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gaoau · 3 months

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Straight-Up warnings — none. word count — 3.2k

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Sharing candy with Tenjiku's head has been depleting her resources faster than she'd thought. [Name] doesn't let it bother her; she still gets a good amount of cash from Kisaki almost daily, and being in Izana's good graces doesn't seem to hurt her just yet. As much as she can't figure out why he keeps eating and cringing at the Super Lemons, she's not here to figure it out. It's his problem if he hates it.

Izana doesn't try to hide the fact he absolutely despises the Super Lemons. He does hide the fact he hates the way [Name] looks at him. He keeps reaching into her little bag and popping more candy into his mouth. It stings on his tongue, it numbs his senses, it destroys his taste buds, it makes him bleed. He has to have it all; he'll never have enough. The apple of his intoxicated eyes or the rotten core inside—the persistent nudge poking on his brain insists this is what he needs.

[Name] stretches her legs, leaning against the backrest of a bench. Her Super Lemons no longer sit inside her pocket now that Izana always approaches her for more. It's simple; he wishes for nothing more than everything from her. He feels her hooded gaze sizing him up through the corner of her eye. "Hey," she starts, and he's already heard her, but she chooses to directly address him, "Kurokawa-kun." He turns his attention from another Super Lemon to her moving mask. "You don't like these, do you?"

She's analyzing him. She's catching on to pieces of him that she should understand from the get-go, because they're the same. He won't give away a single thing he doesn't have to. "Why are you always eating them?" It's not what she asked, but he finds his way to throw it back at her. He has to be on top even if they stand on equal footing.

"I like lemons," she states, awfully matter-of-factly. Izana doesn't like lemons at all. It doesn't make sense to him. "Crazy expensive, though, so this is the next best thing." As she speaks, he can hear the hard candy she's still chewing through. She swallows it. Her feet come up to the bench as she sits cross-legged. "They're cool. Y'know, disappointment or happiness—it's a gamble. I dunno how much reading you do in juvie, but yellow's a happy color."

Izana is falling behind.

She looks straight at him with bored eyes. A shrug bounces off her shoulder. "Then you find out Van Gogh tried to kill himself with turpentine and yellow paint, so that's fun."

He ignores that last fun fact. "Yellow's a happy color?" he mutters—more to himself than to her. He sees yellow lemons and tastes yellow sourness. How is any of this happy? How is any of this fun? How is any of this supposed to satisfy him?

"Should be." With two fingers, [Name] fishes a Super Lemon and lifts it up to the sky. She brings her mask down so Izana can see her black lips in a flat line. The candy between her fingers covers up the sun for a moment; the shadow covers up her eye. She pops it into her mouth and her mask returns. Izana can hear it clack against her teeth before she shatters it. "Now I've just grown used to them. I think I can barely taste the sour anymore. So I look up at the clouds to make up for it. See?" she prompts, but he's looking at her Super Lemons. "They're so high up. And the sky is so blue. And things are so much more fun than down here."

Izana has to forcefully tear his attention away from [Name] to stare up at the sky. She's talking so much. She's spouting so much nonsense he can barely grasp. He can dream of whatever he wants and [Name] will let him. She's right; the clouds are very far away when he gazes up at them passing by. He can't even fathom how far they are, out of reach from him and all his power. Is Shinichiro having more fun than he is since he's so far away?

Kisaki's voice rings. [Name] falls quiet at the call of her name, head snapping to the side. A faint sigh slips past her mask as she waits for Izana to steal another Super Lemon from her bag. He takes three and leaves two, letting her snatch the candy and shove it in her pocket. Without another word, she heads towards Kisaki to get her pay. Izana watches her join the clouds in the sky. He doesn't like the sour lemon drops she gives him—he hates them as he keeps forcing them on his tongue. It's the only thing he can taste; it's the only thing she can't taste.

He's falling behind and he needs to catch up to her before she empties him out more than he already is. He wants her validating his ways more and understanding his solutions more and sympathizing with him more. It starts to ring clearly in his head—is this what [Name] is about for him? Filling up the empty hole that a self-proclaimed brother left behind? Things that never happen. Why does nothing ever happen? It kills his brain to know that sourness seems to have more of an effect on his world than clouds and blue skies.

With the smallest taste of [Name], a single milligram of her, Izana starts unknowingly getting drunk on her.

The same way his subconscious tells him Emma's death is not worth any of this, it also tells him he should be seeking out more out of his own volition. He knows and he recognizes he wants more and more and more; more candy, more validation, more of not being bored and alone. He needs whatever other philosophical bullshit she's whispering.

An empty space that's left emptier. Rather than waiting it out, it'd be so easy to ask Kisaki about [Name] and when she'll show up next. It's been two days since he last had those Super Lemons, because she doesn't hang around unless there's money in between. He doesn't wait for people; people come to him. He doesn't care about who is here and who isn't.

An incessant chime starts ringing, halting Izana's train of thought. He bites down on his sore tongue as the tune gets louder, watching Kisaki fish his phone out of his pocket to confirm his suspicions. "…What does this bitch want?" he groans to himself. Izana glances at the caller ID, more hopeful than he cares to admit. It's an unsaved number that Kisaki answers with a growled, "What?"

Silence settles as the person on the other side speaks. Izana watches, attentive. Is it [Name]?

Kisaki frowns at whatever he's hearing. "Did you mention me?" Then silence again. Izana thinks he can hear a familiar, mocking chuckle. "Shut up; that's not what I pay you for, [Name]."

It is [Name].

"Yeah. I'll send Hanma to your place to give you your pay, then."

It's been two days. Izana raises his hand and motions Kisaki for his attention before he hangs up. Kisaki turns to him with a raised brow. "She doesn't like Hanma," he states, lips curling into a hollow smile. "Throw her a bone. You should have her come get her pay here."

Kisaki narrows his eyes—both in contemplation and skepticism. He considers Izana's words, because although he's right, Kisaki has never cared about [Name] being remotely comfortable around him. He purposefully uses Hanma to keep her in check, after all. He gives Izana a short nod, returning to his phone, "Change of plans. Come get it here—yes, I'll get your bonus. Hurry up." He'll have to fix this before Izana loses focus over something this stupid.

[Name] arrives an hour after that call, unwrapped candy in her pocket and narrowed eyes that glaze past Izana to settle on Kisaki. Here she is, only for the money. Here Izana is, failing to get everything from her like he does from everyone else. He demands from her, her sympathy and her understanding and that she stops analyzing each of his moves.

Is he drunk or did [Name] get inside his head? Is he drunk or is he the drink? He's served straight-up for her to indulge in sourness, so why is she still so bored? Why does she look like that? Why is she looking at him like he's boring? Why isn't she giving him what he wants?

As he's reaching into her bag of Super Lemons, not a word out of either of them, Kisaki steals her away again. [Name] spares a glance at Izana beside her, muttering, "Be right back," because he still has her candy and she just won't give them to him.

Kisaki snatches her by the arm with a grip too tight. Not a single reaction flashes across her face. "Watch out for Izana," he growls a warning through gritted teeth. Now she frowns, humming in confusion. Kisaki releases her and sighs. "You're gonna fuck up my plans if you keep getting chummy with him."

"I'm not, though. He's the one that asks for candy."

"Well, put a fucking stop to it. That's not what I pay you for."

[Name] glowers at him as he turns on his heels to walk away. She returns to Izana, finding he's powering through lemon drops at a concerning speed. His smile is empty when he grins at her while she sits down beside him again. Being in Tenjiku's head's good graces shouldn't hurt her, right? Right?

Izana knows he has no reason to want [Name] around so badly. Then again, he has plenty of reasons to want her around so badly. That little voice in the back of his head insists she's filling up an empty space in a place where nothing ever happens. It overthrows his mind and he can't rationalize his own thoughts. So he doesn't, because it's not worth his time. He's already destroyed Shinichiro's fraternal love; he's not going to get rid of this feeling again.

There's a shift in the atmosphere the next time Kisaki calls her to get her pay. He notices in the way her expression doesn't change even in the slightest anymore. He's been quick to catch on to the smallest twitches of her brows for the past month or so that he's known her, and now it's not happening anymore. Things are not happening again. Nothing ever happens. He reaches into her bag of Super Lemons and he stabs his hollow stare right into her side and he offers words of curiosity so she'll say anything.

The more Izana presses her against the wall, the more [Name] realizes this is what Kisaki was warning her about. She never thought one coherent word would come out of that guy's mouth, but now that it's happening all at once, she's terrified. It's overwhelming and horrifying. Izana demands more candy, demands more attention, demands more sympathy. She only comes here for a few bills, but now Tenjiku's head is keeping her chained to his side because he wants more and more and more of things she can't give him—things she doesn't have.

It starts getting into Izana's head more than he cares to admit. How she doesn't address him anymore. How she doesn't pull her mask down anymore. How she doesn't look at him anymore; he hates the way she looks at him so bored and analyzing, but she's not even doing that now. She sits idly and eats her candy, eyes narrowed, like the first time he saw her.

He has feelings he doesn't understand, making him search deeper for anything he can steal from her. She has one last lemon drop left in her bag. It seems today she's decided to start sharing less of her candy as well. It doesn't really matter how many Super Lemons she brings, because Izana knows it's only logical that she'll leave the last one for him. She's supposed to give to him everything she has to offer; he's her king. She will give him everything she has to offer.

She doesn't, however.

He closely follows her movements as she fumbles with the plastic to pull out the last Super Lemon. He holds his breath for a second, lips pressing into a thin line. As he stands still, he tastes his own bleeding tongue more than he tastes the sour candy numbing his mouth. Before she can slip the yellow ball underneath her mask, his fingers latch onto her wrist. [Name]'s eyes flicker up to meet his, and finally one of her brows is slightly raised. Izana absolutely despises the way she looks at him, reaching into him to laugh at his turmoil.

She leaves her stare on him and considers her options. Silence lasts for longer than he tends to allow it. Then she looks away to his fingers tightening around her wrist. Every time he thinks he's found something, [Name] withdraws; scurries and sneaks away as she tries to pull it back. "What is it?" she speaks up. It's muffled by her mask, but he hears it loud and clear.

"That one's mine," he states.

Her gaze trails back up to his vacant eyes. "Your mouth is bleeding."

"So?"

[Name]'s fingers twitch in his hold, but Izana doesn't feel it. He's not feeling anything but the burning acid on his tongue. It's like he doesn't even realize he's gripping her hard enough to bruise her. "Your mouth is bleeding, Kurokawa-kun," she tries again, "you should probably dial it down a bit."

He registers the faint scrunch of her nose as she winces when he starts digging his nails into her skin. He stares, unblinking, contemplating. His own blood is flooding his tongue, but even with his destroyed taste buds, he can feel the sourness of [Name]'s detachment overtaking his senses. He hates it. "Know your place."

"Huh—"

Normally, Izana likes to plan ahead and he'd much rather things simply went smoothly. However, when he's presented with opposition, he's quite skilled at acting quick on his feet. Although unprecedented, this is no different. A faint echo in a voice he recognizes chastises he shouldn't go around hitting girls, but that's not going to get him his way here. Surely, [Name] will understand that the ends justify the means. He lets go of her wrist as she tries to process his words.

She doesn't get the chance to react when he swings his leg at the side of her head. The kick lands in the crook of her neck a little sloppier than intended—blame that split second of hesitance, barking back at Shinichiro's teachings. She trips on her own feet and shrinks into herself, the last Super Lemon shooting out from her fingers. Izana towers over her as she loses her balance and tumbles to her knees. She cradles the side of her jaw, eyes squeezed shut while she tries to shake off the rattle of the impact.

Yes, this is what he wants. Understanding? Sympathy? Validation? No, he wants power, and he wants [Name] to bow to his power, too.

[Name] can hardly hear herself think over her ears ringing in alarm. The hit seems to have traveled all across her neck, down to her arm and chest. Her body feels awfully heavy. Struggling, she peels her eyes open to see her last Super Lemon rolling away. She can't lift her head up as much as she tries when she hears Izana ask, "Is your mouth bleeding?" His shadow consumes her, but she can't understand what's happening.

"Wha—"

This time she does react. She sees his shoe coming for her face through watering eyes. She can't move a single muscle; her body isn't responding—not that she would have been able to dodge any of Izana's kicks even in tip-top shape. His foot strikes her upside her chin and her teeth clamp down on her tongue. Blood flows and drowns her mouth. It hurts so much. It stings so bad. She feels the pain spreading to her temples. Her hands scramble from her neck to hold her jaw instead.

Izana catches on to the nausea twisting her features. He can't see behind her mask. "Is your mouth bleeding, [Name]?"

It takes her a second, but Izana waits. He hears her mutter, "…Yeah…"

"Then I guess you can't have the last Super Lemon."

[Name] glares at the dirt with quivering eyes. All this for a Super Lemon? All of this? This? Her shaking body and her aching mouth and her bleeding tongue just for the last Super Lemon? She doesn't reply; she doesn't know how to. This is not her world nor her kingdom. None of this is natural to her.

Tenjiku's king wants an answer—of course he does. His fingers slip between her hair so he can jerk her head up to face him. She flinches when he snatches the mask off her. "Show me." It's an order. It is an order. He is her king and she will give him everything.

"[Name]," comes a new voice. [Name] takes longer than usual to recognize it's neither Izana nor Kisaki nor Hanma. It's Kakucho. Izana shifts his glare towards him. Kakucho is seeing his king stooping as low as to actively beat up a girl and wants it to stop. He doesn't address the image in front of him, even when [Name] winces at the painful pull on her scalp. "Kisaki's asking for you."

"She's busy."

[Name] thanks Kakucho's mercy in her mind, giving her enough time to gather her bearings. She's been sneaking away from Izana this entire time. This is different and far more physical, so she opens her mouth with a faint groan. Izana snaps his attention back to her instantly. He can finally see her black lips and the blood in her mouth and her piercing not glimmering now that it's covered in crimson. "You can have the last Super Lemon, Kurokawa-kun," she manages to slur out.

It's not quite enough to satisfy him, but he knows [Name] will think twice before withdrawing from him again. He drops her, shoving her down without regard. She's far more incapacitated than he'd bargained for; her forehead slams against the ground. It doesn't matter to Izana at all, motioning Kakucho to follow him and leave [Name] to shakily get up on her own. The last Super Lemon gets crushed under his shoe.

#straight up #tokyo revengers #tokrev #kurokawa izana #izana kurokawa #izana #izana x reader #kurokawa izana x reader #izana kurokawa x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader

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yourlocalwriterandreader3451 · 24 days

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The Runt - Billy the Kid

Warnings for this chapter: blood, gunshots, mentions of death, mentions of the death of an animal, blood, sand Laurie, kind of abuse mention (sort of?)

Chapter Twelve

“I don’t see any of Chisem’s cowboys,” Bob said, observing the cattle herd just across the river as the rest of the gang stood on a small hill, all mounted on top of their horses. Artax snorted in anticipation, pawing at the ground as he shook his neck, itching to be given the signal to gallop over to the herd.

“It feels like a trap,” John agreed.

“They’re driving the herd to the market tomorrow so we gotta do this now,” Billy replied, looking over to Laurie, who hadn’t said a single word since the night before. “Let’s go.” Everyone coaxed their horses into a fast trot, Artax immediately taking the lead with an eager snort, he really seemed to enjoy this job.

The gang crossed the river and began their usual routine of herding the cattle they were stealing, Laurie clicked her tongue, moving Artax around the confused cattle in order to keep the whole herd together as much as she could as they herded the animals back across the river. The round-up seemed to be going well so far, until gunshots sounded. Artax whinnied, rearing slightly as Laurie looked around, trying to find out where the gunshots were coming from.

More men on horseback showed up, charging at the gang at a full gallop while the cattle scattered, more gunshots were fired and Laurie was beginning to panic, Artax was spooking at everything now as chaos erupted in all directions.

“Run, Laurie!,” Billy yelled over the chaos, loading his shotgun again. “Find cover, now!”

But Laurie couldn’t move, she was frozen as she looked around frantically, Artax tossing his head and rearing with a shrill whinny. A searing pain shot through Laurie’s arm and she yelped, immediately (and stupidly) dropped the reins, clutching her arm in pain as she looked at it, blood was dripping out of her arm at quite an alarming rate.

The last thing the young girl remembered was Artax spooking once again, causing her to fall off, smacking her head on the ground before everything went black.

The dust cleared and Billy looked around, as far as he was concerned, it was just him. However, he was wrong, a gunshot rang out and his worse went down, causing him to also fall. The outlaw took out his gun and shot the perpetrator, making him fall off of his horse and into the river, the shot was enough to badly hurt him but not to kill him. Billy pulled back the hammer once more, getting ready to kill the guy.

“No need to shoot me again,” the man said as he raised his hands, the dust was still swirling in the air, not fully clearing yet. “I’m dying.”

Billy put his gun back in it’s holster with a heavy sigh, he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. He didn’t enjoy killing, in fact, he hated it. “I’m not gonna shoot you.”

“Why did you have to do it?,” the man asked, “Why do you have to rob and kill people like me? Why do you feel the need to bring such a young girl into this kind of life?”

Billy looked over behind him and saw that Laurie was man down, bleeding while Artax desperately nudged her, nickering as he pulled her hair in his teeth, trying to wake the knocked out girl. The outlaw was speechless, he had never really thought about it at all. And speaking to this dying man, seeing Laurie knocked out cold on the ground… something inside of him stirred.

“Can’t you speak?,” the dying man questioned, bringing Billy’s attention back to him. Billy sighed, turning his back on the man to go over to Laurie, but when he heard the click of a gun, he turned around and shot the dying man dead. He didn’t want to kill the guy, but he didn’t have a choice, it was a kill or be killed situation.

He turned his gaze back to Laurie, who still laid in the dirt unconsciously, he sighed, picking her up and gently draping her over Artax before he ripped a piece of his shirt off and wrapped it around the injured teenager’s arm as a makeshift bandage. He then tied grabbed Artax’s reins and began to lead him home by foot, leaving the bloodbath behind him.

Laurie stirred awake in her room, sitting up only to flinch at the pain in her arm, looking over to see a bloodied bandage wrapped around it. She looked around, trying to make sense of her surroundings until her eyes landed on Billy, who was sitting next to her with a hard to read expression.

“It’s just a graze, you’ll be okay,” Billy explained as he ran a hand through his hair, standing up. He had been worried sick about Laurie for the past few hours that she had been out for. He then looked at her again, she didn’t meet his eyes, looking away. “Laurie, you could’ve been killed back there.”

“I know,” Laurie replied, looking at her hands.

“Kid, when I tell you to run, you run. Never freeze like that, ever,” he hissed, his voice rising as he paced. He didn’t mean to yell at Laurie, but he couldn’t see her hurt, he didn’t want to lose her. It would be like losing Joe all over again and he couldn’t have that.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” Laurie whispered, her voice wavering as she flinched like an abused animal. She hated being yelled at, even though it was all she had ever known, she still hated it. Billy looked at her, his gaze softening as he sighed, walking over and sitting down again, moving some hair out of her slightly bruised face.

“I thought I lost you, kid,” he explained, “Just never scare me like that again, capache?”

Laurie nodded, still not meeting his eyes as she fidgeted with Goosey before finally speaking. “Is Artax okay? Is he safe?”

“Your boy is perfectly fine, just worried about you,” Billy reassured with a soft smile, giving her a nod of reassurance. “Get some rest, that was a bad fall and you're exhausted, I can tell. Get some sleep."

Laurie wondered why he was being so nice to her. Usually if she got hurt doing anything, Jesse would berate her for being stupid and then make her do the work she had to do anyway, whether it would worsen her injury or not. The young girl nodded, lying back down in the bed as she looked at Billy, she would never understand why he was so nice to her.

She was the runt, after all.

Why would someone be nice to the runt?

They aren’t worth anything, are they?

A/N:

Laurie breaks my fucking heart, man.

Tag:

@slutforsnow

#the runt #billy the kid hc #billy the kid gif #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney #billy mccarty #billy the kid #billy the kid 2022 #runt of the litter #billy the kid x oc #tom blyth #the old west #older brother core

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cqsuanla · 3 years

Text

fury shakes the rafters

pairing: dark!nat/f!reader

summary:

Aside from the cannibalism, Nat is mostly the same. Still ridiculously strong and stupidly hardheaded. And that face — flinty, cold, mean. Nat’s always been mean.

(inspired by jennifer’s body)

additional notes: mommy kink, dom/sub, bloodplay(?), dacryphilia, uhh pussy spanking, choking, unhealthy relationship, terrible aftercare

title from a song suggested by an anon: nobody by the crane wives

(ao3)

The light in the stairwell flickers, but it doesn’t make a difference, dim and dirty as it is. It buzzes distantly in your ears. You’re too focused on taking the steps two at a time to notice. You hold your groceries to your chest and fish your keys out of your pocket. If you were strong like Nat, you might just have knocked the door clean of its hinges with the force of your body. Instead, it crashes loudly into your wall, and you nearly fall on your face from the momentum.

In a bid to gain purchase on your wall, you sweep your coat rack over, and you stumble over it. The clatter makes you wince — you hope she’s in a good mood. It’s hard for her to process stimuli when she’s weak. You scramble onto your hands and knees, shoving scattered boxes and cans into the grocery bag.

Then, the rhythmic thud-thud of footsteps. You pause, exhaling as your eyes close.

“Drink?” in a monotone.

Yikes. You open your eyes, biting your lip. Steel-toed boots. You’ve told Nat a million times that this is a shoes-off apartment. She never listens, and you never argue more. Nat stays; she’s the only one who’ll stay. You can’t drive her away.

Her right boot rises, scraping against the floor, and you flinch. It just kicks a cereal box away so it can nudge at the shopping bag. The way she says your name, evenly, firmly, has you blinking rapidly, has your hands automatically shooting to the bag, following her prompt. Thank god the bottles are fine. You don’t know what you’d do if they had shattered.

You wiggle a beer out of the pack, and only then do you dare to make eye contact.

“Hi,” you murmur.

She gives you a brief glance, impassive, before snatching the bottle from your hand and returning to her spot on the armchair. “That fucking coat rack.” She flicks the cap off your side table, grungy and scratched up for this very reason. The cap bounces off the wall and disappears under the couch. “Just move it further in. You never listen.”

You did, weeks ago. You don’t say so.

The coat rack came with the place, and it was nice, so you refused to get rid of it. Nat hated it, hated that it was so close to the door in your already bite-sized entryway, but never enough to throw it out herself. But you did move it because her complaints were valid, and you wanted her to like being here with you, living here with you. Anyway, she stopped complaining afterwards. Not that you think she noticed — you supposed it was a minor inconvenience to her, the way a fly was, annoying when it was in your face but non-existent once it stopped bothering you.

Quietly, you move your groceries to the kitchen island, putting everything but your new medical supplies away. There are dirty plates in the sink, which you’ll wash after you make yourself dinner. You wonder what she’s eaten – you’d just bought two new steaks, but Nat likes a bowl of strawberry ice cream now and then.

The TV channel switches in the background. Nat snorts, and you peek around the wall to catch a report on the gruesome series of murders that have been happening lately. People in the neighbourhood hardly went out anymore, too afraid of the dark now. It would scare you too if you weren’t well aware you’d never fall victim. Nat was with you, after all, and you were with her.

You would be with her for as long as she’d let you. So, what if she was the monster in the dark? So what? It was Nat. Your Nat. She came back to you, talked to you, fucked you. It’s not like she was disembowelling you in some grimy alleyway. She kept most of the violence away from you because she cared. Anyway, like everyone else, she had to eat. You couldn’t fault her for that.

You’re pulling the gauze out of its packaging when Nat scoffs loudly at the news. They must’ve insulted her because she clicks the TV shut, practically inhales half her bottle and flings the remote onto the couch.

Then, she sets her sights on you, meek behind the counter, and raises an eyebrow. “Honey, the hall’s a mess. Clean it up.”

You frown. “You’re still hurt.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll eat tomorrow, and it’ll be fine.”

You don’t think so. The longer Nat doesn’t eat, the worse it gets. It’s how she’s in this mess in the first place. Nat’s ethereal after a feeding, next to omnipotent. But the guy she picked to eat last week turned out to be some sort of track star because he had booked it at the first sign of trouble, and she’d been forced to retreat when the sirens started blaring. The day after that, she picked a local thug as her next meal, and she’d been caught off guard by the switchblade. So, here she is: slumped on your couch and stitched up sloppily.

Her hair is limp, skin wane and dry, and in a bad enough mood that you can basically feel it every time you’re within a two-meter radius of her.

Her physical weakness emboldens you a little, makes you think you can get away with a bit of stubbornness. You pick up the gauze and tape and round the corner. A car speeds by, high beam making Nat’s eyes glint a deep green in the dark. The green follows you the whole way until she has to crane her head around to watch you slip her tank top off a shoulder.

Those eyes weren’t like that before when you first started dating. You don’t mind the changes, though. Aside from the cannibalism, Nat is mostly the same. Still ridiculously strong and stupidly hardheaded.

“You don’t want to listen?” she asks, almost conversationally.

You know better. You clench and unclench your fist. Shakily, you lift it and tuck a hair behind Nat’s ear, hoping foolishly that it will placate her.

“Baby,” says she, like a gentle mother to a misbehaving child, “you should really listen.”

You trace the bumps of her stitches, staring hard at her shoulder so you won’t have to see that face — flinty, cold, mean. Nat’s always been mean.

“At least answer me.”

“No, Nat,” you mutter, undoing the bandages on her bicep. “I don’t want to listen.”

To her credit, she lets you fix her up. Methodically, silently, you clean her wounds and rewrap them in new bandages. She doesn’t get in the way unless it’s to take a swig of her drink.

When you’re done with her arms and back, you move to her front. She’s got an ugly gash on her calf, bruised midway from where the man had kicked her bleeding leg. You imagine this is causing her the most pain, not just physically. Nat’s not great with sitting still. She’s independent to a fault, enjoying control to the point that it’s probably some sort of diagnosable complex, and this restriction on her mobility has her restless and irritated.

Looking down at her, at the space between her knees, you wonder if she’ll cooperate with you. The last time you tried to clean her leg, she’d torn your duvet in half and has since refused to let you look at it. But Nat tilts her head, coy, and gestures toward the space in front of her with her bottle.

“Scared?” she whispers.

You glance at her face just in time to catch her tongue tracing the jagged end of a canine. Mutely, you shake your head. She smiles wide.

“Liar.”

Of course. You’re always scared of her. For her, too. But you don’t think it matters; it doesn’t change anything. You just want to help her, be good for her. Anyway, she’s trying to get a reaction out of you. You refuse to take the bait, raising your eyebrows and wiggling the bandages in your hand.

“Fine.” With a roll of her eyes, she parts her legs.

As if dealing with a feral animal, you move slowly, cautiously, afraid to make sudden movements lest she starts getting violent. You squat down and reach for the cuff of her sweatpants.

“Ah, ah.” She slides the leg back, staring down her nose at you. You pause. “Kneel, baby.”

Her eyes — did the ring of green get thinner? Your lips part, anticipation beginning to seep into your body, and you comply. Once you’re settled, looking up at her, she makes that same careless gesture with her bottle. A go-ahead.

As you work, she shifts to put her beer on the table and then combs a hand into your hair. You tense, eyeing her nervously, but she only watches you, imperious, intense, and remains silent. Nevertheless, you pick up the pace, tossing the antiseptic aside and winding the gauze around her pale calf.

She’s startlingly warm under your hands. Ever since… whatever happened to her — she wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the details — she’s run hotter than ever. You can’t sleep under a blanket with her anymore unless you’re shirtless; the heat would be unbearable. Not that Nat has any complaints about that.

“All done,” you murmur.

The lack of reaction from Nat gives you the courage to lean forward and press a sweet kiss to the top of her knee. The hand in your hair rewards you with a gentle scratch, and you can’t help melting into a smile. She’s still got that air of arrogance about her when you look up at her, but she’s not glaring. Which is why it comes entirely as a surprise when she clenches a fistful of hair in her hand, yanking your head back, and slaps you clean across the face with her other hand.

You take the full brunt of her palm with a cry, almost toppling over were it not for the grip on your hair. Your cheek burns, and so does your eyes. Mostly from pain, partly from the shock of it, maybe a little from shame when you realize you’re getting wet from the rough treatment.

Nat tuts. “Crying already?”

You imagine you look pretty pathetic on your knees for her, eyes glassy.

“Don’t give me those eyes, baby; you know I can’t help myself.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” Nat says gently, tipping your head back again so you can see the false sincerity on her face. “You can fix this, you know?”

Your eyebrows furrow, thoughts racing a mile a minute to puzzle out what she means.

“Don’t think so hard. You’ll hurt yourself. I’ll show you how, dumb baby,” she coos as she nudges your chin with the knuckle of her finger, and you can’t help flushing deeply at that. Then, she offers a hand, and you take it, and she tugs you up into a straddle on her lap. “Come here.”

You instinctively wind your arms around her neck, clinging on. Beneath you, she tenses and lets out a low rumbling sound that resonates deep in her chest. You inhale sharply.

Teeth. Sharpened to deadly points. Poised over your neck. Nat’s breath comes short and hot against your skin, and her tongue, when it peeks out, drags wetly across your skin.

This has happened once before; the first night she’d come back changed. Like before, she noses at your flushed skin, teasing you with the possibility of damage, and trails her teeth down to your traps. Back then, she hadn’t bitten you. She won’t now, you think, you hope.

She sighs again, hovering over the meat of your shoulder and prodding her teeth against you. Doesn’t break the skin.

“Don’t make it worse for yourself. Are you scared?”

This time, you nod. Nat’s lips curve into a smile, and her hold on your thighs tighten enough to bruise.

“You should listen, sweetheart,” she says against you. The front of her teeth scrapes over you when she speaks, leaving red marks behind. “I hurt you less when you’re good. Don’t you know?”

“How can you be in the mood?” you wonder, burying your face into the crook of her neck. “You’re half dead.”

“Barely.”

It would take a lot more to kill Nat like this. Anyway, how could you be in the mood when your girlfriend’s cut up like this?

Nat stands abruptly, ignorant to your yelps and complaints, and dumps you back onto the couch in quick succession. Before you can even register what’s happened, she’s yanked your bottoms down to your ankles and has climbed between your legs.

Even after that, you don’t get the chance to speak. She wraps her hand around your throat and pins you to the cushions. You grab onto her wrist.

Her body bears down, and you break into a sweat, in small part due to nerves, some part because she’s shoving her hand up your shirt to grab roughly at your bra, but mostly because she’s near scalding. You’re convinced her blood runs at a constant boil now. You’ve grown to love the heat, though. With her, pleasure comes white-hot, and you’d want it no other way.

“Nat-”

“No,” she growls, and you get an eyeful of her monstrous teeth. She flexes both hands, cutting off your airway and squeezing your breast painfully. You whimper, wound tight as a coil. “Listen to me, baby.”

You look at her through hazy eyes.

“Those eyes again. God, I love you like this.” Foolishly, your heart clenches at those words. She rucks your shirt up and claws her nails down your front. Beads of blood bloom from the thin scratches she leaves behind. “You’re beautiful when I hurt you.”

Her hand nearly crushes your throat closed, but then she releases you, and you suck air in desperately. Your hands, shaken off her arm, reach for the sides of her head. “Nat,” you croak, tasting the salt from your tears on your lips. “Nat.”

She shakes her head, descending on your chest. It hurts – badly. “Be good for mommy.”

“Mommy,” you gasp out, arching into her mouth. She ignores your pert nipples, electing instead to lick and suck at the burn between your breasts. “Please, please.”

“Shut up,” she hisses. Oh, her teeth are still out. “Hands above your head.”

You obey, another sad sound crawling out of your abused throat.

The dark pits of her eyes drink in the sight of you, face crumpled in pain and need. A thumb wipes up the last of your blood, and she delights in smearing it across your cheek.

“Messy baby, clean up after yourself. It’s basic,” she chides, thumb still rubbing at your face as if she were fixing up some runny mascara. “Be good now.”

You don’t dare to speak, just nod and look pleadingly up at her. Your core aches from neglect.

She makes quick work of that, reaching down to feel the slick between your thighs. Humming, she smirks and very deliberately rubs her middle finger over your clit. You jerk up into her, mouth falling open even as you strangle your moan.

“I could do anything to you, and you’d still want me.”

Again, you nod.

“Where did my little liar go?” she baits. You shake your head. “Say ‘thank you, mommy, for letting me breathe.’”

It takes you a moment to gather the brain cells and say: “Thank you, mommy.”

Her smile widens, teeth back to normal. “Again, for the lesson.”

“Thank you, mommy.”

She brings her hand down on your cunt, full strength. You scream, jolting away from her. Well, you would have if she hadn’t pressed you down by the chest, entirely uncaring about the wound she’d left there. Tears leak out the sides of your eyes, trickling into your hairline.

“Thank me for that too,” she demands.

“Thank you,” you cry around a hiccup.

One more spank, and another, and another. Your legs kick uselessly against the cushions, body twisting after every awful smack.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Your hole clenches around nothing, slick leaking onto the couch. Then, two fingers dip into you, and Nat thrusts them up hard and fast. She’d shoved them in on a contraction, and it hurts for a second before she’s curling her fingers into the velvet of your walls.

She makes a pleased sound. “Tight as always. Makes me want to tear you in half, baby.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “Th-” She starts up a fast pace, digging her fingertips into your front wall. “Thank you!”

Her cheek rests on your chest, listening to the thunder of your heart. “We should try that big one.” Impossibly, your heart rate quickens at the thought, and you manage to shake your head. She laughs, the sound sharp and cruel, and music to your ears. “Maybe another time then.”

She sits up then, still working her fingers into your cunt, and moves her other hand to your mons. She pets gently over your labia, a sharp contrast to the vicious pace she’s keeping up. Your head spins.

“My baby,” she breathes, “good enough to fucking eat.”

But she parts your folds to press her fingers into your clit, circling them once, twice, thrice, and you’re so close. So desperately close.

She leans down, near delicate in her movements, and licks into your mouth. You taste copper and beer and the faintest sweetness. Urgently, you try to kiss back.

If she’s mean, she’d pull back and deny you the chance to come with her mouth on yours.

She must think that you’ve suffered enough, though, because she rubs her thumb at your clit and drives her fingers deeper into you, and you push up as far as you can into her body with a scream. You’re swallowed in molten heat, pleasure stripping away at you until you’re just bones on the couch.

When you come to, Nat’s pulling out some bandages for your chest. You’re too tired to do or say anything, forced into silence by her dominance.

She smiles at you, still not kind, but it doesn’t look bestial like before. Maybe just self-satisfied. She strokes your sweaty hair as she fixes you up, shushing you if you moan quietly from aftershocks or pain. You are in a lot of pain, bruised and scratched up as you are.

“Good girl,” she says when she’s done.

Finally, you muster the energy to grab her hand and say, “Thank you.”

She lets you hold on for a few seconds before pulling away. “Sure.”

You wish she’d hold you for a bit, but you don’t vocalize it. She’s been through too much in the last few days; you shouldn’t burden her—

“Don’t be fucking needy,” she says, suddenly and harshly. Your face must have given you away.

“I don’t mean to be,” you mutter, bringing your arm up to cover your eyes. Feeling stupid, feeling mad that you feel stupid, you say: “It would just be nice if you’d stay for a bit.”

A hand grabs your arm, yanking it away from your head, and you’re treated to a view of her scowl. “Where would I go?”

You didn’t mean it that way, but you don’t know how to get out of this hole you’ve dug yourself. “I-I don’t know.”

Out of nowhere, her hand slaps your cunt again, overstimulated, sore, puffy. You groan, curling in on yourself and hugging your knees to your chest.

“Fuck, Nat.”

She takes the opportunity to sit down on the end of the couch, where your legs once were. The TV turns back on, and you hear her take a sip from her can of beer. “Clean up the hall later.”

At least she stayed.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #dark!natasha x reader #dark!natasha romanoff x reader #dark #nat #mw #aaaaaaaaaaanyway

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Text

The Forbidden Fruit {medieval priest!Kylo Ren x Reader}

anonymous:

Priest!Kylo + tavern + visiting his known mistress

author’s notes: hello, hello! ooo, priest!Kylo is a dirty man and I am very much here for it ;) thanks for the request! (post-writing note: this got waay longer than I originally intended lol)

warnings: a touch of fluff. smut. general filth. the incorrect use of the Adam and Eve bible story. oral sex (f receiving). a bit of religion-infused coercion. innocence kink if you really squint. hints of praise kink. virginity loss.

tw’s: extramarital affair/sex (as was common in medieval times). (!!) dubcon (!!) **please let me know if I missed any warnings and/or tw’s!!**

word count: 1.8k

kylo’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings @icarusinthesea my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman @dirtytissuebox @thepalaceofmelanie

[NOT my edit. full credit goes to sacklers_sack on Twitter]

Father Kylo walks into the Adam and Eve Tavern and steps up to the bar, ordering a mug of frothy golden brew. He takes a sip as he walks over to his usual corner table, fingers fiddling with the ring around his thick finger.

Even though his wife already knows of his affair, he still feels a small twinge of guilt whenever he lies to her about his whereabouts. It’s a very slight feeling of remorse, though, considering the fact that she’s one of Satan’s disciples.

You walk in only minutes later, flipping the hood of your cloak off the top of your head. He looks over at smiles at the sight of you, admiring your pure and raw beauty. He’s almost sure you’re some sort of angel in disguise, too beautiful and pure to be anything less. Gods, he wants nothing more than to wreck you, split you in half with his cock.

“Hello, angel.” He purrs as you walk over and sit down at the table with him, eyes lingering on your bosom, which is accentuated greatly in this particular gown. “I am glad to see your beautiful face this eve.”

Your lips curl up into a small smirk. “No need for such flattery, Father. We both know why you summoned me here.”

“I’ve always loved how you get right down to business.” Kylo chuckles devilishly. “There are a series of rooms upstairs, the very reason I chose this particular establishment to conduct our...meeting. Step into the last one down the hall and strip bare, lay down on the bed. I will join you in a moment.”

Nodding, you stand and make your way up to the room, swaying your hips a bit extra for the Father. He smirks when he notices this, taking another sip of his beer as he feels his length twitch to life ‘neath his robes.

He waits a few minutes, finishing the mug of beer and leaving behind a tip for the barkeep before walking up to the room he’s reserved for the night. When he walks in, the sight of your nude body illuminated by the warm orange glow of the crackling fire greets him. Gods, is there a better sight to behold than this one?

Your chest rises and falls gently, rhythmically, breasts rising and falling along with your steady breathing. He’s hypnotized, momentarily, drinking in the angelic beauty that lays across the bedsheets.

His robes are swiftly removed and draped over one of the chairs, leaving him in only his undergarments. He points to your legs with his pointer and middle fingers, silently indicating that he’d like you to spread them. You do.

“Tell me, angel. Have you heard the Biblical tale of Adam and Eve?”

You shake your head, biting down on your lip when he takes a step forward towards the bed. “No, Father, I have not.”

He smirks, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Remnants of his hot breath tease your bare skin, causing you to shudder.

“Adam and Eve were the first human beings created by God, and they inhabited in the Garden of Eden. They were given allowed to use or consume any of the other plants in the Garden, but they were told not to eat any of the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.”

You gasp when his hands suddenly seize your ankles and pull you to the end of the bed.

“But,” The Father sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact. “They failed to resist the temptation. The fruit...”

He pushes your legs as far apart as they can go, then lightly traces your glistening slit with his fingertips. Your breath hitches in your throat at his featherlight touch on your center.

Your eyes widen when his nose nudges your outer lips and he takes a long, slow inhale of your natural scent. He shudders, groaning under his breath before his tongue suddenly licks an agonizingly slow stripe up your cunt.

“The forbidden fruit was just too sweet.” Kylo says, licking his lips with a small smirk at the corners of his mouth. “It was so tender, so juicy; it just felt too right to be wrong, too delicious to be sin.”

You can’t stop the desperate whimper that escapes between your parted lips, insides clenching desperately against themselves. He notices the way your hole puckers, and his smirk grows a bit wider.

His mouth opens, then, and he encapsulates your entire core in a sloppy kiss. Your back arches and you gasp loudly, head pressing back against the pillows. The coarse hairs of his beard scratch your skin in the most delightfully pleasurable way, only adding to the sensations he’s creating with his mouth.

“F-Father--ohh!” Your feet plant and your hips lift up off the bed. “Oh gods, mmmm!”

He begins moving with more aggression, passionately slurping up each and every drop of the sweet nectar that leaks from your cunt. His assault doesn’t let up, not until his efforts bring you to the ultimate high.

“Father! F-Father, oh Christ!” You shriek softly, legs quaking as you hit your peak with an Earth-shattering intensity.

Kylo pulls away shortly after you’ve ridden out your high and he’s consumed every single drop of your sinful sweetness, upper lip and beard glistening with your release. He practically rips his undergarments off and wraps a large, veiny hand around the base.

“Lay up at the head of the bed, now. I shall claim your innocence tonight, angel.”

Your eyes widen and you sit up, chewing on your now-tender bottom lip. “I d-don’t know...”

The Father shakes his head, quickly pinning you to the bed, caging you with his large body. You watch his silver Holy Cross necklace shimmer in the dim light, reminding you that he is a man of God and that he would never ask anything of you that he didn’t think you were ready for.

“Do not fear it, my child; why would His Holiness grant us the bodies we posses, ones that can bring such pleasures, if we aren’t intended to use them? Trust me, angel, all will be alright.”

You’re not much of a religious woman, but he makes a reasonable argument...

“O-Okay.”

He smiles, reaching down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. “I will go slowly for you. It may hurt at first, but I promise it will get better.”

You nod. “I trust you, Father.”

His tip swipes all through your slick before settling at your entrance, ready to push in. He holds your cheeks, looking deep into your eyes.

“Are you ready, my angel?”

As soon as you nod, his pelvis pushes forward and his length pushes through your unstretched walls. You cry out, tears instantly burning your eyes as they instantly begin to collect in the corners.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he remains still, jaw clenched so tight you’re worried he’ll crack his teeth should he clench any tighter. It’s taking every single ounce of his willpower not to fuck you raw, but he knows what he must take care of you this eve. There will be plenty of time for all of that in the future.

“You’re doing sssso well, angel. Taking me so well.”

His words of encouragement, his mutters of of praise reassure you that this was a good choice. You’ve never felt so stuffed in your entire life, not even after holiday feasts and the more your insides stretch in accommodation, the better it begins to feel.

You nod up at him, the first tear escaping your overflowing eyes.

“I’m a-alright now, Father.”

He plants a kiss on your forehead, still cradling your face as he draws back, then pushes forward once more. The noises that escape your lips are positively sinful and they only encourage him on, hips steadily gaining speed and force with each passing moment.

Soon, your body and breasts and excess flesh bounce in time with his hips’ sharp, forceful thrusts. By now, the pain has completely subsided and made way for the pleasure to build in your loins.

“S-So sssweet,” He grunts quietly in your ear. “So j-juicy and tender...and you’re a-all mine...”

Your small whimpers and gasps turn to scandalous moans and cries of desperation. You hold onto his arms tightly, fingernails digging deep into his alabaster skin, surely leaving marks.

“Please, Father, please...”

Kylo can feel his control, his restraint beginning to slip as he nears climax. He’s unable to hold it off, unwilling to deny himself this heavenly pleasure whilst his cock is stained with fresh virgin’s blood.

The thought of that alone thrusts him right up to the edge, looking over the cliff to the peak of bliss.

“Y/N, my a-angel, I...I will not be able to endure much l-longer.”

You nod, grabbing hold of his hair firmly. “It is alright, F-Father. Use m-me, use my body to bring yourself p-pleasure.”

Those words send him careening into climax and he quickly pulls away just as the first rope of his foggy liquor emerges. His hips still give half-hearted mock thrusts as he spills his creamy seed all over your puffy, used cunt.

He crawls off of you once he’s finished, beginning to redress immediately. You sit up, shakily and already you can feel the pain in your loins beginning to build from the Father’s hardened intrusion.

Your eyes catch sight of some red dripped down onto the bedsheet and your cheeks warm, acute worry flaring up inside of you. Is that supposed to happen?

Almost as if he read your worried mind, Father Kylo steps up to you and holds your chin up so that you can look into his eyes.

“Bleeding is typical for virgins, nothing is the matter, I promise.”

You nod, sighing softly in relief. “Thank you, Father.”

He smiles, bending down to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “It is I who should be thanking you, my child. Thank you for giving your innocence to me, for trusting me. You did so well for me tonight, angel.”

Your cheeks warm in flattery, smile splitting your face. But, your expression falls into a frown when you see him drape the cloak over his shoulders.

“Must you leave so soon, Father?”

Father Kylo nods as he pulls on his shoes. “I must get back to the convent, angel; I apologize for having to rush off so quickly. But, I promise I will make it up to you next time, yes?”

You nod, offering a small, disappointment-tinged smile. “Yes, of course, Father. I understand.”

He reaches ‘neath his robes and pulls out the small, silver Holy Cross necklace, draping it around your neck.

“Something to remind you of me, ‘till we next meet.” Kylo says, kissing your temple. “Farewell, my beloved angel.”

Your lips tug up into a genuine smile, fingers toying with the silver charm as he approaches the door and slips out.

“Farewell, Father.”

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beifongsss · 4 years

Text

life-changing field trip [zuko]

Pairing: Zuko x waterbender!reader (I’m a sl*t for the opposites attract trope I’m so sorry)

Requested?: Yes! I am once again combining two requests that I thought fit together, I’m sorry if that upsets the anons who requested :( The first anon request: “ooh maybe flirty/yn with zuko while in the ember island house or while sparring (or combine the two LMAO)” The second anon request: “Hi! Can we have more simp Zuko plz 🥺 How about that scene where the gAang looks for Aang, and Toph is like “I want to go with Zuko because I have not had a life changing field trip with him yet,” but instead of Toph it’s y/n and Zuko is all blushy and flustered because he has a crush on her 🥺”

Summary: You just want to test the waters and see if Zuko likes you back, after all, Sokka has been telling you that he does indeed like you. However, every time you try to get close to the prince, he either runs away or ignores you.

not as flirty as it could’ve been but i like how it turned out :) short & sweet

.masterlist.

Ember Island was beautiful.

You had all arrived there a few days ago, joining Katara after she had gone off to hunt down the man who had killed her mother. When you heard that she hadn’t ended his life, you had hugged her tightly and quietly told her that you were proud of how strong she was.

Aang had come up behind you soon after and you retreated from the two to give them a bit of privacy, crossing your arms as you stood next to Zuko. The two of you observing the scene that was unfolding in front of you, a smile twitching at the edge of your lips as they embraced.

“I’m glad the two of you came back safely,” you said quietly to the prince, never looking away from Aang and Katara. Zuko didn’t reply and shifted uncomfortably. “Especially you. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t look at your pretty face every day.”

You didn’t have to look at the prince to know that he now wore a scowl on his face, displeased at your words. In reality, Zuko was trying to hold back a blush at your words and instead of replying, he simply rolled his eyes and stormed off.

He burst into his family’s beach house, cheeks still ablaze. Toph and Sokka sat there, looking up at Zuko blankly before going back to their conversation. Slightly disappointed in their lack of response, he threw himself onto the nearby couch, releasing a loud groan.

Toph paused her words for a second before continuing to speak. Sokka glanced at Zuko before focusing on Toph, knowing what he was trying to do. At the sound of his friends’ conversation, Zuko threw his arms over his head and groaned loudly once again. This time, their conversation stopped completely before Sokka turned to face him.

“Yes, Zuko? Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing,” he replied gruffly. Toph couldn’t help but snort.

“Why is your heart beating so fast then, Sparky Pants?” Toph asked. “It can’t be ‘nothing’ if it’s got you all worked up.”

Zuko shot her a glare, forgetting that she couldn’t see it, before burying his face in his arms and mumbling something.

“What was that?” Sokka asked, a smirk on his face.

“(Y/N) was out there,” Zuko repeated, lifting his head up slightly. “Why was she the only one to greet us out there?”

“She wasn’t alone. Aang was with her,” Toph said. “Besides, she said something about making sure that you weren’t injured or anything.”

Zuko’s face went bright red once more. “Why couldn’t one of you be there with her?”

“Because your reaction every time she gets too close to you is hilarious,” Sokka replied. “Just tell her how you feel. The worst she can do is say no.”

The conversation died down as you entered the room with Aang and Katara trailing behind you. You aimed a smile at Zuko, heading over to the couch he was laying on. At the sight of you, Zuko scrambled up and all but sprinted away, a frown on his face as he muttered that if anyone needed him he would be in his room.

The smile melted off your face at Zuko’s actions. Katara noticed and came up behind you. “C’mon, help me with dinner?”

You nodded.

~ “Hey (Y/N/N)!”

You looked up when you felt Sokka sit next to you, drawing your attention from the two boys who were training in the courtyard. He followed your line of sight, smirking when his eyes landed on Zuko. “Enjoying the view?”

You hummed in response, still not facing the Water Tribe boy before replying. “I’m just studying them. It’s not every day you get to see firebenders just casually practicing their moves.”

“Whatever you say,” Sokka replied, leaning back on his elbows. “You don’t have to hide your feelings. He feels the same way y’know.”

The snort that left you was unintentional, but still drew Aang’s attention to you. He perked up immediately, his tiredness leaving his body in a second. “(Y/N/N)! How long have you been there?”

A blush covered your cheeks as Sokka nudged your side and snickered. “O-Oh, a few minutes. I was bored so I came out here to watch your lesson.”

“Great, can you do me a favor?” Aang asked, his eyes sparkling. You groaned internally knowing that you couldn’t deny the young Air Nomad anything. Silently, you nodded. “I promised Toph that I’d learn how to sandbend today but Zuko’s not done training. Can you please spar with him?”

“I’m not a firebender Aang,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Shouldn’t he be training with a firebender?”

“It’s fine, you don’t mind, do you Zuko?” Aang didn’t wait for Zuko’s response before continuing. “Besides, how often does he get to fight waterbenders? This is good practice!”

Before either of you could reply, Aang was already bouncing away. “Thanks (Y/N/N)!”

You stood up slowly and made your way to the middle of the makeshift arena, stretching as quickly as you could. Once you were done, you faced Zuko. “Ready?”

He nodded silently, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he realized you didn’t have a water skin near you. Just as he opened his mouth to ask, you lunged at him. He barely had time to duck, dodging your fist but not your leg. His knee buckled under your kick and he ended up on his knees. He glanced up at you to see you smirking.

“Cute. I always thought that I’d end up on my knees for you, not the other way around,” you commented, stepping further away from him. You dropped to a defensive position as he got to his feet, his cheeks burning as he stared you down.

The two of you moved at the same time, Zuko throwing a blast of fire at you as he ran. You slid underneath it, quickly standing and aiming a kick at him. He dodged it gracefully before sending another blast at you. Just when he was about to ask why you weren’t using your bending, you reached out, focusing on the water in the air around you and forming a thin stream of water.

Zuko’s jaw dropped slightly, he had never seen a waterbender pull water out of thin air. He managed to dodge the water whip you had created and sent up a wall of fire, turning it into a wall of steam as he evaporated the whip. You didn’t stop there however and managed to turn the vapor into ice shards which you quickly dropped onto Zuko.

He rolled out of the way, sticking his leg out at the same time. He succeeded in toppling you, and you squeaked as you fell onto your back. He moved to attack and you reacted quickly, drawing water out from nearby plants and sending it at him full force. The fire he had ready was extinguished and he ended up soaked from your attack.

“Nice one (Y/N)!” you heard Sokka yell, reminding you that he was still present. You shot him a look as you stood up before turning to face a now shirtless Zuko.

“Spirits,” you whispered, trying not to stare at him. “How is this fair? Put your shirt back on! Or don’t.”

“You’re the one who got me all wet,” Zuko replied, tossing his shirt to Sokka and walking back to the middle of the arena.

“If only it were the other way around,” you whispered jokingly, causing Sokka to cackle. You joined Zuko once more, having no time to prepare before he attacked. The fight continued on for a few more minutes, the two of you all sweaty and tired. You decided to try and attack with ice again, dodging a punch from Zuko as you accumulated water from around you.

You couldn’t hold yourself back from making another comment as Zuko pushed his hair back from his face. “You know, I can think of a few other activities that can make us equally sweaty, if you’re interested.”

Zuko stumbled at the same time you attacked, allowing some of the ice shards to nip at his skin. He hissed lightly as the cuts began to bleed, silently chastising himself for letting you distract him.

“Oh no. Zuko!” you yelped, running over to the boy. Your face showed nothing but worry as you knelt next to him, taking in his injuries. “Let me get you healed.”

Your face scrunched in concentration as you waved your hand, a globule of water forming around it. Both of you were silent as you healed his cuts, biting your lip as the guilt crawled up on you.

“Stop doing that,” Zuko said suddenly, drawing your attention to him. You looked at him confused before you noticed his gaze was on your lip. Blushing, you looked back down to his wounds. You tried to ignore his gaze as you moved your hands up to his chest, healing the wounds there. Zuko wondered if you could feel his heart racing.

“I’m really sorry Zuko,” you whispered, finally done healing his chest. You glanced up at his face, wincing when you noticed a shallow cut on his cheek. He closed his eyes as you reached up and cupped his cheek, unintentionally nuzzling his cheek into your palm. After a minute, you pulled away. “I’m done.”

Zuko opened his eyes, meeting yours and causing you to stop completely.

“It’s okay,” he whispered back, his voice raspy from speaking so lowly. “It didn’t hurt that much.”

For once you were at a loss for words, no witty or flirty comment on the tip of your tongue as you stared into Zuko’s eyes. Remembering Sokka’s earlier words, you stepped closer to Zuko. He swallowed harshly but didn’t move.

“Zuko,” you whispered, dropping your gaze down to his lips. “Can I-”

“Hey! Aang needs you, Zuko,” Sokka suddenly called out, making the two of you jump apart. You whirled around, eyes narrowed as they landed on the Water Tribe boy. Despite the smug smirk on his face, he couldn’t help but flinch at your reaction, knowing that you were going to bite his head off once the two of you were alone.

Zuko’s eyes widened and he all but sprinted into the house, only pausing when Sokka grabbed his arm. “Forgetting something?”

“Oh, r-right,” Zuko said, taking his shirt from Sokka. He glanced at you briefly one last time before running into the house.

“Sokka,” you growled, stomping over to him. “What was that for?”

“What was what?” Sokka asked innocently, walking backwards to get away from you. A wide grin spread across his face. “The real question is: what was happening between the two of you back there?”

You pushed Sokka up against the porch railing and quickly froze his hand to it. “It might’ve been a kiss if you hadn’t interrupted.”

You stormed away after that, an annoyed expression on your face as you made your way into the house. Behind you, Sokka was trying to get free. He was unsuccessful.

“(Y/N)! Don’t leave me here! I’m sorry! (Y/N)?”

Zuko had managed to avoid talking to you the rest of the day, even when the two of you had been paired up to fight the Melon Lord. Toph had enjoyed that a little too much.

He sat furthest away from you during dinner and went to bed immediately after, giving a mumbled goodnight to the group. Everyone turned to face you after he left, a questioning look in their eyes (well, except for Toph). You had simply glared at Sokka, who had then proceeded to explain what had happened earlier between the two of you. The group couldn’t help but laugh, only annoying you further as they teased you about it.

You had gone to bed early too.

Katara had woken you up early the next morning, panic on her face as she dragged you out into the courtyard. “Aang’s gone!”

That statement woke you up immediately, and you found yourself looking at her with a confused expression. “What do you mean gone?”

“Look,” Sokka said, pointing to the spot next to you. “He left his staff. That’s so strange.”

“Aang’s not in the house,” you heard Zuko say as he joined you all outside.

“Let’s check the beach,” you said, walking away before you finished your sentence. The six of you trekked down to the beach, perking up slightly when you noticed Aang’s footprints. You followed them all the way to the edge of the water where they suddenly disappeared. “The trail ends here.”

“So he went for a midnight swim and never came back?” Suki asked skeptically.

"Maybe he was captured,” Katara said worriedly.

“I don’t think so,” Sokka muttered, looking at the footprints. “There’s no sign of a struggle.”

“I bet he ran away,” Toph said, her voice a little dull.

“No way, he wouldn’t leave behind Appa or his glider,” you countered.

“Then what do you think happened to him, oh sleuthy one?” Toph snarked back.

“It's pretty obvious,” Sokka suddenly said. “Aang mysteriously disappears before an important battle? He's definitely on a Spirit World journey”

“But if he was, wouldn't his body still be here?” Zuko asked.

Sokka bowed his head down in slight embarrassment. “Oh yeah. Forgot about that.”

“Then he's got to be somewhere on Ember Island,” Katara said. “Let's split up and look for him.”

Your eyes widened and you immediately grabbed onto Zuko’s arm, hugging it tightly. “I’m going with Zuko!”

“W-What?” Zuko stuttered, a bright blush coating his cheeks as he tried to ignore the fact that you were hugging his arm. Everyone else stared at you knowingly.

“What?!” you asked. “Everyone else went on a life-changing field trip with Zuko. Now it's my turn.”

“Try not to make it too life-changing,” Sokka muttered as he walked past you, earning a snicker from Suki and Toph. Sokka and Suki left on Appa and Katara and Toph headed into town to see if they could find him there. You kept holding on to Zuko’s arm as the two of you walked further along the beach. It was silent for a few minutes before you finally spoke up.

“Hey pretty boy, why have you been avoiding me?”

Zuko’s eyes widened and he turned to you. “W-What did you just call me?”

“Pretty boy,” you chirped, a smile on your face as you looked up at him. “Because y’know, you’re probably the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

Zuko cleared his throat and dragged his gaze away from you. His eyes didn’t leave the water as you kept walking side-by-side.

“So,” you nudged him softly, sliding one hand down his arm to intertwine your fingers with his. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Zuko replied quickly, shaking you off his arm as he proceeded to walk a bit in front of you. You kept quiet as you caught up to him, biting your lip as you thought about the boy next to you.

“I thought I told you to stop doing that,” Zuko snapped, stealing a glance at you.

“Why?” you asked, releasing your lip. “Does it turn you on?”

“What?! N-No!” Zuko exclaimed. A faint trail of steam escaped his nose, letting you know that he was flustered.

“Relax, Zuko,” you chuckled. “I’m joking. Now, why have you been avoiding me?”

“We should be looking for Aang.”

“You and I both know that Aang isn’t here,” you replied, looking out at the vast ocean. “He’s probably doing some Avatar-related thing right now so why don’t you just tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you!”

“Yes you have! Ever since yesterday. Ever since I-” you cut yourself off, a blush appearing on your face as you thought about the almost-kiss between the two of you. Zuko swallowed nervously, also thinking about what had happened between the two of you.

“Ever since you almost kissed me,” Zuko filled in for you, his head hanging low. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Because you didn’t want to kiss me?” you asked, slightly upset. “You could’ve just said so, it doesn’t have to be weird.”

“Because I did want to kiss you,” Zuko replied almost immediately. The two of you came to a stop. “I’ve been avoiding you because I want to kiss you and be with you but I can’t.”

“Why?” you asked, thoroughly puzzled.

“I’ve done so many things,” Zuko whispered. “So many bad things. To Aang, to Katara, to you. I’m from the Fire Nation; I don’t deserve to be with someone like you.”

“That’s absurd,” you whispered back. “Your past doesn’t define you Zuko. You chose to make the right decision and sure, it took you a while but you realized that you were doing more harm than good. You changed, that’s what matters. You made the right choice even though you knew it could mean trouble for you and that’s why I like you.”

Zuko finally looked up at your words, his eyes full of wonder as he looked at you. A small smile appeared on his lips at your words and he found himself approaching you slowly. “Do you?”

You nodded softly.

“Zuko?” you asked quietly. “Hypothetically, if I had gotten the chance to ask if I could kiss you yesterday, what would you have said?”

“I- Hypothetically, I would’ve said yes,” Zuko whispered back. Feeling bold, you walked up to the prince and wrapped your arm around his neck.

“Do you trust me, Zuko?” you breathed, your lips inches away from his. You felt your heart speed up as his golden eyes met yours. Silently, he nodded. You wasted no time as you leaned up and pressed your lips against his. He stumbled back slightly, his back hitting the cliff that surrounded the beach as he grabbed onto your waist.

Almost immediately, he turned around, kissing you roughly and pressing you up against the wall as his body covered yours. Your hands tangled in his soft hair, your heart racing impossibly fast as you realized that you were actually kissing Zuko. You pulled away first, giving him a soft smile as you stared at him. “I take it you like me too?”

Zuko chuckled before nodding. “I do.”

He pressed another kiss to your lips, this one gentle as you enjoyed each other’s presence. The two of you were so distracted that you didn’t hear Appa land on the beach a few yards from you.

“Hey! I could be wrong but I’m pretty sure Aang isn’t in either of your mouths.”

The two of you pulled away from each other to see Sokka looking at you with a wide smirk. Suki sat behind him, giving both of you a suggestive look. Zuko helped you climb onto Appa before joining you and sitting next to you.

“Yip yip,” Sokka said before he turned to you. “So (Y/N), how was that field trip of yours?”

You turned looked at Zuko beore intertwining your hands, making him blush and earning a smile from Suki and Sokka.

“Best field trip ever.”

taglist!

@musicalkeys, @mywigglybaby, @bubblebars, @iguessthefloorislava, @dekahg, @boxofteenageideas, @purifiedbottledwater, @butterflycore

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untaemedqueen · 3 years

Text

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 24.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

A/N: Really really huge thank you to my queen @xjoonchildx for making me the newspaper clippings. I love them so much! This is one of my favorite chapters because of how fun it looks! And as always I couldn’t have done it without @ladyartemesia and @ppersonna

Yoongi takes a deep breath, letting the September air fill his lungs. Who knew life could be so fucking trying?

He turns his head to you, hearing your soft footsteps down the marble stairs. He notices the small splotches of paint on your skin and it fills him with a sense of calm. You're a sight for sore eyes.

"My baby," he breathes, leaving his glass of whisky on the outdoor patio and walking back into the mansion to be with you.

"I'm all dirty," you mumble, picking at the dried paint on your hands.

"I can make you dirtier." your fiance quips and you give him a lopsided grin at his joke.

His joke doesn't match his mood and your eyebrows furrow as his arms wrap around you.

You know just how stressed he is. You know just how much his heart hurts everyday that Sera refuses to sign the divorce papers. It wouldn't be nearly as bad if you didn't seem to be growing more and more everyday.

His chin rests atop your head and he stares past you to the two marble staircases that lead up to either wing.

Even though Sera is no longer here and she's in the guest house with Jin and your dog, her ghost seems to haunt the CEO at every turn.

"I want to buy a new house." he grumbles, pulling away and looking down at you.

"Why?" you ask softly, running your hands lovingly over his arms.

"This house fills me with nothing but bad memories. I see the leech everywhere I turn… I hate that. I want a fresh start." he admits, caressing your distended sides.

You hum in agreement. "Is it too much for you right now? You have so much on your plate. Let's look for a house together when we get married," you suggest.

Just the thought of marrying you makes his heart flip inside of his chest. The thought of holding you in his arms everyday until his last is miraculous and special.

"When we buy the new house, you can decorate it any way you want." he promises.

"Oh, I plan on it." you reply, pulling him towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" he asks curiously, letting you take him with you.

"You need a distraction, baby boy."

He shivers at your tone, how strict it is. A small smile spreads over his face as he trudges up the stairs with you. "Yes, Mistress. I do."

"Jin?!" Sera calls, dropping her bags down at the front of the guest house.

She promised him she'd try and she thinks she's doing well so far. She only complains thirty percent of the day which is a lot better than the eighty percent she's used to. She's even held her tongue a few times when Jin has told her he's going to hang out with Leena.

"I'm getting ready for work, mouse." he calls back from upstairs.

His velvet voice fills her with joy and she rushes up the stairs without a second thought.

"Can I come with you?" she begs, peeking into his bedroom.

His hands wrap and tug at his tie as he turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"No. You're still married." he states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She scoffs gently, wrinkling her nose. There's something about how quick and dexterous his fingers are as he ties his tie that sends her stomach coiling.

He still hasn't had sex with her and he hasn't even kissed her after that fated day when she begged him to stay with her.

"Why not?" she whines softly, leaning against the door jamb.

Seokjin chuckles gently, rolling his eyes. "Because you won't sign the divorce papers, like a normal person." he announces.

"Why do you keep bringing it up?! It's always 'divorce this or divorce that,' aren't you tired of saying it yet?" the actress cries out.

Jin grabs his suit jacket, sighing so loudly that it scares the woman behind him.

"Yes, actually. I am tired of saying it. You should just do it."

"But why? It has nothing to do with you." she mumbles.

Turning to her, he tilts his head. "Yes it does. If you don't get divorced, I'm not staying with you. I'm not going to be the guy that makes another man a fucking cuckold. I don't want that, that's fucking disgusting. There's nothing for you in your marriage anymore. You don't get any money, you've been cut off, you don't love Yoongi, you don't even care! So why are you being so stubborn about signing a damn paper?"

She looks down at the floor, playing with the ends of her hair, not wanting to answer.

"Because you're spiteful," Jin answers for her, "but your spite is literally making my pregnant best friend sick. She's a nervous wreck because of you, Sera. I hate that. You have everything in the world you could possibly want. And you can't just sign a few fucking papers?"

Jin whistles for Gaesu as he squeezes past the actress in the doorway.

"I just-"

"You don't want to give up something because you're greedy. Yeah, I get it. You want others to be miserable because you've always been miserable your whole life," he turns to her, cupping her soft face and staring down into her amber eyes, "You don't need to continue to be an asshole. You need to focus on becoming a better fucking person. Not everything needs your input, sometimes you can just let everything go and you can start again on your own. Like now, you don't want to be with Yoongi, you want to be with me. And I see that you're trying, you're doing great so far. But I can only work with you as long as you work with me. And you still being married isn't working with me. It's the opposite."

She swallows thickly, looking up into his blazened mocha irises. He's so serious that it sends a shiver down her spine. When she whimpers gently, whether it's out of need or fear that he'll leave, he brushes his soft thumbs against the apples of her cheek.

"When you sign the papers, I'll sleep in your bed." he promises, pulling away.

She blinks once, twice, three times, watching him walk away from her.

Gaesu follows closely behind your best friend, excited to go to work with him.

"S-So I can't come to the club?!" she calls leaning over the banister.

"No, mouse, Leena will be there and I'm spending the night with her." Jin calls back, grabbing his car keys.

"What?! She touched you in front of me and you're just going to hang out with her again?!" she screams, hanging over the banister.

"One. Be careful, you might hurt yourself. And two, I'm sorry to break it to you but Leena has touched me so many times that her touch feels normal to me at this point. My best friend coming to hang out with me is perfectly fine. And what's more, her boyfriend will be there." your best friend calls back, opening the front door and leaving without another word.

"Fine. We'll see," Sera seethes through her teeth, walking towards her room.

Stepping into Miyoung's art studio, the natural light that bleeds through the glass ceiling really seems to highlight all of the paintings that line the walls.

"Well, if it isn't the famous artist in my very midst." Miyoung quips, stepping down the slightly curved staircase.

You smile up at the pretty woman, leaning against the wall with two coffee cups in hand.

You can see how Yoongi was always fond of Miyoung at a young age, she's beautiful and quirky with everything she does. Even her clothes scream unique and you love that.

The brown French beret that hangs from the side of her head and the long blue corduroy dress she has on screams artistry and you adore it.

"Brought you some coffee," you quip, holding up one.

"You shouldn't be drinking coffee, pregnant lady." she jeers, finally reaching the ground floor and wrapping her arms around you.

"Mine is decaf, thank you very much." you joke back, accepting the hug with open arms.

When you both turn to the walls of art where your paintings were, it's surprising to see the walls almost empty.

The people that walk to and fro with their hands respectfully behind their make your heart bloom with pride.

"Do you wanna know how much money you've made?" Miyoung whispers in your ear, a playful smile spreading on her face.

You roll your eyes, nudging her with your hip. "You know I don't care about that stuff."

"That's why you'll make tons of money." she murmurs back, earning a laugh from you.

People notice you easily when you laugh, turning to you with wide eyes. It's a bit strange to be recognized now because of the Dispatch pictures and it's even stranger when they begin to approach like they know you.

Yoongi's best friend from childhood doesn't stand for it for a second and within seconds she's fending them off with a polite smile.

"Pregnant women don't like to be crowded, if you have any questions about art, please come to me. I'm very in touch with the woman beside me." Miyoung announces, waving her hands for the people to move back.

When she shows you to the art gallery office, it feels like an out of body experience. "There were so many people." you breathe out, sitting down on the loveseat beside her large desk.

"You became famous pretty much overnight. What do you expect? People are salivating for more of your art." she announces, sipping her coffee.

It's such a bizarre thing to hear when you've only ever done painting as a hobby.

"Should I start making more art, you think?" you inquire, crossing your legs and leaning back into the comfy couch.

She hums, tilting her head. "No. I don't think so. I think you make people wait for more. Obviously not too long. But it's good to get people curious and excited for what you're going to do next, y'know? Finish the art for the mall and hotel. Have the baby and then start making more art. You've made millions of dollars on the thirty pieces you've released. That's enough to get people really excited for the next release."

You nod understandingly, letting your eyes drift over the two paintings you've created for her office.

"You're my most successful client ever. I'm proud of it." Miyoung says, making you giggle.

Your heart feels warm in her presence and you can understand why your fiance has always been fond of her. She's an amazing woman.

"Call Minho to help you get downstairs when you're ready."

"Is that necessary?" you quip, sipping your coffee.

"Of course! You're famous now." she gasps, leaning over her glass desk with a playful smile.

Yoongi sighs loudly, throwing his suit pants into his luggage.

He hasn't been able to relax for a single second. He can only pray that paparazzi in Japan aren't as desperate as Koreans.

Staring down at the multitude of watches that spin on their platforms, he gets lost in his worries.

You're giving birth in only three months time. How is he going to cope? What kind of father is he going to be? Is he going to live up to what he wants? Are you going to be proud of him?

He's so worried.

But he's more worried about the leech. When the fuck is she going to sign that goddamn paper?

He opted for platonic parting rather than suing, because it would be messier that way but Sera is so spiteful that he doesn't know what to expect. He knows Jin is trying his hardest to rein her in but who knows how long that will take. It's nerve wracking to say the least.

Yoongi's eyes flutter shut as your arms wrap around him like needy vines. The feeling of your rotund belly against his back has him sighing so softly it barely reaches your ears.

"How are the paintings coming?" he asks gently, turning around in your grasp to cup your face with both hands.

"They're almost finished." you reply, hugging him tightly.

He hums sweetly, letting his lips drift over your forehead. "Have you packed for Japan?" he murmurs, letting the sweet scent of your lavender shampoo enrapture his senses.

"I packed a little this morning, but I got caught up in my inspiration. I have to finish." you announce, putting your cheek to his bare chest.

The warmth of you against his body is so welcome during his time of uneasiness. "I'll help you pack. Just hold me for a little while. It feels good." your fiance breathes out, squeezing his eyes closed tighter.

You're so comfortable within his arms, you have no intention of moving. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and you know exactly why he's on edge but you don't bring it up.

Late nights in your post-coital glow, you've talked extensively about both of your worries and you've come to the realization that they're the same fears.

"I'm going to have to stay inside in Japan, aren't I?" you quip, looking up at him.

He snorts gently, putting his chin on the top of your head. "Probably yes. Does that upset you? I bought out the penthouse so there's a lot for you to do."

His voice is wrapped with guilt but you decide to not dwell on it. Just going somewhere with him is enough for you. You don't care if you have to stay inside, it'll be nice to leave the country for the first time with him by your side.

"Plus, y'know, soon you'll be too big to go anywhere. That's what the doctor said." he whispers.

You smile into his chest, accepting his soft voice. "I know. I'm happy to be going anywhere with you."

His thumb and index finger capture your chin, he tilts your head up so your eyes meet. It's so easy to fall into his mocha irises and the smile that spreads over your lips is so natural. When he bends down, your breath stutters in your throat and the feel of his lips on yours is something so sensational, there are no words that could describe this.

"I love you, little dove."

"I love you too."

Jin should have known Sera wouldn't take kindly to Leena showing up at the club. But he didn't think she would go so far as to show up to the club.

She looks completely terrifying sitting in her booth. She's alone and completely menacing. Even with all of the people around she can find Seokjin in a matter of seconds no matter where he goes and he doesn't know whether to find it attractive or completely scary.

"She's staring at you again," Leena quips, leaning deeper into Taehyung's embrace.

Seokjin hums in agreement, looking down at his Italian leather shoes.

"Just go talk to her or some shit. She's making me uncomfortable," Leena whines, nudging her best friend.

Jin looks over at the actress and he sighs loudly. Her eyes are narrowed at him and her lips are parted over the champagne glass in her hand.

When he stands, he can see her body go rigid with excitement.

"Good luck, bro." Taehyung laughs, kissing over his girlfriend's exposed shoulder.

It's a quick walk over to Sera's booth as Jin wades through the groups of people on the dance floor.

When he steps up to the platform, he can see how nervous she is.

"Why did you come? You know that's trouble." he chides her, sitting down in the booth.

"Because she was coming." she sneers, nodding her head to Leena.

The eye roll Jin gives is so severe that it sends chills down Sera's spine.

"You came all the way here, got snapped by the paparazzi, ordered thousands of dollars of alcohol, because you were jealous that Leena is here?! You're such a baby." he scoffs, pouring himself a glass of champagne.

"I just wanted to be here with you too," she admits meekly.

Jin looks her over before zipping up her dress to cover her exposed cleavage. "Behave tonight. Do you understand me, Kim Sera? I'm tired of having to worm my way out of awkward situations."

She nods gently and when she gets a small smile from him it makes her pride expand tenfold.

"Will you sleep in bed with me tonight?" she asks softly, sliding down the booth to be beside him.

He snorts gently, letting his arms expend over the top of the seat. "Not until you sign the papers. You know this. Don't push your luck." he chides, poking her cheek softly.

She pouts gently, looking down at the hem of her dress.

"All I have to do is sign the papers and you'll be with me?" she asks unsurely.

Jin hums in agreement, pushing some hair behind her ear. "All you have to do is free Yoongi from this marriage and you can have me." he promises.

Her cheeks puff out as she thinks, is anything ever really that simple? She's never found it to be so.

"I'll think about it." she breathes out.

That's good enough for Jin at the moment and for the first time in a long time he smiles widely at her. The expression is so blinding that her heart stutters in the recesses of her chest.

Yoongi is so completely thrilled when he throws both of your luggages to the penthouse floor.

"Wow," you breathe out, rushing over to the large windows.

Your fiance's smile is sweet and soft as he folds his arms, leaning against the gold wall.

The scenery that meets your eyes is indescribably beautiful. The way the gentle breeze in the Osaka air blows cherry blossom petals from their trees and the countless gardens that scatter the grounds below set such mysticality into your bones.

"There's an infinity pool up here for us. It's warm," Yoongi announces, walking towards you.

Your hand lands on your stomach as you watch the petals blow in the breeze. "This is beautiful," you say aloud.

The father of your child's lips are soft against the back of your neck and in your entrancement, you hadn't even heard him come close to you.

"You're beautiful. Anything for you, little dove." he promises, placing both of his hands on your stomach.

The stress seems to melt away as you stare out the window with your fiance behind you. His lips are soft and plush against the column of your neck and it wipes your mind completely blank.

When your fingers card through his hair, the gentle puft of air that warms your neck makes your legs weaker.

"I love you." Yoongi breathes.

There's nothing sexual about his touch, it's just pure passion that seems to bleed through his fingertips. But the feeling of him so close is so heavenly.

The soft classical music that plays throughout the large room is so peaceful and your worries float away for just a little while.

Next Chapter ------>

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Sorry for those it didn’t tag!

#third wheeling #thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #yoongi x you #ceo!bts #ceo!yoongi #ceo!au #bts fic #min yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #smut

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drac-ho · 3 years

Text

Hurt (Draco x Slytherin!Reader)

Summary: you get hurt during a Quidditch match, but the wound hurts Draco more than it hurts you

I got inspo for this on TikTok I hate myself

TW: blood, wounds, angst

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Lee Jordan’s voice rang through the speakers as you furrowed your brows in frustration. The team’s performance was well below par today - yours included. Umbridge’s harsh study regiments meant that you had less and less time to practice, all the while half the team swanned around with Inquisitory Squad badges on their cloaks. If you were hoping to make a career out of Quidditch, you had to knock some sense into Draco and the rest of his cronies or else this would go down as the worst year Slytherin’s Quidditch team had had in decades.

“Get your act together, Draco!” You shouted out as he buried his head in his hands after losing sight of the snitch for the third time this game. He immediately looked up, shooting a spiteful grimace in your direction and flew off towards Harry. Despite being a half-blood and a Slytherin, Draco had always had a vendetta against you. You weren’t sure why - you didn’t associate with Potter, only sometimes joking with the twins, and kept mainly to yourself, only ever speaking to Draco when you had to. In fact, you were always, in some ways, sweet to him; you didn’t go out of your way to flood him with compliments but you had never said anything bad to him before - more than what he could say about you.

You headed back up toward your side of the pitch and waited for someone to bat the quaffle in your direction. Just as you caught it, Angelina Johnson was hot on your tail. You swerved in and out of various players, Draco coming up beside you to your right. “Where’s the snitch?” You quickly asked him, focusing your attention on Oliver Wood who was harbouring one of the hoops. Draco remained silent, instead attempting to blatch you. Assuming it was a mistake, you swerved to the left to move away from him. He moved his broomstick further into yours, causing you to lose balance. “Draco, what are you–”

Before you knew it, you were falling twenty feet to the ground, Lee Jordan’s voice calling out across the stadium. You landed with a snap, immediately feeling a painful burn soaring down the left side of your side. You laid still for a few seconds before you sat up, somehow without any evident broken bones, and looked down at the damage. Your broomstick was snapped in half and you had landed on the jagged bits of wood. There was a bloody tear in your robes where you were clearly wounded but other than that you were fine. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” Marcus Flint asked Draco. Both teams had come back down to the ground to check if you were okay. The crowd looked on in concern but chatted amongst themselves.

“It was an accident Flint!” Draco argued back, looking away. Fred and George knelt down beside you. “You okay to stand, Y/N?” Fred asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as he looked you up and down. You nodded your head, allowing the twins to assist you in standing up. You smiled at the two tall boys as you walked over to Marcus.

“I can play if Madam Hooch lets me get a spare broom.” You said, eager to get back up there and continue the game. Marcus raised an eyebrow as he looked down at your bleeding torso. He nodded hesitantly, and you breathed a sigh of relief - besides Marcus, you were the best player on the team and he knew letting you sit out would be surrendering the win, which the team desperately needed to avoid losing the championship.

“Out of my way!” You heard Madam Hooch push through players as she finally got to you. “Were you blatched? I didn’t quite see what happened, dear.” You looked at Draco, biting your lip and shook your head. “No, Professor. It was an accident.” She nodded and looked hesitantly at Angelina, who held her arms up in innocence. “Very well, go and clean up and get a spare broom from the changing rooms. We’ll hold the game for ten minutes. If you don’t think you can continue, we’ll have no choice but to substitute in.” Nodding, you turned away and walked back towards the changing rooms.

Once you were alone, you allowed yourself to wince in pain. You grabbed the first aid kit from the shelf and walked into the bathroom to sort yourself out with the aid of the mirror. Shrugging your cloak off, you lifted up your jersey and stared at the huge gash that was spilling blood. It hurt when you ran your finger over it and you had to bite down on your tongue to avoid crying out in pain - you’d need stitches but Madam Pomfrey would sort you out in no time after the game was over. Tears welled up in your eyes but you wouldn’t let them spill down your cheeks. Your ears were ringing from the pain and your head was clouded as you watched the wound pulsate as you breathed - you didn’t even hear the footsteps echo down the hall.

“I’m fine.” You gutturally choked out as Draco’s face appeared from behind you in the mirror. His facial expression remained solid as he silently walked over and picked up the first aid kit from atop the sink. He looked through the pack, pulling out bandages, alcohol wipes, gauze and a compress. “These will help.” He said, putting them on the side. He looked at your reflection in the mirror, his eyes trailing down to the wound. You saw him wince for a split second before his face turned stone cold again, almost as if you’d imagined it.

“You can leave now.” You tried hard not to let your voice shake. You wouldn’t break down in front of him, especially considering he was the one who blatched you and pushed you off your broom on purpose. You wondered why he had tried and succeeded to hurt you, but another part of you didn’t care - it was probably just because you hurt his masculinity or something. “I don’t know why you’re attempting to help me anyway, you’re the one who put me here.” Your voice was still shaky and you internally branded yourself for it. He nodded his head slightly, quickly turning on his heel and leaving through the open door.

You waited a few seconds before you let yourself cry. The pain was so intense it nearly made you pass out when you cleaned the wound with the wipes. You let out a gutteral cry as you held the compress in place and attempted to wrap the gauze and bandage around your abdomen. You choked out tears and small yelps until you were done.

However, what you hadn’t realised was that Draco was still only just outside of the door. He slouched himself down the wall and onto the floor, holding his head in his hands. Every cry you let out hurt his heart as his eyes welled up. He hadn’t meant to hurt you - he thought that if he gave you a nudge it’d scare you and make you stop calling him out on mistakes he continued making. “I’m so fucking stupid.” He whispered to himself, his own tears slowly running down his cheek as he realised he’d hurt the only girl he loved.

He stood up, wiping his tears and holding his breath as he looked up at the ceiling, something he’d learnt stopped the crying from all the years of being with his father. He left the corridor and made his way back to his friends before you could see him crying over you - after all, he was sure he’d screwed everything up with you by now.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x slytherin reader #draco malfoy x slytherin #slytherin #slytherin quidditch #quidditch #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #hogwarts #weasley #harry potter #harry potter imagine #order of the phoenix

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hotchseyebrows · 3 years

Text

it's a matter of seeing

a derek morgan x penelope garcia fic

a/n: hello again beloveds !!! today i present to you Another derek and penelope are kissing for the first time fic. what can i say, it's simply the best. thank you as always to the spectacular @blkantigone for being my supportive and helpful first reader and editor, love youuu! thank all of you for reading (im getting faster between uploads, have you noticed?)

title is from emily l. by marguerite duras. full line is "I don't know if love's a feeling. Sometimes I think it's a matter of seeing. Seeing you."

rating/warnings: gen audiences :) two vague allusions to sex but nothing even close to explicit, its more just in the way it exists in the background and derek is injured but it's superbly minor

read it here on ao3!

Derek steps closer to Penelope. “You had to see me. With your own eyes.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Yes, silly goose, that’s the usual way of seeing.”

Derek gets hurt on a case, and Penelope worries. He's fine, but she still worries.

word count: 2028

Derek glances at the time on his phone. Almost midnight, though it could be closer to 4 a.m. for how tired the team is tonight. A long case in Colorado kept them away from home for almost two weeks, and all Derek wants is to pet his dog and sleep in his own bed.

“Could this elevator ride be any slower?” Emily groans from where she’s leaning on the wall behind him.

“You know, Prentiss, I could have just gotten a late night taxi or grabbed one of the last trains.” Spencer is rocking back and forth on his heels next to her, a yawn growing on his lips.

“Nuh uh, kid, I’m getting you home whether you like it or not. I just wish you didn’t need that notebook from your desk tonight.”

“Sorry,” Spencer says, cringing slightly. Derek looks back to see Emily nudge his shoulder with a fond grin. Spencer’s shoulders relax.

“Why are you coming up, Hotch?” Derek asks the man in the opposite corner from Emily.

“Files.” Hotch stays facing the elevator door, only glancing at Derek.

“No way are you planning on staying here and working tonight– Hotch. We’ve been gone for two weeks–” (“Almost two weeks,” says Spencer. Derek waves him off.) “– you should be going home.”

“I’m just grabbing a few things. I’ll get back on this elevator with you.” Hotch glances at the time on his own phone then, unlocking it to open a text message from Jess. Derek sees a picture of smiling Jack for a split second before he looks away. “Jess is already expecting me.”

Derek hums in acknowledgement. He rolls his shoulder as the doors open and they walk towards the bullpen together.

“Shoulder still hurting, Morgan?” Emily asks. The day before they came home, one of the unsubs got the jump on Derek, tackling him to the ground. Emily easily subdued him, but Derek landed funny on a wayward pipe. His shoulder has been bothering him ever since. He nods in response.

“I’ll be fine.” Emily scoffs at him, but says nothing. He will. Eventually.

Spencer holds open the door for Derek. “Here, Morgan. So you don’t aggravate your injury.”

“Hilarious. Ha ha. When’s the stand-up tour? Have you been moonlighting at comedy clubs, pretty boy?”

Spencer sticks his tongue out at him. He quickly pulls it back in his mouth when he catches Hotch looking at him. To their surprise, Hotch cracks a small smile. “Reid has a point, Morgan.” Emily lets out a laugh that is more a cackle than anything.

“Evil. You’re all evil.” He walks through the held open door anyway.

Most of the desk lamps are off, the bullpen empty this late. But his chair is spinning slightly and his light is on. A mop of blonde hair, today a mess of curls with a large sparkly flower pinned at the top, bounces as the chair spins.

“Baby girl, what are you doing here?” Penelope spins to face him, a brilliant smile flashing onto her face immediately. “It’s late. You could have gone home hours ago.”

“Where’s JJ and Rossi?”

“Already in their cars on the way home. We all needed something from up here first.” She’s standing now, and he steps in front of her. “Don’t avoid my question, Mama,” he says, lightly tapping the tip of her nose.

Her smile falters, worry breaking through. “You got hurt.” Her eyebrows crease as she looks him over.

Derek raises both eyebrows. “Yea, but I’m okay. A little injury.”

The crease does not go away. “You got hurt. I don’t like when you get hurt.” He uses his non injured arm to pull her in for a hug. She wraps him in her arms immediately, her face pressing against his chest. The usual private shiver dances down his spine at the feeling. He rubs a small circle on the middle on her back as the tension bleeds out of her.

“See, baby girl? I’m fine.” Penelope picks up her head and looks at him. “Heart’s still beating. Blood’s still pumping. It’s just a little booboo.” She laughs at his word choice. “I’m okay. Promise.”

“You’re gonna rest at home? Ice it, or heating pad it up, or whatever you need?” He nods. “And you’ll call me if you need my help?”

“I promise.” She pops on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

Penelope tilts her head back and laughs. “I’m always cute, Derek Morgan. Don’t you forget it.” She never looks more beautiful than when she laughs.

“I won’t,” he says, moving his arm to her waist and walking them both to his desk. Spencer is closing his bag at his desk while Emily leans back in his chair, eyes closed.

“Okay, I’m ready,” says Spencer, nudging the chair with his foot. Emily blinks her eyes open, sitting up. “And I can drive, Emily, you’re more tired than I am.” She opens her mouth to argue, but a yawn comes out instead. She hands Spencer the keys without a word.

“Why are you here, Garcia?” Emily asks.

“Had to see my sweet love in person as soon as you got home.” Derek’s heart flips in his chest. “I worry,” she says simply. Emily nods, giving Derek a long look.

Hotch appears at the top of the stairs next to his office. “I’m leaving.” The unsaid addition of that means you are too rings out from the eyebrow heavy look he gives them all.

Derek grabs the file he needs and a novel his sister sent him from his desk drawer quickly. “Come on baby girl, I’ll walk you out.”

“My very own Prince Charming,” she says as she loops her arm through his.

Spencer starts telling Emily about a Russian film festival coming up in a few weeks as they lead the way to the door. Hotch is close behind, silent but listening. Penelope pulls on Derek a little and they follow.

She puts her head on his shoulder. On reflex, he kisses the top of her head. Not for the first time, he thinks about how easy it is for her to slot into place in his life. She just fits, no matter where he is or what he’s doing. There she is, a voice on the phone or the person spinning in his desk chair in the middle of the night solely because she needs to see him in person.

He falters as they walk through the glass doors. Penelope only makes it a few steps before she’s looking back at where he’s frozen, mind whirring. Emily is pressing the button to the elevator ahead of them. “Der?” Penelope asks.

“Why are you here?”

She tilts her head. “I told you. I worry.”

“You could have called Penelope. You did call, we talked on the plane.”

Now she blushes. She never blushes. “I had– I had to see for myself. I didn’t want to wait until Monday.”

A realization washes over Derek. “You had to see,” he repeats, a smile growing on his face.

She sways a little on her feet. “Yes, I said that.” The trio at the elevator notices them lingering by the doors, but Hotch stops Spencer from calling out with a knuckle brush to the forearm.

Derek steps closer to Penelope. “You had to see me. With your own eyes.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Yes, silly goose, that’s the usual way of seeing.” Derek takes another step, now only an arm’s length away.

“It’s midnight on a Saturday. And you waited for me here, alone.”

She nods.

“Even though we talked today and you know that I’m okay, that I’ve had worse injuries.”

She nods again.

“Penelope,” he says, voice barely a whisper. He steps impossibly closer. “Why are you here?”

A look of fear settles on Penelope’s face. “Derek–”

“No, it’s alright!” He grabs her hand. “I just need you to say it.”

She softens, something like hope lighting up her eyes. “If you need me to say it, then you already know.”

He releases a loud laugh– the kind of joyous sound that comes unbidden from the bottom of the stomach. Leaning forward, he rests their foreheads together, watching her reaction. When she smiles, he knows for sure. “Yea I do,” he says.

She leans in across the tiny distance between them and presses their lips together. Derek forgets about the lingering ache in his shoulder in favor of this new feeling. He swings an arm around her waist and straightens up, pulling her flush against him. She wraps her arms around his neck, a soft sound humming against his lips. He’s about to slip his tongue into her mouth and carry her off to an empty office when someone clears their throat from across the room.

Penelope pulls back first, automatically hiding her face in Derek’s neck. Emily is hiding a smile behind her hand. Hotch’s eyebrows are raised slightly, the ghost of a smile around his eyes. Spencer makes no attempt to hide his glee, fingers tapping together happily. Derek grins at them. “Can I help you three?”

“Just thought you’d want to carry on somewhere else. And the elevator is here.” Sure enough, Emily has a foot in the elevator door. She shows him her full grin this time. “Not that we weren’t having fun watching the show.”

He scoffs. “Next time, we’re charging a ticket price.” Penelope giggles.

“Next time?” she whispers.

He nods. “If you want.”

“Yes! Yes. I want. Very much so.” He smiles, a full eye crinkle 1000 watt smile, and interlocks their fingers to lead her to the elevator. She slots in right at his side, putting her head back on his shoulder.

They stay that way the whole way down and keep their hands together as they walk to the parking lot. Emily makes kissy faces as she and Spencer get into her car. Spencer waves happily. Hotch gives them a soft smile before he disappears around a corner.

Derek pulls her in for another kiss right next to Esther. Just because he can. “Follow me home?” he mutters against her lips. “We don’t have to… tonight. Next time. But I’ll make breakfast.”

She traces a spiral on his upper arm. “Okay. It’s a date.” He kisses the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle.

She gives him one more kiss before gently shoving him in the direction of his car. “The faster you get to your car, the faster we get home.” He blows her a kiss before jogging to where he parked two weeks ago. She catches it and puts it right over her heart.

The streets are almost empty as they drive, and Derek keeps pulling up next to her at stoplights to ask if she comes here often or if she wants to race. By the time they arrive at Derek’s apartment building, it’s almost one a.m. and they are both dead on their feet. Still, they stop to kiss in front of his elevator. They kiss again just inside of his front door and again when he hands her an old shirt to wear to bed. He has the urge to pinch his arm, just to double check that he’s not still asleep on the plane. But no, there she is, brushing her teeth in his bathroom with a spare toothbrush. He's never felt this kind of peace with someone else in his space. She has toothpaste on the corner of her mouth and her eyes are bloodshot from exhaustion. I love you, he thinks.

“What?” she asks. “You’re staring.”

Derek hums, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Do you blame me?" He grabs a tissue and blots away the toothpaste. It's a slight deflection, but it's not the moment for what he's really thinking. She scrunches her nose and smiles.

"No. You have good taste."

"Damn right I do, baby girl. The best taste."

They don’t kiss much when they lay in Derek’s bed, too tired to do much more than cuddle up together and turn off the lights. But Derek doesn’t mind. He’s already thinking about breakfast.

#morcia #derek morgan #penelope garcia #cm #cj.txt #denelope #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cjs fic #emily prentiss #spencer reid #aaron hotchner

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harrysweasleys · 3 years

Text

a day in the life // f.w

request: Hi Alexaaaa So someone brought up this idea on my blog and i wanna request it id thats alright with you. So like imagine Fred having an auror wife and stuff and him being v protective and not wanting her to go on this dangerous mission but she goes anyway but gets really badly injured and poor freddie is worried sick. I love comfort fics i cannot lie and i hope u like this request thank you

warnings: mentions of explosions, injury, blood, and food

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hey guys! i hope you all had a wonderful week and that everyone is safe! the new year is right around the corner, can you believe it? where did the time go?? anyways, this was such a fun request and i loved writing it so much, so i hope you all enjoy! xx

“For the last bloody time, Freddie, it’s going to be fine,” you groaned, your head tossing backwards as you repeated the words to your husband for what felt like the thousandth time.

He crossed his arms, “I know you can handle yourself, but please. Please, for me, be careful. Don’t let anyone get the jump on you.”

A small smile made its way onto your lips and you placed your hands on his shoulders, “I always return, don’t I?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. You knew he hated it when you went off on dangerous missions — how couldn’t he? You were his wife. It was practically an oath of his to protect you. A vow. There was no way he’d let you run into the jaws of death without giving you a rough time beforehand. He always had something to say about it.

And he often did just that. He’d go on and on about how you could get hurt, how something could go terribly wrong and he could be left by himself. How you needed to see things from his point of view. You’d then spend the morning comforting him and convincing him you’d be fine, but at the end of the day, he’d always give you a bone crushing hug, muttering “glad you’re home safe” as he did so.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner, yeah?” you asked, standing up on your tip toes and pressing a light kiss on his nose. He scrunched up his face as you did so. You could tell he was trying to act upset at your leaving, but he couldn’t stay mad at you. Especially when, in his thinking, it could be the last time he sees you.

“Fine,” his lips stuck out in a small pout, one of his hands reaching up to run through your hair, “Stay safe, love.”

You brought your hand to his, lifting it to your lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “Love you. See you soon. I’ll be fine.”

He then tossed your hand to the side — gently, of course — and brought your lips to his. His hand was cupped under your chin, fingers causing a slight ticklish feeling as they delicately moved against your skin. But the feeling went practically unnoticed as you lost yourself in his kiss. His kiss that often rendered you breathless and weak in the knees.

You could feel his love and protectiveness in the gesture and it almost made you want to call in sick so you could stay curled up in bed with him, ignoring the world’s problems and acting as you two were the only people on the planet.

But, sadly, that couldn’t happen.

So you gingerly pulled away, already missing his warm lips against yours, and muttered a quiet “I’ll be fine,” once again before beginning to button your jacket.

It was going to be a long day.

Hours later and you were, in fact, not fine.

The mission had gone horribly wrong, leaving you with a heavily bandaged left arm, a throbbing head, and a group of St Mungo’s best Healers giving you countless antidotes and potions to prevent bleeding and further damage. You had only really been in for about an hour, but the swelling in the left side of your body had gone down heavily.

The pain was still rather horrendous, but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Especially not with the current levels of exhaustion floating through your body. You felt as if any second now, you could completely pass out and stay asleep for the next seven years. And you wouldn’t even complain.

Pain really did take a toll on one’s body.

What was even more draining, though, was the fact that your Healer told you you’d have to stay the night. You trusted the staff at St Mungo’s with your life — it wasn’t exactly the first time you’ve been treated here, to be honest — but the room you were staying in was incredibly chilly and the food here was never as good as at home.

Plus, here, you didn’t have Fred’s body curled up next to you.

Fred.

He had gotten the message an hour ago that you were here and he said he’d close up shop early to come see you. They said he sounded rather when they sent someone to deliver the message, but you knew he’d barge in through those doors with wide eyes and panic written across every inch of his face. He was never one to really hide away from his worry, but you had seen him silent on a few occasions. Usually when he was in shock.

You felt awful. Both physically and emotionally. Fred had every right to be paranoid about you leaving the house; this wasn’t your first injury. And yet, you spent every morning persuading him to let you go. Fast forward to today, where you were currently bandaged in an uncomfortable bed at St Mungo’s. Not an ideal ending to your day, to be honest. And not an ideal piece of news for Fred to receive.

“Your husband is here, should we let him in?” one of the healers came to your side, checking under the bandage on your hand before nudging her head in the direction of the hallway.

A small groan left your throat, “Of course.”

She walked towards the door to the room and opened it, Fred’s frantic face finding its way to your bedside as quickly as possible. You could see the paleness of his skin, making his usually fiery hair stand out even more. His sweater was badly buttoned, and you were pretty sure the scarf he was wearing was on backwards.

If the situation was any different to the way it was right now, you’d probably have a good chuckle.

His hands immediately found yours, giving small, gentle squeezes as if he would break you if he put any more pressure, “Love, are you okay? What happened? Are you badly hurt?”

You let out a sigh with a small smile, “Freddie, I’m fine. It’s just some minor bumps and bruises. I got caught in the middle of an explosive curse, it’s fine.”

He pulled his hands away from yours and sat on the small metal chair next to the bed, pulling it as close to you as he could, his eyes scanning every inch of you as if he were doing his own evaluation, “It’s fine?! I was worried out of my bloody mind, woman. Can you imagine the panic when some bloke comes to tell me my wife’s at Mungo’s? Bloody thought you were dying.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you joked, rolling your eyes playfully before reaching your hand out to grab his, toying with the wedding band on his left hand, “I just have to stay here for the night. I’ll be home first thing tomorrow.”

“You have to stay?” his bottom lip stuck out, the childish pout on his face adding to the guilt fluttering in your chest.

You sat up slightly, trying to limit the weight on your bad arm, “I’m sorry, love. It’s for precaution. I don’t want to leave and make things worse. But, I promise, as soon as I’m discharged, we are heading home and doing nothing all day, yeah?”

“Well, I’ll stay here with you tonight ,” he puffed out his chest slightly as if he was a superhero, causing a bubble of laughter to erupt from your chest. Maybe it was just the exhaustion from your day, bud Fred’s sense of humour really never failed to get to you. Even at the worst of times.

Your eyes began to droop, but you gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know that even though you were fading, you were still listening and conscious. The last thing you wanted, now that he was here, was to leave him alone in the cold room. Cold, both in temperature and in atmosphere.

“You look tired, love,” his voice was soft, gentle. Loving. All the things you wanted to hear right now. If you were honest, you were worried he was going to be furious. Not at you, per say, but at what happened. So the fact that he was being caring and sweet meant more to you than you could begin to express.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he rubbed soothing circles on the back of your hand, “Tired? Me? Never.”

His laugh was quiet but you could hear it loud and clear, “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you get up.”

You didn’t want to sleep, to be honest. You wanted to sit up and talk to him. To let him know you were sorry and just what went wrong today. You knew he’d listen, and would most likely panic a bit more when you told him the details — but he’d be comforting. And that was kind of what you needed right now.

But, alas, your body had other ideas, and before you knew it, you were sound asleep.

“I can handle it myself,” you groaned, both hands gripped tightly on the jar of jelly, twisting with all of your might and still, somehow, not getting the lid to pop off.

Fred stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed and a small smirk on his lips, “Alright, I’ll just watch from here.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, turning back to the jar and focusing all of your strength into opening it. Which wasn’t saying much, to be fair. You hardly had your strength back, and your body was still as sore as ever. You should probably give the jar to Fred, but your inner stubbornness told you to do it yourself. You couldn’t improve if everyone did everything for you.

“You’re sure?” his voice was laced with amusement as he held back a laugh, watching as your cheeks turned red from the amount of force you put into opening this jelly jar. You were surprised it hadn’t broken, but then again, were you even applying that much force?

“I’m fine!” you grumbled, using your sleeve to prevent the skin on your hand from getting irritated, your palm already bright pink from excessive use.

But it seemed to be no use. Your toast will have gone cold by now, and your breakfast just wouldn’t taste the same.

“Fine, here,” you mumbled, sticking your arm out and pushing the small jar into Fred’s chest, your bottom lick stuck out in a pout that could rival your husbands, “I hate feeling useless.”

He popped the lid of the jar as if it were nothing before handing it back to you, “I know, love. But you’re not useless. Your body just needs time to recuperate, yeah? Can’t go pushing your limits or you’ll just end up back in St Mungo’s, and I reckon you don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that,” you replied, beginning to spread the contents of the jar onto your now-cold toast, “I’m just bored. I miss work. I stay home alone all the time.”

His arms slithered around your waist, giving you a light squeeze as he rested his head atop yours, “Georgie’s taking over the shop today so I can stay here with you. We can do whatever you want.” His warmth spread through your body.

You had to admit, that did lift your spirits a little bit. The whole day at home with your husband? That sounded like quite the treat.

“Really?” you turned to face him, his arms still wrapped around your waist, but he took a step back so you could actually look up at him, “The whole day?”

“Course,” he grinned, pressing his lips to your forehead, “Gotta take care of my girl.”

The day hadn’t been overly eventful; a few cuddles on the couch, a few cuddles in the bed, listening to music, sitting next to Fred and watching telly as he organized paperwork for the shop. Just a few small things. But being with him for the whole day, it really did make you feel a million times better than you had all week.

Maybe that was his plan. To use his very presence as a way to cheer you up. Whether he did it knowingly or not, it did the trick. And now, the aches and pains in your body seemed to dissolve as he ran his hands up and down your arms, the two of you curled up in bed and ready for another night’s sleep.

“Thanks for spending the day with me,” your shot him a smile, but highly doubted that he’d see it in the dark, “I already feel loads better.”

“Of course you do,” his voice sounded cocky even though you couldn’t quite make out his face, “I make anyone feel better. I’m a real treat.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, I adore your humbleness. That’s why I married you.”

One of his hands slid around your waist and pulled you closer to him, body flushed against his. He was still gentle as if not to hurt you, “Not the only reason you married me, love.”

“Right, I also married you for George. I don’t know what I’d do without that chap in my life,” you teased, one of your hands finding it’s way into Fred’s hair, twirling at the strands that were starting to get long. Not as long as when you were in school together, but long enough that it covered his ears and often made you tuck a few strands behind his ear.

“You wound me,” he tried to pull away, but you held onto him enough that he couldn’t. Your strength was starting to come back, which was a massive improvement.

“I’m actually the wounded one,” you rebutted, your face finding it’s usual spot in the crook of his neck, his warmth encasing you like one of his hugs.

His arms wrapped around you, “You can’t be wounded anymore! I gave you so much love. That should have healed you.”

You giggled, placing a light kiss as the nape between his neck and shoulder, “Silly me. Your love has healed me, that’s very true.”

Fred might have had a certain reputation while the two of you were in school. But now, with your marriage only getting better by the day, you couldn’t help but see him as just one thing. As Fred. Your husband, your lover, and the man who would throw himself into a fire if it meant saving your life.

You lucked out more than you can even begin to express, and you would continue to be so for the remainder of your days.

taglist (message me to be added!)

@grierpilots @hxfflxpxffs @mikumana @msmimimerton @pit-and-the-pen @diary-of-an-onliner @theweirdsideofstuff @thoseofgreatambition @theweasleysredhair @haphazardhufflepuff @starlightweasley @mytreec @thisismysketchbook @valwritesx @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @phuvioqhile @marvelettesassemble @shadowsinger11 @breadqueen95 @hahee154hq @inglourious-imagines @almostweepingbanana @ickle-ronniekins @iprobablyshipit91 @wand3ringr0s3 @susceptible-but-siriusexual @amhyeah

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley one shots

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nostalgiabones · 3 years

Text

Starting Line // L.H

It feels like SO long since I last did or posted any writing, but solo Luke has pulled me out of the woodwork! I’m so so proud of his new project and love Starting Line so much that it finally inspired me to write something. I feel like I’m a bit rusty with writing so thank you so much @calumrose and @calpops for helping me out with it! I hope you enjoy this & I would love to hear any thoughts on it!

Falling asleep next to Luke has become so normal, so part of your daily routine that when he’s not there, your body knows. The moments through the night where you’re briefly pulled from sleep for whatever reason no longer feel like disturbances when you’re met with the sight of Luke asleep next to you, instantly soothing you back to sleep. All you had to do was reach out, and he was never far away — a gentle kiss to assure you he was right there.

There’s no such sight tonight though.

The bedroom is dark, so for a moment you feel as though your eyes are tricking you, as Luke is always there. Although, there’s a small trickle of light through the room, streaming through the crack of the bedroom door, and it’s then you realise Luke must not have made it to bed yet. Petunia isn’t curled up in her bed at the far side of the room either, and you know she’s doing so in the studio down the hall.

It’s been several months since quarantine and lockdown began, and your lives have been turned upside down — forced to stay at home, tours cancelled and many, many virtual interviews taking over his life. At first Luke wrote over Zoom calls, and took his ideas into the studio when things opened up a little, but there was a constant nagging in the back of his mind that he needed something more. His mind was swirling with ideas that didn’t quite fit into what the band were doing. He’d had too much time at home, too much time to think, and he needed somewhere to put it so he could process it for himself. He’s too creative, he thinks too much — he needs an outlet.

Slipping out of bed, you grab one of Luke’s discarded hoodies, managing to put it on as you walk through the room still half asleep. It’s sometime in the early hours, but when Luke gets fixated on an idea, time is irrelevant. The light from the hall hurts your eyes, such a stark contrast from the dark bedroom. Your footsteps are quiet as you pad down the hall, not wanting to disturb him, but missing the familiar warmth of him sleeping next to you.

Standing in the doorway, he doesn’t acknowledge your presence — too focused on the keys in front of him, engrossed in what he’s playing. You faintly recognise the tune but now it has lyrics, he’s singing — and then you realise that why he’s not yet in bed. He’s hunched over the piano, his phone open next to him, assuming he’s recording little parts to play back later. There’s a lamp switched on in the corner, softening the room with a warm glow.

“I feel the walls are closing, I’m running out of time…” Luke’s tone is soft, almost like he’s mumbling, out of fear of waking you, or he’s just singing to himself. “I think I missed the gun at the starting line..”

You can just make out the words, and realise it’s purely his emotions - I feel, I think… and a part of you is relieved that he’s getting it down on paper, releasing his worries in the way he knows best. He gets too caught up in trying to understand himself sometimes, yet he avoids it too.

“Hey, rockstar,” You try to get his attention. When Luke lifts his head from the keyboard, there’s a concerned look on his face that he woke you up. There’s a smile too though, an amused one that always appears whenever you use that nickname. He gestures for you to come over, scooting along the bench of the piano so you could join him. You do — sitting as close as you could, resting your cheek on his shoulder as he wraps an arm around your back to keep you there. You wearing his clothes never gets old to him - it’s a reminder that whatever he has is also yours, that he wants to share everything with you; including whatever is on his mind. He hears you yawn and pulls you in closer, suddenly craving the feeling you came in search of, of being next to you.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Luke murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead in a silent hello. You shake your head, a free hand landing on his thigh in a reassuring gesture to say that it’s okay. “I didn’t realise what time it was.”

“You didn’t,” You reply, voice hoarse from the few hours of sleep that you did get. “I always wake up when you’re not next to me. You okay? That song sounds kinda sad.”

He laughs a little, looking at his phone to make sure he’s stopped the voice recording. “It’s not meant to be sad, more... reflective. It’s only acoustic so far, but I think I’ve got the lyrics down.”

He softly plays a few keys as you sit there, the gentle sound in combination with Luke humming under his breath next to you already sending you back to sleep. “You gonna send it to Ash to help out with the drums? Or are you leaving it acoustic?”

Luke hums thoughtfully, almost like he’s reluctant to tell you the answer — whether he’s sure he wants to say it out loud, because that makes it real. “I actually wasn’t going to involve them in this one.”

And there it is.

You had wondered if he’d ever go down this road himself, remembering how he had been inspired by Ashton’s solo works. Luke has been tied to the band since his early teens, he’s grown up in the band and barely had time to breathe until the last few months at home. You know he’s happy with the songs he’s written with the guys so far, but had the feeling he was wanting something a little more.

“How come?” You prompt, and even though you have an idea, you want to hear it from him.

“I just feel like I need to make sense of a lot of things,” He explains, almost as if he’s convincing himself too. “Having all this time at home has made me think about myself and who I am compared with who I used to be, and I need somewhere to work it out. I figured music is the best way to do that.”

He expects a bigger reaction from you, like it’s something so out of the norm that you’d question if he’s doing the right thing — but you don’t. You nod, and take one of his hands in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, to ease the nerves you sense he has.

“Well, you said it’s reflective, and what better time to reflect than when the world is at a standstill? I know you can create something amazing.” You assure him, the words whispered against his shoulder, and it’s all the convincing he needs. “Trust yourself, Luke. You’re way more talented than what you give yourself credit for.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his cheek resting on your head, just basking in the silence for a little while. As soon as he started to write this song there had been a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, that he wanted to keep it just for himself — he wanted to pour some of his anxieties into a song in the hopes of learning more about himself.

“You don’t think the guys will be offended, that I want to work on something for myself?” He asks you tentatively, and you know he already knows the answer to that.

You shake your head. “God, no, Luke. You were all very supportive of Ashton when he did Superbloom, why would it be any different for you? You know they’ll have your back no matter what. You’re best friends before anything else. You should talk to them about it, it’ll ease your mind.”

He hums in acknowledgement, a comforted smile on his lips at your words.

“Do you want to hear some more?” He asks, and you don’t even need to give him an answer. You murmur a reassurance of “of course” and he picks up again, feeling more certain of his craft now that he knows he has your support. He never doubted that you wouldn’t support him in whatever he wanted to do, but he thinks too much — he struggles to make sense of his thoughts, and it prompts him even more to want to create art from it.

You can already see how much it means to him, how he’s poured his heart into the lyrics he’s managed to put together. Throughout your relationship, you’ve gotten better at observing his feelings, and you know this is important to him. There’s pages full of scribbled lyrics in front of him, his hair is messy from running his fingers through it every time had gotten frustrated, and it’s clear he was determined to get something out of this song.

“Tell me, am I broken? I can never leave, biting on my tongue and checking if it bleeds,” He sings, the words clearer now he’s not in fear of waking you and of the words itself. “Is it lost on me? All the things I believe.”

It’s like he’s questioning himself with the lyrics as he sings, and as your eyes glance over the sheet in front of you, you notice a whole page of different thoughts and questions about everything — himself, his life and the band. All things that play on his mind constantly that he usually doesn’t have the time (or he occupies himself to avoid) to think about, all coming to the surface now the world is on pause.

“Take me alive, don’t look away until it’s gone, til it’s gone..”

Luke plays a few keys at the end before he turns to you, your face hidden against his shoulder. His fingertips brush your cheek before he lifts your face to look at him, and he’s not sure whether to smile or not when he’s met with unshed tears lining your eyes.

“Baby,” He murmurs, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours, his thumb softly brushing the first tear away as he slides down your cheek. “What’s with the tears?”

“That song is really beautiful,” You reply, sniffling to try and contain your emotions a little. He brushes his lips against yours in a sweet kiss, a sign of both his love and gratitude — and if just the first song has that affect on you, he knows he needs to pursue what’s in his heart. “It’s so pure, and so you. And I can’t wait to see what else you come up with.”

He feels like crying at your words and doesn’t know how to thank you enough for how supported you make him feel, no matter what he’s doing. “I love you, honey. Thanks for being on this journey with me.”

“Where else would I be?”

And when he finally makes it to bed, with you in his arms and a full heart, he’s content — he knows what he needs to pursue, and with you by his side, he knows he can do anything.

Don’t look away until it’s gone.

***

So there we are! I’d love to hear any feedback, I feel like I’m out of practice at writing lmao 🥺 Also I’m starting a new taglist, so if you’d like to be added to my new one, please fill out this Google form!

Masterlist

Taglist: @irwinkitten @wildflowergrae @luckyduckydoo @letstaketheups-and-downs @jazzyangel242 @cashworthy @babylon-corgis @norawashere @monsteramongmikey @late-nightdevil @maluminspace @fluffsshawn @xhaileyreneex @flowerthug @calpops @youngblood199456 @wokeupinjapanisabop @banditocth @cashtonasfuck @5-secondsofcolor @g-l-pierce @monsteramongmgc @calmlftv @mantlereid @treatallwithkindness @another-lonely-heart @calumrose @inlovehoodx @mermaidcashton @everydayimfangirling @b-easybreezy @ilumxna @malumsmermaid @opheliaaurora23 @talkfastromance4 @zhangyixingxing1 @everyscarisahealingplace @mateisit-balsamic @saphseoul @suchalonelysunflower @findingliam-o @castaway-cashton @megz1985 @notinthesameguey @calumscalm @karajaynetoday @metalandboybands @littledrummeraussie @vxlentinecal @itjustkindahappenedreally @queenalienscherrypie @xxxstormyninixxx @chicken-ona-stick @hoodhoran @harrys-shrooms @midnightash

#reblogs mean so much 🥺 it’s been a while!#luke hemmings blurbs #boyfriend!5sos blurbs #boyfriend 5sos blurbs #boyfriend!sos blurbs #luke hemmings fics #luke hemmings au #mywriting #myblurbs #boyfriend!luke #lhblurb #domestic 5sos blurbs #boyfriend!luke blurbs #boyfriend!luke blurb #5sos blurbs #5sos blurb #5sos fics

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uwuwriting · 3 years

Text

Nightmares w/ Fushiguro, Itadori and Gojo

Request: Since you write for JJK now could I req Megumi, Yuuji and Satoru where reader has a nightmare and they have a sleepover? - anonymous

Heehehehehehehehehehe the first ever JJK post on here and oh boyyyyyy. I love all of them so much but Yuuji and Megumi just hit different. Ah the flavor. This may not be the song post I had promised yall earlier today but I couldn’t help myself after reading a bunch of thirst posts from @jujutsucurses and I just felt the need to contribute to this fandom. Love ya.💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: nightmares, some tears but mainly fluff.

Fushiguro Megumi

-Ahhhh I love this man so much fiohwohfo.

-He gets why you have nightmares.

-Your latest mission had gone south leaving you the sole survivor of the whole ordeal.

-He could see the fear in your eyes the moment you stepped into the school but since he didn’t want to expose you in front of the others he had just grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers before giving a firm squeeze.

-It was a simple reminder that he was here with you.

-That you were alright and nothing could hurt you now.

-So when he heard the soft knock on his door that night he knew immediately who it was.

-He already had your favorite hoodie of his splayed on his bed and a fluffy blanket so you could cuddle before bed maybe vent to him if you wanted.

-Opening the door he came face to face with a teary eyed you clutching the ends of your sleeves in a vice grip while your voice trembled as you spoke.

- “C-can I sleep h-here tonight?”

-He wasted no time in pulling you into a hug and leading you to his bed, motioning to the hoodie as an invitation.

-He turned around while you changed, walking out of his room for a moment to grab you a glass of water only to be stopped by a small whine.

- “I’ll be right back angel.”

-In two minutes you were cuddled up under the fluffy blanket, your ear pressed over Megumi’s beating heart as you balled his shirt in your fists, wanting him as close as possible.

-He couldn’t do much.

-You hadn’t spoken since you came in and no matter how much he hugged and rubbed your back he couldn’t stop your trembles.

-Raising his knees, he caged your form closer to his body peppering kisses on your hairline as he continued to rub small circles on your back.

- “Wanna try to sleep?”

-You looked up at him before burying your face in his neck, giving him a small nod before hooking your arms under his.

-Without moving a lot, he laid down kissing you again before closing his eyes.

- “I don’t know what happened and you don’t have to tell me. But I can see how much it hurts you and I can’t just let that go on, so what do you say you stay here for the next few days?”

-You could only nod in agreement as you nuzzled more into his chest.

- “I love you.”

-It was a restful week.

-Although you did have Gojo teasing you and warning about unplanned pregnancies.

-Nobara couldn’t understand what you saw in Megumi *um girl is you blind?* and kept sneaking into his room.

-Yuuji….didn’t really care, he gave you guys a wave every morning when you got out for breakfast and that was really it.

-Makki cannot wait to tell Todo that Megumi has a girlfriend who stays in his room every night.

Itadori Yuuji

-Baby boiii.

-He is so cute omg.

-I cannot begin to describe how much I love him and his stupid fluffy pink hair.

-Anyways back to the point.

-He knew that his ‘death’ had shaken you up.

-It had been weeks until his classmates found out that he was indeed alive and well.

-That Sukuna had resurrected him and that everything was fine.

-In those weeks he also knew that you mourned him and that you most likely blamed yourself for what happened to him.

-You were there, you saw Sukuna rip his heart out from his chest *literally*.

-He remembers seeing the terror behind your eyes as he watched the scene unfold while under Sukuna’s control.

-He remembers how you scrambled out of the car despite your bleeding injuries only to get to him.

-It haunted him as well at times.

-He couldn’t get your face at that moment out of his mind.

-But despite your fear for him not being next to you in the morning during breakfast, you had never bothered him before.

-Nobara had to calm you down more than once but you had made her promise to not outer a word to anyone if she valued her bag collection.

-Tonight though you had an aching feeling that you wouldn’t find him in his dorm.

-That you had lost him again and that caused you to rush to his dorm at 3 am, frantic knocking almost waking up Megumi next door.

- “Babe?”

-He was right there in front of you, hand raised to rub his eye the other one underneath his hoodie scratching at his stomach.

-He is alright, he is not dead, he is alive, he is okay-

- “Hey hey why are you crying? Y/N baby what’s wrong?”

-He pulled you inside quickly wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you flush to his chest, his worry sky rocketing when you started full on sobbing while clasping his shirt.

- “Y-you’re o-okay.”

-And with that he knew immediately what this was all about.

-He never expected you to have a breakdown.

-Your rage the moment you found out he was alive and then the lecture he got from you were the only reactions he had gotten about that incident.

-But here you were, crying your eyes out because you thought that he was gone again.

- “P-please don’t l-leave me a-again. P-please Yuuji.”

-Scooping you up in his arms, he let you wrap your legs lightly around him as he took you with him to the kitchen to grab a glass of water in hopes of calming you down.

-Unlike Megumi he wasn’t about to leave you alone in his room not even for a second.

-When It’s time to finally go back to sleep he won’t pull you off of him he’ll just lay you on his chest with your head over his heart.

- “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m alright. We’re alright.”

Gojo Satoru

-In all of his years as a sorcerer he had never seen you so defeated before.

-It was a rare sight and one he never wants to see again.

-Being a teacher in the same school as him made keeping an eye on your idiot of a boyfriend easy.

-Or so you thought.

-You were with him on the car ride to meet principal Yaga when he said to leave him on the side of the street.

- “I’ll find you at Yaga’s darling.”

- “Sato what-”

-He had simply kissed you before closing the door mouthing an ‘I love you’.

-He had worried you out of your mind.

-You had sensed the presence of immense amounts of cursed energy at some point while you waited which only made the matters worse.

-He will be fine, he is the best for a reason.

-No matter how logical those thoughts sounded you couldn’t fully convince yourself.

-He came later than other times and you could see he was a little disheveled.

-Not much because he is Gojo Satoru after all but you were able to notice.

-Later that night he told you what had happened and you got into a small argument about his recklessness and how he shouldn’t keep you out of things like this.

- “We are a team Sato, we always have been. No matter what you don’t just tell me to leave.”

-You had both gone to sleep with slight frowns on your faces, the bitter taste of your argument still present on your tongues.

-Despite it all he still clung to you, his arms wrapped securely around your middle as you nestled back into him.

-He woke up at an ungodly hours because you were fidgeting next to him.

-Trembles and soft sobs racked through your body, your eyes still closed but your brows had furrowed, a grimace present on your features as you turned this way and that.

-Your hand was clutching his oh so tightly, small whimpers leaving your lips as sweat rolled down your forehead.

- “Darling? Wake up.”

-You shrunk away as he went to nudge your shoulder with his other hand and that’s when he realized that he wasn’t going to wake you up so easily.

-When you had nightmares it could only go one of two ways.

- A) you woke up before Satoru even realized you were having a nightmare or

- B) you couldn’t wake up at all unless Satoru splashed you with water or maybe an earthquake happened.

-Apparently this particular night you wouldn't be able to wake up.

-Bringing you into his lap with his fingers still intertwined with yours, he swayed back and forth as more trembles shook through you.

-He hated it when you had nightmares.

-He felt so useless.

-He couldn’t protect you from them, he couldn’t stop them and he couldn’t fight them.

-He could only try to calm you down by making his presence clear while you battled them alone.

-You were right, you two have always been a team and will always be one.

-That will never change no matter what.

- “I’m here, darling, I’m here.”

TAG TEAM AY:

@the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @dnarez @storage11037 @wolfkid22 @letscheereachotheron @ezoyscorner @luluwiie @threeamwriting @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses

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ocean-blue-whump · 2 years

Text

Flu Season

This is all @strawberrylemonadess idea. Also my recent run-in with the flu. Mostly comfort with a little bit of hurt.

Tagging @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional

CW: pet whump, BBU, whumpees in love, sick whumpee, begging, flu, implied torture

***

“Shhh, honey. Don’t move. I’ll take care of you.” Star runs her hands over Sunny’s chest and looking down at him.

“Ge’ off, you’re gonna get sick, too,” he mumbles. His eyes are shut, he’s wearing nothing but light linen pants, leaving a faint sheen of sweat across his golden skin.

“I’m gonna get sick anyways,” she says. “Am I still good here, or do you want me to move?”

Sunny hesitates before shaking his head. “Stay.”

Star smirks. “You got it, sweetheart.” She shifts around a little bit from her spot straddling Sunny’s hips to reach over and grab a thermometer. “Open?”

Sunny groans and opens his mouth, a cough wracking his body. Star sticks the thermometer underneath his tongue. “Close.” Star keeps massaging Sunny’s shoulders as they wait for the thermometer to beep.

When it does, Star frowns at the temperature. “103.5.”

“‘S that bad?” Sunny asks, turning his head to the side. His golden curls stick to his forehead and neck, slick from sweat.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s really bad. You’re, like, half a degree from needing the hospital.”

Sunny’s eyes snap wide open. “N-no, not the hospital, please.”

“Yeah, that arrogant prick wouldn’t take you there anyways.” Star sits back on Sunny. He’s warm underneath her, too warm.

Sunny weakly coughs again. “You, you shouldn’t say that. Shouldn’t say bad things about him.”

Star leans forward to press a kiss against her bonded’s forehead. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She carefully pushes herself off of Sunny and stands up, making sure Sunny still has a full glass of water.

Sunny weakly reaches out and grabs onto her hand. “Where’re you goin’?”

She kisses his hand, lips soft against his clammy skin. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Bianchi. You need some medicine.”

“N-no, don’t—”

Star narrows her eyes. It’s not like Sunny to show this much open fear of Sir. “I have to. You’re burning up.”

“I’m not worth it,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut once more. “I’m not worth it if it means you get hurt.”

“Shut up, you stupid boy.” Star smiles as she kisses his hand again. “You’re always worth it.” Always. Even if she must bleed for it.

“‘M not stupid,” Sunny mumbles, dropping her hand.

“I know, sweetheart. But you’re stupid to think that I wouldn’t do this for you. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

Star slips out of the pet room, leaving Sunny curled up on the floor.

Mr. Bianchi is in his office doing something or other on his laptop. Star couldn’t care less. She swings open the door and takes small steps until she reaches his side, falling down to her knees at his feet.

Sir’s voice is ice. “I thought I told you whores not to bother me.”

Star takes a shaky breath and nudges her head against Mr. Bianchi’s thigh. “Please. You have to help Sunny. He needs medicine.”

“Oh, does he now? What’s wrong with him?”

“I think he has the flu. He has a f-fever of 103.5 degrees, he’s coughing, he has a headache, and he hurts all over, Mr. Bianchi. Please.” Star gently holds onto his pant leg, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Mr. Bianchi chuckles and reaches down to play with a lock of Star’s hair. The pet shudders, but manages to stay mostly still, even when Mr. Bianchi gives a harsh tug. “Why would a stupid pet need human medicine?”

“Because he’s sick,” Star says, trying to keep down her biting retort. “He needs something to get his fever down so he doesn’t die, or doesn’t get worse. I don’t want you to have to take him to the hospital, Sir.” She bats her eyelashes as an afterthought.

“You’re right. It wouldn’t be good if I had to bring him. For all of us.” There it is, that burnt-honey danger that corrupts every part of Star’s mind, replaces it with obey, obey, obey. “But I think our little Sun-Bun can handle this on his own, don’t you agree?”

Part of her knows she should say yes. But she can’t. She’s a broken toy who won’t say yes, not when Sunny is so sick. “Please, Mr. Bianchi. I’ll do anything.”

His eyes glint at that. “Anything?”

Star doesn’t hesitate to nod. She needs Sunny to be okay. She’ll die without him. “I’ll do anything, Mr. Bianchi.”

From his desk drawer, Mr. Bianchi takes out a set of polished throwing knives, ten in total. “Think you can catch these if I throw them at you?”

It takes thirty minutes and ten different stab wounds for her to return, injuries padded with gauze underneath her blouse, but she makes it back to the pet room with two white tablets of Tylenol in her shaking hand.

Sunny barely stirs when she walks into the room and sits down next to him. She puts one hand underneath his back and lifts him up so the boy is propped up in her lap. “Take these. No tricks, I promise, I saw him take them out of an unopened bottle. They’ll make your fever go down.”

Sunny takes the pills with half the glass of water and drops his head back down in her lap. “What’d you have to do for him to get these?”

Star smooths his hair back from his face. “Oh, nothing bad.” The particularly deep wound on her thigh twinges uncomfortably.

“You’re lying,” he whispers, but snuggles into her arms.

Star rubs her thumbs over his cheeks and leans down to kiss the tip of his nose. One of the cuts on her back splits open, sending a fresh wave of blood down her shirt. “You’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it.”

#pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy whump #box boy multiverse #box babe #box boy #whumpees in love #sick whumpee #flu #begging #implied torture #fluff #comfort #starvation mention #sunny #hunter bianchi #blue's words

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mrsackermanx · 3 years

Text

18+ minors do not interact.

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝘜𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: [Name] and Jean lose themselves in an unexpectedly tender moment, right in the heat of summer...

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.9k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Praise kink, Sex, Soft Sex, Injured Jean, Creampie.

"Owwww fuck [name]!" You gasp in horror as you see a dark red shadow bleeding through the arm on Jeans shirt, blood dripping from his upper arm. From the pressure of you falling clumsily down of the tree, via your ODM, you've sliced all up his arm in your path.

"Fuck Jean I'm so so so so sorry! Does it hurt?!"

"Ahh of course." he says pretending to be mad for a moment.

"But it's fine idiot, you better be the one to patch me back up when we get back though. You know all things considered..."

You felt super guilty, he was wincing slightly and it looked painful to, you lean against him and wrap your arms around his torso, muttering a string of sorrys, his eyes soften as he looks down at you and sees how worried you are, but of course he has to tease you some more.

"She's a menace Captain!" he yells over to Captain Levi, who sighs and shakes his head at you both, while Hange laughs.

"I'm sorry." you say again for the umpteenth time.

"And I promise I will take full care of you when we get back....princess." you laugh, leaning up and flicking his forehead playfully.

"Are they?-" asks Levi to Hange, watching this display, as Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Connie and Sasha watch and laugh at the two of you.

"Nah it's just, them." chuckles Eren.

"I don't think it's anything romantic, but I know you've been giving them our good pencils Moblit!" says Hange they all laugh as he shakes his head and smiles.

"But they both enjoy drawing together, it's sweet."

"You done scowling now Horseface?" you nudge, still leaning against his chest.

"You're going to make it up to me...so yes." he leans down and whispers sexily in your ear, the base of his voice causing a throb between your legs to emerge, his hand tracing down to the small of your back, teasingly close your ass.

"Erm y-yeah I said I would." you say back nervously, in all honesty, were you attracted to Jean? Yes. We're you a little in love with him? Spending hours sketching together until sunset...sketching each other, talking, laughing, sharing secrets.

Yes.

But is he really saying what you think he is?

"No I mean..." He leans and whispers into your ear once more, you chomp your teeth down onto your bottom lip, crossing your thighs together, gripping his torso tighter, he looks down and smirks slightly seeing you flustered.

"Gimme one of your pencils and I'll really forgive you.”

"You asshole." you laugh pulling away from him and pushing him slightly, your cheeks blushing bright red from what you thought he was implying. He grabs his arm and whimpers out an exaggerated ouch-

"Ugh fine I'll think about it." you sigh, as you both walk over to your horses.

*****************

When you get back you both go straight to Jeans room.

"Fucking hell it's hot in here." you moan as he pushes open the door and you enter. The room is so full of his scent though, so it makes up for it.

"Ahhh I know right, it's the worst in the summer."

"Mmm I can imagine." you agree, going over to his desk and hovering your hands over his drawings.

"So...you gonna patch me up then-bully."

"Well I dragged your whiny ass here didn't I? Sit down over there then."

He sits crossed legged on his floor and you join him, setting down the first aid supplies you'd grabbed from the infirmary.

"Well take your shirt off." You feel yourself blushing, but try to shake it off. He looks at your shirt as he removes his, it's covered in blood and lightly damp from the summer heat, it looks uncomfortable and tight.

"Little help?" You swallow the lump in your throat and lean over and help him pull it off his slightly injured arm, he winces as you do it until you finally tug it off, your eyes casting over his frame and latching onto his perfect muscly form.

Fuck.

His chest -perfectly toned, his skin golden, soft,and silky and glistening-

"[Name], it is hot as fuck in here, you should take yours off to, if you want to." he says gently, but with a slight smirk.

Huhhhh?

"Ahh piss off I know I look sweaty okay. But ahhh Jean it's because your so hot." you laugh sarcastically, earning a chuckle from him, you both often joke like this, but the sexual tension in the room is growing shamelessly thick, and fast.

She looks hot.

"Well I'm not gonna be the only one this vulnerable [name]." he chuckles punching your shoulder with his good arm playfully.

He senses your stalling, "But of course if you don't want to I won't force you or anything stupid." He says softly, changing his tone.

"Ahh don't be silly." you say, your heart melting at him, what was the harm you are seriously hot, you remove your white shirt and reveal your skin under it, you watch as his jaw clenches. His eyes try to discreetly scan you but fail, his eyes plastered to your breasts in your rosy coloured bra, your skin looks so soft he wants to kiss it-explore it-

"Gawp much horse boy!" you tease, setting out the supplies and starting your first aid.

"Not every day I get a half-naked nurse what can I say." he winks grinning.

"You dick." you giggle, cleaning the cut and now beginning to sew it up.

"This is going to hurt but you're already doing so well okay." you soothe. He blushes as his eyes can't help but fixate on your half naked body, you look so good right now and he wants to take your bra of so bad.

"You're good at this." he gulps, feeling half of his dick beginning to harden, praying you won't notice it. You lean closer as you work, your boobs brushing his arm, making him let out a soft gasp.

"Ahh who knew you could be so nice." he blurts out, trying to distract himself from how turned on he's getting. You look up and glare at him and continue, he smiles looking at you, truthfully Jean had been in love with you for a while.

“All done." You smile, patting his leg gently, he almost looks disappointed?

"Ahh wait you're hairs a fucking mess. Ahh-" you say noticing his hairbrush on his drawers.

"Can I brush it?"

"Mmm.”

"Well I did tell you I was going to give you full princess treatment ay." you giggle, earning a sheepish smile from Jean.

He's being quiet for once?

You grab his hairbrush and sit kneeling in front of him, awkwardly leaning forwards to brush his hair, steadying yourself by resting a hand on his shoulder as your boobs bounce with every brush stroke, making his mind fill with dirty thoughts.

Fuck where do I look right now?

Did I just almost see her nipple? Fuck I'm too hard

"Hmm wait." He's sitting crossed legged so you get on his lap and straddle his thighs, you sit your crotch on top of his and feel his dick beneath you but ignore it, even as you rock back and forth against it as your body moves with every pass through his tawny brown locks. His teeth were fully gritted now, he was finding this really hard, feeling your warmth rub against him especially. And plus your boobs are literally in his face. Fuck fuck fuck.

He thought it couldn't get any worse you might definitely notice until-

"Oh my god [name] please not there.", he sighs,frowning and clamping his eyelids shut, like he was in pain. You'd placed your free hand on his inner inner thigh to steady yourself while you brushed through a particularly stubborn knot at the back of his hair.

"What? I'm just brushing your hair silly, hey I got knots to-" you say innocently before.

"Ohhhh." you both laugh, you could feel a huge boner under you now, poking against you, you rest your face against his chest, he looks so good right now, and you can feel the ripples and definition of his chest and stomach against yours and it's making you shiver. He reaches his hand out and strokes your hair as your breathing hitches against him, you wrap your arms around his torso and start to lightly stroke his back as you feel his soft breaths grazing your scalp as his chin rests in your hair.

"[Name]?”

"Mm?" you mumble pulling away and looking up at him, your cheeks are surely completely blushed right now, and you really didn't want him to see.

"You're so cute." he whispers, lightly lifting your face to his by your chin with a light pull of his finger.

"Don't mock me-" Your words are cut off when he reaches down and greets your lips, his lips are soft and make every part of your body tingle and ignite. He moves his face slowly with yours, allowing your tongues to knead together, his hand stroking tenderly at your cheek, as your lips said what your words couldn't.

You reach down and begin eagerly undoing his trousers.

'Mm wait." he pants, pulling away from the kiss, he reaches a hand around to your back and unclasps your bra, letting it fall down your torso before ripping the troublesome garment of both of your arms, and throwing it across the room triumphantly. He marvels at the sight before him,

"You're beautiful."

"Jean-"

His lips race to explore your pretty breasts-quieting you, your heart races as he kisses every part of skin on your chest, fondling your breasts, swirling his tongue around your nipples, sucking and kissing them. You let out soft little whimpers as he explores you, feeling his smirk against your chest.Your straddling thighs weaken and he gently pushes you down onto the floor, so his body is now towering above yours.

He follows down your torso with kisses, his hands grabbing on to your breasts, before pulling your trousers and underwear down and off.

He starts kissing upwards on your thighs, getting closer and closer, you feel a little self conscious and clamp your legs together, covering your face.

"No [name] let me make you feel good. Oh but I want to see you when i do though." he says sexily coming back up to your face and pinning your arms down and away your face, before kissing you again.

"Don't hide your face."

He follows back down and grabs on to your hips, wasting no time he runs a flattened tongue over your pussy.

"Damn." he groans, his eyes rolling back as he pulls away and sees a string of your clear slick wetness coming from your walls through his half lidded eyes.

"You're so sweet."

"Jean f-fuck." you moan.

"Yes that's it, moan for me." He dives his face back in between your legs, sucking at your clit powerfully grinning at your arching back, and your clenched fists finding refuge in his hair. He gets two of his fingers and massages them over your clit and opening while his tongue joins.

"Do you want me to put these in?" he grunts sexily.

"Yes-please." you pant back, he begins thrusting his fingers into you, they're so long and flexible and reach so far in they find your spot instantly. He uses them just right, the most perfect come hither motions stroking inside of you gently, while his mouth slurps and slips on your clit.

"Is this- feeling good for you?" he asks looking up at you, making you whimper seeing his face between your legs like this, his honey brown eyes looking up into yours.

"So good Jean- please don't stop."

"Oh I won't." he groans, lapping up more of your wetness with his tongue as he focuses on your clit and his fingers to bring you closer and closer to climax , until you clamp your thighs around him, your walls tightening around his fingers as you explode, feeling a rush of your warm cum melting down his fingers. You lay there breathless, your body lightly shaking from the intensity. He removes his fingers and sucks them clean, making you throb at the sight while he let out little mewls of satisfaction to your taste.

He looks up at you with his beautiful eyes again, you struggle to hold his gaze,

"You want more right? Cos I do." he smirks.

"Yeah I do." you blush reaching down to undo his trousers, he moves your hand away pinning it back above you.

"No no I mean, I want to do that again." he says softly, pushing you back down.

"Is that okay?" he asks glancing up at your confused and shocked expression.

"Mmhm." you nod biting down on your lip in anticipation.

"Then just sit back and relax okay." he smiles.

"But I want you to moan my name more this time please?

Can you do that?" he asks as he kisses at your inner thighs again, sucking lightly and leaving rosy flushed marks from his lips behind.

"Mmhm." you nod, rendered speechless, he grins at this and gets to work, lightly licking your clit with different motions, delighting as he pulls different sounds from you, mewls, moans, groans, pants, whimpers, cries.

"Jeannn." you whimper.

"Yes like that, good girl." he groans, running his face against your pussy, utilising his chin and his nose as well as his tongue, eating you with relish.

"Ohh and this time I want you to cum on my tongue so this might feel a little different."

These words go straight to your core, vibrating your pussy with their timbre, probably the hottest thing you never thought he'd say to you. He places two fingers on your clit and starts to rub them softly, while he fucks your opening with his tongue, sucking and stroking into your walls with his strong muscle determinedly, gasps and whimpers leaving your lips at the difference in sensation, he looks up and sees your face blown with pleasure and promptly quickens his pace.

"Ahh that feels good doesn't it?"

"Yesss." you practically shriek back.

"Then let me hear how good it feels." he moans, as he increases his pace even more, grabbing your hips tighter as he devours you.

"Jeannn."

"Louder."

"F-fuck Jean right there don't stop I'm gon-"

"Louder!”

"Jean!" you scream, as your entire body jolts with pleasure and you feel your orgasm pass through you from your toes to your ears, the sensations taking their time to scan through every part of you, from the careful build up of his motions. You'd never came like that before, you look down him, he's visibly breathless, he sticks his tongue out slightly to show you the glistening juices that cover it before he swallows them away and wipes the side of his lip with a grin of pride.

"Well I got my wish." he smirks.

He rips his trousers and boxers off, his huge cock springing out, you look at it in shock, it's the perfect size, pre cum is oozing from his tip and dribbling down tantalisingly over his veiny shaft.

Fuck.

You couldn't wait, you sit up and latch your lips on to it straight away, making his whole body lurch up in shock, his eyes widened at the sight of you kneeling in front of him as your head starts to bob up and down. You pass tight rings over him with your lips, at a strong pace, until you pop your lips over his head, stroking your thumb over his tip and offering him teasing licks to it, enhancing the little sensations for him. He groans at your every movement your name leaving his mouth in breathless fragments.

"Fuck [name]!"

"You're so good at this, this is the best I've ever-", you go just that little bit deeper, leaving him wordless.

"Don't hold back." you hum, feeling the vibrations against his tip make every nerve in his body sing.

He grabs on to your hair, as he sits up looking down at the side of your face, admiring how good you look sucking his cock as he sees it poke against your inner cheek, as you take him further and further. His hands pushing your face down to take him deeper and deeper.

You finally get over his full length and make deep deep passes, one after the other, each time hollowing your cheeks even tighter as his tip rests in your throat, groans and curses falling from his lips. The room filled with the sound of your light breaths, gags and soft moans- driving him wild.

"[Name] this is too good." he groans roughly, you smile up at him and go faster, using your hands along with your mouth, tugging at him with a perfect pressure while your mouth follows it with a mind blowing suction.

You go faster and faster his hand gripping into your hair with greater force as his hips lurch and twitch up eagerly to meet to your mouth, his hand in your hair suddenly pushes your head down hard choking you ,as he becomes dizzy and fixated on chasing his high, fucking your face and using you for his pleasure- and you love it.

You feel and hear him getting closer and closer above you, choked out groans of your name escaping his lips before-

"[Name]!" He releases his entire load into your mouth at once.

"Oh my god [name]. I'm so sorry-" he stops and watches in awe as you open up your mouth to show him the pool of cum resting on it, before swallowing it all.

"Don't worry, that's what I wanted." you grin.

"You taste good."

"You dirty girl." he smiles, snapping up and pinning you down by your arms again. Kissing and sucking all the sensitive parts of your neck, making you whimper under his lips.

"Would you like to fuck now?" he whispers in your ear slowly, making sure you heard every syllable.

"Yes." you moan, your voice raspy, making his cock twitch at such a sweet melody.

"Sit back, relax, and let me do all the work okay?" he whispers, gently yet firmly, pressing sweet kisses on your forehead and nose.

"Okay." you smile as he places a cute kiss to your brow bone.

He continues to relax your body as he kisses you, when he feels you calm beneath him, he grabs his shaft and begins to slide it up and down your pussy slowly, gathering up the slick wetness oozing out of you.

"I'm gonna start now okay?"

"Mm." you moan, feeling the head of his dick throbbing against you, dizzy with lust, he slowly pushes it up to your opening, gently pushing through and up into your walls, as he rolls his hips carefully and measuredly against you, kissing your collarbones as his length finally reaches and relaxes all the way inside you.

"How do I feel?" he groans deeply into your neck, as he lets out a deep breath that tickles your ear, making your head swim.

"Tell me."

"You feel so good Jean." you moan back dazedly, his words touching you just as much as his cock's ridges that are blessing and grazing all the right places against your throbbing walls.

"Am I good to move now?" he whispers, stroking your lip with his thumb, you nod and kiss his thumb to confirm.

And he starts to thrust deep and slow, every motion of his hips sending waves of deep pleasure through you, as his cock perfectly angles against the spongey spot inside you, with every stroke.

"Faster?" you whimper, wrapping your thighs around his torso moaning as you feel him get deeper, hooking your arms tightly around his neck to pull him closer.

"Look at me then [name]." he moans softly, placing his palm against your cheek and stroking your face as his thrusts get faster, causing you to moan his name over and over and over again and loving it. He looks down at your fluttering eyelids and your delicate face, watching your soft features fill contort with passion, as your boobs snap up and down to his rhythm,hitting against his chest, you are truly a sight to behold.

So beautiful-

"Your face...you're so sexy I can't believe I'm seeing you like this." he groans, every-time you moan out his name, he gets faster, his head now weakly dropping into the crook of your neck.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, so give me more." you whisper, showering his neck with kisses, giving him the push he needed to go faster.

"This feels so good." you gasp.

He starts to buck his hips into you, latching his lips onto your shoulder and biting it softly while he drills into you, he's distributing his weight on you so perfectly, that his pelvis is rubbing and stimulating your clit with the same rhythm, the double stimulation making you claw at his back, and making him groan into you even more, your name falling from his lips in gratitude.

"[Name] you feel amazing."

You feel the pleasure building throughout your body, making your eyes roll back, he feels you tightening around him and lightly grabs your neck and starts to kiss you deeply and sloppily as you both near your end.

"You're taking it so well." he groans mid kiss.

"Jean I'm almost there." you moan into his lips.

"Don't worry, don't wait for me." he moans softly as he catches your bottom lip in his teeth and pulls it away gently, as you orgasm starts to blossom.Your walls clenching around his cock, as you start to lose it as you twitch beneath him, he watches in awe as you jolt and pant in pleasure below him, lost in complete bliss. Losing yourself in the moment and coming completely undone, he feels you release and tighten around him, bringing him even closer to his finish, as he watches in glee as you twitch in overstimulation, as he fucks you through your orgasm, prolonging your sweet pleasure.

"Ahhh beautiful." he moans into your neck as you feel him let go and cum inside you, it spills out as he slowly pulls out of you, the mixture of your juices falling from your twitching pussy and down your thighs. He rests down next to you and hooks an arm around your waist and chest and resting his chin against your nape, pulling you close into an embrace against his hot body.

"That was amazing and...unexpected." He smiles against your ear.

"It was." you reply, both of you breathless, some minutes pass by in each other's arms, and you manage to regain yourselves a bit more.

"Do only your best girls get fucked up there then?" you tease in laughter, pointing up at his bed.

"What the floor was fun, no?" he laughs back, attacking your neck with tickling kisses.

"Ahh it did the job." you giggle.

"We'll use it next time, but hey I deserve the praise! Not the floor, who just gave you the best time of your life with an injury?- ME." he smirks.

‘Next time’ you smile to yourself softly, containing your excitement-

"Yes Jean you did well." you mock, grinning at him.

"Cmon [name] say it like you mean it."

"How?"

"With your lips, like this, come here-"

#jean kirstein #aot smut #aot fanfiction #jean x reader #aot x reader

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years

Text

of stolen shirts and sorrow

4.5k hurt/comfort, happy ending. read on ao3 here.

Blood bubbles up between Geralt’s splayed fingers. He presses down as hard as he can without risking causing more damage. Jaskier moans faintly, and Geralt tries not to panic.

He fails.

It wasn’t supposed to be Jaskier that was in harm’s way, it was supposed to be him, should have been him lying on the ground with his blood seeping into the dirt, but they had been caught unaware, and there had barely been time for Geralt to unsheathe his sword before Jaskier had cried out beside him.

Jaskier had stayed standing long enough for Geralt to dispatch the werewolf with a vicious slice of his sword, blood spraying from its carotid as it fell to the ground and twitched. There wasn’t time for anything with more finesse. Geralt took a moment to feel sorrow that he had to kill it when his intention had been to come here to cure it, but it had been snarling and advancing towards Jaskier again, and Geralt couldn’t take any more chances.

Geralt whirled to Jaskier, and Jaskier dropped to the ground, sitting down hard and looking pale. Geralt’s eyes shot down to where he was clutching his stomach, blood dripping through his fingers and staining them red. Geralt whipped his head around to be sure there wasn’t anything else waiting for him to drop his guard before he sank to his knees beside Jaskier, helping him lie back.

Now, Geralt takes a deep breath, trying to center himself, before scrabbling at Jaskier’s clothes, ripping his shirt open so that he can better assess the damage, and he can almost hear Jaskier making a quip about it, pouting that he liked that shirt, Geralt! But Geralt’s not sure that he’s ever going to be hearing Jaskier’s voice again, because the wound is even more severe than he thought now that he’s looking at Jaskier’s bare torso.

A grunt comes from Jaskier again, determined to prove Geralt wrong even with the color starting to drain from his lips, and Geralt’s mind races, thinking about how he’s ever going to fix this. This is too much for him to solve alone, he thinks. He eyes the growing pool of blood worriedly, knowing how much blood someone can lose before they teeter off the cliff of no return, and Jaskier is closer than Geralt would like to admit. There’s no sign of the bleeding stopping anytime soon, so he further rips Jaskier’s shirt into wide strips to tie around the wound, hoping it’ll help staunch the bleeding.

He bites his lip and picks Jaskier up, hoping he’s making the right choice, and not one he’s going to regret while staring at a tombstone, but Geralt tries to block out the worry. Jaskier needs him right now, and Geralt has to focus on that.

He clicks his tongue, and Roach approaches him skittishly. Geralt drapes Jaskier over her rump, settling him so he won’t fall off or be jostled too much, because Geralt knows that is the last thing he needs right now. He wants to mount Roach and gallop away to help, but he has to go about this the right way. If he’s not fast enough, Jaskier will die, and if he’s too fast and Jaskier’s wound doesn’t manage to start to clot, he’ll die, too. Geralt takes a deep breath and absent mindedly runs his bloody hand through his hair, taking Roach’s reins in hand and leading her along the path at a fast walk. They’re close to the outskirts of Temeria; the proximity of the werewolf being why there was a contract in the first place.

It had been killing a farmer’s sheep, but Geralt regrets coming here in the first place. Farm animals were certainly not a fair trade for Jaskier, who’s cool and clammy to Geralt’s touch, his breath coming in rapid wheezes.

Geralt speeds his pace.

By the time he makes it to the walls of Temeria and shouts to the guards that he needs help, he needs their mage, Jaskier’s face is white and bloody covers Roach’s flank. It seems like the bleeding has slowed, so Geralt allows himself to take heart. “Go!” he shouts at the guard closest to him, who’s just standing there and staring uselessly.

The boy startles, because now that Geralt has taken a closer look, he can see that that’s what he is, a boy, and he’s probably never seen this much blood before. He turns on his heel and runs, and Geralt desperately hopes it’s for help and not to flee.

Geralt lifts Jaskier gently from Roach, who’s now prancing anxiously, and sets him flat on the ground. He takes a second to stroke Roach and murmur reassurances, and she settles a bit before he turns his attention back to Jaskier. He presses his hands over his hasty bandage, reapplying the pressure. He hears shouts in the distance, and he hopes Triss is on the way with her potions.

He looks back down at Jaskier, who has blood that’s starting to trickle out his mouth. He makes a wet gurgling noise, and Geralt wishes he could do more. All of his elixirs would be toxic to Jaskier and only make things worse, and he desperately hopes the metaphor doesn’t extend to himself, even though he thinks it does.

This never would have happened if Jaskier wasn’t with him. Geralt had argued with him, said werewolves were unpredictable, but Jaskier said he would be fine at their camp, thank you very much. Geralt could go and try to shove the potion down the werewolf’s jaws, and Jaskier would work on his latest ballad.

Jaskier had cut off his protests with a kiss, and Geralt found himself powerless in the face of that. The tangled threads between them had become even more twisted in the last month, with Jaskier finally getting fed up with Geralt and calling him an idiot before pulling him in and kissing him.

Geralt had been shocked. He had never dared to hope that Jaskier would ever return Geralt’s feelings, because who would love a mutant, but Jaskier had said that he’d say it however many times Geralt needed to hear it.

And now he might not ever hear it again.

All of a sudden, there are soft hands pushing Geralt out of the way, and Geralt resists until he realizes that it’s Triss, here to help Jaskier. Geralt slumps in relief and backs away, watches Triss hover her hands above the wound and pull small glass bottles from her satchel. He wraps a hand around his medallion, vibrating as Triss begins her work. He looks on helplessly while she mutters incantations and pours the contents of her bottles on the would until she takes a step back after what seems like an eternity. Jaskier’s breaths seem to be coming a bit easier. There’s no bloody foam around his mouth anymore, at least, so Geralt will take it.

“That should stop the bleeding and stabilize him for now. Let’s get him out of the street,” Triss says, pointing to the cart she arrived on.

Geralt swallows hard and leans down, pushing some of Jaskier’s soft hair off his sweaty forehead before gathering Jaskier in his arms and lifting him into the cart, settling him on the straw. Geralt climbs in after him, sitting down and ignoring the way the straw scratches at his skin. Jaskier moans and clutches at Geralt’s hand.

Geralt’s heart clenches. “Hey,” he says, uncharacteristically soft, “it’s okay, all right?”

Jaskier squeezes his hand weakly. Geralt raises their linked hands to his mouth and kisses Jaskier’s knuckles. “You’re going to be fine.”

Geralt looks towards the front of the cart, and Triss jerks in her seat, caught staring. “I’m going to take care of him for you, Geralt,” she says softly.

The words get stuck in Geralt’s throat. He grunts and runs a hand down his face. Damn it. This is all his fault.

“What happened?” she asks.

“We were… fuck, we were trying to cure a werewolf. I should have never let him come with me, but I was going to make him stay well away from its hunting grounds, and it was supposed to be fine.” Geralt waves his hand, his eyes catching on the blood caked underneath his fingernails. “It was supposed to be fine,” he repeats helplessly.

Triss puts a hand on his shoulder, and Geralt lets himself draw comfort from the touch. His heartbeat has finally started to slow again, but he can still smell the sour scent of his own distress, mixed with the metallic tang of blood. He slumps against the side of the cart.

By the time they make it to the castle, Geralt’s adrenaline is starting to crash, but he still gathers Jaskier in his arms again and carries him where Triss directs. He waves off the offers of help; his clothes are already bloody, anyway, no one else needs to ruin theirs.

He carries Jaskier up a spiral staircase before he reaches Triss’s chambers and settles Jaskier on the bed. “Can you undress him for me?” Triss asks, as she bustles around behind Geralt, her fingers flying as she mixes herbs and other ingredients together.

Geralt swallows hard. His fingers hover over the buttons of Jaskier’s shirt, but it feels wrong. They haven’t got this far yet, and Geralt doesn’t want this moment to be the one he associates with shedding Jaskier of his clothes.

He sighs and takes Jaskier’s shirt off, pinching the bloody thing between his fingers and letting it crumple to the ground. He’s going to burn it, if Jaskier lets him. Well, even if he doesn’t. Geralt doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see it again without flinching, no matter how well of a repair job Jaskier does.

He undoes the laces of Jaskier’s trousers, so Triss can take a look at where the wound extends down his torso, but it stops at his waist, so that’s as far as Geralt goes. Triss hums her thanks as she starts to gently rub a poultice over the wound. “This will lessen the pain and keep him unconscious until his body regenerates enough blood,” she explains.

“How long will that be?” Geralt asks, resolutely not giving into the urge to fidget.

“A few days. Maybe a week. You’re lucky you got him here when you did.”

Geralt lets out a heavy breath through his nose. All his fault. “Hmm.”

Triss straightens up. “He’s going to be fine, Geralt. The wonders of magic, huh?” She nudges his shoulder. “He just needs rest, now.”

Triss leaves them, and Geralt takes a seat by the bed, looking over at Jaskier’s motionless body, save for the slight rise and fall of his bare chest. Geralt runs his fingers down Jaskier’s chest curiously, before jerking away like he’s been burned. He’d always wanted to know what Jaskier’s chest hair would feel like under his fingertips, but this isn’t how he wanted to find out.

Jaskier might have expressed his enthusiastic support for the idea of them while he was still able to walk and talk, but Geralt thinks he might have changed his tune by now. Why would he want to be around Geralt when all Geralt’s brought him is suffering and pain?

Jaskier could have had a very comfortable life by now, but instead he insists on traipsing around after Geralt. And look where it’s gotten him.

Geralt stands up, thinking very hard. His eyes drift to Jaskier’s ruined shirt on the floor, but he lets it lie. It’s unfair of him to do this to Jaskier. He’s keeping Jaskier in a sort of limbo, stopping him from having the normal life that he deserves. Jaskier should have someone who can take care of him better than Geralt. Geralt’s been doing a piss poor job of it so far.

Geralt steps towards the doorway before hesitating. This is for the best, but… He’d like a reminder of this, something he can look back on and remember just how full his life was, once. He remembers what it was like before Jaskier came along, and it’s almost unbearable to think of going back to that, but he has to. For Jaskier’s sake. What if the next time he dies? Geralt wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Geralt steps towards Jaskier’s pack, which has somehow migrated here. He supposes Triss brought it; she’s good for things like that. He digs through it until he finds a doublet that Jaskier doesn’t wear very often but is Geralt’s personal favorite. Geralt reasons that it’s the tales of his adventures that paid for the shirt, anyway, so really, Jaskier owes him this one small thing.

Geralt brings it up to his nose. It smells like Jaskier.

When Jaskier wakes, he’s alone. He tries to sit up, but there’s a sharp pain in his side that feels like someone tried to carve out his spleen. It gets even worse when the door opens, and there’s no sign of Geralt, just a woman he doesn’t know. Generally speaking, these sorts of things don’t tend to work out for him.

“Where’s Geralt?” he croaks, and it comes out as an accusation.

She casts her eyes upward, before looking back down at Jaskier. “He left.”

“What? Without me? Why? When is he coming back?” The questions bubble out of him without his permission.

The woman hesitates. “I… don’t know.”

“Come, he surely must have said something.”

“Geralt? Say something?” She gives him a wry grin.

Jaskier shakes his head. She’s right. “He didn’t say anything about returning?” he asks again, just to be sure before his heart sinks all the way to his feet.

She shakes her head.

This is all Jaskier’s fault. If he never would have gotten hurt, they would have still been travelling together, and Geralt wouldn’t have thought he was too much of a burden to drag along any longer. Melitele's tits. What is he going to do now?

Geralt scuffs his boot against a tree trunk while Roach looks on disapprovingly. “I know, I know,” he grumbles. “You miss him. But this is for the best.”

He’s not sure who needs more convincing: him or Roach.

He putters around, setting up his camp for the night and trying not to think of what Jaskier is doing now. His brain decides to seize on the werewolf instead, and Geralt sighs, sitting down heavily with his back against the tree. The bark is scratchy, and there’s a stone digging into his ass, but he doesn’t move. It’s just the start of what he deserves, anyway.

The werewolf should have been cured, it should have been them that Geralt rushed to town for care, not Jaskier. But now, because of his ineptitude, the werewolf is dead, and Jaskier almost died. The cure that sits in his satchel mocks him. He had mixed it together hopefully, with the best intentions, but it was worth fuck all in the end.

Roach paws at the ground, and Geralt knows his distress is making her nervous, but he just doesn’t have the energy to sort out his feelings right now. He pulls his cloak over his head and tries to sleep.

He’s unsuccessful, of course. His thoughts won’t stop stampeding through his head, and his ears are picking up on every sound of the night. This is one of the times when Jaskier would do his best to distract him.

They’d barely been together for a month before it all went awry, and this, this is why Geralt doesn’t get close to people. There’s nothing but misery in his future, and he dragged Jaskier into it.

Geralt smells a storm on the horizon, and he sighs. Typical.

Jaskier watches the rain outside, running his fingers over the droplets that race down the window. Triss had left him a few hours ago, telling him he could stay until he felt fully healed. He traces his fingertips over the wound; it’s hard to believe that it was life threatening with how well it’s looking now. Pink and tender to the touch, but a far cry from gushing blood like Triss had told him it was.

Triss had also told him that he woke up not fours hours after Geralt dumped him on her and fled. Triss didn’t put it like that, of course, but Jaskier can read through the lines well enough. He racks his brain back to the last thing he remembers. He can dimly recall teasing Geralt, sneaking Roach a sugar cube, and then things start to get blurry. There was a...snarl? He knows they were looking for a werewolf, but Jaskier wasn’t supposed to get anywhere close to it in the first place.

No wonder Geralt didn’t want him slowing him down anymore, if Jaskier’s intestines are just going to spill out of him at the first sign of danger. His side throbs at the reminder, and Jaskier gets up to rustle through his pack and find a shirt so he can cover his wound.

He’s looking for a particular shirt, one Geralt had always liked, because Jaskier’s not above a bit of self-flagellation when a breakup is still so fresh, but he can’t find it. Great. He had always saved it for special occasions, because life on the road tended to not be great for the longevity of his clothing, and now he’s gone and lost it.

It’s probably for the best anyway. He doesn’t need to dwell on the memories. But, it’s too soon for him to completely move on. Heartbreak is the best muse, and all that.

Jaskier unties his bundle of parchment and pulls out a clean sheet, along with his quill and inkwell. He dips his quill in ink, but no words come. He wants to write something scathing about Geralt, for leaving him behind like he’s worth nothing at all, but the lyrics don’t come as easily as the other ballads he’s written singing Geralt’s praise.

Jaskier stares at the page for a few more minutes, but all he manages to write is The. He scratches it out and sighs, pushing his paper aside.

Geralt drums his fingers and looks skeptically at the paper that’s just been slapped in front of him.

“There’s a pack of ghouls, right along the path to town. We’ve lost two supply wagons trying to pass through already!” the man tells him.

Geralt looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “How do you know they didn’t just pocket your coin and disappear?”

The man throws up his hands in exasperation. “Are you going to take the job or not, Witcher?”

“Fine. I’ll look into it.”

In the end, it turns out not to be ghouls, but a graveir. Similar to ghouls, but larger, nastier, and venomous. Geralt rustles through his satchel, looking for the elixir that will cure it. He was off balance and too slow the entire fight, and now he’s paying for it. Geralt downs the elixir and yanks his fingers through his hair, trying to get rid of some of the guts. He attempts not to think of Jaskier.

When he makes it back to the inn where he’s staying, he takes a bath before he makes his way outside to the stables to check on Roach. He gives her a solid pat along her flank before he rustles through her saddle bags, where Jaskier’s shirt lives.

He brings it up to his nose. It smells like both of them, and now Geralt finally knows what it would have smelled like if he had let Jaskier get close enough for the scents to meld together. They’d been on their way there, for sure, but Geralt had had too many hang ups for it to truly go anywhere in the short amount of time they had where they both knew how the other felt before it all went to shit.

He takes it back up to his room and puts it beside his pillow, letting the scent soothe him to sleep.

Jaskier looks down at the ruined shirt in his hands. Money has been tight since Geralt left and all Jaskier’s inspiration followed him. He hasn’t written any new songs in months, and he thinks the crowds can pick up on his melancholia no matter how many cheerful songs he performs, because his takes have been pitiful. He supposes part of the problem might be the fact that he refuses to sing about Geralt, and those had always been his most well liked songs. Jaskier always skirts around any requests for them.

He scrubs at the shirt, trying to get the last traces of blood out of it. Once he’s successful, he pulls out his needle and thread. It’s so tattered that he’s going to have to patch it, but he’s always been good at starting new fashion statements. He replaces the ripped off buttons and pokes his tongue between his teeth as he selects the fabric for the patch.

Geralt’s not sure how much time passes before he allows himself to bring the shirt out again. Time seems meaningless, and he’s taken as many contracts as possible, trying to keep busy. Roach hasn’t been happy with him, and he knows he should let her rest, so that’s why he’s packed it in for the night. The break will do him good, as well, he supposes. Assuming he can actually manage to fall asleep, which is by no means assured.

He stares out at the swamp for an hour before he breaks down and pulls out the shirt. He takes a deep sniff. It smells like him. Only him. He flings it back down in disgust.

He gets up and pauses for a second before stooping down to pick up the shirt and stuff it back in the saddlebag. He ignores Roach’s snorts of displeasure as he gets her ready to move on.

Jaskier walks along the road, trying not to cough as carriages pass him, kicking up dust in their wake. It’s not good for his vocal cords, but he hasn’t been doing much singing at all, these days, so he doesn’t let himself worry about it.

He trudges along, lyrics swirling through his mind, but the urge to stop and write them down doesn’t come to him. His toes throb from where they’re trapped in his shoes, adding to his body’s cacophony of complaints against him. He’s not sure what the next town is, but he’s more than ready to arrive.

Jaskier squints into the distance as he sees a bit of dust somewhere farther down the path. It’s moving towards him, but it’s not big enough for a caravan or even a singular carriage. It’s someone else walking alone, and Jaskier’s immediately put on guard.

His hand slips into his pocket, where he keeps his knife. He keeps his hand on it as he’s just able to make it the outline of a person dressed in all black in the distance. It feels like someone’s turned his knife on himself as it makes him think of Geralt.

The person is leading a horse, and Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat.

It can’t be… but as he gets closer, Jaskier can tell it is. He smooths his hands down his clothes uselessly and resists the urge to tame his hair into something that doesn’t look like a squirrel’s den.

He debates what to do. Geralt’s the one who left, so he must not want to see Jaskier, must be upset at this unhappy little coincidence, even if Jaskier is desperate for any sight of Geralt he can get.

Jaskier’s set to walk past him, his eyes on his feet, just a fleeting glimpse up to satisfy his curiosity—it’s plausible to say he didn’t recognize Geralt, right?—when a hand lands on his elbow.

“Why in the fuck are you wearing that shirt?” Geralt asks, and it’s such an odd question that it stops Jaskier in his tracks.

“What?” He looks down at himself.

He’s wearing the shirt he patched, and he huffs in offense. He thought he did a fine repair job. He shoulders Geralt out of the way and keeps walking.

“Wait, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it’s the closest to a plea he’s ever heard Geralt get. He stops.

“How are you?” Geralt breathes.

Jaskier just stares at him in confusion. He’s not sure what Geralt’s aim is. How is he? “How do you think I am?” he snaps.

Geralt looks cowed, and Jaskier feels bad for a fleeting moment before he remembers Geralt is the one who should be contrite. It was Geralt who left him high and dry when he needed him most.

Geralt swallows hard, and Jaskier follows his line of sight to see that Geralt’s focused on where the scar in his side is.

He lifts up his shirt so Geralt can see, forgetting to be angry for a second. “It’s healed up very nicely, if I do say so myself.”

Jaskier looks back at Geralt, but Geralt’s just staring at the scar with a haunted look. “I’m fine, Geralt,” he says in exasperation. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have been dead.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you would never have been in that situation in the first place.”

A realization starts to dawn on Jaskier. “Did you—is that why you left?”

Geralt glances down.

“Geralt, if it wasn’t for you, a cuckolded husband would have most definitely done me in before then.”

“But—”

“I’m serious,” Jaskier says, putting his hands on his hips. “You don’t get to make choices like that for me. We make them together, okay? I’ve been miserable.”

“Me, too,” Geralt grumbles, and Jaskier’s surprised at the admission.

“Good. I’m glad that’s settled, then. You didn’t have to drag it out for so long, you know.”

It seems like Jaskier shouldn’t be letting Geralt off the hook this easily, but he’s been nothing but desolate since Geralt left. He’s sick of waiting.

His magnanimity only extends so far, though, so Jaskier brushes past Geralt to pet Roach, trying to contain his smirk at the look on Geralt’s face. Jaskier pets the soft velvet of Roach’s nose, and she bumps his hand when he stops.

He rustles around in Roach’s saddlebags, looking for a treat for her. His hand brushes past some soft fabric. That’s odd; Geralt doesn’t keep any of his clothes in this saddle bag. He pulls it out, gaping at what’s in his hand. “What’s this?”

Geralt scratches the back of his neck. “I wanted a reminder of you,” he admits in a small voice.

Jaskier’s grin turns smug. Geralt was always saying how impractical his clothing was. “I thought my shirts were foolish?”

If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say there’s a blush on Geralt’s cheeks right now. “I never said that.”

“You absolutely did. Do you take it back?”

Geralt grunts, stepping into Jaskier’s space and wrapping him in a hug. “No.”

Jaskier pouts, and the resulting laughter from Geralt is something that he wants to keep hearing for the rest of his life. He hopes Geralt gives him the chance.

thank you @witcher-and-his-bard for the idea and the read over! <3 it is definitely your fault that this got so angsty, i take no responsibility

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #geraskier ficlet #contemplative writing

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konohacafe · 3 years

Text

Daylight : 01

↳ Kawaki x Sarada

" I can't lose you too . Not after everything. "

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

She could see the moon from her window. The light that bleached her room, had Sarada feel at a moments' peace as she laid on the bed, her body tucked at the edge. Wrapping her arms around herself had done nothing to quell the goosebumps that dotted the pale expanse of her skin. The sheet was thin against her petite frame, yet she pulled at its seams, trying to gather a semblance of warmth against the dropping temperature. Blankets were rare in the camp, and they had all but been distributed amongst the children and the elderly.

They were supposed to get some more in the supply run, but the team she had sent had long outrun the period of their arrival. 3 days ago. Delayed missions were usually harbingers of bad news, and worry licked its way up Sarada's spine as her thoughts once again settled on the missing team. They should've been back by now.

He should've been back by now.

Kawaki had led the run this time. He was one of the best, second only to her own mother, nevertheless, she had not been able to try and convince him to stay. To guard the camp they needed people like him, she had rationalised. He had barely acknowledged her wishes at first and even after her numerous attempts to defect him from said, he had adamantly shot her down.

"This is my duty. And whatever I am to you should not interfere with this.”

The harsh words had been like an icy dagger to her chest, and Sarada had stared at his retreating back, unable to voice the agony that twisted in her gut. She hadn't seen him since, with only Shikadai informing her about his departure.

And now, as her fingers picked along the worn threads of the duvet, she couldn't help but feel regret settle deep into her bones. The threat of losing him, made the organ beneath her breast constrict arduously, the possibility too grim for her to even comprehend.

Sarada thoughts continued to spiral until her senses suddenly felt a familiar chakra drop. Relief flooded into her veins. She would recognize it anywhere, for all the years she had spent basking in its presence. The infernal nature of it clashed against her own tender one, and tears burned at the edge of her lids. The Sharingan ached tempestuously, and it took every ounce of her chakra to will it down.

Sarada felt him before she heard his inaudible footsteps. His chakra gently nudged against her own, and like every time it took her breath away. It soothed against her consciousness, and then it halted, almost as if the bearer had realized that she was still awake.

Sarada considered the possibility of him leaving on her account but then the next moment, he was perched on the sill of the window, his back hunched and hand tightly gripping a kunai blade. The blade's edge glinted sharply amidst the twilight and when he scanned the room, if not for all the gruelling years of training, she would've missed the way his eyes softened imperceptibly when they landed on her figure.

“You're back” She breathed out. His eyes darted across the small space before he replied.

“Aa” It's blunt but hearing his voice made her heart skip a beat.

Kawaki was dressed in standard mission uniform, and Sarada could not help but notice the gashes against the front when he settled against the chair that rested in the corner of her almost bare room.

Sarada took her time to take him in, her eyes raking over his face, the scratches and then his arm that had a makeshift bandage resting across, red seeping at places. Worry bloomed beneath her breast, and she has to resist the urge to heal it herself,

Kawaki looked around the room, his eyes dodging her own eager gaze. He looks tired, she surmised, the darkness smudged beneath his eyes giving away all the nights he must have stayed on guard.

“Did everyone make out okay?”. Sarada asked curtly The responsibility that she holds entitles little intimacy and something made her feel she has indulged in way more than she deserved.

"Yes. We had to take an unexpected detour, but all of us made it back in one piece. Kousei had a worrisome wound, but he is getting treated as we speak now."

Hearing that all his teammates were safe let some weight off of her shoulders. Guilt ate away at her as she realized how she had only been fixated on the man in front of her and paid little attention to all her other comrades that were equally in danger as well.

Before she could lose herself in her self-depreciation, she asked him.

"What about your wounds?”

Kawaki's eyes met hers at that, and even in the pale moonlight, they looked as beguiling as she remembered. When he spoke, his voice was sombre.

“I will ask Sumire to look at them in the morning.”

Rejection was ugly. It made her skin prickle with jealousy, that he refused her indirect offer to help. The argument had always been the same. Each time she had proposed to soothe the ache of his injuries, he had nothing but refused her.

" Let the healers do their job. You are far more important to waste your energy on me "

His answers had never changed over the years, however, her feelings over the said hadn’t either.

It would not be a waste. Not with you. The words burned the edge of her tongue, but she swallowed them back each time. The fear of losing what they have made her bite her lip and take his refusal gratuitously even today.

But fear is a double-edged sword because in the next second she launched herself into his arms. His body jolted in surprise beneath her own, all hard planes, and bones poking underneath her ribs. Sarada swallowed back a sob that bubbles up in her throat when his palm came to softly rest on the small of her back. His fingers were embers against her skin and as her own tangled into the lighter locks at the nape of his neck, he inhaled sharply.

A part of Sarada expected Kawaki to push her away like always yet her heart constricted painfully when instead he guided his head into the curve of her neck. His warm breath fanned the expanse of the skin on her collarbone and with a flush, she realized that her state must look quite disarrayed, with a tattered vest resting against her ribs, a couple sizes too big for her.

“Sarada” Her name tumbled from Kawaki's lips, and she shuddered at the intensity behind his words.

" Don't leave me again. I cannot lose you too. Not after everything. Not after Dad and Boruto “. Sarada ached with desperation, her words bleeding with anguish.

Kawaki's own were muffled against her skin.

“I won't”. The promise empty and cruel, but Sarada clung to the words earnestly. Hope draws her like a moth to the flame, and she would let herself bask in the warmth of it when she could. In the warmth of Kawaki's arms.

" Do you think things would have been different? Back then, if we had done something? “. Sarada couldn't help but let the hurt seep into her words. The question eats away at her every waking moment, and this is not the first time she has asked him this.

As always, his lips stretched into a thin line, and he didn't answer. But for the first time, she felt the way his heartbeat stuttered beneath the soft of her palms.

And when Kawaki's lips brushed against the top of her head gently, Sarada gasped audibly. They felt cold yet softer than she imagined, brushing above her brows almost carelessly, and then he is gone, with nothing left behind but red cheeks and a whisper of something her mother would've called love.

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