Who was she to you, anyway, Reiner? Because my brother would have never cozied up with the enemy.”

Cozied up with the enemy. It’s as much as implying fraternization as anything and Reiner had barely chained back the words that would’ve torn both him and Galliard to shreds.

Don’t you fucking dare reduce her to just some promise I broke ever again. It stopped meaning something to me years ago.

Shaking his head free of Galliard’s voice, an image of you flashes through his mind to replace it and the urge to send a fist into his own face lances down his arm, but he barely restrains himself from doing so. Instead, he tightens his hand until his nails dig into his palm.

You’re always the one thing he can’t shake, nor does he think he wants to.

Hollow, his feet drag his battered body towards the harbour.

As he walks along the water, he hear some of the fishermen whistle and sing their shanties. It takes him a moment to recognize they’re all singing the same song, and he’s thrown back to when he came to the port the first time he was to go off to Paradis, how he committed the shanties to memory so he could take something with him to what was supposed to be an Island of Devils.

It makes his entire body ache, the uplifting tune filling his body up until he can’t possibly breathe. The way the sailors all sing together, smiling at each other—the camaraderie.

“Soon may the Wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum, one day when the toungin’ is done, we’ll take our leave and go…”

He misses that the most.

The sun is hanging in the centre of the sky as you glance from your plate to your surroundings. The fountain is full of life, people milling around the edges, tossing coins in and making wishes, and you hide a smile behind your hand when you watch a group of kids trying to flick their coins to the top most basin of the structure. The tiny plink-plink is barely heard, but either way, their groans of disappointment are far more amusing.

It helps pass the time at least, while you waste away your afternoon waiting for someone you’re not even sure will come. Dressed in a white blouse tucked into a long dark purple skirt that covers your pants, you cross one leg over the other as you wait.

You don’t even know why you’re here. Bertholdt had all but avoided your questions for the past week, and Annie didn’t budge, although, it’s harder for the blonde to slip. Being bunkmates helps, but not that much.

You keep people-watching, glancing up at the sky occasionally to see if any birds pass over, your bread untouched. Glancing up and down the street, you rest your chin glumly on the palm of your hand, elbow resting on the table.

No pretty blond head in sight.

Groaning, you lift your head when one of the waiters approaches, asking if you wanted anything more. You shake your head, a warmth spreading over your face and watching him go when a shadow falls over your table.

“Oh, you got something to eat already.”

Head jerking to the voice, you look up in surprise at whoever’s blocking your sunlight. Standing upright, your chair clatters against cobblestone as you clear your throat.

“You’re actually here,” you blurt out to both of their surprise and Reiner rocks back on his heels, running a hand through his short hair. His eyebrows struggle to meet his hairline and he smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry I’m late. Uh, sit down. I just… got lost.” You sink back into your chair and he takes the seat down across from yours nervously. He’s dressed in a pale green button up and darker slacks, but for once, he’s not scowling at you and you offer a slight smile. “How… how are you?”

“I’m okay. Slow morning.” He nods. You glance at your plate and nudge it towards him awkwardly. “I got it for you. It’s my favourite. I dunno what Bertl told you about me, or… why I’m even here, honestly.”

He picks up the bun tentatively, and you look down at your boots as he takes a bite, too nervous to watch his reaction.

What if he hates sweet things? What if he can’t drink cow milk? Don’t you remember? What if it makes him shit his pants—

“Oh, wow. I need to come to this place more often,” Reiner mumbles, taking another huge bite and your gaze flits to his face as he chews. His eyes are focused solely on the bun in a way that reminds you a lot like Sasha, and the corner of your mouth pulls into a pleased hint of a smile. “This is heaven…”

“You like it?”

A noise escapes the blond and eyes jerk to meets yours as if he just remembered you were there and you tear your eyes away, clasping your hands together on the table. You close your eyes. Can the embarrassment just swallow you up already?

Reiner clears his throat, taking the cup of water left out for him after a quick point and your nod. He drains it to buy them both time, and your thumbs rub together. If you just walk away now, would it be too bad? You could probably find Annie or Jean pretty easily. Bertholdt’s probably just exploring the city with… if you had to hazard a guess, maybe Armin? They both like the architecture—stuff like that.

Honestly, you have no idea.

Porcelain rests against wood as Reiner nods. “I do. I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”

“Er, yeah. Since I was a kid. We didn’t have much, uh, variety, so stuff like this was kinda a delicacy. I grew up at this orphanage where we worked the fields.” You shift in your seat as Reiner continues to eat, and you sigh silently to yourself. Why did you give up an afternoon looking at paint supplies with Jean for an awkward date like this?

Wait, this is a date right? That’s what Bertholdt said. Ask you out. Those were his words, right?

“Where are you from?”

“Just inside Wall Maria, so when Shiganshina was breached, we had more time to move inward,” you explain briefly. “But we mostly ate what we grew for crops. I mean, it’s not like we could buy cream buns every day, you know?” Reiner nodded silently, and you give him an uneasy smile, feeling the need to elaborate. “Ever since we joined the corps, they send me money for birthdays and stuff. I don’t know.” You clear your throat. “Anyway, I just thought you might like the bun.”

“Even though you think I hate you?”

“Wha—“ A strangled noise comes out of your mouth. “Who told you that?”

“Why would you think that, anyway?”

“Because all you do is glare at me,” you say pointedly. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shoot him a narrowed look. “And scowl. And you generally avoid being anywhere near me. I mean, do I stink to you or something, Braun, because I have news for you—“

“I don’t hate you. I actually really like you,” he tells you bluntly, cutting your rant in half, and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Reiner looks down at the empty plate, crossing his own arms and leaning forward on them.

“Y-you like me?” you stammer and his cheeks redden.

“I mean, if Annie likes someone, I’m inclined to believe that they’re worth my time.”

Frowning, your shoulders slump. Gears turning, your expression scrunches up as you think aloud. “But, you asked Bertholdt to ask me out for you. Unless this is a dumb dare—wait.” You sit upright, twisting around to see if any of the other boys are milling around the plaza. Scanning for brown hair, or grey hair, or even blond hair, your cheeks begin to burn at the idea that someone’s watching you embarrass yourself but a hand on your elbow brings your gaze reeling back to Reiner.

A smile curls his lips impishly, but his eyes are resolute, calmer. Even still, he looks like he’s trying to fight a small panic rising up inside him, just like you are as he tells you to relax.

“This isn’t a dare,” he says. “I’m not that cruel.”

“I’ve seen you do worse to Titan dummies.”

“Exactly. I just wanted to get to know you better. Bertholdt offered to help me out since you guys are already friends, and I thought what the hell.”

You turn that explanation over in your head tentatively and a part of you recognizes it makes sense. Despite your hesitation, you know you only said yes because it was Bertholdt who asked you.

Otherwise, how inclined were you to say yes if it had been Reiner stalking up to you and asking you to hang out in Trost? How likely would it have been that you would be sitting here instead of walking along the stalls with Sasha and Connie?

“I’m kinda ashamed I don’t know you that well,” Reiner continues, fighting off tones you can’t decipher laced in his voice. Your brow furrows. “But I want to fix that, if you’d let me.”

Dazedly, you repeat, “Fix… that?”

He nods and you simply stare at him, trying to get your mouth to work. It’s like he stole all the words from your mouth and time seems to slow as your lips part.

Absently, you realize his hand is still touching your elbow, fingers firm but not tight, and you swallow, studying his expression. Golden light plays on his face, sharpening the shadows of his nose and cheeks and lips, and yet everything about him seems to soften. Normally, you see him as hard rigid lines, like the shape of armour, and there is always an imposing aura around him that has become more muted now that he’s sitting beside you.

And you believe it. That he doesn’t hate you.

Maybe he really, really doesn’t, and you’d be an idiot if you don’t take up the offer.

So you stand up abruptly, and pull your arm out of his grip before slipping your hand into his.

“Fine,” you annouce, pulling him up. His eyes widen and you lead him away from the café with a small grin to yourself. A new plan begins to formulate in your mind as they step into the welcoming sun. Reiner’s long strides catch up to yours and he falls into step beside you. His stare burns into your cheek and you only tighten your grip on his hand as you lift your chin haughtily at him. “What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

His eyebrows shoot up, but then a smug smile pulls at his mouth and he squeezes your hand back. “Sounds perfect, creampie. I promise, I’ll be perfectly honest.”

“Creampie?” you repeat dumbly, eyebrows shooting up and a horrible burning licking at your heart. Reiner gives you a vulgar smile and you let go of his hand, shaking your head and smacking his arm before looking down at the ground. Half of you wishes the ground would open up and swallow you whole—the other half thinks you’ll die of embarrassment before that. “How do you even know what that is?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You straighten up, spine straight as an arrow. Flustered, you stutter, “That’s none of your business.”

He tilts his head back and laughs. “Guess that was your first question, then, huh? Bold start. Surprised me, too, creampie, so that gets you bonus points.”

“What? Wait—no! That doesn’t count!”

Walking past the hospital every day, it feels almost ritual to look past the gates and into the courtyard. Sometimes there are patients milling around, doing their daily physical activity, or nurses and other workers walking through to get a break from all the depressing shit that must be going on in there, and Reiner always, always, wonders if he should be in there with the rest of them.

It’s why he turns his head on reflex now, peering through iron-wrought gates. No one’s inside except for a pair walking through the path and he stops for a moment, watching.

One of them is most definitely a woman, a hat covering her head and a long coat the shade of plums. A white Eldian armband is stark against the shade of her clothes. Meanwhile the other looks like he’s been dragged through hell. With one leg, he hobbles along with his crutch, black hair streaming past his shoulders, and he’s ragged, white shirt kind of messy from where Reiner stands. The Eldian armband is wrapped tight along his bicep. But he stands straight-back, shoulders set, the gait of a soldier. Pride keeps him up, not strength.

He’s too far away to hear them speak, and they stick to the shadows of the hospital, but after a short moment, the woman wraps an arm around the one not desperately holding onto the crutch, leaning in closer towards the man as if he has the most riveting thing to say.

For a moment, it is not a woman in a purple jacket and a veteran with one leg but two cadets walking the streets of Trost, sunlight shining down on them warmly. The blond boy leans to listen to the girl beside him, smiling until he thought his cheeks would fall off.

“This is your last question, Reiner. Make it count.”

“Hm… alright, if you could do anything in the world, anything at all, what would you do? No Titans, no soldiers. Let’s say there was no war at all and you had unlimited resources, yadda, yadda, yadda…”

“Oh? Hm… I’d want to live where there’s a lot of water. Like a lake or something. I’d get to try all these foods I’ve never thought of before, and I’d, uh… I don’t know what I’d do for money. I guess I’d figure it out somehow.”

“Chopping down wood sounds fun.”

“Yeah, right! I’d rather chop my fingers off. Hm… Maybe I could raise some kids, like I was raised. Give them a home.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I dunno. I like being responsible for things. It makes me feel like I’m needed, I guess. I don’t want a kid to grow up lonely like I did.”

“That… that sounds nice.”

“You could visit, you know. As long as you chop the firewood.”

Reiner blinks, and the two are gone. Not a hint of them are in sight, and a soft breath slips out between his lips. He must’ve been seeing things.

Shaking his head to himself, he turns away.

The past year and a half has been turbulent since you became friends with Reiner, but for some reason, you don’t think you would change the thing.

Not even when Connie would come at ghastly hours in the morning because “CAN YOU PLEASE TELL REINER TO STOP SNORING? We would but we’re too afraid of being crushed by the weight of his entire body. Thank you! You’re the best, seriously.”

Or when they’re studying and Reiner makes one too many jokes about how he could fuck a Titan, despite Bertholdt’s resigned sighs and you throwing a book at him, and it only gets you, “Keep acting like that and I’ll take a bite out of your juicy ass next, creampie,” and a heat that kisses at your face.

Not even after reclaiming Trost and losing yourself in his arms.

You feel something inside you shatter as the smell of ash tickles at your nose. Walking past the combat medics base they set up for the parameter of the recovery effort, you don’t even look up at any of your friends still left as you walk past. Your entire body burns from the aftermath of Trost, and you wonder if you’ll be able to even get up in the morning as you limp over to a secluded alleyway and lean against the stone.

You don’t know if you’ve ever fought for that long or hard in your life, and you can’t feel your legs anymore as you sink to the floor.

Too many bodies. There are too many bodies.

“Hey.”

Looking up, you pull your mask down when Reiner stands before you. Tearing the fabric off your neck, you draw your knees up and rest your arms on top of them, the mask hanging off your fingers limply. A strange relieving wave washes over you to know he’s still here, even surrounded by so much death.

“Hi,” you murmur. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” he agrees simply, leaning in beside you and sliding down. Their knees knock into one another as he tugs his own mask down. Sweat glistens along his skin and his sleeves are rolled up as he clears his throat. “I’m glad you made it out.”

You smile faintly at him but it flickers out before it can find a place on your face. Looking at your hands, you imagine the rough skin of calluses forming on your palms still and you wish you could rip your gloves off but every part of you is too exhausted to move now. Softly, you tell him, “I’m glad you made it out, too. There are a few of us I haven’t really caught sight of. I know Eren’s squad is dead. I—“ you stop yourself. No way Reiner is interested in the fact that you had taken their deaths in stride because you had to in the moment and now you don’t think you can feel at all— “but… Marco. I haven’t seen him in days. Jean hasn’t seen him either.”

“M-Marco?” Reiner whispers and your eyes lift to look at him. “You haven’t found him yet?” Gaze widening at the colour draining from Reiner’s face, your stomach flips and a dread fills your entire being as you sit upright, your legs sliding down, your arms falling to the ground to prop yourself up. Lungs tightening, your lips part as if to form his name but no sound comes out.

You know what his silence means. His silence is death spelt out in glaring red letters—the same shade as blood.

But Marco?

Why Marco? A caustic voice screams inside you and your nails dig into the cobblestone as Reiner turns his face away, jaw clenching. Trying to breathe, the air stalls in your throat and your gut clenches as your gaze drifts to the street full of combat medics and doctors, other soldiers who still walk. What—what do you mean Marco isn’t one of them? You want to grab Reiner by the jacket, shake him until he makes sense, but instead you search for freckles behind every mask, stumbling to your feet. Marco never did anything wrong. He was supposed to join the MPs. He was our… our leader. He never did anything wrong.

He never did anything wrong. Never. Never. Not Marco. It can’t be. The thought tumbles through your head as you push yourself to your feet but your knees nearly give in on the first step and you stumble to the other side of the alleyway with a harsh noise. Shoulder crashing into the stone, your eyes squeeze tight and hot tears pour down your face as you clench your teeth, trying to chain back the sob that’s working through your body. Head hanging, your mouth pries open as an ugly moan comes out of you, so deep inside you that you want to crumble.

Days seem to pile onto your shoulders until you think your bones will break and your fingers curl into tight fists as you try to stop the tears from falling, but they keep coming, tracing your nose, pushing everywhere and everything is so hot. Shit, you can’t even breathe—

Hands take your shoulders and you let out a ferocious scream, thrashing yourself out of your grip but fingers only slide to your biceps, pulling you away from the wall as your boots slip against the cobblestone and then hands are on your wrists, pushing away your blind fists.

“Let me go! He’s dead, isn’t he?” you scream as he lets go of you for just a second to wrap his arms around you and you let out a shuddering breath as he crushes you in his embrace. “Reiner! Tell me! Marco’s dead!”

“Yes! Yes, he is!”

His words spear through your skull, sending electricity down your spine and your entire body goes limp as he collapses to his knees, you with him. Your arms at your side, your eyes blink open and you feel fresh tears fall down your face as he cups the back of your head, holding you to him and as something wet seeps into your shoulder, it’s as if you are set on fire.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

On their own accord, your arms come up under his and fingers hook onto his shoulders. Chest to chest, you swear your heart beats in a mournful beat with his, and his entire body collapses against yours. Eyes closing, you press yourself closer, hoping that the heat of his body will chase away the cold that’s rapidly spreading through your body.

Reiner’s arm around your waist tightens. You swallow hard against his shoulder.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers against your neck, wet cheek pressing against your jaw, and your chest stutters as you try to remember how to breathe.

“Reiner…”

You barely breathe his name. It only makes him curl tighter against you.

Liberio is colder at night than he remembers. He has to pull the blankets up to his chin, and still, he shivers.

Rolling onto his side, he can nearly imagine you staring back beside him, smiling, hand reaching to touch his face, and his eyes flutter shut when your fingers seem to pass through his cheek.

In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight.

By then, he had known there weren’t any devils on Paradis, but he’d never seen an angel until he saw you cast in gold.

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

5K notes · View notes

shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

Heart of the Storm

Todoroki Shouto

word count : 11.0k bruh why do i do this

[ ☀︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] a lil fluff in beginning/end

themes : igloo sex?? LMAO, shy!reader, steam/sweat kink?, dom!shouto, teasing, temperature play

bio : Shouto warms you up in the midst of the blizzard, in more ways than one.

author’s note : this stemmed from a crack fic idea but damnnnn if it isn’t hot in here now :O this is also a piece for @bnhabookclub ‘s first event— the provisional licensing exam! i’m using prompt #9: “Your lips are really warm.”

tagging: @simplybakugou thanks for beta reading lovely ♥︎ & big thanks for thirsting with me & basically directing the fic @lildreamer93 ♥︎

also available on AO3 here

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🅃he dark clouds approaching the mountain paint the sky in an ominous manner, the wind scraping your raw cheeks. You place one foot in front of the other, the snow crunching with protest underneath your weight. Your nose is runny, tucked beneath a thick scarf, and your eyes are glassy from the freezing winds that only seem to be intensifying. The thick coat does its best to block the wind from your body, but the powerful gusts manage to sneak through the fastenings down your middle, allowing cold to quietly spread into your body.

A hand around your forearm rustles you from your bleary focus on the path ahead of you. Your accomplice’s heterochromatic gaze pierces into your tired eyes, the only parts of your faces that aren’t tucked away under layers of clothes. He gently pulls your arm towards him, and with his gloved fingers wrapped securely around your limb, he guides you off of the path. You enter an empty snowbank littered with skinny, ice-covered trees, almost collapsing on the slight decline of the trail.

Shouto catches you awkwardly, the thick outerwear making his movements slower than usual. But he holds you steady, refusing to let you fall into the thick carpet of white that licks up to the middle of your calves. Pulling your body close to his, his worried eyes fall on your closed ones, making his heart thump against his ribcage. With your head laying on his shoulder, he leans forward and talks in a slightly heightened voice so you can hear him over the screaming winds. “Y/N-san, let’s take a break,” he suggests, but it doesn’t sound like there is much room for disagreement.

You nod weakly, your gloved hand finally coming up out of your pocket to push yourself off of him to show him you still have some strength left. It’s just so damn cold.

Shouto frowns underneath his scarf, his hands falling from your figure as you stand on your own once more. He watches you lean against one of the thin trunks that pierces through the chalky blanket on the ground. He can tell you’re exhausted, and he won’t lie— he’s not feeling his strongest at the moment either. His left hand offered to you, you grab onto his arm for support, mustering up the strength to continue the trek to your destination.

But he steers you into the middle of the clearing, where no spindling trunks break the perfect layer of ivory on the forest floor. He shakes your hold off of his arm much to your distaste, but as soon as he’s freed the limb, he wraps it around your shoulders, collecting your body into his chest. You bend into him willingly, your hidden cheeks feeling warm for the first time in hours.

With you secured tightly against him, Shouto pushes down the scarf covering his face, his teeth gripping the fingertip of his right glove. Your eyes widen as he exposes his hand to the howling, icy winds, and a part of you wants to immediately grab his fingers and tuck them away from the offensive temperature. But you can’t help the awe that blooms in your chest as a stream of frost explodes from his outstretched palm. He flicks his wrist casually, and the ice that lands on the ground builds around you into an effortless, shiny dome. He continues the motion until the bellowing wind no longer assaults your ears, and your eyes are no longer watery.

Your gaze roams over his creation, admiring the way the ice has a perfect sheen, halfway clear enough to produce a distorted reflection that peers back at you. Your shaking hands snake out of the pockets in your jacket, hesitantly hooking the material of your scarf down to tuck under your chin. “W-Wow, Shouto-san, this is… incredible,” you murmur, eyes finally landing on the tall male who’s currently savoring the cute, dazed look on your face.

His mouth curves into a half smile, his expression softening at your pink cheeks and nose. “I’m going to step out and thicken the walls before the storm hits, so just sit tight, Y/N-san. I won’t be long.” He turns and removes his other glove, placing the pair on the glistening snow by his feet. He activates his quirk, blasting a hole half his height into the side of the dome, and leaving your field of vision.

You quickly pull the scarf back up over your face. Even if the formation Shouto had created shields you from the full force of the wind, the powerful gusts still creep into the dome and tousle your clothes. You waddle over to his gloves, collecting the cloth and tucking it under your arm so the snow doesn’t dampen the material. You shake the heavy pack down your shoulders, frowning as it lands unceremoniously into the snow. Your clumsy fingers quivering, it takes a few tries to pinch the zipper— but you finally latch on and pull it sideways triumphantly, your other hand searching for the black, waterproof material inside.

You finally find the tent at the bottom of your backpack, and you unfold it haphazardly, spreading the textile across the top of the snow. Hopefully the fabric will be thick enough to stop some of the cold from the frozen ground from seeping through. Your mind wanders as your hands run over the thick material, thinking back to just days before you were caught in this blizzard.

Your agency had been working with Shouto’s in order to take down a ring of criminals who were known for slipping into the shadows after committing their heinous acts, due to their extensive knowledge of the Japanese landscape. You and Shouto had been in the same group that was to watch over the foothills of the mountains surrounding the village that was known to be their next hit, but the villains had scattered upon seeing the group of heroes. You had each been prepared with packs, clothes, and rations, but the ensuing blizzard was quite the surprise. You weren’t sure how exactly you ended up with Shouto, just the two of you, but you could not muster up even a scrap of a complaint. He was so charming and handsome after all— if you had to be stuck in this storm with anyone, you were glad it was with him. Not to mention his quirk seemed like the perfect match for the cold storm almost upon you.

You’re torn from your thoughts as Shouto’s frame hunches through the hole he had created, his back to you as he seals the tunnel with more ice. You realize how much darker it had become, the ice not nearly as transparent as before. You wonder how much he had thickened the walls of your refuge, or if the dark was due to the icy squall that had begun to howl outside.

Shouto turns, heaving out a sigh as he drops the pile of logs he had carried, the cylindrical segments rolling on the icy snow. He takes in the tent on the ground, and lets out a breath of air as he forces the hood of his jacket off his head, his scarf once again falling down to reveal his face. “Looks like we’ll be here for awhile,” he humors, crouching down in the center of the floor and directing his left palm there. Flames lick his skin as he melts the snow, a puddle forming in the center of the ground before it evaporates, leaving a rocky, earthy terrain underneath. “Perfect,” he murmurs, positioning the logs into a triangular pile, keeping the flame on his palm lit to provide enough light.

You watch as he nods absentmindedly at the wooden stack on the ground, lowering his hand to the logs and letting the flames lap at the bark. You chuckle hastily, making his eyes dart towards your face. At his inquisitive look, your gaze drops to the flames starting to take on the kindlings. “Shouto-san, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you state bashfully, sitting down atop the tarp. You add a bit quieter, “I think I would’ve froze to death by now if I hadn’t found you.”

A miniscule shade of pink flashes across his cheeks, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from your words or from the cold. He intently watches the flames grow for a moment before his eyes jump to yours, the small smile resurfacing on his rosy lips. “I would never let that happen, Y/N-san.”

Unsure how to respond, your eyes dart away from his, landing on the fire once more. “Won’t that melt the, uh… igloo?” You ask, looking at the high ceiling of the dome directly over the growing embers. Shouto had made the structure a considerable height, so you figured he had accounted for it, but you wanted to change the subject anyway.

“I tried to make the top of the structure far away enough so it won’t… but even if it does, I can just refreeze it,” he assures, standing up and walking over to you. You scoot to the side as he sits beside you, taking advantage of the tent. You nod as if you hadn’t already come to that conclusion, taking a shy glance at him.

He’s a respectable distance away from you, but close enough to reach out and touch. He catches your glance, the gentle smile still gracing his mouth. Your eyes widen as you notice a long scratch on the side of his face, slashing over the bottom of his scar. “Shouto-san! Are you okay?” You scoot towards him, your hands reaching out to touch his face. His eyes widen at your bold gesture, and he stiffens as you take his chin into your gloved hands.

Shouto lets out a stifled chuckle, his hands folding tightly on the tops of his legs. “It’s just a scratch.” Even if it’s through the thick sheepskin mittens, he allows himself to enjoy your touch for a moment. He shakes off his own backpack, your hands sinking off his face as he holds it up in one hand and jerks his head toward it. “I’m better off than this thing, anyway.”

The backpack is torn, the majority of the bag totally missing as if it had been ripped away forcefully; completely shredded. You gape at the object, then check the back of his jacket to thankfully discover it’s totally intact.

“The guy I was chasing had a strange animalistic quirk that gave him sharp teeth,” Shouto looks at the disheveled rucksack, “and claws.” He points at the scratch along his high cheekbone, shrugging his shoulders in a relaxed manner. His stomach flips at the frown that blossoms on your lips.

You turn away from him and rummage through your bag, making an exclamation as you find the small first aid kit you had packed. His eyebrows raise as you look at him shyly, pulling off your gloves in a modest fashion. “Please let me patch you up,” you appeal, grabbing the tube of antibiotic ointment hastily and uncapping it. “I want to feel like I’ve at least helped you in some way today. My quirk isn’t very useful out here,” you chuckle sadly, eyes trailing off to the side of his face.

Shouto nods crisply, his gaze trained on the hand stretching toward him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, watching how your bare fingers shake violently. He knows you’re cold, but it shocks him when your fingertip touches his cheek— the icy feeling making his skin prickle. He allows you to spread the cream across the cut, but immediately once you’re done, he envelops the back of your hand in his own, long fingers folding around yours. “Y/N-san, you’re so cold,” he says almost to himself, his other hand following the same action.

With your hands in his, your face blooms into a heated flush, a gentle gasp escaping you at the tingles that sprout on your skin fed by his natural warmth. Your reaction spurs him on, and he transfers your hand so that both of them are tucked neatly into his left. The burst of intense heat makes your eyes go wide as he activates his quirk ever so slightly. The sheer strength of even a fraction of his power sends a chill down your spine, a fuzzy numbness rushing through your hands as they regain feeling.

“S-Shouto-san,” you gulp, attempting to pull your hands from his to no avail, “you should save your strength, I can use the fire— I’m fine!”

Shouto’s eyebrow quirks amusedly at your request. “This is nothing,” he counters, but upon inspecting your sheepish expression, he begrudgingly grants your wish, his hands placing yours on your lap before disappearing into his pockets.

Your newly-nimble fingers hastily grab a flat, rectangular paper out of the first aid kit. You peel off the strips from either side of a bandage, placing the sticky side diagonally over the scratch on his cheek. He seems satisfied with the way your fingers only barely quiver now, and he doesn’t attempt to take your hands into his again.

“Thank you for helping me, Y/N-san,” he smiles at you, making the cold in your bones feel just a bit duller. You nod, closing the kit and placing it on the ground next to your bag. The conversation dries, and you wrack your brain to think of something to talk about. You and Shouto were friendly colleagues, but you’d never really had the chance to talk to him alone like this, and you were both not really the talkative type.

Reaching into your pack, you produce a cup-ramen and offer it to him. “Are you hungry, Shouto-san? I have two, so I have more than enough to share.”

Shouto accepts the package, a grin spreading on his lips. “Now here you are, saving my life,” he jests, peeling the lid halfway before shoveling some snow into the bowl with the lip of the container, “I could get used to your care.” You laugh a little too hard at his joke, following his actions with your own cup. You hand him the cup and he melts the snow leisurely, the water turning to a boil before he closes the lid, placing the cup on the ground in front of you.

As he copies the actions on his own cup, your hands find the chunky receiver the team had given each member before the stakeout started. Turning the device on, you hiss at the static shriek that pierces your eardrums, quickly lowering the volume before checking each of the channels. “Seems like the storm is interfering with the walkie,” you comment, placing the malfunctioning device back into your bag.

Shouto nods thoughtfully, his fingers laced underneath his chin as if he is in deep thought. “The storm will probably last the majority of the night. We’ll have to camp here for a while and we can check how the weather is at first light,” he explains his plan and you agree.

The pair of you eat your ramen in a comfortable silence, your toes slowly gaining feeling as you hold the tips of your boots close to the fire. You share the filtered water you had brought with the man beside you, both of you drinking only a third of the water combined in a mindful manner.

With the blood rushing to your stomach to digest the processed noodles, your fingertips begin to grow cold again. You push up your scarf once more, covering your pink nose and sticking your palms out toward the fire.

Shouto watches you with careful regard before glancing at his watch. “Y/N-san, perhaps you should try to rest while we wait for daylight,” he suggests, eyes twinkling at how cute you look with your eyelids drooping heavily in near-slumber.

You shoot him a lazy smile, nodding at his suggestion. You find the thick, silky sleeping bag that takes up the majority of your backpack’s capacity, undoing the bands that keep it compressed together. Noticing his lingering gaze on you, you shoot him a confused look. “Are you going to lay down as well, Shouto-san? We can use the tarp here if we lay next to each other.”

He smiles at your offer. “I would rather keep watch in case the villains decide to surprise us.”

You frown at his responsible intentions. “No one is going to be out in this blizzard, though. If the villains are dumb enough to do that, then they’ll surely be popsicles by the time we find them. Please, you should rest too, Shouto-san.” You pat the space on the tarp next to your sleeping bag expectantly.

He chuckles awkwardly, palm landing on the back of his neck. “I… seem to have lost my sleeping bag, actually,” he trails off, looking at the scraps of his backpack that remain. “Most of my things fell out when I was fighting.”

As if the thought comes to you both at the same time, your eyes meet and a flush replaces his usual suave expression. “You can share mine,” you speak before the words register in your brain, and as soon as they do, sweltering heat infiltrates your own cheeks. “I mean— if that would— if you need… it wouldn’t be w-weird. Besides… we should probably stay close for,” you gulp, “b-body heat.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” He replies a little too quickly for his own liking, cringing minorly at himself. He looks sideways at you, hesitance clear on his face.

You nod at him and he stiffly moves to the other side of the sleeping bag, willing his breath to stay steady. You unlace your boots, immediately sliding your woolen-sock clad feet inside. You wiggle into the slot, heart racing. Shouto takes off his own boots and shimmies into the envelope with you. It’s a one-person sleeping bag so the fit is a bit snug, the front of his jacket brushing against the back of yours. His long arm reaches over your torso to zip the bag closed, instantly withdrawing his hand to his side afterwards.

Now that you’re pushing up against him, he can feel your coat is slightly wet from the snow. “You should take that off— it’ll only make you colder since it's damp,” he whispers in your ear, making you stiffen against him. Shuffling a bit, your bottom skims against his crotch and his breath catches in his throat. His eyes admiring the tight sweater that’s revealed as you shed the jacket, he realizes his jacket is probably the same. He removes his as well, his hips pressing into your ass but they’re gone before you can even blink, his folded jacket a makeshift pillow long enough to cushion both your heads.

With both your jackets removed, he can feel how truly cold you are; your body shivering and your breath slightly hitched. You curl into yourself as much as you can, willing the frost away by brushing your limbs against each other slightly. The sleeping bag has good insulation, but it barely does anything yet since you offer no heat for it to retain. Your hands curl into half-fists, pressing them against your lips in hope to thaw them with your shaky breath.

Shouto’s warm breath on the shell of your ear sends a shiver down your spine. “Y/N-san, you’re shivering,” he comments, eyes raking over the smooth skin at the back of your neck. You gaze into the fire for a moment, begging for some kind of confidence in this situation.

You shift onto your back, rolling onto your other side so you can look at him. The wisp of courage you had scraped up is viciously snatched from you as your eyes meet his.

The emotion in his eyes is something you’ve never seen before, the intensity intimidating you so much that your lungs still mid-breath. His gaze is half-lidded, his hair falling perfectly over his eyes. Hot breath washes over your raw cheeks enticingly, making your skin prickle with apprehension.

“Can I…,” he trails off, and you’re surprised when you feel his fingers sheathe around yours, pulling your wrists directly toward his mouth. Your stomach flips as he breathes out, the warm air caressing your chilled skin. “Can I warm you up, Y/N?”

You swallow harshly, your eyes the size of dinner plates, you’re sure. But Shouto’s expression doesn’t falter, and your silence doesn’t bother him as he places the softest kiss on your knuckle. You’re shaking again, even though the cold in your body is pushed far into the back of your mind. “S-Shouto-san,” you peep, your voice an octave higher than usual. It feels strange to say his name so intimately, but he seems to enjoy the sound.

He lets out a long exhale, closing his eyes as his thumb presses into the middle of your palm, forcing your hand to open. “Your teeth are chattering— you’re so cold,” he states, a hand letting go of your wrist to jump to your waist.

It’s true, your skin is shockingly frigid against his, and your teeth rattle slightly at the loss of your jacket. His lips press against the next knuckle, keeping your gaze captured to his magnetic stare. His eyes are so intoxicating; one a refreshing aqua and the other a swirling storm of gray. They both hold an unspeakable passion; a force that quiets all your worries as soon as they sprout.

“I said I wouldn’t let you freeze, Y/N.” His fingers on your waist tighten and he pulls your body flush against his in one swift movement. Only the thick sweaters keep your skin from touching, and his hand slides up the curve of your waist, underneath the hem of the knitted fabric. You gasp, watching his wrist disappear at the bottom of the sweater as his hand glides across your skin. Even though this is his ice side, his touch is so warm compared to your flesh. You look back up to see he’s inched closer to you, lips nearly brushing against yours. “Are you gonna let me keep my word?”

You can’t seem to find any words, your body overwhelmed by his hot fingers dragging along your side. His stare demands your attention, and no matter how desperately you want to look away, your body refuses to follow your wishes. You can feel your nipples hardening against the cup of your bra, a warm tingle emerging between your legs. Your pussy flutters underneath your panties as he continues to kiss your hands, lips wandering over each knuckle, fingertip, and line along your palms. The realization that his touch is doing things to you only makes you feel more flustered.

Shouto’s hand weaves over yours, heat radiating off of him as he places your hand on the cusp of his jaw. “You’re still shivering,” he states, finally breaking eye contact only to glance at your lips briefly before his gaze returns to yours.

You find yourself nodding slightly, unconsciously welcoming his next intentions. Your fingers, now warmed and feeling fuzzy, push into the hair behind his ears, gently guiding his face toward yours. Your lips part with a soft whimper as his hand underneath your sweater flattens, the entire palm introducing a pleasant heat to your chilled skin. Shouto gathers you closer to him, strong arm wrapping around your waist tighter and pushing your face to fall only a short distance away from his. You can feel his breath on your face, warm and soft, as his eyes search your face for any hint of reluctance. He closes the space between your mouths at a turtle’s pace, allowing you ample opportunity to push him away.

But you don’t— you grab the front of his shirt with your free hand, the hand behind his ear pushing him forward so his lips lock with yours. A shared, strangled moan resonates off the walls of the igloo, lips pushing and pulling against each other at a feverish pace. The kiss is hot, and his lips feel like heaven against yours as his hands feather down your spine.

“Your lips are really warm,” you murmur as you pull away to catch your breath, eyes still closed and lungs feeling tight from a combination of the lack of air and the excitement— lust— pumping through you. Heat floods your cheeks as you realize you’d voiced your thoughts, an entertained look crossing Shouto’s features.

“Good,” he says as his lips touch yours again, this time more delicately than last. He kisses you for a moment, just long enough for you to lose your train of thought, before he pulls back quickly. “I’m gonna get you nice and warm, Y/N— I promise,” Shouto vows, capturing your mouth and claiming it as his, his tongue separating your lips and exploring your mouth.

You moan at the new sensation, allowing the wet muscle to dominate yours, body feeling weak, and hot, and wonderful. Shouto’s hands are still wandering over your skin underneath your sweater, rounding your waist to creep up your chest. Just as he’d been to initiate the kiss, his touch rises slowly, pausing just underneath the swell of your breast. The warmth seeps into your ribs, and you surprise yourself when your own hand leaves his chest to push his elbow up, moving his hand on top of your bra.

Shouto groans into your mouth, and you swear you can feel your panties dampen at the noise. Vibrations against your lips, your hand in his hair pulls gently at his scalp in response, only to elicit a second, similar sound from his throat. His hand squeezes your chest just the right amount— not too rough, but not gentle either— making you whimper into his mouth. He thumbs over your nipple through the thin silky material, lips curving into a satisfied smirk when you moan louder this time, fingers tightening your hold on him.

Your tongues tangling in a slow, sensual embrace, you drink up the heavy breaths that leave his open lips, high on his warmth and his touch. The thumb rubbing along your bra traces the edge of the cup, toying with the soft flesh underneath.

“Is this okay?” Shouto inquires huskily against your lips, inducing shivers to shoot toward your core. He’s crawling atop your body to hover above you, the sleeping bag rustling as he stays close to you, one leg splitting between yours and the hand not on your breast moving to prop himself up.

“Y-Yes Shouto-san,” you whine, eager to feel his tongue back on yours already. Your limbs are still shaking from the cold, but the excitement that blooms from his touch mixes into your veins like warm nectar to combat the icy frost that lingers there. His knee isn’t quite high enough to touch your pussy, but your cheeks become warmer at the realization that you want it to be.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he murmurs before his lips press against yours again, eliciting a weak moan from you. His kiss is warm and intoxicating, yet firm. Tongue invading your mouth again, you sigh contentedly as his hand squeezes at your breast, thumb dipping underneath your bra to brush against your pebbled bud. He starts to move his body just enough to create some friction between the two of you, and you moan again at the novel sensation, your hand moving around his broad shoulders to dig your nails into his sweater.

Your mind is hazy, unable to focus on anything as his mouth lands on the skin of your neck, a breathy moan washing over your throat as he begins to kiss and suck there. You squirm underneath his wide frame, the feeling of his tongue rolling against you stoking the fire between your legs. Your body is beginning to feel warm, your heart beating erratically against your ribs.

Shouto’s hand wanders further up your torso, the hem of your sweater sliding up to rest on the top of his wrist. He smiles against your neck, pulling your bra down so your breasts fall out of the cups, his calloused thumb immediately caressing your nipple again and rubbing over it gently. “Do you like that?” He asks, lips trailing to kiss the underside of your jaw. “Because I really like that.” A forefinger joins his thumb and he pinches the nub, causing it to harden under his warm touch.

You cry out, head thrown to the side in pleasure. It seems that was Shouto’s plan all along, because he ravishes the newly revealed skin on your throat, altering between roving his tongue along your flesh and nipping his teeth softly. “Y-Yes, I like it, Shouto-san,” you answer breathlessly, your legs curling to draw his hips closer to yours. The feeling of his body flush against yours has an incredible heat surging through your entire being, caressing your bones and fluttering in your core.

Shouto’s purr rumbles along your skin, his head dipping down to place a path of kisses along your collar bones. Your hand flies up to grab onto his red and white locks, fingernails scraping his scalp gently and causing a moan to fall from his parted lips. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he praises, lifting your sweater over your shoulders and off your body. Before you can feel self-conscious, he swiftly delivers another kiss to your lips as he tears his own sweater above his head, revealing a pale torso rippling with firm muscles. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight hovering above you; his hair slightly messy from taking his shirt off as his gaze holds your own, a hunger blatant and all-consuming in his eyes.

You whimper as his mouth crashes to yours once more, your spine arching naturally as his arm curls around your waist, fingers moving to undo the clasp of your bra and succeeding swiftly. His kiss is slow and soft as he pulls the straps from your shoulders, tossing the item onto the tarp beside the sleeping bag.

Shouto looks at your naked form below him as if he’s a man starved, and you the most delicious feast he could possibly imagine. His hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes half-lidded and tongue poking out to roll over his lips. You watch as he leans down, warm lips brushing against your jaw and moving to trail down the length of your neck. But he doesn’t stop there; his mouth wanders further down, prospecting the soft flesh of your breast with kisses and long swipes of his tongue.

“S-Shouto-san,” you call his name when he finally reaches your nipple, mouth enveloping the bud and rolling his tongue around it leisurely, showering you with kitten licks that makes your pulse race. A long moan escapes you, your head thrown back onto his jacket and your eyes drifting shut as he begins to suck on your sensitive nub. “Oh, that feels—” you cut off as his teeth scrape your flesh, hips bucking up into his instinctively.

He only smiles, gently pulling your nipple between his lips and continuing to wash your skin with his hot tongue. “Does that feel good, angel?” He asks, his free hand moving to cup your other breast.

You nod even though he can only see the bottom of your chin, your mouth agape as rushed pants tumble out. Your pussy twitches in your panties when his mouth moves to your other breast, ravishing it in the same fashion. Your brows cinch, fingers woven in his hair and grabbing frantically at the roots as your body welcomes the waves of pleasure Shouto provides. A hand lands on the thick muscle atop his shoulder, gripping onto him and fingernails nearly breaking his perfect skin. Your hips buck again when his teeth graze your nipple, and heat bursts through you as your thigh rubs against something hard.

Shouto moans at the friction, the noise sending vibrations through your chest. “Fuck, Y/N,” he grumbles, popping off your breast and returning to hover his face above yours. “You know you’re absolutely gorgeous, right?” He doesn’t allow you to reply, lips conquering yours and sending a sweet chill through your body.

You make a noise of surprise when he begins to gently grind against your crotch, rubbing his erection onto you. The action has your brain short-circuiting, lust surging through your body now more than ever. God, you want him. You want him bad.

Shouto seems to feel the same way, for he presses your bodies flush against each other, and you whimper when his hot skin touches yours. Another meek noise floats out of you as he shuffles the two of you into a new position, landing on his back with you hovering above him this time. He’s kissing you again, and your brain can’t seem to catch up with him, for he now has two free hands and he uses them to grab your hips, guiding them to move along his own and continue providing the friction of the grinding from before.

Your head is spinning at the stimulation, your slick clit rubbing along the inside of your panties. And even though there’s two pairs of thick pants between the two of you, you can feel your pussy right above his clothed cock, dragging deliciously against him.

His fingers move to the front of your pants, ripping the zip downwards and digging his thumbs into the space between the material and the flesh of your hips. Shouto pushes the cloth off your body with surprising ease, your ass coming into contact with the sleek lining of the sleeping bag. Leaving the material bunched at your knees, Shouto places his hand on the back of your neck and guides your lips to land on his, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before he pulls it into his mouth gently, a growl-like moan rumbling in his throat.

You jump slightly when a hand lands on your hip, long fingers sprawled out over your panty-clad ass. His dull fingernails drag along the cloth, digits looping underneath the band at your hip and toying with it— pulling it down gently before putting it back in place, and repeating the action. You whine against his mouth, falling to your elbows on either side of his head, your hair cascading around your faces.

Shouto’s hand slips between your legs, cupping your pussy in his large palm. “Do you want more?” He teases, tone dark with desire and a hint of playfulness. He kisses the corner of your mouth as you moan quietly, trying to grind yourself against his hand. The action only makes him grin, his other hand cupping your chin and guiding you to look at him. “Answer me, beautiful.”

Your throat tight and mind foggy, you whine at his demand, eyelids falling closed as you lean into his touch. “Yes, I want m-more, Shouto-san,” you respond, humiliation spurring a heat to rise to your cheeks. You’d never begged for a man’s touch like this, and the thought has you both wanting to hide in mortification and spread your legs wide for him.

“Mmm,” he mumbles, moving your face to place your lips on his again. The very tips of his fingers begin to move along your slit through your underwear, starting with gentle circles on your entrance and trailing up to your clit.

His touch has you gripping his hair again with both hands in trembling fists, broken whimpers dislodging from your throat. His long digits toy with your pussy through the sheer, soaked material, separating your folds with his pointer and ring finger for his middle to dip into you just a tad, pushing your panties inside yourself slightly. You cry out, for even at such a shallow depth, the heat leaks from his fingertip into your pussy, melting away your inhibitions. It’s not enough to stretch you, but your walls twitch in anticipation around the digit, causing a smile to spread on Shouto’s lips.

He kisses the other side of your mouth, your eyes still shut tightly and your lip caught between your teeth. “Do you want even more?” He murmurs, stroking your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Say my name, Y/N.”

His command is absolute, tone gruff, like he can’t seem to catch his breath— it makes you look at him, only to send another shocking thrill toward your cunt at the lustful fervor in his gaze. You lick your lips, croaking out a shy, “Shouto-san.” His thumb grazes over your clit in reward, but you only push your hips down in search of that searing fingertip. When he moves his fingers in accordance with your body, you let out a distressed whine. “Pleaseee,” you whimper, placing a hesitant kiss on the column of his neck.

Shouto sighs at your appeal, deft fingers curling around the edge of your panties to gather them to the side of your throbbing pussy. Your body jolts as he brushes your slick folds with the lightest touch, another noise of desperation floating past your lips. “No, beautiful,” he murmurs, voice deep enough to drag you under like a powerful tide pulling you lost into a sea of pleasure, “My name— just my name.”

The gasp that you surrender surprises you, and you’re not sure if it’s more from his request or from his thumb beginning to circle your needy clit. A string of low moans flees your throat as he presses harder against you, the digit sliding around the bundle of nerves with ease, slick with your arousal. “But… but Shouto-s-san, I…,” you trail off, distracted as two hot fingertips begin to play with your entrance, curling just enough to hook against the edge of your walls and tease another groan out of you.

“You…,” Shouto continues for you, that taunting tone dripping from his voice again, “You don’t want it, Y/N?” He’s teasing you, but only because you’re so delectably responsive to him— he can feel your pussy twitch against his fingers, your slick drenching the digits and making it irresistible for him to go even further.

“No— I want it,” you hurry to respond, fearful that he’ll withdraw his touch before you have the chance to feel him inside of you. Anything for that. “I want more,” you take a small breath, propping yourself up with your hands on either side of his neck, your eyes finding his. “Please, I— I need you… Shouto-s—”

Two fingers slide into you with ease, stealing away the chance for you to utter the honorific, instead rendering you helpless as a loud, wanton moan erupts from your lips. Shouto’s fingers are long and thick, the pads rough and already rubbing against just the right place. His other hand rests on the front of your hip, digits curled around your side as his thumb stretches to stimulate your clit. Your eyes roll back as he pulls out, your velvet walls shuddering and another sound of pleasure filling the still air inside the igloo as he pushes back in. You’re already embarrassed enough from his teasing and him cheating away the respect the -san represents, but a new wave of mortification crashes over you as the spring inside your stomach begins to compress. You’ve never been so turned on in your life, so embarrassed, so naughty— desperate.

“You’re gonna cum already, aren’t you?” Shouto’s voice cuts through your foggy, aphrodisiacal headspace, and you can only nod, jaw hanging open and broken mewls tumbling out. Your hands fly to grab onto his shoulders in favor of the sleeping bag covering the ground, nails grappling into his skin. You can’t even find the sanity to shield your dissolute, wrecked expression from his watchful gaze underneath you, which he laps up eagerly— only fueling his plight as he begins to curl the digits toward himself. He’s rewarded with a higher-toned squeal, your cunt squeezing around him until he can only repeat the ‘come here’ motion. “Go ahead, beautiful. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum for me,” he implores.

That’s all you need to topple over the edge. Your pussy grips his fingers snug, fluttering as a numbing bliss explodes between your legs. Hips rocking shakedly against his grasp, you release a ragged groan as he continues to rub circles on your sensitive pearl. Your entire body is filled with a blistering warmth; you can feel it from the tips of your ears to your still-curled toes. Collapsing onto his chest, your lungs gasp for air as your head continues to spin, a content thrum pulsing through your bones as your pussy continues to spasm upon his hand. “S-Shouto,” you sigh, one hand slipping down to rest on the other side of his chest, fingertips biting into his skin slightly.

Shouto exhales a similar sound, fingers leaving your sloppy hole as he wraps his other arm around your waist. Bringing his fingertips to his lips, he keeps his gaze locked with yours as his tongue darts out, concealing the first knuckle from your sight.

Horror floods through you at the sight; dirty, nasty thoughts pouring into your mind. You try to get him to stop, your cheeks feeling hot once again. “Shouto-san, that’s—”

You succeed to some degree; he pulls his fingers from his mouth, but only to press them against your lips, sliding the digits deep into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. “Bad girl, using honorifics,” he admonishes, tone suddenly dark and not at all warm nor soft as it was before— yet somehow it makes your cunt flutter in excitement, reawakening and already aching to be filled again. Your eyes widen in surprise, but you don’t gag, and Shouto only groans at such a discovery. “Don’t you think we’re past using formalities?”

He has a point, so you just flutter your lashes at him and moan onto his fingers, lips pursing around them and sending a shiver down his spine.

“Taste yourself— see, angel? You’re so sweet— god, you’re sexy, and you’ve no idea, do you?” He seems to be saying that last part to himself but you still nod, tongue wrapping around his fingers and making sure to clean him well. You want to show him you’re not bad; you’re a good girl, you can be a good girl for him.

Shouto swallows, eyes following your tongue as it wanders along his finger to poke between your lips, washing against his skin. He growls at the sight, ripping both hands away from you and ensnaring your wrists in his palms. With just one solid movement he tosses you underneath him, your back sliding against the silky lining of the sleeping bag and warming at the heat his body had left behind. You’re trying to find your bearings as Shouto fumbles with his pants, finally managing to rid one leg of the thick material and slip himself between your thighs.

Your heart begins to thump rapidly in your chest as you feel the smooth head of his cock drag against your folds, your cunt clenching in desire and your lip held prisoner between your teeth. Both of your ragged breaths tangle in the small space between you, your hands reaching to grasp the tops of his shoulders, legs spreading as much as they can in the confines of the single-person sleeping bag. Tossing your head back in agony as he teases your opening, coating himself in your slick, your cum. You’ve never felt so needy before— the urge to be filled and stretched around him dominating your every thought.

“Please— god, please Shouto,” you beg, and for a brief moment you find yourself wondering what exactly his cock looks like, the realization that you haven't actually seen it hitting you and yet here you are pleading for him to just put it in. What if he’s hung like a horse? And you’re about to be split in two— or what if he’s an average joe? Well from the foreplay he definitely knows what he’s doing so maybe—

Your entire body stills and a breathless squeal escapes your lungs as he thrusts into you in a single, swift movement. Your walls quiver in fiery pleasure as he penetrates you, his thick cock spreading you and filling you and reaching deep inside of you as his hips bump yours. You didn’t realize you were this wet; he slid into you in one go and by the feel of him, you know that’s no easy feat. But your mind doesn’t have any time to process it, for Shouto lets out the most sexy groan you’ve ever heard in your life. His head falls to rest against your throat, soft hair tickling your skin as you feel gentle pants wash over you.

“You’re so tight, Y/N— shit,” he moans again as his hips retract, pushing back inside of you slowly as if to test the waters. His cock glides inside of you, thick veins rubbing against your silky walls and making a soft whine struggle to evade your lungs. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard Shouto swear, and a twisted sense of pride fills your chest at the thought of him being so into this— into you— that he’s lost all his usual self-restraint.

A few more tentative thrusts have you crying out for him, another flash of intense heat spreading through your body and each of your limbs. Shouto cradles the back of your neck in one palm, the other hand slipping around the back of your waist in order to bend your back to his liking. The angle pops your breasts up against his chest, and he swears again as your hard nipples drag across his skin. Claiming your lips as his once again, his hips begin to push into yours at a steady pace, setting the tempo at a slow but hard pace. With each crash of his hips against yours, you feel like your lungs have lost all function— his balls slap heavy against your ass, sweat starting to trickle down your thighs that come around to draw his body closer to yours, your wrists crossed around his neck and his lips slotting against yours messily.

If your mind was foggy before, now you cannot even see your own hands in front of you; your brain is dizzy and oxygen-starved, mind spinning in circles every time his hips knock into yours. Each thrust has him burrowing far inside of you, your pussy trying desperately to keep up with his quickening pace but failing— leaving you butterflied, completely open for his assault to continue. When your ankles lock behind his waist, heels digging into his firm ass, his cock begins to hit a new spot inside of you, and you wail out in shock and ecstasy.

“Shouto!” you exclaim, brow furrowing and letting out a particularly wanton moan. Your eyes nearly cross at the powerful sensation, that embarrassed feeling returning and rekindling the heat in your cheeks. From just one particularly angled thrust, the spring in your stomach makes its presence known once again.

Shouto is quick to take advantage of the weak spot you’d just revealed; his grip on you tightens as his hips begin to crash against yours, mouth sucking in your lower lip to hold hostage. Your eyes can barely stay open, but you fight yourself to maintain the eye contact Shouto offers. His stare is searing; sparks flying between the two of you as he scrutinizes every hint of pleasure you render.

The intensity has you gasping for breath, suddenly feeling hot— so hot; the sleeping bag retaining all the heat your feverish session provides. Even though you’re so close, your hands land on his chest hesitantly, tapping his sticky skin. Instantly his hips still, and he begins to examine you, a concerned expression overtaking his handsome face.

“Are you alright, beautiful?” He asks, not skipping a beat. Examining the flush on your chest and cheeks, he seems to come to the correct conclusion, turning to tear the zipper down the track toward your joined hips. Cool air washes over your sweaty skin, and you sigh at the refreshing sensation licking over your skin. You whimper as Shouto leans down toward you, frosted breath swirling over your clavicles and offering you instant relief from the hot flash that previously took over your whole being. “Guess I warmed you up too good, huh?” Shouto chuckles, and you smack his chest with a weak fist. He shifts his hips forward in response and you keen as his cock shifts deeper inside of you.

Shouto allows you a moment to catch your breath, continuing to blow cool air along your throat and chest. You bask in the revitalizing sensation, whimpering lightly as Shouto keeps a subtle and gentle pace, cantering into you just enough to keep himself hard. He kisses your neck and jaw, lips chilly yet sending hot tingles zipping through your body. “S-Shouto-san,” you mewl, sprawling out into his caress like a cat.

He only smiles against your skin, lips wandering all over your chest. The cold air radiating off the icy walls of the igloo collides with your hot skin and sends shivers down your spine. “San?” He hums, icy lips trailing along your breast until his tongue pokes out to greet your nipple. Your pussy constricts around him, his ice-cold muscle twirling round the sensitive peak and slurping it into his mouth, only to pull away with a pop. “I thought we were past that, angel.”

You groan as his cock recedes from your folds, leaving you empty and eager for more. Large, hot hands guide your hips to roll over, steering you to your face the wall of the igloo on your hands and knees. With just a cavalier flick of the wrist, a shiny coating of fresh ice blankets the interior wall, creating a cloudy reflection that brings more heat to your cheeks. You can see Shouto behind you; firm, abundant muscles lining his wide frame and his hair tousled back atop his crown, those bicolored eyes regarding you with unwavering desire. Your forehead falls to brush against the plastic of the tarp as he traces the head of his cock along your slit, your hips jerking when he nudges your clit.

Your eyelids flutter open weakly when warm kisses dance across your shoulders, a shaky moan leaving from your lips as Shouto presses into your slippery cunt once more. He sighs beside your ear, and you watch as he closes his eyes, heated lips meandering up your jaw to take the tip of your ear between his teeth. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispers, sucking cold air along your skin when your pussy grips him tight in an automatic response. He nibbles at your cartilage, thrusting halfway inside as his hand collects your chin. Turning your face, he pushes his lips against yours, silencing your moan when his hips press flush against yours. The new position has your eyes rolling back, his cock massaging that sacred spot nestled deep within your core. His tongue starts to wrestle with yours in your mouth, his palm leaving your face to press flush against your pelvis, perfectly lining up two fingertips to greet your clit.

Your jaw falls open at the added stimulation, pussy winding tight around his length and pulling him deeper inside. That familiar coil is present again in your stomach, your pulse racing and perspiration gathering down your back and above your brow. Shouto’s tongue only drives further into your mouth, toying with yours. His hips begin to smack against your ass, balls slapping the fingertips that rub steady patterns on your pearl of nerves. You can feel your orgasm building, pressure heightening at a surprising speed, and you begin to whimper onto his lips, fingers curling into the tarp underneath your hands.

Shouto takes his tongue from your mouth, a silver string of saliva connecting your mouths. “Look up, beautiful,” he instructs, nodding to the wall in front of you.

Your elbows almost give out at the scene before you, and Shouto grabs your shoulder to pull you upright, thighs spread wide to showcase where his body connects with yours. Your eyes can’t decide whether to stay on his slick cock pumping in and out of your tight hole, fingers working diligently on your clit, or to linger on his face, his scorching eyes half-lidded and teeth clamped gently on your shoulder. He kisses your neck sloppily, free hand curling around you to cup your breast and pinch your nipple with cold fingers. Your back arches, ass pressing against his hips as he starts to pound into you, your cunt quivering and trying desperately to keep up with his insatiable pace.

“See how pretty you are, Y/N?” Shouto goads in between kissing and nipping the soft skin on the side of your neck. You take a glance at yourself, that embarrassed feeling leaking through your pores again when you see how fucked-out your expression is; pupils blown in lust and mouth hanging open, tongue resting on your lower lip. “Who’s making you make that pretty face?”

You can barely find your voice, pussy pulling snug around his thick length as you hurtle toward your climax. Throwing your arm backwards around his neck, your hips try to meet his rapid tempo, and your face turns to nuzzle against the smooth expanse of his cheek. “Y-You, Shouto,” you cry, his fingers on your breast pinching tighter and beginning to roll. The honorific dangles on the tip of your tongue, but you bite your lip in order to seal it away. “I’m so— so close,” you warn, but he does not slow. His hips keep their frenzied pace, and the fingers on your clit suddenly surge with a searing heat, leaking into your pussy and pushing you over the edge.

Shouto bites out a swear, his corded arm holding you upright against his torso as your slouch onto him. Your thighs tremble as you fist the hair at the nape of his neck, the other hand flying to hold onto the wrist glued to your abdomen. Euphoria rushes through your body and your pussy clutches onto his cock like a vise, a string of incoherent babbles and moans jumbled together slithering over the skin on his throat. You want to beg him to stop, to give you a second to catch your breath, but your voice is silent as he continues his ministrations on your overstimulated clit, hips never stalling. He carefully pushes your shoulder, allowing you to catch yourself on your shaking hands, parallel to the tent. With your cheek pressed against the plastic, both his hands fly to your waist, fingers turning white as he rams into you with renewed vigor.

Unaware that he’d been holding back from full force, you scream out in absolute ecstasy at his new tempo. His cock draws along your swollen walls, balls smacking your puffy clit, fast and rough. Blearily you look at the reflection in front of you, already feeling another orgasm approaching at an alarming rate just from the sight before you; Shouto’s eyes in thin slivers underneath a furrowed brow, focused on the bounce of your ass in front of him, jaw hanging open unabashedly and hot puffs of steam billowing out. A cord stands out along his neck as he strains to deliver you such pleasure, muscles taught and tense along his torso. Both of you are breathless and about to cum, perspiration rolling along your skins from the steam and heat trapped inside the igloo.

His eyes meet yours in the reflection and you give in, cunt spasming around him, your fingers grappling onto the tent in bliss, and his name falling from your ajar lips. Through your haze of euphoria you hear him swear, a loud groan bouncing off the icy walls of the structure before he pulls out, hot ropes landing along your spine, all the way up to the curve of your shoulder. Your pussy flutters as you ride out your orgasm, vacant and craving to be filled by him again. Shouto’s hands are gentle on your hips, one turning to trail his knuckles along your skin.

Shouto leans forward and gathers you against his chest, despite your protests about the sticky fluid dripping down your back. You can feel his hot cock against your spine, still slick and hard. He carefully pulls your hair to the side, tilting your head to place his lips on yours. You melt into his embrace, feeling peaceful and satisfied. His lips curl into a soft smile to mirror yours, and you deepen the kiss for a moment before pulling away.

“Warm enough?” Shouto asks after clearing his throat, that charming smile still turning up the corners of his mouth.

You chuckle at his question before you pause, your brain beginning to come back to reality. “Definitely, but… getting cold now, actually,” you realize aloud, head swiveling around as you take in the icy walls of the igloo still standing tall, sheltering your naked bodies from the storm.

Shouto lets out a quiet noise of agreement, one hand leaving your body in favor of searching through his disheveled backpack. He swiftly returns his hand to your body, a handful of unused napkins from your earlier meal in his palm. He also cups his other hand into the snow on the ground, melting it and heating it before he lets it glide down your skin, following the rivulets with the napkin. “If we were in any other situation, I hope you know I’d take much better care of you right now,” he comments, a hint of humor in his deep voice.

You smile at his statement, letting your hair fall in your face as you lean forward in order to aid him. “That’s alright, I think you’ve taken care of me enough,” you reply cheekily, moving toward the sleeping bag once he taps your ass gently, signalling he’s finished.

Shouto raises a thin brow, eyes trailing over your naked breasts as you slip your bottom into the sleeping bag. His hand runs over his sculpted chest, repeating the same procedure he’s just completed on his own skin. “What, now that I made you cum three times, you’re not shy anymore?”

Your cheeks flush at his remark, and you slither into the safety of the sleeping bag, shielded from his perceptive gaze. Your refuge does not last long, for Shouto shuffles inside the bag too, his warm skin pressing against yours. After he zips the compartment closed, he gathers you in his arms, shifting you so your head lays on top of his chest. You can hear the quick thump of his heart underneath your ear, blood rushing through his veins and sounding like a sweet, soothing melody. When he speaks, it rumbles in your ears, shivers swirling underneath your skin.

“You know, you’re pretty cute whether you’re shy or not,” he confesses. You make a squeak at his compliment, your cheeks feeling hotter than ever. Shouto only laughs, the addicting noise ringing off the walls of your haven. “Well, especially cute when you’re shy.”

Shouto wonders how you can be so timid after he’s fucked you senseless, but he doesn’t push his luck. He only grins as you smoosh your face onto his pec, a hand covering your inflamed cheek. You’re more than grateful when he changes the direction of the conversation.

“You should sleep, Y/N,” he suggests, fingers tracing along your hip. “You’ll need to be well-rested for the return down the mountain tomorrow. Most likely my agency already has reinforcements on the way here— it’s protocol— so we won’t have to pursue the villains any longer. Though I doubt they made it through the blizzard.”

You nod, eyelids already drooping with exhaustion. You hadn’t realized you were so drained, but after hiking up a mountain and trekking through a snowstorm, you suppose it’s only rational your body is so spent. Not to mention you’d just had the best fuck of your life, with probably the most handsome, dapper man you know.

Before you can submit to the alluring tendrils of slumber, Shouto smooths his warm palms along your spine, his voice soft and sweet like honey. “Are you sure you’re warm enough? Just tell me and I’ll heat you up, for real this time,” he murmurs, a quick wave of heat emanating from his palm as if to prove his offer holds legitimacy.

“No,” you sigh, never having felt this warm, and safe in your life, “This is perfect.”

Shouto holds you as you succumb to slumber, and he hopes you don’t notice how his heartbeat quickens, a flustered pink dusting his pale cheeks.

-—-—-—-—-—-

The trek down the mountain the next morning is light-hearted and much easier than the journey up. The sun high in the sky, the perfectly smooth snowbanks reflect the bright light of day, nearly blinding if you gaze at them too long. Shouto trudges through the knee-deep snow ahead of you, creating footholds for you to step into with more ease.

Without the heavy storm from the former night, it’s easier to see where the pair of you are going, and you make your way down to the sloping foothills of the mountain in good time. The expedition feels less cumbersome without the icy storm biting into your body, but also because Shouto talks with you the entire time. He touches your waist, holds your hand for a moment too long when he offers you his support, and grins at you without restraint. Your heart races at every interaction, giddiness trickling through your veins.

When the pair of you finally reach the base of the mountain, you’re greeted by the rest of your team. They’ve set up a makeshift camp a short distance from the mouth of the trail, just through a small spattering of trees.

Relief surges through you at the sight of your coworkers, your eyes widening and your foot automatically taking a step toward the group. But Shouto grabs your wrist, spinning you around and pulling your body close to his. The weather isn’t nearly as freezing at the bottom of the mountain, and the heat that rushes into your cheeks at the action is much more noticeable. His arm wraps around your waist, leading you to the side of the path slightly and blocking your figures with the trees.

“Y/N,” Shouto starts, eyes cast toward the side and a boyish blush on his cheeks. The sight of him so hesitant makes your stomach drop; you’re not accustomed to seeing the pro hero anything but confident and collected. Yet his voice is still just as deep and calm as he speaks, despite his flustered disposition. “Before we rejoin the team, I wanted to ask you something.”

You place your hand on his chest, fighting your bashful demeanor to comfort the man before you. “Shouto? What is it?” Head tilted to the side, your fingers spread and retract over his coat, smoothing over the stiff material there.

Hearing you call him by just his name makes him smile warmly, his stare flickering to your hand on his chest. “I know this is kind of backwards, but… I wanted to know if you’d like to have dinner with me,” he chokes out, shocked that the words come out sounding effortless and suave. “I want the chance to show you that last night was more than just sex to me.”

The rock-like feeling in your stomach dissipates, your frown melting into a timid smile. He wants to have dinner with you— a date! Last night meant something more to him; he wants to spend more time with you. Your heart swells in your chest and you nod eagerly. “Yes!” You nearly shout before you attempt to reign in your eagerness, “I mean— yes, I would— I would really like that, Shouto.”

The grin that splits across his face is more blinding than the snowbanks. It makes butterflies swarm your tummy and you can’t help but smile in return. He chuckles and the arm around your waist tightens, your body pressing against his. His lips graze your forehead and your breath catches in your lungs, a soft laugh falling from your lips.

Shouto holds you for a moment before he lets you go, dusting off his gloved hands on his pants. The faint pink drains from his cheeks, his usual indifferent expression sliding back onto his face. “Alright, let’s join the team, then,” he gestures for you to move back onto the path, and you take a step forward in front of him. A strangled noise of surprise catches in his throat when you press your lips to his in a quick, gentle kiss.

You pull away and examine his bright red cheeks, two-toned eyes wide and lips parted slightly, clearly unexpecting your sudden affection. You laugh at him, taking his wrist and tugging his stiff body back into the camp’s line of vision. Shouto seems to recover rather quickly, pinching your ass as you begin walking toward the camp. You’re about to swat at him, but your coworker notices the two of you approaching, and begins to run toward the pair of you. You shoot him a playful glare and he only smirks.

The team of fellow heroes pulls the two of you apart, fussing and showering you with a million questions— but you don’t really pay attention to any of them. Your eyes meet a blue and gray gaze through the commotion, and even without a raging storm to freeze your bones, your heart fills with warmth once again.

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

o my frickin god you guys i cannot believe this fic turned into such an absolute monster. 11k words— i am so mf extra. i hope it was worth it though, please lemme know if you wanna be trapped in an igloo with shou too LOL 🤪🥶🥵

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