#2-person office furniture | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghstyles · 1 month ago

Text

Safe | His Angel

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 3.4k

Summary: Your turn to get drunk and make confessions that only the alcohol can pull out

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

It's been two weeks since Harry's uncharacteristic drunken confessions, and true to Y/N's prediction, he remembered almost nothing the next morning beyond the fact that he'd called her and she'd come over. She's kept his vulnerable admissions to herself, treasuring them privately while watching him return to his usual controlled demeanor as if nothing had happened.

Tonight, however, the roles are reversed. Y/N has been out celebrating the end of finals with her college friends, the relief of completing her semester meriting more drinks than she typically allows herself. By midnight, when her friends suggest moving to another bar, Y/N decides she's had enough and opts to head home instead.

But once in the taxi, sitting alone with her thoughts swimming pleasantly through a haze of tequila shots and fruity cocktails, she finds herself giving the driver Harry's address instead of her own. It's late, nearly 1 AM, but the pull to see him is stronger than her better judgment.

In the elevator up to Harry's penthouse, Y/N checks her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her hair is slightly tousled, her eyes bright with intoxication, a flush spreading across her cheeks. She's wearing a form-fitting black dress that hits mid-thigh, with a neckline just low enough to be enticing without being overtly revealing. It’s a balance she's learned to strike since dating someone who gets territorial when other men look at her too long.

Using her key, Y/N lets herself into Harry's penthouse quietly, not sure if he's still awake. The main living area is dimly lit, but she can see the familiar sight of light spilling from his office. Harry rarely sleeps before 2 or 3 AM, always working, always planning, always one step ahead of potential threats.

She makes her way toward the office, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floors. At the door, she pauses, suddenly struck by an uncharacteristic wave of self-consciousness. What if he's busy? What if he's annoyed by her dropping by unannounced? What if—

Before she can finish the thought, the door swings open, revealing Harry standing there in black slacks and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, his forearms marked with the intricate tattoos she's come to know by heart. His expression shifts from alertness to surprise, then to something warmer as he takes in the sight of her.

"Angel," he says, his voice that familiar low rumble that never fails to send a shiver down her spine. "This is unexpected."

Y/N sways slightly on her feet, steadying herself against the doorframe with a smile that's a little looser, a little more uninhibited than usual.

"Hi," she says, then giggles—actually giggles—at how inadequate the greeting sounds. "Surprise."

Harry's eyes narrow slightly as he studies her, immediately assessing her state. "You're drunk," he observes, no judgment in his tone, just that characteristic directness.

"Mmhmm," Y/N confirms, nodding perhaps a bit too emphatically. "Finals are over. We were celebrating. I wanted to see you."

Without further comment, Harry steps back, making space for her to enter his office. It's a familiar room to her now with its the massive desk of dark wood, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and the leather furniture that manages to be both imposing and comfortable. There are papers spread across the desk, alongside a laptop and a single glass containing what looks like whiskey.

"Working late?" Y/N asks, moving past him into the room, trailing her fingers along the edge of his desk as she passes.

"Always," Harry replies simply, closing the door behind her. He leans against it, arms crossed, watching her with that intense focus that makes her feel like she's the only person in the world. "Did you need something?"

Y/N turns to face him, her inhibitions lowered enough that she doesn't second-guess herself as she saunters toward him, a playful smile on her lips.

"Do I have to need something?" she asks, stopping just in front of him, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "What if I wanted to call to hear your sexy voice?"

A slight smirk tugs at the corner of Harry's mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You didn't call. You showed up at my door at one in the morning, drunk and looking like that."

"Like what?" Y/N challenges, placing her hands on his crossed arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Harry uncrosses his arms, placing his hands on her waist instead, his touch firm but gentle as he steadies her slight swaying.

"Like trouble," he replies, his voice dropping lower. "The kind of trouble I'm particularly fond of."

Y/N laughs, the sound light and uninhibited as she leans into him, resting her forehead against his chest.

"I missed you," she admits, the alcohol making her more forthcoming with her feelings than usual. "We've both been so busy lately. You with your... business things, me with finals. I just wanted to see your face."

Harry's hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair in that possessive yet tender way that's become so familiar.

"You could have called," he points out reasonably. "I would have sent a car."

Y/N tilts her head back to look up at him, her lips quirking into a mischievous smile. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm a strong, independent woman. I can get myself to my boyfriend's place without assistance."

"Strong, independent, and drunk off her ass," Harry adds dryly, but there's affection in his tone.

"Only a little drunk," Y/N protests, then immediately undermines her argument by losing her balance slightly as she steps back, saved from stumbling only by Harry's quick reflexes, his hands tightening on her waist.

"A little," he agrees sarcastically, guiding her toward the leather couch against the wall. "Sit before you fall, angel."

Y/N allows herself to be led to the couch, sinking into the soft leather with a contented sigh. "You're so bossy," she complains without heat, kicking off her heels and tucking her feet up beside her.

"Someone has to be the responsible one tonight," Harry replies, moving to his desk and closing his laptop, then picking up his whiskey glass. "Clearly it's not going to be you."

He returns to the couch, sitting beside her close enough that their thighs touch, and offers her the glass. "Water would be smarter, but if you're already drunk, one sip won't hurt. And this is better than whatever cheap shots you were doing with your friends."

Y/N accepts the glass, taking a small sip and wincing slightly at the burn. "Tequila, mostly," she admits. "And something blue in a fishbowl glass that tasted like candy but was definitely stronger than it seemed."

Harry shakes his head, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "Amateur move, falling for the sweet drinks. Those will fuck you up faster than anything."

"Well, I'm not a professional drinker like some people," Y/N teases, nudging him with her elbow before taking another small sip of his whiskey and handing the glass back.

Harry accepts it, setting it on the side table before turning his attention fully to her. "So, finals are over," he says, his hand coming to rest on her bare knee, thumb tracing small circles on her skin. "How did they go?"

The simple question, the genuine interest in her academic life, makes Y/N's heart swell with affection. This is the side of Harry that few people get to see. The attentive listener, the man who remembers details about her courses and professors despite his own chaotic and dangerous world.

"Good, I think," she says, leaning into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "The literature analysis was challenging, but I felt prepared. The photography portfolio review went really well. My professor said my urban decay series was 'evocative and haunting.'"

"It is," Harry agrees, his arm sliding around her shoulders, pulling her closer against his side. "You have an eye for finding beauty in broken things."

The casual compliment, delivered in that matter-of-fact tone he uses when stating what he considers obvious truths, warms Y/N more than the alcohol in her system.

"Is that why you like me?" she asks, the question slipping out before she can censor it, the tequila loosening her tongue. "Because I find beauty in broken things?"

Harry goes still beside her for a moment, then shifts to look down at her face, his expression suddenly serious.

"Is that what you think? That you're with me because I'm broken and you're trying to find something beautiful in it?"

Y/N blinks up at him, realizing belatedly how her question might have sounded. "No, that's not what I meant," she says quickly, reaching up to touch his face, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "You're not broken, Harry. Complex, yes. Dangerous, definitely. But not broken."

His expression remains guarded, those eyes that miss nothing studying her intently. "Then what did you mean?"

Y/N sighs, struggling to articulate her thoughts through the pleasant haze of alcohol. "I just meant... you're scary sometimes, you know that?"

Something flickers in Harry's eyes. Was it surprise, perhaps, or concern?. "How?" he asks, the single word carrying weight, a demand for honesty.

Y/N shifts, sitting up straighter to look at him directly, her hand still resting against his face.

"Not in the way you think," she clarifies. "Not because of what you do, or who you are to other people. You're scary because... because of how you make me feel. How much I care about you. How much it would hurt if—" She cuts herself off, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable.

Harry's hand comes up to cover hers, pressing her palm more firmly against his cheek. "If what, angel?" he prompts, his voice gentler now, coaxing.

Y/N feels unexpected tears spring to her eyes, the alcohol amplifying her emotions, breaking down the careful walls she usually maintains around her deepest insecurities.

"If you left," she whispers, the tears spilling over despite her attempt to blink them back. "I'm just scared that one day you'll realize I'm too boring for you and then you'll leave. Please don't leave."

The naked vulnerability in her voice, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks, transforms Harry's expression completely. The guardedness vanishes, replaced by a fierce tenderness that few people have ever witnessed.

"Come here," he says roughly, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion, cradling her against his chest as if she's something infinitely precious. "Look at me, Y/N."

She raises her tear-streaked face to his, sniffling slightly, feeling both foolish and relieved to have voiced the fear that's been lurking in the back of her mind for months.

"First of all," Harry says, his voice low and intense as he wipes her tears away with his thumbs, "you are many things, but boring has never been and will never be one of them. You challenge me, surprise me, fascinate me every fucking day."

He presses a kiss to her forehead, then continues:

"Second, I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand? What we have isn't temporary for me. It's not a phase or a passing interest or a convenient arrangement. It's everything."

The conviction in his voice, the rare directness about his feelings, makes fresh tears well in Y/N's eyes.

"You're just saying that because I'm crying," she mumbles, burying her face against his neck. "You hate when I cry."

Harry's chest rumbles with a low chuckle. "I do hate when you cry," he agrees, his hand stroking soothingly up and down her back. "But I'm not just saying it. I'm telling you the truth. You think I give keys to my place to just anyone? You think I let just anyone see me like this, no guards, no pretenses?"

Y/N shakes her head against his neck, her tears dampening the collar of his shirt.

"I have never let anyone as close as I've let you," Harry continues, his voice taking on that edge of intensity that indicates absolute seriousness. "Not in business, not in my personal life. Never. You're not something temporary to me, Y/N. You're it."

She pulls back slightly to look at him, her eyes still shining with tears but a small, hopeful smile beginning to form on her lips.

"I am?" she asks, sounding so young, so vulnerable that Harry feels something in his chest constrict painfully.

"You are," he confirms, cupping her face in his hands. "And I'm not leaving. If anything, I'm the one who should be worried about you coming to your senses and realizing you could do better than a man like me."

Y/N's expression shifts to one of indignation, the alcohol making her emotions swing rapidly.

"Better than you? There's no one better than you," she insists with drunken conviction, poking him in the chest for emphasis. "You're perfect."

Harry can't help the laugh that escapes him. Its a genuine, unguarded sound rarely heard by anyone outside this room.

"I'm many things, angel, but perfect is definitely not one of them," he says, catching her finger before she can poke him again. "I'm possessive, controlling, dangerous, and involved in things that would terrify you if you knew the full extent."

"I know exactly who you are," Y/N counters, echoing the words she spoke to him during his own drunken vulnerability two weeks ago, though she doesn't realize the parallel. "And I love who you are. All of it."

The declaration, spoken so plainly, so without calculation, makes Harry go still again, his eyes searching hers.

"Even the parts that scare you?" he asks quietly.

Y/N nods, reaching up to push a strand of hair back from his forehead in a tender gesture.

"Especially those parts," she confirms. "Because they're what make you, you. The man who would do anything to protect what's his. The man who never backs down, never shows weakness to anyone but me."

Harry studies her face for a long moment, as if memorizing every detail, before leaning in to kiss her. It's a gentle kiss, almost reverent, lacking the usual hunger and possession that characterize most of their physical interactions.

When he pulls back, there's something in his eyes Y/N can't quite name. A vulnerability that mirrors her own, perhaps, or a decision being made.

"Stay tonight," he says, not a question but not quite a command either.

"I was planning to," Y/N admits with a small smile, her tears forgotten now. "I didn't bring a change of clothes, though."

"You won't need clothes," Harry replies, that familiar smirk returning to his lips as his hands tighten possessively on her waist.

Y/N laughs, the sound light and happy, her earlier insecurities soothed by his reassurances and the physical comfort of being in his arms.

"So confident," she teases, shifting in his lap to straddle him, her dress riding up her thighs.

"With good reason," Harry counters, his hands sliding up her bare thighs to the edge of her dress, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. "But first, water. And food, if you've haven't eaten. I'm not taking advantage of you while you're drunk off your ass."

Y/N pouts playfully, draping her arms around his neck. "It's not taking advantage if I'm begging for it."

"Even so," Harry says firmly, though his eyes darken at her words. "Water first. Then we'll see about the begging."

With surprising gentleness, he lifts her off his lap and stands, extending a hand to help her up.

"Fine," Y/N concedes with an exaggerated sigh, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. "Water, food, then you can have your wicked way with me."

"My wicked way," Harry repeats, amusement coloring his tone as he leads her toward the door. "You've been reading those romance novels again, haven't you?"

"Maybe," Y/N admits with a grin, leaning into him as they walk, his arm secure around her waist. "They give me ideas."

Harry glances down at her, his expression a mixture of amusement and heat. "We don't need books for ideas, angel. I have plenty of my own."

As they make their way to the kitchen, Y/N feels a profound sense of contentment settle over her. The insecurities that had bubbled to the surface with the alcohol haven't disappeared completely, they rarely do, but they've been soothed by Harry's reassurances, by the steady strength of his presence beside her.

In the kitchen, Harry fills a glass with water and hands it to her, watching with satisfaction as she drinks it all. Then he moves to the refrigerator, pulling out cold pasta from a restaurant they'd ordered from the night before.

"Eat," he instructs, setting the container in front of her with a fork. "You'll thank me in the morning when you're not praying for death."

Y/N takes a bite obediently, suddenly realizing she is hungry after all. "So bossy," she says again, but her tone is affectionate.

"You like when I'm bossy," Harry points out, leaning against the counter across from her, arms crossed as he watches her eat.

"I like everything about you," Y/N admits, the alcohol still making her more forthcoming than usual. "Even when you're being a controlling asshole."

"Especially then," Harry corrects her with a knowing smirk.

Y/N blushes but doesn't deny it, focusing on her pasta instead. After a few more bites, she looks up at him, her expression turning serious again.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"For the pasta?" Harry asks, though his eyes indicate he knows that's not what she means.

"For making me feel safe," Y/N clarifies. "For letting me be vulnerable without making me feel weak for it."

Something flickers in Harry's eyes, a rare glimpse of that same vulnerability he allows no one else to see.

"You're the strongest person I know," he says simply. "Nothing could make you weak in my eyes."

The statement, delivered with such matter-of-fact conviction, warms Y/N from the inside out. She sets down her fork, suddenly no longer interested in food.

"I think I've had enough water and pasta," she says, pushing the container away and standing, moving around the counter to where Harry stands. "Take me to bed now."

Harry's eyes darken as she approaches, but he remains still, letting her come to him.

"Bossy," he says, echoing her earlier accusation, but there's heat in his voice now.

"You like when I'm bossy," Y/N counters, using his own words against him as she reaches him, pressing her body against his.

Harry's hands come to her waist automatically, holding her against him as he looks down at her with that intensity that never fails to make her breath catch.

"I like everything about you," he admits, his voice low and rough. "Even when you show up at my door drunk in the middle of the night, crying about fears that have no basis in reality."

Y/N smiles up at him, her earlier insecurities feeling distant now in the face of his steady presence.

"Good," she says simply, rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to his jaw. "Because I'm not going anywhere either."

Without warning, Harry bends and scoops her up into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. Y/N lets out a surprised laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carries her toward the bedroom.

"I can walk, you know," she points out, though she makes no move to get down.

"I know," Harry says, pushing open the bedroom door with his shoulder. "But this way is faster. And I've waited long enough."

As he lays her gently on the bed, looking down at her with a mixture of possessiveness and something deeper, more profound, Y/N feels the last of her drunken insecurities fade away. In their place is only certainty that this man, with all his complexities and dangers and fierce protectiveness, is exactly where she belongs.

And as Harry joins her on the bed, his movements deliberate and focused entirely on her, Y/N knows with absolute clarity that her earlier fears were unfounded. Harry Styles isn't going anywhere. And neither is she.

Taglist:@silastylesswiftb@babegoalsn@harryssunflower17n@puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart @harrysguccihandbag @mads3502 @harrydeary @valuunit @myfavfanficsever @lunaharrygurl @prettygurl-2009

#ghstyles #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #his angel #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #one direction #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb

442 notes · View notes

cynosdaydream · 2 months ago

Text

LOSER'S GAMBIT! - PART 2

The past is now a memory - acknowledge its beauty, but don't get too caught up in it.

Now playing: Infinity - One direction

Word count: 3.4k Author's note: Hihi! I hope part 2 is to your liking, as i tried to get this out as fast as possible. Hence, it's not quite proofread, so if theres any mistakes or errors, feel free to dm me! Part 1 / Part 2 (you are here) Desc: sylus x f!non-mc!reader, mentions of past zayne x reader, zayne x mc, canon compliant violence, slight descriptions of injury

It had been a few months since you broke up with Zayne. You moved your belongings out of your shared apartment shortly after you split, finding an apartment near your workplace. It was simple, but definitely not constricting. The apartment had enough space for all of your furniture and belongings, and even had some extra space for miscellaneous items. It only took a few weeks for you to personalise your house, turning it into a home with all of your interests and parts of your personality displayed on the walls and floors of the apartment. That was your safe space, the place where you could wind down, relax and collect your thoughts – especially after your breakup.

You spent some time thinking about it for days after the incident. It hurt to leave, it really did. Your relationship with Zayne felt like something out of a slow-burn story sometimes, with fleeting touches and prolonged eye contact before sheepishly looking away. Heated kisses in his office where anybody could walk in, but neither of you could care enough to stop.

But the keyword was sometimes. A large portion of your communication with him consisted of quick texts and calls that were more often than not cut short. And due to both your schedules being packed to the brim for the most part, actual dates that weren’t impromptu and random were few and far between.

However, the thing that hurt the most to think about was MC. You didn’t hold a grudge against her (how could you ever, when Zayne spoke about her with such fondness?) , but you were definitely always walking on eggshells whenever she was brought up by Zayne. Whenever he would cancel plans for MC, when he would work into ungodly hours of the night for MC, when he would come home absolutely drenched like a wet dog because MC dragged him out to dance in the rain – all of this made your heart ache. And on lonelier nights, it stung just the slightest bit more.

Nevertheless, after you took the time to heal and reflect on yourself, the constant stinging slowly numbed into the occasional dull ache. The initial sorrow had slowly subsided, but small remnants of it remained with you for weeks after. You would find yourself subconsciously holding out an apple in the kitchen, patiently waiting for someone to take it out of your hands and peel it for you. However, you slowly put the fruit down in realisation that there was no one there to do it now.

Whatever. I’ll get over it soon enough.

And you really did. The following months, you spent a lot more time going out with your friends, and making many new ones, and you, Tara, and Simone had grown a whole lot closer. Their reactions when you broke the news of your breakup to them were priceless, though.

Tara was in complete shock for a good minute, then flew into a flaming rage, cursing your ex-boyfriend out with exaggerated hand movements. “That – that’s outrageous! I didn’t expect doctor Zayne to be that type of person!” she yelped, making an offensive gesture, as if demonstrating what she would do to him if he were there. Simone seemed to skip the ‘shock’ part, and went straight to bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” She spoke, voice laced with anger. “Both Tara and I would have knocked some sense into him. I don’t care who he is or how prestigious his title is, he doesn’t just get to treat you like that.” Tara nodded frantically behind her. You just laughed in spite of it all, not in a mocking way, but you were just overjoyed that your friends cared so much about you. “Everything’s alright now, though. Thank you for worrying about me, but don’t go around trying to attack him!”

You were even spending more time with the stranger you had met at the restaurant on the day you were stood up. Sylus. He was a charming individual, with captivating crimson eyes and an intimidating demeanor. The more you two met up, the closer you got. (was that a slight smirk he had on his face when you told him you broke up with Zayne or were you going crazy?) From barely knowing his favourite colour, by your 5th outing, he told you about his occupation, albeit hesitantly.

The topic came up when he asked you about your job, and you shot the question right back at him after you told him about your profession as a hunter. You can still remember it as clearly as day, sometimes reminiscing about that memory during work, when you were particularly bored. Today was a slow day, with you stuck at your desk doing paperwork, and you find your mind drifting elsewhere…

“Enough about me, what do you do for a living, Sylus? I don’t imagine the money for those designer clothes comes from thin air.” You had jested, poking him. “Well, you’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” At first, he seemed unwilling to tell you, and even lied about running a business selling various things like fruit and technology. You called him out on it pretty quickly, and he did not seem pleased. “Such intuition. Maybe you should consider switching professions to become a private investigator.” He said, lips quirked up into a grin. But his smile dropped only moments later, and you were afraid you had pushed too far. “Wait! If you really don’t want to tell me, it’s totally fine. I wouldn’t want to be too nosy.” You scrambled for the right words, a little nervous that you had put some distance between you and your new friend.

To your surprise, Sylus merely chuckled, and with a beat of hesitance, said, “Alright, I can tell you’re curious. But I should warn you, what I’m about to tell you isn’t exactly something I can just say out in the open. Promise me that what I’m about to tell you will stay between us, okay?” You nodded your head enthusiastically, waiting patiently for him to spill. “I swear!” Sylus chuckles lightly. “You’re too cute.” He mutters, voice barely audible. Were your ears playing tricks on you? Then, he continues, this time just slightly louder so that only you could hear.

"Alright, if you really must know...I work for a rather unconventional organization. It’s not exactly legal. We deal with… illegal things, like modified protocores and arms trading." You gasped in surprise, not expecting that answer. But your opinion of him didn’t change, and you didn’t feel scared of him just because of his line of work.

“That sounds really dangerous. But take care of yourself, okay? I can’t have my new friend dying on me.” You joke lightheartedly. His reply is immediate. "Don’t worry. I'm used to taking care of myself.” And you don’t know if the wind was blowing too loudly past your ears that day, but you could’ve sworn that you heard a soft and I need to be in my best condition to protect you.

Pulling yourself back into work, you could feel your heart beating faster just because of that memory. What were you thinking? That’s literally your friend! You thought, and your train of thought slowly drifted to Sylus’ striking appearance, the way he carried himself with such confidence, the way he would cover the bill when you went out to eat together no matter how much you protested… What’s wrong with you today?? You pinched yourself, immediately launching back into work to distract yourself from such scandalous thoughts. Even if you found him attractive, and even if you hypothetically (is it really?) liked him, there’s no way he would like you back, right? Besides, he would only be putting you and himself at risk if you were to date due to his dangerous profession. You shivered just thinking about all the enemies he had made coming for you if you were dating.

“___!” You heard your name being called out by one of your captains, and you were pulled to the side with a few of your co-workers to be told that you would be sent on a risky mission in 2 days – to the area where the outskirts of Linkon and the start of the N109 zone met. Apparently, there had been a sudden surge of wanderers in the area for unknown reasons, and your job was to try to find the source of all these wanderers and hopefully take some of them down. “Is that understood?” The captain addresses your group after the sudden briefing, and you all nod in understanding. You were not looking forward to this.

On the day itself, you were geared up to the max, taking numerous precautions in case something went wrong. You had your light armour reinforced the previous day, and had a few different types of medicine to treat wounds. Though you had been on dangerous missions before, the thought of fighting in what was basically uncharted territory still scared you a bit. You pressed your arms firmly against your pants to steel your nerves. “Okay, let’s do this.”

The mission started off relatively tame, with you and your team eliminating a few low-grade wanderers and noting down information about them. You would even describe it as uneventful, as it was basically the same thing you did on a daily basis.

That was until there was an ominous growling coming from behind a large rock pile, and from it emerged a beast of a wanderer. As it rose from the rocks, it stood tall, almost three times an average person's height -- a monstrous mix of a scorpion and a dragon, with glacier blue spikes sticking out if its body, with a menacing icicle-like stinger to match. "Watch out!" You heard your teammates shout, alerting the rest of your group. The wanderer itself was daunting enough, and the fact that it's cries were drawing the attention of smaller wanderers was not helping at all. However, your team was capable, and they quickly launched into action, some of them taking on the main wanderer, and some of them eliminating the smaller threats so they won't hinder the main task at hand.

You were one of the ones battling the scorpion-dragon hybrid of a wanderer. In the first 10 minutes or so, the few of you managed to damage it quite a good bit, managing to somehow slice off its stinger with carefully coordinated attacks. A few injuries were sustained by your teammates, but the remedies you stored on you came in handy.

In the end, you couldn't keep up with the wanderer forever. For some reason, this one had insane regenerative abilities. Besides its stinger, whatever damage that your team had done to it was covered up and healed by shiny blue crystals within an instant. Its attacks were relentless as well, shooting sharp spine-like crystals at all of you endlessly, and wildly swinging its limbs around. After realising that there was no way you guys could defeat this abomination of nature without more ammunition and manpower, you and your teammates tried to flee the site. You had gotten a decent amount of information on the wanderers in the area anyway.

However, the wanderer wouldn't let up, letting out seething hisses as it chased after your team with its powerful wings. You could see your teammates' stamina slowly depleting, and you felt helpless.

So, you came up with the most ridiculous plan you've ever thought of.

"The rest of you just run! I'll try my best to hold it off." You yell to your teammates, drawing your weapon once again. This was met with exclamations of protest from them, but you quickly shut them down. "Just hurry and run! Go and report back to headquarters and try to get help as soon as possible!" With a look of concern on their face, one of them nodded and assured you, "We'll do our best. Stay alive, ___!" And with that, they picked up their pace significantly and got into the vehicle back to the hunter's association.

Fuck. You were stupid as hell. Maybe you should've asked one of your teammates to stay with you to take care of this thing, but it was too late now. You narrowly dodged the wanderer's crystals, trying to land hits on it at the same time. However, it was too agile, and every hit you tried to land was a gamble. The feeling of dread was overwhelming as you grew more and more fatigued, and your arms felt like lead as you tried to steady them to get an accurate hit.

Ouch. What was that feeling in your chest? Your breathing was so laboured that it was hard to focus on any other feeling other than your lungs compressing and your arms sagging down. Borderline hyperventilating, you look down for a moment, only to see a pale blue icicle lodged into your abdomen, slowly being stained crimson by your blood. Shit. Now you could feel the pain. You cried out, too disoriented to even notice the tall figure in the distance hopping off a motorcycle and rushing towards your direction.

Your vision blurred, and you found yourself collapsing to the ground. But you weren't unconscious, not yet. This is where I die. You thought. You were already accepting fate as you awaited one last sharp icicle through your heart to end it all, but it never came. Instead, from what you could make out from the shapes and colours in your vision, the wanderer seemed to have dropped to the floor as well. How ironic.

The last thing you remember was a strangely familiar voice calling out your name repeatedly, shaking you awake. "___! ___! Can you hear me?" The voice called out worriedly. You felt compelled to respond, to assure them that you were alive and breathing, but the abyss consuming your thoughts seemed to beckon you in warmly, and you couldn't help but shut your eyes and give in...

Blinking a few times in rapid succession, the first thing you recognised was the smell of medicine, and the feeling of being carried in someone's arms. Then your vision began to come back, and soon enough, the lights of a hospital seared across your corneas, blinding you momentarily. When you could finally see clearly, you craned your head only to realise you were being rushed into... Akso hospital? Impossible. Weren't you just in the N109 zone?

You looked up to question your teammates about it, but as you drifted your gaze upwards to your carrier, you saw... Sylus?! Your face heated up at the sight of your friend (crush..ahem...) carrying you bridal style. His ruby red eyes snapped to yours, and you noticed his pupils dilating as he saw that you were awake. "__, you're awake." He heaved a sigh of relief, but his pace never faltered. Even though your throat was parched, you still managed to cough out a few sentences. "Sylus... why are we at Akso hospital? How did you find me?" You coughed out.

He went silent for a moment. "I happened to be in the area when I saw what happened. And it was very fortunate I was. But there's no readily available medical services near the outskirts of the N109 zone, so my first instinct was to bring you to the city." Sylus explained softly. "Please save your voice, __. Your condition sounds terrible."

Soon enough, he stopped in front of a room. It looked... weirdly familiar. Wasting no time, Sylus didn't bother to knock but wordlessly entered the room and laid you down on the treatment bed while explaining to the doctor what happened, scarily calm.

"...what? This is..." you heard the doctor mutter, and his voice sounded breathless, and it was followed by frantic scribbling of pen on paper. You gently turned your head to the left, trying to identify the doctor in the room. That's when you locked eyes with Zayne. His eyes widened, and he quickly looked away, as if your gaze had scorched him. You could see Sylus' eyebrow raise in the corner of your eye and the look on his face when he realised who Zayne was. And then you spotted a mischievous smirk growing on his face.

However, Zayne wasted no time in making his way to you, applying various ointments and creams to injuries on your skin, and bandaging where you had gotten injured by the icicle through your chest. You could feel his usually steady hands tremble as he tightened the bandage, his breathing ever so slightly uneven. After he was done, he gave you a cup of water, and the pain had definitely been alleviated by a significant amount.

After a thorough (and very awkward) check-up under Sylus' watchful eye, you were ordered to visit the hospital once for a check-up for 3 days, and if your condition improved, you could stop coming back. "One last thing. May I know what your relationship with the patient is? We need to know this for documentation purposes." Zayne addresses Sylus, pen in hand. Sylus glances at you, then glances back at Zayne.

"I'm her boyfriend." Sylus states proudly, smirking at you.

Zayne looked taken aback, a frown barely visible on his face as he wrote it down, his pen hitting the clipboard harder than usual. Then, he simply nodded, and gestured for Sylus to leave the room, but for you to remain. "I need to speak to the patient privately." Zayne said. Sylus shot him a curious look, then turned to you. "Will you be alright by yourself, dear?" He quips endearingly.

You only laugh, replying, "It'll be quick, don't worry. Right, doctor Zayne?" To which the dark-haired man nodded stiffly. Sylus huffs playfully, and winks at you before exiting the room.

Once the door clicks shut, Zayne turns to face you. "It's been a while." He begins, treading carefully. "It has. What exactly do you have to speak to me about privately?" You ask coldly, a stark contrast to your warm tone with your supposed boyfriend just now.

A beat of silence ensues. "Who's that?" Zayne finally asks. You were getting annoyed now. This was less than professional of him. "Didn't you hear him? Sylus is my boyfriend." You enunciate your last sentence word by word. The doctor looked displeased; his lips pressed into a thin line and his grip on the table tightening before he said, "I didn't know you found another boyfriend fast. Is that why you ended things between us?"

You sigh. This conversation was exhilarating. "Look, Zayne. You don't have a place in my life to care about what I do anymore and who I'm with. And I didn't end things with you because I had feelings for another person - hell, I didn't even know him when we were dating!" You spat; venom interjected into your voice. For a second, he tried to retaliate, but just ended up looking like a fool as no words came out of his mouth in his defense.

"Stop trying to victimize yourself, and stop trying to paint me as the villain by insinuating that I ended things because I had feelings for someone else. We broke up because you clearly didn't have enough time for me, end of story."

A knock at the door prevented you from going even further, from making sure your words left a dent in that dense head of his. A cheerful voice called from outside, "Zayne! I have your lunch with me, open up~!" Ah.

You took that as your cue to leave, leaving behind a stunned Zayne as you curtly bowed your head at MC while going out the door.

"__." You heard your name being called. Turning to the side, you were met with Sylus, grinning like the Chesire cat. "Sylus." You smirk at him. "Soo... my boyfriend, huh?" You question flippantly. "Yes. Although, you must give me another chance to properly confess my feelings to you. That just now... forget it ever happened. Someone like you deserves an extravagant confession, so wait patiently, alright?"

Hearing this, your eyes widened as you stared blankly at him. You could feel your face warming up, the reality of it all sinking in. "What, cat got your tongue?" Sylus purrs, pressing a kiss on the corner of your lips. "You're so forward!" You exclaim, putting your hands on his chest to push him away from your embarrassed form.

"That I am. Don't lie, you like it." He teases, making you even more flustered. "Maybe I do." You shoot back, linking arms with him.

"Do you want to go back to your apartment to watch some movies and get some rest? My motorcycle is parked outside the hospital, just make sure to hold on tight. I'll go slow."

"I thought you'd never ask."

taglist: @noxellaa , @boopershnooper , @aboobie , @blorbohunter , @notisekais , @justpassingdontworry

#zayne x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #zayne angst #zayne x mc #sylus x you #sylus angst #sylus fluff #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace zayne #sylus #zayne

534 notes · View notes

honey-tongued-devil · 6 months ago

Text

↠The last drop tour

This tour was designed to allow those who write and read fanfiction to finally visualize the Last Drop and have a solid map in hand. Specifically, I created it for a personal need, for my fanfiction Everytime It Rains, which you can read by clicking the title. This is part two, where you can see Silco's office in detail. Welcome back from your favorite guide, and enjoy!

Did you get something to drink? I hope so, because it's really packed in here. So, where did we leave off? We were supposed to enter the office, right? Well, sisters, and bros, and non-binary hoes, welcome!

Let's start from the left; I know it's a bit chaotic, but this is where Sevika used to come to drink even when Silco wasn't around, waiting for him faithfully. All those bottles are hers. The rug is from Piltover, you've probably recognized it, along with the iconic Last Drop glasses. That sturdy piece of furniture you see there, closer to his desk, is his safe. No one has the code except for him, me, and now you (it's 937). Since we're here, I might as well open it.

Face down, there's a photo depicting Vander, Silco, and Felicia on the bridge when they were younger—certainly well before Felicia got pregnant, given the length of Silco's hair. That strange map is a map of the mine tunnels, a relic from his past as a miner. And finally, the LP is "Our Love," ironically Vander's favorite song (as Jinx mentions in Jinx Fixes Everything), as well as Felicia's, Silco's, and Jinx's. It's in the safe because Silco treasures that vinyl so much that he doesn't leave it where it could get destroyed; he keeps it protected.

But let's close it up and move on. Here it is, the iconic desk. Since I'm a generous guide, I'll let you circle around it so you can see it from every angle. On top, there's the map of Piltover with the mug that Jinx made for him, while in the drawer, there's a mask to filter out the gray, the smog of Zaun, and a card that I think was used for blackmail. I can't say for sure, but it seems to be part of the man's shady dealings.

Next to his desk, on the right, there are two doors. They're not accessible, but since I doubt he'd want anyone to have such direct access to his office, in my fanfiction at least, there will be a room behind them with a double bed and some of his belongings.

But let's move on to the last piece! The huge map of Piltover and zaun with which he planned the export of Shimmer and weapons, where he kept track of everything that happened.

If you enjoyed or found this little tour useful, let me know, and feel free to check out my headcanons or my longfic! This tour has come to an end, but I might have material to create more in the future!

606 notes · View notes

purplecoffee13 · 1 year ago

Text

Please, Please, Please - pt.1

Summary: “Harry is utterly fascinated by his new neighbor, Y/N, and takes it upon himself to protect her. But little does Y/N know, that Harry may be the person she is supposed to be running from…”

Wc: 5.6k

Tropes: good girl x bad boy / neighbors

Warnings: mentions of violence, cursing, bit of gaslighting.

A/N: THIS IS A TWO PART ONE SHOT based on this request. Please note that it is based around the MUSIC VIDEO, not necessarily the song itself! I decided to cut it up into two parts, because it was getting awfully long, and I was too eager to share it with you. Next part will be steamy!

General Masterlist

PART 2

You sigh, looking up at your new home. Well— you think. You're not exactly sure which window is yours, but you will figure it out once you're on the right floor. You adjust the duffel bag that is slung over your shoulder, and grab your suitcase before walking towards the entrance.

With your new set of keys which you got from the landlord yesterday, you open the door to the lobby. Or, hallway with post boxes. That would definitely be a more accurate way to describe it.

When you were little and fantasized about moving into a place of your own, you have to admit, you did imagine something a bit less... intimidating. Unfortunately, you had been left with no choice.

Ever since your dad died about five years ago, your mother has been serial dating like there was no tomorrow. You had learned to ignore the different men in your kitchen, eating the cereal and drinking your coffee at 7am, but lately something had changed.

Your mother had stuck with one man.

Sadly for you—and your mother, although she wasn't ready to admit that—the guy was a fucking prick. Worst thing about him? He was sneaky about it. When you confronted your mother, telling her you weren't sure if her new boyfriend was that good of a guy, she had flipped out. As she threw all kinds of accusations on the table, such as you not wanting her to be happy and even insinuating you want her boyfriend for herself, you decided that enough was enough.

That night, you hunted the internet for an affordable place. It's how you found this apartment. You knew it wasn't the best neighborhood, but it was a place of your own, and you were sure that you could make it on your own over there.

After all, you had a well paid office job not too far away, and the costs of the apartment wouldn't interfere too much with your saving for law school.

So, kind of on a whim, you contacted the landlord. And now, here you are, ready to unpack all of your stuff. Your mother had at least been so kind to hire a moving truck, but you think it mainly had to do with her wanting you out of her house as quick as possible. You shared the sentiment, so you hadn't said much about it, besides a polite thank you of course.

It takes you three hours to get everything upstairs, and the janitor, Rod, even helps you out with some of the big furniture. Being a tall, broad guy, appearing to be in his sixties, you had actually been quite unnerved by him. Nevertheless, you decided to play smart and throw him a sweet smile the first time you ran into him. It had faded the seemingly permanent frown on his ever so slightly, and after introducing yourself, his face was even neutral.

It didn't take more than three minutes of chit chat before Rod had warmed up to you, and by the end of the fifteen minutes, he offered to help you. If it hadn't been for him, you would've still been carrying pieces of your couch into your apartment.

You had been able to take over the bed frame and the dining table from the previous owner, so you only had to put your mattress on your bed before you could let yourself fall on it and chill out for a while.

After letting yourself rest for about fifteen minutes, you unpack as much of the stuff in the kitchen, and you spend the rest of the night unpacking your clothes while dancing to the music that blasts through your headphones.

At around midnight, you pass out during a feeble attempt at sorting your socks.

Your peaceful slumber gets interrupted, however, by an array of less peaceful noises coming from another apartment. The first few minutes awake are spent with your eyes stubbornly closed, hoping to fall asleep again, but when you hear an extremely loud thud, your eyes shoot open.

Getting up from your bedroom, you walk over to your door, and look through the peephole. It doesn't seem like there is anyone in the hallway, and the sounds do seem to have quieted down. You sigh, turning around to go back to your bed, when you hear a shout, followed by another thump. Frowning, you go back and open the door, walking out into the hallway. You squint, and blink a few times to get used to the harsh light. Then, you knock on the door in front of you.

There's a couple of voices sounding from inside the apartment, but no one answers. You groan, knocking again, and even harsher this time. It grows quiet, and you are contemplating going back to bed, hoping whoever is on the other side of that wall got the message, but then the door swings open.

In front of you stands a man, with brown curls and a very apparent frown on his face. One that falters ever so slightly at the sight of you, and is accompanied by a small smirk. He leans against the door frame. His cross necklace dangles, visible by his dress shirt that is far from buttoned all the way up, and you swear it hypnotizes you for the shortest second.

"H-hi." You stammer, looking at the man with wide eyes. His smirk grows, and you forget why you are even here.

"Hello." He greets back, hands sliding into his pockets as he looks you up and down, shamelessly. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"Uh, I just moved into the apartment across from you, and I was wondering if you could keep down the noise a little bit?" You ask, but the man doesn't respond. He solely scans you with some sort of frown on his face. You can't deduce whether that is his neutral face, or if he's pissed at you. Nevertheless, you are kind of scared. "It's just— I don't mean to be rude. I just have to get up very early, and it was very loud, so... also, are you okay? It's— I heard a thud, I thought maybe someone fell?"

Once again, it grows quiet between the two of you. With every passing moment of silence, you are regretting your choice to knock. Did you really have to piss off your neighbors the first night you moved in? Couldn't have just battled through a broken night? You curse yourself as you wait for some sort of answer.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll shut it all down for you."

You let out a breath of relief, glad to see he is not taking it badly. You bite your lip, trying to fight your smile from getting too wide.

"Really? Thank you so much! I appreciate it, and I really didn't mean to offend you or anything. I promise, it's just because I have to get up so early and the coffee at my work is horrible so—" You stop yourself mid-sentence when you realize you are babbling your new neighbor's ear off. "Never mind. Good night, and nice to meet you. My name is Y/N, by the way."

The man doesn't say anything once again, so you take it as your cue to get the fuck back to bed before making it worse. You walk into your apartment, turning around to close the door, when you hear his voice.

"Harry."

Your head shoots up, tilting it ever so slightly at the sudden word spoken by your neighbor. He tilts his head, mocking you, as he repeats the name while pointing to himself. With that, he turns around and closes the door. You do the same, leaning against the door as you realize you have the hottest new neighbor ever.

Another, extremely loud thud sounds from his apartment, and your eyebrows knit together. A loud voice is heard, one that is clearly Harry's shouting 'sorry!'. You giggle, shaking your head at the comedic timing before waltzing back to your bed.

Little do you know, that while you fall back asleep in your comfortable bed, your new neighbor thinks about you through the entire night. Harry's mind is absent, even as they drag the body of the guy that didn't pay up in time out of his apartment, even as he scrubs the blood off his hands and face.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll shut it all down for you."

He had been purely sarcastic, baffled by the fact that you even had the guts to knock on his door. The first time you knocked, he thought it was just noise from outside or something. No one was stupid enough to knock on Harry Styles' door. No one was dumb enough to risk it.

But someone did knock; an insanely beautiful woman with nothing but an oversized shirt on. Well, shorts under it maybe, but for the sake of his imagination, you didn't. And you weren't stupid, you just didn't know whose door you were knocking on.

Anyone else who would have been foolish enough to do so, especially while he was dealing with a deadbeat who owed him more than enough money, would've met an entirely different fate.

The way you stumbled over your words and let your eyes travel over his body had given him too much of an ego boost not to play with you a little bit. And once you had reacted so genuinely to his sarcastic response, he somehow didn't have it in his heart to tell you that he wasn't being serious.

Which is strange, because he didn't peg himself for someone with a heart, not anymore.

Nevertheless, he decided that you were right. The incessant noise had gone on long enough. And so, right after he closed the door, Harry turned around aimed his silencer right at the deadbeat's head. Following the thud of his body falling down, he had shouted a 'sorry' for the last noise he would make that night.

Now, as he lays in bed, the reason for his sleeplessness isn't the weight of another death on his shoulders. No, it's his new neighbor and her long, bare legs.

************************************************

ONE DAY LATER

Your shoulders are hurting.

After yesterday's moving activities and today's excruciatingly long day at work, you are exhausted. Not only did you have to do an insane amount of paperwork today, you also got assigned to even more administrative work that shouldn't even be yours to deal with in the first place.

When you had mentioned you wanted to gain experience in the field of law during your interview for receptionist at a law firm, you hadn't expected them to throw all the work in your lap. You were doing a lot of things, spending way too many after hours in the office, doing jobs that were never in your job description, and instead labeled as 'ways to gain experience'. The worst thing is, your boss is acting like these tasks are a huge favor to you, but you know it's just the jobs that they are too lazy to do themselves.

Nonetheless, you don't say anything about it. Despite the cruelness and sometimes uselessness of the assignments you are given, you do have access to active cases that lawyers are working on, and it gives you an opportunity to observe their styles and its effectiveness.

Wanting to become a lawyer is something you had always dreamed of. You loved justice, and you weren't afraid to fight for it. In your day to day life, you are very sweet, bubbly, and in some cases—like yesterday—even shy. But once you are in a professional setting, you can switch and stand strong. The division between your personal and professional self is one you have learned to balance very well, and you also use it as a secret weapon. People are way too quick to underestimate you, and you always make sure it comes back to bite them in the ass.

You put your groceries and briefcase on the ground, allowing yourself to look for your keys, which you forgot to take out of your bag and are now buried somewhere at the bottom. Head deep into your purse, you don't notice Harry walking out of his apartment until his door shuts. It is right after you've found your keys, so with them in hand you turn around to greet him with a smile.

Your new neighbor looks gorgeous, which doesn't bode well for you because you are currently feeling like an expired, mushy sack of potatoes. You shiver at the thought.

"Hey!" You say instead.

"Hello sweetheart." His smooth, English accent hits your ears just right. "Sleep well last night?"

Your cheeks turn pink, and you nod. "Yes, thank you for asking. Oh! Speaking of..."

You turn around and bend down to dig through your grocery bag. When your eyes meet Harry's again, you are reaching out a bouquet of flowers. He stares at it, wary of your intentions.

"They're for you." You feel the need to clarify.

"Aw, sweetheart, you didn't have to go through the hassle of buying me flowers. I'm quite an easy man you know, all you have to do is ask." He says, grin wide as he observes the way your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets at the suggestion of him and you. He likes seeing you all flustered.

"W-what, no! I— it was for yesterday! Because you were so nice to me. I wanted to make up for meeting in such an unfortunate way. Didn't want you to think you have a shitty neighbor now or something." You explain, watching Harry's amusement at your awkwardness.

"I'd never think that, sweetheart." His voice is low, and despite saying it in a bit of a joking way, you swallow at the sound of the sentence. The raspiness of it just gets to you. You brush your nerves off with a weak smile, and turn to open your door.

"Well, have a good night." You say, awkwardly waving at Harry as you carry your bags into your apartment. You place them in your hallway before walking back to close the door. Harry waves back with the flowers, winking at you.

"Good night, sweetheart."

Your heart races at the continuous nickname. It sounds so sexy coming out of his mouth, and it is the only thing you can think of as you cook your dinner. It is even hard to concentrate while watching your favorite show.

A few hours go by, and the sound of Harry's voice doesn't fade from your mind. Neither does the excruciating pain in your shoulders. At around nine p.m. you give up and decide to grab some painkillers. However, to your great horror, you find out that you ran out and forgot to buy new ones.

Cursing yourself, you rush over to your coatrack and grab your jacket. Along with your purse, containing important things such as money, your keys, and pepper spray, you leave your apartment to pop into the convenience store nearby.

It's only a five minute walk, but with your speed you cut a minute from that estimate. It takes a little bit to find the paracetamol, but after grabbing two boxes of pills, you rush to the cash register. You wait until the man in front of you has paid, smiling politely when he turns around to walk out of the store, and step forward to pay for your painkillers.

Despite the cashier's monotone voice, you are more than satisfied with this convenience store, and you walk out smiling at the knowledge of being rid of your pain very soon.

You flinch at the sight of the man from before standing right outside, grinning at you as you walk by. Despite his middle aged appearance, his teeth are rather yellow. You avoid making further eye contact, tension growing in your stomach. As you walk back to your apartment, you make sure to keep your pace quick.

You're too scared to look behind you, but you feel it. You feel that this man is walking a few meters behind you and you also feel like you might throw up. But you keep walking, keys in one hand, pepper spray in the other.

You are ready to open the door that leads you to the hallway of your apartment complex, and immediately push the key into the hole once you get there. But for some stupid fucking reason, the door won't budge. Your heartbeat rises and your hands are getting clammy as you shimmy your keys, trying to open that goddamn door. As your eyes begin to water, you hear a voice behind you.

"Need some help, pumpkin?"

Frantically, your gaze searches for a way to get out of here. It falls into the intercom, but you can't seem to find some sort of emergency button. Since you can't buzz yourself in, that option seems to be useless.

Then, an idea enters your mind.

You take a deep breath, hoping it'll steady your voice before you respond. "No thank you."

The man chuckles. "I think you do. 'S okay, I like a damsel in distress."

Pulling the key out of the hole and wrapping your hand around it, you turn around to the man. You swallow your pride and try to be as nice as you can be when rejecting someone. Stepping back a bit, you almost lean against the wall as you blindly press one of the buttons behind you. Luckily, the noise of ringing a bell isn't very loud from downstairs, so you don't think the man notices your sneaky action.

"I am fine, good night." You say, your smile gone now. You can't find it in yourself to be nice and sweet after that creepy comment. Technically, you are very helpless right now. Because of him, and his actions that fill you with fear. The threat of his presence is what makes you that 'damsel in distress' in the first place, and you hate the fact that men idolize saving you when often they are the danger itself.

"I don't think you are. Why don't you come with me, get a drink together?" His tone is dominated by the insincerity that drips from his words. You know it isn't a question, it's a command. The salacious smirk he wears with it is disgusting, and the way his eyes shamelessly scan you makes you want to shower five times just to feel less gross.

You feel the slight pain in your thumb for pressing so much and hard into the button behind you, but you can't help but pray that your idea will work.

"No, please leave me alone." You try to be as stern as you can, although your shaky voice isn't conveying that message very well.

"I don't think you understood what I said, pumpkin. You and me are gonna get a drink together." He reaches forward and grabs you by your arm, pulling you towards him. You try to shake him off of you, but his grip only tightens. You choke out a cry, still trying to get his grimy hands off of you while he only buries his fingernails further into your skin.

"Let me go!" You scream as loud as you can, hoping that there is someone who will at least hear you. Your free hand reaches into your purse, and you pull out your pepper spray. In a split second, you are holding it up and spray it in the man's eyes.

He shrieks in shock, and lets go of you, covering his eyes with his hands. You quickly turn around to run back inside, but crash into a body on your way there.

Holding your waist, Harry keeps you from falling over. He frowns, his jaw clenching when he catches your terror filled, red eyes.

"Go inside." He orders. While the context is stern, the words spoken come out way softer than one would think when demanding something from someone. You don't have to be told twice, rushing through the open door and running up the countless flights of stairs. You are completely out of breath when you reach your floor, but you don't stop hurrying until you are in the safety of your own apartment.

You tear all your clothes off your body, feeling like you might choke because everything you have on feels to tight to your skin. You keep crying as you jump into the shower to wash yourself off, as you take off your make-up, and as you put a tank top and loose sweatpants on your freshly washed body.

You take your head out of the bun it was in to keep it dry as you walk towards your front door upon hearing a knock. When you open it, you're standing face-to-face with your neighbor.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, eyebrows knotted as he looks at you. You nod, not wanting to say a word because you don't want to make him uncomfortable by becoming a blubbering mess in front of him. "Can I come in?"

You nod again, opening the door further so he can enter your place. His steps are careful and light, and you see his eyes scan the apartment as he walks in. You shut the door behind him, making Harry turn around to look at you.

He is back at your side as soon as he spots the marks on your arm that the creepy man left when he tried to take you to god knows where. With a tight jaw, Harry glances up at you.

"You need to put ice on that. It's gonna bruise."

You look down, too timid to meet his gaze, and notice Harry's red knuckles. It doesn't take you very long to put two and two together. For some reason, you don't want to directly mention that just yet, so instead you whisper:

"You too."

Harry lets out a breathy chuckle and nods his head, watching you as you walk over to your freezer to get some ice. Putting it in two different dish cloths, you hand one to him before walking over to your couch. Harry follows suit, plopping next to you and putting the cloth meant for him on your arm.

Flushed from that action, you slowly grab his hand and place it flat on your thigh. Ignoring the way it makes the rest of your body feel, you press the ice filled cloth against his knuckles, hoping the cold will give him some relief. He winces, his fingers tightening around your thigh ever so slightly before immediately relaxing again.

Your eyes travel to your own arm, initially to see Harry's hand wrapped around it. However, the sight of the red marks on your arm make your eyes water again, the memory from what just happened resurfacing. The sickening fear of not knowing how the fuck to get out of that situation is as overwhelming as it was just before, even though you are safe now. You hate that a man made you feel so weak.

You can't help the tears from flowing, so you just let them as you silently recall the events of tonight. Your thoughts are cut in on when Harry removes his bruised hand from your thigh and cups it around your jaw. He leans forward, green eyes all sympathetic.

"It's okay, you're okay. He won't hurt you anymore, or ever again." He whispers. You shut your eyes, your silent tears now breaking into soft sobs. There is no choice but to let the sadness flow, and relish in the comfort of Harry's fingers wiping away your tears as you cry out the stress you had been feeling, and give it a place.

You feel it getting lighter with every cry. Each tear that Harry catches is a bit of weight off your shoulders. For some reason he chooses to sit there and offer you a space to store your pain. And even though normally you would never allow yourself, tonight you make use of that space.

*****************************************

A few weeks had gone by, and Harry had taken it upon himself to become your new watch dog. After what happened, he refused to let you go outside by yourself.

The morning after the incident, you got up and went to work like normal. But when you opened your apartment door, you ran into Harry, who had also been planning on going outside. He walked you to your car, and watched as you drove away. That night, when you returned from work, you ran into him again in the hallway downstairs, and walked to your apartments together.

After about three nights of these exact same situations, you could confirm for yourself that Harry was waiting to escort you anywhere.

You thought confronting him about your knowledge of his schemes would put an end to the overprotectiveness, but you were proven wrong. Instead of toning down his behavior, he amped it up. There wasn't a trip to the supermarket that you made by yourself anymore. And anytime you tried to say something about his following you everywhere, he would make up a silly excuse that left you speechless with flushed cheeks and a stupid grin on your face. You gave up fighting it not long after that, mainly because you enjoy his company so much.

Being so close to Harry all the time did make you realize how much distance everyone else kept from him. You didn't miss how people avoided his gaze, or how certain cashiers stumbled over their words as you paid for your groceries. It had you wondering; just how scary was Harry?

Harry had really taken it upon himself to protect you. It kind of went automatically, if he had to be honest. He simply couldn't watch you walk around the neighborhood so defenseless. What happened to you had enraged him so much, he didn't want a repetition of it.

Of course, an exact repetition was not an option anymore since he had beaten up the guy who assaulted you to the point where he was hospitalized. Harry couldn't find it in himself to feel even the slightest of remorse. Well, maybe only for the fact that he didn't kill him right then and there. He would have, had he not been too worried about you being alone upstairs.

Soon enough, word had traveled about your association with Harry, and it resulted into people being afraid of you. You were so incredibly confused about the shaky voices of people you'd ask for help in stores. You had never imagined yourself to have such an intimidating aura.

Since Harry had taken it upon himself to watch you, you had taken it upon yourself to feed him. It was the least you could do, and it gave you a reason to keep him around longer at night.

Part of you was aware that wanting to get closer to Harry might not be the best idea, especially considering the collectively instilled fear that lingered everywhere he would go. But he was so sweet to you, and you were sure that there was an explanation.

So, tonight during dinner, you had decided you would ask him about it.

Harry was delighted when you asked him if he wanted to stay and eat, and didn't hesitate to say yes. Now as he leans against the counter, watching you cook the pasta you promised to prepare, you have to actively control your breathing. His intense stare has a way of turning your legs into jelly and fogging up your mind.

"How was your day?" You ask him as casually as you can. Harry doesn't tear his eyes off of you, grinning at the way he is making you squirm.

"Good, love."

You swallow at the new nickname he suddenly conjured up. The low baritone of his voice combined with his green eyes on yours has your heartbeat getting out of control. You hear the breathy chuckle leaving Harry's mouth, and it makes your stomach turn. He knows exactly what he is doing.

"So, uhm... I have a question." You say, focusing extra hard on stirring the boiling pasta. He hums, indirectly telling you to ask away. You turn down the pitch on which your pasta stands, and turn to face him. For the first second that you meet his eyes, you were forget what you were even going to ask him, but you quickly regain your senses.

"Why is everyone here so afraid of you?" You tilt your head, really observing Harry. Sure, he is tall, with a broad and muscled figure. He always wears dark clothes and his green eyes will never look away first. But to truly be terrified of this man? You couldn't imagine why.

Harry doesn't say anything. He pushes himself away from the counter and walks towards you, slowly towering over your smaller frame. He leans forward, his face closer to yours than it has ever been before, and it gives you ideas that you probably shouldn't have.

"Do I scare you?"

Silently, you shake your head. Harry's eyes slowly travel down your face, fixating on your mouth for the longest five seconds you have ever experienced, and then shoot back up to meet yours again. "Then why do you care so much about what others think?"

"I don't." You respond embarrassingly fast, overwhelmed with a need to get his approval.

"Well, there you have your answer."

With that, he turns around to the counter and grabs the glass of white wine you poured for him. Taking it between his hands as if it were a cocktail glass, you watch entranced as he takes a sip. Your gaze falls onto his hands. You feel sinful for the thoughts that occupy your mind, but they fly out the window when you spot how bruised his knuckles are. And you realize...

"No, I don't." You say sternly. Harry looks at you, amused by your protest. "I don't know anything about you, Harry."

Harry laughs, but it’s a bitter laugh, accompanied by his hand running through his hair and his head shaking as if he can’t believe what he is dealing with. A part of you wants to get on your knees and beg him to forgive you for being suspicious of who he truly is, but you refrain from doing it.

“People fear what they don’t know, Y/N.” He says, his eyes finding yours. Your heart starts beating faster, aware of the fact that his eyes are going to keep being trained on yours without even so much as faltering.

“I don’t give a fuck about what those people think of me, they don’t know me. You do. So why is their judgment relevant? I’m here, aren’t I? Standing in front of you, letting you know me. Is that not enough?”

You feel a pang of guilt in your stomach at his words, and the authenticity of them. You let out a sigh, breaking eye contact to look down at the floor, contemplating what he’s saying. Maybe he is right.

“Sorry.” You say so softly it could almost be classified as a whisper. The feeling of Harry’s fingers pushing your chin up makes your eyes meet his, and you notice the hint of a smile he wears.

“Go sit.”

Slightly confused, you follow his order, looking back at him to see him finishing up the pasta and making a bowl for the both of you.

“I’m 29.” He states, his back still to you. Your mouth breaks into a smile, and you prop your elbow on the couch, leaning your chin into the palm of your hand as you observe him.

“Really?” You are grinning like a proper idiot now. Harry nods.

“I don’t have any siblings, but we did have a dog, and we rescued a stray kitten that was sleeping in our garden.” He goes on, turning around and walking over to the couch with the bowls of pasta. He sits down and hands you one.

“What are their names?” You ask.

“Dog is called Pepper. Mum let me name the cat, so I named her Hades.” He explains, making you a giggle.

“You named your girl cat Hades?”

“Persephone is such a mouthful. Plus, I was like ten, and had this big obsession with Hades.” He shrugs, taking a bite of the pasta. Your eyes widen, and you begin to laugh even harder.

“You mean to tell me that little ten year old Harry was obsessed with the Greek God of the underworld, the God of death… Are you okay?”

Harry shrugs. “He’s just doing his job.”

You cover your face with your hands, beyond amused by his nonchalance. You don’t see it, but Harry might take more joy out of the situation than you. His eyes sparkle with adoration as he watches you laugh, and he wishes he knew how to control time just to stay in this moment forever. There is something so extraordinary about your happiness being caused by him. He is fascinated with how much he wishes he could do it every day for the rest of his life.

He didn’t know whether opening up about himself was the smartest ideas, but he would give you his social security number if it made you laugh like that.

You take your hands off your face and look at him, the sudden urge to kiss him being almost unbearable. Almost. You sigh, not knowing how to express these feelings you have towards him, so instead you opt for a simple comment.

“I’m so glad you’re my neighbor.”

Harry smirks. “I’m glad you’re my neighbor too.”

1K notes · View notes

monstersflashlight · 4 months ago

Note

Can you write a longer story on Minotaur Cowboy 🤠

I love the other ask, and your writing is amazing 👏

A/N: First part for those of you who don’t know what anon is talking about is here. (If that link doesn’t work try free suscription on Patreon and this link). This is very filthy, same as last time, and it’s a very niche kink, but good damn it if I didn’t enjoy writing this. Enjoy!

Hucow (part 2)

Minotaur x fem!human || hucow fantasy, voyeurism, exhibitionism, edging

Your minotaur farmer thought he was very smart and he loved you the most, but what he didn’t really knew was that you’d been playing him all along. You enjoyed his attention much more than he thought.

Since the first day you saw him, you wanted him. You wanted him desperately, and when he asked to milk you, you were more than eager to agree. He used his hands on your nipples, gently massaging them at first but rapidly milking you like the cow you were, his body covering your back as his hands squeezed every drop out of you. You could feel his dick against your covered pussy, and you rolled your hips, asking for more, wanting more… But he didn’t do anything that day. You had to walk back home with a dripping pussy and an eager clit that day.

The next day was more of the same, and the next one, and the next one after that… He hired more hucows and more minotaur cowboys, but you were always out of their rotation, nobody could touch you but him. And it drove you wild. You could only watch as others got milked and teased as you leaked, unable to touch your own breasts, and unable to find release.

The first time you saw one of the other minotaurs fucking the hucows, you pinned. They soon realized that was the way to make them more productive, more eager to be milked… So you became bolder, more eager, and he was helpless to resist your sweet scent and tight pussy. When later that day he appeared to milk you, you begged and begged until he was balls deep inside of you, releasing so much come you were dripping around his dick. He humped your pussy like an overeager minotaur as you moaned and groaned, asking for more.

Most times he enjoyed watching you across the farm, fucking some of the others but never looking away from your plump body. He fucked them, milked them… But always found his way to you.

You observed him while he walked around the farm, testing and probing the other hucows there. He thought he was so important and so big, but you saw past his exterior, seeing him as what he was: a bull ready to fuck every one of them until they were crying out. You knew you should be mad, you should be angry that he fucked them first, that he milked them first… but you didn’t care about that, it excited you. You liked how he walked one by one, choosing the pussy he was going to fuck until he was ready to burst, making them come until they were dripping down their legs and their breasts were leaking into the buckets under them, his dexterous hands milking them until they were dry and spent. It was all part of the fun, it was all part of the edging he was playing with you.

Until he got tired of playing with the others, and positioned yourself right into his office. You were like one more piece of furniture, your body displayed there, ready to be fucked and milked by him every time he wanted… or every time you begged loud enough. He loved that, he loved to fuck you senseless and have you bent down so he could stare into your dripping pussy as you milked yourself in front of him, getting hornier by the second just so he could slip right back inside and fill you with load after load. A never-ending circle that left both of you satisfied.

And that’s how you became his personal hucow, ready to be fucked, ready to be milked, displayed on his office for everyone to stare… but not touch.

417 notes · View notes

you-know-honey · 6 months ago

Text

Hanging in Your Hands

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

←←←1/2

Viktor finds in you a love that subtly transforms him: without realizing it, he begins to take better care of himself, rest better and relieve his pain, all thanks to the peace you bring him. Finding a way to show you what he could never do with words.

N/A: English is not my native language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I will update it. Remember to share and comment if you liked it. Endnotes.

“Home sweet home…” you hum as Viktor opens the door, letting you in first like a true gentleman. You’re the first to leave your coat on the coat rack and throw your shoes somewhere in the room, walking now much more comfortably towards the kitchen.

Viktor’s home isn’t very big, but it had changed a lot since the first time you went there. Before, everything looked like a scene from the most godforsaken place, with almost no furniture and white morgue lighting. It was hard to convince him that to improve his health he also need to improve his environment. The living room was the largest room, with a functional fireplace, a second-hand coffee table and a sofa so soft it could be a piece stolen from heaven. The kitchen was the smallest, there was no table or chairs, instead there was a breakfast bar and some swivel chairs that you had taken from the academy and that Viktor had fixed. The bathroom started the hallway, followed by his office and finally his room. You had made sure that every room reflected something positive, watering plants or doing crafts like a comfort fairy. Viktor appreciated it, he had told you so many times, he didn't mind that you filled his house with your not so practical decorations, they were your personal brand and he liked it, besides spending all that time decorating, painting and remodeling gave him more reasons to love you, to get to know you perfectly and be fascinated by what he found in your being. Without you he wouldn't have managed to make his house feel and look like a real home in which to rest.

Viktor removes his jacket with precise movements. His long, deft fingers slide the dark fabric over his shoulders, revealing the impeccable shirt that sits tight against his slim figure. He folds the jacket carefully, as if he's in no hurry, and lays it over the back of the sofa. His hands move up to the knot of his tie. His fingers, always so precise, pull at the knot with ease, undoing the pressure around his neck. The gesture, so mundane to him, has a strange effect on you, an electric current running through your body. As if that weren't enough, the top button of his shirt unbuttons under his touch, revealing just a flash of skin on his pale neck. His breathing seems to relax instantly, as if the small adjustment brings him some comfort.

Viktor exhales softly, running a hand through his messy hair, unaware that this distracted gesture, combined with the shadow of exhaustion on his face, makes him look almost unattainable, like a work of art that doesn’t realize its own beauty. You feel trapped in a magnetic web that he doesn’t even know he possesses.

“That was sexy,” you mutter to yourself as you rummage through some food in the fridge.

“Excuse me?” His low voice echoes behind you, you have no idea how he moved so fast, his tone is incredulous, and his eyebrows arch slightly.

You shrug, trying to look casual as you turn to look at him, even though you know your face is probably burning. “What I said. You’re sexy. Especially when you do that without realizing it.”

His brain shuts down for a moment, processing the bold comment. “Don’t joke with me…” he finally says, leaning his cane against the fridge and trapping you in a bear hug, your hands quickly returning his, feeling the medical corset under his shirt.

“I’m not joking,” you insist, your words crashing against his bare torso, causing him to shiver slightly, which only makes his arms draw you closer to his body. “Is it so hard to believe?” you can hear his heartbeat quicken.

“Stop it…” he replies with his lips on your head.

“Too shy to receive compliments?” in his defense you are being a little more daring than usual.

His arms pull you closer to his body as if that were possible, it is clear that he wants you to stop talking, he laughs when he feels you squirm in his arms as if you are complaining.

“Y/N…” he tells you with that tone that you know is a warning, although it is not serious, you know he is having fun.

You sigh and he loosens his hug a little, enough so that you can rest your chin on his chest.

“Shall we make dinner together?” you ask, Viktor leaned in slightly, his eyes half-lidded in a warm gesture, and brushed the tip of his nose against Y/N’s in a gentle movement, barely a whisper of contact. It was an intimate exchange, full of affection and closeness, that spoke louder than any words. It was as if they shared a secret, a moment just for them, full of warmth and sweetness.

“Sure.”

Making dinner together is a very big word for what really happens in that kitchen, you prepare everything and force him to sit behind the breakfast bar to prove that everything is on point once you start the dinner. Viktor is not afraid to admit that he does not know how to cook anything other than toast and sandwiches. The kitchen is his war zone and the oven is the enemy he has yet to overcome, luckily he has you and by the time the timer in the shape of a pigeon reaches zero his stomach growls with eagerness.

“Taran!” you proudly take the lasagna out of the oven, the warm aroma fills the whole house and both of your stomachs growl desperate for food. “How is it?” you look at him expectantly.

Viktor runs his face over the steaming mold, it looks good and smells good “It’s perfect…” although he could perfectly refer to you instead of the lasagna.

“Go to the sofa, I’ll bring the dishes in a second.” still with your gloves on you push yourself over the breakfast bar to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. Cooking always puts you in a good mood, but seeing that he likes what you cook is a reward on another level.

As you serve the plates and accompany it with something to drink, you watch Viktor’s silhouette walk towards the sofa, he limps a little but that gives him a certain charm because he no longer does it in pain, the way he sits, the way he sighs as he leans his back against the back of the sofa, the way he tilts his head to look at the fire. Everything about him seems like a work of art to you, from the veins that run through his pale, thin hands, his moles that you’re sure must be a constellation in the sky, his eyes that remind you of fresh honey in a virgin forest, his laugh, secret but beautiful like the whistling of rivers in the distance. You love him like you have no idea. Thinking about him revives your spirit, releases unbridled currents of adrenaline that die for him, to reach him, to be in his arms and stay there forever.

“Enjoy” he says when he leaves the dinner on the coffee table, letting you fall on the sofa. Using a blanket to cover you both from the cold.

“Enjoy” he answers, using his arm to pull your figure closer to him and rests his head on yours.

You both eat in silence, not because you have nothing to talk about, just that your stomachs really need that lasagna, you are focused on Viktor’s plate, but this time it doesn’t seem like your tactics are needed to get him to finish eating, he really razes the plate with emotion, something that makes you feel proud. With a full stomach it’s easier to think of something to talk about.

“How about a plant?” You ask, resting your head on his chest, there’s something about his heartbeat that works better to relax you than the ocean sound records on the record players next to the window.

“A plant? Where?” he asks with a playful tone “There are already many at home.” he mentioned, pointing with his gaze to the shelf above the fireplace, full of cacti of different sizes.

“For the lab…something small with green leaves maybe with flowers...” He can hear the small tone of excitement in your voice.

Viktor looked at you curiously. “What do you want it for?”

“For you. The doctors say plants help reduce stress.”

He smiled, a wonderful expression on his face. “Do you think a plant can handle that place?”

“I have faith in it. Just like in you.”

He takes a few seconds to look at you, there is tenderness in his gaze. He is not good with plants, in fact he agreed to have cacti only because they were easy to take care of since basically nothing happened if he forgot about it for a few days, a plant like the one you wanted requires more care but… he is not willing to say no to you, if you want it that way that will be and he will take care of that plant better than anyone else.

“A plant it is then.” He sighs. His figure moves beside you, before you know it he’s picking up the plates.

“Leave the plates, I’ll wash them,” you say, quickly getting up from the couch as Viktor begins to stack the cups and plates on the coffee table.

“No need. I’ll do it,” he replies calmly, already focused on the task. His hands move with the same precision he uses in the lab, carefully stacking each plate to keep them from falling.

“Viktor, I’m your guest. You can’t wash the dishes,” you insist, stepping forward to take the plates from his hands.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression reflecting a mix of amusement and stubbornness. “Guest? You’ve been here so many times that I could claim my bedroom. There’s no point in arguing this.” You reach for the last plate, but Viktor pushes it away with a swift movement. “It’s just a small task. It’s nothing complicated.”

“But—”

“There are no ‘buts’.” He gives you a look, serious but not harsh. It’s more like a silent declaration of victory. “I’ll take care of it.”

Resigned, you sigh and cross your arms, watching him from the couch as he stacks the plates like a jenga and heads toward the kitchen. However, as he stands up with the stack of plates in his hands, he suddenly stops halfway.

For a moment, you don’t understand what’s going on. His back is slightly bent, his posture rigid. Then, he turns his face slightly toward you, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, moving closer with concern.

“A small… inconvenience,” he says in a tone that tries to sound calm, although you notice the stiffness in his voice.

You move closer and see the reason: one of the glasses is dangerously tilted, about to fall. His hands are too busy holding the others and holding onto the cane; moving just a millimeter could lead to disaster.

“Let me help you,” you offer with a smile you can’t help.

“No. It’s under control,” Viktor insists, although his tone lacks the firmness it had before.

“Sure? Because you look like you’re a second away from creating an experiment on the fragility of ceramics.”

His lips curve into a slight smile, but his attention remains fixed on the plates. With a quick but gentle movement, you slide your hands over to catch the wayward glass before it falls.

Viktor shoots you a look, his eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and resignation. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can you admit that you need help from time to time?”

He sighs, shaking his head as he continues on his way to the kitchen. “No. But I’ll let you believe it, this time.”

You roll your eyes in response.

“How about I wash them and you dry them?” he offers.

“Fine.”

You watch him sitting at the breakfast bar watching him thoroughly wash each plate, glass, and cutlery, drying his hands on a kitchen towel.

“All yours,” he says as he leaves the kitchen, which is too small for the two of them. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Do you want some company?” His figure tenses up like a cat, stopping only to turn around slightly to find a mischievous smile on your face.

“Nice try.” A stifled laugh escapes his lips before he disappears down the hall and it’s not long before you hear the sound of running water.

The dim light of the bathroom bathed the tense lines of Viktor's figure, reflecting his thinness and the sharp features that marked his skin. Viktor took off his shirt with slow, almost mechanical movements. He had always avoided looking at his nakedness in the mirror, the reflection of a weak man made him sick, but this time the mirror gave him a different image. When he took off his shirt he discovered that on his torso his ribs were barely noticeable, his abdomen was no longer sunken and even a tiny roll of fat had formed in the lower part. He was still thin, but when he touched him he felt muscles and not just his bones, his pale skin had taken on more softness and color. The wounds left by his corset had stopped being reddened furrows and were now barely noticeable.

He caressed his neck, slightly hunched, free of tension. The scars on his side, reminders of medical procedures, were no longer like cracks, but just soft marks.

As he unbuttoned his pants, he braced himself with one hand on the wall for balance. His outer brace trembled slightly. With a methodical movement, he removed the metal piece, carefully setting it aside, as if it were an extension of himself that he could not despise.

He felt like a different person, naked in front of the mirror, admiring a more vivid reflection of himself, his hands running over his muscles that were once tired and sore, now looking strong and energetic. He smiled a little, hesitantly. For the first time, he liked what he saw in the mirror and he knew who he had to thank for that.

Steam began to fill the room as he adjusted the water to hot for the comfort of his leg. Once naked, Viktor stood still for a moment, letting the moisture envelop his skin. His body, although marked by a certain fragility, radiated an unbreakable strength, feeling each scar with something other than disgust for the first time in a long time. His eyes closed, enjoying that shower like no other.

After finishing putting away the dishes, you peeked into the hallway. You found him sitting on the bed, wearing baggy pajama pants and his shirt covering his naked torso, his head in his hands and his eyes fixed on his leg. His posture was rigid, filled with a tension that you could almost feel in the air.

You didn't say anything at first, because you knew that what he needed wasn't words, but company. You approached silently, crossing the hallway and sat down next to him, placing a hand on his good knee.

"Does it hurt?" you finally asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Viktor nodded, not raising his head. "A little. There are times when... it feels like it's never going to go away." He internally cursed himself, the whole day had passed without problems, with barely any discomfort, he didn't understand why the pain decided to attack him right now, it was as if it was mocking him.

Your chest tightened at his vulnerability. You knew how much he hated showing weakness, even with you.

"Let me help…"

He stared at you for a moment, as if considering your words. He finally nodded with a sigh. You knelt in front of him, placing his leg over your lap, pushing his pajama bottoms up to his thigh, your cold fingers giving him goosebumps where you touched them. The internal mechanism of the device on his leg was simpler but no less aggressive, as you removed the straps you could hear small gasps coming from Viktor’s mouth, his hand crumpling the sheets beside him, his skin reddening as the pressure of the device disappeared. Once the device was off you followed the usual nightly ritual, sliding your hands up his leg, applying pressure to the right spot and massaging the tense muscles in his leg and foot, you were precise, almost surgical, as you moved your hands up his leg with extreme gentleness. At first his muscles were tense but slowly you felt them relax under your touch. Finally, the tense grimace changed to a placid, lazy expression of relief as the pain faded.

"Better…" he murmured after a while. His voice sounded calmer.

“See? I’m good at this.” you said as you stood up to sit beside him on his bed.

He laughed softly, his low, warm laugh filling the space. “Maybe I should hire you as my personal physical therapist.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough.” you teased, giving him a soft poke on his nose. “But lucky for you, I do this because I care about you.” Your hands slid down his back, taking the shirt with you, exposing his medical corset. It took you a little more technique to remove it, a couple of twists here and the movement of the levers on his shoulder blades were enough to make the heavy structure give way, pulling it over his head and leaving it on the floor under the nightstand. Your hands caressed his bare back, his skin pale as sweet milk and warm as the first rays of the sun in the day.

He took your hand then, bringing it to his lips to place a soft kiss on your fingers and murmur against them, “How lucky I am…”

“You have no idea…” you said, sliding your hand up his arm to his cheek. He looked totally sleepy but willing to simply adjust his posture and have your lips meet his in a slow, delicate brush, more sensation than intention. His messy hair falling over his forehead, tickling the bridge of your nose.

Without saying anything, his fingers slowly slide up your cheek, warm and a little clumsy, as if even in his sleepy state he wanted to make sure he touched you carefully. His thumb traces a small circle against your skin, and his lips, barely curved in a lazy smile, murmur your name, so low it almost seems like a sigh.

You lean into him, unable to resist the closeness he himself seeks. Viktor, so practical and rational during the day, now seems completely given over to the moment. The whole world had been reduced to that single point of contact.

There is no rush in the kiss, only a sweetness heavy with tiredness, as if sleep were pulling at him but he couldn’t help but stay with you a little longer. His lips are warm, soft, and his breathing, calm but irregular, mixes with yours.

When the kiss breaks you don’t know how, but you’ve ended up lying on the bed, his lips barely separating from yours, staying so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His eyes half-closed, they look at you with a softness that melts any thought.

“I have a gift for you…” his voice is barely a whisper against your lips “Can you bring my bag please?” he asked, dragging one of your locks of hair behind your ear. You close your eyes, you're so comfortable that you don't want to separate from him. "Honey... please..." his words completely disarm you, the air leaves your lungs and you have to drag him back inside, it's the first time he calls you that...

You didn't expect it, you don't know what to do or say next. "I... amhmm... I... will go get your bag..." you murmur unsurely as you basically flee the room with your heart racing. You may have heard Viktor's giggle behind you but maybe it was just your nerves playing a bad joke on you.

When you returned with the bag to the room Viktor has lifted his torso from the bed and holds a small package wrapped excellently in ornate paper in his hands. You crawl to his side on the bed, cautiously dragging his bag, was sending you for it, a trick?

The air in the room is charged with a quiet expectation as Viktor leans forward slightly, holding a box wrapped in dark, elegant paper. His fingers, always careful, seem a little tenser than usual, as if the act of handing you the gift is more intimidating than he imagined.

“This is for you,” he says, his voice low but firm, though you notice the slight tremor in his words. He hands it to you, but doesn’t look directly at you; his eyes fixate on some indefinite spot, as if he’s not entirely sure how you’ll react.

You take the box, feeling the unexpected weight in your hands. You watch him, searching for some clue in his expression, but Viktor just crosses his arms, adopting a posture that could be interpreted as casual, though his slightly stiff shoulders give it away.

“Open it,” he murmurs, and his eyes finally meet yours, shining with a mix of nervousness and something deeper, something you can only describe as affection.

As you open the paper, you discover a retro-designed camera, impeccable, with a simple elegance that suits him perfectly. You blink, surprised, as he leans over to turn it on. Before you can ask, his hand rummages through his bag, showing you the small Hextech gem and to your utter astonishment he places it inside the camera mechanism. The room lights up for a moment before Viktor presses a button and the magic begins.

At first, music is the first thing you can hear, then like real magic you see a series of hologram images all around the room: you and him together at different moments, some captured in secret, others you remember clearly. Laughter, glances, small everyday gestures. Then, the photos change to your favorite things: books, landscapes, objects you love, letters you’ve never read written in his own handwriting, every detail carefully collected.

And then, his voice.

“My name is Viktor and…” he begins, his tone deep but soft, with that meticulous cadence that characterizes him. “This is for my dear Y/N. A record of shared moments, of laughter, of everything you represent to me, of everything she is and everything she have allowed me to be.”

Your eyes glaze over as the images continue: your first photo together, a romantic poem, even the portrait of you both that an artist had made on your first date after leaving the hospital, your favorite flowers, things only someone in love would choose.

“It’s an archive of memories,” his voice continues, “but also a reminder to me. That no matter how chaotic the world is, there’s always beauty in the small moments. And in all of these moments, there’s her.”

When the voice ends, the silence that remains is overwhelming, laden with emotions you can’t put into words. You look up at Viktor, who now seems unable to meet your gaze, his cheeks totally red.

“I wasn’t sure if it would be too much.." he admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I thought… maybe you’d like it. You’ve done so much for me…”

You lean into him, setting the camera aside, and wrap your hands around his neck. “Too much?” Viktor, this is perfect...”

His lips curve into a small but genuine smile, and even though he tries to hide it, you can see the relief and joy in his eyes. This gesture, so meticulous and full of love, is irrefutable proof of how much you mean to him.

The weight of what you just saw is still present in your chest, warm and overwhelming. The camera is off to the side, forgotten for the moment, because now all your attention is on him. Viktor is still in front of you, clearly nervous but trying to keep his composure, as if you don’t know how to handle your emotions at this moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, with that analytical look that never seems to completely fade. But there’s something else in his eyes now: a mix of vulnerability and hope, as if he’s not sure if his gift had had the impact he expected.

You don’t need words to answer him.

You move toward him in one motion, your hands gripping the sides of his face before he can react. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, and for an instant, you can feel his breathing hitch, caught between wonder and anticipation.

“You’re amazing,” you murmur against his lips, and before he can process it, you kiss him.

The kiss is urgent, charged with everything you feel and everything you can’t put into words. It’s like you want to tear down any remaining doubts he might have about how much you love him. Your lips move with a desperate hunger, as if you’re seeking to etch into him every emotion he’s provoked in you.

It takes Viktor a second to react, but when he does, he kisses you back with equal intensity. His hands, ever careful, grip your waist, pulling you closer to him as if he needs to have you closer. There’s no longer any shyness in his movements, only the restrained passion of someone who’s been waiting for this moment without realizing it.

His breathing is fast, ragged, and you can feel his lips tremble slightly against yours, not out of insecurity, but from the torrent of emotions that overwhelms him. One of his arms wraps around you, while his other hand moves up to tangle in your hair, holding you with a firmness you’ve never felt from him before.

When you finally part, you’re both breathless. His eyes, normally calm and focused, now shine with a mix of wonder and devotion. His lips are red, and a smile, small but sincere, forms on his face.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice huskier than usual.

“Did it bother you?” you ask, still panting, your hands still on his face.

“Disturb me?..” Viktor lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head, his forehead touching yours. “I couldn’t. But… I might need another demonstration to be completely sure.”

His playful tone, combined with the way he looks at you, makes your heart race again. “Cheeky…” Without saying a word, your eyes drift to the camera still resting to the side. You take the camara with firm but hurried hands, turning it on as he looks at you with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly, tilting his head.

“I want this saved too,” you reply with a mischievous smile, holding the camera in the air, above the both of you.

Before Viktor can react or say anything else, you lean towards him again on the bed, capturing his lips in a kiss filled with all the love you feel. This time, the kiss is more confident, more determined, as if you both know exactly what you mean to each other.

With the camera in one hand, you press the button, the click barely perceptible between the racing beat of your heart and the soft whisper of his breath against your lips.

When the kiss ends, you both stand there, foreheads together, sharing a soft laugh, as if the simple act of capturing that moment makes it even more special.

The photo joins the rest floating around the room, and you see the image: the two of you locked in a kiss, your hand holding the camera, his hair a little messy, and his face slightly tilted toward you, as if his entire world is contained in that instant.

“Perfect,” you say quietly, stroking your thumb along the edge of the camera before turning back to him.

Viktor looks at the photo, and though he doesn’t say anything, the soft smile on his face says it all. You grab the camera and add the image to the video, where that photo now sits as part of the collection. One more memory that encapsulates not only who you are, but what you mean to each other.

He looks at you once more, his golden eyes shining with something you could swear is pride. “I think this is my favorite memory so far,” he murmurs, taking your hand delicately, as if afraid the moment might fade away.

And in that instant, you know that no matter how much time passes, that photo—and this kiss—will always be unforgettable.

N/A: I'm sorry for the delay, my dog died and I didn't have the strength to do anything other than be in bed. I really hope you like it and it was what you expected.

706 notes · View notes

stellamarielu · 6 months ago

Text

sweetheart part 2

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: after finding yourself in a rather compromising position with your boss, you're determined to confront him about his feelings which ultimately leads to the two of you in yet another compromising position.

content: nsfw, 18+, cursing, smut, like a lot of smut, low-key praise kink, choking (if you squint), dirty talk because duh, multiple orgasms, a little bit fluffy here and there

author's note: i'm sorry this took so long!! i got a little carried away with this one, oops. also realized while writing this that declan o'hara would for sure manhandle you while simultaneously whispering sweet nothings into your ear

read part 1 here

For the fourth week, you took Declan up on his offer to work late together. Except this time, you weren’t sitting in a stiff office chair, you were sat in a cozy armchair in Declan’s study in his home.

The last seven days at work had been filled with near silence. Neither you nor Declan daring to speak of what happened in his office on Thursday night. One week of awkward eye contact and minimal conversation. 7 days of you both knowing what took place between you but pretending to be oblivious.

You weren’t exactly sure what you expected to happen after the two of you were interrupted that night. Shortly after the phone call that took him away from your compromising position, Declan had abruptly ended the evening. Thanking you for working overtime and telling you to go home and get some rest. Your boss gave you little to no time to process what had just happened, let alone ask for clarification.

The next morning Declan met you with his usual harmless smile, but his eyes were somewhat apologetic, and from that point on he had kept himself busy and away from you as much as possible. It began to feel like he was blatantly ignoring you and you were growing more annoyed by the day. If he was embarrassed by the whole situation and wanted to put it behind him, fine. But for him to make you feel stupid like this? Leaving you out of important meetings and causing you to miss out on work projects just because of some silly conversation about a smutty romance novel was absurd. Afterall he was the one who brought up the book in the first place. He was the one looking at you in such an inappropriate way. The dirty words spoken were from his lips not yours. So why on earth did it feel like you were the one being punished.

But just as you had enough and built up the courage to march into his office demanding an explanation, you were met with an invitation.

The same invitation that Declan extended to you week after week- to stay late and work with him.

Only this week he asked if you wouldn’t mind joining him at the Priory, his house.

He had apparently left some important work at home that morning and couldn’t continue without it. Your anxieties and annoyance around last week’s situation instantly faded.

There is no way Declan would be inviting you to his house after work hours if his true intention was to ignore you. He could have easily told you goodbye for the day and gone home to continue working without having you tag along. It begged the question- what were his true intentions then?

So of course, you accepted his invitation, packing up your things and following him out to the countryside. He led you straight to his study upon arriving and left you to your own devices for a few short minutes to fetch you both a drink.

You began searching the room with your eyes. It was strangely intimate being in Declan’s home. At work you had always taken note at how mundane Declan’s office was. There was almost no semblance of his personality, just blank walls and generic furniture.

What surrounded you now was so different.

His study was overflowing with character. Books piled high in numerous places within the room, each one dog eared and worn. Framed artwork adorned the walls. There were vintage trinkets laid out on the mantle of the fireplace. A record player sat in the corner of the room with a handful of vinyl lying underneath it. Two lamps lit the space, creating a much more relaxing ambiance than the florescent lights at coronium. Unlike the bulky desk that sat in his work office, the one in his study was much less intimidating. Still sturdy, it was made of a beautiful dark oak that was faded and rough from years of use.

You preferred this workspace, it felt so much more like Declan. The room even smelt like him.

You stood from your chair making your way to a small mountain of books on his desk. Grabbing a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein from the top you thumbed it noticing annotations throughout. You smiled to yourself imagining Declan at some point in his life reading the gothic novel and marking it for enjoyment. That’s what you liked about Declan, he was eccentric and scholarly. Deep and brooding but also witty and kind. There was so much to learn, and you truly loved getting to know him, he was unlike any man you had ever met. You were so hidden in thought about his many great qualities that you didn’t hear Declan's footsteps approaching behind you.

“Whiskey?” His voice broke your train of thought.

“Oh- um yeah, thank you.” You spoke putting the book back on his desk and taking the glass from his extended hand.

You looked down at the whiskey. When he had asked if you wanted something to drink you had assumed he would come back with something more tame like tea or water.

Nonetheless you took a swig of the alcohol, knowing you would need the liquid courage if you wanted to talk to him about his recent behavior.

“I see you’ve taken the liberty to go through my things.” The rhythm of his words were smooth, a chuckle hiding behind them.

He looked amused as he took a sip of his drink. The silent treatment he had been giving you lately made you realize you missed the sound of his voice.

“Actually I think it was you who went through my things first, remember?” You playfully chide back at him.

“If my memory serves me correctly, I believe you were the one who set your dirty book down on my desk.” He held his glass to his lips as he spoke.

You let out a shaky breath. This was it. The first time either of you had even acknowledged your exchange from the previous week and you were ready to confront Declan for the way he had been acting ever since.

“What’s going on Declan? You and I have always gotten along great, I thought we were working really well together. Does one silly conversation seriously ruin all of that? I mean I get it if you regret what happened that night, but you’re my boss and it’s really hard for me to do my job when you just ignore me. You’ve barely said a word to me this week and I’m starting to get freaked out that I’m going to get fired or something.” You ramble on- probably a bit too much.

A worried look immediately takes over his face, eyes softening. He sets his glass down on the corner of his desk and takes a few steps closer to you.

“Oh God no you’re not going to get fired. Jesus, I’m sorry I made you feel that badly.” He brings his palm up to rest on your cheek, holding your face gently in his hand causing your timid gaze to meet his. The feeling of his hand on you sending heat to your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for giving you the cold shoulder this week I just-“ he paused mid-sentence looking toward the ground and letting his eyes wander for a few seconds as he collected his thoughts.

“I don’t regret it”

You raise an eyebrow quizzically, silently asking him to go on.

“I left that night, and I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Every thought in my mind for the last seven days has been you; the sound of your laugh, the little blush on your cheeks when you’re embarrassed,” his eyes are glued to yours and you feel his thumb begin to rub back and forth softly on your face.

“the warmth of your skin, the way you looked sitting underneath me. You’ve consumed me. And that’s not right, is it?” his question is clearly rhetorical, but you want to yell out in protest to keep his eyes and touch on you.

Nothing about the fluttering in your chest for the man standing in front of you feels wrong.

Thankfully he keeps your face in his tender embrace as he continues,

“I’m your boss, I shouldn’t be thinkin’ about you like that. And I definitely shouldn’t have said the things I did last week.”

You couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or disappointment that washed over you at his words, but it caused your gaze to fall from Declan’s eyes and onto the floor. You were now aware that he didn’t want you the same way you wanted him, and you couldn’t bear to look at him as he rejected you. You suddenly felt silly for thinking your feelings for him would have been reciprocated.

His hand slid down to your jaw lifting your eyes to meet his again, gently forcing you to look at him as he spoke.

“But I did say them, and I meant every word. And then like an arsehole, I tried to pretend like nothing happened because I thought maybe we could move on from it. I just don’t want to make this hard for you. I don’t want whatever happens between us to get in the way of your career. People talk, and I won’t be able to live with myself if you’re in some kind of Sunday morning gossip column for bein’ Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress.”

Now it was his turn to ramble, but you were hanging onto every word. You had been waiting for some sort of explanation- for some sort of confession. You understood his worries and a part of you was even thankful for his concern for you and your career. But in this moment- the warmth of his fingertips melting into your skin and the intense, compassionate stare of his big brown eyes pushed any practical reasoning out of your mind.

“Well maybe I want to be Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress.” Your smile was playful yet genuine as you spoke.

Declan couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips shaking his head at your words.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’m a grown woman Declan. I understand that my actions have consequences. But I also can’t bring myself to care what anyone else thinks about what I’m doing or who I’m doing it with.”

Before you know it Declan is grabbing the long forgotten whiskey glass from your hand and setting it aside on the desk. He takes another step forward closing the remaining gap between you. One hand still lazily resting on your jaw as he brings the other to snake around your waist.

“I don’t think you realize how badly I wanted to hear you say that.” He sighs in relief.

You can’t tell who initiates it but within seconds you’re pulling each other in, lips meeting and bodies touching. The kiss quickly grows heated with all the built-up tension and desire that’s been forced down for so long. His hands begin their descent on your body, roaming the sides of your torso holding and grasping as much of you as humanly possible.

“How badly I’ve wanted to hear you tell me you want me.” His words are spoken against your lips, he can barely pull away from you.

“How badly I’ve wanted you bent over my desk.” His voice drops an octave, and he uses the hands that have been exploring your body to spin you around, so you’re pressed against his desk. You can feel him behind you, his body flush against yours, the arousal in his pants unmistakable against your backside.

“I thought about it that night when I went home. Thought about how much I wished I would’ve ignored that phone call and taken you on my desk instead.” His voice was a low whisper in your ear, and you could feel his breath on your neck.

His palms were flat against your abdomen holding you against his body.

You felt his right-hand slide from its position on your stomach only to find a new home gripping your backside. You could nearly hear Declan groan as he held a handful of your ass in his palm. You wanted him to keep touching you like this, clutching your body in his rough hands. You never realized your deep desire to be manhandled by him until Declan held you like this.

“Sweetheart, I could never regret the things I said to you last week.”

His grip on your ass was gone, and you let out an unsteady breath at the loss of contact. The breath turned into a whine when you felt Declan’s hand slide underneath your dress. Still pressed against the desk, you involuntarily leaned your upper body forward over the furniture pushing your bottom half further into his touch. You were so desperate to have him between your legs you didn’t care how pathetic your actions were.

“My God darlin, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He hums and you can feel his touch tracing over you’re embarrassingly soaked underwear.

He hooks a single finger underneath the material pulling it to the side and a rush of cool air meets your damp core causing you to clench around nothing.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Declan’s voice is so quiet behind you, you’re convinced he didn’t want you to hear his offer.

“Don’t. please don’t stop.” You manage to sound somewhat composed even though you’re falling apart under Declan’s touch that hasn’t even found you yet.

“Never in a million years did I think I’d have you like this, bent over and beggin’ for me.” You can’t see him, but you know for a fact there’s a smirk on his face.

Just as you’re about to plead with him again you feel two of his fingers gather the wetness pooling at your center and slowly push into you. You almost roll your eyes in pleasure, but not because of the gratification of Declan’s thick fingers stretching you open. No- it’s the noise he makes from behind you as he lets his hand work between your legs that has you melting into him. An eager groan escapes his lips when he’s finally able to feel you, a sound that assures you that he’s enjoying this just as much as you. It’s enough to make you squeeze tighter around him.

The movement of his right hand between your legs is gentle and methodical, on a mission to get you to your release. His left hand, however, is greedily pulling at your waist dragging your body further into him.

Your gasps of pleasure are very clearly encouraging Declan, causing his fingers to quicken and curl into you. His change in rhythm brings a whimper to your lips.

Declan’s free hand leaves your waist and begins roughly wandering your upper body stopping when he reaches your neck. Gently grabbing your throat, he brings you back so that your body is flat against him. His fingers softly wrap around your neck, and you only want him to squeeze harder. You can feel him all over: his hand holding onto your throat, his heavy breath on your neck, his fingers curling in your heat, and his length pressing against your backside. It was almost too much, feeling him like this- having him like this.

With his hand still on your throat he places open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.

“You don’t have to be so quiet darlin’, I want to hear you.” he murmurs into you, the hum of his voice on your skin giving you goosebumps.

At his request you allow the pleasure building in you to bubble out in a primal moan, finally allowing yourself to fully lose control under his touch. You could feel him smile into your neck at your sweet sounds filling his ears.

The feeling of your release was becoming increasingly harder to ignore as Declan’s fingers continued to move within you. In a haze of desire for the man holding you, his name tumbles out of your mouth in a pathetic whine.

As soon as Declan hears his name, he removes his fingers and abruptly turns you back around to face him. Within seconds he has you sitting on his desk, his body positioned between your open legs. His hand immediately finds its place back at your center, fingers fucking into you at the same pace as before.

"Fuck- say my name like that again."

You oblige, moaning his name and grabbing onto his forearm, your fingernails digging into his skin.

“I want to watch your face when you cum sweetheart.” His voice is groggy, and his eyes are dark, clouded with hunger as you gaze into them.

Declan adored your sweet eyes and innocent smile, but seeing the way you looked at him right now was something he never wanted to forget. Your eyes were glazed over with desire barely able to focus, and your mouth fell open in pleasure. It was something he had only ever thought about late at night with his hand wrapped around his cock.

Adding fuel to the fire already burning within your body, Declan brought his free hand down to rub your clit causing your head to fall back.

The feeling of his fingers on and in you had your walls shuddering around him. The threat of your peak was so close, and Declan knew it.

“I’ve got you. Come on. Cum for me angel.”

The sweet words leave Declan’s lips in a kind whisper and it’s enough to push you right off the edge. Your body tenses and jolts and you find Declan’s name on your tongue repeatedly as you completely let go under his touch.

Both of your breaths are labored as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times, milking your pleasure.

You barely give yourself enough time to recover from your climax before you’re reaching for Declan, pulling him closer by his belt. You let your hands wander lower palming his length through his pants. His forehead falls against yours and his eyes close in indulgence, a quivering breath evading him.

“Feel how badly I want to be inside you?” his accent is think and heavy as he speaks.

Those words have your hands fumbling with his belt. You need it gone. You need to have Declan in your hands, in your mouth, in you. You didn’t care you just needed his pants off.

It’s like he can read your mind because his large hands are instantly assisting you. Watching him undo his belt you shuffle your now soaked and useless panties down your legs.

With his belt and pants finally off you took him in your hand and Declan immediately grabbed onto your waist, his fingertips threatening to leave a mark in their wake.

He couldn’t handle how sweet and soft your hold on his cock was. He was throbbing in your hand, his patience was almost nonexistent as he guided the both of you so his length was lined up at your entrance.

You were both staring at each other now. Not a single word shared between you, just heaving breaths and warm touches.

His eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as he pushed into you inch by inch. Your hands trailed their way into his hair, burying your fingertips in his curls at the feeling of him filling you.

He’s pressed into you to the hilt and stays there for a moment waiting to feel your walls relax around him before he moves.

“Feel okay darlin?” He’s checking on you in a gruff tone, unable to hold back the starvation for you in his voice.

“Mhmm” You answer in a hum, giving a small nod of your head causing your foreheads to bump into each other.

Declan’s gaze falls from your eyes and looks down to where your two bodies meet, looking down to watch the way you’re greedily sucking him in. He watches himself slowly pull out just to plunge right back in. His thrusts are passionate and deep, every inch of him feeling every inch of you.

He knows he won’t last long- not when this is all he’s thought about for months. Playing all of the different scenarios that end with you screaming his name like a movie in his head. Dreaming of what you would feel like wrapped around him like this.

Watching you take him so easily while you sat in his home on his desk had his cock twitching inside you.

When his eyes meet yours again, he couldn’t help but notice your jaw falling slack. You were fucked out and losing your composure and it filled Declan with a satisfied arrogance.

“You look so pretty takin’ me like that sweetheart.” Given your indecent position his voice shouldn’t be so sincere.

“So pretty when you cum too.” The words drip from his lips like honey.

“Think you can give me another one?”

You’re drowning in the syrupiness of his sweet nothings. His words have you squeezing and pulling him deeper into your walls. His hand falls between you, playing with your clit. The already swollen and sensitive bundle of nerves practically vibrating under his fingertips.

His thrusts are deep and precise; finding the perfect spongey spot that has you gripping his hair tighter and moaning profanities.

“I wanna feel you sweet girl.”

You let your forehead fall to the nape of his neck as Declan bottoms out in you repeatedly. His fingers are moving in delicate circles over your clit and you can feel your legs start to tremble.

“C’mon let me feel you cum around me. Let me feel it.”

He’s grunting and pleading and moaning, and you can’t help but give him what he wants. You instinctively bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

Feeling your walls tightening around him has Declan roughly grabbing at your hips, holding you still as he drives into you taking what he wants.

“Oh darlin’ yes- Fuck you feel so good squeezin’ me like that.”

You have Declan in a trance: the sweet sting of your mouth on his shoulder, the soft flesh he’s grasping in his hands, the tight little cunt around him all nice and warm, the precious little whimpers leaving your lips. He swears this is heaven and he’s determined to have you in every way possible.

Screw what the tabloids want to say about it.

You pull your head back to meet his eyes and he can’t take it anymore. The pressure building inside finally sets off and Declan comes undone with a string of moans and sighs finally giving into his release and filling you with heat.

Both of you are silent for a moment, out of breath and struggling to find the words to speak. Your eyes are still locked on one another when you feel Declans hands reach for your arms trailing his fingertips lightly on your skin.

“That needs to happen again.” Declan breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

He’s wearing a dopey lovesick smile that unleashes butterflies in your stomach.

“And again-” He places a kiss on your forehead.

“And again-” He kisses you once on the cheek.

“And then a few more times for good measure.” His lips meet yours in a gentle embrace.

“Well, I guess cheers to being Declan O’Hara’s controversially young mistress then” You joke causing Declan to chuckle darkly hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

my masterlist

#declan o'hara #declan o'hara x reader #declan o’hara smut #rivals x reader #aidan turner #rivals fanfiction #rivals

494 notes · View notes

rosiebbydoll · 30 days ago

Text

The Right Time - Sukuna x Reader - Chp. 3

Chp. 2 - Chp. 3 - Chp. 4

summary: Your life was blissfully chaotic. Being a single mom and raising a daughter with a bigger attitude than yours was a challenge, but you love every second of it. You decided to move to the city to be closer to work. You’ve been at your new apartment for about three weeks now and everything has been great. Until, your annoyingly hot neighbor decided to open his mouth.

cw: female reader, modern au (no curses), 18+, enemies to friends to lovers, mechanic!sukuna x librarian!reader, slow burn, fluff, smut, crack, angst, toxicity, Sukuna is emotionally constipated, Nobora is readers daughter, Choso and Yuji are Sukuna’s nephews, Toji is a present father in this, LOTS of family fluff, manga spoilers? (more tags will be added)

wc: 10.2 k (I got carried away)

chp warning: Toji & Sukuna pov, fluff, tension, angst, crack, sexual content, toxic traits (from reader & Sukuna), mentions of violence, the kids being cute

a/n: time to meet the baby daddy and play uno! enjoy! <3

Saturday morning's hangover had been absolutely brutal - a fitting punishment for your late-night adventures. You'd woken up to find Toji passed out on your couch, his muscular frame sprawled awkwardly because he's too big for normal furniture. He was drooling all over your fancy throw pillows that you spent forever picking out. The sight would have been amusing if your head wasn't pounding like a bass drum. So, you just trudged slowly to the bathroom to search for medicine to ease the hangover away.

To add to the mess, you were still wearing Sukuna's shirt like some twisted walk-of-shame souvenir. The memory of that infuriating wink and the way his scent lingered on the fabric came rushing back with nauseating clarity. You were dreading the moment you would have to return it back to him. It was honestly more embarrassing he saw you completely wasted. Returning a shirt from a one night stand would have been nothing compared to the events of Friday night.

Toji didn't say much that morning. It didn’t feel like he was walking on eggshells or anything. He just knew you were truly upset and sometimes words don't solve shit. A simple "sorry" wouldn't fix anything, so instead, he'd been trying to make it up to you in his own way. Helping with errands, bringing you coffee, doing all the little things a best friend should.

It wasn’t like Toji had actually done anything wrong. The irritation came from somewhere messier—the fact that he was friends with the one person you decided to be your mortal enemy. Yeah, maybe that sounded dramatic, but in that exact moment, it felt like the entire world was conspiring against you. For the longest, it had been just you, Toji, and the kids against everything else, and that made it feel both comforting and isolating at the same time. When you spotted Toji walking up the stairs, something in your chest tightened, and for a brief second, despite all the noise around you, you felt utterly, painfully alone.

There was no need for words about what happened—none were said, and none were needed. Yet Toji understood deep down that your anger wasn’t real, not the kind that lasts. When you woke up and quietly made breakfast for the two of you, it spoke volumes more than any apology ever could. In moments like that, silence carried a weight no conversation ever could, filling the space between you with a quiet understanding.

That was four days ago.

Now it's Wednesday, and you're even more pissed at Toji than before. Poor guy landed himself in the same boat as Sukuna. This time around it's honestly your own fault- actually no, it's not. The motherfucker should have had his door closed. Basic office etiquette, really.

You'd left work early today to have Toji look at your car. The old Honda had been struggling to start most mornings, requiring a jump just to sputter to life. You'd been avoiding the inevitable repairs for months until Toji finally convinced you to let him take a look. After much hesitation, you'd agreed.

It’s not that you don’t trust Toji with your car—he’s reliable, and when he’s focused, he knows his stuff. But there’s a reason that man ended up a landlord and not a full-time mechanic. His “fix-it” methods sometimes feel more like experiments, and you’ve learned to brace yourself for whatever creative solution he’s about to try next. Still, when it comes down to it, you’d rather have his questionable skills than having to pay for it.

So, here you are on a beautiful Wednesday afternoon, heading to Toji's office at the apartment complex. You'd texted him four times already to confirm it was okay to come by, and he'd responded with his typical one-word answers.

He's always been a painfully dry texter - the kind who responds to paragraph-long messages with "k" - so you can never really gauge his mood through messages. But nothing could have prepared you for what you saw when you walked in without knocking.

Toji getting head from some random woman, right there in his office chair.

Now, you love Toji. Truly, he's like your brother and has been there through everything. But there was a shift after his wife passed, and he transformed into a total manwhore. It annoys you to no end, but what can you do? The man's grieving and coping however he can. He's also a single father, handling that responsibility as best he knows how. As his best friend, you reserve the right to get pissed off and make fun of him for his escapades.

Today you were already on edge, probably because of your car troubles. Though for the past week and half, you'd been blaming everything on Sukuna, that walking pain in your existence. So naturally, this was somehow his fault too. Maybe he put Toji up to it just to get under your skin.

Okay now I’m just being ridiculous.

As you stand there in shock, Toji immediately shoves the girl off and hurriedly tucks himself back into his pants. The woman looks stunned to see you standing there like some disapproving mother, while Toji just chuckles and shakes his head, completely unfazed.

Sukuna may have been wrong about many things concerning you, but he wasn't wrong about Toji and his women.

"Hey pretty, did ya come to join us-" You immediately raise your hand to shut him up and turn to the girl.

"You know he has a wife, right?" The words tumble out before you can stop them, and now you're committed to this lie. Toji stares at you like you've completely lost your mind.

The girl cocks her head to the side, confusion written across her features. "What?" She turns to look at Toji, who lets out a long-suffering groan.

Well, now you feel bad - kind of. This girl looks about your age, and Toji's only four years older than you, so it's not that inappropriate. But you did just bring up his wife - who is very much deceased. In your defense, the man had to have known you were coming. You'd texted him enough times to fill a novel. But now you look like the bad guy, yelling at this random ass woman.

God, I hate all men.

Toji pushes back from his chair, slipping an arm around the girl’s waist and starts guiding her toward the door. You, on the other hand, don't want to stick around to hear the inevitable lecture that’s about to come crashing down. Instead, you make a beeline for the exit, practically bolting as if the floor might swallow you whole if you linger any longer.

"Uhm, I'll talk to you later! You guys have fun!" you call out as Toji deadpans at your retreating form.

The girl looks up at him with raised eyebrows. "I thought you said your wife passed away?"

Toji lets out a low, soft hum, the kind that carries more weight than words. “She did.” Without missing a beat, the girl steps closer, giving him a gentle side hug and rubbing the tension from his back.

“And who was that?” she asks, her fingers now absentmindedly playing with the dark strands of his hair.

Toji chuckles, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "My deranged sister."

The woman hums again, a casual, almost teasing sound, as her fingers absentmindedly play with Toji’s hair. It’s the kind of touch that’s more about passing time than comfort—light, easy, with no promises or weight behind it. Just a moment of distraction, nothing more.

Meanwhile, you're stomping up to your apartment, absolutely fuming. You're mad at yourself again, wondering why shit like this always happens. And why does Toji have to be such a whore-

BAM!

Lost in your internal rant, you slam right into what feels like a brick wall. As you wince in pain, you look up to see that shit-eating grin that's been haunting your dreams.

Oh. Not a wall - you ran straight into him.

"Shit, my bad," you mutter, backing away and picking up your tote that fell during the collision with this mountain of a man.

Sukuna's smirk widens, flashing those perfect teeth. "Damn, it's only noon. Already drinking, drunky?" He laughs and bends down to retrieve your phone from the floor.

"Don't call me that," you snap, digging through your tote for your keys. Your stomach drops when you realize they're missing.

"Fuck," you sigh, scanning the ground.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks, with one eyebrow raised. You noticed that they both had slits, which was incredibly hot-

Focus.

"Lost my keys."

"Need help?"

You turn to him with the fakest smile you can muster. "No, I'm good, thank you though."

Sukuna rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh and strides past you without a second glance. You catch yourself trailing behind him like a shadow.

He turns back before entering the parking garage. "Which one's yours?" he asks, nodding toward the sea of vehicles.

You point toward your silver Honda CR-V parked near the far end, its familiar dents and scratches standing out against the polished rows of newer cars. Sukuna’s gaze locks onto it, and without hesitation, he strides toward the car with that unmistakable air of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. You huff under your breath, a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement bubbling up as you realize what he’s doing.

"I'm not an idiot. I wouldn't leave my keys in my car," you shout as he approaches the vehicle.

Sukuna waves off your protests like they’re background noise, leaning in to peer through the car window with a sharp scoff. “Ya sure about that, drunky?” he says, voice dripping with skepticism.

You roll your eyes but can’t help following him over to the car. He looms over you, his shadow stretching long as you both fix your eyes on the keys sitting there in the ignition, like some cruel joke. And, of course, the doors are locked tight.

You groan, pressing your forehead against the cold, unforgiving glass, the chill doing nothing to cool your rising frustration. “I’m going to scream,” you mutter, voice eerily calm despite the chaos of the moment. Sukuna just huffs, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Curious, you glance up to find him already pulling out his phone, fingers flying over the screen as he texts someone.

“My guy’s on his way to unlock the car for you,” Sukuna says like it’s no big deal, his tone casual as if this is just part of the daily routine. You tilt your head, suspicion creeping in. “Your guy?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Sukuna shrugs. “Yeah, one of my workers at the shop. He’s also a locksmith, so he can handle this kind of mess.”

You nod slowly, the pieces clicking together in your mind. So that’s the mechanic friend Toji mentioned too many times without actually saying his name. Suddenly, this whole situation feels a little less hopeless.

As you wait, a thick, awkward silence stretches between you, broken only when Sukuna finally turns to you with that trademark smirk. “Have you gotten that Gameboy fixed yet?” he asks, eyes glinting with mischief.

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden question, then let out a tired sigh. “No, haven’t had the time, honestly. I’m thinking I might just replace it instead of fixing it.”

Sukuna hums, tapping his fingers against his leg as if weighing the options. “I know a guy who could probably fix it, and it wouldn’t even cost much.”

You raise an eyebrow, a small giggle escaping. “Do you have a guy for everything?”

He can’t help but smirk at that, his laugh low and genuine, like a rare crack in his usual cool exterior. The silence that settles afterward isn’t uncomfortable—it’s different. Almost peaceful, like two people sharing a moment without needing to fill the space with noise.

The locksmith pulls up shortly in his battered truck, the engine settling into a low rumble as he hops out with practiced efficiency. Within minutes, he’s unpacked his tools beside your driver’s side door, moving with the kind of calm confidence born from doing this a thousand times before. Then, with a satisfying *click*, the door pops open.

Caught up in the relief and gratitude flooding through you, you do the last thing you expected—you sprint over and wrap your arms around Sukuna in a spontaneous hug.

“Thank you! I owe you—” The words catch in your throat as the reality of what you’re doing hits you mid-sentence.

Sukuna’s face goes unreadable, a mask hiding the chaos inside. His heart is pounding so hard he’s pretty sure it’s audible. You pull away quickly, cheeks burning, stammering apologies as you turn to thank the locksmith properly.

Sukuna leans against the car, watching you interact with the locksmith, fighting to steady his breath. That hug had knocked him off balance—so genuine, so warm, so unexpectedly... right. And now, of course, he’s pissed for feeling this way. Toji had made it clear not to mess with you.

The locksmith nods toward Sukuna, holding out a hand. Sukuna blinks out of his thoughts and steps forward. “Thanks, man,” he says, the dap quick but solid.

The locksmith climbs back into his truck and drives off and you're still burning with embarrassment but trying to act normal. "I really do mean I owe you one."

Sukuna’s smile is slow, knowing, and it twists your insides in the best and worst ways. “Don’t worry about it, drunky.”

Fuck.

Sukuna opens his mouth to say something else, but just then your phone blares an alarm—Nobara’s pick-up time. Your eyes snap wide as you glance at the clock.

“Shit!” you blurt, fumbling to unlock your car. “I’m supposed to pick up Nobara in fifteen minutes!”

“Fuck,” Sukuna mutters at the same time, pulling out his own phone. “I totally forgot about Choso and Yuji.”

You both share a quick, knowing look—the universal parent panic that hits when you realize you’re about to be late. Without a word, you jump into your car while Sukuna strides toward his Mustang parked a few spots away.

As you pull out of the lot, your eyes flick to the rearview mirror, catching his car turning the opposite way. Your mind drifts, the warmth of his chest during that hug lingering like a soft echo. It had been solid, grounding even, before reality slammed back in. And that smile he gave you afterward—different from his usual cocky smirk—something quieter, almost genuine.

Meanwhile, behind the wheel of his Mustang, Sukuna takes the back roads, trying not to dwell on how perfectly you fit against him in that brief hug. Or how your laugh actually sounded real this time, not the usual forced thing you do around him. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, annoyed at himself for noticing.

You both arrive at the preschool from opposite sides, parking in spots that feel deliberately far apart. Across the lot, he catches your eye and gives you a small nod—not his trademark cocky head tilt, but something softer, almost friendly.

You find yourself returning the nod with a slight wave before heading inside to grab Nobara. Something’s shifted between you two, though neither could say exactly what.

Maybe running into each other—literally—wasn’t the worst thing after all.

It’s been almost a month since you met Sukuna, and you’ve given up on trying to completely ignore him—mostly because it’s impossible with how often your kids spend time together (not because he makes your heart race every time you see him, of course). Nobara, Yuji, and Choso have become inseparable, their friendship blossoming with that effortless, instant connection only kids can pull off.

You and Sukuna at least nod at each other in the halls now. Sometimes the kids knock on each other’s doors, claiming they’re just being “neighborly”—though Choso always apologizes quietly for bothering you, his polite seriousness is a stark contrast to Sukuna.

Sukuna had slowly started to learn more about you. Yuji and Choso would talk about how you’re the “book fairy”. Nobora started bringing books over and to school to show them. They thought you were magical and Sukuna soon peaced together that you were the librarian friend Toji had talked about for years.

At school pickup, you watch Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi walking out together, hands linked, chatting about who knows what. Nobara’s always been a social butterfly, but seeing the usually reserved Megumi warming up to the crew is a small joy.

Of course, this new peace between your families means you’re forced to interact with their infuriatingly attractive uncle more than you’d like. The way Sukuna leans casually against the wall waiting for the kids, or how his eyes crinkle slightly when he actually smiles—not the usual smirk—at something the kids do, it’s getting harder to keep up your carefully crafted wall of annoyance.

Meanwhile, Toji’s been busier than ever. Some tenants moved out recently, so he’s been knee-deep in renovations, hustling to fix up the place. You’ve been helping when you can—picking up Megumi, running errands, juggling whatever needs doing.

Sukuna’s been pitching in too. When he’s not at his shops, he’s at Toji’s place, laying down new flooring or handling whatever handyman work needs doing. The trio of you working together has become the new normal, even if it sometimes makes your head spin.

None of you have really been able to hang out. Just catching glimpses of each other here and there—quick hellos in the hallway or passing nods during pickup. Hell, the kids get to see each other more than you do, their laughter and chatter filling the spaces where you and Sukuna barely find time to exchange more than a few words. It’s strange how your lives have intertwined through the kids, yet the grown-up connection still feels like a fragile thread stretched thin across busy days and competing schedules.

Work for you had been going great. The library feels unusually quiet—Ino’s out sick, dramatically claiming he has “definitely the plague,” though you’re pretty sure it’s just a stubborn cold.

You’ve spent most of the day setting up a brand-new “What’s Hot” section for readers, meticulously arranging everything from the latest spicy romance novel to that thriller everyone’s been buzzing about. The display is your pride and joy. You even made little handwritten recommendation cards, something that never fails to bring a smile from the regulars who stop by.

Between organizing the new section, you’ve sat through a handful of meetings about upcoming visits. The local elementary school is gearing up for their annual field trip—you’re already bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos and the senior center’s book club wants to reserve the conference room for their monthly gatherings. The day’s been busy but somehow flew by, maybe a little too fast.

You’re wrapping up around three, ready to head out. Nobara has art club until five today, so you figure there’s enough time to knock out some errands and sneak in a quick catch-up with her dad. It’s nothing heavy—just your usual monthly check-in to go over Nobara’s schedule and make sure you’re both on the same page. Between both of your packed workdays, once a month is about the only window you can carve out to sync up without juggling too many balls at once.

There’s no drama between you—just two adults trying to navigate the business of co-parenting with as much grace as possible. Today’s meeting follows the usual rhythm: reviewing Nobara’s upcoming activities and making sure nothing falls through the cracks. She’s buzzing with excitement about starting jujitsu, which has you freaking out more than you’d like to admit. On top of that, she’s just signed up for the art club and of course, summer camp is right around the corner, adding another layer to the carefully balanced schedule you both work hard to manage.

Every day, you silently thank the universe that her father is such a wonderful person. It’s almost annoying how wonderful he is. But you’re beyond grateful. Without him, you’d be lost. What you don’t realize is he feels the same way about you, and that thought lingers quietly between both of you, unspoken but deeply understood.

Now you’re finally stepping out of the library, already tasting the sweet reward of a well-deserved sweet treat from the coffee shop before heading over to his office. You’ve been holding your breath every time you start your car since that day—Toji never actually fixed it, and you haven’t had the nerve to bring it up since. The memory of that afternoon lingers too heavily, so you refuse to mention it again.

“Come on, you piece of...” you mutter under your breath, turning the key once more. The engine responds with a sad, pitiful clicking sound that definitely isn’t normal. After the fifth failed attempt, you throw in the towel and dial Toji—the guy who’s become your unofficial mechanic, ever since he tried to bring your radiator back to life with duct tape and a prayer.

“Pretty, I can’t come right now. Megumi’s got a dentist appointment,” Toji’s voice comes through, distracted and full of background noise. Megumi is firing off endless questions about whether dentists are actually certified. “I’ll send someone over for you.”

You start to ask, “Who—?” but the line’s already dead. Typical Toji. One of these days you swear you’re going to give him a good punch in the arm.

Fifteen minutes later, the low rumble of a motorcycle rolls into the parking lot, and your stomach twists into knots. A familiar figure pulls up next to your car, the sleek black Kawasaki purring as if it owns the place. The bike’s dangerous curves mirror its rider perfectly—smooth, powerful, and impossible to ignore.

Of course. Of fucking course Toji would send him. Which honestly you’re grateful a mechanic is actually here. But you would never say that to his face.

Sukuna swings off the bike with that maddening grace, peeling off his helmet to reveal that stupid, infuriating smirk you’ve come to both dread and anticipate. His white t-shirt clings to a chest you’ve tried not to notice, his arms covered in intricate tattoos flexing as he runs a hand through his helmet-mussed hair. The pink highlights catch the afternoon sun, and you hate that you even notice.

You raise an eyebrow, folding your arms as he approaches. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”

He smirks, eyes flickering to your car. “Car trouble, drunky?” he asks, completely ignoring your question as he saunters over like he owns the whole damn lot. His boots scrape against the asphalt, each step deliberate, measured, and annoyingly confident.

You cross your arms tighter, leaning back against your car door. “No, I just love standing in empty parking lots. It’s my hobby.”

He chuckles, closing the distance between you. “Don’t you need my help? Play nice for once.” That damn smirk stretches wider, and you shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“Did Toji tell you what’s wrong?”

“Nah, just said you needed help.” Now he’s close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne mixed with motor oil and leather—a dangerous mix you stubbornly refuse to admit affects you.

“Pop the hood.”

You nod and pop the hood, stepping back as Sukuna leans over the engine bay. The way his shirt rides up just enough to reveal a strip of tanned skin makes your eyes drift, catching the edge of a tattoo winding beneath his waistband.

“See something you like?” he asks without looking up, voice teasing.

You snap back to reality, realizing you’ve been caught staring. “Yeah, a functional car. Think you can manage that?”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he moves to the steering wheel and tries the ignition again. The same pitiful clicking noise greets you.

Sukuna straightens, wiping his hands on his jeans with a sigh. “Starter’s shot. I can have one of my guys come pick it up and get it fixed by tomorrow. We’ve got the parts at the shop.”

“Tomorrow?” You groan, dread sinking in. “How am I supposed to get home?”

He pats his motorcycle with a grin, the black paint gleaming under the afternoon sun. “Got a spare helmet. Even padded for that hard head of yours.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Scared?” His eyes glint with challenge, and for the first time you notice a fleck of gold shining in one iris, sharp and mischievous.

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle in my life,” you admit, trying not to let the nervous edge creep into your voice.

“I may not be the best at first impressions,” he says with a cocky grin, “but I’m pretty damn good at driving.” He winks—again. Seriously, there should be laws against being this annoying and this attractive at the same time.

You roll your eyes and scoff, but beneath you feel your resolve is starting to crumble.

Focus. You’ve got shit to do.

While Sukuna calls his shop, you try hard not to get distracted by how effortlessly competent he looks taking charge—his voice sharpening into business mode, calm and controlled. You catch him absently chewing on his bottom lip as he listens to his employee’s response, fingers tapping out a steady rhythm against his thigh. The sunlight catches the silver rings on his hands, glinting just enough to pull your gaze again. You definitely don’t notice any of that. Nope.

“Car will be ready tomorrow afternoon,” he says, ending the call with a satisfied snap. “Tow truck’s on its way. Now…” He holds out the spare helmet—a sleek black with a subtle red pinstripe running along the side. “You coming or walking?”

You eye the helmet like it might bite. “If you kill me, Nobara will never forgive you.”

He smirks, voice softening just a touch at the mention of your daughter. “Guess I better keep you alive then.”

“That’s not very convincing coming from you,” you retort, trying to keep the edge in your voice.

His grin widens as he steps closer, the air between you thick with tension. “I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

You take the helmet, partly just to have something to do with your hands, and clear your throat, turning your head away. “I’ve got a few stops to make before you take me home. That cool?”

You try to sound tough, but the edge is fading fast.

He just smiles and nods. “Tell me where we need to go, drunky.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” He winks, and you mentally groan.

Rolling your eyes, you swing a leg over the bike. Sukuna’s hands are surprisingly gentle as he helps strap the helmet on. The soft touch sends an unexpected jolt straight to your nerves.

“Alright, where to?” Sukuna asks, already shifting the bike into gear.

“Downtown. I need to meet Nobara’s dad at his office,” you say quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

He squints, the gears in his head clicking. “What’s his office? I’ll GPS it.”

You mumble the address, watching his expression twist as the name sinks in.

“Higuruma & Associates?” His eyebrows shoot up, like you just dropped some wild secret on him. “Wait, the law firm?”

“Yeah.”

“Your baby daddy is a lawyer?” His tone is tinged with skepticism and a hint of amusement.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Sukuna. Her father is a lawyer. Is that so hard to believe?”

He repeats the name slowly, testing it out like it’s a foreign word. “Hiromi Higuruma? The top lawyer in Tokyo? That’s who you…” He trails off, waving a vague hand.

“Had a baby with? Yep.” You’re enjoying his discomfort a little too much. “Why? Expecting some deadbeat?”

He shakes his head, turning the bike on with a low growl. “Nah, you just keep surprising me.”

“And what does that mean exactly?” You wrap your arms around his waist as he pulls out of the parking lot, trying to ignore how solid he feels beneath your hands.

“Just surprised you’re making poor life choices,” he calls over the roar of the engine. “Like getting on this bike with me.”

You squeeze his middle harder than necessary. “Just drive, asshole.”

The ride downtown is a blur of honking horns and flashing lights, but you’re too focused on the close contact to notice much else. Holding on to him feels oddly natural—his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, the way he instinctively shields you from the wind when rounding corners. It’s unsettling how easy it is to fall into the rhythm.

As you approach the towering glass facade of the law firm, Sukuna’s disbelief only seems to grow heavier, his eyes narrowing as they scan the sleek, polished building like it doesn’t quite fit the story he’s piecing together. He eases the bike to a stop with a low whistle, the engine’s rumble fading into the hum of the city. His gaze lingers on the reflective windows, tracing the sharp lines and glossy surfaces with a mix of skepticism and something else—curiosity.

“Can you wait out here? I won’t be long.” You begin to tug off the back of your helmet, feeling the cool air hit your hair as Sukuna steadies the bike beneath you.

“I gotta piss,” he announces abruptly, already swinging his leg over the side to dismount.

You raise a brow, exhaling a tired sigh, and mutter a distracted ‘whatever’ as you start up the steps toward the entrance.

Sukuna doesn’t really have to piss. It’s just his way of sneaking a peek, a subtle excuse to linger and get a better look at this ‘famous’ baby daddy of yours.

At the security desk, the guard looks up and immediately recognizes you. “Good afternoon! Mr. Higuruma is in his office,” he says with a nod, opening the way.

Sukuna’s eyebrows shoot up as the receptionist waves you through without a second glance. The elevator ride up is quiet, but you can feel his gaze on you. You avoid eye contact at all costs by staring at the polished linoleum.

The law firm’s reception is all sleek surfaces and expensive artwork, the kind that screams power and money without saying a word. By the window stands a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back with precision. When he turns, his stern expression softens just a bit when he sees you.

“You’re late,” Hiromi says, but there’s no real bite behind the words.

“Car trouble,” you reply, nodding toward Sukuna. “This is my… neighbor. He gave me a ride.”

Hiromi nods and gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. His sharp eyes flick to Sukuna, taking in the tattoos, the motorcycle helmet in his hand, the way he stands just a little too close to you. A flicker of something knowing crosses his face.

“Appreciate you bringing her,” Hiromi says formally, extending a hand. “Hiromi Higuruma.”

Sukuna shakes it, and you have to bite back a laugh at the nearly imperceptible shock on his face. No doubt about it now—Hiromi’s face has been on magazine covers and news stories enough to be instantly recognizable.

“I’ll wait outside,” Sukuna mutters, giving Hiromi one more look.

As he steps away, you catch Hiromi’s subtle smirk. “Neighbor, huh?”

“Don’t start,” you warn, already bracing yourself. “Let’s just talk about Nobara’s schedule.”

Still, you can’t help stealing a glance at the door, knowing Sukuna’s probably out there, trying to wrap his head around how you—the mouthy librarian next door—ended up having a kid with one of Tokyo’s top lawyers.

Hiromi chuckles, settling into his chair with that same effortless elegance he’s always had. “Ah yes, our little firecracker wants to try jujutsu.”

You smile despite yourself. ‘Our little firecracker’—that’s what Hiromi’s called Nobara ever since she came screaming into the world, loud enough to shatter everyone’s eardrums. It’s strange how you look at Hiromi now — layered with years of history. One wild night at a bar sparked something neither of you expected, something messy and imperfect, but precious all the same—even if romance was never part of the equation.

“She won’t stop talking about it,” you say fondly. “Megumi’s been showing her some moves during recess.”

“Fushiguro’s boy?” Hiromi raises an eyebrow, rifling through papers. “She talks about him constantly. Along with… Yuji and Choso?”

“The neighbor’s nephews,” you say, trying to sound casual. Hiromi hums as he watches Sukuna through his glass office walls.

“The tattooed neighbor who’s making my receptionist nervous?” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “She’s usually unflappable.”

You cut in before it goes further. “Can we focus on summer camp? Registration ends this week.”

“Already handled,” Hiromi says, sliding a neatly organized folder across the polished surface of his desk. The soft thud of the folder hitting the wood feels oddly reassuring. “Both the regular camp and the jujutsu classes are taken care of. And before you start,” he holds up a hand, cutting you off with that familiar, knowing look that tells you he’s been through this dance a hundred times, “I know you can pay for it, but I want to, so don’t even think about complaining.”

You accept the folder, the weight of it somehow grounding you. His straightforward approach is exactly what keeps your complicated arrangement from unraveling. Just two adults who created something incredible together, and who have learned to make it work on their own terms.

“Thank you,” you say softly, meaning every word. “She’s going to be so excited.”

Hiromi raises an eyebrow, a playful glint lighting his otherwise serious eyes. “She gets that energy from you.”

You can’t help the quick retort that flies out, “Pretty sure her attitude is all you.”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm, filling the room like a familiar melody. “Speaking of attitude… the neighbor?”

You shoot him a warning look. “Stop it.”

But you catch the corner of your mouth twitching, betraying your amusement.

“As the father of your child, I feel obligated to point out you’re blushing.”

You roll your eyes. “And as the mother of your child, I feel obligated to tell you to fuck off.”

His expression softens, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes your heart ache a little. “It’s good to see you flustered over someone. It’s been a while.”

“I’m not flustered,” you say quickly, though even your own voice sounds uncertain.

“Of course not,” he replies smoothly, his tone laced with gentle teasing. “Just like you weren’t flustered that night at the bar when you told me my tie was stupid.”

“It was stupid. Still is.” You gesture to the tie he’s wearing now—exactly the same one from that night, a stubborn little emblem of how little things change.

He adjusts it with exaggerated dignity. “It’s classic.”

“Yeah, boring,” you shoot back.

He smirks, undeterred. “Says the woman who rode here on a motorcycle with a man covered in tattoos.”

You roll your eyes, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. Then, suddenly, the room slips into a quiet that feels heavier than it should.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” His voice is softer now, serious.

You look at him, brow furrowed in concern. “Yeah, for sure. You okay?”

He hesitates, swallowing before he speaks. “I’m fine. I just… need to talk.”

His formal tone tightens the knot in your stomach. Hiromi’s never this hesitant unless something’s up.

“Well, that’s never good,” you try to joke, but your voice wavers, and a wave of nausea creeps up your throat.

“So… remember that woman I told you I started talking to?”

You nod slowly, the memory of that passing mention during Nobara’s last pickup still fresh.

“Well, we’re getting serious,” he says, gaze steady. “And I want to know if it’s okay if I bring Nobara around her. Actually…” He pauses, fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of his tie, a rare crack in his usual composed armor. “I was hoping to introduce them to eachother tonight.”

You’re stunned.

Stunned for two reasons.

First, because he actually asked for your permission. That’s never been a written rule between you two, but it’s a line he’s always respected without being asked. Hiromi values your role as Nobara’s mother in a way that’s quietly steady and sincere—a rare kind of respect that means more than words.

Second, because another person in your life is moving into something serious—like a whole new chapter that you never quite saw coming. The universe must be having a private joke at your expense, watching you stumble through your own tangled mess while Hiromi steps forward with someone else.

It’s a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you: a pinch of envy, a stab of loneliness, and beneath it all, a reluctant sense of relief. How pathetic it feels to be caught off guard by this, to realize that while you’re still wrestling with your own chaos, life keeps moving forward for everyone else—sometimes faster than you’re ready to catch up.

“Of course it’s okay,” you manage to say, pushing down the swirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “You don’t need to ask.”

“I do, though.” He leans forward, earnest and raw in a way that catches you off guard. “You’re her mother. Your opinion matters. Always.”

You swallow hard, the question catching in your throat more than you expected. “What’s she like?”

Hiromi’s entire demeanor shifts—softens in a way you haven’t seen before, like a mask peeling back to reveal something quieter, more vulnerable. His eyes soften, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as if recalling something precious. “She’s a professor at the university,” he starts, voice low and almost reverent. “She teaches philosophy—always questioning everything, pushing boundaries. Sometimes to the point of driving me crazy, honestly. But that’s part of what makes her so... sharp. Fiercely independent, but with this unexpected warmth that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. The kind of person who remembers the smallest details—your favorite coffee, how you take your tea—and somehow manages to make even the toughest days feel lighter just by being around.”

Hearing him speak like that, you feel a strange ache in your chest—not jealousy, but something softer, more complicated. It’s the quiet, almost boyish affection in his voice that unsettles you, seeing this usually composed man become so openly tender.

“She sounds perfect for you,” you say sincerely, the words catching in your throat. “I’m happy for you, Hiromi.” Without thinking, you reach out and pull him into a hug. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, grounding you in the moment.

“Thanks,” he murmurs softly, and you hum in response.

But then his expression shifts, growing serious again, searching. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? With tonight?”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight behind the question settle deep in your chest. “Hiromi,” you say softly, voice steady despite the storm inside, “all I’ve ever wanted is for Nobora to be surrounded by people who love her. If she makes you happy, if she’s good to our daughter... that’s all that matters.”

He studies your face carefully, eyes probing for something beneath your calm. “There’s something else. You look... sad.”

You shake your head quickly, denial rushing out before you can stop it. “I’m not sad.” But the words ring hollow even to your own ears. “I’m just... everyone’s moving forward, you know? And I’m still just...”

“Still just being an incredible mother, building a career you love, and apparently making my receptionist question her life choices by showing up with a man who looks like he could bench press my desk?” His voice lightens, teasing, but with unmistakable warmth.

You roll your eyes, but can’t stop the smile creeping across your face. “Shut up.”

He leans in, voice dropping to that gentle-but-firm tone he uses in court—the one that demands attention without raising volume. “You’re not standing still. You’re choosing your pace. There’s a difference.”

You stand, gathering your things, the flutter of nerves and uncertainty still humming beneath your skin. “Pick her up at five? Her club’s done by then.”

“Perfect.” Hiromi rises too, and before either of you can stop it, you pull him into a quick, unexpected hug.

“Good luck tonight,” you murmur, stepping back. “Try not to be so... lawyer-y.”

He adjusts his tie with mock offense. “I’m always lawyer-y. It’s my charm.”

You roll your eyes again, turning toward the door, but your mind is already racing—thoughts swirling about tonight, about Nobora meeting someone new in her father’s life, about how everything is shifting faster than you’re ready for.

When you step out, Sukuna straightens from where he’d been leaning against the wall, his eyes flickering briefly to yours. You walk past without a word, jabbing the elevator button maybe a little harder than necessary, your chest tight with a tangle of emotions you’re not quite ready to untangle.

The elevator’s silence wraps around you like a thick fog, heavy and electric. You can feel his eyes on you—watching every subtle shift, every flicker of tension in your shoulders, the way your bottom lip catches between your teeth like you’re holding back a secret. It’s obvious he’s bursting to ask something, but he holds it back, the question hanging unspoken between you.

Somewhere between the twelfth and eleventh floor, the pressure becomes too much. You let out a dramatic sigh that echoes in the cramped space, loud and deliberate.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently, his gaze sharp but unreadable.

“You got any plans tonight?” The words slip out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered.

He quirks a smirk, the corners of his mouth turning up in that irritatingly confident way. “Why? Ya asking me out, drunky?”

You flush, heat rising to your cheeks. “Never mind,” you scoff and roll your eyes, but he closes the distance between you, stepping in with that infuriatingly casual ease, invading your space like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“My dad’s got the boys this weekend,” he says, voice low, almost a hum. You nod, caught off guard by the softness in his tone, the way his presence suddenly feels less like a challenge and more like an anchor.

The motorcycle ride home is different—lighter, somehow. The usual tension that had wrapped around you both like armor has softened, melted away into something unspoken but real. Without thinking, you rest your head against his back, arms looping around his waist in a grip that feels both desperate and comforting. It’s strange—only a month ago, you barely tolerated him, kept your distance like he was a storm you wanted to avoid. And now, here you are, clinging to him like he’s the only thing steady in a world that’s suddenly spinning too fast.

When you asked about his plans, Sukuna probably pictured something entirely different from what was unfolding now. Here you were, sprawled across your cramped living room floor, deep into a heated, slightly slurred game of drunk Uno. The night had slipped away faster than either of you expected, empty beer bottles scattered around like markers of chaos. The game had long since abandoned any semblance of normal rules, devolving into a ridiculous mess of house-made additions and laughter that echoed off the walls.

“Draw four!” you shouted, slapping your card down with way more enthusiasm than skill, a hiccup punctuating your excitement.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. “You’re cheating.”

You shot him a challenging grin. “Prove it.” A giggle escaped despite your best attempt at a serious poker face.

Yuji’s old Uno deck was a little worse for wear—sticky here and there, evidence of a long-forgotten juice spill—and Sukuna had found it buried in a drawer somewhere. Neither of you cared that the cards were far from pristine.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the rules work,” Sukuna muttered, reaching for another beer, his voice low but amused.

You mimicked his gruff tone perfectly. “I’m pretty sure I don’t care,” you shot back, and that was the exact moment he hurled a card at your head.

The apartment was chaos—a fortress of couch cushions tossed on the floor, your work bag abandoned near the door, and a half-eaten pizza sitting forgotten on the coffee table. But none of it mattered. Not tonight.

“Your turn,” you hiccupped, waving a hand in his direction.

Sukuna just stared at you, that look sharp in his eyes like he was trying to solve a puzzle. A puzzle made of you, this night, and whatever unspoken tension simmered between you.

“What?” you pressed, your voice a little too loud in the quiet room.

“Nothing,” he said too quickly, too sharply. The kind of ‘nothing’ that always meant something.

The game went on, each round more competitive, more ridiculous, and more drunk than the last.

“Red!” you shouted, slamming your card down like it was some grand victory.

Sukuna took a shot of tequila—because why the hell not—and that’s when you spotted it. A glint of silver when he stuck out his tongue, muttering a curse under his breath at your move.

“Holy shit,” you blurted, eyes widening. “You have a tongue ring?”

He smirked, deliberately flicking his tongue over his teeth. “Observant, aren’t ya?”

“When did you get that?”

“I was sixteen,” he said, tossing down a draw-two card with casual defiance. “Rebellious phase. Pissed off my old man.”

You snorted, disbelief coloring your voice. “You? Rebellious? Never would have guessed.”

“Fuck off,” he laughed, low and rough. It was the kind of laugh that held memories, a little rough around the edges but genuine all the same.

“I bet you were a handful,” you joke, nudging him with your elbow.

Sukuna throws his head back and sighs. “I was a little shit,” he admits, eyes sparkling with mischief. You both keep laying down cards, the game slipping into a rhythm that feels surprisingly easy.

The room falls into a comfortable silence for a moment. You take another slow sip of your drink, the warmth spreading through you.

“Ya know,” you start, voice softer now, “Toji talked about his mechanic friend for years. I was honestly surprised it was you.”

He raises a brow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Surprised?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, sticking your tongue out teasingly. “For a huge asshole, you’re pretty successful.”

Sukuna’s face heats up just a little, a rare flush that makes him look almost boyish. He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah? Well, Toji always talked about his gorgeous best friend who’s a librarian and a great mom.”

He pauses, and you catch him taking a slow sip of his beer. The silver glint of metal flashes again as he flicks his tongue—your eyes lock on the subtle tongue ring for a second longer than you mean to.

“Guess you’re not too bad,” he says, raising a brow and pouring you another drink. You laugh, the sound easy and genuine, and for a moment you forget about everything else.

This is actually fun. You don’t know why you invited Sukuna—of all people—over, and you’re not sure why it’s so damn easy to talk to him. It’s annoying, really.

“So,” Sukuna breaks the silence, voice low and deliberate, “the lawyer.”

You freeze, card halfway in the air. “What about him?”

He gestures vaguely between you. “You two… how’s that work?”

You laugh, sharp and a little bitter. “One night stand turned co-parenting. Definitely not a romance novel.”

“Seriously?” His eyes widen, genuinely surprised.

“Hiromi was just… a good guy. Smart as hell. We were both in a place where we needed something. Ended up with the best thing either of us could’ve imagined.” You slam down a draw-two card, your tone firm. “Draw two.”

Sukuna takes the cards, studying you like he’s trying to read between your words. “You never thought about getting back together?”

“We never were,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re friends. Good friends. But romantic? Nope. We’re better as Nobara’s parents than we ever would’ve been as a couple.”

“Huh.” He seems to be processing it all. “Most people would’ve tried to make it work—for the kid.”

“Most people aren’t us,” you say simply, flipping a card triumphantly. “Uno!”

He groans and throws a pillow at you. The game might be falling apart, but neither of you cares.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Toji walks in, key still in hand, freezing at the chaotic scene before him. Two drunk adults sprawled on the floor, Uno cards scattered everywhere, empty beer bottles littered around like casualties of a war.

“Just because you’re my landlord doesn’t mean you can barge in,” you tease, barely looking surprised.

Toji blinks, taking it all in. “What the hell are you two doing?”

Sukuna doesn’t even glance away, raising his beer with a lazy grin. “Uno.”

“Drunk Uno,” you clarify with a shrug, as if that explains everything.

Toji’s eyes flick between the two of you, a mix of confusion and something else—was it amusement? Suspicion?—softening his usual guarded expression.

“Your turn,” you say to Sukuna, completely ignoring Toji’s sudden presence like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Sukuna’s grin broadens, the silver flash of his tongue ring catching the light as he flicks a card down. “Red.”

Toji sighs, drops his keys onto the cluttered table, and slides down onto the floor beside you both. “Scoot over,” he says, settling in like he belongs here.

“Thought you were at the dentist,” you tease, nudging him with your elbow.

“Got done about an hour ago. Megumi’s with his grandparents,” Toji replies, grabbing a beer from the half-empty six-pack. “Deal me in.”

Sukuna picks up the deck and begins reshuffling with practiced ease. Even through your drunken haze, you can’t help but notice how big his hands are, how effortlessly they move as he splits the deck and deals the cards evenly.

He smacks a card down with a grin. “You first, drunky.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname but play along, laying down a yellow five.

Toji methodically organizes his cards, taking a long swig of beer before asking, “Where’s Nobara?”

“With her dad,” you say, tossing down a blue card. “Hiromi’s introducing her to his girlfriend tonight.”

Toji’s brow arches in surprise. “Girlfriend?” Sukuna raises a brow too, and suddenly it clicks why you acted that way in the elevator.

“Yeah,” you explain, voice steady but quiet. “Seems nice. From what he’s told me.”

Toji studies you carefully, eyes sharp despite the beer. “You okay with that?”

You snap back, a little sharper than you mean to. “Why wouldn’t I be?” But there’s a flicker of vulnerability in your voice that betrays you.

Before things can get heavier, Sukuna cuts in, slamming down a card. “Draw four.”

“Asshole!” you laugh, but the relief of the distraction is clear in your smile.

Toji watches you both with a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Whatever’s shifted between you and Sukuna, he’s picked up on it—and he isn’t missing a thing.

"Your deal," Sukuna says, sliding the deck toward you. His fingers linger a moment too long as you take the cards.

A crash of thunder makes you jump, cards scattering everywhere. None of you had noticed the storm rolling in, too caught up in the game and drinks.

"Shit," you mutter, looking out the window at the now-pouring rain. Lightning illuminates the sky, and the lights flicker ominously.

Toji checks his phone. "Power's out in half the building already." He stands, landlord mode activating despite the beer. "Should check on the other tenants real quick."

"Need help?" Sukuna offers, but Toji waves him off.

"Nah, stay here. Make sure this one doesn't burn the place down trying to find candles." Your face deadpans and you flip him off as he grabs his keys, already heading for the door. "I'll be back after I check everyone's okay."

The moment the door shuts, the lights go out.

"Perfect," you mutter, fumbling for your phone. The flashlight beam catches Sukuna's face, shadows playing across his features. You try not to notice how the darkness makes his eyes seem more intense.

"Scared of the dark?" he teases, but he's already moving to help you find candles. You start opening drawers and boxes in the kitchen, not remembering if you had unpacked them yet.

"I fucking hate this" you grumble, trying not to notice how close he is as you both search through your kitchen drawers. "I hate-"

"Me?" he finishes, his voice low and amused. He's standing right behind you now, close enough that you can feel his warmth.

Lightning flashes again, illuminating the kitchen. For a split second, you see his reflection in the window, the way he's looking at you.

You turn around slowly. "I was going to say I hate how unorganized I am, but yeah, you too." You suddenly see the package of candles under some paper in the box you had yet to go through and grab it in defeat.

He laughs softly, taking the candle from you. His fingers brush yours in the darkness. "I can help you unpack the rest of your shit one day, drunky." He sits the candles in the counter and you ignore his statement and begin to search for matches.

It becomes silent again. Only the roar of the rain can be heard. Another crack of thunder, closer this time. You definitely don't jump, and he definitely doesn't notice how you instinctively step closer to him.

"Found matches," you say, trying to maintain some distance - physical and emotional. But in the small kitchen, with the storm raging outside, distance feels impossible.

Sukuna lights the candle, the small flame casting a warm glow between you. "Better?"

.You open your mouth to answer, but your phone buzzes sharply. A text from Toji, “Checking basement circuit breakers. Stay put, doesn’t look like it's gonna die down.”

"Looks like we're stuck here," you say, showing him the message.

Sukuna could easily head back to his own apartment—his place is right next door, after all. But you haven’t said a word about him leaving, haven’t even hinted that the night’s over. So here he is, standing in the dim light of your kitchen, just watching you. His posture is relaxed but there’s an intensity in the way his eyes track your every small movement.

He lets out a dry, sarcastic, “Terrible,” but there’s something softer beneath the edge—a flicker of concern that catches your attention. He glances at you, noticing the way your eyelids are heavy, the subtle slump in your shoulders, the exhaustion etched across your face.

Lightning flashes again, casting flickering shadows across your features, the candlelight dancing over your figure and it mesmerizes him for a moment.

Without a word, Sukuna steps closer and gently reaches out, steadying you as you wobble slightly. “Hey, you look wiped. Come on, let’s get you to bed baby.”

You try to protest, but the exhaustion weighs too heavily. He gently guides you toward the couch, his touch softer than you’d expect. With surprising tenderness, he eases you down into the cushions. The moment your body sinks into the familiar fabric, the night’s weight crashes over you like a wave, dragging you toward sleep.

Sukuna doesn’t move away. Instead, he lowers himself to the floor beside the couch, leaning back against the worn fabric with a slow, steady sigh. The silence between you thickens but doesn’t suffocate—there’s an unspoken understanding in the stillness.

Your breathing evens, eyes fluttering shut. He notices the slight tremor in your shoulders and, without thinking, pulls a blanket from nearby, draping it over you with care. His fingers linger a moment on the fabric, smoothing it as if to shield you from more than just the cold.

Minutes pass in quiet comfort. The storm rages on outside, but inside the room, the soft glow of candlelight and the rhythmic sound of your breathing create a fragile peace. Sukuna’s head slowly tilts back against the couch, eyes growing heavy. Before long, he’s dozing, the steady rise and fall of his chest mirroring yours.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Toji steps inside, pausing as he takes in the scene. There you both are—fast asleep, you curled on the couch, Sukuna slumped on the floor beside you, leaning against the couch like a watchful guardian who finally gave in to exhaustion.

Toji lets out a sigh and decides to crash on your bed because he refuses to deal with whatever the hell is happening between you two and your bed is much comfier than that stupid recliner.

But for real, what the hell is happening between you two?

summary/notes: hello my lovelies! I am oh so sorry it took me forever to update. I graduate university in two days. So, I’ve been a busy gal. I do plan to start posting more with the free time I have!

Anyhoo, I really loved writing this chapter so much. I read it out loud to my bf and he’s very invested in the plot lmao (he’s a sukuna and toji simp). I also had to add Hiromi because I’ve been obsessed with him since I read the bath scene years ago.

Please let me know what you guys think! I love to hear your input and suggestions! I love you all so much! <3

taglist is open: please comment and let me know if you want to be on it!! (:

@sukubusss @poopooindamouf @tojiswifeforlife @emochosoluvr @bookfreakk @withtanxp

@pandabiene5115 @fava-boi @not-aya @jkslvsnella @saltypuffin1040 @777pluto

#jjk #sukuna #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujitsu kaisen #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #sukuna fic #dividers by @enchanthings - a

259 notes · View notes

urbanwoodsgoods · 3 days ago

Text

Sleek & Sustainable Modern Conference Tables by Urban Wood Goods

Impress your clients and inspire your team with a handcrafted modern conference table from Urban Wood Goods. Each piece is built using eco-friendly reclaimed wood and modern industrial steel bases, offering a timeless aesthetic and long-lasting durability. Whether you're outfitting a corporate boardroom or a co-working space, our modern conference tables are made to command attention while fostering collaboration.

#Quick ship office furniture #modern conference table #Computer Desks #2 person computer desks #wood computer desks #double computer desk #desk benching systems #L-shaped desks #Standing Desks #standing computer or work desk #standing computer desk

0 notes

interiorergonomics · 11 months ago

Text

Customizing Office Storage Cabinets

Customizing office storage cabinets for a modern workstation desk significantly enhances both functionality and aesthetics. They offer tailored solutions which cater to the 2-person workstation desk clusters and specific spatial needs.

Once you opt to customize the cabinets to either low or mid and full height cabinet option, they promotes efficiency by ensuring that all necessary items are within easy reach. They go further to reducing clutter, and improving workflow.

Additionally, bespoke storage designs can seamlessly integrate with the overall office decor. Here they can reinforce a cohesive and professional appearance which aligns with the company’s brand identity.

Such thoughtful integration not only optimizes space utilization but also extends the biophilic designs of greenery to office spaces using integrated planter cabinets. For sure, read more to learn how they contribute to a more organized, productive and office furniture aesthetics for a visually appealing workspace.

0 notes

samkerrworshipper · 7 months ago

Text

the lawn is dead. pt.2

hi! i wrote a part 2! i’m on a unofficial hiatus but had some inspiration the last few days and had to finish this. hope it provides a little bit more comfort then the last chapter .. sorry xo

warnings: suicidal themes, self harm themes, themes of depression, anxiety, dark thoughts. viewer discretion advised.

You can describe the carpet of this office better then most people can describe themselves.

It’s a rug, for the most part, except for the where it’s clear a person has chosen laziness in favour of lifting up the heavier furniture to place the rug down underneath it. Where the rug doesn’t cover, there is bleak grey carpet that feels more boring then the time you spend in this room.

Where the carpet lacks in literally everything, the rug makes up for it blindingly.

It’s a messy mixture of far too many colours, pinks, purples, blues, greens and neutrals. It doesn’t make any sense in your mind, why somebody would chose for the focal point of their room to be a rug that doesn’t match with any of the furniture. It’s another sign that the furniture came before the rug, all of the furniture is dark mahogany, beautiful pieces that look as if they’ve come from and English period piece, whereas the rug looks so modern it’s almost painful.

The rest of the furniture has been picked with similar taste.

The painting on the wall looks like what a child would vomit after going to a birthday party. Every time you’ve come here you’ve had a new analogy, but this week that is the one, it looks like stomach contents and you can’t get past it, to the point it’s made you physically nauseated.

From the painting moves onto the bookshelf, where there is a odd mix of medical textbooks, classics and selfawareness books, all stacked in such disarray that you have to keep your eyes away because it makes you uncomfortable.

Beyond the furniture is your psychologist, with her stupid fucking note pad, stupid glasses perched on the very tip of her nose and stupidly calm face that never really changed.

She was supposed to be a specialist, the best of the best, supposed to be the greatest and getting to the bottom of the most famous athletes problems and yet you found pride in alluding her.

One hour, every four days was what you were down to now, a couple of weeks ago it had been every other day and that had been fucking torture.

Sometimes all you wanted to do was rip her eyeballs out, or her brains, or something else. You swore she made your ears bleed and your will to live deteriorate with every second and it was already pretty low.

“You can’t avoid my question forever.”

It was also that annoying tone that sent you, the sort of tone that meant she knew that technically for the whole of the hour she could ask you whatever she pleased and you were technically supposed to answer her. Defiance on your end just ended up in you being suspended from something else that made your life just a tiny bit more liveable.

“No, I haven’t talked to Mapi yet.”

You’ve been avoiding it, there have bits and pieces of homework from your therapist, but this one is by far the hardest.

“How about Alexia, how does she feel about that.”

You don’t want to tell her that you and Alexia are in shambles as it is, add on the pressure of her best friend being psychologically destroyed because of you and just talking about any of it at all and it’s like dynamite.

“Supportive.”

Your therapist nods, but in the way that you know she doesn’t quite believe you.

“Have you started to reintegrate with the team? I know last time we talked you mentioned that before the incident you’d been feeling quite isolated because of your ankle injury. It’s important that you start to normalise your life again before you start to self isolate.”

You don’t call it self-isolation, you like to call it self protection. You protect yourself by pushing against the grain, by keeping to yourself. It’s a lot easier that way.

“I’ve been busy.”

It’s a lie and a blatant one, your days are filled with complete nothingness. You can’t play football, not until she clears you, and you know that it’s not going to happen anytime soon based on the trend of your current sessions. There has been the same amount of progress as there was two weeks ago when you started with her. You shut down at every attempt she makes to try and open you up, you talk when you have to. It’ll probably get you sent back to a ward. You don’t remember much from your transition from the hospital to home, but you do remember signing something that referred to you making significant process or else you would be sent back.

Progress for your therapist is getting more then two word responses from you. You’re aware she’s in kahoots with Alexia, that Alexia is probably providing her more information then you are.

“You’re giving me the look that means that you’re writing something down along the lines of ‘unncooperative’.”

She is also in kahoots with the staff at Barcelona, another thing you signed was that she would work in conjunction with the clubs doctors to get you back to where you were, or somewhere in the vicinity.

They know every time you have a bad session, you’re guaranteed a consolation call from one of the coaches or even sometimes a teammate check-in telling you how brave you are and how strong you are for doing this.

You don’t agree, you nearly took the cowards way out and you’re proud of it. You wish it had fucking worked, every single second, of every single day, you wish you’d succeeded, wished that this hadn’t all ended up how it did.

“That’s not what I wrote, I wrote a observation. Uncooperative would be you refusing to speak to me like you did for our first two sessions, even if you lie it’s still trying.”

You don’t want to be curious of her, you’ve tried to give her as little attention as possible.

You’ve adapted the act that you call, therapised you.

You do your best job of smiling here and there, or at least when you know that you’re supposed to. Therapised you extends to a few people, Alexia, coaches, physios, people on the street.

You believe you’ve become a seasoned liar.

The funniest part is that sometimes you start to believe your act, you start to believe that all the ash and embers in your chest is really alight with flames, like you’re truly alive.

But then, you would pause, sit down, lie down, dissasociate and you would be reminded that that wasn’t your body. Your body wasn’t a place of life and prosper, it was as dead as anywhere else.

“What was the observation?”

You try not to be curious over her, or curious in general, you keep everything to yourself.

“You’ve told me time and time again that you attempted because you believed that not a single person would care if you were gone. Yet you wrote a letter, you knew that somebody would care, somebody would miss you. Guilt is what kept you from doing it earlier and guilt was what kept you from vanishing without a trace. Your conscience was clean in your own words, but that’s not true, your conscience was anything but clean. So what pushed you over?”

You hate that therapists have a way of worming out weird bits of information that they can use against you to worm out more bits of information, like they know your brain inside to out.

“My conscience was clean.”

Your therapist pulls her glasses up from her nose and scribbles on her pad again.

“Why’d you write a note then, specifically why did you write a note to your ex girlfriend?”

There are so many things you could say to that, but you can’t quite find the words.

“Let me rephrase to make it easier. When you were in the hospital, and Alexia reacted so viscerally, you weren’t surprised. You expected her to feel something about what happened, you didn’t seem surprised at all by her words or actions. You knew that she was going to be hurt by what you did. So, how was your conscience truly clean?”

Thinking about Alexia in the hospital makes you feel as nauseous as the furniture does.

Your still mad at her, still mad at yourself for never changing her as your medical contact and medical proxy. It had all been a clusterfuck.

“I didn’t know Alexia was going to be there, I though that she’d washed her hands of me. I left her a note because I thought there had been things left unsaid between us and I didn’t want to leave that way.”

Your therapist nods, she doesn’t scribble this time and that makes the itchy feeling all over you die down a little bit.

“Alright, let’s move on. Your ankle injury, how’s that going?”

You look to the window, it’s a horrible day outside, just your luck when you’d chosen to walk to your therapists office on what was supposed to be a 20 degree day with sunny skies. It was the epitome of your life, high expectations, low realities.

“Well three weeks between a hospital and psychiatric facility are probably the best thing anybody can do for a injury.”

You let out a self-deprecating chuckle and your therapist does nothing but scribble.

“So you’ve been doing your rehab as advised then?”

Rehab, both kinds, is mind-bogglingly boring. You go to your therapist and she tells you all the ways you have to work to rehab your brain, she gives you medication after medication and exercise after exercise. The same happens every time you see your physio, test after test, exercise after exercise.

Your stuck in the same cycle of boredom, it makes you wonder how people ever expect you to get better when all you are doing is living in a constant state of suffering.

“The physios are happy with me, say that if I continue on the track that I am I should be back on the pitch in a few weeks, with psychological clearance.”

At the current therapeutic rate your going at, you don’t think you’ll see a psychological clearance until your 50th birthday, if you’re lucky.

“How does it feel coming back from that injury, especially considering how the decline in your physical health simulatenously resulted in the decrease in your mental health?”

You keep silent, because you know that if you talk then it’s doing to be something emotional. When you don’t know how to answer questions without exposing yourself you opt to keep quiet, it’s a obvious tell that you feel uncomfortable with the question. But giving away a tell is a whole lot better then starting an emotional downpour.

“Y/n?”

You look at your shoes. You only were allowed to start wearing one on your bad foot a week ago, and you’d forgotten how hard it was to coordinate shoes with your clothes. This morning you’d thought that they matched with your pants but now they look much darker then they truly are against the grey carpet. The mix of your navy adidas that you might have stolen from Mapi’s wardrobe a couple of months ago when she was complaining about the amount of shoes she’d been sent with your grey wide leg pants was a interesting choice but therapy wasn’t a fashion parade. The shoes don’t quite fit your feet, that’sc how you remembered they weren’t yours. When you’d taken them, it had been during some kind of team bonding night at Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment. Life had been so good, Alexia and you had been so good and for once you’d kind of felt like you were beginning to fit in.You’d never felt that way before that era of your life.

But like most things, it was now a far distant memory.

“The injury wasn’t what made me depressed.”

It’s a half truth, you suppose. Yes, the injury definitely contributed to the factors that trigger your depression, but it wasn’t a sole cause.

“I disagree.”

More scribbling on her note pad, in your opinion it must be some psychological form of torture. You’ll google it when you get home, check to make sure that this isn’t a form of manipulation to somehow convince you to say the things that she wants you to.

“If you disagree then tell me why you think that.”

It’s daring of you to say, there is nearly a 99.99 percent chance that whatever she says you are going to deny vehemently. Even if she hits it right on the nail.

“I think that you don’t give yourself enough grace for the challenges that you’ve gone through. You came to Barcelona because you were running from things, from your past. You’ve never stopped running, truly. Everytime somebody gets close enough to begin to try and worm their feet into your shoes to try and relive some of it with you, you shut them down and stop it. For most people, shoes are a means of getting to where they want, for you, you keep running because if you stop you feel like you’ll suffocate, like your feet will be wrapped up in barb wire and you’ll be stuck. For whatever reason, you don’t think anybody will ever be able to empathise with that. You think that if you ever let anybody in for long enough that they learn what you’ve been running from that they’ll try and stop you, that you’ll be faced with everything that you’ve ever struggled with. So, you keep running, and running, you’ve always been in a state of escape. With your relationship, you finally stopped running, you slowed to a jog. Then, you got injured. All of a sudden you felt like you were stuck and instead of letting yourself finally come to a stop and accepting help and complete love for once in your life, and being vulnerable. You chose to start running again, running from your friends, running from your team, running from every single good thing that you’d gotten in your life until you were so consumed with all the running that you just wanted it all to stop. But you didn’t know how to stop parts of your life without stopping other parts, so you chose to stop it all.”

You don’t know what to say for a few seconds. You’ve never had the feeling that you’ve been experiencing your whole life summed up, you don’t know how to feel about it.

You look at your psychologist, and somehow she looks back at you in a way that you somehow feel like she understands, you’ve never really felt that way about her.

It’s always felt like she’s judging you, like it’s her job to judge every single thing you say. Or at least that’s the way you’ve always seen it. It’s her job to make sure you don’t fall of the rails again, to make decisions about what you can and can’t do. It’s never been a possibility for you that maybe she’s here for a little bit more then just the business side of it all.

“Is that it? Did you come to a point where it felt like you had no other option but to just make it all stop?”

You bite your lip so hard you think it might just bleed, it’s a mission to try and stop the tears that have begun to cling to the back of your eyes at bay. You’ve never cried during a therapy session, and there is no reason why today should be different. The amount of people you’ve cried in front of is limited to a very, very short list of people and you don’t intend for your psychologist to be added.

“It would be okay if that was it. It’s okay to admit that for you at that time it felt like there was no other option but to make it all stop.”

You feel muzzled, like you can’t speak without admitting to something that you don’t want to.

“I thought it would make it all better.”

Your therapist puts down her notepad, and you feel a whole load of anxiety rush out of you.

“You thought it would make what better?”

You keep your tooth pinned to your lip, if it draws blood, it draws blood. The pain helps to take your focus off of the word vomit you can feel coming up.

“Everyone else’s lives.”

Your response is croaky, and when your therapist points to the glass of water you don’t shake your head like normal, you find yourself reaching for it and taking a few tentative sips.

“What about your life, what about making your own life better?”

You take a few more sips, because it stalls the conversation for long enough that you can think up an answer that doesn’t make it sound like you are completely insane.

“I was never really thinking about it like that.”

You look at her, eye to eye again, and there is this weird understanding between the two of you. You can feel it, whether or not it’s real, for the first time you feel like you aren’t crazy for thinking the way that you do. It’s a weird kind of safety that you’ve never had.

“For a minute, I want you to close your eyes and think about exactly what you want, whether it’s the future, it’s right now. Not football, not other people, nobody else. Just you.”

You humour her, and close your eyes.

For a few seconds, you can’t think of much. You’ve never been a future thinker, not beyond emergency plans and second options.

You think about death for a few seconds, a couple of weeks ago it was all you could think of. Permanent, irreversible disappearance. Even then though, it wasn’t what you were actually yearning for, not truly, it was just an easy solution to complex problems, problems that still haven’t been solved.

You think long and hard, and eventually you find a pleasantness.

You want to resolve things with Alexia, you know that for sure. It’s been impossible trying to navigate your relationship in your new reality. You want to get to a place where it’s less impossible. You want happiness with her, pure happiness. You also want some kind of return to football, you don’t know how. You’ve never really played football because it’s what you love, you’ve never loved your sport, it’s more been about having something that could take you places when inevitable wherever you had been was no longer an option because you’d somehow fucked it up.

You want a better relationship with yourself, you want to understand why you think the way you do and why you can’t think the same way and be the same way as everyone. You want to get past the fear you have that you will never be the same.

When you have nothing else to think about, you open your eyes, to your psychologist smiling at you.

“That’s our hour, I’m really happy to leave this here and circle back to some of it in a couple of days. The progress you’re making is definitely getting bigger and I’m happy to sign off on you getting some hours in the gym if your physios are happy with it. I’ll call the team tonight and we can work out a plan that works best.”

You’re in slight disbelief as she speaks.

“You’re sure?”

You stay seated for the sake of making sure that you haven’t somehow dreamt up what she’s just said.

“If you try and make some progress with your homework. I want you to try and talk to Mapi, a text message, coffee, something. I want you to talk to Alexia beyond her being a caregiver for you and I want you to make progress with your teammates, don’t avoid the gym if you know they are going to be there, don’t avoid team events, dip a toe in the water with them and I can guarantee you will have a very different outcome then what you think.”

Contingencies. One thing you’ve learnt about therapy is that there are always contingencies, it’s always a give and take, never one or the other.

You nod your head anyways, somehow, with her weird manipulation games you’ve managed to agree to something that the version of you from and hour ago never would have.

“I’ll try.”

Your therapist smiles and stands up, for whatever reason there is always a part of you that loves the end of your sessions but also never wants to leave.

Whether it seems like it or not, you actually do want to get better, you just don’t know what better looks like for you and that’s scary. You’ve never met the version of yourself that is ‘better’ or ‘normal’. You can’t say that you want to be your old self because there hasn’t ever been a version of yourself that feels better. You’ve always been in the slums, always been dragging yourself through the thickest mud to try and make it to the end of a day or month or year. You don’t actually want to survive like that, you want to live your life properly, or whatever non-sluggish life looks like for you.

Your still desperately trying to work that out.

Alexia is waiting in the carpark as usual, it’s always the same carpark, always the same consolation hot chocolate in her hands afterwards.

Once you’ve sat down in her passenger seat, put on your seatbelt and the takeaway cup is settled in your hands she broaches the topic of your session.

“How was it?”

There is always an awkwardness around your sessions, Alexia picks your up from every one, on the odd occasion she’ll join in if your therapist thinks it would be good. Otherwise, she spends the time sitting in her car and picking up hot drinks.

It’s infinitely awkward between the two of you, but Alexia in your opinion is mostly to blame for that.

She’d been the first person to put her hand up to be your carer, your glorified babysitter.

You know it’s a guilt thing, she feels guilty that part of your pain could have been because of her, even though you’ve insisted time and time again that it wasn’t.

“Fine.”

Therapy is a tough topic for you, mostly because you’ve never wanted to be there in the first place. You’d been tricked into going from the beginning, Alexia insisting that she was taking you to a appointment to check up on your scars when really it had been to your psychologists office. You’d yelled and screamed and insisted that she take you home, but at the end of the day if you ever wanted to play football again it was obvious you were going to have to suck it up.

You hadn’t talked to Alexia for days after that, which is funny because that was less then three weeks ago and now you’re here.

“Fine?”

You nod your head, it’s hard to find words after a normal session, but after this one it’s ever harder.

“I made some progress.”

Alexia nods, you know there are probably a hundred questions going through her head right now, but she won’t ask them. She’s too scared that if she asks them, she’ll get an answer that will terrify her. One that will restart all of the problems, even if that isn’t really how it works. Alexia doesn’t understand mental health, that’s become frighteningly obvious over the past few weeks. She doesn’t understand your struggles because she’s never experienced them. She’s never had self hatred or depression or overwhelming anxiety. It’s what makes you feel so alienated and so out of place amongst your peers. You feel like a shark amongst a sea of dolphins, like you look the same but when it comes down to it you are completely different.

“That’s good, no?”

You nod your head, disguising the grimace on your face by the mouth of the lid on your hot chocolate.

“She says I can start doing some hours in the gym.”

Alexia smiles, big and wide, like it’s her whose been given the good news.

“That’s good bebita, you’ll be on the pitch in no time.”

The pitch. It’s all Alexia cares about.

When you can be back, how she can get you to the point you can be back. Because when Alexia is injured, it’s all she cares about. What she can do to get herself back on the pitch, how she can make the rehab process faster, she thinks of every single logistic and possibility.

You want to make it back to the pitch, or you think you do. But it’s not your priority. It’s become abundantly clear that your main priority has to be yourself, figuring yourself out.

“Mhm.”

You focus your energy on counting how many bike riders pass Alexia’s car as she navigates through peak city traffic. You get to 38 before she interrupts your intense search for every person on two wheels.

“Vicky’s supposed to be coming over later, I promised I’d help her with a school project. I can go to her house instead if you’d prefer?”

Every time Alexia’s broached the topic of teammates you’ve immediately refused any contact, and your immediate reaction is to say no. but you think about what your therapist said.

“I might text Mapi and see if she wants to talk to me.”

You hear the sound of Alexia’s shock in the form of a choken sort of cough, she tries to cover it up by slapping her hand against the wheel of her car, but it doesn’t do much.

“I think that would be a really good idea, bebita, I think she would be really happy to see you.”

You don’t look at Alexia, you don’t want to see the look of perplexion or shock or whatever emotion she’s going through. You haven’t seen Mapi since the hospital, and as little as you remember from then, you remember Mapi very clearly.

She had been just as out of it as you’d been, refusing to leave your bedside but Ingrid having to do everything for her to keep her alive. Every time she visited you, she looked like she’d seen a ghost, or something worse. You weren’t sure what was worse, seeing somebody dead or seeing somebody who was hanging on the cliff of life and death and having to save their life, knowing that if action hadn’t of been taken they would be dead.

Definitely the latter.

“I’ll text her, see if she can come and pick you up before Vicky comes over?”

You nod your head, allowing yourself to focus back on counting your tally, except moving over to motorcycles this time.

You shower with the bathroom door halfway open. There are no sharps anywhere in your apartment, knives, razors, scissors, nail clippers, vegetable peelers, glasses, anything that could cause any kind of bodily harm. For now, you aren’t allowed to be left alone for longer then an hour. You sleep with your bedroom door open and Alexia sleeping in the guest room next door. You eat a set meal plan, you do two hours of rehab every single day, you live on a schedule that is so carefully planned that you have no time to yourself and yet every single moment feels lonely.

It’s a process, you’ve been told. It’s crucial to your recovery that there are measurements in place to assure your ‘success’.

Alexia knocks on your door every five minutes whilst you shower, you yell back every time.

It had become a rule after the first time you’d showered with the door open you’d made a joke about using the shower curtain to harm yourself, because what did they really expect you to be doing?

It hadn’t gone well, Alexia going silent for a few days and a very heated conversation with your psychologist about the inappropriateness of making jokes about suicide.

It was your trauma, it was your fucking story, and everyone was acting like it was their most sensitive issue.

Bathrooms are a bit of a touchy subject, you don’t shower in your ensuite bathroom anymore, you can’t. The room has permanently been blocked off, completely forgotten about.

The first thing you want to do once you’ve ‘recovered’ is leave this apartment, there are to many bad memories, it feels like you’ll never be able to recover if your stuck in the same place that you were in when it all went bad.

It’s a problem for when you can deal with the stress of packing up your whole life and moving it to somewhere.

When you shut the water off and step out of the warm stream you let yourself breathe, showers are the only real alone time you get. Everywhere else you are supervised, watched like a hawk to make sure that you don’t try anything else that could jeopardise your return to football. The reality is that Barca can’t afford to have you sit on the sideline for a whole season, they need you back, they can’t risk another slip up.

Alexia at least gives you the privacy of getting dressed in your own wardrobe, all of your wired bras have been removed, but for the most part it’s all normal.

You get dressed in another sweat suit, it’s become your new uniform over the last few weeks, no draw strings of course.

Your hair gets swept into a messy bun, it’s too much effort to deal with the brushing and braiding and tying that you would have normally gone through with a couple of weeks ago. You aren’t allowed to wear jewellery anymore so your accessories consist of pretty much nothing. You’re bare from the bones to your clothes, your soul feels as bare as the rest of your body.

You’re allowed to wear laced shoes, but you often opt not to, slip on birkenstocks or uggs are just easier. The Barcelona January chill has been getting to you recently, so you upt for your ugg boots.

Your outfit choice is the most choice you get in your day, so you try and put as little thinking into it as possible, it’s easier for you to just succumb to the reality that everything in your life is controlled by other people.

By the time you’ve finished, you’re towing very close to the time Mapi had told Alexia she’d come and meet you. You collect the things that you might need from your vanity and shove them in your pocket, before making your way out to your living room.

It’s unofficially become Alexia’s office, her laptop and books cover your dining table now. She lives out of your apartment, leaves only for training and barcelona commitments, so it’s fair to say that she’s made herself at home.

When you were living together before, it had bothered you more, having her things everywhere. Alexia is a organiser, of everything and everybody but herself. You’d spend hours telling her to pick up her shoes from random spots around the apartment floor or getting her to pick up random clothing items laying on top of pieces of furniture. This mess is different, it reflects how the situation is different. There is nothing comfortable about your predicament, it’s not the same kind of comfortable coexistence you had when you were dating Alexia.

There is a boundary between the two of you now and it makes it all so much more confusing.

Alexia isn’t just your friend or your teammate, she’s you caregiver, the person who holds you accountable, unofficially the person who is supposed to keep you from doing anything to yourself. It adds a whole layer of stress to the situation, you can’t relax around her the same way you used to.

Your relationship is never going to be the same, but parts of you wished that Alexia hadn’t taken over the burden of caring for you, because maybe the two of you could work on rebuilding yourselves as a couple instead of Alexia trying to rebuild you as a person, as if you are a broken lego set that needed to be put back together.

She spends most of her time in your living room, doesn’t push the boundary of your bedroom unless it’s needed.

She’s sat at the kitchen table, preparing herself to help with whatever project it is that Vicky needs help with.

“Shouldn’t Vicky have maybe asked one of the younger girls? You’re practically ancient now, they probably teach the kids these days history from when you were growing up.”

Whatever Alexia looks like she’s going to be helping with looks like something she’s definitely not qualified in, although Alexia’s never the person to say no.

“You’re acting like I’m a dinosaur, I’m only four years older then you.”

She rolls her eyes at you and it feels so normal, for a second you feel so much more normal. Life would be so much easier if everybody stopped treating you like a fine fucking piece of china. An eye roll here or there, a yell here or there, some kind of emotion beyond sympathy would be nice.

“I mean, in comparison to Vicky you’re pretty much from the stone ages.”

Alexia rolls her eyes again, she looks like she’s about to fight back against you but a knock at the door silences you both.

All of a sudden the little smile is gone and the air goes thick again, thick with the reminder that you can’t just exist in a bubble of nothingness were nobody else exists and you can just be free from everything.

Alexia gets up to open the door, and you let her, allowing yourself to loiter around the table and enjoy the moment for just a little bit longer. It’s that moment that might just get you through what is about to happen.

Alexia calls for you and you know it’s Mapi, you know it’s Mapi because Mapi won’t step foot in your apartment.

Ingrid had come to visit when you’d come home, along with a handful of other people, but Mapi hadn’t been one of them. Ingrid had explained that it had been to hard for her, that she’d made it to the door but couldn’t come in, and you couldn’t find it in you to blame her.

Mapi smiles at you when she sees you, it’s the first time you’ve seen her since the hospital and the both of you look very different since then.

She looks less dead, that’s the first thing you take notice of. She doesn’t look like she would blow away into a puff of smoke if a gust of wind came past. She looks good, she looks healed.

Mapi and you don’t talk, for whatever reason, you take the normal walk you would every sunday morning before it happened.

Down from your apartment, onto the main street, up to the mouth of the road, across the street and then onto the boardwalk.

It’s the main reason you chose your apartment, it’s right next to the beach. Perfect for post matchday swims and a morning walk on the beach. It used to be yours and Mapi’s pregame routine and it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of your feet moving down the sidewalk.

No words are spoken until the two of you are seated on the sand, a wordless agreement that you both come to when your toes hit the beach.

You’re both seated, your eyes looking over the horizon. Your too scared to break the silence, so you wait for Mapi.

“You look good, chica.”

You nod your head, you feel better, you must look better then how you did.

“I feel better.”

Mapi nods, when her hand reaches out to sit on top of your own on the sand, you don’t flinch away, it feels good to have a physical connection with a person who isn’t Alexia.

The silence falls over the two of you again, except this time it feels less uncomfortable. You let it linger for a little bit, before you feel in a place to speak.

“I need to say thank you. I know I said some things in the hospital, I meant it in the moment but I want to take it back now. You saved me, you did something so brave and amazing and the version of me now is so grateful that you did.”

Mapi stops your rant, before you can say something else.

“I would have done it for anybody else.”

The problem is you think, that you aren’t anybody else. It would be so much easier to give cpr to a random person on the street and never see them again, never have to be worried that you would see them again and there would be some kind of problem.

“But you did it for me. You saved me from myself, and I want you to know that I genuinely am so thankful for you. You didn’t choose the easy option and I put you in a extremely hard position. If anything had of happened to me, you would have blamed yourself and it wouldn’t have been your fault but you would have felt like it was.”

Mapi nods, and then you hear a sniffle and it makes you feel horrible.

Mapi’s crying, she’s crying and you don’t know what to do.

“You begged me to reverse it, in the hospital, you didn’t say some things. You begged me to stab you or do something. You told me it was my fault you were alive and that it was my responsibility to undo what I’d done.”

You take a deep breath, you didn’t remember it being that bad, but you remember Alexia telling you that some of the things you’d said had been unrepeatable.

“I can’t reverse what I said, in that moment I was in so much pain Maps. I actually can’t tell you how much pain i was in, all I wanted was to disappear. I’m working through not feeling that way and that starts by apologising. You did not deserve to experience what you did. You did not deserve to see what you did. You did not deserve to hear what I said to you. I am sorry. There is nothing I can say that will make any of it okay, I am sorry that for whatever reason god chose you to be the person burdened with this. I am so sorry.”

Mapi sniffles again. You knew that the possibility of no reconciliation was possible, that Mapi would reject any offer of apologies you had, you’d just really hoped it wouldn’t be like that.

“You’ve been like a little sister to me. I know you didn’t feel like we were that close, but I saw so much of me in you from when I was younger, and that was part of the reason I ended up at your apartment that night. Because I was worried, more then anybody else. I had this weird feeling, and I hated that I was right about it. You were like my little sister, and I watched as they strapped you onto a gurney and wheeled you off whilst telling me that they would try their hardest. I don’t blame you, there is no blame for something like this. But I need you to understand that I can’t just get over what I www, I’m working through it, I’m trying. My therapist has really been helping me, but it’s not going to disappear.”

You nod, Mapi and you have been through two mirroring experiences, and oddly you feel the same way about your own therapy. You’re working through it, you’re trying, but nothing that has happened is ever going to disappear, with yourself or with your peers.

“Maps, you’re allowed to experience however you want. If you never want to see me again I won’t hate you.”

Mapi shakes her head.

“I don’t know how I feel yet, I just need you to know that I understand that the you right now is different to the you from weeks ago, and you are entitled to separate yourself from that person. You don’t have to be that person if you don’t want to be. Let yourself live in the new version of you, the old version died back then.”

You bite your lip, there is beginning to become a permanent divet from your front teeth, you like it in a weird way.

“I’m trying, I’m really trying.”

Mapi nods, raising her arm from your hand, to your shoulders, bringing you into her side.

“We’ll try together then, huh? You try for me and I’ll try for you?”

You nod your head, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like you’re totally alone in the battle that you’re fighting. It’s still very much your battle, but it feels like you have somebody in your corner letting you know that you are going to be okay.

—————————————

well aware it’s not edited… if u have an issue with that such my dick xoxo

hope you enjoyed !!!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶

469 notes · View notes

rafesbabygirlx · 2 months ago

Text

FORGET ME NOT | Part 2

𝚂4!𝚁𝙰𝙵𝙴 𝚇 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

Summary: 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍, 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚊, 𝚂𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 - 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏. 𝙰 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍, 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙽𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚗𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚢𝚎𝚜- 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝-𝚖𝚎-𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍.

1.3k words 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 1 -> Part 2 -> 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 3 -> 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 4

After spending an entire week in the house alone, Rafe had torn through every drawer, closet, and corner of both his office and bedroom, desperately searching for any sign of what he was so sure had once been there. He overturned boxes, rifled through old notebooks, examined every article of clothing and piece of furniture, convinced there had to be a clue, something to explain the constant feeling that someone else had been there with him.

But all he found was the cold silence of a house that refused to give up its secrets. There was no trace of another person. No stray hairs on the pillow. No lingering scent on the sheets. Just the flowers still sitting in the center of the kitchen island. Once vibrant and full of life, they now drooped lifelessly in a bone-dry vase. Dead petals had fallen, curled up and circled the glass as if mourning something invisible.

He felt completely hopeless. His body, still weakened from the accident, gave out beneath the weight of exhaustion and frustration, even though his mind screamed to keep searching, to not give in. He had pushed himself far beyond his limits over the past seven days, running on fumes and adrenaline, but now his muscles ached with every movement and his head throbbed with a dull, relentless pressure. With no other choice, he finally surrendered, ordering takeout and allowing himself, for the first time in a week, to simply exist without tearing something apart.

He sank into the couch, limbs heavy, food in hand, while the television played quietly in the background, its soft glow flickering across the darkened room. As he chewed absentmindedly, his eyes fell to his journal lying nearby. He picked it up, flipping through the pages until he landed on one he’d read at least a dozen times. His handwriting stared back at him, scribbled thoughts, observations, half-memories, feelings that had once seemed so certain.

He read them again, slower this time, trying to burn the words into his brain. Trying to force something to click. A face, a voice, a moment. Anything. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he focused, the memories refused to surface. There was only a heavy, aching blankness. And the haunting feeling that something, or someone, was still missing.

He had sat for 2 days on the couch. No shower. No answering Sarah’s check ins on him. He sat, lost in his mind that he felt like he didn’t even have anymore.He sat there during the day and slept there at night. Time was a blur for him. His mind was a blur. However, the couple days of rest did good on his body and he had a bit more motivation to get out of the house.

On day 3 he forced himself up. He showered and shaved the stubble that had grown in. He put on his finest polo and a spritz of cologne. He texted Topper to meet him at the Country Club for drinks. Rafe figured that maybe if he got out into familiar surroundings, a name, a voice, or a face would trigger something in his memory. Make him remember what he lost.

Right before he left he went over to the safe in his office to grab one of his fathers old watches. Ironically, it’s the same one he planned to steal and give to Barry as payment. Something he’d never forget but he wished he could erase from his past, but of course he could remember that. All the times he had been a let down were there.

As he reached into the safe his eyes flickered to a small velvet box and another handwritten note.

“You wanted this back but I couldn’t risk leaving it just anywhere when you weren’t home. It means the world to you, I needed to make sure it stayed safe. I’m sorry, I’ll miss you.”

Rafe opened the velvet box, a ring, his mothers ring. He slammed his hand against the wall in frustration. Another cryptic note. Why was it so hard to just leave a fucking name? Why couldn’t you just sign it? Let me have one thing of you. But of course you wouldn’t sign it. He was meant to know who this was from. You had no clue what happened to him?

He blew out a ragged breath, trying to stabilize himself as he began to feel dizzy. This is ruining him but he needed to get out and be normal for once. He snatched out the watch and slammed the safe shut. He texts Topper he’s on his way and he raced out the house.

It was a usual catch up between him and Topper at first. It really distracted him from the chaos brewing inside his head. Topper, despite being a pain in the ass 98% of the time, was really good at helping Rafe just feel normal. A moment of silence between the two as they drank had Rafe looking around, examining every person's face trying to find something distinguishable. Something that could make him remember. He was pulled out of his thoughts when a shrill voice came up behind him.

“No puppy dog following you around today?” Ruthie appeared placing a hand on his shoulder.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Rafe’s face twisted. Not even at the words, this girl was just so unbearable.Topper is the biggest idiot for dating her. Man is just too desperate for love.

“That little Pogue girl you had around for a while, she didn’t want to hang out tonight? Ruthie smirked and curled her lips around the straw of her drink giving him a glare.

“My girl?” Rafe tried to keep himself calm. Not give too much away. He didn’t want to go over what happened with him when in Morocco with her and Topper. Especially not Ruthie.

“Yes, your girl. Jeez it’s like you fell and bumped your head. What’s gotten into you?” Ruthie was a very blunt person. Not in a good way, a way that would help a person out. And yes, she didn’t know what happened to me, but god, Rafe just wished she’d just shut the fuck up.

“Yeah, you good man?” Topper added with a hint of actual concern.

Rafe wanted to keep his cool and play it off as nothing. He didn’t want to make it seem he was fishing for information. But he wanted to see if he could get anything out of them. “You probably don’t even know her name, what do you give a fuck where she is?”

Ruthie shrugged at his accusation, “Never bothered to ask, or even care to remember if I did. I was just curious, this last year or show she’s always just lurking in your shadow.”

Rafe took a big swig of his drink, downing it. He thought this would be helpful, he thought something would trigger his memory of you. He knew you were out there, he just had to find you. Why were you sorry? Why did you leave? What the hell did you do that any of what you said would matter this much?

Topper cut through Rafe’s thoughts yet again, “Isn’t that her over there? She clocking out of work? You still making your girl work Mr. CEO?” He chuckled like he didn’t know the storm brewing in Rafe’s mind. Like what he said was actually funny.

Rafe turned from the table, scanning the room until his eyes locked on yours. Yours widened as they met. You stood frozen for a moment. Rafe’s mind was a whirlwind. Like he had been slapped across the face the way memories of you came back. Your eyes were all it took.

It was you.

The way your laugh sounded, the way you looked up at him with those big doe eyes because of how he towered over, how soft your skin was, the sweet smell of your perfume. Everything about you came back to him. Everything except why you’re gone. Lost in his thoughts, you made your way out of the country club quickly, he had no time to react and no time to make his way to you.

He needed to see you again. And now he knows where to find you.

tags and some moots <3

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell l @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @letstryagaintomorrow @wtfdudesblog @maybejj @maybankslover @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @whytheylosttheirminds @frankoceanluvr11 @nemesyaaa @writingroom21

152 notes · View notes

saiyanprincessswanie · 2 months ago

Text

The Ultimate Risk - Part 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 5975

Series Summary: Reader is a full-time college student at 30 years old who is starting over in life. When she loses her full-time job as a waitress, CEO James “Bucky” Barnes steps in with a proposition. Can he sell you on a way to help you by offering a Sugar Daddy companionship? Who will get feelings first? Can a Sugar Daddy relationship really work out?

Series Warnings: Sugar Daddy au, Reader is 30 & Bucky is in his 40s, reader has trust issues, talks of anxiety, angst, eventually falling in love, smut, oral (m & f), nicknames (sweetheart and doll.)

The Ultimate Risk Masterlist

A/N: @avengers-assemble-bingo for James Buchanan Barnes - 108th Birthday Bingo

Square: Sugar Daddy (card #4B 024)

A/N 2: Thank you to my beta writers @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @gremlin-girly. Thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for the header.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

It was ten in the morning when Bucky picked you up at your apartment. He wanted to show you the space that his friend, Steve, had for rent. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, maybe something with a second bedroom so you could paint. When Bucky pulled up to a beautiful house, your jaw dropped. Outside on the porch was Steve who was waving at you.

“Ready to take a look, sweetheart?” Bucky asked as he watched you take the home in. Your giddiness made him smile.

“Is this for me?” You questioned as you stared at the house waving back at Steve.

“If you want it to be then yes. Come on, let's go greet Steve.”

You both got out of the vehicle walking hand in hand up to Steve. The two men greet each other with a hug and Steve turns to you giving you one as well. You weren’t used to hugging people but this was Bucky’s best friend so you made an exception.

“So Steve, is this the place you were telling me about?” Bucky asked as you grabbed his hand again.

“Yeah, this was a place I built years ago intending to settle down with Peggy. But you know how that story goes, Buck.” Steve sighs for a moment. “Anyway, I know you said your girl needed a bigger place and I was already looking to rent this out so why not hook up your girl?”

“Well, I appreciate it, punk. I know I love this house already, but let’s see if she does. Now, let's go inside and take a look around.” Bucky states as you grin at both men.

Steve leads the way while you both follow behind him. The porch was beautiful and already came with furniture on it. You loved that you could come out here and drink your morning coffee.

The outside of the house was white and had a cute blue front door. As you enter the two-story house you instantly notice the open floor concept. To the left, you had a large living room with a beautiful stone fireplace. The colors were cool tones in the living room. Continuing through the living room you walked into a kitchen and dining room that was huge. Stainless steel appliances with light oak cabinets on the wall made you gasp.

“My goodness, this kitchen is amazing! I would love to cook here and sit at this bar to eat. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” You say excitedly.

Heading out of the kitchen there was a half bathroom, to the back of the house was a laundry room that was as big as your living room in your apartment. It had the latest high end model washer and dryer. Walking out of the laundry room you found the first bedroom. The room was big enough to be an office in the front.

Bucky was watching you take the house in. He could tell that you loved it and there was still upstairs to see. If this is the place you wanted it would be yours in a heartbeat. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze and you turned back at him beaming. Bucky loved seeing you this happy.

Steve led the way upstairs as you both followed him. In front of you was the next bedroom and full bathroom. The bedroom you loved as it gave you plenty of outside light.

“This will be my painting room,” you declared as you walked around the spacious room.

Steve nodded his head. “That’s what I made this room for actually. But it was for me to do my sketches here.”

Bucky grinned at you. “This would be a perfect room for your painting. I can see you now in here creating new work.”

“If you think this room is great, wait until you see the master suite,” Steve stated as he led you to the final room.

The master suite was huge. You walked in and were immediately speechless. Again, the windows were everywhere and gave you a beautiful view outside. You walked over to the closet and giggled.

“You have got to be kidding me. This closet is the size of my bedroom in my apartment! This could hold my old and new clothes perfectly. Plus, there is room for more.”

Bucky and Steve laughed at your reaction.

“I think she likes this place, jerk.” Steve softly spoke to Bucky.

Bucky watched as you headed into the master bathroom and you squealed in delight. “I think so, punk.”

“Bucky this bathroom has a claw foot tub and a huge shower separated. Double vanity so I can place all my stuff.” You come skipping out of the bathroom and a huge smile on your face. “This is perfect. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

“The question is, sweetheart, do you WANT it? Say the word and it’s yours.”

Bucky watched as you nodded excitedly.

“Yes, I would love to live here,” you gleefully stated.

Bucky turned to Steve and chuckled. “Looks like we will be renting this beautiful house from you.”

“That’s great. I’m happy for you both. I will get the documents drawn up and faxed over to you tomorrow. You can move in at the end of the week. Here are the spare keys to the house.”

Steve handed you the keys and you all headed back downstairs. The guys were talking as you headed outside. The neighborhood was quiet and filled with houses like this one. You sat on the front porch swing and sat in silence. This was amazing and you pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Both men walked outside and were laughing. You watched them as they joked with each other. It saddened you for a moment because you wished you had a friend like that.

Bucky glanced at you and sensed your mood shift briefly. He walked over to you and reached a hand out for you.

Hesitantly, he took your hand and rubbed the back of it to ease your mind. “Are you ready to go, sweetheart?”

“I’m ready. Though I have to say this place is perfect and so beautiful. I can’t believe I’m going to be living here. Thank you for thinking of me to live here.” You bit your bottom lip as Bucky pulled you in for a hug.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now let’s go car shopping.”

You squeal in delight as Bucky leads you back to his Escalade. You turn to wave goodbye to Steve one last time before climbing into the SUV.

Bucky gets in the driver's seat and pulls away from the house. His hand seeks yours and gently holds it.

“So what car does my doll want? It can be anything you want and the price doesn’t matter.”

“Honestly I’ve had my eye on the 2025 BMW X5 SUV. It’s enough for me to feel comfortable yet look spacious.”

Bucky smirks at you. “If that’s what you want then let’s go get it.”

Bucky drove for twenty minutes until he reached a BMW dealership. You both went inside to talk with a salesperson. Bucky did most of the talking explaining what you wanted.

You chimed in on the color and things you wanted to come with the car. Just so happens they have what you are looking for and you can drive home in it today.

You were excited to be getting the SUV you wanted. It was a red BMW and fully loaded. Bucky and the salesman negotiated prices. You watched Bucky with ease as he shook the hand of the salesman finalizing the sale.

Bucky got up from the chair and walked outside with you and the salesman. The BMW SUV was pulled to the front of the building and you let out a squeal of excitement. Bucky smiled at your expression and watched as you hopped into it. He rounded the BMW to the driver’s seat.

Pulling out his phone Bucky looked at you and said, “smile.” As you did he took a picture of you. He wanted to remember you at this moment.

“Since this SUV is yours now why don’t you follow me to the bank so we can get your allowance setup since it’s almost the first of the month. Gotta make sure my girl is taken care of.”

You smiled back at him. “Thank you, Bucky for the rental house and the car. I’m a little overwhelmed but I’m so happy. I feel like I’m in a dream.”

Bucky took your hand and kissed the back of it. “This is not a dream sweetheart. This is just what’s to come in our arrangement. I want you spoiled. I want to see you happy.”

Your heart fluttered at his statement. It’s only been a couple of days and he has spoiled you rotten so far. How were you supposed to get used to this? You inwardly smiled at the thought of being treated like a princess. No one has ever done what Bucky has. You weren’t sure if you would ever get used to this but for now, you’re going to enjoy it while you can.

“So what happens with my other car? I mean it’s kinda on its last leg.” You wondered what to do with it because right now the apartment has one space for your vehicle.

“Don’t you worry about that sweetheart. I plan to have a scrap yard pick it up from you today and they will give you a couple hundred dollars for it. I will make the call on the way to the bank. All you gotta do is follow me.”

You nod your head. “Okay, let's go.” Sitting back you pull your seatbelt on while Bucky closes the door. You take in the feel of the BMW and smile wide. This SUV was going to be perfect for you. It had space, it was comfortable and as you follow Bucky out of the parking lot the ride is smooth. “I can get used to this ride in no time,” you say out loud to yourself.

You follow Bucky back into town where you both park at this huge bank. Getting out of the BMW you lock the doors and head over to Bucky who just got out of his Escalade. He smiled at you as you stood before him.

“Are you ready sweetheart?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Bucky takes your hand and you both walk into the bank. You can tell by the looks of it that this bank is for the richer folks. There were leather brown chairs in the waiting area but Bucky didn’t wait. He walks up to an office that says Tony Stark and knocks on the open door.

Tony looks up from his computer and greets Bucky. “Ah, Bucky, good to see you and who is this lovely lady behind you?”

You peeked out from behind Bucky and smiled at Tony. Bucky introduces you to Tony and you both shake hands. Tony tells you both to take a seat.

“So what can I help you with Barnes?” Tony asked.

“I’m here to set up a monthly draft from one of my accounts to hers.” Bucky sits back and watches Tony nod his head.

“How much do you want to be transferred into her account monthly?” Tony was typing on his computer as they spoke.

“I would say five thousand should be sufficient to start with. What do you think sweetheart?” Bucky looks over at you and your jaw drops.

“Fi-Five thousand? Bucky that's a lot of money don’t you think?

“Well, you do need to pay for food, gas, and whatever else you may need personally. I want to make sure you have enough.”

“How about we say three thousand instead and call it even?” You reply and bite your lip.

Bucky grins at you and nods his head. “Fine three is it but if you need more do not hesitate to tell me. Deal?”

You lean closer to him. “Deal.”

“You both are so cute together. Setting up the monthly draft. Now, I just need your information hun.”

Pulling out your checkbook you hand it over to Tony who starts typing in your information. Within minutes he handed it back to you and printed off paperwork for Bucky to sign. Once signed everything was finished.

“Thank you Tony for doing this for me. I will be calling you tomorrow to start setting up her bills to be pulled from this same account.”

“Anytime Bucky. I’m always here if you need me.” Both men shook the other’s hand and you stood up from the chair. “It was a pleasure meeting you too hun. I hope to see you both again.”

Bucky and you left the bank together and headed to your apartment. You both parked at the curb and got out. Bucky went to the Toyota and took your license plates off the car.

You started moving things from your old car to the SUV. After twenty minutes you finished and the scrap yard tow truck pulled in front of the car. You watched Bucky and the driver talk for a few minutes. Then the driver handed him a paper.

Bucky walks over to you and hands you the piece of paper. Turns out it’s a check for three hundred dollars that the tow truck guy gave Bucky.

“Now you have a little more money to put in the bank. Hopefully, you can buy something nice for yourself.” Bucky grinned at you and you wrapped yourself around his arm.

You both watched as your car was towed away. A part of you was sad but the other part was excited over your new BMW. If your ex friends could see you now they would be excited for you.

Heading up to your apartment Bucky followed you up. Opening the door you both walk in and you grab menus.

“I don’t know about you but I’m hungry. You pick something out and I’ll call it in for delivery.”

A few minutes later Bucky picked out Chinese food from one of your favorite places. You called the food in and they said it would be twenty minutes.

In that time you and Bucky started making a list of all your bills that need to be paid every month. He even writes down your student loans that have to be paid.

“Bucky you don’t have to pay them. They’re in the thousands of dollars and my debt that I racked up.” You whispered nervously.

“I know I don’t have to do this but I want to. I want you to be debt-free and not worry about any of your bills while you focus on college. Now let’s focus on the positives of this arrangement between us.”

You smiled at him and nodded. “You‘re right, let's focus on the positives.“ You gave Bucky all the information he needed to pay off your debts and current bills. It was weird to think you would have no debt.

By the time you finished up everything the food arrived. Bucky paid for the food and placed it on the counter. You both dug into the food and once again sat on the couch.

“So the charity event we are going to in three days is formal. I was thinking your long black dress with a high slit would be a good choice to wear. I have a black suit and tie to match. If that’s okay with you?”

“That sounds perfect to me, Bucky. Though all my stuff is at your penthouse and nothing has been washed or steam cleaned.” Your anxiety started to kick up a little as you thought of everything you had to do.

“Don’t worry doll. I already had all your dresses cleaned. They are in the spare room closet waiting for you. I figured you could get ready at my place so we could save time,” Bucky stated.

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you for doing that for me. I think that would be fine getting ready at your place.”

You both ate in silence as you filled up with food. When you were done you placed the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned up after yourselves.

It was nice having Bucky around. You didn’t feel lonely when he was with you. Though your anxiety still flared up at times Bucky would help you calm down and breathe. It was nice having a companion to do things with.

Bucky watched as you put the leftovers away. You were definitely lost in thought but you had a smile on your face the entire time. He wonders what you’re thinking of. He knows he is thinking about you all the time. Bucky has never met anyone like you before and that makes him nervous but excited for the future.

Bucky’s phone rings and he takes the call. Talking for a few and feeling annoyed he hangs up the phone.

“Sorry to take that call but it’s work. Unfortunately, I have to go in this afternoon as it's an urgent matter. I had a wonderful time spending half the day with you.”

You give a small pout but nod. “I understand. Work calls you have to go in. I’m going to be busy with online classes anyways tonight to get ahead work-wise.”

“I will see you later sweetheart. Take care of yourself and start to pack in between your schoolwork. I’m thinking of moving you into your new place sooner than later.”

Bucky walks up to you and kisses your forehead. You wrap your arms around him and hug him.

“Thank you, Bucky for today. I had a blast.” You give him one last squeeze hug and part from him.

“I will text you later. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

Bucky walks out the door and leaves you behind. You couldn’t really complain considering the day you had. For now, you would concentrate on your schoolwork and get yourself ahead so you could enjoy yourself later.

Several days have passed and you’re all caught up with schoolwork. You attended your classes and handed your work in on time. You have heard from Bucky through text only as he has been busy with work. However, he made sure to text you this morning as the charity event was tonight.

Bucky: Hey sweetheart, how is my doll doing today? Are you ready for the event tonight?

You: Hi Bucky, I’m doing well today. Both excited and nervous about tonight. I’ve already showered and just waiting for you to pick me up.

Bucky: Excellent. I will be heading to get you within the next hour. Also, don’t be nervous about tonight. I will be with you every step of the way tonight.

You: Thank you Bucky, that means a lot to me.

You took your time applying makeup and doing your hair that an hour flew by and Bucky was at the apartment. You grabbed your makeup just in case you needed to do touch ups. Grabbing your purse, makeup bag, phone and keys you head to the door to greet Bucky.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky warmly says looking you over. “You look beautiful. I can’t wait to see how you look with the dress on.”

“I’m sure I will look fine. Just dressed up.” You try to blow off the compliment because you don’t see yourself the way he does.

“You’re more than fine, you are gorgeous to me. I’m sure you will be turning many heads when you show up.”

Locking the door behind you, you made your way towards the stairs. You both walked down them and headed outside to his Escalade. Bucky opens the door and you climb in. Once he is inside he pulls away from the apartment and heads to his penthouse.

You sit in silence trying to control your breathing as you were nervous about tonight. Would you be able to fit in among the wealthy class? You start to fidget with your hands.

Sensing your nervous energy Bucky reaches for your left hand and lightly holds it. Bringing your hand to his lips Bucky kisses your knuckles.

“It will be okay sweetheart. Just remember that I will be with you all night.” Bucky tries to calm you down the best he can while driving. He does breathing exercises with you and that helps calm you down. By the time you get to the penthouse you’re breathing normally again.

Pulling into his parking space you both get out and head for the elevator. Bucky hits the button to the top floor as you both are inside. When you finally reach the top floor you both get out and head to his front door. Once inside, Bucky shows you to the spare bedroom where you will get ready.

The dress was hanging on the closet door when you walked in. You stare at the dress and take in the beauty of it. Your stilettos are underneath the dress and you can’t wait to play dress up.

“If you need anything I will be down the hallway in the master suite.” Bucky states as he smiles at you and leaves.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You call out as he heads to his room.

You shut the door and take a deep breath. You got this… Undressing, you get down to your black lingerie and unzip the back of the dress. You slip into the dress and start to zip it back up but realize you need help. You slip your feet into the expensive stilettos and take a quick look at yourself in the mirror. You do have to admit you look pretty.

Continuing to get ready you touch up your makeup and hair until you’re satisfied with the way you look. About thirty minutes have passed so you decide to go to Bucky’s room so he can help you with the zipper.

Walking to the room you hear the click of your heels on the hardwood floors. Your heartbeat is beating a little fast due to your nerves. Will he like you dolled up? You stand outside his door for a few seconds then knock on his door softly.

About thirty seconds pass and you hear him walking to the door. Upon opening it you’re met with Bucky standing in an all Black suit and tie. He looked straight out of a GQ magazine.

Bucky cleared his throat to get your attention. “Sweetheart, you look gorgeous.”

You offer a shy smile. “Thank you, Bucky. I was wondering if you could help me and zipper up the rest of the dress?”

“Absolutely doll. Just turn around and I will help you.”

You do as you’re told and turn for him. His fingers are gentle as he grabs the delicate zipper and slowly drags it up the rest of the way. You can’t help but shiver from his touch. Exhaling, you turn to face him and offer a smile.

“Thank you, Bucky. I appreciate your help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Before you could walk away he calls out your name and you turn to look at him. “I have a gift for you that goes with your dress.”

You followed him into the master suite and couldn’t believe how big the room was. He has a California king-size bed up against one wall. Two expensive chairs off to the sides, a bookcase, a gigantic walk-in closet, and a master bath off the other side of the room. You can’t help but stare. This was the biggest bedroom you have ever seen.

Bucky walks back over to you carrying a black velvet jewelry rectangle box. You had no clue what was inside as the box was medium-sized. He had a huge smile on his face as he approached you. “I got you something that will go with your dress. I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will Bucky.” Your eyes went from Bucky back to the rectangle box. What could it be? A necklace probably but you weren’t sure.

Bucky opened it up and inside was a diamond tennis necklace with matching earrings. You gasped at how beautiful it was. The diamonds were clear in color. The look was elegant and sparkled. This had to cost a pretty penny. “Bucky, I don’t know what to say except it’s beautiful.”

Bucky took the necklace out and undid the clasp. “Here let me put it on you.”

You turned your back to him and let him put the necklace on. Once the clasp was back in place his soft firm hand lingered for a moment on your neck before he removed it. You were nervous about having something so expensive around your neck. You turned back around to face him and he handed you the earrings. One by one you put them on and smiled back at him. He walked you over to the closet mirror and you were finally able to look at the jewelry with the dress. It was beautiful against your skin and the diamonds sparkled in the light.

“This is yours now, so you can wear it with your dress clothes. I wanted to do something special for you and this occasion just called for it.”

Touching the necklace and earrings you take a slow deep breath. “This must’ve cost a fortune.”

Bucky chuckled. “No price is too much for you sweetheart. Just focus on how beautiful you are and how happy you make me. Remember to breathe and if you get too overwhelmed let me know so we can leave at any time. All I have to do is make an appearance.”

Nodding your head at him you say, “That sounds good to me.”

“Now my dear let us go have some fun.”

Bucky looped your arm with his and you both walked out of the bedroom heading to the front door. Grabbing what he needed he led the way out of the apartment. Getting to the elevator Bucky pushed number one instead of the parking lot.

Once you reached the first floor you walked through a stunning grand entrance foyer. Walking through it took your breath away as Bucky continued to lead you through it and outside. At the curb sat a black limo waiting for you both as you headed down the steps. A driver opened the door for you and you climbed in followed by Bucky.

The drive was fifteen minutes away so you took in the drive like you were in some fairytale. You have never been in a limo dressed the way you were. You looked over at Bucky who was grinning at you. Your hand found his and gently squeezed it.

“I know I’ve already said this but you’re so beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off you.” Bucky gently squeezed your hand back in reassurance.

“Thank you, Bucky. You’re handsome as well.”

You both made small talk all the way to the charity event. Then you pulled in front of a hotel. You heard of this place before from people at the restaurant. It held major events here among the socialites in New York. Tonight was going to be an important night for the charity being held.

“Are you ready sweetheart?”

“I am.” You anxiously answered.

“Take my hand and remember to breathe.” His voice was soothing and gentle.

The door opened and Bucky stepped out of the limo. He held his hand out to you and you grabbed it while getting out. Some cameras were taking pictures of you both as you made your way inside the hotel. To the right was a ballroom where everyone was filtering in. Your arm was looped in his now as he led you through the crowd. Bucky was saying hello to some people who briefly greeted him. They looked at you and nodded in return.

“Would you like a drink doll? Some wine may take the edge off.” Bucky asked.

“Yes, please. I could use a drink.”

You both walked over to the bar where you both ordered a glass of wine. Once you were handed yours you took a big sip and felt the wine start to warm you up. You needed to be careful because you were a lightweight and the last thing you needed to do was embarrass Bucky.

He led you through the sea of people and found an open table. Bucky held your chair out for you and helped you scoot into the table. As he took a seat a man came over to Bucky and greeted him. Bucky shook the man’s hand and greeted him back. The man looked over to you and smiled.

“And who is this lovely lady seated to your right?” The gentleman asked.

Bucky gave him your name and the gentleman smiled.

“Sweetheart, this is my business associate T’Challa. He is my second in command in my business.”

“Oh, what a pleasure to meet you.” You offered a friendly smile back.

T’Challa took your hand and kissed the back of it. “The pleasure is all of mine.” T’Challa took a seat to Bucky’s left and they started to chat about the business.

As they talked you could hear them discussing plans to release a new prototype for disabled veterans who have lost a limb from being in combat. Bucky was talking about a government deal that would help them start with veterans first and then expand the project as needed. You were fascinated to learn that this is the business he was in. You just learned the charity event was for disabled veterans so it made sense he would be working on something like that. When they finished talking a young woman approached T’Challa and greeted the three of you.

“This is my sister Shuri. She is the head department leader in these prototypes we were discussing. We call it Wakanda Technology. She is literally a genius,” T’Challa said.

Shuri shook your hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Anyone who can put up with Barnes is an absolute angel in my eyes.”

“Now, now - no ganging up on me.” Bucky chuckled.

“Just remember Barnes if you don’t take care of your girl I’m always here to do so.” T’Challa jokingly says.

“Okay, enough out of you two.” Bucky teased back.

The night continued with the dinner that was brought out for everyone. The tables were full throughout the ballroom. Bucky had kept his promise by including you in the conversations with his friends and colleagues. Seeing Bucky light up at times and laugh brought a smile to your face. This man is something else and you had to admit you love his business side as well.

There were speakers at the podium and guests who kept coming over to Bucky to not only talk about his business but also to meet the radiant woman he brought. It both made you anxious and excited that people thought you were a princess in your outfit.

It had been about two hours when Bucky decided it was time to leave. Both you and Bucky said goodbye to his friends and headed to the limo that was waiting. Once inside the limo, you couldn’t help the yawn that you released.

“Tired, sweetheart?” Bucky asked softly.

“Yeah, just a little bit. Plus I can’t wait to get out of this dress at your place.” You looked at Bucky who swallowed hard at your admission. “I just mean changing back into normal clothes is all.”

“I knew what you meant doll.” Bucky watched you with his dark blue eyes and smirked.

The fifteen-minute drive back to his place was in silence as you looked outside at the moving city. It was a nice evening of meeting his friends and colleagues. Especially when you learned about his business. He is helping millions of veterans nationwide with his technology and prototypes. That to you proved his kindness and generosity.

When the limo came to a stop you were back at his place. Getting out Bucky once again gently gave you his hand and you took it. You headed back up to his penthouse on the top floor and once inside you kicked off your heels. Bucky chuckled as you let out a loud sigh of relief. Moving to the spare bedroom you called to him.

“Hey, Bucky can you help unzip me so I can change?” You called out.

Bucky shrugged out of his jacket and rolled his sleeves up as he approached you. His tattoos on his arms were like a work of art to you and you couldn’t help but stare for a minute. You wondered what the rest of his body looked like under the suit. Was he covered in tattoos or was it just his arms?”

You turned around for him when he reached you and he slowly unzipped the dress for you. His knuckles rubbed softly against your skin.

He placed a soft kiss on your shoulder and whispered in your ear, “I caught you staring at my tattoos again. Is there something you like?”

You shiver at the sound of his voice and how close he is to you. “I love the art behind some of them and the unique designs. They are beautiful to me.” You turn around, look up into his blue eyes, and hold your breath. What you would give to feel his lips on yours. He must have been thinking the same thing as he took a step back.

“I will leave you to change.” Bucky smiles and walks out of the room heading towards his room.

You close the door and let out the breath you were holding in. You changed quickly back into your clothes and took the jewelry off. There was no way you were bringing it to your small apartment.

When you were fully ready you opened your door and carried the jewelry to Bucky’s room. He was about to come out when you showed what was in your hands.

“Can I keep this safe with you for now until I move into the new place?”

Bucky smirked at you. “Of course you can doll. I will keep it with my watches.” Bucky took the jewelry and put it back in the velvet rectangle box. He walked it to his walk-in closet and came back out to see you. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and sweatpants that hung low on his waist. If you would ever see him like this in public you would never guess he is a billionaire.

Together you both walked out of his penthouse and to the garage. He opened the Escalade door for you and you climbed in. When he got in on his side he turned the SUV on and pulled away to head to your apartment. You held hands on your way home and you couldn’t get the kiss on your shoulder out of your head. Did it mean something or was it friendly? Maybe you were trying to see something that wasn’t there. Yes, he was affectionate but being anything more was not what he was looking for.

Bucky pulled up to your apartment and turned the SUV off. He walked to your side and once again opened the door for you. You hopped out and walked to your building with him following behind. He walked you all the way to your apartment door and waited while you unlocked the door.

You turned to face him and smiled. “Thank you so much for bringing me out tonight with you. I had a lot of fun.”

“Anytime sweetheart. I'm happy you could join me as well. We will have to do this again sometime soon.” Bucky leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.” You went into your apartment and sighed. You couldn’t wait until the next time you went out with him.

@americasass81

@astheskycries

@awesomerextyphoon

@awkwardgiraffe726

@b3autyfuld1sast3r

@caplanbuckybarnes

@denisemarieangelina

@fictional-affairs

@get0verit

@joannie95

@jobean12-blog

@jtargaryen18

@jvanilly

@kmc1989

@labella420

@lfnr-blog-blog-blog

@madscape

@mcira

@mdemontespan1667

@missvelvetsstuff

@mrsmischief209

@mycrazyasslikestoread

@nekoannie-chan

@noellez-best-life23

@notyourtypicalrose

@obsessedwithcevans

@patzammit

@princessofdarkwinter

@rayofdawnworld

@sarahowritesostucky

@spectre-posts

@stellar-solar-flare

@steviebbboi

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@what-is-your-plan-today

@wolfsmom1

@yenzys-lucky-charm

@casa-boiardi

@avengersfan25

@danzer8705

@mrsnikstan

@ozwriterchick

@florie1

@watashiwababy

@umadirectioner

@enchantedbarnes

#saiyanprincessswanie #missy writes #the ultimate risk #sugar daddy au #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #sugar daddy!bucky barnes #sugar daddy!bucky barnes x reader #sugar daddy bucky barnes #sugar daddy bucky barnes x reader #sugar daddy bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #4bbingo

169 notes · View notes