#It’s less driving time and more if I have to spend the night someplace. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dani-sdiary · 2 months

Text

The Reasons Why I've Never Been on a Date:

The painful fucking shyness, I mean, borderline agoraphobia. I won't settle for less than clicking "add to cart" on Mr. Right and having him delivered to my home, with free shipping.

a. Really, though, I've missed a lot of school. And work (and that's only once a week). I can barely make it to my real responsibilities (much less dates). I struggle with just getting out of bed sometimes, let alone leaving my house, and when I do, I'm usually too anxious to go without a parent, which severely decreases my chances of being approached. And if I never go anywhere, how can I expect to meet anyone?

b. It's just that I know I won't meet anyone, though. It's that when I manage to try, when I put my blood, sweat, and tears into making myself look somewhat presentable, when I go someplace people under 70 are, when I do everything Google said makes you approachable: bangs, wearing red, exposing the wrists, red nail polish, smiling, not being on your phone, being alone, and open body language, when I get my hopes up, it never works out. And that makes it even harder the next time. Excuses, excuses.

2. Self-fulfilling prophecy. I see myself as undateable and others just take the cue. Though, chicken and egg. A little girl doesn't suddenly decide she's horrifically ugly and no one will ever love her. It's proven to her, time and time again. Or rather, being seen as beautiful or even average and capable of being loved is not proven to her, and she draws the only logical conclusion.

3. I've had somewhat of an unconventional high school experience. My freshman year was 2020-2021, and we were online until May. Sophomore year we were back in person, but socially distanced, and I left about a month before the end of the school year and took my finals remotely. Junior and Senior year, I've been going to Hometown Community College (HCC). I take some in-person classes and some online, so I'm only on campus for about 4 hours a week. Some of my classmates are adults with families and careers, but a lot of them are around my age. Oh, well.

4. It isn't love, it's only Hometown. Maybe I would be worshiped as a goddess in some other part of the world. Who knows? My city isn't that walkable and I'm a virgin who can't drive, so it is a bit difficult to meet people. There are a lot of Latinos here, and mixed girls like me, and it's a real let-your-freak-flag-fly-so-everyone-will-know-how-different-and-cool-you-are-unlike-the-sheep kind of place so it's not like I stand out in any way. It certainly has it faults, but one thing I will say about Hometown is that you can walk down the street and see face tattoos, blue hair, and women with beards.

5. The other thing is of course the bloodhound sixth sense. Men can smell the eau de desperation and low self-esteem radiating off of me from a mile away. Half-off at Bath and Bodyworks. God, even when I like another girl as a friend, I smother her. When I like someone in any type of way, I ask a million questions, I want to know everything about them, spend every second with them. I expect an intimacy that would take years to build up to just happen over night.

6. I think it would be naive to say that looks weren't a part of it, a significant part, though certainly not all of it. I know everyone says personality is more important than appearance in the end, when you really love someone, and I agree, but it's so hard to even get to that place. It's difficult to make that initial connection if you're not really anyone's type. I've never been approached. No guy has ever just walked up to me and "shot his shot" as they say. No one has tried to strike up a conversation or dared to ask for my number. Yes, I know it's nerve-wracking for men to just walk up to a stranger, especially an attractive one, and try to talk to her, and this doesn't happen to every woman, but it happens to some, and I wish I was one of them. Some men think some women are worth getting over the fear for, and I wish someone saw me that way. And no, I don't approach guys either, I'm nothing if not a hypocrite. I am paralyzed with fear about this because I'm worried about not being rejected. I'm worried the guy won't know I'm trying to flirt with him because I have no idea how, or that I won't know he's letting me down easy because it'll go over my head, or that he'll feel too sorry for me to reject me.

a. I'm high-maintenance while looking low-maintenance. I take hours to get ready in the morning and no matter how much I do and how much money I waste and what lengths I go to it never helps. Worse still than my grotesqueness, which a man could look past, is my insecurity. My constant, constant need for reassurance. He could swear over and over that he loves me as I am but I'll never believe it. To illustrate, you've just read several paragraphs of complaints about my appearance. If you were my man (Lord help you), I'd never shut up.

b. To summarize: annoying, inexperienced, and no oil painting. I think I could've said as much in one sentence.

c. This is how I register in men's heads. Maybe this is totally incorrect, but we women think of you as rather like robots, capable of an incredible compartmentalization that must make life so much simpler. I'm so messy. Men can just decide to not get attached, to not care, to focus on what's really important rather than distractions, and their hearts actually listen to them. And if not, you could've fooled me.

d. I think men sort of scan me. When they first see me, my statistics and vital signs pop up on their cybernetically enhanced vision. They make a crucial decision right then and there, write me off as uninteresting. Again, all speculation. You can't fault me for being a logic-oriented person. If this isn't how it happens, I want some hard proof (lawyer voice). You can't fault me for being a fanciful, gullible, self-absorbed and ridiculous little girl.

e. I'm a little overweight, but not playboy bunny curvaceous and feminine, nor supermodel thin. I'm wide and bulky and flat in the back and the front. I'm average height, not cute and short or old Hollywood statuesque. I have scars and stretch marks and acne and strawberry legs. Pale skin and chestnut hair with a few strands of red that couldn't decide if it wanted to be straight or curly so settled for a halfhearted wave. My haircut is what it is, a mistake that I'm growing out (excruciatingly slowly). Eyes so dark you can't distinguish the iris from the pupil. I wear contacts. Huge, blackheady nose and ultrathin pale, cracked lips. I care deeply about my appearance and I do the best I can to take care of myself. After school and work and work and school, eating healthy feels so impossible, but I try to be somewhat balanced at least. I don't exercise besides the erstwhile jog, but I walk around a lot on campus and I have a physical type of job. Everyone's always told me I look older (mid-twenties) than I am (newly 18). For most of the year, I wear pretty much the same thing everyday- The Dani Uniform (TM). A knee-length skirt and a sweater. Inoffensive, not particularly alluring. f. The worst, though, is the severe hirsutism, my main PCOS symptom. How am I supposed to be confident when my body is a punchline in every movie you've ever seen? I just don't think confidence is meant for me. I'm not one of those take-off-her-glasses-and-she's-beautiful types. I've gotten better, certainly, I'm not waterboarding myself with sweat anymore by forcing myself to wear turtlenecks in the summer. I do my best to be an adult, to pick myself up and get on with it, put on an ugly but brave face and show myself as I am. But the truth is, being able to wear tanktops hasn't made me hate myself any less. I still can't say the "h" word out loud (or type it). I still can't shake the feeling of being dirty and sick, like I have bugs crawling all over my skin. And I could never, ever, show this body to anyone. One day, I'm going to fall head over heels in love, I know that already. Love isn't the issue. I will love someone so much he can't stand it, but I'll never be able to trust him enough. I'm too far gone for that.

6. I don't know. I really don't know. I've turned it over and over in my head for years, driven myself crazy trying to figure it out, connected all my features with push pins and red string to unveil the grand conspiracy. But every reason I can come up with isn't something unique to me, it's something that millions of other people experience, have, do, or are, and that hasn't been a barrier, or hasn't always been barrier, for at least some of them to be in a relationship. I'm just stuck thinking, why wasn't what I did good enough? Why am I the exception? I followed the rules, I consulted the opinions of others around me, I did everything just like everyone else did. I don't know if other people see me this way, but I think of myself as a deeply average person- my personality, my looks, how I grew up. To be perfectly honest, it does surprise me a bit that my love life has been so atypical when every other part of my life hasn't. There's nothing special about me. I'm not a good person, but I don't intentionally hurt others. I'll never be beautiful, pretty, or even average, but there's nothing shocking about the way I look, I'm just plain.

a. Lots of people are shy, especially teenagers. We're all self conscious and absorbed, debilitating insecurity and a simultaneous God complex. Plenty of teenagers date, go to dances, go parking, share a milkshake with two straws...

b. Everyone has low self-esteem. Sure, some more so than others, but the vast majority of people struggle with confidence, even those other people think shouldn't. We're all oracles writing self-fulfilling prophecies all the time. If you had to be confident to get a date, the human race would have died out by now.

c. For fuck's sake, people got married during the pandemic. People fell in and out of and back in love, people lost their virginity, people cheated, people flirted, people joined dating apps and met on zoom, people took off their masks and kissed, people were irresponsible and reckless and human and attractive and attracted. We all lost the school year, but plenty of my classmates didn't lose the experiences.

e. Isn't everyone desperate for something? And hasn't that desperation made me work 10 times harder? It's ambition, it's led me to try nearly everything, and even if it's obvious, isn't a little desperation attractive? I don't know if it is to boys, but it is to me. I want someone to need me, to think about me all the time, to be crazy about me. Maybe I take that too far, but it's not as if I'm proposing on the first date or collecting your used tissues for my shrine. Yeah, I want it bad and I when I fall, I fall hard, but the last thing I want is to make someone uncomfortable. If he told me to slow down, I would.

f. But if all it took was a little makeup and some time at the gym, wouldn't I lose love as soon as I washed my face or gained a few pounds? My appearance is going to change drastically throughout my life, and I don't want love to end when it does. I want to believe that everyone is beautiful. It's important to me to believe that, and that means I have to begrudgingly accept that I'm beautiful, too. I'm worried it would become a slippery slope if I made an exception for myself. I guess I just figured everyone was someone's type. I might not be conventionally attractive, but I thought eventually I'd blindly stumble upon someone who was okay with the way I look. You know what they say about assuming. It makes a (flat) ass of you and me. Yeah, maybe there's a lid for every pot. But my lid will either be blind, an alcoholic with permanent beer goggles, or have some kind of rare fetish.

I am precisely the opposite of what men want. Clingy, needy, and desperate- and not attractive enough to justify my horrible personality. I'm not cool or fun or down-to-earth. I'm not drama-free or go-with-the-flow. I say I'm fine when I'm not because I expect you to read my mind. I'm ugly, uncommunicative, and crazy. I'm a pervert who's far too shy to ever take her clothes off. I'm immature and stubborn and stupid and as hard as I try not be, a hopeless romantic.

Fuck my life.

#romantic #romance #lovers #love #relationships #relationship #dating

0 notes

classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 3 years

Text

Meeting and Dating Ian Malcolm

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(When I tell you I love this man.)

- You and Ian meet when you attend the same STEM related conference; though it would be more accurate to say that you met while you attended a conference that he was lecturing at.

- Nevertheless, you were both in the same room and wound up interfacing before the meeting was over; an interaction that would lead to a very interesting and at times exasperating relationship.

- You found him fascinating; just like pretty much everyone else in the crowd, someone who had a big, entertaining personality in a field that so often lacked personality. You liked him the minute he opened his mouth.

- He, in turn, thought that you were gorgeous and found himself falling for you the minute he locked eyes on you. He was looking forward to the moment he could slink off stage and find a way to talk to you. He did so right after he finished his speech and the applause settled down.

- He artfully found his way through the crowd and managed to convince the person beside you to switch their seat, taking it for himself after the starry eyed boy got up.

- The two of you sat in silence for a little while before he leaned over and introduced himself, shaking your hand for a lingering moment before you both turned your attention back to the stage.

- Another beat of silence passed between you before he leaned over and murmured a funny comment to you, reveling in the way you tried to hold back your smile. You spent the rest of the meeting trying to stifle your laughter as your new ironic commentator continued his jokes and flirtation. It certainly made the conference more enjoyable.

- Once the shows over and everyone begins to clear out, he asks if you’re doing anything before asking if you’d like to go out and grab a couple of drinks or talk someplace.

- That's how you find yourself seated next to him at the bar of a nice little restaurant, listening to him explain the chaos theory in detail and trying your best to digest everything that he’s saying; along with your drinks.

- Along with his mathematical explanations, he also provides a lot of compliments and flirtation. You spend the evening feeling like the most important and sought after woman in the world

- Since you could easily; and very accurately, consider that little get together to be your first date, let’s move on to your first kiss.

- It’s a date or two later that the two of you share it. You don’t want to give in too easily; even if you want to kiss him a lot sooner, so you play coy until you cant take it any more and the moment feels perfectly right.

- Perfectly right seems to mean the middle of your kitchen after you invited him in for some coffee but hey, to each their own.

- Nevertheless, you’d invited him into your home after one of your dates and gone to your kitchen to get the two of you your drinks. He’d followed you in and when you handed him his cup of coffee, he’d leaned in, pressed his lips to yours and given you a soft kiss.

- When he pulled away, he smiled at you, raised his mug, and gave you a somewhat teasing thank you before he lead the way into your living room.

- One mug lead to another and you've been staying up late with each other ever since.

- Ian suffers from a deplorable need to constantly be touching you. On top of that, he really isn’t too preoccupied with how other people feel so Pda is very common and performed very shamelessly.

- His arm is usually wrapped around you in some way, whether it be draped across the back of your chair, wrapped around your shoulders, or haphazardly thrown in front of you while a T. Rex is charging towards you.

- Tight hugs; which usually means that you’re being somewhat picked up since he’s so goddamn tall.

- Having your hair played with; oftentimes while he uses his flirtation on you.

- Knee squeezes. His hand belongs to your knee whenever he can’t wrap his arm around you.

- He loves cheek kisses. He loves the sort of showing off feel of them whenever you’re in front of someone else; and he just loves how soft and sweet they are.

- Slow, passionate kisses.

- Oftentimes, you wind up sleeping in the crook of his arm; usually with your head resting against his chest. That being said, the two of you also just cuddle haphazardly, snuggling in any which way you can, your limbs entangled and your bodies relaxed.

- He tends to call you honey or baby but, considering the fact that he calls his daughter Queen, my goddess and my inspiration, there’s room for a few more over dramatic pet names in your relationship.

- Waking up together. Ian's a math professor so, depending on both your schedules, you’re usually getting up around the same time. Although, if you get up earlier than he has to, he’d definitely; somewhat begrudgingly, adapt to your schedule.

- The two of you are attached at the hip a lot of the time. If you choose to go somewhere, he’s bound to follow; whether that be to keep you safe or just because he enjoys spending time with you is anyone’s guess.

- Working on separate things while you’re together. Sometimes couples just want to be in the same room while they do their own thing and I think that’s beautiful.

- Going shopping together. He’s a fan of clothes shopping, groceries, not so much.

- He likes trying out new things and going to all those different places that pop up in town so the two of you visit a lot of new restaurants and shops.

- Going out to dinner at nice restaurants. He’s the Rockstar of the math community so of course he’d want to take you to a few high end places; whenever he could afford it that is.

- Traveling around the world together. Whenever he has to go somewhere, he likes taking you with him.

- Being in the crowds of his conferences and public appearances. You like cheering him on and he appreciates the fact that you’re always there for him; even if he doesn’t necessarily need the support.

- Ian isn’t the greatest at keeping his word and he can get really caught up in his work to the point where he forgets important things, but he does always try his best to make things up to you whenever he can.

- Becoming close with Kelly. She enjoys living with you when her mother can’t be bothered and Ian’s bogged down by work. He loves both his girls dearly so the fact that you get along with each other is very important to him.

- You get to use the fact that you’re with Kelly as an excuse to go do stupid and somewhat childish things like visiting arcades and county fairs. Not that you couldn’t do that without her but I think you know what I mean.

- Movie nights; usually with him and Kelly.

- Museum dates.

- He genuinely thinks that your weird interests and quirks are endearing and fascinating. Other people would consider them strange, Ian considers them to be a compelling part of your personality.

- Seeing you talk about things that you’re passionate about is one of his favorite things in the world. He thinks that drive to learn and do and the intelligence that you possess is extremely sexy.

- Sometimes he’ll just look at you like he wants to eat you alive and it’s extremely problematic. Sir, we are in public.

- Lots of flirting. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, he still enjoys making you flustered and treating you like the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

- Unnecessary and frankly disrespectful noises. If he doesn’t stop making salacious growls at you, you’re gonna have to act up.

- Letting him explain all his different theories and findings to you. He loves showing off and having your undivided attention.

- Breaking rules together. If you aren’t keen on doing so, he’d definitely tease you for being a goody goody.

- He carries around a flask most of the time so the two of you can always just park somewhere and drink together whenever you feel like. Some of your best memories take place in his car, passing around a little metal container and talking about nothing in particular.

- Sarcasm drips from this mans every pore so you should try to get used to it. As annoying as it can be, it does make for some funny comments here and there.

- Snarky comments; whether they’re directed at you or someone else. Ian can be a bit of a bastard so don’t be surprised when his mouth opens and something mocking comes out. Just be prepared to occasionally slap his arm and stop him from being a total ass to people; even if it’s justified.

- Corny little jokes.

- Trying to keep him from verbally destroying people. He’s very verbal about his opinions so chances are, he’s going to speak his mind at one point or another and you might not want to be there when he does.

- He’s a voice of reason for just about everyone on Earth so if you need someone to tell you when you’re being stupid, he’s perfect for you.

- Sticking with him and being there for him after everything happens. He changes very drastically in the following years after meeting Mr. Hammond but you love him no less.

- No matter what people may think of him, you still defend him and proudly stand by his side. You’ve learned to ignore the opinion of others and not entertain their gossip.

- Helping him deal with the trauma that comes with almost getting fucking eaten.

- Ian doesn’t get jealous very often. He’s secure enough in himself and knows that you wouldn’t cheat on him, but every now and again, if you’re particularly close to like a colleague or something, he’ll show some signs of jealousy. Mainly, he’ll just ask a bunch of questions about them and your relationship; all the while trying to play it off as normal curiosity.

- Ian is incredibly protective of you; particularly after the events of Jurassic park. He’s willing to do whatever he can to keep you safe; even if it means endangering himself or doing something that scares the hell out of him.

- The two of you don’t fight extremely often; and you rarely have very serious fights, but you do have an argument from time to time. He may say something sarcastic or hurtful in the heat of the moment on occasion but he never means it and he always immediately apologizes.

- Very few fights last overnight. He’s usually so quick to apologize and try to sort things out that you’re back on track in no time. Under his egotistical shell, he’s really just a big softie who wants things to be alright between the two of you.

- He tells you that he loves you a perfectly average amount of times; not too much and not too little. And he loves hearing you say it back or just tell him that you love him for no real reason.

- Ian legitimately loves kids. Like he’s fully prepared to get married and start a family with you at any given moment. Believe me, you just say the words and he’ll pop the question.

#ian malcolm imagine #ian malcolm imagines #ian malcolm headcanons #ian malcolm headcanon #jurassic park imagine #jurassic park imagines #jurassic park headcanons #jurassic park headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie imagines #90s movie headcanons #90s movie headcanon

252 notes · View notes

javier-pena · 3 years

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

masterlist | join the tag list

The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

303 notes · View notes

hazzoranstories · 3 years

Text

Malachai Parker | Smutty ABCs

A/N: The categories are inspired by fpwrites on tumblr, but the ideas are mine

________________________________________________________________________________

It's smutty ABCs, so it's obviously very dirty.

________________________________________________________________________________

A = Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

Despite being a whole ass psychopath, Kai is always worried about your wellbeing after sex. It doesn't matter if he's soft or full-on pounding into you, but he still has to ask for reassurance. He usually holds you close to him and won't let go until you slip away.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of their's and also their partner's)

His favorite part of his body is his hands. That may sound like a basic answer, but his magic comes from his hands, and he likes to think he gives you magic through them as well. His favorite body part of yours is your fingers. He loves when they grip the bed sheets or claw at his back. Also, how little and petite they are compared to his.

C = Cum (Where they like to come / what they like to cum from)

Even though a murderous psycho probably doesn't want kids any time soon, he can't help but love to come inside you. The euphoric feeling of filling you up and having someplace for his cum to go other than onto your stomach. But, if you truly don't want him to cum inside (which is almost never), then he won't. Or if you forgot to take your birth control that day.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

He doesn't mind being called his full name during sex because it sounds much more mature than just Kai. He desperately hates the name but coming from your lips in a whimper sounds much better than he could ever imagine.

E = Experience (How experience are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

Considering he was locked in a prison world for 18 years, Kai doesn't have much experience before that. He wasn't a virgin thanks to high school, but he wasn't a fuck boy. But like many things, he learned quickly.

F = Favorite Position (Again. Self-explanatory)

Lazy doggy style because in regular doggy style, he can't see anything except your backside. But this way, he gets to kiss your neck and whisper what he's going to do to you in your ear. Everything he has access to.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

He is usually more serious and sometimes frightening, but if it's passionate and slow sex, he's looser to smiles and sentimental actions.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they?)

He never really paid immense attention to his body hair and doesn't care to trim every day. He only does if he's uncomfortable or if it's excessive.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment?)

Everything varies with Kai. One moment he could be all sweet kisses and hugs, while the next, he could be holding you down by your throat. But most of the time, he doesn't care for intimacy and encourages you to stop sharing it during sex. Unless you're having a bad day or not feeling like being dominated, then he'll drop his huge ego and pleasure you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Kai masturbates a lot more than the normal boyfriend should have to. His sex drive is pretty high, and he often displeases you when he's violent. And whenever he goes too far, you don't feel like sex, so he has to solve his problem himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Choking and praising

L = Location (Favorite place to . . . . ya know)

The car. That's all I'm gonna say.

M = Motivation (What turns them on?)

Kai likes when you're sassy. He loves it when you're feisty with other people, but he can't stand when you are to him. No one would dare stand up to him, and having you cross your arms or try to look innocent when you know your not is irresistible.

N = NO (Something they wouldn't do. Turn offs)

He banned you from touching yourself because he's always down to fuck you. He hates to think that you have to go to another resort to please yourself when he's right there. It makes his ego go way down along with his self-esteem in his skills.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers receiving because he gets to see your hands around his length. He also gets to tangle his in your hair. He doesn't mind giving because he likes to see you come undone, but he would rather fuck you than do foreplay. But whenever he does eat you out, it's like heaven. For someone who doesn't do it often, he sure is amazing with his tongue.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

Like I said before, Kai can change in seconds. But most of the time, he fucks you till you cry. Unless you are not in the mood for that, then he'll treat you how you want. It all depends on how you're feeling.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He will for sure have a quickie if you two don't have the time, especially if he's frustrated and needs a small distraction.

R = Risk (Are they down to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

It depends on what your ask of him. He will gladly try anything revolving around domination over you, but if it's something like sex in a public place, he's a little more hesitant. He wants you all to himself and no one else.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long can they last)

Kai can usually go for a long time because he doesn't waste time teasing himself, making him less needy. He can go for 3 rounds at the least and will even spend the entire night fucking you over and over again if you'd let him.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Kai owns things like handcuffs, blindfolds, and zip ties but nothing extreme. He only buys stuff to dominate you and would never think to use them on himself. But despite having them, he only uses them when you two have a lot of time and are up for teasing yourselves.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

I've said this many times; Kai doesn't like teasing. He's okay with occasional things such as blow jobs, eating you out, or fingering, but he likes getting to the best part instead of stalling.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds do they make)

Kai is rather loud compared to his massive ego to be in control. He never shies away from telling you how good you make him feel and has some of the deepest and loudest groans you have ever heard.

W = Wild Card (A random and rather unexpected desire to the untrained eye)

One of his fantasies is to fuck you on a pool table in an empty bar. With you two trying new positions you've never thought of doing and after you're done at the pool table, you guys keep going at it all around the bar.

X = X-Ray (How pretty are they down there? Do they lie, or is it straight and utter facts?)

He likes to say he's 8 inches, but you've cracked his ego by measuring and saying it's 7 instead.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is pretty high, which surprises people because most would think that a serial killer wouldn't have time for fucking every few days, but they'd be wrong.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Once you both decide it's the last round, you cuddle up next to each other, both exhausted and sweaty. In just minutes, he's passed out on your chest.

149 notes · View notes

jobean12-blog · 4 years

Text

Clueless

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (college Bucky AU)

Word Count: 1,634

Summary: You and Bucky are kind of friends and it takes a shitty night and some soul searching on your part to make a big realization...

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club and the Surprise Drabble Challenge: Romcoms! This is such a fun idea and took me almost all week to figure out and decide on but I went with Clueless as my inspiration because it is definintely one of my favorites. So I used some dialouge straight out of the movie- so thank you to the writers, credit goes to them- and I kept the 90′s vibe but also updated a thing or two- hopefully it makes sense and works. Also, you can just imagine Bucky and the reader know each other in the same way Cher and Josh do in the movie- or whatever you want to think up- doesn’t really matter for this. And the reader is 18 and Bucky is maybe 19-20. Hope you enjoy and thank you all for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Lots of teasing and banter, sassy talk, flirting, soft touches, lingering glances and a good kiss (and some bad and awesome 90s references) LOL :)

As you walk down the sidewalk and search your bag for your phone you keep your eyes peeled on your dark surroundings, not wanting to draw attention but also not wanting to be taken by surprise. When your hand finally closes around your phone, you let out a breath and quickly dial the last person in the world you want to ask for help.

“Hello.” You pause at his slightly annoyed tone, pinching the bridge of your nose and smiling even though he can’t see it. “Hi Bucky. I was at a party and Brock offered to drive me home but then got too handsy and I told him no and he kicked me out of the car and left me out here all alone.” You can hear his breath hitch and the shuffling of sheets, “wait a second, hold on. Brock got handsy?! Are you ok? Where are you?”

“Downtown Brooklyn.” You suck your teeth and wait for him to unleash his frustration. “You owe me, you know that. Just find someplace to sit tight and be safe, I’ll be there as fast as I can.” With that he hangs up and you walk to the nearest gas station, standing outside the small mini mart next to the ice freezer. The fluorescent lights flicker every so often, creating an eerie atmosphere you can’t wait to get out of.

Bucky texts asking for your exact location and soon after you see his headlights pull into the station and he parks, rounding the car and rushing over to you. “Are you ok?” he asks, brushing his hand down the side of your face. “I’m fine, thank you for getting me. Can we go now?” He nods, looking you over once more before taking your hand and dragging you to the car.

He turns up the music and you make a face, earning a snicker from him. “What? You have a problem with oldies music?” Rolling your eyes, you sass back, “no Bucky, but I don’t know why you insist on making yourself seem like more of a bonehead than you already are.” He makes the music louder, completely ignoring your comment and singing along.

When you get home, you’re hungry and tired, quickly changing into less binding clothes and sitting next to Bucky on the couch. Taking some popcorn from the bowl you pop it in your mouth before snatching the remote from Bucky’s hand and changing the channel. “Hey, I was watching that.” You finish chewing and start brushing your hair, raising a brow his way, “I didn’t want to watch it. Don’t you watch anything other than the news?”

Bucky scoffs, looking to the TV then back to you. “I most certainly do, I just like to know what’s going on in the world, unlike you I don’t spend hours watching Parks and Rec.” Brushing your hair over your face you stick out your tongue, flipping your hair over and pinning it back. He throws a piece of popcorn at you, laughing when it sticks in your hair. You retaliate by taking your scrunchie and flinging it at his head, hitting him right in the ear.

“Look, I’m just curious. How many hours a day do you spend grooming yourself? He picks up the scrunchie and takes his short hair between his fingers, trying and failing miserably at putting it on. You lean over and brush your fingers through his hair not noticing how his eyes trail down your body and he takes a quiet inhale while you secure the scrunchie. “There you go,” you giggle. He pats the top of his head and shrugs, turning back to the TV.

The next day you find yourself feeling a bit down. Last night’s events catch up with you and you know the reason you had agreed to go home with Brock was out of loneliness. Brock’s advances were unwelcome, and he is the last person you want to date but as you think about at your friends, their happy relationships flourishing, you realize you want a boyfriend of your own. You couldn’t figure it out, what were you doing wrong? Were you just totally clueless?

Even after arriving home and trying to relax your mind was still occupied with thoughts from earlier and you barely heard Bucky when he walked outside to the pool. “Hey there, whatcha doin’?” You looked up, pulling your sunglass down your nose, “what the hell is on your face?” Bucky rubs his jaw and shuffles his feet. “I’m growing a goatee.” You stand and pinch his chin between your fingers, “Oh that’s good. You don’t want to be the last one at the coffee house without chin pubes.”

Walking away you feel him following you, rolling your eyes and letting the door shut in his face. “You know, you could try saying something nice for a change.” You whirl around, suddenly feeling shaky, “oh, so now I’m this awful person who isn’t nice! Can’t you take a joke?” He brushes past you and storms to the fridge, yelling, “you’re such a brat” before slamming it shut and walking out.

You’re left standing in the kitchen with an overwhelming sense of ickiness. Deciding a walk might do you some good you head outside and start down the street, no particular destination in mind. Even after you end up on 5th avenue and do some shopping you can’t shake the bad feeling. “Why should I care what Bucky thinks?” You say it out loud to no one while standing on a busy street corner, working over your thoughts.

“He listens to oldies music and he’s a hideous dancer, couldn’t take him anywhere. Wait a second. What am I stressing about? This is like, Bucky.” You’re so lost in your internal struggle that you don’t even realize you’ve walked into the street, a strong arm pulling you back at just the last moment, saving you from being run over by a cab. “Hey, watch where ya going girlie.” You suck in a breath and back up, stuttering “thank you,” as the man walks away shaking his head.

Once your breathing finally evens out the light goes on, “oh my god. I love Bucky. I majorly, totally, butt crazy in love with Bucky.” For the first time all day your head feels clear and you make your way back home. Seeing that you’re alone for the moment you head upstairs and change, hoping to have some peace for the rest of the evening so you can work through this newfound revelation.

Unfortunately, when you go to the kitchen for a snack Bucky appears to be in the same spot you left him earlier. “Hey,” you say quietly, shuffling around and opening all the cabinets. Now you don’t know how to act around him. Normally you would strut around him in your cutest outfits and send yourself flowers and chocolate, but you can’t do that stuff with Bucky. “What’s with you? You seem quiet.” Bucky’s question lays hanging in the thick air between you, your eyes wide as you search for an acceptable response.

He walks by, poking your as side as he passes and goes to sit on the couch. You bravely sit next to him, wringing your hands together and trying to think of what to say. He nudges your foot with his and you break into a smile, nudging his back until it becomes a game of footsie. He pulls the hair tie from the bottom of one of your braids, wrapping it around his thumb, “you look like pippy long stockings.”

You turn to him and flick the brim of his hat, “and you look like Forest Gump.” His lips turn up slightly and he takes off his hat, running his hand over his hair. Without realizing it you start to take out your braids and comb your fingers through your hair to tousle it. Bucky’s gaze settles on your movements and he licks his lips, opening his mouth to say something but your phone rings.

You look at it but don’t pick up and he raises his brows, “not gonna answer? What if you miss out on something?” Giving his shoulder a shove, you let out a squeak when he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. “I can’t believe you didn’t answer it. You must really like spending time with me. What brought on the change?” With his face only inches from yours it’s hard to concentrate but you manage to find your voice, “I always like hanging out with you.”

He shifts position so his hand cradles the back of your neck, “oh yea? And why is that?” Shrugging you say, “you’re funny…sometimes. And you have rescued me more than once…andddd…” He leans in a little closer, his breath fanning your cheek, “that’s it?” Your eyes drop to his lips, “well no, but what about you?”

His thumb gently caresses your jaw, “what about me what?” Your hand lands on his chest, fingers curling into this shirt, “why do you like hanging out with me?” His head tilts ever so slightly and his lashes lower when his nose brushes yours, “I never said I like hanging out with you.” Your hand tightens around his shirt and your lips touch in a barely there kiss, his words whispered in the small space left between, “I love hanging out with you.”

Heat rises from your stomach to your chest when Bucky’s lips press firmly to yours, the soft and warm touch making your heart skip a beat. By the time you realize it your hands are already in his hair and your legs are straddling his lap. Bucky deepens the kiss, stealing your breath, the smell of him hypnotic and the taste of him nearly silencing all other thoughts.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @bugsbucky @buckys-henley @book-dragon-13 @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-minty-breath @breezy1415 @buckstaybucky @buckosawrus @chuuulip @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @loricameback @lorilane33 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @lokilvrr @mushyjellybeans @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes @tuiccim @the-wayward-robot @this-kitten-is-smitten @yansi1923

529 notes · View notes

that-yandere-life · 4 years

Note

Oooo ooo! Would you pretty please do a NSFW alphabet thing for Wade Wilson 😭😭😍 thank you in advance!

[Thank you so much for helping me celebrate! I hope that you enjoy, and that it was what you were hoping for!]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Wade is mostly known as a lovable asshole to those in his life, but to you he is the definition of caring and sweet. So of course he will make sure to help clean you up, and tend to any needs you have. Don’t expect him not to make any playfully snarky comments the whole time though, he is still himself after all.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Favorite part of his: His dick, only because he is incredibly insecure about his appearance and whether he is attractive to you. So he figures at least he can pleasure you properly even if he does look like a wrinkled nutsack.

Favorite part of yours: Everything, he is the kind of man to worship you from top to bottom. Leaving no area of your body neglected or barren from his touch by the time you both are satisfied.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Like most Yandere’s, inside of you. However sometimes he likes to “surprise” you by randomly pulling out, letting his cum go wherever it happens to land. Rubbing it into your skin as he spouts off at the mouth about the benefits it has as skin care.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

100% Into pegging, and will ask you to don a strap on at some point. Definitely can switch it up in the bedroom, even if he is mainly dominant.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Moderately experienced, knows exactly what he is doing. While he may not have had many sexual encounters with various people he did spend a long time with Vanessa. During that time however he did gain most of his current experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

The Butter Churner/Jackhammer, where your hips and legs are up in the air, while he stands over you plunging down into you. It gives him great leverage to go as fast and as hard as he can, wanting to provide you with intense pleasure the entire time.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Everyone knows Wade can never be serious, so of course there are going to be moments where you both lose your focus and have to laugh. Not to mention he will have some sarcastic comment to add at one point or another.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Hair doesn’t really grow down there anymore, so it’s completely bare.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You are going to be surprised at how romantic he can actually be while in the moment. It’s easiest for him to open up about his deeper feelings during the act. Not having to worry about anyone hearing besides you, touching skin on skin which is something hasn’t had in so long.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Wade jacks off whenever he feels like it, sometimes when he can’t sleep and you can.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Sensory deprivation, wanting to bind you, blindfold you, gag you, maybe even using earplugs. All you can focus on is his touch, what he is doing to you, how he is making you feel. Unable to do anything but give him the signal for if you are uncomfortable, or want to stop.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere that is hidden out of sight, he is only now comfortable with you seeing him out of his clothing. So probably the bedroom is his ideal location, a place that is just for the two of you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Anything you do could be motivation to him, able to turn the most innocent statement into an innuendo. Would you expect anything less of him?

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don’t think there is anything Wade would immediately say no to, if you wanted to try it he would attempt it with you. Slightly (Okay incredibly) masochistic himself, so wouldn’t mind if you were into that either.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

69’ing is something that is frequent in your household as it’s the best of both worlds for the two of you. Getting pleasured and giving pleasure, able to go for hours enjoying each other.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Mostly fast and rough, but there are days where the two of you just need each other desperately. Those times tend to be more sensual, loving, and incredibly passionate.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If you are down to clown he is down too. Very willing to find someplace to fuck you into oblivion, not caring who hears.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Pretty much willing to do anything, except get naked in public. If you wanted to do something public he would compromise with just pulling his dick out and putting it to good use. That way he feels secure, and you get what you are craving.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He is in it for the long haul, keeping gatorade by the bed, food in the freezer for fuel, and you underneath him for the foreseeable future.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Pretty much your entire closet is filled with various toys, costumes, anything that is potentially used in the bedroom. Always trying something different to drive you over the edge.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing is Wade’s bread and butter, always going to be teasing you whether it’s sexual or not. Dirty flirty jokes will be made more often than not, making for some sexy encounters...and some very awkward encounters.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Never shuts up, ever. Even when he is being romantic he is talking in your ear telling you everything and anything that is on his mind.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has a deal with a company where they send him sex toys for free if he reviews them, and he takes it very seriously. Taking down notes on what you think of them, how they felt, what/who it would work best for.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Slightly above average, uncut, generously thick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Insatiable! Wanting you as often as you are willing, no matter what the circumstances.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Wade is the type to watch you fall asleep, getting lost in his own mind as he thinks about how lucky he is at the end of the day. To have you to come home to, to have you in his arms every night as you peacefully slumber.

#yandere marvel #marvel yandere #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #yandere wade wilson #yandere deadpool #Anonymous

467 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Text

Queen Takes

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1938

Summary:

With Beth home from Moscow, her friends gather to celebrate her achievement. One guest arrives late.

The colour of Kentucky feels like a trick after Moscow. Her blue home—her mother’s home—is a playhouse, not the American standard it’s masquerading as. Sure, Russia with its cold, with its blacks and browns across the walls of the hotel where she stayed and on the jackets of the old men in the park, is striving for a monopoly on drab stoicism, but Beth Harmon passed her early years in a trailer as silver as a bare tin can. You can find barrenness anywhere, even inside a person.

Across the coffee table, Jolene looks back at Beth like she knows what she’s thinking, those morbid thoughts. Beth can hear the smooth crack of her friend’s voice in her head. It’s… comforting, the sense that someone can simultaneously have no time and all the time in the world for her. Jolene’s eyes don’t tell her she’s a fool for taking so long to recognize love or a genius for refusing the draw (plus everything before and after)—they just say, nice dress. Subtly, Beth raises her Coke and inclines it towards her friend. Thanks.

Matt and Mike are keeping her living room balanced, one twin on either couch. Harry’s moving his hands with precision and intensity as he reiterates the brilliance of Beth’s endgame over Borgov, though Jolene is laughing at him, laughing in airy howls, because she has no interest in chess. Unlike Alma/Mrs. Wheatley/Mother, Jolene does not possess the patience to sit and listen while Beth unravels her win, move by move. How different is a friend from a sister, a sister from a mother, a mother from another mother again. This is fine. Beth, smiling, admires her guests and accepts that she has quite enough chess-lovers in her life.

There’s a knock at the door.

Jolene’s laugh cuts off like there should be a blade dangling in midair.

“Well,” she says to Beth, “go get him.”

“He’s worse than any of these three,” Beth warns with a smile, stalling and hopefully concealing the waver in her words, hands, and heartbeat.

“I’m anticipating a sanctimonious pain in the ass, and that’s just from the articles I read about you playing him.”

“You could’ve met him in New York,” Mike says as Beth gets a grip on herself and the couch, pushing up and striding with sudden purpose to the front door.

“Fight New York City traffic in my nice car? Just to sit in some dirty concrete basement? All of you talking nothing but chess?” She huffs a laugh from her nose. “Even when I was an orphan, I had better things to do than that.”

Beth’s heart is doing something painful and distracting in her chest and she misses any rejoinder the boys might have made, though she wouldn’t advise one. Very few people are so much their own person as Jolene is. Very few. Her hand is clammy on the knob as she takes hold and swings the door open. He doesn’t speak, and yet she hears, again, his voice down the long, long line, reaching her in her hotel room the night before the final. He doesn’t even smile.

“Benny,” Beth breathes, and collapses into him when he greets her with a startling kiss that captures the remainder of her oxygen. Her eyebrows raise when he pulls back. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

His gaze dips down to her dress and back to her face. Now, he smiles.

“I guess I’m playing white.”

She narrows her eyes.

“What happened to determining sides with an impartial method?”

“Don’t have any pieces on me to hide in my hands. You wouldn’t happen to have a board in the house, would you?”

Beth smiles again and holds the door wide to let Benny enter her home. She sees his car tucked against the curb out front. Likely, it contains his hat. His head is uncovered.

“And that was fair, by the way,” he whispers as she walks him into the living room. “When have you known me to skip a chance at making the first move?”

With the addition to the party, there are fresh drinks to be poured, trips to the bathroom to be taken, and things are shuffled around some until Jolene joins Beth on one couch, the twins and Benny opposite. He’s slung his leather jacket over the back of the couch and elects to sit forward. With his elbows braced on his thighs in this way and fingers intertwined in the space between, he could be contemplating one of their many games. But it’s her he looks at—staring straight across with a steadiness she can’t match in front of the others.

Jolene and Benny swap remarks, her judgements a strange and wonderful counter for the way he has always spoken in foregone conclusions. She calls him by his full name every time, just the way she told Beth she read it. As the afternoon stretches and Jolene’s career ambitions take their place in the conversation, Benny begins to call her ‘Esquire’. Beth looks on warily. Jolene breaks into a slow smile and nods her permission with a proud bob of her chin.

They bring out the cake she’s been pretending not to know about. Once, on a plane, she told her mother that a Houston tournament would take first place in her life’s Christmases; well, this feels like the best birthday she’s ever had and she doesn’t even have to age for it. Beth only cries at moments of excruciating frustration or when she is ambushed by emotion, no escape route of three moves prepared, so, naturally, the tears spill over.

“You. You did this,” Jolene insists, firm hold on her shoulders as she rocks Beth side to side on the couch.

Beth can only sniffle and smile down at the cake, chocolate, as Benny wields a knife (from a drawer in the kitchen) to slice uneven pieces. It’s heavenly. Despite high hopes of leftovers and sending each guest home with a slice, the six of them devour the cake. Harry chases the last crumbs around his plate, Matt groans and kicks his feet up on the table in search of relief for his overstuffed stomach, and Beth lies on the floor, raking her fork lazily through the icing before raising it to her lips and licking the tines clean. It’s only the pleasure of the day she means to extend with this exercise, but she can feel Benny’s eyes on her. Black makes its opening move.

She hugs each of her friends at the door as they drag themselves away. The alternative is to risk passing out across her chic living room set, and she hasn’t offered to let them stay. If any of them asked, she certainly would, but no one is at a loss for where they’ll be spending the night and they’re all—Beth knows—too aware of the car parked out front with the New York plates to want to intrude.

“You’re a queen,” Jolene says. She’s the final person to fold her into a hug. “You deserve this and more. And I bet,” she adds, dropping her voice so it’s just for Beth, not Benny, standing at the picture window and watching the boys drive away, “tonight’s going to feel even better than when you wiped Ohio with his skinny ass. Or whatever the hell happened between the two of you since then.”

Beth draws back, hands still on her friend’s waist, and gives her a look.

“Please,” Jolene begs, “it’s obvious. You’re World Champion and I am staring at the only thing Benny Watts wants to win.” She leans in with a conspiratorial smile. “This and more, Cocksucker.”

Laughing out loud, they break apart. Beth’s flushed as she waves from the doorway, arm making a wide sweep over her head, tears of gratitude welling up as her friend peels away. She dabs beneath her eyes with her fingers. She shuts the door. She flicks her eyes to Benny as she sidles around the little bit of wall separating the living room from the front room, dominated by her mother’s piano.

“I threw up in that one,” Beth volunteers, pointing out a silver cup trophy to Benny as he turns from the window. He shoots her a critical look.

“And the papers all say you’re so glamorous.”

“Everyone’s different in their own home.”

Benny gives a sideways nod to concede this.

“You’re different, I think,” she ventures. She’s less sure now, skirting the piano to come closer to him. “Like you might actually sit down.”

“I sit down,” he protests.

“For something other than a journalist.”

“I sat on your couch for hours.”

“Like you might actually stay.”

Him not entertaining her with flimsy attempts to leave, to find a hotel for the night, was his move. This boldness is Beth’s. Will he laugh at her? He could. She wonders if Harry ever mentioned to Benny that he did a stint as her roommate.

“Are you going to pull something inflatable out of someplace and condemn me to blowing it up?”

She laughs under her breath.

“No. You’re welcome to come upstairs.”

There are dishes, a light left on in the kitchen, but this mess is unlike what she did to the space herself while drunk. This scene is simply lived-in. Beth ignores the dishes and the light, eyes locked on Benny. It isn’t ‘now or never’ with him like it was with Harry—with Benny, it’s then and again. He brushes by her at the piano, the way he would in his New York apartment before they began sleeping together; the more he made sure not to touch her, the smaller the space felt. The near-collisions alone nearly drove her mad, she didn’t need chess for that. But when he’s almost past her, his fingertips connect with her skin and trickle down her arm to take her hand. Beth exhales with a smile. His middlegame remains the least predictable stage of his play.

Though she’s made the master bedroom her own, she turns the other way at the top of the stairs, right instead of left, wanting to show him where she studied and learned. He lets himself be pushed back onto her flowered bedspread. She indicates the torn mesh canopy overhead as she staggers forward on her knees to sit astride him and he hikes the black dress up her thighs. As he reaches for her back and unzips her—Beth tilting accommodatingly towards his chest—she talks ceiling visualization. How she found it, how she mastered it, how she got it back in Moscow. She waits for Benny to parrot her annoyance over discussing chess at a time like this, but he wears an empathetic smirk. Following leisurely minutes of undressing each other—“Slow down, Harmon, this isn’t speed chess”—that smirk is just about all he wears.

His necklaces glide across her chest as he kisses her neck. When he slips his hand between her legs, she invokes touch-move, insisting he finish what he’s started. Play progresses from there. This is all mine, she thinks, feeling Benny, denting a pink pillowcase with her clutching hands.

They’ve written her up as someone who attacks early and with ferocity. She lunges and thrusts, she likes control. ‘Out for blood,’ ‘killer instinct’—they make her something more than human. In her time, she’s been a talent, a prodigy, a virtuoso, a wunderkind. All of that’s become a bit mechanical. Have they forgotten, or have they never understood? Beth swipes her fingers through Benny’s hair as they catch their breath.

Chess can also be beautiful.

#my writing #The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #beth x benny #I haven't jumped fandoms in almost a year so it was about time

103 notes · View notes

hintofcolor · 3 years

Text

If I’m in pain you are gonna feel it (I never got to tell him I loved him and it’s your fault)

Tim yells at Clark because he’s sad and misses his best friend

It was quiet. Cassie and Tim stayed back, while everyone else went up to the house, sitting under the tree that gave shade to fresh turned dirt and concrete slab. The trunk of the tree wide enough that they could sit side by side and still lean back against it.

“Conner Kent,” Cassie read aloud the name on the tombstone, “the fact that that’s the name they went with makes me want to break the ugly thing.”

“Go for it,” Tim responded as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing the tears back in. He’s cried enough in front of people. “Maybe he’ll be offended enough that he comes back to tell you how rude it is to vandalize his grave.”

Cassie chuckled, “If anyone would come back from the dead because of a hurt ego, it’d be Kon.” A small, soft smile settled on both of their faces.

They sat in comfortable silence just being in each other’s presence. They were the only two left. It hurt, but at least they had each other. It was nice, comforting, to just see the other. To watch each other’s chest rise and fall, to see their eyes flutter, tired and sad, glazed over with tears, but full of life. The sun turned a warm red and the sky lit up in vibrant colors. It was beautiful. It reminded Tim that Kon would never be able to keep the promise of showing Tim the sunsets in Hawaii

“You wouldn’t believe it man!” Kon beamed, “the sunsets and sunrises are unreal. It’s like they are fake. Like some one, I don’t know, painted them. I don’t know how to describe it.” Kon sat next to Tim on the water tower in smallville. Kon had flown up there, the whole ‘not being able to be himself’ thing weighing heavy. So they sat on the tower and Kon talked and Tim listened. When the sun started to set Tim smiled and made a remark about how beautiful it was and how he doesn’t see sunsets a lot because Gotham and pollution and such. Which in turn, made Kon start gushing about Hawaii. Tim turned to give Kon his full attention, while Kon sat with his arms resting on the barricade, his legs hanging over the edge, and his eyes glued to the sky. “You gotta see it I swear.”

“I believe you.”

“No I’m serious. I want you to see it for yourself. One day I’m going to take you to see a sunset in Hawaii. That’s a promise.”

“I’ve got to head home.” Cassie’s voice breaking through the memories. “It’s been a long day, and it’s almost dark, I don’t want my mom to worry. Will you be okay? You can stay over at my place if you think your family will be to much.”

“Thanks Cass, but I’m okay.” Tim responded. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes settled in place. Like it belonged there. “I don’t think I’m through saying goodbye yet.”

Cassie simply smiled sympathetically. The look of his smile made her nauseous. She hurts too, so bad, but Tim has lost so many people already, she would give anything if she could just take his pain away. Seeing some one she loves in so much pain, knowing she can’t do anything about it, leaves her uneasy. As if she’s in pain for them. She wants to stay a little longer. Sit next to him, holding his hand, or resting her head on his shoulder, something to remind her that he’s still there, to remind him that she’s not going anywhere. She almost caved, sitting back down, staying with him till he was ready to go home. She even thought about going with him then too. Curling up in his too big bed, like how they all used to after a particularly difficult mission, leaving them feeling powerless and hopeless. All settled in one of their bedrooms, which ever was closest, just for the comfort of having other people around. They never talked, they just all silently got ready for bed and claimed a spot wherever was comfortable. However, she needed to get home to her mom, because as much as she loves Tim and wants to stick by his side, she really, really needs a hug from her mom right about now. To have her kiss Cassie’s head and tell her it’s okay, and that the pain just means that she cares.

She flies off, refusing to go up to the old house. To many memories of the four of them are stored in that rickety barn and yellow home. She doesn’t want them tainted by grief.

Tim watches her go. He leans his head back against the tree again. He was about to close his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching. He stood, perfectly ready to give whoever it was some privacy with Kon. Until Clark comes into view. An anger Tim didn’t even know he was harboring for the Kryptonian came bubbling to surface. Fast and Hot. He pushed against the tree to stand up right and tall.

“Are you proud yet?” He asked, venom dripping from every word. Clark turned to look at the boy briefly. Tim could see the guilt hanging heavy in his eyes. “He saved the world. Died a hero. That enough to convince you that he isn’t Lex? That he could be more than his DNA?”

“Tim-”

“No. I talk, you listen.” Tim spit. Clark recoiled, but stayed quiet. “You did nothing but push him away for absolutely no valid reason. What makes you think you have a right to stand here and grieve? When you were the one who made his life hell. For years, years Clark, I had to sit and listen as he doubted himself, doubted who he was, whether or not he was good, whether he was his own person. I watched him drive himself insane over his stupid DNA. Because of you, Clark! Because you couldn’t for three seconds consider that maybe, just maybe Kon is his own person. He had a mind, a beating heart, a soul, Clark, and you reduced him to a science experiment. You don’t get to stand here and act like this isn’t exactly what you wanted. Not when that stupid shield drug him down more than you could ever imagine”

“I tried-”

“YOU TRIED!? God Clark you can’t be this dense. The Kon you knew wasn’t even Kon! GOD! He changed everything about himself so that maybe, just maybe you would accept him! He died being a person he didn’t even recognize in the mirror. The clothes, that stupid t shirt and jeans, the hair cut, the glasses, his obviously dialed down personality. I can’t count how many times I listened to the same thing over and over, about how much he hated everything he had become, how didn’t feel like himself, how it was driving him insane. And every time I would tell him that there was nothing wrong with who he used to be and every time, every single time, he would respond with ‘Clark would disagree.’ All you did was change him into another version of you. Your opinion meant so much to him and you hardly even spared him a second thought. You wanna know how I know you didn’t try, because if you spent even five minutes talking to Kon like he was more than a clone bred to fight, you would know how much he hated Smallville. LOOK WHERE WE ARE STANDING! He couldn’t wait to get out of this place, and because you didn’t want to go through the, what, hassle? Of coming up with a story as to why he would be buried in someplace he liked. Buried in Hawaii? He is the in the one place that him feel even less of a person forever. God, Clark do you know how pathetic that is? How so royally fucked up that is? Do you know how angry he would be if he knew he had to spend eternity here? And yet you have the audacity to stand here and actually mourn him?.”

“I-”

“I’m not done talking. You don’t get to mourn some one you wished wasn’t alive in the first place. We both know the only reason it hurts you so much is because this perfectly crafted ‘knight on a white horse’ person you created just took a hit. God, I wish in everything that some one would knock you off of that damn high horse. I am so sorry your hero complex took a hit. I am so sorry that you have to be the villain for once. That you couldn’t save Kon, whether it was from prime or himself. I am so sorry that you worked so hard to make Kon into Clark 2.0 only to have him die. I am so, so sorry that you regret not getting to know him. But that’s on you and only you. And that guilt you’re feeling, the guilt of not being fast enough. Of not getting there in time. Of letting some one die. Of some one dying thinking that you hate them. I get it. Trust me, I get it. A hundred scenarios running through your mind about how it could have been different, how you could have saved him. How you could have done better. How you should have kept them closer. When you are laying there at night, your stomach curled in on itself, your blood ice cold. The hot tears pouring down your face as some cruel reminder that you can’t escape from this. The type of guilt that has you hunched over the toilet, choking on your vomit because you can’t stop sobbing long enough and you’re body won’t let you do both. You don’t panic, you think if I go I deserve it right? You put on the cape and become sloppy and reckless because if you make it out, if you are able to go home and take them off, the pain will set back in. That guilt that is all encompassing, that drags with you all day and all night. Cause no matter what, you can’t wake up. That guilt? I can tell you with a doubt is the worse feeling you will ever feel. And I truly mean it when I say that I hope you choke on it. I hope you scream for help and no one listens. I want you to know what it feels like to be in so much pain while surrounded by people who make a living helping people. I hope people you consider family ignore your suffering. I hope that pain seeps into your skin. I hope the sound of Kon hitting the ground rings in your ears. I hope the sound of his heart stopping replays on repeat.” Tim’s voice breaks, tears are flooding down his face he can’t see anything, but he doesn’t care. He is so angry that nothing else matters. His voice drops to barely a whisper “I wish Kon were here. I wish he could tell you this himself. I wish he could tell you himself how much it hurt to know that you would never love him.”

Tim walked off, up the dirt road that lead to Kent’s long driveway. He paused at the old worn mailbox, before deciding to just keep going. He trekked down the long dirt road, with no clue where he was going. He knew Bruce would come looking eventually. He found himself lying on the cold metal walkway of the old water tower. He just stared up at the stars, like he was waiting for Kon to appear out of the sky. He closed his eyes, tears still streaming down steadily and whispered the same thing over and over again. Maybe if he said it enough Kon would hear it.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

#dc comics #conner kent #(also cassie punches him but at a different time)#tim drake #clark kent is a bad dad #he gets better tho #i just like the angst sometimes #cassie sandsmark #if cassie was still there clark would have been doomed #poor timmy #i hated this #so i had to fix it #so here is a edited version #still not quite what i want #but its defiantly better #i also didnt tag this timkon #i dont know why #so #timkon

30 notes · View notes

vizowrites · 3 years

Note

Hey I'm not sure you mentioned this or not so forgive me for asking a question twice but what's Loona's relationship with Ty and Twist like? Do they get along do they have neutral feelings for each other or is it a bad relationship?

I actually DIDN'T say anything about their relationship other than to mention that Blitz will "sic" Loona on Twist when Twist is being stubborn and refusing to get in the car when it's time to go home from someplace. So thank you so so much for asking this!! :D

Loona's relationship with the twins has honestly been a bit of a roller coaster ride for her--but the good news is, she doesn't hate roller coasters. At first I think she was just shocked by the fact they existed, and then annoyed when they would cry at 3 in the morning and she would make herself get out of bed to take care of them because Blitz and Striker had been getting up with them for the past five nights in a row and were both exhausted by that point. It made Loona think about--not for the first time--the possibility moving out and getting her own place.....but she kept telling herself that she would just wait until the twins were a little bit older so that she wasn't just leaving her dads completely at their infants' mercy. Even though she thought that's definitely what they both deserved for creating these little hellbeings in the first place.

The thing is, when they started getting older.....she kinda started getting more and more attached to them. She still got annoyed as all hell when they would do things like tug at her face fur, or flying monkey tackle her out of nowhere when she was just chilling on the couch minding her own business. But for every time they pulled at her fur, there were always the times where they would only fall asleep for naps if they were cuddled up against her with her tail wrapped around them like a blanket. And for every time they tackled her when she was just trying to relax for five minutes, they also never left her out of the spoils when they snuck an extra dessert or stole money out of Moxxie's wallet. It was always something that stood out to Loona back in those early days, because the twins' worlds only ever seemed to revolve around each other--yet they always included her in their little orbit too.

It's probably why instead of keeping to her original plans of getting her own place, she just agreed to help contribute to moving to a bigger place when Striker and Blitz proposed the idea of upgrading from an apartment to a house in Imp City. Did she ever regret this decision? Sometimes--for sure. Especially when the twins got old enough to talk and cause chaos with their seemingly unlimited energy supplies--and especially when they started using said energy supplies to remind her that there were two of them and only one of her. They would gang up on her mercilessly, playing the ultimate game of cat-and-mouse where she was pretty sure she was the mouse in this equation and those two were a pair of cats that just loved to play with their prey instead of actually putting them out of their misery. She still stands by the fact that the day they finally started school was the happiest day of her life because suddenly it was some other bitch's problem to try to find the will to keep them alive all day long, thank fuck. Though she also may or may not have insisted on going with Blitz to pick them up after their first day--but NOT because she'd missed them or had spent the entire day worrying about them or anyting like that. She just......she wanted to swing by a drive thru that was on the way to the school! That was it!!

Though...she supposed that getting to listen to them chatter on about all the crazy shit they did at school was entertaining.

And she might be kind of proud of them when they told her that they rubber cemented some bully's ass to her chair after she was being a bitch and talking shit to them and their "cousin" Missi.

And okay, so maybe she even offers to be the one to pick the twins up from school when Blitz and Striker are busy on jobs and after a while it just becomes a regular habit. It's not because she likes it, she's just doing her dads a favor. Totally.

.....And even when the twins are at their MOST annoying, like refusing to get into the fucking car after their spoiled little asses get to spend the weekend at not!Chuck E. Cheese, Loona always feels a rush of genuine glee rise up in her whenever Blitz whistles and tells her to "fetch". She has permission and they'd better run fast. :)

I do think that there would be another dip, if you will, in their relationship though by the time Twist and Ty are teenagers--because fuck her life, Loona is not prepared to deal with teenage twins. But I think much like with every other stage in their lives, there's going to be those little golden nuggets that offset whatever other bullshit ends up happening with them. Honestly I think Loona is looking forward to them dating--if they choose to date--even less than Blitz is. They're both absolute naturals at drawing attention, but when you live down in the Pride Ring of Hell, that's not really a good thing. She knows they can both handle themselves, of course--but at the same time she knows that even they would meet their matches when it came to catching the attention of Overlords and Demon Royalty.

And she swears to Satan if any of those privileged FUCKS so much as looks at those two-- not that she would be able to beat Striker to taking their sorry asses out but still

So maybe there isn't a tooooon that ever really changes in Loona's relationship with the twins over time. They're always going to do something that annoys the fuck out of her, they're always going to do things that win her back over, and--most of all--there's never going to be a time, no matter what age they are, where she wouldn't protect them with her life. She's their big sister. It's what she's there for. <3 <3

~*~

Thank you SO much again for this ask, Anony!! You honestly have no idea how happy it makes me to see questions about the twins in my asks. Thank you so so so so so much!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

#vizowwritesanswers #BlitzStrike #ocs: twist and ty #BlitzStrike fam AU #Loona and the twins #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS!!#Anonymous

10 notes · View notes

rinusagitora · 3 years

Text

You’re in all my dreams.

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Karin Kurosaki, Toushirou Hitsugaya, Momo Hinamori, OC- Mae Izumi

Pairings: HitsuKarin

Words: 2.2k

Summary: Shinigami!Karin AU. For HitsuKarin Week 2021. WARNINGS- mentions of suicide, dysfunctional families; Karin graduates Shin'ou and shares her dreams with Toushirou.

AO3

For the last six years, Karin dreamed of the day she’d graduating from cadet to officer and don the shihakusho like everyone she ever admired.

It was an anxious future filled with wonder and promise she never knew back in the World of the Living. Going from cadet to captain of a small force was going to be quite the culture shock, perhaps even more than the cold water of the river where she drowned. But she made it, and it made her much more confident in her ability. Officers were chosen from a pool of graduates and turnover was infrequent since few officers passed away in peacetime. It made competition fierce and even rarer that a graduate obtained a seated position out of the gate.

She was equal parts nervous and excited. For the time being, all Karin wanted to do was enjoy the graduation bonfire.

Mae toppled onto the log, sloshing rice wine onto Karin’s lap. She laughed. “I’m sorry! I’m sooo hammered.”

“No worries. I think I’ve puked on you more times than you’ve spilled on me.”

“Indeed, we swapped roles tonight.” Mae tapped Karin’s nose. “Tonight, of all nights, you choose to be reserved. Why?”

Karin hummed and swirled beer. “I’m nervous, I think.”

“It’s a big change.” Mae looked over the crowd. “Where are Hinamori-fukutaichou and Hitsugaya-taichou? I expected them, of all people, to be here.”

Karin’s reikaku grazed the crowd. Momo was there, just chaperoning. Keeping firelight between bodies like a puritan. Perhaps rightfully so. They were the new faces of the Seireitei. It was better not to romp in the woods right over poison ivy before recruitment day. Pussy itch was a different kind of awful. The kind of awful where Karin, who was once impaled, ended up curling up on the floor crying while Izuru healed her crotch and Shuuhei and Renji laughed in the next room.

The crowd parted for Momo like river water around stones. She stopped before Karin, and Karin smiled at her mentor. “Hi, Momo-senpai.”

Mae nodded. "Hinamori-sama."

"Izumi-chan, I hope you're enjoying the festivities."

"Oddly enough. It's strange letting loose… but I see where Karin-chan's alcoholism comes from. Dancing while intoxicated is liberating."

"Indeed." Nonetheless, Momo cocked her head and curiously looked over Karin. Karin knew the jig was up from there. She and Ryuuji were normally in the center of the action, and Karin hadn't so much as howled or toasted once that evening.

“Leave us, Izumi-chan.”

Mae managed to right herself and bowed to excuse herself. Gracefully, Momo took a seat beside Karin as she cursed internally. She didn't want to talk about it, but Momo always dragged out her bad feelings and laid them in the open.

“It’s odd you’re not out enjoying the festivities. This is your… thing.”

“It’s just really hitting me that I’m going to be a shinigami,” Karin told Momo. “I’ve been working toward this goal for six years. What do I do from here?”

Momo laughed. “Six years is a blink of an eye for the majority of us.” She held Karin’s shoulders. “There will be plenty to do, Karin-chan.”

“I can’t believe we’re all in a squad just after graduation, though.”

“Who? Izumi and Kawashima?” Karin hummed affirmatively in response to Momo, who then grinned. “Believe it or not, Iba-taichou wanted Watanabe. I think Watanabe is in for a reality check.”

“You are far too happy over that.” Karin couldn’t help but share Momo’s thrill, however. Chousuke Watanabe was a thorn in her side for six years, being her friend Ryuuji’s tormentor. Tetsuzaemon would straighten him out. The very picture of manhood and chivalry according to Momo. It was far too rewarding imagining Chousuke getting reamed by a six-foot wall of meat and battle scars.

"Bias is something I never shied away from. It's been a driving force in my life, for better or worse." Momo kissed Karin's forehead. "For best, in your case. You've been family since the moment I laid eyes on you, Karin-chan. My own in many ways. Every obstacle you've faced, you've overcome, and are better for it. I am so proud of how far you've come, and I'm so glad to have played a part in it."

Karin smiled bashfully. At least she had Momo.

Momo lovingly jostled Karin. There it was. Momo buttered up Karin just enough and was about to get her to bust open a can of worms. "What's on your mind?"

"I just… I thought Toushirou would be here. I haven't seen him all day today."

"I'm not supposed to tell you, but," Momo whispered, grinning, "he's preparing something special. Be patient."

Her heart pattered. "Oh." Of course he was. She was a little ashamed that hadn't occurred to her earlier as if they hadn't developed years of trust and affection, or at least a solid friendship. Nonetheless, Momo stroked Karin's hair, reminding her she was only human, that something so little wouldn't ruin everything.

Speaking of… Karin picked up on a familiar, icy reiatsu approaching. It was Toushirou, still in uniform. She smiled and Momo tapped her on her nose.

"See?"

"Not yet, but he's coming." Momo only rolled her eyes in response to Karin's lame joke.

"I'll leave you now. Enjoy your night, Karin-chan."

"Thanks, Senpai. I love you."

"And I love you."

Toushirou was still in uniform with his hands tucked into his sleeves. As he passed, Karin's fellow cadets parted and bowed to him. He ignored the attention, however, instead sporting a smile as he found Karin on her log.

He'd undergone hormone therapy in recent years to trigger a growth spurt. And he'd grown up to be a handsome young man, with looks rivaling stars in the World of the Living with access to renowned surgeons.

"I hope you've been enjoying yourself," he said. He took a seat next to her. He smelled like flowers. "I never attended these things, truthfully."

"Did you want to try dancing?" Karin asked.

"Well… I don't know," he said. Toushirou pulled a modest bouquet of daffodils from his sleeve, tied off with a turquoise ribbon. "It's not a big gift, I know, but I hope it reminds you that you're always welcome in juubantai."

Gingerly, Karin took his bouquet and smelled them. They smelled like spring. "I love them," she said. "Thank you."

She pressed a kiss against Toushirou's cheek, and he happily hummed. "I'm glad you like them. It's hard buying gifts for you."

"As if."

"It's true," he replied. "All Matsumoto wants is a day off, Hinamori loves spices and tobacco, and the boys are happy with some sake. You, on the other hand, easily get your hands on sake and tobacco, and hate downtime." Toushirou crossed his legs. "I should've consulted my sister."

Karin frowned. "But I like them…"

"The flowers? But they're such a lazy gift," he scoffed.

"I like everything you give me." She smiled. "Really, thank you. I love them."

He laughed bashfully. "Well, I'm glad."

Together they sat amid drums and singing and firelight, swaying with it, until Toushirou asked, "I don't want to take you from your friends, but I’m not enjoying myself here. Do you mind going elsewhere?"

"We can leave," Karin said. "Where do you want to go?"

"Someplace quiet where we can see the stars."

Her cheeks were warm at the idea. How romantic.

Karin bashfully followed behind Toushirou, holding his hand as he guided her away from the bonfire. When it was dark, he illuminated the way with kidou, assured in every step. A gorgeous man. He'd grown into his looks. His cheekbones were high, his shoulders broad. She could swoon until early morning over his handsome shape.

Up a hill, through a grove, and up a steep path, until they reached the peak of a sheer cliff. The stars above looked like a river of life. They didn't twinkle but were a steady pathway carved in the sky. Karin fell onto the grass and marveled. "Wow. When did you find this, Toushirou?"

"Not long ago. I wouldn't keep this from you without a good reason." He smiled at her. Sitting, he said, "Do you like it?"

"Yes!" Karin nigh tackled Toushirou and kissed his cheek. "It's beautiful."

"I should've brought wine."

"This is perfect." Karin laid her head on Toushirou's shoulder. Together they stared into the stars. She searched for constellations but found none she recognized. "Do you think the World of the Living and the Soul Society have different stars?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. No one spends time looking up in the Soul Society. Those who do, don't seem to have the technology contributing to significant findings," Toushirou replied. "I'm not much of an astronomer either."

"You're a man of the law."

He laughed bashfully. "Aye."

Karin drew pictures in the stars herself. Birds, men, kitchenware, like she remembered from her human life not so long ago. Six years was nothing compared to how long her peers lived, was it? Not Momo, who was approaching a century and a half. Not even Toushirou, well into his seventies by that point. But Karin couldn’t remember the names of the stars or where to find them in the sky. How much longer did she have until she overwrote their patterns with other things? How much longer until her sad mortal history was forgotten in a sea of everything else?

There weren’t immediate answers to her questions, but Karin was fine with that. She said, "I remember hoping a rope would drop from the sky and drag me by the neck. Put me out of my misery."

"Understandable," Toushirou replied.

"I'm so much happier here. It's not always easy, but..."

"Slow and steady?"

"Yeah. Slow and steady wins the race. And I'm glad to be with you for it."

"So," Toushirou said, "no more sky-ropes to hang you until you're dead?"

She giggled. "Not anymore. I don't fancy myself a pirate, anyway."

He hummed. "I had a dream some time ago. Similar to yours... although I remember it being less grizzly," Toushirou confessed. She pulled her gaze from the starlight and saw him cloaked in darkness. Still, his eyes shined with wonder. Adoration. "A dream that assured me you're the love of my life."

"Go on," she said.

"I was being puppeteered by the sky. Dragged around day in and day out. And I saw the strings on you, into the sky as far as my eyes could see. And yet despite time, and fate, and all the horridness that plagued life for some time, we fought to be together." He clasped her hand. "Our strings became tangled and pink like cherry blossoms in spring. Like sunset. And... and I never want those strings freed." His blue-green eyes met hers. They made her melt like her body was hot wax in a leather bag. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Karin."

It felt like forever before she caught her breath. She asked, "Are you proposing?"

"If that's all it takes to spend the rest of my life by your side, and you at my side, I'll fetch a ring now. Propose properly in front of as many people as you like.”

Karin giggled. Picturing Toushirou hopping onto a bar counter, sake raised high, and screaming how deeply he was in love with Karin to their loved ones and peers, was quite a sight to behold! Yet, as anxious as he was to do so, she replied with, "Not at all. But let's make plans down the road. When I'm settled in."

"Of course." Toushirou sighed happily. They kissed. "I'm so in love with you, Karin."

"And I love you."

"I could stay here forever."

Karin hummed. “We have forever to do that…”

He turned to meet her gaze. “But?”

“I want to do more.” She sat up. “We work because we’re more than just lovers. We’re friends, confidants, partners. Warriors and artists and scholars.”

“Of course,” he agreed, propping himself on his palm.

“I want to be married, and I want forever with you, as much as I want-”

Toushirou said, completing Karin’s statement, “More.” He held her hand then. “It’s one of the reasons I love you. My recruitment was necessary. Yours is nothing but-”

“Desire.” She gazed into the stars, searching for divination in the blanket covering a slowly rotating plane.

“Then what more do you want?”

“To give justice and safety to those who have been and yet to be hurt. No one should suffer as I, and we have. I want to tear down the caste system here. Hold nobility responsible for their actions and give power back to the people, and eradicate the symbols of fascism and cruelty. I want to reconnect families. To make the Rukongai safe, so no one’s starving or resorting to crime to survive. And…” Karin turned to Toushirou, her breath stilling as she saw his eyes swimming with adoration. “And I want to mold the next generation to dream as I now dream, and to better the world. And I want to do all of it with you beside me, Toushirou. As equals.”

Toushirou cupped her cheek. He kissed her, and she held his sleeve. “Let’s do it. Together,” he said. Their foreheads touched. “Together always.”

#bleach #shinigami karin au #hitsukarin #hitsukarinweek2021 #karin kurosaki #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #oc: mae izumi

12 notes · View notes

hopeisour4letteredword · 3 years

Text

personal furnace, ch8 (final)

Summary: Winter renovations at the inn in Zaphias leave Yuri in need of a warm bunk for the night. Good thing he can always count on his good buddy Flynn.

Read it below or at the link to AO3 in the notes.

He tries to get on with the rest of his day. It's difficult. Flynn doesn't like to think of himself as a coward, but he'd never quite had the courage to spend a lot of time daydreaming about what would happen if Yuri rejected his affections. Now his failure of imagination means he lacks a mental contingency plan to fall back on. He goes through the motions, mostly. Goes to his meetings with Ioder and the Knights' captains and hopefully doesn't make a complete fool of himself. He says all the right things, he thinks. Remembers most of what he wanted to address—his notes help. Goes to train with some of the rookie Knights and tries not to pummel them too hard. Goes back to his room to flip through documents. That one is the worst. He can't focus at all, not sitting in his chair in the room where he managed to drive off the most important person in his life.

Eventually he gives up, disgusted with himself, much earlier in the evening than he usually would. He feels unreasonably exhausted. Surely he shouldn't be. He's slept more soundly over the last week with Yuri than he has in months. There's no reason for him to be so bone-tired. But he's clearly not going to be able to force himself to get anything done, so he might as well call it a night. He's just finished changing into pajamas and is stoking the fire one last time for the night when the knock at the window comes.

Flynn stares at the closed curtains for a long moment in amazement. The poker is clutched, forgotten, in his hand. When the knock comes again, accompanied now by a crabby-sounding, "Flynn!" he tosses it to the side thoughtlessly and half-sprints to shove the curtains aside and open the window. Yuri glowers at him even as he climbs inside. No wonder he's so irritated. He's come without his coat again.

"What kept you? Holy shit, were you actually in bed at a reasonable hour?"

“I hadn't yet—come in, good grief,” Flynn says, somewhat stupidly with Yuri already tumbling into the room and halfway into Flynn’s arms. Flynn grabs a blanket off the bed to wrap around his shoulders haphazardly with one hand and slams the window back closed with the other. “Is Mariam really still insisting that your room isn’t fixed?”

“No,” Yuri says, curtly. He shivers violently even as Flynn adjusts the blanket around him. “It’s fixed. Been fixed for a while, apparently.”

Flynn freezes, surprised. Yuri snorts when Flynn blinks at him in bewilderment. “You know I still have shit I’m supposed to be getting done for Brave Vesperia, right?”

“I—well, yes, but—“

“And I’d really rather have my own damn space to do that, rather than working off a corner of the Commandant’s desk? There’s shit for the Guilds I really shouldn’t be waving around in front of the Knights, y’know.”

“I—“ Flynn’s heart is in his throat. He couldn’t dare to presume—

Yuri presumes for him. He elbows the rest of his way into Flynn’s space, blanket and all, until Flynn is forced to either take Yuri into his arms or fall a stumbling step back.

(He takes Yuri into his arms, of course. Yuri’s still so cold, it practically radiates off him at close quarters. Flynn can’t not share his body heat, it would just be cruel. How could he not warm Yuri up when the option is there?)

“If you want me in your bed,” Yuri says, voice low, “All you had to do was ask. All you ever had to do was ask. You don’t need stupid excuses. Alright?”

“Alright,” Flynn echoes, feeling a bit faint. His hands had settled for a safe, respectful stabilizing grip on Yuri’s elbows, but now he moves them tentatively to Yuri’s hips. Yuri leans into the contact. It feels like Flynn’s brain kickstarts back into action, finally processing the last thirty seconds, and a giddy smile spreads across his face. “Yuri...”

“You’re still in trouble,” Yuri says, stubbornly. The splotchy pink of cold on his cheeks slowly fills out into a deeper, more consistent red blush as Flynn watches. “For letting Mariam fuck around with me.”

“I didn’t—“ Flynn starts to protest, then thinks better of it, setting his weight back on his heels with a sigh. He’s got his hands on Yuri’s hips, an intimacy he wouldn’t have dared try just this morning, and Yuri more or less volunteering to spend more time in his bed. If the consequences of a petty lie are his price for that, so be it. He’ll pay gladly. “Alright. I’m sorry.”

“Should be,” Yuri says. He bullies his way even closer so that he can shove his face into the crook of Flynn’s shoulder, cold nose pressed up against Flynn’s neck. Flynn barely flinches; it’s no worse than all the times Yuri has shoved cold fingers on him as a joke over the years, and this has vastly more appealing side benefits to make up for the slight discomfort. He wraps his arms more solidly behind Yuri’s back. “Haven’t gotten any damn guild work done in a week because I knew if I took the request missives out to look at in the inn’s dining area, the kids’d vanish them as soon as I turned my back.”

“You were no better at their age,” Flynn points out. He strokes once, cautiously, over Yuri’s shoulder blades. When that’s allowed without objection, he starts rubbing gentle circles into Yuri’s back over the blanket. Maybe he can massage some warmth back into him this way. “Worse, probably.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to have to tell Karol I didn’t do the job ‘cause some kid fed the directions to their dog."

“Or your dog.”

“Don’t get me started on Repede. Mariam said he's been sleeping in the fixed room since the third day.”

Flynn bursts into startled laughter, unable to stop himself even when Yuri smacks him lightly on the bicep with annoyance. “Has he really?”

“Yeah, the little shit.”

“Smart dog,” Flynn says, fondly. Yuri rolls his eyes. Flynn can’t see it, but he knows.

“Smarter than either of his masters, apparently.”

“If you come in through the doors, he could join his masters.”

“First of all,” Yuri says, “Still not interested in talking to any other Knights. Second, I don’t know what page you managed to get lost on if you want Repede in here with us while we’re trying to make out.”

Flynn stills. Yuri waits him out for a few beats before he says, anxious and trying to cover it with flippancy, “I mean, unless I’m the one on the wrong page—“

“No,” Flynn blurts out. He hugs Yuri close to him, squeezing probably too tightly in his rush to show conviction. Yuri grumbles out a sound of protest and Flynn loosens his grip. “No, you’re on the right page. Of course. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. As long as he’s got someplace else to keep warm for the night.”

“Repede always finds his way,” Yuri says, sounding much more at ease now.

“Come on. I’ve kept you waiting long enough, let’s get you under the covers. Do you want a change of pajamas?”

“No,” Yuri says. He shakes off Flynn’s embrace to step back, handing him the blanket before he starts to strip. Is Flynn allowed to openly enjoy this now? Yuri hardly gave him a chance to look away, although he turns pink again when he realizes Flynn is blatantly staring at the skin revealed when he strips out of each layer. “Should be warm enough with just blankets and you, I think. I'd rather sleep in my underwear.”

“You just want to put off doing laundry.”

“I’m not even the one doing the hypothetical pajama laundry. This is your laundry, Mr. I-have-maids-now.”

Flynn watches raptly as Yuri shimmies his pants down to his knees, then yanks his legs out of his boots and pants at the same time, one by one. He grabs the boots and tosses them to the side with the pants still tucked in.

“That seemed like more hassle than just taking them off individually.”

“The way you’re looking at me right now, I’m afraid you’ll eat me alive if I do this in a way normal enough to be even remotely sexy,” Yuri says, prompting heat to rush to Flynn’s own cheeks. “And I’m sorry to disappoint, but I would actually like to be able to feel my limbs when we cross that bridge, so that's not happening tonight.”

“My intentions are pure,” Flynn says, firmly. Yuri has the gall to laugh incredulously as he takes off his socks and throws them the way of his boots. “Oh, stop it, I’ve never gotten to look just for the sake of looking before!”

“I told you, you could’ve looked any time if you just asked.”

“Well,” Flynn says. He could say he didn’t know that at the time, but... he’s not stupid. He had a vague awareness that the way he and Yuri behave with each other was already not, strictly speaking, standard platonic friendship. He doesn’t know how to explain the bizarre, Yuri-induced blind spot in his feelings that has him stunned to find out Yuri reciprocates. That’s love, he supposes. “You weren’t asking either.”

Yuri turns even redder. "How was I supposed to know you were interested?"

"Basic social signals?" Flynn suggests. Now down to his underwear, Yuri begins to shiver again. Flynn tucks the blanket back around his shoulders and gathers him close, letting him huddle against Flynn's warm body. "I don't think I've been terribly subtle."

"You weren't that obvious either," Yuri mutters, ducking down to hide his face against Flynn's shoulder again. Hmm. Flynn disagrees, but he can hardly judge. Apparently there's a corresponding Flynn-induced blind spot in Yuri's feelings. How endearing. Yuri's usually so self-assured. "Are we getting into bed or what? I'm still freezing, here."

"Bed," Flynn agrees. He shuffles toward the bed, pulling Yuri along with him. Yuri follows, almost stepping on Flynn's toes in his insistence to stay close to the warmth of Flynn's body. Flynn regretfully has to let go of Yuri to pull back the covers. Yuri crawls in first, still wrapped snugly in the extra blanket. That's normal enough. What's new, what makes Flynn's heart flutter, is the way he wriggles his arms free and reaches for Flynn. Flynn hurries to slide under the blankets after him, pulling the wool and downy quilts over their shoulders as he half-throws himself into Yuri's arms. Yuri huffs out a quiet laugh. His arms fold around Flynn's back as Flynn shamelessly snuggles in close. His cheeks are still flushed a gentle pink.

"Don't concuss me, moron."

"I was about to ask to kiss you before you were so mean," Flynn says. Yuri's eyes go wide. "Since I believe there was some talk of making out."

"There was also talk of me being able to feel my limbs," Yuri says, but it's softly-spoken and his face drifts closer to Flynn's until their noses bump, foreheads pressed together. "And my fingers are still pretty stiff right now."

"We don't have to do anything but kiss," Flynn says, just as softly. "And not even that if you don't want. But I'd like to, if you're up for it."

In answer, Yuri nudges forward the last bare inch to press his mouth gently to Flynn's. His lips are a little chapped—Flynn will have to see about getting him some beeswax balm, he thinks, distractedly—and they apply but faint, tentative pressure, but it's still the best kiss Flynn has ever participated in, simply by virtue of having come from Yuri.

When Yuri pulls back and tilts his face, adjusting the angle, to lean in again—that, anew, is the best kiss Flynn has ever had.

And so is the next one.

And the next one.

And—

---

Yuri is snoring gently against his throat when Flynn wakes. Technically speaking, this could have easily happened on any other morning this week. But it feels more special, to know Yuri fell asleep like this. That he meant to be in exactly this position and he didn't want to move all night, that he's happy and comfortable like this.

Flynn lays there for a series of long moments, recalling the previous night, preening in the satisfaction of having Yuri voluntarily wound into his embrace, of Yuri returning that embrace. The satisfaction of Yuri, annoyed as all hell with him for allowing meddling in their personal affairs, still coming back to tell Flynn he wanted to be in Flynn's bed as much as Flynn wanted him in Flynn's bed. The satisfaction of all you ever had to do was ask. Flynn wonders, somewhat wistfully, what else he's allowed to ask for. Dare he dream of things even better than Yuri cozy and affectionate in his arms, even better than soft kisses before they fall asleep tangled up in each other?

But Flynn is a man of duty, and he's awake now because of routine, so alas. Time to get up, he thinks, and shifts in preparation to draw back. Then he pauses.

No meetings this morning. No training sessions. He needs to review the budgets for their operations in Tolbyccia before he sees the captains this afternoon, but... that won't take too long. Most of the work he was trying to force himself to focus on yesterday can wait. It isn't urgent.

And Yuri is so warm and comfortable in his arms....

Flynn sets his mind and snuggles back in, kissing the top of Yuri's head. Yuri twitches minutely in his arms and snuffles quietly.

"Mmph?"

"Nothing," Flynn whispers. He strokes along Yuri's bare back. "Go back to sleep."

"Mm," Yuri mumbles. He rouses a little, to Flynn's great disappointment. "You gettin' up?"

"No," Flynn says, still softly. "I'm staying right here."

Yuri hums, pleased. "Good. Too early."

"Rest some more," Flynn says. He kisses the crown of Yuri's head again. Yuri makes another pleased sound. "I'll be here when you wake up."

With Yuri cozy all along his front, Flynn finds himself dozing again too. He'd been too caught off-guard last night to think ahead to the next morning, hadn't bothered to think through the consequences of an impromptu lie-in, so he's snapped back into awareness by the brisk knock at the door that signals Cecelia's entrance. Flynn half-rises in a panic only to be arrested by Yuri's limp weight. Yuri grumbles sleepily, trying to tug him back down to the mattress. Flynn finds himself meeting Cecelia's wide eyes as she freezes in the doorway. The breakfast tray is clutched in her hands so tightly that the wood creaks.

Flynn knows exactly what this tableau must look like—knows that even before he tried to sit up and dislodged some of the quilts, Yuri's shoulders would have been visibly bare above the line of the blankets—and with Yuri burrowed so tightly into Flynn's arms, too—

"Breakfast," Cecelia squeaks. "Sir. Mr. Yuri. I'll—I'll leave it on the desk."

"Thank you," Flynn chokes out, completely mortified. He's not embarrassed of Yuri, but—to have one of the staff actually catch him in bed—

Cecelia curtsies and turns so fast she almost trips over her own feet. The door slams closed behind her.

Yuri snorts.

"Yuri," Flynn hisses, almost hysterically. "If you're awake you could have let go!"

"Punishment," Yuri says, without opening his eyes. He finally succeeds in dragging Flynn back down, and rolls halfway on top of him to snuggle close again. "You're in trouble, remember?"

"I thought that just meant you were cross with me!"

"Think again," Yuri murmurs. It's decidedly more difficult to be angry with him when his mouth touches Flynn's throat on every syllable. Flynn manages nonetheless. "You let me be made a fool of, now you get to be the fool. Prob'ly enough though."

"I—you—don't drag poor Cecelia into that!"

"Cece already thought we were boning," Yuri says, sounding bored. He rolls the rest of the way on top of Flynn's body, the force of his weight pushing a soft grunt out of Flynn. He can take it, but Yuri's still a fully grown man. "That's why she was so offended that you said not to bring breakfast for me, I guess. She thought you were trying to hide our relationship because it was a trust thing. At least that's what Espie said. She overheard me yelling at Mariam and told me Cece asked her for advice about how to show you she was trustworthy."

"Cecelia already thought we were in a relationship?" Flynn demands, baffled. "Why? Because I let you share my room instead of freeze?"

"I'm told it would be less homoerotic if you just put me up in the barracks or some shit."

"I couldn't put you up in the barracks, you hate the barracks. You'd have slept in the cold rather than sleep in the barracks."

"Also you wanted me in your bed," Yuri says, and at least he's not so irritated with Flynn that he doesn't sound satisfied with that. Flynn's heart warms pleasantly at the tone of it. The knowledge that Yuri likes being wanted by him is still fresh enough to give Flynn a frisson of delight.

"Yes, I wanted you in my bed, but that part is definitely homoerotic. I could've made you sleep on the floor for all Cecelia knew."

"I have no control over her rationale. All I knew was that it would be really easy to get you back, so I did. Honestly, you set most of it up yourself."

"...Does this mean Cecelia was also trying to meddle by bringing you breakfast?"

"I don't think so," Yuri says. His expression shifts from sleepy mischief to thoughtfulness. "It sounded like Espie didn't bother to correct her. Cece would have still thought she was showing that she could be chill about me being here."

"Thank the gods," Flynn mutters. He has no idea what he would do with himself if his personal maid had taken it upon herself to interfere with his love life. "Well. You're a terrible brat, but I suppose I forgive you."

"It was no less than you earned," Yuri says, righteously. He might be wrong; Flynn suspects Yuri could come up with much worse than deeply mortifying Flynn as a one-off. If he truly feels that this is enough to punish Flynn for a week of being laughed at behind his back, Flynn should count himself lucky. Yuri yawns and rests his cheek on Flynn's shoulder. "Can we go back to sleep now?"

"You'll be able to fall back asleep alright after all that excitement?"

"Think I'll manage. I'll try, anyway. You?"

"We'll see." Flynn has a fairly regular internal rhythm, after all. He was already a bit surprised to have dozed back off earlier. He's not sure how his body will respond to an attempt to sleep in now that he's had a shot of adrenaline into his veins. He cards his fingers between dark locks of hair. "I can at least stay in the bed a while longer. Keep you nice and warm."

Yuri hums with pleasure again. It vibrates against Flynn's shoulder, making him shiver. "Now you really are my personal furnace."

"And gladly." Flynn kisses him on the forehead. Then he does it again, for good measure. Then again, and again, until Yuri reaches up to slap a hand over his mouth with a grumble of complaint.

"We're trying to sleep."

"Aw," Flynn mumbles, muffled. Yuri tilts his face enough for Flynn to get a glimpse of his expression, which is clearly fighting down sleepy fondness to try to project exasperation. Flynn's heart throbs at the sight.

"More kissing later, sleep now."

"You could sleep through it?"

"I really won't." Yuri removes his hand from Flynn's mouth to press his palm flat to Flynn's chest instead, right over his left breast. "And quit getting excited, your heartbeat is way too fast. We're resting."

"I can't help that."

"Yes, you can. Calm down."

Flynn murmurs some kind of nonsense excuse-apology combination and nudges Yuri to rest his head down again, so that Flynn can tuck his face against his hair. Soft and silky and comforting. Yuri sighs contentedly and nestles down against him.

As ever, the chill of a cold winter's morning threatens from beyond the nest of blankets. Yuri was already hard enough to leave behind as Flynn's own heat source before. Now, with him intentionally cuddled up to Flynn, Flynn loses all motivation for getting up to do other things. Despite his prior concerns, Yuri's right; as soon as Flynn decides to accept his role as pillow instead of showering Yuri with tender affections, he finds himself calming and settling. Yuri's gentle breaths against his throat go slow and even again. Flynn's own breathing steadies in response.

Breakfast will keep, surely. Flynn will just rest his eyes for a moment.

#fluri #flynn scifo #yuri lowell #tales of vesperia #long post #original character

25 notes · View notes

silverarmedassassin · 3 years

Text

Home for the Holidays (2/2)

Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 5,661 | Warnings: None

A/N: Here is part two! Thank you to those who humored me and read this little mini story! Part 1 can be found on my masterlist, which is conveniently pinned to my blog 😬

This is part 2 to my holiday submission for @wonderlandmind4‘s fall/winter writing challenge. My prompt was: Character B is very enthusiastic to introduce character A to all their traditions, but tries to be sensitive when A seems like they’re struggling to fit in/enjoy themselves.

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

“You’re going to love it here,” you announce as you take the exit to your small hometown. The drive out of the city had been relatively quiet, the playlist you’d crafted specifically for the trip was only briefly interrupted a handful of times by you pointing out a landmark or attraction tied to childhood memories. Normally, silence on a road trip would make you uncomfortable, but not with Bucky. In the few months you’ve known him, you’d come to understand he was a man of very few words most of the time, so you rarely felt the need to fill the empty space with senseless words.

You’d gotten to know him a lot better in the few weeks leading up to Christmas. He had been making an effort to spend time outside of his apartment more, which often meant he would come down to yours to share a meal or watch a movie. It was nice, getting to spend so much uninterrupted time with Bucky and, if the offhand comments that Sam had offered the handful of times you’d seen him coming and going, Bucky was enjoying the time too. If anything, it was helping him open up again. And, if that’s all you could offer your neighbor, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, instead he continues to look at his window at the passing landscape. Driving home has always been one of your favorite things to do, as the concrete jungle of the city slowly tapered off into nothing but dense forest, hills, and nature preserves. As much as you loved where you were in life now, there were always moments in time where you questioned why you’d ever decided to re-root yourself in New York City.

Once off the interstate, it doesn’t take you long to reach town limits, and it’s only a few short minutes of driving to reach your parent’s home. As you pull your car into the drive, you see Bucky tense out of your peripheral. You’d had a feeling the reason he was being so quiet today was because he was nervous, but this subtle action reaffirmed that.

“My dad’s not home yet,” you state nonchalantly in an attempt to ease his anxieties a little. “It’s just my mom home. I told her to be on her best behaviour, so you don’t have to worry about a million questions.”

Bucky glances over at you and the look in his eyes tells you that statement has eased him just a little. The fact he was so nervous to meet you family made you feel bad for even inviting him in the first place. But you knew he didn’t have anyone, as Rebecca’s family was going on a cruise, and Bucky had shared Sam was spending the holiday with his mother out of state. Despite your wanting to help him feel less alone during this awkward time of transition and settling, you felt guilty for bringing him all the way here.

Before you can let that guilt settle uncomfortably in your chest, you pop the trunk and jump out of the car. You’re only going to be home for four days, as Bucky didn’t want to stay away for too long and you wanted to use the extra time off of work to finally finish making your apartment feel like your home. Due to that, you both only had a small duffle of clothing, so unloading your things was quick.

As you lead Bucky up to the front door, you’re suddenly reminded to alert him of one tiny detail that might make him uncomfortable. As you turn to tell him, the front door of flings open and your mom comes barreling out, arms wide open. “I forgot to tell you,” you say, voice slightly muffled by your mother’s arms, “Mom’s a hugger.”

“Oh hush,” your mom says as she pulls away from you, her sights already set on Bucky. “Everyone needs a good hug.”

That night, Bucky had an easier time falling asleep than he ever imagined. New places, mixed with the fear of having one of his nightmares typically kept him up, if not all night, into the wee hours of the morning. The non-prescription sleeping pills Sam had suggested, mixed with the calming effect you seemed to have on him, were likely to thank for the early night. He isn’t surprised, however, when he startles awake around three in the morning. As he sits up in bed, sweat-drenched hair sticking to the sides of his face, he tries to remember what exactly the dream was about. It was another little something Sam and the others had suggested he do, something about acknowledging the things that hurt us most or something.

After a few minutes of sorting through his brain and trying to pin-point exactly what was the cause of his sudden consciousness, he gives up. Bucky decides that, instead of attempting to fall back to sleep right away, he would refill his glass of water and attempt to clear his mind of any lingering shadows.

Your home is quiet, a kind of peace settles over the entire building that no place in the city could ever harness. He thinks that maybe one day he’ll retire, move someplace quiet like this, maybe have a family of his own. Bucky pauses slightly in his descent of the staircase, caught off-guard by his own thoughts. He’d never been one to think about the future, not since he woke up in it. Just living to see the sunrise over Manhattan another day was enough for him. But his mind hasn’t quite been the same since you came along.

As he rounds the corner into the kitchen, he expects to find it devoid of others, but instead finds your mother sitting at the small kitchen table you’d all been sitting around just hours before, laughing and sharing a lifetime of memories with an outsider.

“Trouble sleeping,” she asks without looking over to where he’s standing. Instead, she raises a steaming mug to her lips and takes a tentative sip.

“Ye-yeah,” Bucky says, voice still thick with sleep and disuse.

Your mom hums as she looks over to him, profile lit effortlessly by the early winter moonlight streaming in from the back door. “That’s nothing a good cup of tea can’t help fix. There’s still water in the kettle if you’d like.”

Bucky watches her a moment longer before accepting her offer. She directs him on where everything he needs is located and, before he knows it, he’s sitting down across from her, his own warm mug full of a lavender and something concoction. If anything, at least it smells good.

“I’m really glad Y/N brought you along, Bucky,” your mom says as she takes another sip of her own tea. There’s a glint in the corner of her eye that Bucky can’t quite place, and it admittedly makes him a little nervous. “I do have to admit that her father and I were a bit shocked when she said she was bringing someone home. And then finding out that someone was a...well, you. I guess you never expect your own kid to get mixed up in the affairs of a superhero,” she chuckles to herself.

Bucky takes a large drink of his tea, instantly regretting it as it burns his throat the entire way down. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. When it had sunk in that he was going to be visiting you home for Christmas, meeting your parents and seeing your hometown, it made him anxious. He remembered that, back when he was still the punk who ran the streets of old-time Brooklyn like he owned the place, when a girl invited you to meet her parents it meant you were going steady, or at least headed in that direction. He knew things had changed a lot in terms of dating and relationships in general between men and women in the eighty-odd years he had been under, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this - spending one-on-one time with his beautiful downstairs neightbor’s mom - still held the same implications as it did in the forties.

“I, uh,” Bucky isn’t sure what to say. He doesn’t want to make it sound like he is disinterested in you, he knew that you talked about him in some capacity with your mother, afterall. But at the same time he didn’t want to sound too overzealous on the off-chance that this entire trip meant nothing other than a friendly visit for the holiday. “I’m really thankful you opened your home for me.”

Your mom takes Bucky off guard when she snorts out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to...Listen, I don’t know exactly what is going on between you and my daughter, but whatever it is, it’s really good for her. Y/N is, as you’ve likely picked up, a giver and a caretaker. She never asks for help when she needs it, and rarely accepts it when it’s offered.

“She took the whole Snap thing pretty hard, harder than she let on I think. That’s when she really threw herself at taking care of others, so much so that she forgot to take care of herself sometimes.” She pauses and looks intently down at her mug. “Y/N needs to be taken care of sometimes, too. And, whether you know it or not, I think you do that. I haven’t seen my daughter this happy in a long time. So of course we would open our home for you. Now and whenever you may need it.”

Bucky’s unsure of how to respond to such a tender sentiment, but the way your mom is looking at him tells him no response is needed. It’s a look, he assumes, only a mother can give. One of knowing and mystery and tender loving. One that she so openly offered to him, a stranger, an intruder in her home and holiday season. He realizes then that, everything he’s gone through, everything he’s ever done both voluntarily and not, doesn’t carry as much as he’s been thinking. That, despite it all, maybe he is more than what HYDRA made him and that he is deserving of the good things that have come to him in recent weeks.

“Well, Bucky,” your mom says as she takes one final sip of her tea. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. Christmas Eve is kind of a big deal around here. You’ll need the energy, especially if you want to keep up with Y/N.”

Bucky quickly learned that when your mom said that Christmas Eve was a big deal, she meant it. You had come knocking at his door a little past seven this morning, telling him that, if he did not get up, you would not hesitate to grab a handful of snow. Despite the too few hours of sleep he ended up getting and the desire to hide away just a little longer before facing your entire family again, Bucky pulled himself out of bed and plastered a smile on his face.

The morning passes in a flurry of Christmas activity. Cookie dough is beat and patted and molded into festive shapes while various Christmas melodies flowed through the home. It was tradition, you had said as you deposited a fresh batch of snickerdoodles into the oven, that Christmas Eve morning was reserved for baking and eggnog making and singing out-of-tune to Christmas songs. So, you taught him how to use a rolling pin properly, showed him the perfect amount of pressure to put on the cookie cutters, and even scolded him when he took a spoonful of dough all for himself. The uncooked sugary goodness was just as good as he remembered.

As the last of the cookies are placed on a rack to cool, and the eggnog is nestled neatly into the fridge to chill, Bucky feels his back pocket start to vibrate. His heart drops momentarily when he pulls his phone out and sees Sam’s name scrolling across the screen. Sam only called for two reasons: Avengers business or to coax him out of the hole Bucky sometimes digs himself into, and only one was pertinent to the situation at hand.

Bucky excuses himself and steps out onto the back porch where he can talk in private. “Is everything okay,” Bucky asks in place of a proper greeting.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too, bud,” comes Sam’s witty response. Bucky has never wished to reach through a phone and slap the grin he just knows Sam is wearing right off his face. “I was just calling to see how things were going.”

“They’re fine, Sam,” Bucky huffs out, crossing his metal arm across his chest. “I made cookies for the first time, I think.”

Bucky can’t help but crack a smile when Sam starts to laugh on the other end. “That must have been a scene. I would tell everyone not to eat ‘em, though.”

The easygoing banter continues for a few minutes before the topic shifts to how Bucky is really doing. He shares his past day - because really he’s only been away from the city for a little over twenty-four hours - and Sam updates him on the goings-on at his own family gathering. Bucky listens intently while watching a pair of cardinals take turns pecking at the bird feeder hanging just beyond the porch and the sunset looming just beyond the yard.

“You sound really good, Buck. I’m real happy this neighbor can look past your shitty moods and spend time with you,” Sam says before saying his goodbyes. Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to hear from him. It was one of those little things that reminded him there were people out there that cared.

Instead of going back inside right away, Bucky decides to stay out on the back porch a little longer to enjoy the view of the setting sun and the tranquility that comes with being out of the city. It was rare that he found himself in a place as quiet as this, with a view unobstructed by skyscrapers. He wanted to savor the moment a little longer, appreciate the things he hadn’t realized he’d been missing for all these years.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” While lost in reverie, Bucky hadn’t heard you join him on the porch. He looks over to find you standing just to his left, already focused on the view. He admires the way the last rays of daylight streak across your face, takes in the way it makes you look like you’re lit from within by some ethereal, otherworldly energy. And maybe you were. After all, you’d somehow found a way to look past his flaws and broken pieces and settle yourself deep within his bones, whether you knew it or not.

“Yea, it is,” Bucky replies without taking his eyes off of your face. He’s not sure if he means the sun or you.

You look at him, then, the softest smile he’s ever seen planted on your face. He notices that under your left eye is a streak of flour that had found a home there at some point throughout the day. Without much thought, Bucky makes to wipe it away. “You have a little...” when he swipes his finger across the soft skin of your cheek, he swears he hears your breath hitch in your throat, but he tries not to think too much into it. He had unintentionally used his left hand, after all.

You both stand there like that for a moment, his thumb still lingering just under your lower lashes and you looking at him like he was the one responsible for this sunrise and sunset every day. The spell is broken, however, when a winter breeze blows through, causing your to shiver and curl in on yourself for warmth.

“Hey, so, if you’re up to it, we still have one more Y/L/N tradition that we have yet to complete.” You wait for a reaction, and Bucky’s not sure what you were looking for, but when he doesn’t say anything, you continue. “The city goes all out with the lights each year, and we usually go downtown to look at them. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. It’s usually kinda busy, and I know it’s cold and-”

“I’d love to,” Bucky smiles, and when he sees the unparalleled joy that spreads across your face, he knows then that he would say or do anything to be the reason for that look over and over again.

It’s just beginning to flurry when you make it to the main drag of your little hometown. Your parents lived just far enough away to feel like a quiet neighborhood, but close enough that you could easily walk downtown without immediately regretting your decision.

It comes as no surprise when you find the wider-than-normal sidewalks in front of the neat row of old storefronts crowded with other residents bundled up in their winter’s best. Despite the shoulder-to-shoulder situation in some sections of the street, you didn’t mind the crowd one bit. The unique and beautifully decorated window displays and intricately lit buildings and trees made the awkward shuffling and getting elbowed by strangers worth it.

At some point, you get separated from your parents and, when you turn to see Bucky’s reaction to the spectacle, you find he’s a good two couples away from you. You decide then that the only way you’re going to avoid being separated from anyone else is by looping your arm through his. He doesn’t fight it, and there’s only a slight moment of stiff awkwardness before he relaxes his arm and allows you to guide him through the crowd. Your cheeks hurt from the genuine smile on your face, and your throat is already feeling the effects of the amount of talking you’re doing. You have to point everything out to Bucky, though, from the horrifying, oversized light-up tooth the town’s dentist has put on display since you could remember to the ever-changing elegant light show that danced across the courthouse. You’re so enthralled in making sure you share every last detail of this special tradition that you fail to notice the way Bucky has closed in on himself.

Despite the glistening lights and the way the moonlight was catching on the large snowflakes as they fell, the light that usually shown in Bucky’s eyes had dimmed to barely the flicker of a candle. The smile that graced his lips was for your benefit and only appeared when you looked back at him to ensure he was still listening to you. As much as he loved watching your enthusiasm seep out of every pore, and enjoyed hearing the way the pitch of your voice got just a bit higher when you spotted something you especially enjoyed, Bucky wasn’t having a good time. The crowd, despite living in New York City, was making him nauseous. Every time he let you pull him down a side street, each seemingly smaller than the next, you felt the knot that had settled in the bottom of his belly tighten just a little bit more. At least when he was in the city, he felt comfortable, knew his way around most of modern-day Brooklyn, and had identified the perfect escape routes just in case a situation went south. Luckily, he’s never had to utilize such routes. But here? The place you were so excited to show him, share with him was foreign to him. The idea of not knowing what waited beyond each turn of the corner, who stood watching through the windows above the quaint storefronts took him back to his time on the run, back to when his days were filled with strict, careful routine, and he felt he was living on borrowed time.

“Earth to Bucky,” you laughed as you waved a hand in front of his face. He blinked a few times, pulling himself back to the surface before he could drown in his thoughts. You were looking at him, obviously waiting for an answer to a question he didn’t hear. “Where’d you go?” you laughed, blissfully unaware of the demons that were creeping in the shadows of Bucky’s still fucked mind.

“I, uh, got caught up in the lights, I guess,” he replied lamely, flinching when he realized just how stupid the answer sounds. He watches as an array of emotions flick across your eyes; amusement, questioning, concern. He had to look away before you could settle on a look of pity. Bucky couldn’t handle that.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your probe, pulling him off to the side of the walkway into the entryway of one of the many buildings. “You don’t look so good.”

Bucky felt like kicking himself, wanted to scream at and scold his fragile mind for taking the joy and excitement you had been exuding just moments ago and turning it into worry, pity, anything but what you deserved to be feeling right now. “Bucky, please tell me if something’s wrong.”

He takes a breath before looking down at his snow-covered boots. “The crowds, being in an unfamiliar place...I still have problems with that, I guess.”

Your face falls even more at that. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have gone back home ages ago. Or not come at all. Or, or…”

“Y/N, it’s fine. Really. This is a tradition; I didn’t want to ruin it.”

You cross your arms and pout at that. He’s waiting for you to stomp your foot, much like Becca used to as a child when something didn’t go her way. The thought of his sister stings a little. She would have loved something like this, Bucky thinks, and that makes his uncomfortableness even more of a nuisance. He’s alive and able to see crazy Christmas displays and enjoy the things children growing up when he did couldn’t experience, yet here he is, broken and wishing he was anywhere else.

You pull him from his revere again when you start to tug on his metal arm. “Come on,” you huff, not out of annoyance or anger, but something else he can’t quite put his finger on.

“We’re not going back to your house,” he says, digging his heels into the concrete. This causes you to stumble a little and let go of his arm. “Please, don’t let me ruin this for you. I’ll be fine.”

“The only way you’ll ruin this is if you continue to be miserable while walking around. This is the same display as last year anyway,” you shrug. “I think I can skip one year.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, just looking at each other before Bucky sighs and relents. You loop your arm through his again, this time holding it a bit firmer and closer to your body, and begin to worm your way through the crowd. The further you get from the downtown streets, the quieter and emptier the sidewalks became. It wasn’t long before it was just the two of you walking along in silence. Despite the crowd-less walk, you don’t drop his arm.

“I’m really glad you came with,” you whisper after a few minutes. You’d lead him down the long route to your home, both for the fact it was sparsely traveled by foot and because you weren’t quite ready to lose the closeness of holding Bucky’s arm. “Even if I made you uncomfortable.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you think he’s retreated back into wherever he goes when he’s feeling stressed, but then he replies. “No, thank you. This is obviously a special holiday for you and your family. And here I am, intruding.”

You snort and bring your free hand up to wrap around his metal forearm. “You could never intrude, Bucky. I enjoy spending time with you.”

Despite the chill in the air, Bucky has never felt as warm as he does when those six words leave your mouth.

When you return home, boots are quickly shed and coats are hung neatly in the closet. Bucky stands quietly by the door, waiting for your lead. Despite your efforts of making him feel comfortable in your home, his movements were still shy and timid as he glided over the hardwood floors.

“I’m going to finish putting the dishes away,” you say after a moment and nod towards the T.V.. “You’re more than welcome to turn something on, I’ll only be a second.”

Bucky nods his head and watches you disappear into the dark kitchen. He waits until the clatter of pans and ceramic bowls reaches his ears to head up to the guest room. He didn’t feel much like socializing anymore. The day, despite its laid back approach and festive touch, had been both mentally and emotionally draining for him.

Bucky gracelessly flops down onto his back on the borrowed bed. He’s contemplating sending a message to Sam, maybe do that video chatting Wanda enjoyed so much but he loathed. He needed the comfort of home, the familiar to drag him from the hole he could feel himself sinking into. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t even enjoy himself on Christmas fucking Eve. He sighs as he flips onto his side and listens as the faint sounds of you puttering around the kitchen, his enhanced hearing allowing him to hear your humming of a Christmas song he can’t quite place, travel up the stairs and wrap him in a warm embrace.

He’s not sure when he drifted off, or for how long, but you pull him back to the surface of consciousness with three soft knocks on the cracked bedroom door. “Bucky?” you say softly, not daring to enter his space without an invitation. “Is everything alright?”

“Tired, I guess,” Bucky says as he pushes himself to sit up. As he swings his feet over the side, you push the door open a little more so that you can see him.

“There’s a...We have one more tradition that I’d like to share with you, but I wanted to do it separately.” You timidly step further into the room, arms held behind your back. “We usually share one present on Christmas Eve. Typically pajamas, sometimes just a gag gift. And I, uh, I wanted to make sure you were included this year.”

Bucky watches you carefully as you make your way to sit next to him on the bed. As you settle in on the mattress, you rest a neatly wrapped package on your lap. He watches as you run your hands along the paper in a nervous attempt to smooth out the nonexistent impurities. When he finally looks up to your face, he finds that you are already intently watching him, your gaze unwavering as his meets it.

“But I don’t have anything for you,” he nervously blurts out. He can feel the heat of embarrassment as it creeps up the back of his neck when you offer him a soft laugh.

“That’s not the point, Bucky. Just...here.”

You shove the gift into his hands and, as he examines it, he can feel you practically vibrating with the excited but nervous energy you’re not giving off. This was always the worst part of receiving gifts - having to open them in front of the giver. It always made Bucky a little anxious, worried that he wouldn’t deliver the expected or desired reaction. He smooths his hands over the silver paper a moment longer before he digs a finger into a seam in the wrapping. He’s slow to unwrap your gift, a part of him wishing that you hadn’t gifted him anything at all. Bucky didn’t have anything for you, and, the more he thinks about the fact he showed up to a holiday without even a small gift for the one who invited him, it makes him want to leave and never show his face around you or your family again.

When the wrapping is finally discarded, a brown leather book sits firmly in his lap. His name, his full name, is expertly embossed across the front, and the corners decorated with a simply but intricate design. When he flips it open to the first page, a set of familiar faces are smiling back up at him. His ma, dad, and himself with Becca tucked neatly in what he remembers to be a soft yellow blanket - the photo of when they brought her home, the first photo he saw when he visited her just two short months ago.

“I wanted to give you something special, meaningful,” you say when Bucky looks up at you. “Your family helped too. They gave me copies of your old pictures, provided some of their own.”

Bucky looks back to the book as he continues to flip. He watches himself grow older with each turn of the page. Pictures his ma had taken, some from school, even some from his time as a Howling Commando. Articles, magazine clippings, and copies of book pages filled the middle of the book, all about him, praising him for what he did and what they thought he lost his life doing. He can feel tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes as he looks over previously unread words of kindness, admiration, and sadness, all for him.

He doesn’t think he could feel any fuller until he flips to a hand-drawn picture of himself and Bridget, signed sloppily but in the most loving way. He can’t help but let out a watery laugh, and he can hear you add your own chuckle. “She was very excited when I asked her to contribute. That little girl loves you so much already, you know?”

Yes, Bucky knows. He knows his worth in this world now, thinks he’s finally found his misplaced spot in this place in time, and it’s all thanks to you. His chest grows tighter the further he flips in the scrapbook. Pictures of his sister when on her wedding day, when his first niece was born. Graduation photos, birthdays, and family get-togethers just because all were documented for him to see, for him to live through these pictures because he wasn’t around to bear witness in person.

When he gets to the very last pages, he pauses. A face he hadn’t expected to see smiling back at him was tucked neatly in this book, and it filled him with a warmth he thought his poor, frozen bones would never feel again. A picture of you and him on the day of Becca’s funeral, all smiles despite the somber day. It looks like you’re mid-laugh and had only just looked at the camera in time for the photo to capture your face. He’d almost forgotten that a family member - name and relation lost to him at the moment - had insisted on getting pictures of all those in attendance, had mentioned something about never seeing each other outside of things like these so he had to take advantage. He was glad that cousin or nephew or third-something-twice-removed had pestered them into taking it, because, despite not wanting to look at his broken, mismatched self, you were there shining brighter than he thinks he’s ever seen any star.

“Bucky,” you whisper, clearly unsure of what to make of his silence.

“I...I don’t know what to say, Y/N,” Bucky swallows the lump in his throat in an attempt to keep the tears that have begun to swell in his eyes from coming out in his voice. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever given me - done for me, actually.”

When he looks up at you, he tries to blink back the tears but it causes them to spill down onto his cheeks instead. “Oh, Bucky,” you gently laugh and raise a hand to wipe away his tears. When your hand makes contact with his cheek, however, you realize what you’re doing and make to pull it back. Bucky, however, is quicker and places his flesh hand on top of yours to hold it firmly to his fuzz-covered cheek.

“I lied,” he whispers and you give him a concerned and questioning look. “Earlier. I said I didn’t have a gift for you, but I do.” As he’s speaking, he slowly begins to lean in closer until your face-to-face, only a breath away from one another. “Only if you want it, though.”

You nod and bring your other hand up to fully cup his face as he closes the space between you, gently connecting your lips. It’s a slow, chaste kiss that has him craving more. More of the feel of your soft lips against his, more of your breath catching in your throat, more feeling your eyelashes butterfly across his own as you pull away just enough to rest your forehead against his. He opens his eyes slightly to get a peak of you. You’re already looking at him, a smile spread across your lips.

In that moment, he wishes he had the ability to read minds so that he could know exactly what you were thinking. Before he has the chance to say anything, you’re leaning back, this time pressing your lips more firmly against his own. If it weren’t for the fact he was so enraptured in the essence of you, he would be embarrassed by the low groan that rumbles deep in his chest. He feels your lips perk up into a wider smile before planting another quick peck to his lips before pulling away so that you could look him square in the eyes.

You brush a lock of his hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear before whispering, “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fluff #wonderland4seasonalwc

40 notes · View notes

idorkish · 3 years

Text

Herman Kozik SFW Alphabet

Alphabet by @snk-warriors

Warnings: Fluff, some sexual mentions. I needed some more Herman Kozik in my life, so here we are.

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Kozik likes to spend his free time hanging around the house, fixing what he can or just watching movies with his s/o. If he’s feeling up to it, he will drag s/o out of the house for walks around the neighborhood or a drive to someplace to do a hike. Whatever he’s doing, it’s a time to relax and get his minds off of everything.

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He admires their view on life. He and his s/o had such different paths in life that it’s sometimes hard to see the good in life for him. When his s/o starts talking about their passion, he finds them the most beautiful. He can’t get enough of their bright smile, the bounce they do in their seat and their animated hands as they explain something completely foreign to him.

Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Kozik is no stranger to dark thoughts clouding his mind. For a long time, it’s why he turned to drugs to tune it all out. So when he finds his s/o having a panic attack, he’s right at their side doing whatever they need him to. Do they just need someone to remind them to breathe? He’s having them take in breaths for a a 5 count, hold it for 7, and release for 8. He will keep repeating until their breaths even out and he can figure out what triggered the attack. Do they need someone to just let them sit on their lap and curl up? Well then, grab your favorite blanket and crawl into his open arms because he will hold his s/o for as long as needed.

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Kokiz still dreams of a picaresque life. He wants the little white fence, a dog running around the yard chasing after 2 or 3 little kids. He wants his s/o home, taking care of the house while he is out taking care of everything else for them.

Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Kozik is always the Dominant. What he says goes. He does it out of love for his s/o and his desire for their safety.

Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

This is going to depend on what caused the fight. Cheating, lying, or hiding something behind his back? There is going to be a big fight that will take a while to get over. He knows he’s not always around, physically and emotionally, and he has cheated in the past so he knows in his gut that it’s bound to happen eventually.

The fights are loud, he will never lay a hand on his s/o but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to take his frustration out elsewhere. He might go out shooting, to the gym to box off some steam, or he might tag along with Happy for a job or too that require more physical brute.

In the end, he is going to take the deepest breath he can and head back home. He doesn’t want things to end and wants to work stuff out, even if it’s tough.

Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Kozik is eternally grateful that the universe decided to send him his s/o. They dote on him when he’s home and understand when he has to keep them in the dark. When his s/o leaves him a packed lunch for days he’s working at the garage, his heart swells. It’s all the little things that his s/o does that makes him want to be better.

Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

At first, there were so many secrets. Kozik has been through this before and did not care to be an open book. He kept the happenings of the club a secret, the drugs, the drinking, everything. He wanted to keep the two bubbles of his life separate, and it stayed that way for a while, until it became too much for him. It took him time to slowly open up, but open up he did. He told his s/o about his history of drug abuse, how he was trying to stay sober from it but switched to alcohol and sex. Even if it wasn’t much of an abuse of the 2, he knows he used them as an escape. He slowly introduced his s/o to his other life and the relief at acceptance of that lifted a huge weight off of his shoulders. He doesn’t share 100% of what goes on at the club, but that’s the agreement that him and his s/o came up with. They just want to know when he’s traveling, who he’s with, when he’s coming home, and a few texts to know he’s safe.

Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or help them overcome personal problems?

They helped inspire each other to be better at something. Kozik always wanted to find a hobby that had nothing to do with the garage. His s/o encouraged him to take up blacksmithing or leatherworking. Kozik found he very much enjoyed the heat and pounding on steel. His first piece was a small pointed steel pendant that he added to a chain and gifted his s/o.

For his s/o, they always wanted to learn to ride a horse. So he put money aside and bought them lessons. As they got better at it, and wanted to do it more, he paid for more and then bought them their very own horse and a spot at the local stable.

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Kozik gets jealous very easily. He still has intrusive thoughts that make him wonder why his s/o is still there when there are others with less dangerous targets on their heads. So if anyone starts flirting with his s/o, Kozik is there to wrap an arm around their shoulder or waist and pulls them close, kissing on their neck and letting the other know that this person is HIS.

His s/o also has jealousy issues. Kozik has cheated in the past, they’ve worked through it and have acknowledged it but when the crows pay Kozik a little too much attention, it’s hard not to let the green monster rear its ugly head. His s/o will take a seat at the clubhouse and nurse their drink for as long as they stay.

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Kozik has had time to perfect his kissing skills. The first kiss was awkward, it always it but it didn’t take him long to figure out what his s/o liked and he used that to his advantage.

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

It was a slip of the tongue honestly. Things were so chaotic with the club and life in general. There had been an extended lockdown and he couldn’t get you off his mind. He knew you were safe in the clubhouse but he was on edge. When it was all said and done, and he made his way to his room and found you laying on his bed, laptop next to you playing a movie, he blurted it out, scaring his s/o so much they fell off the bed.

Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He is terrified of getting married, even the thought of getting married. You were his partner, you lived together, shared everything. What was the point of getting married? When Opie and Lyla tied the knot, he caught his s/o’s wistful looks and sighs and he know, oh boy did it hit him like a ton of bricks, but he knew. He needed to marry you and make everything official. He got his brothers and Gemma involved. Gemma kept his s/o out of the house while everyone else got it prepped. His s/o had no idea what was going on, until Gemma dropped them home and all the lights were out inside, the only lights coming from the backyard. And there he was, fairy lights strung up all around, him in a button up shirt and slacks, and a candlelit dinner smack in the center. Once married, there are still plenty of ups and downs. Kozik and his s/o still have jealous moments, they still fight, but at the end of the day, Kozik remembers why they married.

Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?

Kozik calls his s/o the classics - babe, baby, sweetheart

His s/o gives him various names - babe, Kozzy bear, Hermie, Hermiester, Manny, sweetie

On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

It is sickeningly obvious to everyone around them that Kozik and his s/o are in love. It was obvious before they dated, while they dated, and after they married. They express themselves with touch, a hand on the back, arms wrapped around the others’ shoulders or waist.

PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Gods, they wish Kozik would sometimes just shut up about his s/o. The only times he shuts up is at the parties, when his s/o is planted firmly on his lap. His is never hesitant to kiss or grab a feel, who cares if anyone sees.

Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Kozik is a mechanic and super handy around the house. Who needs to call a handyman when s/o has their own Herman to fix everything.

S/o makes sure Kozik takes care of himself. He gets too wrapped up in others that he often puts himself last.

Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

It honestly depends on the day. There are some days where Kozik is the epitome of romance - flowers, bubble baths, and a fancy night out. Other times, it having his s/o put on their riding gear and traveling up to Tacoma for the weekend.

Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He tries, he really does, but there are days he has no idea how to support his s/o. If they were trying to start a business, well you have as much financial support as he can muster. Are you wanting to learn some new hobbies, well he’ll do what he can to find you someone to help. Want to learn to ride your own bike, as much as he would love nothing more to help, he knows he doesn’t have the best patience for teaching, so he asks Clay or Bobby for help. No matter what, Kozik believes 100% in his s/o and hopes they do the same for him.

Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

There are very few things Kozik will say “no” to. Threesomes, public sex, sex under the stars? Check, check, check. Bondage, whips, sensation play? Ooooh, check-a-roo-galore! He’s always up to try something new, the only no so far has been sharing. He knows they’re both too jealous to bring another in, so he’s all too OK to keep his s/o to himself.

Understanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Kozik’s s/o is far superior in this, he can admit to that. He tries but he is not that empathetic. He gets when his s/o is upset and does what he can to cheer them up, he gets the dark voices in the head that lead to a spiral of insecurities, he can handle all that dark stuff. But if someone says something, which in his mind is insignificant and unworthy to be listened to, he doesn’t get what it does to his s/o. Who cares what the cretins of the town had to say anyway?

Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

At first, it scared Kozik how much the relationship meant to him. So he did what he thought he was best at, he found warmth in another woman’s arms and tried to push you away. As his s/o stuck it out and proved they were willing to work on the relationship, it became one of the most important parts of Kozik’s life. He has said that we was willing to give up the club if they ever made him pick them or his s/o.

Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When Kozik is sick, he is the biggest baby ever. He doesn’t want his s/o out of arms reach. He will whine and pout until his s/o is back by his side and lets him rest his head on their lap. He loves the way his s/o will run their fingers through his hair, make sure he is fully wrapped up, and has everything he needs close by. He loves being pampered and babied, and will even feign sickness for another day or two to keep it going.

XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Kozik is SUPER affectionate. He doesn’t care whether it’s in public or private. His hands are always somewhere on his s/o, whether it’s their hip or shoulder. He loves being able to pull them close and press kisses to their temple.

Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Runs are the worst. For his brothers. Kozik will whine and constantly be on his phone sending texts back and forth with his s/o. He is bound to have something of theirs tucked away in his pack for the night. Whether for a few hours or more than a day, he is pining to be next to his s/o.

Zeal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Kozik has often “joked” he was willing to kill someone for his relationship with s/o. He had hoped it would never get to that, but his s/o knows he is 100% serious on that “joke”. Kozik has had so much taken away from him in life that he refuses to let anything happen to his relationship. Even if it means killing.

#herman kozik #soa imagine #herman kozik x reader #herman kozik imagine

68 notes · View notes

mitsuki-murakami · 4 years

Text

zero o’clock [Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader]

“Hello, hello. I’m glad you survived the 2018 tumblr purge.

It’s been a long time since I sent in a request *cracks knuckles* Can you do #3 from the dialogue prompt for Oikawa or Kuroo (your choice) making a mistake? This gonna be gud.

#3: “How could you think that this wouldn’t hurt me?”

Requested by: @thenerdyrebel

Hello!! This is Kuroo’s version of the same prompt! I wanted to do both Kuroo and OIkawa for this prompt considering this came in so late huhu I hope this makes up for it! Thank you for your patience uwu

Warning: ANGSt angst but also a lot of fluff

***

Light flashes through the curtains of the window, illuminating the blanket that’s somewhat wrapped around your limbs entangled with Kuroo’s.

Thunder follows.

You feel him pull you closer to you, placing your head right on the curve of his chest, where you used to voluntarily nestle in during nights like this. Tonight was a different case. You hadn’t even considered sleeping in the same bed as him. Not after that huge argument that you just had with him. But as soon as the rain poured, there was no way that Kuroo was going to allow you to go someplace else by yourself. You didn’t even agree to his offer to drive you home, reasoning that it was going to slippery to safely drive.

He gave you the bed early on that night. He didn’t mind sleeping on the couch. That worked until the rain got stronger and thunder started to rattle the walls of your shared bedroom. You contemplated for a good minute or so, thinking if you should ask him to stay beside you until you fell asleep. But as soon as you cracked open the door to the living room, you found him awake, waiting for you to ask him to come inside.

No words were spoken. Only the rustling of sheets and the tired ruffling of his hair was heard from Kuroo. You briefly met with his hazel eyes in the darkness but he avoided from staring too long. No need for longing gazes that would give away everything. He didn’t want to know what this meant. Hoping would only mean that it would hurt more. All he focused on was the fact that you needed him tonight, and he would oblige.

Even if the very thought of you in the arms of someone else on a night like this clawed at him more viciously than he thought it would.

Sounds of each other’s erratic breathing filled the room. Sleep wasn’t going to come easy for either of you. The only thing that made sense at that moment was that the two of you savored the moment that the both of you were longing for in ages. So you hugged back, moving upwards to bury your face onto the crook of his neck instead. Your breaths tickled his neck while he moved to run his fingers through your hair, effectively causing your eyes to flutter shut momentarily, its last view being the red glare of the clock on the bedside reading 23:46.

The thunder no longer came, but he was still holding onto you for dear life.

Your eyes opened to see 00:00 blinking across the room. It was then that you decided to sit up. Both of you were calm enough, but not relaxed enough to be able to get some sleep. Although you wanted to stay in his arms forever, you knew that this wouldn’t fix any of the wounds that you both left on each other after fighting. Talking would. Understanding what you did wrong to make him say those things would.

You pulled yourself from his arms, propping yourself up on one of your elbows. You attempted to sit up, but you looked to see that Kuroo’s hand was wrapped around your other arm. You wanted to only glance at him, but his eyes held your gaze in place, seeming as if it were glowing in the darkness. It was glassy.

“Don’t leave. Me.” His voice cracked in the middle of his sentence. Maybe from disuse, but most likely because he was breaking. The view of you hovering over him despite your attention being somewhere else was piercing.

A sigh left you. You leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I won’t. I love you. I just want to talk.” The breath that he had been holding since you had moved was released. He slowly let go of your arm with the guidance of your hand. You untangled your legs from his and removed the blanket from your lap.

You finally sat up and hugged your legs and rested your chin on your knees. You weren’t completely facing him and instead stared at the clock that read 00:02. Kuroo was still lying on the bed, his eyes never leaving you, as you waited until 00:05 to muster up the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry I made you think that I was,” you paused. You couldn’t even say the words.

“Cheating on me.”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t think that if you’d only tell me where you’ve been for the past two nights.” He responded quickly, shifting until he could lean against the headboard, his hands resting on his stomach. “Don’t even try to tell me that you were at work--”

“And if I was? You can look at how many hours I’ve logged in that stupid place.”

“Who the hell works until 11?” He retorted through gritted teeth.

“If you knew better you’d know that the answer was me.”

“I--God. I want to believe you but you’re making it so hard for me to do that.” You glanced at him again. He was curled away now, too. You then buried your face in your hands to try to stop yourself from sobbing, but you failed.

“I knew that I could handle this job as soon as I got it, I really did. Turns out I could handle it more than any intern ever could. But the only thing I couldn’t handle was this stupid jerk of a resident and I just--”

“Hey. hey, no,” he called as he removed your hands from your face to wipe away the tears that came. “Don’t cry, okay? It’s okay, we can fix this.” You calmed down and leaned into his touch, sniffling.

“I can go there first thing in the morning and talk to whoever this jerk is and--” you flinched away, causing him to stop midway.

“And ruin everything I worked so hard for? See, this is why I can’t tell you these kinds of things! You always immediately take it upon yourself to protect me like I’m a damsel in distress when I don’t need you to!”

“And you don’t hide everything from me and shoulder things like you have to do this all on your own?” That made you pause.

“Whether you realize it or not, we’re in a relationship. This works only if you talk to me. From there I’ll know how to help you, because you’re not alone, okay? I can and I will do this with you.”

“You just care so much don’t you?” You shot back, sarcasm dripping. “I don’t need your help with this. Half the time I’m stressing myself out trying to do my job and the other half I spend trying to not show you how stressed out I am because you always react like I want you to fix everything for me!”

He pulled away from you in disbelief, “I’m just trying to help you--”

“I’m telling you I don’t need you!” You replied, all the pent up stress and exhaustion for the past week shooting out all at once.

He tried to avert his gaze to hide the tears threatening to spill over, but he wasn’t quick enough.

“No, Tetsurou, I-I didn’t mean that, I swear.” You attempted to reach out to him, but it was like there was a barrier stopping you.

Cold ran throughout your veins, causing you to start shuddering. How do I take it back? How do I take everything back?

“Just like you didn’t mean to ignore my calls? My messages reminding you to eat your lunch? My asking you to eat one meal with me after you’ve locked yourself in this room for almost two days to ‘catch up’ on some reading?” His words were momentarily cut off with a bitter laugh, as if all of this was some sort of sick joke that he didn’t want to participate in.

“I know you don’t think you don’t need my help, but honestly? If I wasn’t hovering over you for the past month, you’d probably be stuck in the same hospital ward you spend so much time running around in, but you would be the patient instead.”

“I know how much you value your job and how much you overcame to even land it, but how could you think that you need to hide how much you were running yourself ragged, to me? You’re killing yourself over this job. You’re hurting yourself so much to prove that I don’t need to worry over you, but how could you think that this wouldn’t hurt me?”

You were rendered speechless. He was right. He was right-- you had no clue how much it hurt him to watch you neglect yourself, to watch how you neglected to let him take care of you even though he was well within his rights to act like he had been acting.

Kuroo no longer hid his face. He stared outside the window, his fists clutching hard on the blanket that laid on his lap to the point where it turned white. He almost knocked himself out to not choke on his own sobs, and still, one escaped, wrecking his frame.

You took it as a sign to wrap your arms around his middle, resting your forehead on his. You held him there, even if he didn’t move at all, except for the occasional hitching of his breath. The tension faded away and the silence that was once so testing morphed into one of comfort.

Eventually, his hands found its way to your face, reaching towards the back of your neck to tug you closer to him. Glad that he was finally holding you, the tear tracks on your face that were about to dry up suddenly dampened again.

“Thank you,” you managed to breathe out despite the lump in your throat becoming increasingly more difficult to swallow. “Thank you for taking care of me, Tetsurou.”

He didn’t respond, instead he only leaned back enough to see your face slightly illuminated by the street lights outside. He wiped your tears before he nestled his forehead against yours again, closing his eyes at the warmth that spread across his body from your touch.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I love you so much.” You took one of his hands and held it between yours, pressing his knuckles against your lips. It was one of your ways to show your affection to each other. Be it less intimate than a kiss, or a hug even, it showed that you appreciated the efforts that you made for each other. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be better, I promise. I’ll take fewer shifts, I’ll even talk to the chief if I have to--”

“I know, I love you too.”

The thunder returned later on, waking you. But there was no need to think if you should ask him to stay beside you to fall asleep. He was right there beside you, awake and aware of your anxiousness. He wrapped himself around you almost instantly, covering your eyes by pulling you to his chest and covering your ears with his hands.

That night, you laid across him, instead of it being the other way around. Usually, it would be Kuroo who would put as much weight as he could on you without crushing you so he’d know when you’d leave his side in the morning. Tonight was a different case.

In the morning, Kuroo would finally wake up with you beside him. He would no longer have to frantically search for you in the house only for him to find that you had already gone to work.

***

Thank you for reading!

Hello!! How is everyone doing? I hope yall are healthy and safe!!

Special thanks to @capt-spangles and @sashimeh, I hope this cheers u up

Taglist:

@from-sejiou-to-the-stars @zephyrria

#Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq #hq!!#haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #one shot #angst

248 notes · View notes