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lubdubsworld · 3 years ago

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Perfect Imperfections.

Jeon Jungkook x OC

Genre : Arranged Marriage AU! Angst! Explicit Sexual Content.

Rating : 21+

Warnings : Ableism , Chronic disability. OC has limited use of her left leg, Emotional infidelity? Mild Cheating ( nothing very physical.. a kiss or so )

Summary : Marrying Jungkook is a mistake. Falling in love with him? Definitely the worst exercise in masochism .

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[ This is nothing but me indulging my love for writing bad cliches. That is it. Its literally a fest of cliche k drama tropes]

Chapter 1

After the accident, my life had become something of a stagnant pond.

Everyday began much the same.

The alarm, mild but not jarring. Not very shrill but definitely insistent, sweeping away any lingering traces of sleep. I blinked awake, cobwebs of exhaustion still marring my vision but a few deep breaths, a few more blinks and I was awake .

And now came the harder part.

Getting my legs to work.

It never got better, despite the many years that I’d spent in physiotherapy. All it really did was stop it from getting worse. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to the pain at this point.

Deep breaths helped. Sometimes.

But not today.

“Mrs Jeon?” The familiar voice made me jump a little.

“Sana...” I said, relieved. “ Could you come over? Seems like I’m going to need some help today.” I laughed nervously, gripping the sheets harder.” Could you help me sit up?”

The girl moved closer, feet nimble and quick and sure and i felt my throat clench in envy. I swallowed it down though, just the way I swallowed every bad thing that came my way.

It had been eight years ago.

A fall from a fifty feet ravine. Cuts and scrapes all over my body, abrasions all over my torso. And legs that had absolutely shattered on impact. Multiple fractures. Motor Nerve Damage on my left leg.

The skin stitched together. The bones grew back.

But the nerve damage stayed.

I wasn’t completely helpless. I could walk with the brace. Slowly and with a mildly awkward gait but I could walk. Even better if I was using crutches.

But it wasn’t something I could hide.

People looked at me and that was the first thing that they noticed.

The girl who couldn’t walk.

I sat still, gripping the edge of the bed as Sana carefully grabbed the brace and helped me put it on. I watched as she carefully set the loops in place, fixed the velcro and finally helped set my toes in place.

“Thank you.” i whispered and she nodded.

“Mr. Jeon left early. He said that he won’t be home tonight.”

I smiled a little.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to be caught between us. It must make you feel uncomfortable.” I said .

She looked surprised but quickly ducked her head

“No, Mrs. Jeon.”

I sighed.

“You may leave. I’ll come down soon.” I said quietly.

How handsome he looked, in that beautiful dark suit. How strong and handsome and ...whole.

Right next to a framed article about us from a magazine.

Jungkook ran marathons and trained as a boxer. He worked as the managing director at a steel manufacturing unit . Spent his days overseeing workers in the smelting units, and everyone knew that it wasn’t uncommon to see the Jeon heir, shirtless and sweaty and covered in dirt and getting down and dirty with all the other workers as the ore got delivered.

Someone like that... Someone that perfect.... Deserved a woman who would be an equal. Beautiful and graceful and perfect. And he had had her. My sister. For three years, I’d watched my sister and Jungkook be the perfect couple . Deeply in love and so happy.

I watched her leave, gently closing the door behind her, before shifting my gaze to the large portrait on the opposite side of the wall. It was a picture of my husband and I taken on the day we got betrothed.

What they hadn’t counted on was how greedy our parents could be.

Jungkook was the younger son. And his father had long written him off as unreliable. He was wild and headstrong. Had his own ideals and morals. Wouldn’t really bend to his father’s will. So his brother was the one who would be set to inherit the company.

And my father , with his billion dollar empire wasn’t going to give away his precious daughter and all of her inheritance to a paltry second son.

Jungkook’s brother had married my sister. And Jungkook had been forced to marry me. A comedy of errors , except it wasn’t really funny and no one was laughing.

I swallowed. That was seven months ago. The first few weeks had gone in stony silence and hushed whispers. I knew he was talking to my sister. Knew she was sobbing in despair on the other end. My sister and I had never gotten along. And now, she had a genuine reason to despise me.

Three months into marriage he had a small accident at the Manufacturing Unit.A small fall, not that far. Ten feet or so, but he’d crashed into a steel structure on his way down. He had a dislocated shoulder and some flesh wounds. Not that bad.

But my entire body had gone ice cold at the news, when i first heard it.

It was a brutal sort of realization.

That perhaps I wasn’t as indifferent to him as he was to me. Six weeks, with him had changed things. He didn’t talk much, other than the bare minimum but I didn’t hold it against him. I helped him anyway I could. Typed out emails for him. Helped him eat and change.

Hands brushing and time spent together meant tension. And a shift in the way he looked at me, sometimes. I noticed, wasn’t sure if I could act on it. But he was still my husband. And I didn’t really want to spend the rest of my life celibate.

So, even though it was so unlike me... I’d made the first move. Linked my fingers with his. Brushed my lips across his. A gesture that meant a hundred things. A touch that invited more. And he must’ve wanted it, at least physically. Because he indulged me. Gave me a glimpse of heaven on his bed.

And yet, six weeks of being as close as two humans could be didn’t change much.

We were strangers who slept together. Who appeared in public together. Who did everything our family expected of us. And I wasn’t sure how to bridge that awkward gap between us. Jungkook was a fiercely physical person. His free time was spent in the gym , or cycling or hiking.

I couldn’t walk across the room without having to grip the walls for support every few minutes.

Could anyone blame him for being bitter? For being distant? For not knowing what to do with me?

And in all this time , I’d only learnt a handful of things about my husband. How he felt on top of me. How he sounded when he came, how he looked eyebrows furrowed as he talked into his phone and of course, how little he cared about me.

Yes, we would have sex. Yes, he bought me a couple of gifts when he was overseas. But otherwise his heart belonged to my sister. It wasn’t something he hid.

As the days passed, I realized that it was time to keep myself safe. That I couldn’t show him all of me anymore. He was careful with me, guarded and secretive because he was smart. He didn’t want me to know anything about him.

There was a reason. There had to be.

So the best thing to do would be to do the same. Build that distance between us. This was going to crash and burn someday and I had to

And the past few weeks, he’d been busy with more deals. Some kind of MoU with some supplier had gone south and they were looking for different suppliers. Jungkook was busy. I hadn’t seen him in ten days.

And now apparently he had come home and left without so much as seeing me.

Sighing, I moved to the garden, walking slowly to the marble bench set under the large sweetgum tree. I settled down , sighing. I ran a palm over my belly, soft and hesitant.

I was two and half months along. It didn’t show...thanks to the oversized clothes I wore. But it wasn’t the kind of thing you could hide forever. I wasn’t sure why I started hiding it in the first place. It was just that.... I knew that no one would be happy for me. My family would be ecstatic but for the wrong reasons.

I could already imagine .

Finally. Now he can’t leave you.

I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of it. At the thought of someone talking about my baby like some sort of handcuff to lock Jungkook in.

I would have to tell him. Of course. But I didn’t know when or how . I didn’t want to hide it from him. There was no point. But ... I wasn’t quite sure i wanted to see that look of helpless disappointment in his face.

The sound of his car drew me out of my reverie and I startled, glancing over at the wide driveway. I glanced at the time . It was a little past eleven in the morning. What was he doing here?

“Leah! Get inside!” Jungkook’s voice rang out and I jumped.

“Jungkook?” I stared as he all but jumped out of the car rushing to me.

“Come on.. get up.”

“What’s going on..?” I asked, heart pounding as he gripped my elbow, drawing me into his arms.

“Dad fucked up. Got mixed with some shady bastards and apparently, they’ve put a hit out on me and hyung.”

My heart dropped.

“What?!!” I choked out, stunned. “ Jungkook...” My fingers curled over his chest, clutching the

“Don’t worry... we know who it is and we have guys of our own. They’ll take care of it. No one comes for a Jeon and lives to tell the tale. I just wanted to make sure you stayed in. Don’t go anywhere. there are guards all over the place. but i want you to stay home. Okay? Just till this blows over?”

I flinched, legs aching fierce as he led me up the stairs and he stared at me, eyes dripping with worry. The look was so foreign....so unlike the indifference I was used to that I could only stare.

“Are you alright?” He asked urgently and I nodded quickly, hands curving over my stomach instinctively.

“You’ll stay here right? With me...?” I asked softly and Jungkook hesitated.

“I... I need to go check on Lisa.” He said stiltedly and I froze at my sister’s name.

“She’s with her husband, right?” I asked sharply, anger building out of pure fear. “ Why do you-”

“Don’t question me. Go in. Now.” He said quickly and I frowned.

“You don’t have to go there. She has a husband of her own.” I said quietly, voice shaking.

“I have to. I... I have to just go make sure she’s alright.” He snapped angrily and I curled my fingers into fists.

Apparently, even when there was a very real threat to our lives, he would rather risk my life and his than let go of his obsession for my sister. i wanted to vomit. My skin felt clammy and my heart raced. I imagined him doing this when we had a kid....risking our child because he can’t stop thinking of her.... And he would do it..... Of course he would.

“Then go.” i snapped, tears filling my eyes . I yanked my arm out of his, stumbling a bit.

Jungkook looked shocked.

“Leah...” He reached for me but I pulled back and away.

“Go to her and don’t you dare come back here.” I screamed. Jungkook stiffened.

“Leah... enough.”

“You’re right. I’ve had enough . Of your dirty pining. Of you. She’s married for god’s sake. To your brother. They’re together. Its over and done with. Why can’t you just accept it and move on?!!” I choked out. My chest hurt.

“You knew I loved her when you married me.” He snapped back and I laughed in disbelief.

“Yes. And you knew I’d break someday. That I’d someday have enough of you treating me like I was disposable. Isn’t that why you kept at it for so long? You wanted me to be the one break things off right? So you could get out of your father’s anger...unscathed. Well, guess what. You got your wish.... I’m done!! “

He didn’t reply.

“Go inside. I have to go.” He said softly.

I watched as he turned on his heel and stalked back down the driveway.

Was it supposed to hurt this bad? My heart felt a bit like it was cleaving in two. Had I really just told him I had enough? What did that mean? Was I going to leave him? I felt my head spin , worry and fear laced with disbelief.

Someone was out to kill him? How could he be so flippant about it?

I shook my head. The Jeon’s were a weird bunch. Although they were one of the richest families in our society, they lacked any of the charming social graces that came with it. For years, everyone had kept them at arm’s length because while all other families had aristocratic roots and beginnings, the Jeon’s came from a background of mining iron ore and making steel : a rugged and dirty business.

The only reason my father had agreed to

And was I really going to leave him? where did I even begin? I couldn’t leave. I had no home to go to. My parents would take one look at me and send me back to Jungkook. I felt like a prize fool. I was stuck here. For eternity. That was all there was to it.

A decade ago, I’d had a future. But that evening on that mountain trail had changed my life forever. I was , for all intents and purposes disabled. I couldn’t just walk out of here and build a life for myself. I wouldn’t last a day.

I dragged myself to the living space, stopping when i saw how deserted the place looked.

There were usually people bustling about. Especially so close to lunch.

“Sana!!!” I called out, only to be met with the echoing silence of my own voice. And then a few seconds later she appeared ,

“Mrs. Jeon.... Is Mr. Jeon here?”

“He just left... Is everything okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where is everyone? Are all of you busy?” I asked nervously.

She bowed. “ Yes, ma’am.... The rest of us are cleaning out the pantry and Cook’s in the kitchen. Seul and Leejin are out in the backyard cleaning the statues near the koi pond. Mr. Jeon’s asked all the footmen and guards to stay around the perimeter. Will you need anything else?

“No... I’ll just rest till lunch.” I said gently, waving her off.

She left.

The eerie silence that followed told me there was nothing to do but embrace the loneliness and I hesitated, moving slowly to the window and peering out. I couldn’t see any of the guards either.

My fingers shook a little as I moved slowly to the entryway that led into the dining space. It was dark in here, the light from outside only illuminating the west wall which had large windows set in. I moved to the windows and stared out into the Jeon estate.

Although Jungkook was the younger brother, he had been taxed with maintaining and caring for the family estate. Not because his father trusted him but because the old man knew just how much Jungkook hated the place.

I played with my wedding ring as i remembered the countless times I’d watched the two of them fight, Jungkook coldly still while his father hurled abuses at him. Jeon Jaesook considered his son to be incompetent and disobedient, which made little to no sense to me.

As far as i knew Jungkook had helped increase production and had cut down operating costs significantly over the seven years that he’d been working as the managing Director at Jeon Steelworks.

But it was obvious the old man favored Jihyun, Jungkook’s older brother. Jihyun worked in the air conditioned offices located in Gangnam, the CEO taking care of all their sales and marketing while Jungkook , who had an actual degree in Business spent his days slaving away at the smelting Units, a job that was physically and mentally exhausting.

And while it always made my stomach twist, this unfair treatment he got subjected to, there wasn’t much i could do. My father had made it clear that he wouldn’t agree to the investment, unless both his daughters married the Jeon brothers. And Jungkook’s father had made it clear that if Jungkook didn’t agree , he would be out on the streets without a penny to his name.

My leg began aching and I turned back around ready to go settle into my workroom where I usually worked on my writing when I heard his footsteps. I glanced up, frowning.

Jungkook stood in the doorway staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

I stared at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to say something.

When he didn’t, I sighed.

“Did you think I was going to leave?” I asked bitterly.

He sighed.

“I’m not going to cheat on you. “

I nodded.

“I suppose you want me to thank you for that?” I shook my head. “ You don’t have to keep your worthless vows. Go sleep with her. Why would it make a difference to me?”

He exhaled sharply.

“I thought you understood.” He said sharply.

“I did. I do.” I said curtly “ I understand that my parents screwed the two of you over. I understand that you had to do something you absolutely did not want to. But there’s something you need to understand too. Just because I’ve accepted this, it doesn’t mean I enjoy it. It doesn’t mean I have to be happy about my husband being in love with another woman, much less my own sister.”

Jungkook nodded.

“Right. Got it. “ He said curtly and I flinched when another muscle twitch told me I’d been standing for too long.

“I’m going to go lay down.”

“Do you need me to get you a heating pad? For the leg? Or send one of the girls to massage your legs?” He asked softly, stepping closer and lightly gripping my elbow when my knees buckled.

I didn’t have much choice than to grip his forearm, because the pain was intensifying from pins and needles to proper muscle spasms. Sweat began to bead on my upper lip and i felt just a little faint.

“Yes. “ I said , feeling pathetic. I should have used the crutches. It had been a bad day even when I woke up. I should have sensed it and taken the proper measures.

“Leah... Should I run a warm bath for you? “ Jungkook's lips brushed my ear when he leaned to hold my weight up and i stiffened.

“That won’t be necessary. I just need help back up to the bed, thank you.” I said shortly. He looked uncertain and shook his head.

“ okay, but I’ll get Sana to run you a warm bath and make you some willowbark Tea.” He said quietly, and when I stumbled a bit on the first step he swore.

“This isn’t going to work.... Come here.” He said gruffly and before I could protest he bent low, gripping the back of my knees and pulling me up into his arms.

i swallowed, head spinning as I cradled the curve of my lower belly.

Tell him... Tell him... Tell him...

I felt my head throb as I kept my arms wrapped tight around his shoulders.

“I’m pregnant .” i blurted out.

Jungkook stumbled , nearly sending the both of us tumbling down the flight of stairs and i clung to him in terror. Okay, maybe the timing could have been better.

“What?” He looked ashen. Like he’d seen an actual ghost.

“Just thought you should know.” I muttered under my breath.

We reached the landing and he didn’t say anything, looking away from me, his jaw taut and lips set in a thin line. I felt my throat go sandpaper dry. He waited till we were safely in the confines of our bedroom, placing me down on the bed gently and moving to close the door and lock it.

I stared up at the ceiling, refusing to look at his face.

“ Leah-”

“Its fine. You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t know till a week ago myself.”

Silence.

“Have you told your parents?”

I exhaled sharply.

“No.”

“Mine?”

“No...”

“Then would you consider.... “ He trailed off and i finally stared at him.

“No.” I said softly.

He sighed.

“Alright. Should I book an appointment with Dr. Lee?”

I laughed.

“How very practical of you..” i said.

“What else do you expect from me..”

“Not even an ounce of support, that’s for sure.” I snapped and he growled.

“You want me to lie? Fine.. I’m happy!! So fucking happy that we’re bringing an innocent kid into our fucked up family. ” He shouted.

This was why I didn’t want to tell him, I thought bitterly.

“You’re the only one who’s fucked up, Jungkook. I’m perfectly fine with myself and my choices. I can give my baby all the stability they might ever need.”

“ That’s not hat I'm talking about. do you know what its like to grow up with parents who can’t stand each other?” Jungkook shouted.

I gaped at him. Can’t stand each other? Is that how he saw us?

“As long as you don’t walk out on us, we’ll be fine.” I muttered despondently.

“ Don’t worry about that. I’m not going to run away from my responsibilities. ” He said quietly.

I finally turned to look at him, placing both my hands on my stomach.

“Do you want me to leave you?” I asked honestly.” Have you ever thought about it?”

He didn’t say anything.

“So you have.” I smiled sadly. It wasn’t surprising but it did hurt.

“Of course I have. You’re Lisa’s sister and Lisa is my... “ He paused, shaking his head, “ But, I know you can’t. I don’t expect you to either.” He said gruffly, grabbing the intercom.

I watched as he called the housekeeper, firing off instruction for Sana and then to the cook to send some tea for me. He hung up and turned to me again.

“Lisa and I are going to go to Japan for a week. She has a conference there and I’m going to scout for locations just in case we open up a distribution office there.”

I turned away.

“ You don’t have to tell me all that. You didn’t before, i don’t want you to start now.” I said firmly.

He didn’t reply and i turned back to stare at the ceiling.

Jungkook hovered for a few seconds before moving closer to the bed and grabbing the comforter and a couple of pillows. I felt a lump in my throat as he carefully picked my leg up, placing the pillows underneath. i was almost numb from the thigh down.

i closed my eyes as he carefully pulled the comforter over my waist, folding it over my chest.

“Rest well.” He said quietly before walking away. i heard the door opening and then closing.

i waited till I heard his footsteps fades away before opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling.

I should probably put some paintings up there, I thought.

Author’s Note : This entire fic can be summed up as me not having any self control.

#jungkook arranged marriage #bts arranged marriage #bts fic #bts arranged marriage fic #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkok fanfics #bts famnfics #bts fanfics

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duskandstarlight · 3 years ago

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Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

Notes: Well, over a year you've had to wait for these two to seal the deal... BUT NO LONGER. And because I'm thankful to you all for sticking with this story, I've granted you with over 16k of sinful naughtiness. I think it's safe to say this is NSFW but you guys have read my smut before, you know the drill.

Embers & Light has always very much been the alternative story to Habits, but I couldn’t help but write in some crossover moments here to highlight the differences in events--timeline is a fascinating thing! Lemme know if you spot the moments :)

Please let me know what you think :) Comment and kudos will make my day!

I won't be able to write much of August (wedding & mini-moon) but I'll be doing my best to get you guys something as soon as possible. Hopefully by the end of the month, anyways <3

Oh! And I got a bookstagram. Find me at bookships.and.fandoms (and bear with me, I cba to take pretty pics atm)

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

Cassian stared at the doorway and the staircase beyond it, his gaze fixed and unwavering. Nesta had slipped out of the living room to follow Feyre up the stairs over ten minutes ago and he was already consumed with the biting sort of worry that gnawed at your insides.

He wasn’t concerned about what Nesta might be discussing with Feyre—that was her business—but because he couldn’t help but fret when it came to Nesta’s wellbeing.

It was a myriad of concerns that trampled through his mind like a herd of cattle. Had she slept enough? Had she recovered from being caught in the crowds the day before? Was her conversation with Feyre going to have her take three steps back rather than one forward? Cassian had spied the book of fairytales she’d slipped into her bag. Had guessed what she’d intended to do with it.

And then there was the fact that Nesta had left the bed before he’d woken again. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d not been there when he’d opened his eyes, especially after the night before.

But that was how it was with he and Nesta. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassian often felt as if they were on the right path; as if once the world shut its eyes, the pressure was off and their play could continue. But as soon as light bled back into the sky, things weren’t the same. They weren’t cold… but Cassian felt suspended in a limbo of flirtatious banter and respectful distance. Which was hard, when all Cassian wanted to do was be as close to her as possible: to hold her hand and wind a hand through her hair. To kiss her brow and mouth and sink his teeth into her neck—

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do wicked things. He wanted to make her moan and shatter. Wanted to know how she felt wrapped around him. Wanted to see if she’d gasp awake as he pushed inside of her.

Their trip home was going to be a turning point. Or at the very least it would be a milestone—a hammered notch as they progressed towards something. Yet, Cassian wasn’t naive: he wasn’t expecting Nesta to fall into his arms and never leave. But he hoped that it might make Nesta see their connection—not the tie between them, but the chemistry that Cassian knew would forever exist even if the mating bond was severed.

From the very first moment his gaze had settled on the haughty, vicious sister Cassian had known. Had nearly been brought to his knees—the heart-stopping moment so powerful, it suspended time as he felt something turn inside of him, as if something that had lain dormant had finally snapped open an eye.

And because of that Cassian would willingly allow Nesta to forge the reigns when it came to whatever it was between them. He could go slow. He would take the chance that Nesta might grow to accept him, even as he was seized by the terror that she might grow bored and draw a line under things before he had the chance to prove that he was worthy.

Cassian took a deep, steadying breath that made his ribcage heave. Thought of the lullaby that sat in his room at the House. Used that to ground himself and banish the painful thoughts.

Nesta had cared enough to gift him a piece of his past that nobody else had ever gone to the effort to find for him. And that was… everything. It was everything to him.

“I can hear the worry grinding gears in your brain.”

Rhys was standing where Mor had been a few moments earlier, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised. Cassian hadn’t noticed Mor slip away. Couldn’t even recall what she'd been saying to him. Had he ignored her? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. They all knew he was head over heels when it came to Nesta anyway.

Cassian blinked. It took him a moment to process Rhys’s words, but his body finally caught up. An instinctive grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he commanded his eyes to sparkle, even though it was all fake. “I was under the impression you didn’t think I had one.”

Rhys didn’t chuckle or retort with something dry. Sometimes his brother allowed him to indulge in his self-deprecating behaviour, but it didn’t seem like today was one of those days. Instead, he cut to the chase. “They’re fine.”

Cassian bristled. Didn’t bother to pretend his mind wasn't solely on what was happening upstairs. “Feyre’s speaking with you now?”

Nesta would hate that. Would know if her sister was communicating to her mate whilst they were talking.

His brother’s laugh was as smooth as velvet. “No, she locked me out. It’s a habit she’s started recently and it’s usually coupled with the mental finger.”

This time, Cassian’s smile was genuine, as was the chuckle that chased it. “Feisty.”

“You have no idea,” Rhys responded with a wink.

Mor, who had breezed back to Cassian’s side with a new cup of coffee, rolled her eyes. “We do actually, you two are like rabbits.”

“We’re mated,” Rhys replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s to be expected.”

Mor lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Cauldron, I need to bed someone rather than hearing about my cousin’s exploits with my best friend.”

“Head to Rita’s and find yourself a pretty fae,” Cassian drawled, tugging Mor into a one armed hug.

“Mmm,” Mor hummed, but she chewed on her lip again. Glanced nervously at Azriel, who was in deep conversation with Elain. His shadows were tucked in neatly to his frame rather than trailing, ever-moving and loose around his body, but Cassian knew he could hear them.

Cassian dropped a friendly kiss to Mor’s head before he let her go. Tussled her hair, grinning mischievously when she squawked in disapproval.

As if sensing that his cousin wanted a change of subject, Rhys looked square at Cassian. “Azriel will come over later to update you on the latest movements.”

Cassian sobered as if someone had poured icy water down his back. “Not later,” Cassian corrected firmly.

Tomorrow. No the day after that. Cassian couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop once he’d had his first proper taste of Nesta.

But of course they couldn’t do that—wouldn’t. The situation in Illyria was too dire for them to be so selfish as to lock themselves away for days.

It didn’t mean Cassian didn’t want to, though.

“You’ve got plans?” Rhys asked lightly and Mor froze.

You’ve got no idea, Cassian thought. But then realised his brother knew. Of course he did. Surely everyone in this room knew how desperate he was to get back to Illyria. To have Nesta in his bed again, writhing and moaning, their bodies slick with sweat as they moved in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian grounded that desire between his teeth, until it was nothing but broken, delicious shards that scraped down his throat. His blood coiled. “Yes. Maybe.”

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

Biting back a sigh, Cassian nodded. “I know. Come at noon. I suppose I’ll be camped out in Illyria for the foreseeable future.” He cast a stern look at Mor. “Send me letters.”

“You have a housemate,” Rhys reminded him. “You’re not going to be entirely alone.”

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

He grunted and unable to stop himself, he voiced the fear that always niggled away at the back of his mind. “For now.”

But Rhys just loosed another manicured shrug, that was at odds with the ground-breaking revelation that followed it. “For a long while. Nesta has expressed her desire to remain in Illyria long-term despite the discontent. Assuming you don’t mind sharing your bungalow.”

It felt as if an iron band of hope was clamped around Cassian’s chest. He stared at his brother. Tried not to blink. Crossed his arms firmly over his chest, protecting his heart. “And you know this how?”

“Nesta spoke with me. We have arrived at a truce, of sorts.”

That must have been what they’d spoken about yesterday on the balcony. He wanted to know more—everything—but Cassian would not press Rhys. If Nesta wanted to tell him, she would. He had to respect that.

So, he bit back his curiosity and grumbled, “About time.”

Rhys clapped his hand on Cassian’s back, but there was something wary in his expression, as if there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Finally, he said, “Patience is a virtue, brother.”

“I’m not the patient sort.”

“You are when it counts,” Rhys countered, and Cassian didn’t say anything because they both knew what he was referring to. Rhys had been the first to know. Had witnessed Cassian in a tangled web of despair and longing and unwanted visions. His brother had immediately put two and two together. Because he’d been there, too. Knew what it was to want someone you thought you couldn’t have. To hope that someone might finally grow to see you in colour rather than in black and white.

Cassian cast another look towards the empty doorway and the quiet hallway beyond it.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him. It was time for them to go home.

***

In the end, Cassian folded to his worry and had Elain fetch Nesta from upstairs. It was time to go, he’d insisted, even though there was no true reason as to why they needed to leave quite so quickly.

“No guesses required to identify why you want to head back to Illyria,” Mor muttered out the side of her mouth, as the creak of the stairs a few flights above heralded the sisters return. Cassian jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs and Mor yelped through her grin, even as she had to sidestep, the nudge throwing her off balance. “What? It’s all over your face. You think I can’t read you after five hundred years?”

“Don’t announce it to the room,” Cassian muttered darkly under his breath, “and you won’t find yourself torn to pieces.”

Mor briefly bumped against his arm, the jostle affectionate. Unfazed by his threat, she glanced sideways at him with rich chocolate eyes. “I won’t. We just want you to be happy, you know.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Now isn’t the time for a lecture about finding a more suitable mate.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to voice what he’d kept inside for so long.

Mor’s eyes widened, but she wound her arms around his waist. Cassian allowed her to tuck herself under his arm. His friend scented of citrus and cinnamon. When she craned her neck to look up at him, her expression was glowing with sincerity and Cassian realised that she hadn’t been insinuating that Nesta wasn’t right for him at all. “We’re all cheering you on from the sidelines, Cass, I promise.”

The muscle in Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked away from her, towards the doorway again, unable to help himself. “Don’t say anything.”

She tightened her grip on his waist. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Mor untangled herself from him. Shook her head in disagreement. “She does. She just isn’t ready to admit it yet.”

They both fell quiet as Nesta walked through the door with Elain and Feyre. The first thing Cassian noticed was that she scented of water and salt—tears.

Heart pattering with concern, Cassian quickly scanned Nesta’s expression and body language, searching for clues. But Nesta remained close to her sisters rather than apart, her fingers snagged in Feyre’s, her expression not in tatters but smooth and calm, like still waters.

“Ready to go?” Mor chirped from beside him. “I can winnow you back when Sala arrives.”

Nesta’s grey-blue eyes slid to Mor. “I called her on my way down.”

“Then you have time to see the snowdrops you gave me before you leave,” Elain responded eagerly, tugging at Nesta’s arm. “The cuttings took well to the soil. I planted them beneath the shade of the birch trees near the river.”

Cassian watched Nesta disappear into the garden. Surveyed the way a strand of golden brown hair that had escaped her loose braid floated on the breeze, as if it was part of the element rather than separate, as Elain bent to show her the snowdrops.

Yet despite the clear ease to Nesta’s movements, Cassian couldn’t help but ask Feyre whether everything was okay when she came over to hug him goodbye.

“We’re fine,” Feyre assured him, as together they watched Mor tentatively sit beside Azriel on the couch. For once the Shadowsinger’s shadows didn’t lighten, but Azriel still turned to her, drawn by some magnetism as she began to speak with him.

Slim fingers closed around his. Squeezed. “Thank you for fetching the book of fairytales for Nesta.”

The strand of ebony hair that had wrangled free of Cassian’s hair tie tickled the side of his forehead as he inclined his head. That had been a long time ago, when Nesta was a viper that he dared to poke with a stick, just so he could get a reaction. “Of course.”

“You travelled all that way on barely healed wings just to fetch a book.”

It wasn’t just a book, but Cassian knew Feyre understood that, so he only grunted, “Az took me most of the way. He waited to winnow me back.”

But Feyre’s eyes were burnished, as she asked, “Is there anything you won’t do for my sister?”

“It depends,” Cassian replied honestly. Because although he’d rather die than see Nesta hurt, Cassian wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her when her fire was ill-wrought. And that’s what he liked about the both of them: if he was an ass Nesta told him straight, and he did the same for her. A grin slashed across his face. “Your sister has claws and teeth when she’s angry.”

It wasn’t long before Sala landed on her four large paws in the garden, prompting goodbyes. Mor winnowed Nesta and Sala, whilst Az’s scarred hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

Together, Cassian and his brother passed through realms of shadows and light and raging wings. Then Illyria was taking shape before Cassian bit by bit: there was the sting of winter on his cheeks, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the scent of pine and untamed air. It felt like that wonderful first heave of your lungs after being starved from air. It alerted Cassian senses—woke him up.

Not bothering to say goodbye for the second time, Azriel bled straight back into shadow, but Mor raised a hand in a parting wave from where she stood beside Nesta and Sala. Her long golden hair caught on the breeze. It tussled behind her like its own puff of wind, before she vanished into nothing.

When Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta, he found her standing with her eyes closed, breathing in the wilderness of their surroundings. After a few beats, Sala jumped onto her hind legs, climbing up Nesta’s body with her snow-crusted paws to knock her head impatiently against Nesta’s.

A breath of laughter clouded in front of her as Nesta ruffled Sala’s ears. She murmured something Cassian couldn't identify in the manticore’s ear, before Sala dropped onto all fours and padded through the snow in the direction of the main camp.

Cassian watched the manticore go. He suspected Sala was going to seek out the widows camp and check everything was in order. It was the kind of thing Nesta would fret about—that whilst she was warm and fed, others might not be extended the same courtesy.

Or, the dark part of his mind whispered, she wants Sala out of the house.

You can fuck me wherever you like in the bungalow, Cassian.

The many needles of thrill pierced through him just as Nesta met his stare from across the snow. Suddenly, Cassian didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt swollen and thick in his mouth, words suddenly as viscous as tar. The atmosphere had altered—the aura surrounding them despite the distance suddenly heavy with promise: a change that pointed to something new.

The siphons on the back of Cassian’s hands glowed in anticipation. Nesta merely raised an eyebrow at him. Turned. Walked towards the house just as he caught the thick scent of jasmine and vanilla on the wind.

Cassian’s nostrils flared as it wound around him; invisible ropes of arousal. And then he was moving, following Nesta’s footprints.

His friends had winnowed them to the back of the house, halfway between the small stone outhouse and the backdoor. They weren’t far from the bungalow, but it felt like miles as Cassian stomped noisily after Nesta, his boots compacting the snow as if they were grinding shards of glass into powder.

When Cassian drew up behind Nesta, she already had a hand half-raised towards the door. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was a whirlpool of warmth. It sucked him in, begging him to line his torso against her back, so when she cursed, realising she hadn’t taken her gloves off, Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach over her shoulder and rest his palm against the wood, encasing her.

The touch of his bare skin—or Nesta’s—was the key to the magical lock. A thunk sounded as the bolt released but Cassian didn’t push open the door—was too preoccupied with the female before him—who had twisted to stare up at him.

As soon as their gazes snagged, history began to knit together in a rush of thread, until it was a tangible, living thing. Because this moment had been written in the stars as soon as Cassian had seen Nesta in her amethyst dress in the human realm; her hair wielded into a mighty crown, her expression haughty and defiant, yet burning with the potential of a life not yet lived. They’d denied that history, even as it waited patiently in the wings. It had watched as they danced around each other, fumbling and snarling their way to this very moment—

They moved in unison. Cassian’s head bowing just as Nesta reached upwards; her body bowing to his, her palms sliding across his jaw until they were around his neck. Their lips met with a force that rattled Cassian’s bones. This wasn't a brush of a kiss. This was immediate and awakening: Nesta tasted like life and breath, like destiny. And yet again, Cassian knew with startling clarity that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for each other and nobody could tell him otherwise, including her.

A soft breath whooshed out of Nesta as her back hit the door, but then Cassian was pushing it open, guiding her inside in a whirlwind of noise and wreckage.

The scrape of wood on the flagstone tiles sounded as Nesta’s back knocked against the table before Cassian turned them, his wings grazing against cupboards and the cool walls. Items clattered and shattered, but Cassian used his wings to keep a check on his surroundings, the touch guiding him to the left-hand wall where he could press her against the wall and devour.

Because Cassian could not tear his mouth from Nesta’s. Couldn’t stop tasting her. Couldn’t stop craving the roll of her tongue and the sound of her guttural moans. It fuelled a fireball inside of him; it roared into life in the centre of his heart, before spreading throughout his limbs, rushing through his body until it settled deep in his groin, aching and burning—screaming for relief.

When they finally hit the wall, the thud of their bodies shook the cabinets and the porcelain within it. Without thinking, Cassian took the brunt of it, his hand flying to cup Nesta's lower back and head to purposefully shield her from the hurt.

Because he was coarse and rippling, galloping towards a primal sort of wilderness that Cassian wasn’t sure he could control.

If Nesta was ignorant to the fact or wholly aware Cassian didn’t know. All he knew was that her hands were scrabbling at his leather like dancing flames, tugging him closer.

When he pressed his body over hers, aligning every inch of her to every inch of him, she whined.

Cassian swallowed it. Slanted his mouth across hers. Tucked his wings in tight as every muscle in him tensed in anticipation.

Nesta tasted of chai and vanilla and embers with a destiny to roar.

Another strangled noise came from her throat as Cassian sank his hands deep into the hair at her scalp, coaxing strands free from her braid as his fingers threading through her hair, just as he had done the night prior when he’d coaxed her to sleep. But this wasn’t a soothing touch. This was a touch to startle every nerve ending to life.

Time began to bleed around them, but Cassian only registered the fluidity of the frantic dance they had not learnt. The way Nesta arched into him as his palm slid back to span her waist. The pant of her breath against his skin. His heaving chest. The way his wings began to spread again of their own volition, like a fan unfolding to reveal a secret pattern—as if they were controlled by nothing but the ache of his cock as it strained against the leather of his pants.

As if in acknowledgement that his body was no longer ruled by him, his hips slanted upwards of their own accord. It was a desperate bid to relieve the ache, and his throat vibrated with a thunderous growl as Nesta dug her nails deeper into the leather of his jacket, using it for leverage as she arched into him.

Something turned further inside of Cassian, like a lock beginning to grind as a key turned. And then it felt as if he were plunging beneath water; ducking into the depths and travelling beneath an invisible barrier before emerging on the other side buoyant and surging with power.

Ruby crashed through his veins, like the walls of a dam broken free and… singing light. Magic roared so loudly in Cassian’s ears that he no longer heard the galloping beat of his heart or the sawing of their breath.

Reeling, he tore his mouth from Nesta’s. Her eyes were just as wide, puddles of startled moonlight—endless mercury—and Cassian didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were wreathed in silver.

For a moment they stared at one another. Time slowed until it was sluggish around them and then the feeling receded, as if Cassian was being carried by a wave as it was dragged unwillingly from the shore on thundering feet.

Sound bled back into Cassian’s ears, like raindrops slowly blotting paper. A moan whispered on a wind carried through him, the words fleeting—her name three times, like always—before they dispersed into nothing and ragged breathing filled the hole.

Fuck, they needed to be careful. He needed to be careful if just kissing her led to some transcendental experience. Cassian knew Nesta became open during sex—had seen tumbled images of tangled limbs and heard her moans—and he couldn’t afford to lose her when she had finally let him in. Couldn’t let her down, even though he wanted nothing more than to finally be found worthy by someone.

That twisted rope between them couldn’t widen and strengthen. Couldn’t finally open and click into place with a consensual snap.

Because Cassian had heard stories of mates who had gone to bed. Who had fleetingly accepted what they wanted in their hearts but not in their minds. And after they had both finished and life had been breathed into that bond, only death could sever their Cauldron-blessed connection.

Cassian would not have a mate with regrets, but he didn’t have the will-power to deny himself of her any longer. Not when he could scent how much Nests wanted him. When he could feel it like an unquenchable ache in his bones—an ache which made him tremble and shake. His rocky warrior exterior ground to nothing but sand.

As if Nesta could read his thoughts she tipped her head back, baring the column of her neck.

A resounding guttural sound dragged from his throat. The noise was animalistic and unchained. A booming crack ricocheted around the walls, the muscles in Cassian’s back burning as his wings snapped outward.

Something toppled from somewhere and crashed to the floor, but Cassian didn’t bother to raise his head to look at what it was.

And then time seemed to both slow and drive into a frenzy. Cassian launched at Nesta’s neck at the same time he tugged at her hair, urging her head to fall back even farther.

His lips were against the column of her throat in the blink of an eye; his teeth scraping, his mouth sucking until her blood pounded in his ears. Nesta’s knees buckled but Cassian quickly pinned her body to the wall, holding her up, his knee sliding firmly between her legs…

And… nothing. There was no panic or sensation of being trapped—no sudden fire launching him back thirty feet—but Cassian still tore his mouth from Nesta’s neck. Had to know she wasn’t panicking. “Ok?” he rasped.

A frown burrowed Nesta’s brows. Her swollen lips parted in confusion. Somehow it made her look more beautiful.

Cassian raised a shaking hand to trace it away. “Nesta. Are you ok?”

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

When Nesta spoke she was short of breath, the words an exhale. “Don’t hold back.”

Cassian practically arched into her at the words but he made himself remain still, even as his body vibrated with tension. His bones creaked but he held fast.

That stubborn, beautiful chin lifted and Nesta’s eyes glinted wicked yet pure. Always an oxymoron, his Nesta.

“Don’t hold back,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She pushed her hips against his thigh and the friction had her lips parting, a shaky breath tumbling from her lungs. “I can take it.”

The words were like slashing knives of pleasure, severing the leash on any control Cassian thought he had.

The subsequent rush of air Cassian loosed was akin to a snorting horse.

Then he was moving and their mouths were fused together again, their tongues a delicious push and pull of control and pleasure before he yanked away.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped. His hands flew to her hips, guiding her to ride his thigh. “Thank fuck, Nesta.”

The friction had Nesta moaning, her fingernails digging so hard into the leather of his jacket Cassian was sure she had dented the material. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the living fervour that clawed at them.

His hands were everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair. Sliding over her cheek. Cupping her ass. Attacking the buttons at the back of her dress, until they popped and scattered. Until he could pull the material down her arms, exposing tantalising creamy skin.

At the first sight of her breasts, Cassian growled. He bowed his head to capture a nipple sharply between his teeth before he laved over it with his tongue, smoothing over the wound. He relished the way Nesta cried out. Arched into him. She began to tear at his jacket. It snagged on his wings but Cassian shrugged it off until it hit the floor with a thud.

The first slide of Nesta’s palms beneath his tunic was like oil sizzling in a pan. Cassian hissed as the callouses of her palms scraped deliciously over his skin and scars and ink. Snarled as she made quick work of the stays and fastenings. Tried to focus on her other breast as she inched her hand beneath the tight leather fabric and eased him free.

Fingers wrapped sinfully around him, causing Cassian to snarl around a peaked nipple—to buck sharply—pressing them more firmly against the wall.

“Don’t bother,” Nesta moaned as Cassian wrenched desperately at the fabric of her dress, trying to coax it further down her body. She ground down onto his thigh as it to emphasise her point—her need—and the heat of her burned.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. He fumbled desperately with her skirts until a hand was under the material and sliding up her thigh. Until fabric ripped and her underwear fell away in what Cassian imagined to be a ripple of lace.

In one swift movement, Cassian lifted Nesta’s body upwards, until her legs were gripped tightly around his hips and her back was flush against the wall. Her hands flew to find purchase, grappling at the back of his neck, and when she was steady she raked her hand purposefully through the hair which had come loose from his tie. Tugged at the leather until his hair fell over his face. Whined. Tangled her fingers through the ebony strands as if they were her reigns.

Cassian splayed the hand that wasn’t supporting her body against the cold wall. Tried to catch his breath, but the position evened out the height between them. Just a slight movement would allow him to capture her lips with his, and Cassian couldn’t deny that demanding tug that drove him to devour. Nesta seemed to feel the same way. Moaned in relief as Cassian tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough, gave back as good as she got. Over and over they moved, until they were nothing but an undulating wave of tongue and teeth and groans. The pleasure was a surging, roiling entity. It was all consuming. It overtook Cassian’s body, demanding that his hand drag from her ass straight to her core.

When his fingers slid through wetness, Cassian’s groan sounded like thunderous defeat. He dropped his head to Nesta’s collarbone. Gently pressed his lips to her clavicle. To her shoulder. Tried to ground himself as he slid straight to the spot that made her keen—as pleasure ignited down the bond like a crashing wave. Brushed over it again and again and again. Relishing in the noises he coaxed from her. At the curling fists of desire that clenched agonisingly inside of him.

Cassian had to see Nesta fall. Had to look into her eyes as she broke.

But he wanted to be inside of her when it happened.

Cassian was reaching for his cock at the same time that Nesta let out a broken moan. “Do it,” she breathed. There was no bite of authority in her voice, as if all of the energy she had directed in the pursuit of pleasure had smoothed over the serrated edge of her personality he loved so much, leaving a softer version in its wake. “Please. Just—”

A satisfied snarl ripped from Cassian as he felt her want. And in that moment, Cassian knew there would be nothing gentle about how this was going to play out. It was going to be rough and frantic, riding a wave of pleasure that had been building for too long. Knew afterwards that they would sink to the cold floor in a mass of tangled limbs and mingled breath.

And Cassian wanted that. Had never wanted release so badly in his life.

Something clambered in the back of his mind. Something he needed to remember, but his limbs were moving of their own volition. He didn’t even bother to pump his cock or squeeze it to relieve the tension. Only cared about finally being inside of her.

The heat and slickness of her was sinful and divine when he lined himself up at her entrance. The hand he had braced against the wall came to span her cheek. It relied on Nesta clamping on tightly to his waist with her legs and the press of his torso against hers, but they managed it.

Shaking, Cassian raked back the hair that had fallen free from her braid back from Nesta’s face, just as she tugged him in for a bruising kiss.

There was a moment when everything paused and trembled. As Nesta pulled away and stared at him, her eyes swimming silver—glowing with it—her pupils obscured.

His magic surged at the sight of it. Crashed against his skin as if it was trying to escape. His siphons burned bloody.

“Cassian,” Nesta panted. Despite the keen desperation, there was cushion to his name. Gently, Nesta bowed her head until her forehead rested against his. The gesture was surprisingly tender. It tugged at his heartstrings, triggered his hips into movement as they finally pushed forward.

The tight heat that wrapped around him like velvet was so immediate that Cassian swore. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped into the tunic Nesta hadn’t gotten round to discarding. He trembled as Nesta’s breath stuttered and he felt the burning pain mixed with pleasure as he sunk in an inch. Felt the stretch of Nesta’s body as it strained to fit around him.

Claws dug into his back—Nesta’s nails—biting into his skin, until the metallic tang of blood infused the air.

Cassian’s body stilled before he even had a second to register that he needed to stop. That instinct buried deep to make sure she never hurt.

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

“No,” Nesta moaned. She shifted her hips and Cassian sank a little deeper. That pain flared again through the pleasure and Cassian grip on her turned vice like.

Sense stumbled into his desire addled brain, like a fawn on gangly legs.

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

He bowed to bury his face in the crook of her neck but Nesta whined. Tilted her hips again, urging him deeper. “Nesta, stop.”

“No.” Her whimper was doused in frustration, but all Cassian could feel was that sharp needle of pain.

He tried to pull back, but Nesta clamped down around him with that incredible strength of hers. The strength that only seemed to appear at times of desperation or anger.

Cassian’s jaw flexed, his features hardening. “I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Nesta countered, defiance colouring her expression.

“I am,” Cassian retorted, not allowing for a passing beat of their hearts to pass before he replied. “I’m hurting you. Don’t pretend that I’m not.”

I can feel it, Cassian wanted to explain, but didn’t. Knew somehow that if he did they might not end up joining at all.

Desire fogged Nesta’s mind and it fuelled the punch to her next words. “I don’t care.”

Ire punched through Cassian’s desire enough for him to see red. “Well, I do,” he snapped.

Nesta’s nostrils flared at his tone and her eyes burned silver. Cassian wondered how everything had gone southward so quickly—they were on a sinking ship and he needed to patch it up. Knew she felt rejected. So, he kissed her and pushed back that unquenchable ache he felt for her. Knew it hit home because she gasped softly into his mouth, her surprise tart on his tongue.

He pulled out. As soon as his cock fell free that pain throbbed and ebbed. But Nesta moaned all the same.

Moaned again as he drew his head back to stare at her.

She surprised him when her eyes remained open rather than closed off. There was no hard shield. Nothing but want and a vulnerability that made his heart squeeze.

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

He kissed her again. Trailed a thumb across her swollen lips, ignoring the desire that roared as Nesta sucked it into her mouth, her tongue darting across the top before the bit down lightly.

“This is how things are going to go,” Cassian murmured lowly, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and across her jawline, trailing the wetness all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Nesta shuddered.

“I’m going to get the door and send whoever it is away,” Cassian continued. He paused to let the words sink in. Lowered his head to trace a path with his nose, up the slope of her shoulder, all the way up her neck until his lips were grazing the shell of her ear. “You will go to your bedroom. When they’re gone, I’ll find you.”

Another shiver coursed through Nesta’s body. Her fingers tightened around his neck.

When Nesta next spoke, Cassian knew he’d piqued her interest. “What then?” she demanded.

“Then I’m going to make you come until you see stars.”

Nesta’s entire body froze. For a long moment, she didn’t so much as breathe, but Cassian felt the throb of her blood and magic as it pounded against her skin.

Then, Nesta’s hands worked between them, until her small palms were splayed across his chest. She pushed firmly, indicating that she wanted to get her down. Her body slithered to the floor, her lean legs falling away from his body.

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

Nesta lifted her chin. “Hurry or I’ll start without you.”

A breath heaved at Cassian’s lungs and he felt his pupils contract, pushing out his irises until they were swallowed by black. The image of Nesta sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but skin, her legs open, a hand moving between her legs had that coil within him tightening to the point of pain.

A growl spiked through the air as another knock sounded at the door.

Nesta must have known she’d wrangled back control, because she arched a cool eyebrow at him. “I thought you were going to answer the door?”

A dark chuckle forced its way out of his chest, but it was mechanical rather than true. Because there was nothing funny about resisting Nesta right now and his body seemed to know that.

Cassian reached for her before he knew what was happening. Rested his forehead against hers. Breathed once. Twice. “I need to calm down,” he confessed.

Nesta snickered, but the sound fell flat as her breath hitched upwards at the end. It betrayed the effect he had on her, even as she said silkily, “Did the image of me pleasuring myself get you hard?”

“I was already hard,” he growled. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “As you well know.”

A hand reached between them. Stroked over him—the touch feather light but tantalising enough that Cassian bucked into her touch.

And then cunning words, “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

A string of swear words left Cassian’s mouth. He yanked back from Nesta, as if someone had tugged firmly on a leash. Tugged up his pants and jerked ruthlessly at the ties until they fastened, trapping his cock back into the leather.

With a growl, Cassian waved a hand towards the living room—to Nesta’s room to the right of it. “Leave before I fuck you against the wall, Nesta,” he barked.

Nesta’s sly laugh skittered over his skin, and without pulling her dress back up to cover herself, Nesta sashayed through the nearest arch and disappeared.

*** It had been Mas and Roksana at the door, laden with bags full of groceries and supplies from the market. With full access to the house, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have just come right in. Which meant Mas had suspected somehow, enough so that she had left the bags on the front step and remained standing with Roksana a few feet back.

“I am sorry Sinta, but the meat might spoil,” the housekeeper had apologised as soon as he’d opened the door, his hair a tangled mess from where Nesta had yanked it free of its tie. He hadn’t had the sense to recover it from the floor, but he had righted his tunic and fastened his pants.

And thank the Cauldron for that, because Roksana peeked up at Cassian with wide eyes from her position of safety behind Mas’s legs. He didn’t know when Lorrian had brought the youngling back to the camp, but Cassian guessed it hadn’t been easy on the two of them to take a little girl out of the warmth and back into the snow.

Cassian tried to soften the eyes that he knew were a little wild. He raked his hands through his hair and sent them his most disarming smile, but there was fuck all he could do about his scent. So he thanked her, trying to keep his voice light and conversational. Ordered her to take the rest of the day off.

To the housekeeper’s credit, she did not linger. Had merely nodded and rushed Roksana back into the snow, towards the main vein of the camp.

Yet, whilst the housekeeper’s interruption had been unwanted, it did grant Cassian some breathing space as he rammed perishables into the cool box. Because even though Cassian would allow Nesta to decide how this all played out, he needed to lay down a rule of his own: he could give her the space to decide what she wanted—for him to prove that he could be what she needed—but there was one thing he could not suffer through.

And if they had stormed ahead in a hurricane of lust; with Nesta’s back against the wall as Cassian pounded into her… Well, it would be too late for Cassian to lay down his one condition once they were sweaty and sated. Nesta was more likely to get up and walk away. To not look back.

Cassian found Nesta sitting at the dresser in her room re-braiding back her hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Cassian opened his mouth to explain who had been at the door, but an iron band closed fast around his chest, robbing him of breath.

“What are you wearing?” The words came out of him eventually, entirely uneven to the point of being choked.

Because Nesta was wearing his shirt. It was the same steel blue shirt she’d worn that first day in Illyria. The shirt that was an identical match to her eyes, purchased before Cassian had realising what his subconscious had done. A shirt he’d had to hide away in the spare room because Cassian hadn’t been able to bare seeing it in his closet—of being reminded that his mate was a ghost who had banished him away.

Go home, Cassian.

Nesta met Cassian's eyes in the mirror. Announced with cool simplicity, “You ripped my dress.”

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

An indifferent shrug. “Why wear my own clothing when I know what fate it will suffer?”

Cassian knew his nostrils billowed, but he remained propped up against the doorframe. Pretended he was stuck to it like glue because his body was trembling for him to launch across the distance and claim her mouth. Her neck. Her.

The silence seemed to unnerve Nesta. Cassian knew that from months of living with her. From months of studying her slight tells when her masks slipped.

Right on cue, Nesta reset her posture—a gesture that most people read as defiant. But Cassian knew it was also a sign of nerves. She shrugged with feigned indifference, even as her throat tightened and that damned pulse fluttered temptingly against her throat. “You liked it the last time I wore it.”

Cassian huffed a breath. He had liked it the last time she wore it, even if she’d been so gaunt that he’d worried she might wither away. But the shirt… it had put images in his mind that Cassian had long tried to store away, imprisoned in rock and flame: her in his clothing, not fucking other males but him, her lithe legs wrapping around his waist as he sank deep—

Which brought Cassian neatly to the point he needed to discuss with her…

Nesta’s eyes tracked Cassian in the mirror as he peeled himself out of the doorway and came to stand behind her. When their eyes locked into place, it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. There was something deep in Nesta’s gaze that made it feel as if he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, that magnetism between them drawing him in like gravity.

When Cassian’s fingers brushed Nesta’s neck—ran down the braid she had draped over her shoulder—Nesta shivered. “You had your hair down then,” he rasped. Didn’t wait for her to protest, as he slowly coaxed the tie free from the end of her hair.

Nesta turned preternaturally still, watched him gently part her hair in the mirror until it fell free from her plait, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin as he coaxed her hair to fall down her back.

The pulse hammering at her throat and the warmth radiating from her skin were the only indications that Nesta was alive rather than stone.

Only when Cassian had finished and lifted his hands from her neck, did Nesta come back to life.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But she cocked her head slightly to dissect him. “It’s a nuisance like this. It gets in the way.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassian corrected, his voice rasping, like sand scraping against skin. He ran a hand through her hair as if to emphasise his point, his fingers running down, down, down until her waist.

When Nesta stood and turned into the warmth of him, Cassian scented what she wanted. But there was something else simmering in her expression—surprise. As if she’d caught the truth in his words and hadn’t expected someone to truly think her beautiful.

She stepped closer, until the lines of her torso ghosted his. Until Cassian’s heart pounded so hard he could hear the frantic tempo of it in his ears. Nesta tilted her head back so she could stare up at him and Cassian’s hand weaved through the mane of her hair before he could stop himself.

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

But Cassian waited. Waited for Nesta to reach up on tiptoes and press her mouth to his.

The kiss was not like their bruised, desperate kisses from earlier. It was coaxing and unsure; the tentative beginning of something that was not merely fuelled by ardour. But it soon blossomed into something more, like a snowball rolling down a mountain blanketed white, gaining speed as it grew and grew—

Dragging his mouth away from hers, Cassian fought for breath. Battled to remember what he needed to do and say. But then Nesta was tugging his head back down again, her fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture indicative of an insistent need that Cassian knew would not go away.

As always, Nesta tasted divine. Addictive. He could taste the curl of her power on his tongue—silver and white, life and death—and he wondered if she could taste his. Knew his siphons were glowing scarlet—

“Nesta,” he murmured hoarsely, her name a caress against her lips. He couldn’t invoke a distance between them, couldn’t stop touching her. His nose brushed hers as her drew back an infinitesimal amount. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, summoning courage. “You can dictate how this goes between us. But if we do this, I can’t—there’s no-one else. Just you and me.”

The subsequent pause was one of the worst of Cassian’s life. It was barely a breath. The blink of an eye. But it felt as if it was malleable and elastic, drawn out by the hands of fate as everything suspended in time.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he managed it. Caught Nesta’s eyelashes flutter downwards, casting shadows on her skin. Her fists tightened in the fabric of his tunic, anchoring him to the moment.

She swallowed. Shook her head. Agreed with a conviction he had not been expecting, “No-one else.”

The relief that swooped through Cassian was so fierce it was painful. But he still didn’t dare to believe it.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger so Nesta could not look away. So he could look into the deep waters of her irises and know she was telling him the truth.

But her gaze was steady and unwavering, as he demanded, “Say it again.”

His voice cracked but Nesta didn’t appear to notice. Her grip on him tightened. “No-one else,” she repeated on an outward breath.

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low, “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,�� he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @valkyriesupremacy @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @ellies-iced-coffee @nehemikkele @misswonderflower

#embersandlightfic #duskandstarlightwrites #nessian fic #nessianfanfic #nessian smut #acosf #acosf fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfic #sjmaas #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #morrigan #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #feyre #elain archeron #rhysand

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crescentsteel · 4 years ago

Text

Burns

pairing: Suna x f!reader genre: fluff with slight angst (childhood friends to lovers) wc: 3.8k summary: you planned to confess to Suna on Valentines day. Unfortunately for you, he finds the holiday stupid.

[a/n]

Did this in one sitting, brain went zoom zoom

Not really comfortable writing for Inarizaki for some reason. Suna and Miya twins stans, don’t come for me.

Thank you @tokyosdawn, @luvnami, @fayeiparis (my ride or die ily) for the betaread.

ngl. I almost wrote smut after the fluff

Happy Valentines Day! 🖤

This is it. This is the day.

You’re finally going to confess to Suna.

You have been close friends for so long, and for the whole duration of it, you have tried your utter best to feel only as such.

You became friends with the rest of the Inarikazi team because you were always present in every game, with you being the loudest person to cheer for Suna leading everyone to pester him until he introduced you to them. Knowing Suna, he wasn’t fazed by his team’s persistent request and never mentioned to you that the team wanted to meet you.

It had been Atsumu that day who approached you during lunch break saying that Suna asked him to ask you to attend their practice after class.

You’ve been asking him non-stop if he can come watch them practice but he strictly prohibited you from going to the gym at all, so you were thrilled that he finally let you watch.. only to find him unpleasantly surprised that you were there.

Apparently, the whole team thought you were dating. As much as you wish you were, you could only agree with Suna when he said you were just a long-time friend.

But that changes today. Hopefully.

You already know what confessing to him means, and you’re not ready to lose Suna as a friend in case this doesn’t work out. However, with the both of you being third years already, it was now or never. You keep asking him what his plans after graduation are and he’s infuriatingly very consistent with his answer - a shrug and an apathetic ‘dunno.’

While you’re not ready to lose your friendship, you’re probably going to after high school — which is why you spent almost all of your allowance to buy ingredients to make homemade chocolate. It’s not actually that it’s expensive — you wasted so much ingredients making them that you ended up having enough for only three pieces.

But you’re satisfied because they were of three different designs. Three cute fox-shaped chocolates of different colors. They weren’t perfect but you tailored them according to Suna’s taste - just mildly sweet so he can actually enjoy it.

You smile into the February air.

You really aren’t sure about his feelings for you, but you know that you’re special to him.

You’re his only female friend and despite his aloofness, he actually spends time with you outside of school. It was you who he spent New Year’s with. He celebrates your birthday even if you know he’s not really into that kind of stuff. He walks you home when you stay late from club activities.

Being his friend since elementary school, you know he’s not the kind of guy to be nice to someone just for the sake of being nice.

So instead of dreading for your confession, you’re actually excited.

On your way to your first class, the chaotic twins block your path with a mischievous grin from both of them, except Atsumu’s way too obvious and upfront about it.

“So, y/n. Anything for me?” Atsumu asks as he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Why would she give you any, idiot?” Osamu glares at Atsumu before turning to you with a smirk that makes you wary for some reason. “When she’s obviously giving them to Suna,” he adds.

You try to not look affected at his spot-on statement, but shit, you can already feel your heartbeat just a bit faster. Are you that obvious?

“Don’t you have hoards of shit from other girls? Why the hell are you ganging up on me?” you ask instead of answering Osamu’s speculation.

“I want to show them to Suna during practice. His pretty little childhood friend givin’ me homemade chocolates,” Atsumu teases animatedly.

Your eyes widen from what he said. “Wait, how did you know they were homemade?”

The two give each other meaningful looks before Osamu leans down a bit on you. “So there really are chocolates, huh?”

You go rigid when you realize you’ve exposed yourself to these two. Shit, they’re going to tease you non-stop about this. Worse, they might tell Suna before you even get the chance to do it yourself.

“Those are some burns on your hands, y/n. Have you treated those properly?” Atsumu eyes your hand that accidentally touched the hot pan yesterday. You tug the sleeves of your uniform lower to cover the purple-pinkish marks.

“I’m going to be late for class, bye,” you abruptly bid goodbye and hurriedly escape from the two. God knows what else they’ll get from you if you stay longer.

You erase your encounter with the twins from this morning. You can’t buckle down now. You worked hard for this day, both in body and in spirit. You’ve already had more than a fair share of doubts and second thoughts up until last night when you successfully pushed any cynicism away.

You won’t back down, especially when Suna is just a seat away from you now.

“Got any chocolates yet?” You prod at the topic as you put away your used cutleries.

“Yea,” he answers lazily. “It’s so dumb.”

“What is?” you ask with a frown.

“Valentines,” he deadpans. “Atsumu’s gonna get a fucking diabetes from the amount of chocolates he took from me because I was about to throw them away.”

You try to not let it get to you and breathe steadily to strengthen your resolve. You’re special to Suna. Surely, he won’t treat yours like that.

“What’s more idiotic is confessing this day,” he rambles on. “If a person really likes someone, why wait for Valentines to say it?” He asks rhetorically while putting away his own finished lunch.

You feel your stomach lurch, like riding down a rollercoaster at full speed unexpectedly. You try your best to mold your face into an impassive expression to not give anything away.

On the inside though, you’re a mess. Your head feels too loud and the air feels too heavy. You want to close your eyes and disappear.

Then he looks at you. “What about you? Did you give chocolates to anyone?”

You vaguely hear his question. You feel like you’re in a bubble and every sound is muffled -- your classmates chattering, the chairs scraping against the floor, the laughter all around you feels distant.

You planned to give him the chocolates you worked so hard on, but definitely not anymore. He hit two things right (Or wrong? Who knows anymore.) on the marks and right now, you do feel idiotic for trying so hard.

You should’ve known better. Of course, he’d find it stupid! He’s never the person to be all excited with events like this. What were you even thinking, spending all that money and effort when he obviously thinks the whole thing is a farce?

Did you really think this was going to go well? That he’d accept your chocolates and everything would be fine and you would go on as friends? In hindsight, there is never going to be a way out of this where you win. It is a stupid idea, and you’re stupid for even thinking about it.

‘Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb,’ you chant in your head.

“Y/n?”

You flinch and find him staring at you, waiting for your answer. His golden eyes are studying your face carefully. You think you see a little bit of concern there but you brush it off.

“Oh no,” you laugh hesitantly. “No way I’d waste my time on some boy on the very rare chance that he actually likes me back, pfft.” Your laugh turns ironic and bitter. “Like you said, it’s just a dumb holiday,” you respond with a forced smile.

“Anyways, I have to go back now. Later, Rin.” You quickly stand up and head to a comfort room because you feel like shit and you need to cry it out before your classes start again, else you’d be tearing up during lecture.

“Wait.” He grips your hand firmly, adding salt to the injury as you wince when he presses the burn you got from yesterday.

“Ow!”

He’s startled by your sudden reaction, but doesn’t say anything.

He loosens his hold and moves his grip to your wrist as he pushes up the sleeve of your uniform, revealing the burn on your hand along with small others on your arm.

“What happened to you?” he asks with muted concern while his eyes are trained on your arm, fingers gently skimming over the burns.

You aggressively retrieve your arm and pull your sleeve back down while you come up with a lie, “Oka-san needed help in the kitchen yesterday.”

He furrows his eyebrows with suspicion. “Why? Everyone knows you’re useless in the kitchen.”

Yeah, but you wanted to do something for him, and the burns would have been worth it if he at least accepted the chocolates you worked so hard on.

“Honestly, I don’t even know.” You try to laugh it off, but you’re losing it already, so you just give him a quick wave with whatever smile you can muster and saunter away from him.

After a pathetic sobbing session in one of the cubicles, you make your way back to your classroom looking as normal as you possibly can.

Thank goodness it’s Valentines. You’re not the only girl with eyes puffy from rejection.

“Hey.” You feel a hand on your shoulder and solely from his voice, you can tell it’s Osamu. “You okay?”

Maybe it would’ve been better if you had fallen for Osamu instead. Despite being always teased by him and Atsumu, he’s actually a nice likeable guy. Unlike Suna.

God, why did it have to be Suna Rintarou?

“Come with me,” you say without looking at Osamu and drag him with you back to your classroom.

“Uhh, okay.” He sounds unsure but he goes with you anyway.

You ask him to wait for you just by the doorway of your classroom and grab the stupid box of chocolates you made from your bag.

You practically shove it to him when you get back to where he is. “Happy Valentines, ‘Samu,” you greet with a dead expression.

Osamu gapes at you then at the box in hand, an expression of disbelief spreading across his face.

“Weren’t you asking for chocolates this morning?”

“That was ‘Tsumu. Also,” he looks closely at the box. “It says ‘Rin.’

You immediately rip out the wrapper where you wrote Suna’s nickname and tuck the crumpled paper in your pocket.

“There. It doesn’t anymore,” you announce passively.

Osamu scratches his head with discomfort. “I can’t accept this, y/n. I can give it to Suna if you want,” he offers kindly.

“Miya Osamu. Either you accept it or I’m throwing it away right now.” Your voice is dead serious and so are you. If Osamu won’t accept it, it’s going to the trash where Suna would’ve tossed it in as well.

“Okay, okay!” He surrenders with panic and opens the box slowly.

“Holy sh-,” he clears his throat. “I mean, wow. These are so cute, the cutest I’ve received today,” he comments appreciatively before returning his gaze at you. “You sure about this, y/n?”

You nod, more convinced now that you saw his reactions towards it. “Yeah. I figured I’d want to give them to someone who’s going to actually like them.”

The soft ring of the bell alerts you that your next class is about to start.

“Thanks Osamu,” you utter with a grateful smile before sauntering back to your classroom.

“Oy ‘Samu, why are these chocolates so cute? How the hell can I eat these?” Tsumu whines.

“You shithead, those are mine!” Osamu rushes to where his twin and grabs the box protectively.

Suna just watches the two and silently waits for another fight to erupt.

“You’d just taste them and give them to me anyways. What’s the deal?” Atsumu asks with a frown.

“If you must know, ‘Tsumu. Y/n gave this to me,” Osamu announces with a condescending grin as Astumu gawks at him in disbelief. “No fucking way, you stinking liar,” Atsumu retorts.

Suna looks at the tiny box Osamu is holding and agrees with Atsumu. There is no way you’d give those to Osamu. You said so yourself this morning.

‘No way I’d waste my time on some boy on the very rare chance that he actually likes me back.’

Did you lie to him and made some for Osamu? Do you like Osamu?

Suna’s mind wanders back to the burns on your hand and arms and how your mom ‘supposedly’ asked you to help out in the kitchen. He knows something is off. You’re never asked to help out with anything that involves cooking, so why did you lie about it?

So what is going on? There’s just no way in hell you like Osamu. Not once have you mentioned liking his teammate enough for you to venture into the ‘horrors of the kitchen’ (as you put it). And more importantly, why Osamu?

It is true that Suna doesn’t give a shit whether or not he gets a mountain load of chocolates on this superficial holiday. He’s not eating them.

However, he’d make an exception only if they come from you. He wouldn’t mind if they’re just store-bought ones as long as they’re from you.

So why the fuck would you go to the troubles of making them for Osamu and not him? You can’t possibly like Osamu. He won’t allow it.

He marches to where the twins are and turns to Osamu. “Did y/n really give you that?”

Both the twins face him and while Osamu looks pensive, Atsumu wears a shit-eating grin. “Aww, Suna. Are you jealous that your beloved y/n gave us chocolates?”

“‘Tsumu, shut up for the love of God. And she didn’t give it to us. She gave it to me.” Osamu pulls the box closer to him possessively which ticks Suna off even more.

“Did she say why?” Suna tries to sound calm despite the stupid jealousy bubbling up the pit of his stomach.

“Obviously because-” Atsumu starts, but Osamu grabs his twin’s face with one hand to halt his babbling as he sighs to face Suna.

“Actually, the box had your name in it,” Osamu admits. “She just ripped it out and said she’d rather give it to someone who’ll appreciate it.”

“-mmmmff Samu!” Atsumu successfully removes Osamu’s hand. “You shouldn’t have told him that! Do you realize that y/n didn’t want him to know?”

“Duh! Of course, I know. But I really can’t accept chocolates that’re supposed to be for another guy,” Osamu sighs before handing Suna the box.

He opens it and sees the fuss Tsumu was making about it. They really are cute and are obviously made with care and precision. If someone else had told him that you made these, he wouldn’t have believed them.

But there’s something about the chocolates that he can’t ignore.

“Why are there bites on the two pieces?” He asks as he lifts his gaze up from the chocolates.

Atsumu puts his hands behind his head and starts whistling as he avoids Suna’s gaze while Osamu smiles apologetically.

“Sorry, I wanted to see if they taste as good as they look,” Osamu confesses. As for Atsumu, Suna can already tell that the piss-haired setter just couldn’t help himself despite receiving so many already.

“They’re a bit bland, Suna. Tell y/n she needs to improve her baking skills,” Atsumu comments shamelessly which makes Suna scowl at Atsumu’s ungrateful ass. The fact that you made something look edible is already something commendable.

“They’re okay. Just needs a bit more sweetness,” Osamu backs his twin up.

He brings the remaining chocolate that’s still untouched to his mouth.

“What are you two talking about? It tastes perfectly fine,” he states truthfully. It’s just the right amount of sweetness that he’s able to finish it despite not really being a fan of chocolates.

Osamu laughs softly before speaking. “She really did make them for you, Suna.”

That night, you toss and turn in your bed while trying to keep your focus on the movie you played. As entertaining as it is, you can’t fully enjoy it with constantly wanting to smash your head against the wall of your room.

For a good while, you really thought everything would go smoothly and that by the end of today, you and Suna would be more than just friends.

Maybe today is a sign that you shouldn’t push it anymore. Suna said so himself: if someone likes a person, they don’t need the holiday to confess.

So why hasn’t he?

The answer is clear as day and you wish you were blind to see it, but you aren’t.

There had been too many chances for you two to move your relationship forward, but not once had he shown a sign that he wanted to.

He doesn’t like you like that. It’s just you and your delusional head. He doesn’t love you the way you love him. Even with the cute, romantic scene playing before you, you start tearing up.

You grab one of your pillows and bury your face in it, effectively silencing the sob and stopping the tears that are coming as you remember your folly attempt to confess today.

You should’ve been satisfied with the comfort of your friendship. If you hadn’t been so greedy, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt like this.

You hear a text alert from your phone. You open it and see a text from the source of your misery.

‘Come out’

You don’t want to. Tomorrow you can be back to normal around him, but not tonight.

You hurriedly respond with a lie.

‘Went out zzz’

You throw your phone somewhere on your bed and lie down with your pillow still squeezed between your arms while you space out at nothing.

Your thirst brings you back to your senses so you stand up and get to the kitchen. When you come back to your room, you almost scream when you see Suna sitting slouching on your bed.

“What the heck, Rin?! How did you get here?”

“Your mother let me in. Why are you even asking obvious questions?”

You massage your temples as you plan to tell your mom later not to just let anyone in your room even though it’s someone she knows. You might be childhood friends but you’re no longer kids. He can’t just pop in and out of your room anymore like he used to.

“Why are you even here? I said I was out.”

“Your lights are open, dumbass,” he answers, to which you respond with a sigh.

“Didn’t it occur to you that I don’t want to see you?”

He stands up from your bed and although his expression doesn’t change, you feel alarmed from how he’s towering over you without saying anything.

“W-what?” Your stutter betrays your attempt to sound fine.

“Why the fuck would you give Osamu chocolates that are supposed to be mine?”

You gawk at him. He isn’t supposed to know that. That bastard, Osamu! You don’t have a prepared excuse for this kind of confrontation.

“What’s it to you even? You would’ve thrown them away anyways,” you snap back with an accusatory tone.

“Not if they’re from you,” he discloses as his usually austere eyes soften up, holding your gaze. You feel like you’re about to melt.

You feel your heart beat wildly against your chest. Not long ago you had said that you didn’t want to see him, but now that he’s here, you don’t feel like moving. You don’t feel like going anywhere. Everything could be on fire around you but you’d still stay by his side.

But… this is not right. Did you already know? He doesn’t love you back.

You try to turn away to hide the gnawing pain in your chest, but he’s faster. He grabs your arm to pull you closer. When he dips down to claim your lips while his arms snake around your waist, you melt within his hold.

His lips are so warm and uncharacteristically tender as he moves them intricately against yours, causing you to place both hands against his chest to feel him even more, to feel that he is real and not just a dream induced by how badly you yearn for him.

He pulls away a bit and finds a bewildered look on your face that just makes you look adorable. There had been many times when he thought about doing this, especially whenever you’re staring into nothingness with parted lips as if coaxing him to fuck everything else and just cross the boundary of your platonic relationship.

But to be honest, he didn’t like the complications of being in a romantic relationship with you when you already have this comfortable friendship. At the end of the day, he knows you have him and he has you.

Yet, he absolutely despises the idea that you might have liked someone else. He’s never felt any resentment towards his teammates, not even to Astsumu who’s a fucking handful most of the time.

Only today.

Only when he saw that box of chocolates in Osamu’s hands that he realized that he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

It was selfish of him, wanting to keep you to himself but not really doing anything to actually make it happen.

That changes tonight.

He removes one hand from your waist to hold your hand that’s resting on his chest.

“I love you, y/n.”

You blink twice at him, evidently surprised with his confession, but immediately recover when you look down and giggle softly.

When you look back at him again, your eyes are a mixture of content and mirth. “I thought you said it’s idiotic to confess on Valentines Day,” you remind him with a wide smile.

His loving stare becomes a cold glare when you point out what he had said this morning. He didn’t plan to do it today. He just couldn’t wait until tomorrow, thereby forgetting that he had actually told you that. Although, he still believes people shouldn’t wait for the holiday to confess, it just so happened that today is when he decided to do it.

“Fine. I take it back,” he says out of petty spite.

“I’m kidding!” you respond defensively before intertwining his fingers with yours. “Actually, I was about to confess earlier, but you said the stuff about Valentines being dumb.”

“It still is,” he says, undeterred. In his defense, he really hadn’t been expecting you would.

“Right. Yet, here we are,” you state as a matter of fact as you grip his hand tighter.

“Can you answer the damn confession already?” he asks exasperatedly which makes you laugh out loud.

You settle down with an affectionate smile. “Yes, Rin. I love you too.”

He loses his stern expression as he takes your hand to his mouth and kisses it, rubbing the minor burn with his thumb, a reminder that he does appreciate what you did for him.

“Happy Valentines, I guess,” he says before he goes for your lips again.

mlist of other stuff I wrote

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @hqbeesun @megatron-1199 @lovershaikyuu

#suna fluff #suna x reader #suna angst #suna rintarou #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 4 years ago

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 9:

As it turns out, being told there’s an imminent threat on your life, does not lend itself to a relaxing day at work. No, what it lends itself to, is a day of looking over your shoulder, of flipping the lights on in every room- of creeping quietly around furniture, trying to get the jump on whoever is hiding behind it.

Except, there’s never anyone behind it. There’s never anyone behind anything, and all you have to show for it is a heart beating far too fast. All you have is a ribcage, strung together with dental floss, little bits of string pulled much too far and much too tight. What’s left is a person one surprise from a panic attack, and one loud noise away from a mental breakdown.

It’s the weirdest anxiety you’ve ever felt; a dripping, acrid, paranoia lining your bones with electricity and your muscles with shock. The strangest part of all though? The way you’re counting the minutes. Watching the seconds pass by with each moment, trying to be patient until you could see Bakugou of all people.

You’re not sure when you started to associate him with safety, but it’s almost a lost cause at this point. His attitude was pretty much irrelevant to the issue, and even if he wasn’t very soft or reassuring, you know he’d rather die than let you get taken. His ego just wouldn’t allow it, and for some odd reason, you think that’s the most comforting part of all.

You walk out the backdoor, dragging your feet and hardly even jumping in surprise when you see him. Bakugou is leaning against the back wall of the alley, disinterest coloring his face. He’s in his hero gear, but thankfully he’s got his mask in his hands- being unable to fully see his eyes made him much harder to read.

“No bruises, scrapes? Blood?” You ask, looking him up and down twice over. You can’t help yourself as you near, eyes squinting as you study him closely. “No injuries, right?”

“No- ‘m fuckin’ fine. Stop fussing, woman.”

You see the red on his cheeks, just barely for a second, before he’s quickly sliding the mask onto his face. So much for seeing his eyes, then- apparently he wanted to keep you guessing all night. Not that you wouldn’t have been anyway.

"I'm not- actually, yeah, sorry. Maybe I was fussing a little bit." You laugh under you breath, taking a step back. "It's not my fault though, alright? Usually I only see you when you’re exhausted or bleeding out."

"Yeah, because bein' around ya is fuckin' torture, leech. Why the hell would I see you if I didn't have to?"

You turn, balking at him. Under the glow of the streetlamp, something sly and mischievous lines his smile. You watch him glow for a moment, yellow streetlamp luminescence casting his pale skin in shades of glimmering gold. He’s almost unrecognizable like that, unable to help himself when he shakes his head.

“I told you, leech.” He laughs. “You’re too easy.”

“No- you’re an asshole. You know that? You have to know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“And, what, you’re proud of that?”

He just shrugs, kicking off the wall and brushing past you. His shoulder knocks into yours, and you feel a little unsteady at the impact. Bakugou laughs. Then he picks up speed, walking briskly towards the end of the alley, looking behind him to make sure that you’re following.

“That’s not an answer, you know.” You say, rolling your eyes. “Not even a little bit of an answer.”

“Who the fuck said I gotta answer all your questions, hah?” He replies, petulance coloring his words. He turns back to look at you, snapping his fingers to urge you on. “Now c’mon. Faster. Pick up the goddamn pace.”

“Jeez, you’re pushy tonight.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer you, just leading you out of the alley, and into the street. He slows suddenly, falling behind you with watchful eyes scanning every shadow. There’s no one out that night, there almost never is at that time, but Bakugou still seems keen on keeping up his vigilance. Turning back to look at him, you’re almost shocked by the concentration on his face.

It’s a look you’re not especially used to seeing on him. You’d never realized how much time he spent just messing with you, but the foreignness of his expression made that apparent. In that moment, all you can wonder is why villians even bothered in the first place- it was obvious they weren’t going to get away with anything under his watch. Not at least if Bakugou’s fists had something to say about it.

“You look pretty guard-dog-like back there.” You comment with a coy smile. “Super scary.”

“Shut up.”

“Mhm, that’s what you always say isn’t it.”

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You say lightly, spinning to look at him for a moment. He’s confused, head tilted slightly to the side. He looks like a dog all over again and you have to hold back a giggle. “Just means you’re short with me all the time. Well- when you’re not being mean that is.”

“You pickin’ a fight?”

“No. No. I’m not.” You laugh. “I almost never am, or at least not intentionally. You always think so though.”

Bakugou speeds up then, his strides matching yours. He’s close then, way closer to you than he’d usually walk. You’re not particularly curious about it, but you’re sure that if you reached out, just barely extended your fingers, you’d brush right up against those giant gauntlets of his. And probably get those same fingers blasted right off- but that’s neither here nor there.

“You look tired.” He gruffs, changing the subject suddenly. He’s looking away, eyes trained down every dark alley you pass. “You somehow sleep worse than me or somethin’?”

“No. Just lots of people coming in and out today. Lots of patients to see.”

“Mhm.” He nods. “Any weird injuries?”

“No? Why?”

He just looks at you then, eyes squinting slightly.

“Oh. Those villians you can’t tell me about. I get it.” You say, and Bakugou nods. “But no. Not that I saw- sorry. Strange influx of elderly people, though. But that’s probably just a coincidence. Probably unrelated.”

“It is.”

“Huh? How would you know?”

“Just do.”

You roll your eyes, huffing. “You suck at explaining things, you know- just like, the worst conversationalist.”

He shrugs again, and at the movement you feel the edge of his gauntlets against your arm. The metal is cold, even through the thin material of your jacket, and you shiver.

“Damn, you really that fuckin’ scared of ‘em?” He scoffs, looking at you a little weirdly. “Chill the hell out, leech. ‘m not after you.”

“No- it’s not- I’m not scared of them. Well, I am, but not of you. Or them.” You rub at your arms, trying to avoid accidentally elbowing him as he walks next to you. “The metal was just cold. Didn’t expect it, is all.”

He nods, grunting something under his breath. Then he’s side-eyeing you. For way too long to be normal, even for ordinary person standards. Hardly another breath passes before he smirks, jostling his shoulders and pressing the gauntlet directly into your arm. It hits against your jacket, flooding ice through the material and into your skin.

“It’s cold!” You squeal in surprise, almost stumbling as you pull away. You take another step to the side, just to increase the distance between you and him- just to be safe. “I literally just said that! You’re a dick.”

Bakugou just smothers his laugh in his shoulder.

“No! Don’t laugh- what you think this is funny? Huh?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, trying to get you with the gauntlets once more. You flinch away, which just makes him laugh more. “I do actually.”

“It’s not! It’s cold out, you asshole! Don’t make it any worse!”

He just laughs at you, eyes crinkling around the edges. Bakugou doesn’t laugh much, not around you at least, but now you’re sort of wishing he did. His eyes look a lot brighter when he laughs. Happier.

“Okay, okay, chill out already.” He smirks, shushing you like a child. “Won’t happen again.”

“You sound like you’re lying.”

“Nah. ‘m not.”

“I don’t trust you.” You counter, eyeing him with suspicion. “Not at all.”

He just shrugs, like your answer doesn’t surprise him, nor does it make any sort of difference. You suppose that’s about right. Bakugou pretty much only cared about pushing your buttons- making you feel comfortable wasn’t even a thought in his mind.

“You’re such a baby.” He comments, eyes scanning down another dark alley. “Seriously. ‘s not even that fuckin’ cold outside.”

“Says you.”

“I’m right.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re absolutely not.” Drawing your jacket tighter, you fight the shiver that threatens to crawl up your spine. “You know, for a guy who gets so mad about me “picking fights” all the time, you sure do like to argue a lot. You sure you’re not actually the one picking fights?”

“I don’t gotta pick ‘em, I just finish them.”

There’s no way- there’s no way in hell a fully grown hero, a pro hero just opened his mouth and said that to you. It’s inconcievable, or, it should be, but then you look at Bakugou and the absolute sincerity of his expression.

“You’re a barbarian.” You can’t help but laugh, pinching the bridge of your nose with faux annoyance. “Seriously. I just gagged on all the testosterone in that sentence.”

“So? ‘s not my fuckin’ problem.”

“It is. It definitely is.” You tell him, hardly restraining your urge to knock him right off the curb.

From where he is, walking on the outside of the sidewalk and closest to the road, all it would take is a little nudge- he’s walking so very close to the edge. But knowing him, Bakugou would probably take you with him. So you refrain, changing the subject instead.

“So, you see any bad guys yet?”

“Bad guys?” He snorts, eyeing you like you’re stupid. “No. I haven’t seen any villains, yet.”

“Good, just checking. I don’t actually know what I’d do if you did.”

“You don’t do shit. You stay the hell out of it.”

“Okay, but what if you-”

“No. You run the other direction and go fuckin’ hide. That’s what you do.” He orders, seriousness lining his features. “Don’t go tryin’ anything. You’ll only get in the way, leech.”

A part of you bristles all over at that- at his insistence that you’d be nothing but useless weight in a fight. It makes you uncomfortable because as it stands, he’s right. You’d never be able to hold your own, much less defeat anyone.

You felt weak. Vulnerable.

“Don’t be a goddamn baby. I can see you panicking.” He says, kicking at a rock on the sidewalk. “I told you- ‘m not plannin’ to let any of those fuckers get you. ‘s a hypothetical, so don’t go cryin’ over shit that hasn’t even happened yet.”

“It’s not that.”

“Fuck is it then?”

“It’s just- I was thinking, you know, about what I’d do in a fight.” You start, rubbing at your elbow mindlessly. “And you’re right. I’d be entirely useless. I can’t hurt anybody. I don’t think I ever would, even if I had the skills to.”

You hardly see it from the corner of your vision, but Bakugou scrunches his nose. Your words must’ve upset him because then he’s huffing like a bull, curling his fingers closed into a fist.

“Don’t say it like it’s a fuckin’ bad thing. Don’t be an idiot.” He mutters lowly, voice pinched and tight. There’s a flush on his cheeks, just barely visible in the dark. “People getting fuckin’ hurt is never a good thing.”

“No, it’s not. I guess you’re right. But, still, I guess what I’m saying is I wish I was a little less soft, you know? Stronger.”

He cuts his eyes toward you, something guarded lining them. You can hardly tell, and you wish he’d take his mask off, but Bakugou almost looks..... offended?

“Bein’ soft doesn’t mean you’re fuckin’ weak.”

“You’ve literally called me weak before!”

“Yeah- when you were playin’ all fuckin’ nice when you didn’t mean it.” He flares his nostrils. “That’s weak.”

“Oh, so you’re saying- actually, no, I have no idea what point you’re trying to get at right now.”

“Jesus, you’re stupid.” He mutters on his breath. “I’m saying, don’t do shit just because you think you have to. That’s stupid. That’s weak.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t fight anybody?”

“Do you want to fight anybody?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then why the hell are we even fuckin’ talking about this?” He asks, simple and plain like it never even mattered to him in the first place. “If you don’t want to fight then don’t fight. It’s that fuckin’ easy.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts.” He says, finality lacing his tone. “Besides, it’s not gonna fuckin’ matter anyway. I’ll skin ‘em before they even get anywhere near you.”

Bakugou seems to realize his words- and the weight behind them at the same time you do. Where you’re blushing and looking away, he’s straightening in place next to you. His spine goes ramrod, feet stuttering like the pavement is shooting electric shocks through his heels.

“That’s- I think that’s the only sort of nice thing you’ve ever said to me.” You utter out, entirely shocked. Then you’re slapping a hand against your mouth, breathing a gasp out between the gaps in your fingers. “That’s- that’s the only nice thing I get? A threat against somebody else? That’s ridiculous!”

You can’t help the giggle that tumbles out of your mouth then, something small and tiny quickly growing louder. It makes you feel light- weightless on the street, like the pavement below you is bolstering you higher with each step. When you look over, Bakugou’s not laughing, but he’s smiling, something pinched and shy as he looks back at you. A he stares at you, blinking slowly, tipping his head to the side like he doesn’t understand.

“It’s- I’m sorry.” You laugh, biting down on your lip. “It’s just so funny! You being nice isn’t even you being nice- it’s just you being mean to somebody else for once!”

“If this is what you’re like when I’m fuckin’ nice, then I’ll never be nice to you again.”

“Don’t grumble.” You smile, trying to cover your smile with an errant palm. “Even if I’m laughing, I’m not necassarily laughing at you, you know? I guess what I”m saying is that it helps with the panic- to know that somebody capable is looking out for me, you know?”

“Yeah, I bet.”

His tone leaves something sour, sarcasm and cynicism left behind on his breath. You look over at him, but his eyes are trained forward, shooting between every dark crevice and shadow. He’s relentless, shoulders constantly drawn forward, stalking and prowling like he’s just waiting for somebody to challenge him.

It makes you wonder who’s looking out for him. If anybody even is- or, more specifically, if he is letting anyone.

“Hey, Bakugou?” You ask suddenly.

“What?”

“I appreciate it, you know. This. You walking me home.” You find yourself unable to hold his intense gaze any longer. Eyes trained at the ground, you continue. “I know you didn’t have to, and even if it’s not for me, it still makes me feel a lot better. Less scared. So thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really even react other than straightening a little beside you. It makes you want to take the words back, to fluster, make excuses maybe- but you don’t. You steel yourself and you don’t apologize because you meant it. Meant every word.

“Jesus, you really are soft, huh.” He mutters quietly, voice hardly carrying through the cold air. “Really fuckin’ soft.”

“Yeah. I am.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but he does walk a little closer. From where he is, right up next to you, Bakugou looks a lot different. It might just be the low light, but you could’ve sworn he was all soft angles then; all smooth skin covering a gently sloping nose, delicate lips curled up into the smallest of smiles. You think he’s beautiful then- like somehow, all of his blistering strength had gone molten instead of igniting.

There’s not much left to say, and you’re out of jokes, so the rest of your walk is spent in silence. It’s a weird kind of quiet, something that sits heavy in your chest, warm and fluid- almost like it’s lulling you to sleep. There’s still a little anxiety rolling in your stomach, but that’s softened now too. You’re sure Bakugou would laugh at you if you told him, but he really did make you feel safe. If only in an belligerent and begrudging sort of way on his end.

Another few minutes pass and you’re at the entrance to your apartment building. He hovers close behind you as you swipe your keycard, eyes watching the same way they’d done all night. He really is diligent when he wants to be apparently.

“Are you coming in?” You ask, lingering in the door way.

“Nah. I’m on patrol for a few more hours.”

“Oh- yeah, okay, that makes sense.”

“You scared or somethin’?” He asks, squinting at you. “Go inside already.”

You curl your fingers a little tighter around the handle, shifting your weight onto your other foot. It frustrates you a little- how he seems to see right through you when you can hardly ever tell what he’s thinking.

“No- well, yes, but I get it, you’ve got other priorities.” You say, gently. “Go, I’ll be fine. Don’t let my weird paranoia hold you up or anything.”

He just nods, adjusting the mask on his face as he turns away. Bakugou only makes it a few steps, just barely secluded into the shadows beyond the complex lights, before he’s turning around. Hand itching at the back of his neck, he plants his feet, regarding you with familiar red eyes.

“It’s not weird.” He says. “I’ll be back later. Don’t do anything fuckin’ stupid while I’m gone.”

Then he’s turning around before you can say anything, his dark costume melting into the shadows. The air somehow feels colder when he leaves, empty almost, and you rush into your apartment complex as a result.

When you’re finally unlocking your door, and quickly relocking it behind you, the exhaustion nearly bulldozes you. You’d been so careful that day, not using your quirk just like Bakugou had advised, but in the end you figured it didn’t really matter- you were scared, absolutely terrified about some villian it didn’t seem like you could even prepare for. That would make anyone tired, weird quirk or not.

Collapsing on your couch with a sigh, you can’t help yourself as sleep quickly takes over.

--/--

You’re jolted awake by the sound of knocking, and, even in your sleep-drunk haze, you know who it is. You’d never known anyone else in your entire life who knocked as loudly as he did. It was like miniature bombs were going off against the glass.

Bakugou is standing outside in normal clothes, thankfully shucked of both his hero costume and mask. He’s clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt, tapping his foot impatiently as you approach the door. You wonder how he’s not cold, how in the world he’s not freezing his ass off out there. You’d ask, but the exhaustion is still creeping in, piloting your body with hardly a quarter of as much energy as you would normally have.

“You look tired.” He says, taking in your appearance when you slide open the door. He lets himself in, brushing past you when you apparently take too long. “You fall asleep or somethin’?”

“Yeah- yeah, I did, sorry.” You yawn, rubbing away the sleep in your eyes. “Couldn’t help it. Was tired.”

“Oh.”

Bakugou seems a little stilted, hardly even looking at you, and when he does, it’s with a flush on his face. You just shrug his weird behavior off, not having the energy to ask nor the care to even remotely get to the bottom of it. As it was- you were dead tired. His weird mood wasn’t going to trump that apparently.

“You all good?” You yawn again into your hand, then stretch your arms high above your head. “No injuries or anything?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s good. That’s good.” You trail off, turning away from him to gather your purse and coat off of the couch. “How was it?”

“I didn’t find them yet. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“No- well, that’s sorta- but not really.” You’re fluffing the pillows for him before you realize, gathering a blanket from where it was tucked away too. “I meant- like, everything go alright? Just general checking up stuff.”

“Why- you decide to care now or somethin’?”

“Don’t be difficult. I care. Wouldn’t- wouldn’t ask if I didn’t care to know the answer.”

“Fine.” He grumbles, cheeks going pink once more. “It was boring. Nobody was out tryin’ to pull anything.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear, actually.”

You continue making up his pseduo bed, spreading the blanket over your cushions and folding it back neatly. It’s almost subconscious, the way your hands move even through your sleep-fog. Bakugou just watches, looking at you a little strangely. His red eyes flicker from you, to the pseduo-bed you’d made up for him, and then back again several times over.

On the couch, there’s the normal blanket, but this time you’d also sacrificed one of your real pillows too. You figured that if he was going to go through the hassle of making sure you were safe, then the least you could do was spare him a good pillow. Still, the gesture seemed to stump him, and Bakugou just stared blankly at it. Then his eyes flicker back to you, something unsure in them.

You’re not used to seeing him like that. Apprehensive. Almost timid.

“Hope it’s alright.” You tell him, passing him to flick off the bright overhead light. “Thought it was about time for an upgrade. Take it as a show of my appreciation.”

“Whatever.” He flusters a bit, but shakes it off quickly. “Glad you finally realized how shitty your throw pillows are.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“You really that tired?”

“Yeah. Sorry. ‘s pretty hard for me to function after I’ve just woken up. ‘s really embarrassing.”

“No, it’s-”

Bakugou seems to suddenly seize in place half way through his words, spinning the other direction like someone was puppetting his strings. You really start to wonder what had gotten into him in the few hours since you’d seen him last.

“Well, if that’s all,” You say, hiding another large yawn behind your gloves. Then you’re pulling at the material, freeing one of your hands. “Then I’d really like to go back to sleep. So, c’mon, hand out already, yeah?”

He nods tightly, his whole face red. He won’t look at you, eyes hardly flickering up to yours for a second before he forces them back down. Another loud yawn escapes you, and that only seems to worsen whatever problem he’s having, because then Bakugou is dragging a hand down his face- stretching and pulling and tugging at heated skin like he’s in physical pain. Still, he holds his hand out anyways, refusing to meet your eyes.

That same subtle warmth floods you again, solid and sure where his hand meets yours. It’s muted now, a little softer, but still there. You’re half asleep, barely functioning, and you absentmindedly rub the back of his hand with you thumb, once, twice, and then pat when you let go.

He just looks at you, absolutely bewildered, and honestly- you’re not sure you have an explanation. There is no explanation. All there is, is your bone-deep exhaustion and the apparently uncharacteristic things it makes you do. Like shushing him when he starts to speak, which only seems to stun him more. Then you’re waving him off, beginning to walk towards your bedroom without hardly letting him get a reaction in edgewise. You’d apologize, but honestly, you’re sure you’d fall asleep half-way through the words.

“Goodnight.” You say absentmindedly, head lolling over your shoulder to look back at him. “Have a good sleep or whatever. See you tomorrow.”

Then you’re stumbling down the hall, just barely remembering to flick off the overhead lights. You hit the bed, flopping down boneless and sated.

You’re sure it must take all over 10 seconds until you’re out again. Maybe even less than that.

hope u enjoy lovelies :)))

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#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x self insert #bakugou fic #bakugou series #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #mha fic #bnha fic #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagine

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writingindulgence · 4 years ago

Text

Illumi x F.Reader - Expectation

Pairing: Illumi x Female Reader

Story tags: Arranged marriage, typical Zoldyck behaviour, angst-ish, heavy manipulation, ILLUMI, unhealthy one-sided dependence : ) my guy just toxic

3,200+ words and why? I don’t even like the dude. Also, two points of view.

The sound of fancy porcelain tea cups clinking against the glass table is soothing, along with the warm rays shining on your face. Times like these are what you are thankful for. The smell of purposely picked flowers, arranged to please the eyes. Not the stench of trash dumped for the sole convenience of other countries. Colourful butterflies and bees, instead of flies and disease ridden rats. A home cooked meal ready for your consumption rather than scraps of rotting food that you more often than not nearly died for.

Kukuroo mountain is infinitely more beautiful compared to Meteor City.

“(Y/n) dear, it’s unbecoming of you to make noise with your tableware,” a powerful feminine voice chastates your mistake. The woman sitting opposite you is none other than Kikyo Zoldyck. Or as she forces you to call her, mother.

Your heart flutters in relief, an apologetic expression weaving onto your face. She must be in an agreeable mood since her fan hasn’t struck your hand. Sometimes you are let off with a warning if she spots a blunder on your part. Sometimes, she resorts to physical punishment. It always depends on whether or not a family member said anything to ruin her day. In fact, any matter concerning Killua will set her off in a positive or negative direction.

Just like Illumi whenever you bring up his younger brother.

“I apologise mother, I’m too excited because Illumi is returning,” you proceed to take a sip and this time around, gently settle the tea cup down.

A content hum comes from her direction, her visor flashing for a split second. “Oh (Y/n), you’ll make such a good wife one day.” She picks up a fork gracefully and stabs it into the cake she asked for from the family cook.

The compliment ignites a multitude of feelings in your chest. It spreads out, only one thought in your mind.

How immensely grateful and happy you are to hear it.

Many of your friends from when you were young, starved to death. Some were beaten up by other desperate residents. Others lost their will to fight, a state you threaded on a magnitude of times.

Being taken away by the mafia one day was what gave you back the spark, a life in the city no more out of your reach. Until you figured out what type of work they wanted to sell you and other kids for. Stories from the older girls back in Meteor City came rushing back.

Your bloodlust and instinct to survive are what happened to change your life for the better. Out of all the line-up of children, you were selected by the Zoldycks. Instead of being the pet of some old pervert, you found a home within the assassin family.

There were many times when you felt like giving up. When the training you went through was worse than simply dying. However, you promised yourself to never throw away the chance you received all those years back.

You were indebted to the Zoldycks.

Hearing words of encouragement from one of the people you looked up to the most brought tears to your eyes. You wiped them away with your thumb.

Mother is a role model to you. It helped when you found out that she originates from Meteor City too. In a sense, it is easier to place yourself in her shoes and strive to achieve what she did. Being an amazing assassin, wife and mother.

A sudden scraping of a chair brought you back to the presence, startling you into a defensive pose. The knife under your sundress clasped in your hand.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Kalluto coming out from behind the bushes, his paper fan also ready for action.

“My Kil, what is he doing?! Quick, we have to stop him. Kalluto go call for Milluki right now!,” she orders shrilly before running into the mansion.

Without hesitation, you rush after her. It is expected of you. A nagging feeling in the back of your head also foreshadows that whatever is going on, it will have dire consequences if not stopped.

Killua is in the foyer, being kept idle by the servants. But not for long. You can see the irritation growing on his face, his muscles tensed.

You’ve known Killua since he was a baby, having been inducted as a future family member when mother was pregnant with him. There’s no doubt that if something wasn’t done, it would lead to a messy aftermath.

A few seconds after you make it inside, Milluki shows up and the servants are all dismissed.

“Kil, my little Kil, what’s wrong? Why did I hear that you’re leaving to take the Hunter’s Exam?,” mother’s voice is aghast, the idea of her favourite child abandoning the nest filling her with pain.

You too are taken aback at the news, a protective sensation coursing through you. Your fingers flex at your side.

“It’s boring here and I heard that the Exam is difficult so I’m going to test my skill,” he shrugs her worry off and spins his skateboard. Your heart begins to pound uncontrollably.

Hearing the disrespect, Milluki steps up and lashes out at Killua. “You brat, what’s with that arrogant attitude you-,”

“Stop that!,” mother’s voice sharply cuts him down.

She begins pleading with Killua to stay, her voice cracking multiple times. It pains you to watch someone you respect growing so desperate.

Killua is too young to understand what he’s putting the ones around him through. Of course, a rebellious phase is healthy-

A prickly discomfort surges through your head and you clutch it. Your unexpected movement grabs everyone’s attention. You try to brush it off, not wishing to be a burden.

It isn’t expected of you to be one.

“Killua, you should stay here. The world is a dangerous place,” your words try to reach him. “Illumi is coming home today, why don’t we-”,

“I don’t want him around! Just leave me alone,” he angrily interrupts. The air grows heavy. Heavier than it’s been since the beginning.

Mother gasps in shock at his behaviour since Killua never really yells at you. Yes, he gets annoyed as much as any other kid but when he shouts, he doesn’t really mean it.

It’s expected of you to coerce him into calming down.

“You’ve changed during the past few weeks (Y/n), after Illumi came back before leaving again. Anyway, I will kill you all if you try to stop me,” Killua promises in a cold voice, his blue eyes a piercing ice.

This rouses an onslaught of insults from Milluki and a mix of agony and happiness from mother.

However, you’re currently stuck in your own mind, reflecting on Killua’s comment. It is true that during the past three weeks you doted on him more than ever before. Usually you try to split your attention between him and Kalluto when you have free time. What changed?

Nothing should have changed, Killua is the priority of the family.

A high-pitched scream echoes around the foyer and your clouded head awakens. The sight in front of you freezes your blood and it takes immense strength not to bite your tongue.

Mother is kneeling down on the ground, her hands covering her bloody face. Before you can take a step, Milluki rages and charges at Killua. The young boy bounces back and proceeds to plunge the knife into his older brother. Milluki curses and grabs his wound.

On impulse, your hand is already equipped with a knife and you’re ready to protect yourself as well as mother Killua.

Killua mistakes your movements as an attack and strikes his own knife across your arm. A long gash appears on your skin, the blood seeping out moments later. You take in the pain as punishment. Punishment for letting it get this far and failing.

You’re a failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.

Taking the chance to escape, he kicks his skateboard up and runs out.

And you were helpless to stop him.

It’s been a while since Illumi has been back home on Kukuroo mountain, his previous mission requiring him to travel across multiple locations. The target was a cautious person so they moved from place to place, leaving lousy decoys. That did not impede Illumi at all, it was simply an inconvenience at worst.

After all, nervous-wrecks are the ones who put their emotions out on display. They are the first to slip up due to the fact that they care about others.

Which is concerning because Killua is at a stage where he is showing his rebellious streak more often. It is crucial that he can snuff it out before his dear brother falls further down the slope of idiotic fantasies . In which case, it is a slight relief that (Y/n) is here. She tries to keep Killua in check in a subtle way instead of hanging over his shoulder or perpetuating his moody behaviour.

Though the last time he visited there were hints of her growing soft and losing her devotion of raising Killua to be the next head of the family. He is ashamed to confess that it irked him to some degree. It’s expected of her to put her desires down for what he wants. And he wants Killua to be the next head.

Even so, he thought that he dealt with this the last time.

However, imagine the surprise he felt when his mother came wailing to him, begging him to follow her little Kil to the Hunter’s Exam. To think that instead of a joyful family reunion, the news of his stray younger brother reached his ears before anything else.

That won’t do.

Currently, it’s close to midnight which is the time (Y/n) comes to his room to say goodnight. Why she even bothers is beyond him. The effort of keeping up with formalities could be used for better activities. It’s already indisputable that they are arranged to marry in the future at the request of his parents, so there is no reason to be close together in any romantic sense.

In fact, Killua will succeed as the head which is why there is no point in thinking about his own future.

A sigh leaves his mouth.

There is only one positive outcome that came out of this whole arrangement. He has an extra set of eyes and he’s sure that she will listen to him without question. All he has to do is play into these formalities and she’s wrapped around his finger.

An affectionate hug here, a tiny smile there...Normally he’d be concerned that a future Zoldyck , even if not by blood, would be so easy to deceive. However, since every carefully planned step is coming from him he’s not surprised in the slightest.

It’s expected of (Y/n) to be loyal, just as much as it’s expected for Killua to take over the family business.

The wooden clock hanging opposite his bed strikes 12 but there is no sign of (Y/n). She never runs late.

The fact that she hadn’t even greeted him when he came back is also unusual. Normally she’d be pacing in front of the entrance door but today his mother took over that role. He heard that she got injured by Killua but (Y/n) has experienced worse so what’s the fuss?

It’s not his problem, he’ll just take a bath before bed. She’ll come running eventually.

Illumi’s right arm is beginning to grow numb. He hasn’t moved from the water in over an hour. Not because he needed a break to relax, taking time off for yourself is inefficient. No, he hasn’t moved because he’s been waiting for the familiar steps and hesitant knock to come from outside his room.

Discerning who someone is from the sound of their footsteps and how they carry themselves is second nature to any professional assassin. For instance, Milluki hovers in one spot when walking while Kalluto creates soft patters with his toes.

On the other hand, (Y/n) always shuffles her feet forward just before his door. It takes her approximately 2 seconds to knock when she’s unsure, 1 second when she’s in a normal mood and 0.5 whenever she has news deemed worthy enough for him to hear. Reading the mood of someone before they see you face to face is important.

Coming to terms with the fact that today she won’t pay him a visit, he steps out of the bathtub, water dripping down his naked body. He throws on a plain black bathrobe and leaves the bathroom. Giving his bed a quick-over, he walks out the door.

Guess it’s time for him to pay a visit instead.

If he actually bothers and gives it some thought, it’s not a mystery as to why he hasn’t even seen her shadow today. She’s ashamed. Ashamed of being a failure for letting Killua go.

Her scrambled mind is most likely trying to piece together what she should say. How she should ask for forgiveness and repent.

He wonders if she’s starving herself or if she’s contemplating about going to the self-confinement room.

Normally he’d push her into whatever she makes up but a stick approach by itself won’t be enough. There needs to be a push and pull factor involved if he wants her to listen to him unconditionally.

And what better way than to appear before her, disheveled and still wet in his robe? She’ll jump to conclusions.

Further guilt will set in, how she unnecessarily worried him by skipping the usual goodnight. His state will continue feeding her imagination, connecting unrelated dots to make her believe that he cares for her.

Truly, a puppet and its real master.

Soaking footprints follow behind him on the floor, the dim candlelight making them difficult to notice. He knocks once before letting himself in and shutting the door, back turned to the only other person inside.

A small gasp penetrates the silence and a rush of steps follow suit, stopping just behind him.

“Illumi, welcome back,” (Y/n) is the first to speak. He stays silent.

A nervous shuffle. “Is..everything okay?”.

The voice quietens downs the more she speaks. That should be enough for now.

He turns around and looks down at her concerned face, with no emotion of his own. Her eyes widen a fraction after registering his condition. Before she can open her mouth to question him further, Illumi crinkles his eyes and smiles.

“It’s nothing. I was just worried since I didn’t see you today,” he gazes away, giving her enough time to fix her expression. It’ll be harder for him to get her to open up if she thinks that he sees through her lack of control.

“I missed you too-,”

Presumptuous to think that he missed her.

“-and I’m sorry for not saying anything. I just…,” she stops right before confessing her shortcoming.

He doesn’t provide her with any more time to compose herself, a full day is already generous. Grabbing the door handle he gives it a slight tug but her hand shuts it and pulls his sleeve. That’s new. (Y/n) rarely takes the initiative.

He allows her to drag him over to the bed, slightly curious about her next move. Is she trying to entertain him as an apology or simply trying to put distance between him and the door?

Both tactics aren’t half bad when it comes to simple targets.

He sits down on the covers and analyses her.

A long white nightdress, face ready for bed, barefoot, and a long knife wound going up her arm.

A shred of pride for Killua’s work passes through his head but he doesn’t showcase this. If by any chance she spotted the look, it would demolish the picture he wants to paint.

(Y/n) kneels down in front of him and takes his hand into hers. It’s warm, though not as soft as it used to be. Her breasts rest atop his knees.

His attention migrates from the sudden action to her face, looking for answers. He made sure that she will only expect affection coming from him, not the other way around. It would be too tiring to keep up a loving demeanour- no, scratch that. It wouldn’t be tiring but the expectations would eventually rise and it would result in less time spent on bringing up Killua.

Oh, he zoned out.

(Y/n)’s eyes are full of regret and desperation, the hand holding his trembling just enough to tell him that today’s event is eating at her. Is she waiting for him to say something?

Finally after what feels like an unprecedented amount of time, the scene unfolds.

Her smaller hand pulls his to her face and rests it against her cheek. The second his skin touches hers, he detects slight heat radiating. She must have not treated the cut. The knife was probably dirty too, Killua slacks off in that regard.

“I’m sorry for being a failure, I’m very sorry Illumi. I have no excuse,” the apology flows out of her mouth, bottom lip quivering. The pain of looking at someone she disappointed forces her eyes to shut close. Her free hand latches onto his thigh and she digs in before continuing.

“You can slash my other arm as punishment. Or hang me upside down in the self-containment room,” she throws out. “But please, please don’t give up on me. I can do better Illumi”.

And as if to prove how determined she is, her eyes open up again, staring deeply into his own. Unwavering. Confident.

Though the thumb that he has under her jaw gave the hammering pulse away.

1,2,3. 1,2. 1,2,3.

He stretched out the silence, pretending to ponder over his answer. The unsettling emotions influencing her thoughts will prove beneficial when he flips her assumption around.

He removes his hand from her cheek and moves the one on his thigh to her side. (Y/n) adopts a look of relief, believing that he agreed to her conditions of punishment. What he’s about to do is infinitely more cruel though.

She catches her breath when he follows her example and kneels in front of her. He pulls up the sleeve of her nightdress that’s slipping down before grabbing her shoulders, gently.

“How can I not give up on you when you give up on yourself,” he lectures her, peeking down at her wound. Make the target question their actions.

An expression of remorse adorns her face, a downward tug of the mouth.

He pulls her in, arms encircling and resting on her lower back. The material of the nightdress is light enough for him to make out the feeling of skin.

“Though I won’t give up on you.” Affirmation and a moment of reassurance.

One of his hands travels deliberately slowly up to her neck. It rests on the back of her head, fingers entangled in her hair. Illumi locates the present that he left her the last time he visited and pushes it back into her head. It has moved slightly out.

This prompts (Y/n) to hug him in response, her previously hanging arms now resting comfortably around him. Good, as for the finishing line.

“Though your failure is a disappointment, I know that you will not repeat the same mistake, because you

love me, right?”.

Her head moves to rest between the crook of his neck, nodding in agreement. She doesn’t ask him if he loves her.

It’s expected of her not to.

#illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck x reader #hunter x hunter fanfiction #hunter x hunter #This took 2 long but now I can focus on other things yay

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liptonsbabe · 4 years ago

Text

The light is coming [B.W]

Chapter 3

Summary: Bill meets the reader again. Some of the feelings that have been stored up come to the surface again

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: none

Chapter 3: When we were young

It turned out that Byron knew the location of Grimmauld place perfectly well. You were surprised at the ease with he had found the place, cause that was a great help in not wasting any more time. Standing in front of the door, you turned to Byron before announcing your arrival.

"How do you know about this place? I mean, I never told you about it, even I didn't know of its existence."

Byron looked sideways at you, one eyebrow raised and his pink lips curved into a little smile that made you blush. Byron knocked on the door three times before turning to you

"There's a lot you still don't know about me, honey."

"You're such a show-off" You rolled your eyes when you heard Byron laugh "And don't call me like that."

"Why not?"

“Cause I don't like it"

"Then what would you prefer me to call you?" Byron leaned close to your ear and whispered, "Love", "Darling", "Cutie pie"? You can take your pick. There's more where those came from."

"You’re such an idiot"

Byron laughed, but his mirth was interrupted by the sharp knock from the other side of the door. You gasped and recoiled as a small crack in the door swung open revealing a pair of blue eyes staring back at you

"Who are you?" He asked. You cleared your throat

"Uh... I'm (Y/N) and this is my partner Byron” you said, taking Byron by the arm so the boy on the other side could see him; he narrowed his eyes then turned his gaze back to you " We've come to the Order of the Phoenix meetings. We are aurors."

“Oh, really? What's the secret word?”

“I... I don't know”

“Didn't your sister write it in her letters or something?” Byron asked. You shook your head

“No, Dora didn't.”

“Wait, Dora? As in Nymphadora Tonks?”

“Uh... Yes?” You answered. The crack closed and immediately afterwards the door was thrown open by a tall, thin, red-haired boy. He greeted you with a smile and an effusive handshake.

“You're (Y/N) Lexington! I don't know how I didn't notice before, I'm such an idiot. Tonks has told us a lot about you, you know? Your powers are wonderful” The boy stuck his face to yours making you step back “I'm Fred Weasley, by the way”

“I met a couple of Weasleys when i was little”

“They were probably Bill and Charlie. Anyway, the meeting is this way”

Fred led you down a long corridor as he told you everything that had been going on with the whole Voldemort and his Death Eaters thing; he told that they had taken over the the Daily Prophet and that the members of the Order and Albus Dumbledore were almost certain that the Dark Lord's followers had managed to meddle in the ministry so just a few Aurors had the courage to be part of the Order of the Phoenix.

“Then it's a good thing that we don't belong to the Ministry," Byron commented. Fred cocked his head to one side.

“You don’t?

"No" you replied "We came from Beauxbatons, in France."

"What were you doing there?"

"We were Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers."

"I was a teacher, he was an assistant."

Byron rolled his eyes making Fred laugh. You smiled at that, but you didn't expect Byron to throw one of his arms around your shoulders and give you a kiss on the cheek

"And we were going to get married the next winter, weren't we?"

"No."

"Oh, couple problems?" asked Fred with amusement. You pulled Byron's arm away

"We're not a couple."

"You broke up?"

"We never started"

You looked to the front, you were near a huge room that was the gathering point for dozens of people. Among the sea of people you recognized a clump of bubblegum pink hair that undoubtedly belonged to your older sister -Dora always had a penchant for that color- and, without further hesitation, you entered the room.

You held up your hands and made light come out of them cause no one seemed to have noticed your presence. Everyone turned to look at you and you felt satisfied as each person's attention focused on the warm light from your hands. Increasing the intensity of the light, all the people in the room had to cover their eyes and you took advantage of it to make your way to Dumbledore, who greeted you with a small handshake. You kept the light on over your left hand.

"I think that was enough demonstration for today, my dear."

You nodded and made the light disappear. Everyone fell silent trying to acknowledge the new arrival; Tonks, on the other hand, let out a squeal of happiness and ran to you to wrap you in a tight hug. In the distance, Bill Weasley made his way through the crowd with his brother Charlie.

"I knew you'd come," Tonks said to you. You smiled "Although I wasn't quite sure if all my letters made it safely to France, still, i appreciate you being here."

"Believe me, Dora, your letters made it all the way to my room at Beauxbatons" You looked at Dumbledore who was watching you patiently. You grimaced before sighing "Madame Maxime wasn't too happy when i told her that I was leaving the school, but I couldn't stay knowing that you needed my help. I... I left my position at the school and have come to stay."

“Are you serious?" Tonks asked, astonished "You're staying?"

"Well, it's not like I have anywhere else to go, right? After all, Madame Maxime doesn't believe in the Dark Lord's return and I'm sure she won't lift a finger to get it talked about at school. Maybe the students don't even know what's going on. What happened at the the Triwizard Tournament...

"What happened at the Triwizard Tournament was an unfortunate event" said Dumbledore, raising his voice for all to hear "However, we are in time to prevent another such event from taking place, but well only succeed if each of us is willing to face any consequences from now on”

The chorus of voices from the Order members rose, agreeing with Dumbledore's words, who smiled in pleasure. People began to scatter around the room and as the atmosphere began to feel lighter, conversations formed that made a few people laugh. Sirius Black and Molly Weasley approached the sisters and greeted you with a smile.

"It's good to see you again, dear, Oh! You were just a little girl when i saw you years ago" Molly squeezed you in a bone rattling hug. Sirius let out a laugh "You must have been eleven when you left for France. You left without saying goodbye, how rude!"

"Calm down, Molly" Sirius said, gently pushing the woman away. He offered you his open hand and you smiled at him "I'm Sirius Black. You may not know me cause well, i was in Azkaban for a long time, but my cousin Andromeda has told me a lot about you."

"My mother,? are you two related?"

"Uh-huh. That makes me your uncle, isn't that wonderful, give me a hug!"

"Sirius!" Molly shouted, when he lifted you up and started to spin you around making you dizzy. She set you back down on the ground and waited for you to regain your balance before leaving a kiss on your flushed cheek "I told you not to behave like that!"

"Stop yelling at me, Molly, you already look like my mother. Besides, it was the excitement. I haven't had a family in a long time."

"Thanks for what I get" Tonks complained. Sirius laughed

"Relax, you're still my favorite niece. That is until (Y/N) competes for the position, then there's nothing I can do"

"You're unbelievable Sirius, you really are" Molly reproached him. You shook your head while maintaining a smile that made your face hurt.

At the back of the room, Byron struck up a conversation with the Weasley twins while Molly continued to berate Sirius for being so brash and crude. You watched Byron as he talked and talked about something you didn't hear, but it kept Molly's children wide-eyed and their hands static at their sides. Suddenly, Molly let out a squeak and took your hand.

"You must come with me, you haven't met my other children yet."

You wondered how many more children Molly had had when a pair of redheads came out to meet you. They were considerably older than the twins, but all retained their red hair, whitish complexions and huge blue eyes. Molly smiled, releasing your hand.

"This is Bill and Charlie, remember them? You used to play together as kids."

Bill's gaze collided with yours and it was then that you remembered your childhood before you left home, when you and Dora loved to visit the Weasley home solely to play and run all over the Burrow together with Molly and Arthur Weasley's children.

Charlie was the same age as you, but for some unknown reason you always had a special connection with Bill. You remembered playing with him for afternoons on end, or the time you tried to climb one of Molly's trees and fell and scraped your knee. Bill didn't want to call his mother to fix you up and, since you were still too little to do magic, he decided that a little kiss on the injured part would help the pain pass.

Your cheeks burned at the thought that Bill had been your best friend as a child and that.... Oh God, he had given you your first kiss when you were five and he was seven; it had been Charlie's birthday party and the two of you had been arguing over who should get the cherry from the cake. The fight ended when you put the cherry in your mouth and Bill gave you a little kiss on the lips so he wouldn't miss the taste of that cherry.

It was something silly and unimportant, but it still embarassed you horribly

Bill reached out his hand when he saw you deep in thought, and he took your hand slowly and shook it gently.

"It's good to see you again, (Y/N)."

You smiled apologetically. God, you looked like a fool.

"It’s good to see you too, Bill."

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley x reader #domhnall gleeson imagine #domhnall gleeson #domhnall gleeson x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter #harry potter cast #fred weasley imagines #charlie weasley #the light is coming

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consumeconstantly · 4 years ago

Text

Lady Cross (first aid)

Summary: Somehow, Marinette always ends up biting off more than she can chew. It started off with a kid and a nasty gash on their knee. The sudden escalation to treating the new head of Gotham’s underworld? It can only be explained by the fact that she’s catnip for trouble.

_____________________________________________

Marinette supposed she should have expected something like this to happen eventually.

Really, she patches up a few street kids and offers a meal and some resources and suddenly she's made a name for herself in the slums of Gotham. It’s not like she’s doing anything revolutionary. Well, okay, maybe she does cheat a little bit and uses her healing powers on a few of the tougher cases that really should have been out of her realm of expertise, but she’s living near the slums of Gotham for a reason. That reason being Marinette is just a little broke and can’t really afford to send everyone she comes across to the hospital, and the people who are injured certainly can’t. It’s not like she can leave them to die. That would be heartless.

When she stopped treating scrapes and cuts for kids on the streets as she came across them and instead found her apartment balcony frequented by families who needed her help, she couldn’t just say no. And so, more and more serious wounds started coming in. Kids brought their parents and friends. The parents and friends brought... well, if the police stopped by her apartment any time soon, she’s fairly certain they’d have a field day.

But again, it’s not like she’s going to turn these people into the police when they’ve come to her for help and have a small army of people who swear up and down that they’re good people and only doing what they have to do in order to get by.

Morality comes in such a variety of shades, who was she to judge? Ladybug and Marinette have both certainly had their fair share of mistakes that they’d gladly go back in time to rectify, and her hands weren’t clean of blood either. Sure, the Miraculous Cure may have brought people back, but their deaths were still on her. And Hawkmoth? Yeah, he’s alive now, but she hammered him into the pavement after dropping him from the top of the Eiffel tower, and she’s not going to pretend that she didn’t take a bit of morbid joy in that moment.

But back to the matter at hand. Which was, the notorious Red Hood—responsible for a coup amongst Gotham’s drug dealers and responsible for taking down a man whose morality truly vanished with the wind, Black Mask himself— was currently bleeding out on her second floor balcony, smoking a cigarette and lounging against the rail like he owned the place.

“Lady Cross,” he inclined his head.

“Red Hood,” Marinette returned his greeting.

God, she really didn’t want to get involved with Red Hood. She wasn’t opposed to helping out street thugs and criminals, but Red Hood was a different league. He seemed to be a fairly decent guy, ensuring that kids weren’t dealt drugs and tried to keep them out of the circuit as much as possible. He took down plenty of worse criminals while he was at it. In fact, Marinette would go so far to say the Red Hood as one the good guys.

But the issue was, once she started treating people of a certain level, she’d be open game. And that didn’t seem very enticing to her. Not at all. Everyone knew that Red Hood had beef with the Bat Family for some reason or other, and also made enemies with almost every single rogue in Gotham, and a good number of enemies outside of it as well. Basically, Red Hood was a universal enemy of both the vigilantes and rogues. Someone she shouldn’t get involved with while she was trying to investigate the darkness surrounding Gotham whole running her online boutique and going to college at Gotham University.

Unfortunately, Tom and Sabine and her own stint as Ladybug taught her that she could never ignore someone in need. Marinette sighed and slid the mesh open, leading Red Hood to her living room. ��Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Real nice place you got here,” he said.

With the mask covering the whole of his face, Marinette had no facial expressions to figure out whether he was poking fun at her current living situation or not. His voice sounded genuine, but vocal emotions were easy to fake.

The apartment she was living in was not on the nice side of town. There were three bullet holes in the wall between her living room and bedroom that she just didn’t have time to patch up, some pretty nasty looking stains on the ceiling near her kitchen, and a huge, spray painted red cross on one of her walls, which was where her street name derived from. Her floor and coffee table were also in states of disarray; she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to clean up after working on two commissions and the last guest whose wounds were heavy enough to warrant several rolls of gauze, which was now half stuffed into a garbage can sitting next to rolls of fabric. Perhaps not the neatest or most sanitary situation, but she didn’t have time to clean up before every single one of her unexpected guests came in.

Look, it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t have time to fix things up real nice and neat. She’d only been living in the apartment for a month and a half, and most times, she barely spent any time in it other than to sleep, cram last minute projects for her design course, or to help heal people. Her living situation wasn’t the biggest of worries.

“Sit,” Marinette gestured to the one of the few pieces of furniture that she specifically bought for the apartment. She didn’t mind the stained, half broken, and extremely creaky couch the last owners left behind for the first week, but after she started bringing back her first… visitors, it seemed important that the couch was comfortable, sturdy, and most crucially, cleanable.

Rummaging through a cabinet, she pulled out a tattered briefcase she thrifted a while back to keep all of her medical supplies in. Not the prettiest of things, but she tried not to keep expensive looking items in her apartment because she wasn’t a fan of getting mugged. The medicine she kept was already expensive enough, she didn’t need to attract everyone’s attention by owning one of those metal containers used in hospitals. Even though most of the people who dropped by her apartment were thankful to be treated, she had a few instances where people tried to steal things from her.

“What’s the damage, doc?” Red Hood’s voice came through rather tinny through his helmet.

Marinette grimaced. The helmet must have awful air circulation. It looked like some sort of metal, and wet and metal never smelled good together. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Thought you were supposed to be some mystic healer who came from the far east.”

She paused and looked at the man, trying to judge whether he was racist as well as rude. “That’s rather insulting.”

Red Hood shrugged. Marinette applauded the man for showing no outward sign of pain at that, even though there was a bullet embedded in his shoulder, and shrugging had to bite. “That’s what the word on the street is, though you sound French to me. Thought I’d come and check out who’s healing Gotham’s criminals. What’re you planning?”

“Sorry to foil your plans, but I’m not planning anything other than getting my college degree and not pissing off the people I live near.” She paused, flipping the lock on the briefcase upwards. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use me as your go to healer from now on. You’re going to bring trouble my way.”

“Trouble? Me? Perish the thought.” His hand rested comfortably on the holister of his gun, ready to shoot if the girl pulled out a weapon from the briefcase. “We’ll talk about repeat appearances after I see how you do today.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Any wounds other than the obvious?”

“Just need the bullet out, and some stitches on the gash.” His shoulder and his abdomen, respectively. The gash looked nastier than the bullet; no shrapnel, but the cut on his stomach was jagged and wide. Not a normal, sharp blade. Probably needed a good cleaning.

She grabbed the tweezers, a sterilized needle, and medical thread. “That’s fine. Now are you going to undress, or am I going to have to cut your… costume… up?”

“Getting me naked already? We haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Very funny, little Red Riding Hood. Now hop to it. I have class at 9 tomorrow and projects to finish tonight.” Somehow, trouble always seemed to find her when she least wanted it to. Not that she wanted to have trouble find her at all, but luck was a two way street, and for all that being Ladybug granted her good luck, she attracted criminals like catnip.

“And here my informants had me thinking you were a regular Florence Nightingale.”

Marinette snorted. “They wish. I’ve got to ask who told you, because everybody should know the rules. You know, the ones where they don’t speak of my existence to their higher ups?”

“I’m not a rat,” Red Hood said, taking the top part of his outfit off. “And it’s not like you would have gone unnoticed anyways. You might be treating small timers now, but people catch on to healers pretty easy.”

“Because some gauze and sewing skills make me such a prime target.”

“No, your magic does.”

Shit. Marinette never told anyone she was using magic, and she rarely used it unless it was a dire situation. If she could patch them up using regular skills, she did.

“Yeah right, if I had magic healing powers, do you think I’d be shoving my fingers into your shoulder to get a bullet out?”

“Not a very good liar, Lady Cross. You have this deer-caught-in-the-headlights look about you.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I’m also the deer that tramples through your windshield and takes a dump on the driver’s seat.” She maneuvered the tweezers a little rougher, hoping to make Red Hood hiss in pain. He just chuckled, amused. His high pain tolerance was getting rather annoying. She had half a mind to pour hydrogen peroxide over the wound just to see if that would make him show he was in pain, but thought better of it. Even though she didn’t like the man, she also didn’t want to piss him off. Or worse, have him come back and make her fix him up again.

Threading the needle, she made quick, small stitches on his shoulder, sewing the bullet hole up, then put some petroleum jelly to speed up the healing process and reduce scarring. At least the wound was in a position that didn’t require a lot of gauze. She needed to go out and buy some more soon. She barely had enough to wrap around Red Hood’s waist.

“So, the magic,” Red Hood started. “Is it a conditional thing? Can you not use it all the time?”

“Again, I don’t have magic.” Marinette did have to use some antibacterial on the knife wound. He would need to take good care of that one to make sure it didn’t get infected.

“So a meta, then. What are you doing in Gotham? Everybody knows Batman hates metas.”

“Not a meta, either, sorry to disappoint.” She tied off the gauze, then stood to wash her hands. “Make sure to clean the stomach wound well. Hope you have your tetanus shot, otherwise you should look into getting one.”

“Surprisingly, I’m inclined to believe you on the not-a-meta thing. Back to the first thing, then. Magic. Why don’t you show me the old razzle dazzle? Do you have to say one of those weird spells like the godmother in Cinderella? Bibbity bobbity boo?”

“You’re hilarious,” Marinette dead panned.

“How’s this for magic? Bibbity bobbity boo, kindly leave. Shoo.” She followed his suggestion, made a show of jazz hands as well. “Pity I don’t use magic otherwise you’d be gone now. Anyways, it’s time for you to make your exit. It would be great if you didn't visit me again. Ever. Thanks.”

She ushered him out onto her patio, then slammed the sliding door. He saluted her before dropping off the side of the building. She could imagine the man under the helmet smirking.

Marinette ran a hand through her loose hair. “He’s going to come back, isn’t he.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

#jasonette july #first aid #jasonette #marinette dupain cheng #jason todd #gotham #original content #bamf marinette #sassy marinette #miraculous ladybug #maribat #dcu #red hood hears of a mystic healer and decides to check her out

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mummybear · 4 years ago

Text

Borrowed Time - Chapter One - The New Guy

Words: 3173

Warnings: Swearing... think that’s it for this chapter :)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Mark (OC), Tiffany (OC), Mentions of Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: So this is the first series I’ve written in a while or at least the first one I’ve posted! So I hope you guys like it! The next chapters will be out every Friday, until it’s finished :) The series will probably only be around 6 chapters long, but I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know If you want to be tagged in this series or in any of my other taglists :D

Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr Thanks babe ❤😘

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/mummybear

Series Masterlist

You let out a shaky breath as you take your seat at the back of the class, hoping that he will just leave you alone today. One of the new guys at school had developed a thing for you, ever since you’d ignored him on his first day, it was like he was determined to get you to talk to him. Lately though he’s been getting under your skin, and you’re so close to giving in. Sure the guy was hot, in fact, he may have been the hottest guy you’d ever seen, but he was also one of the biggest players in the school. The exception being in the last two weeks, where he had barely spoken to another girl who wasn’t you. Safe to say that had started the rumour mill. Then you hear the murmuring starting in the room, and that unmistakable feeling prickles across your skin.

You fight the urge to look up, but it’s like your eyes are drawn to him, like some kind of magnet is connecting the two of you. You finally give in and look up to find him already watching you, gorgeous green eyes locked on yours. Trying to look away is pointless, you know that by now. You do you best to calm your nerves enough so that you’re finally able to drop your eyes to your desk, and start pulling out the things you need for the upcoming lesson.

That doesn’t stop your entire body tensing when the chair beside you scrapes along the floor loudly as it’s pulled out. It’s almost like you can feel the eyes of everyone in the hall turn on you. You can’t control the way that your body responds to the sound of his deep voice.

“Mind if I sit here, Y/N?” he asks quietly. You try and ignore the gasps that practically echo around the large room, as you force yourself to look up at him again.

Swallowing around the lump in your throat you nod.

“Um, yeah, sure. If you want to,” you answer shakily. You hate how your voice sounds, but if he’s noticed then he doesn’t let on. He gives you one of those panty dropping smiles as he takes the seat next to you, and you could swear your entire face flames bright red.

You inwardly roll your eyes when you see Tiffany Chase heading over to your table. You never understood how she had come to be the most popular girl on the campus, but clearly dating every guy in existence was a good trait to have these days. That was yet another reason you were glad about not being “popular”, whatever the hell that even meant.

She leans on your desk, until her tits are practically in Dean’s face, but to his credit, and your surprise he doesn’t look. Instead he sits back in his chair, eyes immediately fixed on hers, not wandering her body, or the cleavage she's so blatantly offering him. She makes a point not to even spare you a glance, which is completely fine since you have no interest in what she’s giving away.

“I thought you were gonna show me your car, baby? Why don’t you ditch the charity case and come and have some fun with a real woman?” she purrs seductively, curling her fingers around Dean’s loose tie.

You wish you were anywhere but here, but you know there’s no other seats in class now, so your only other option is to pray for the ground to swallow you whole. You’re a little taken aback though when Dean’s large hand wraps around her tiny wrist and pulls her hand away, still remaining surprisingly gentle, especially with the look of thunder that’s overtaken his features.

“Sorry, Tilly. Change of plans, I told you last week, and a few times this week… if memory serves. Besides, there’s only room for one woman in my life.” As he says this you feel his hand resting on your knee, and you turn to look at him to tell him to move. But you stop yourself when you see the pleading look on his face.

Tiffany scoffs in disbelief, and has a look on her face like he just slapped her.

“It’s Tiffany,” she corrects him sharply, before she turns her gaze on you. And you have to fight every instinct not to push your body back into your chair, instead you sit straighter, trying to keep your face neutral.

“Can you like… move or something. Dean and I really need to talk, I think you’re making him uncomfortable,” she huffs, as if your mere presence disgusts her.

“Sorry, Tiff. I think you're the one who’s making my boyfriend uncomfortable, actually. He’s just being too polite, could you please just leave us alone now? I believe he’s asked you enough.”

It takes everything you have not to throw up the contents of your stomach, where the fuck did that come from?! You inwardly scold yourself, trying to hold your nerve. But to your surprise, Dean takes your hand and gives it a squeeze, and throws his other arm over your shoulder.

His lips press to your ear, and you can’t hold back the shiver.

“Thank you, I owe you,” he whispers, and you can already feel the blush creeping up your neck, the entire class is staring at the three of you like you’re aliens. But Dean’s currently more than enough of a distraction.

Her shrill laugh echoes around the room, followed by most of her bitch club behind her.

“Oh sweetie, no. Don’t be silly now. There is no way on this planet that you could be his girlfriend, you’d be extremely lucky to get a pity fuck with a normal guy, but Dean? No way. Now move, before I move you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you refuse to look away from her. However, before you can even utter a word, Dean’s voice drops to a low growl.

“I don’t give a shit about your name, or you. You don’t get to talk to her like that, and you lay a finger on her, I promise you’ll regret it. So, whatever your name is, unless you want me to tell Mark that you’re trying to fuck me... and just about every other guy you set your eyes on, I suggest you go back to your own seat. But first, I think you owe my girlfriend a fucking apology.” You watch the colour all but drain from her face.

You lick your lips nervously as you turn to look at him, seeing the fire burning in his eyes, but his eyes don’t move from Tiffany’s face.

“Dean, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” you whisper sounding a little desperate even to your own ears. You rest your hand on his tensed bicep, trying to ignore the way you're clamping your thighs together, because this might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever been a part of. Even if you had only started this ruse to get him out of an awkward situation. Nobody had ever defended you like this before, especially not this publicly.

“Oh, it does matter, baby girl. Isn’t that right?” Dean asks, mock sweetness in his voice and his arm tightens around your shoulders.

“F-Fine. I’m sorry, Y/N,” she responds the best she can with the amount her voice is shaking, before hurrying back to her friends.

The teacher walks in the classroom, forcing everyone's attention to the front, and you try to ignore the sense of loss you feel when his arm leaves your shoulders. But that feeling is quickly replaced when he takes your hand and links your fingers with his, and rests them on the table top between you.

“Dean, we should talk,” you whisper, when the teacher turns back to the board.

“Later, sweetheart, wouldn’t want you getting in trouble,” he smirks, pressing a lingering kiss to your already flaming red cheek.

Unfortunately, you don’t get time to talk to Dean, and you don’t see him after your last lesson either. You try to ignore the snickering and staring as you start to walk through the parking lot to make your way home, though it affects you more than you’d care to admit. When you don’t see any sign of him, you continue to walk lost in thought, knowing that it will take you at least half an hour but it’s worth it, because you can’t stay here.

You’ve been walking for about ten minutes when you hear a car roll to a stop behind you, the soft purr of the engine calming slightly as the window is wound down. You can’t help but smile as you turn around, and sure enough, there he is. Sitting in the driver's seat with a cocky smirk on his face. He leans over to the passenger side and pushes the door open, “you gonna get in, sweetheart? We can talk while I drive you home.”

You walk closer and fold your arms over your chest, raising your eyebrows at him through the now open car door.

“And what makes you so sure I wanna get in your car?” you ask through your own smirk.

“Come on now, is that any way to speak to your boyfriend? Just get that sexy ass in the car so that we can talk.” There’s a teasing note to his voice, and your smile widens despite yourself.

“Fine. I’ll get in… but only because we do need to talk,” you tell him, trying not to laugh as you climb in the front seat and close the door behind you.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, princess,” he laughs, tossing his sunglasses in the backseat. You give him your address, and he quickly works out the new route, before starting to drive again. He clears his throat and shifts awkwardly where he sits, before glancing between you and the road.

“I owe you, for what you did today in class. You didn’t need to save my ass, but you did it anyway. I really appreciate that.”

You blush shyly as you look at him, “I was going to apologise honestly. I don’t know what came over me, I guess I just wanted to help out… somehow, I know people can be a lot for anyone, no matter who you are,” you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your clammy hands over your skirt.

Dean shakes his head, and a smile crosses his plump lips.

“Sweetheart, don’t apologise, you did me a massive favour and I really can’t thank you enough,” he sighs regretfully, as he pulls into your driveway.

You thank him for the ride, but before you move to climb out of the car he grabs hold of your wrist gently, and you turn back to him questioningly.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” you ask nervously, wondering what he might say. You’re not sure whether to lean in or turn away when he turns in his seat to face you.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you with a smile, “can I have your number?” You’re a little surprised at how shy he sounds, but you smile as you take his phone.

“I just think it might be a little odd trying to play along with this, especially if we can’t even get ahold of each other.”

“You make a good point there, Winchester. But for the record, I would’ve given it to you anyway,” you smile fondly, phoning yourself from his phone, so that you have each other’s numbers, before handing it back.

“So… How long do you wanna play boyfriend and girlfriend?” you wonder aloud, noticing the way that he blushes and scratches at the back of his neck, before focusing back on you again.

Dean clears his throat and shifts closer to you.

“About that…” he trails off, and you feel a blanket of nervous confusion settle between the two of you.

“What about it?” you question nervously.

“Would you be okay if we stayed together, at least until I have to leave town, I know it’s a lot to ask, but…” before he can continue you cut him off, resting a hand on his thigh.

His eyes snap to yours, and you quickly pull your hand away and clear your throat.

“You don’t need to explain, Dean. Besides, it was my dumb ass that got us into this mess. It’s really the least I can do,” you smile genuinely, and an obvious moment passes between the two of you, a moment which is completely unexplainable. But there’s a knock on the window closest to you that pulls the two of you out of it.

You jump back harshly, your back practically slamming into Dean’s shoulder when someone leans against his car, and his head is already half way through the window.

“Damn, I almost didn’t believe it when Tiff told me you were seein’ some frigid bitch, Dean. You hit that yet?”

Dean growls, and you can feel him stiffen beside you as he wraps a protective arm around your waist, like he can shield you from Mark’s words. It’s actually really sweet of him.

“Maybe you should tell your girlfriend to mind her own fucking business, and you should do the same, Mark. Before I put you on your skinny little ass.”

Mark lets out a deep boom of a laugh, and leans further into the car, his eyes sweeping over your body, clearly not taking Dean’s words seriously. It makes you feel nothing like Dean makes you feel when he looks at you, this guy makes your skin crawl and your stomach lurch.

“Shit, that’s gotta be one sweet pussy if she’s got you so whipped already.”

Before Dean can speak, you sit up a little straighter, and glare at Mark. Feeling Dean stiffen behind you gives you the confidence you need to get these words out.

“Why don’t you tell your whore of a girlfriend to stop trying to fuck my man, it’s really kind of pathetic. He’s not interested,” you huff out, hardly able to stand looking at him, so you turn to face Dean who’s smirking right at you, and way closer than you’d first imagined.

Mark starts to grumble something behind the two of you, but neither of you are really listening, and you can’t stop staring at Dean as he cups your cheek in his big hand.

“What she said,” Dean agrees easily, his husky voice sending shivers up your spine. You let his thumb brush your bottom lip, “you’re even sexier than usual when you’re jealous,” he smirks confidently, leaning in a little closer.

You swallow thickly, your fingers just barely manage to wrap around his wrist.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, watching as his eyes flick down to your lips, and he licks his own. There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, but for the life of you you can’t currently think of any.

Dean doesn’t even hesitate, before you can blink his lips are pressing against yours. The kiss is firm and his lips are so soft that you quickly lose yourself in the kiss, and you feel like your entire body is being drawn in by him.

He pulls back all too soon. His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, and his hand moves from your jaw, to cup the back of your neck. His hands feel huge, as he tugs lightly at your hair and you gasp against his parted lips.

“I s-should probably get going,” you whisper shakily, letting your fingers trace over the skin of his chest, where his shirt buttons are undone.

Neither of you even attempt to move, and before you think about it too much your lips are brushing against his again. He pulls you against him tightly and deepens the kiss, making you all but melt against him, and his hands remain firm against you as he effortlessly takes control of the kiss. You feel yourself edging closer, heart pounding in your ears and your head foggy, it takes everything you have to pull away from him, but you just about manage it. Looking up into his lidded eyes as you both pant hard, you swallow thickly and look over your shoulder, relieved to find that Mark has gone.

Dean cups your cheek when you turn back to him, his face the perfect picture of lust.

“You should go in, sweetheart. Or I might change my mind about letting you go… but I’ll text you tonight, okay?” he rasps, pecking your lips.

You can feel yourself blushing as you nervously bite your lip.

“What makes you think I want you to let me go?” you giggle as he leans in closer again, he’s so warm and smells incredible.

“Oh trust me, if this had anything to do with what I want to do, you’d already be screaming my name,” Dean all but growls.

“Dean.” His name is a whisper on your lips, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears again.

Dean lets out a deep groan and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

“Shit, you don’t make it easy on a guy, sweetheart,” he smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You live here by yourself?” he asks suddenly, nodding over to your house, clearly trying to change the subject.

You shake yourself from your heady daze, trying your best to concentrate on what he’s saying. Clearing your throat you give him a small nod, unable to stop the smile from crossing your lips.

“At the minute, yeah. It’s usually me and my best friend, but she’s away visiting family this week. It’s good though, much closer to campus than my parents’ house,” you explain happily, remembering the way that she had told you to take advantage of the free house, but then you notice a strange look crossing his face.

“Sounds nice. I’ve never really had anywhere like this, my family didn’t really stay anywhere too long, not since my mom died. My dad has to travel a lot for work, and I’m learning the ropes, so I can take over one day.”

Your heart aches for him, and you have no idea how it’s even possible to feel this close to someone you’ve only known for a little over a month.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. It doesn’t sound like you’ve had much time to just be you. If you ever need to get away, I have no intention of moving any time soon, you’re welcome to stay here,” you tell him softly, resting a gentle hand on his arm, until he finally looks at you again.

“Thanks, sweetheart. That means more than you know, and I promise I’ll text you later. We can talk more then, okay?”

You lean in close and press your lips against his, the kiss lingers a little, before you finally pull away and whisper against his lips, “I’ll be holding you to that, Dean.”

Bold wont tag guys sorry!

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#dean winchester #dean winchester supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester series #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural #series #au #SUPERNATURAL AU #SPN #supernatural fanfiction

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it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream · 4 years ago

Text

Opposites attract (Paul Lahote x Reader) Chapter 4

Warnings: Swearing?

Word Count: 1.7k

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

Life had a round about way of giving you what you had longed for all along.

You had spoke to Paul for hours up on the mountain side, the world around you quiet as the only thing you could focus on was him. You sat side by side, invisible sparks crackling between warm skin as he told you everything there was to know about your new found wolfiness. He reassured you that even though you were mates, it didn’t mean you had to feel pressured into anything, an imprint was there to be anything for their other half, a friend, a lover.. You shivered at the sound of being Paul Lahote’s lover, you had to stop yourself from pinching yourself a few times.

It was dark by the time you made the descent down the frosty mountain, in normal circumstances you would have most likely died of hypothermia by now, but as you’d established, life was anything but normal.

You were laughing at something Paul had said when you heard a twig snap in the distance, it caught Pauls attention to, he tensed, pushing you behind him. Your face scrunched against his back as a foul smell invaded your senses and that’s when it happened.

A flash of red hair was all it took for your body to start quivering.

—————————————————————————---------------

“So that was a vampire?” You were changing back into clothing, your other stuff shredded in the shift. “I thought they would look… less human?” Your nose scrunched up when you thought about the vampire stench that came off the one they called Victoria.

You looked towards Paul who was tense with a capital T. He was mad that he didn’t sense her approach sooner, hating the fact that you were newly shifted and still had much to learn about being a wolf. What if something had happened to you? Luckily the red headed vamp disappeared when you and Paul started chasing her, the pack had followed behind in a second, your link alerting them to the threat nearby.

You walked closer to him, scared that he might be too angry. His back was rippling and his muscles tensed. Your small warm hand reached up to touch the space between his shoulder blades and it was like magic. In an instant he relaxed as invisible electrical current crackled between your skin.

He turned slowly and looked down at you, his gaze warm and calm when he looked into your eyes. He took your hand and pulled you into him, your bodies colliding in a much needed embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head. You sighed and snuggled your face into his toned chest as his arms came around you like a cocoon of safety.

“Yes Y/N, that, was a vampire. The only reason she’s here is because of the fucking Cullens and their pet project.” You felt his jaw tense on the top of your head, your hands rubbing small circles on the lower part of his back.

“What do you mean their pet project?” You hadn’t found out about Bella yet and her involvement with the Cullens. Vampires were your natural enemy now, but some part of you still found it romantic that a blood sucking demon fell in love with a human. A human that you didn’t really know, had only met in passing when she was little and used to visit the Blacks. Since then, you’d never seen her again, but by the sounds of things, you’d be seeing her very soon.

Sam had agreed to helping the Cullens. The pack had a treaty with them but it was unheard of for Wolves and Vampires to help each other, at least that’s what you were told anyway, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that when you got angry a bushy tail would maybe appear.

Alice, one of the Cullens, could see the future? Honestly things were still feeling like a dream. Anyway, she could see the future and had a vision of a big bad newborn vampire army appearing from the watery depths below and invading forks. Naturally the Cullens would have handled it on their own if they could, but the numbers predicted were too many and they needed help. That’s where you guys came in. They would never see you coming.

“So were going to learn how to fight these newborns?” Paul had sat down while giving you the lowdown, his arms never leaving your waist, he just plopped you on his knee instead. You felt him tense again.

“Paul if you tense anymore you’re going to break a bone.” Your fingers found the back of his head, playing with and twisting the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

“You’re not going to learn to fight anything.” That made you halt your finger twirling. You looked at him with a scowl and he raised an eyebrow as if saying “try me.”

“Im a wolf like the rest of you now, just because i’m your soulmate doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know how to defend myself or learn how to.. you know… be a frikin wolf! What if you weren’t around and some vampire came about and boom, Y/N doesn’t know how to defend herself, then what?” You stood up from his lap, pacing slightly in front of him.

“I’ll never leave your side so you don’t have to worry about that babe.” That made your heart flutter but also angered you at the same time.

“As much as I love that Paul, it’s not realistic, what if Sam sends me off with other members of the pack or what if something comes up and you’re just not around? You can’t guarantee that you’ll always be around.” You watched Paul huff. Actually huff life a child would when they were told off.

“Awh come on you big baby, i’ll be fine!” You were interrupted by Sam and Emily coming through the door, Quil, Embry and Jake following behind, Leah coming in seconds after the rest.

“Who’s fine where, what?” Leah grabbed a cookie from a bowl Emily put out, she still want gotten over the feeling of betrayal when Sam left her to go to Emily, but you thought you saw a glimpse of… something there. Maybe she was getting used to being around them and the guys more. You’d like to think it would help now that you’d be around too, she had a confidant, a shoulder to lean on. You’d have to talk to her after, when you were both alone, find out if she was okay with everything going on. It’s not exactly like you could help it, but still, you wouldn’t be a good friend if you didn’t at least check in.

“Nothing, Paul is just worried about me learning to fight with the rest of you guys, you know, for the big, impending doom of the vampire army.” Sam frowned.

“I have to admit, I kinda agree with Paul on this one.” Leah stopped munching on her cookie when Sam finished his sentence. Embry and Quil looked around awkwardly and Jake wasn’t really paying too much attention.

“The training starts in two days and you’ve only just turned for the first time today, it might be too early for you to gain control over your wolf.”

You couldn’t believe Sam was siding with Paul. What the hell was the point of you turning and being chosen to be a Wolf, being told you’d have to give up everything you’d been working towards, for you to then be told you can’t fight and do what the fuck you were designed to now do.

“This is bullshit. I was perfectly fine being a normal girl, studying, working towards something I’d been dreaming of my whole life. Now this happens and you tell me i’m not ready. Whatever.” Leah stood at the same time you did, you heard Paul’s chair scrape back.

“Babe come on, it’s not like that.” You glared at him.

“Then what’s it like Paul, because i’m sure if I was a guy and didn’t have an imprint and the roles were reversed, i’d be training with the rest of you, newly shifted or not.” You grabbed your phone and house keys and made your way to the door, Leah walking beside you, most likely knowing exactly how you felt.

——————————————————————————————————

The next morning you woke to 20 missed calls and 40 texts, mostly from Paul a couple from Sam, one from Emily and even one from Jake. You snorted as you turned over in bed, noticing Leah sprawled out like a starfish, mouth hanging open, hair in every direction. Same old Leah.

You opened the message from Emily, wondering what she would have to say, she wasn’t someone you’d really spoke to before because of the whole love triangle but she seemed nice.

“I spoke to Sam about how unfair it was for you to miss out, all sorted ;)” .. what the hell did that mean?

Then you read the messages from Sam. “Training starts tomorrow at 8am, don’t be late, sorry about what happened the other day, i’m not used to having a pair of imprints in the pack.”

You could see where he was coming from. As the leader it was probably hard to always please everyone and Sam was obviously siding with Paul because he’d been part of his pack longer, friends when they were younger and he knew what it felt like to have the need to protect your mate. Still, they would just have to get used to it.

Leah soon woke and then left, pack duties. You would be put on duties soon enough, but first, you needed training. So that left you with a day of doing nothing, well, that was until you heard a knock on your.. bedroom window?

You grabbed the first thing that was closest to you for protection, a hairdryer. You hadn’t opened your curtains yet so couldn’t see what horror awaited, what if that red headed vamp followed you, but wait, wouldn’t you smell her? Or are your abilities not heightened enough yet? You got closer to the window when there was a knock again. The closer you got the happier you felt. Frikin Paul. Curtains pulled back, balcony door opened, your soulmate stumbled through wearing nothing but shorts.

“Babe, you’re a werewolf, were you seriously going to attack me with a hairdryer?"

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@mariasblogsworld @rosella26 @punkfrogz @jjpogueprincess

@angeliken

@yoongitoo

@stinkii-boii

@geminidas

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youngbeezer · 3 years ago

Note

number 5 for the tiktok thing with jon toews?

Referenced Post

Prompt-- 5. Running into each other's arms after not seeing them for awhile (w Jonathan Toews)

A/N: Here's another blurb from the 14 oddly romantic things blurb set. I only have one more after this, so this series(?) is coming to an end. I have enjoyed writing all of these sm! Welcome back captain serious!!!

Thank you for requesting, hope you like it :)

Word Count: 1345 (these have been so long lately idk whats going on)

Warning(s): mentions of his illness(?), but other than that i dont think any!

join my taglist :)

The sound of my phone’s ringtone awakens me from my deep slumber. It takes me a few moments to come to my senses and to rub the sleep out of my eyes, and once I am able to recognize my surroundings, I realize that I am once again waking up to a cold and empty apartment. It’s been the same feeling for almost the past four months.

Like usual, after last year’s NHL season ended, Jonathan and I went back to Winnipeg to spend our summers there in his hometown with family and friends. But this time, when I went back to Chicago for work in mid September, Jon did not come back with me.

During December, he started to experience these symptoms that left him feeling drained and lethargic. So, after seeing multiple doctors, Jon thought it was best to stay back at home to try and better understand his condition and get his health back on track.

Unfortunately, my job as a teacher was still in Chicago and needed me back right away, thus preventing me from staying in Winnipeg with Jonathan during this difficult time for him. It was definitely hard on our relationship being so far from each other, especially since Jon was sick and I couldn’t be there for him. But, we talked everyday and we both are very comfortable in where we are in our relationship, so we made it work.

So far, Jon does not know much on when he will be back in Chicago, and right now it is starting to seem like the next time I’ll be able to see him is when the school year is over and I am able to go back to his hometown.

I am brought out of my jumbled thoughts when my ringtone goes off once more signaling I have a text notification. I reach over to my bedside table to retrieve my phone off of the charger.

‘Good morning, beautiful.’

‘Hope you have a great day, say hi to all your kids for me.’

‘Love and miss you.’

I let out a sigh and go to wipe off the few tears that I feel running down my cheeks. Coming up on that four month mark has been extra hard lately. I miss waking up to his lazy morning kisses along my back. I miss the way we move in perfect harmony when we are doing our morning routines in the bathroom. I miss his goodbye kiss he gives me every day before going to practice. I miss everything about him. I also feel like such a bad girlfriend not being able to be there in support and to take care of him when he has been dealing with such a scary and unknown illness.

I wipe off the few remaining tears lingering on my cheeks and go to text back my boyfriend.

‘Love and miss you too! I’ll call you on my lunch break xx.’

I go to get ready for my day since I have to be at the school by 8:00 AM and it is already nearing 7:15. I take a quick shower and quickly blow dry my hair. I make a quick pitstop to check my phone and find another message from Jon.

‘Sorry baby, I think I have a doctor’s appointment during your lunch break.’

‘I’ll talk to you later, love you.’

I frown a little at his message. First, I worry that he has another doctor’s appointment-- since last time I heard, he was getting better; and I also frown at the idea of having to wait all day until I can hear his voice.

Today’s gonna be a long day…

(...)

Today was a long day.

First, I forgot to bring in the worksheets I printed out last night for my lesson plan so I had to switch everything around. Then, one of my students scraped their knee during recess so I had to take care of them and bring them to the nurse’s office, thus making me miss out on my lunch break (where I wouldn’t have been able to even talk to Jon anyway). And now, I am putting bandages on the back of my heels where my wedges gave me blisters. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to look cute today instead of being practical since I walk around and stand all day long.

My students were just dismissed, so I am currently just organizing everything that I’ll need to have ready for tomorrow. Once I finish up, I gather all my belongings and start making my way out of the classroom. I make sure to say good night to my favorite security guard before trekking to the parking lot.

When I make it out of the school building, I immediately go to take off my wedges. As I look back up in search of my car, I stop dead in my tracks.

Standing in front of my car, with my favorite flowers in his hand, is Jonathan.

Everything that was once in my hands has now clattered to the ground as my hands instinctively move to cover my mouth in both shock and excitement. Tears start to gather in my eyes as Jonathan gives me a huge smile.

Once the initial shock wears off and I realize it is actually my Jonathan standing right before me in person, I let out a little squeal and start jogging over to him. He sets the flowers on the hood of my car as I get closer and opens his arms to welcome my body.

He stumbles back a little when I jump into his arms, but he quickly recovers with a breathy laugh and by tightening his arms even more around my torso. As his arms wrapped around me, tears flowed freely.

“Oh my god. You’re really here.” I cried out, clinging onto him in fear that this was all a dream and he would soon disappear.

“I’m here baby. I’m right here.” He soothed into my ear, running his fingers through my hair.

At this point I felt like I was just uncontrollably sobbing. All the pain and loneliness of being apart, and the stress of not fully knowing how he was feeling and doing-- all of it is over now.

“Hey, y/n-- baby, please stop crying.” He shushed into my ear, trying to calm me down.

“I missed you so much.” I hiccup out. I pull away a little from his embrace to instead cup my hands around his neck to get a good look at him. “You look so good.”

Before I can ramble even more, Jonathan leans in and kisses me. Our bodies pressed together and our lips molded as though we were never apart. His lips were softer than I remember and tasted sweet against my own. I could feel his breath tickle beneath my nose as my left hand moved from his neck to his head to card my fingers through his hair.

It eventually started to grow sloppy as both of us could not contain our smiles any longer. I let out a little giggle when our teeth clack once more which prompts us to break apart from each other-- but not before Jonathan gives my nose one last peck.

“I love you so much.” I breathed out.

“I love you too.” He beamed back. “Let’s go pick up all your stuff in the middle of the road, eh.”

I look back at my belongings, totally forgetting that I dropped everything when I first saw Jonathan. We both make our way over there and gather all my stuff up before making our way back to my car.

Jonathan’s hands card through mine, giving it a little squeeze before mumbling out,

“It’s good to be back home.”

I smile but raise my eyebrows just a little up at him and ask, “I’m glad you are too, but isn’t Winnipeg technically you’re home?”

He gives me one last little peck before murmuring against my lips,

“Wherever you are is my home.”

Taglist; @heatherawoowoo @barzysandmarnersbitch @joelsfarabees @hockeyplayerstories @barzy-xoxo

tagging a few mutuals as well,,,,

@lovereadinghockeyy @carepriceisgoodathockey @prettyboyjackhughes @2manytabsopen @frederikanderson @bb-nhlqueen7 @cherrybarzy @jamiesdrysdales @luukasreichel @gigissports @cherrylita

#jonathan toews #chicago blackhawks #jonathan toews imagine #jonathan toews blurb #nhl #hockey #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #hockey fic #my writing #hope you liked it :)#14 oddly romantic things blurb set

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years ago

Note

i think it’s fair to say that i’ve fallen far too in love with your zach one shots — not only do you capture his persona so well, it genuinely feels like i’m watching an episode of brothers & sisters

also, your ricky one shot was also so so so good!! you have no idea how grateful we all are that you pluck these characters from obscurity and portray their defining characteristics so accurately while also adding the loveliest fluffiest fluff of all time

i was wondering if you would consider writing a jealous!zach one shot? ngl, the (mutual) pining mixed with jealousy trope is my guilty pleasure and i feel like jealous zach would be 11/10

anyway, just wanted to say you’re fucking amazing and i adore your writing — i hope you’re having a great day!!

THANK YOU FOR THIS LOVELY ASK

(NB: Ok I know this is not Zach but it COULD be. It’s the right year. There are SO FEW pics of Zach so let’s just go with it).

Words: 1700 ~ Warnings: jealousy, pining, angst, fluff, one awesome kiss

Pairing: Zach Wellison x gn!reader

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

YOU: Is it wrong to be attracted to the super in my building?

BFF: Why would it be wrong? Use it to curry favour! Get stuff fixed faster! What is he/she like?

YOU: Tall. Tanned. Dark blond. Has a tattoo - military maybe? Sexiest voice ever.

BFF: If you don’t get him, I will.

You set your phone down and smiled.

Maybe I should say something.

Zach had been the building super of your apartment block for the last three months. He was a massive improvement on the last guy, who spent his days playing Zelda and smoking weed and very occasionally getting off his ass to fix stuff.

He’d been to your place - conveniently next door to his, he had a live-in type gig - four times. The garbage disposal, the leaky faucet, the faucet again, and then the window.

Notes could be left in his mailbox downstairs by tenants who needed assistance. He always responded the same day, the next day at the very latest, and he always tried to arrange a time with the occupant that suited them.

He’d gotten all greasy and wet fixing the faucet, his plaid button-down clinging to him, and eventually he’d stripped it off, revealing a tattoo you hadn’t been brave enough to try and examine properly, and some serious biceps.

Next time I see him, you promise yourself.

BFF: Btw, what’s happening with the dude at no 16?

YOU: Nothing.

You’d engaged in a mild flirtation with the well-built guy across the hall. Sometimes he got your mail in his box by mistake and he dropped it off, but lately he hadn’t engaged with you, and you began to think he was just being friendly.

The next day, before you could properly think of what to write down for Zach, the washing machine that came with your place started to leak. You noticed when trying to take your clothes out of it.

“Crap!”

Rather than put a note in his box, you knocked on Zach’s door.

He opened it after a minute, surprise sketched on his handsome face, hair ruffled, sweat beading at the neck of his t-shirt. Past him, you could see weight lifting equipment on the floor, along with a small speaker playing 70s rock.

“Fleetwood Mac?” You ask, smiling. “They’re my favourite.”

“No kidding?” A smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. “So... “ His brown eyes met yours, warm, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I hate to bother you directly, but my washer’s busted - leaking.”

“It’s no bother.” He glanced behind him. “Give me five, okay? I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks so much, Zach.”

He nods and closes the door. You’re about to turn back to your apartment when Well Built Guy - Damon, you think his name is - comes out of his own apartment.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Oh, hey. How are you?”

He pushes a hand through his short, black hair. His single earring glints in the daylight; gives him a pleasingly piratical look. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Yeah, good - thanks.” You move again.

“Wait.” He takes a step closer in the small hall. “I was wondering if you - if you wanted to get coffee sometime? This place two blocks over does an amazing dark roast.”

“Oh, well-”

You’re cut off when Zach’s door swings open. He’s changed into a clean shirt, a forest-green henley, and he carries a faded red toolbox. His gaze darts between you and Damon, wary, and for a second, his mouth turns down.

As quickly as you see it, it’s gone.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he mutters, to you. “Can I go in?”

“I’ll let you in, Zach.” You turn your attention to Damon.”Catch you later?”

“Sure, sweet thing.”

He’s called you the nickname before but it’s never chafed until today.

Zach doesn’t react as you come to the door and let him in.

“Thanks for coming by so quickly.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You didn’t have to cut your time with your boyfriend short.” He sets his toolbox down by the washer and kneels, unbothered by the pool of water that begins to leech into the pale denim of his jeans.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Zach sets about exploring the washer. “Okay.”

“He isn’t.” You stuff your hands in your pockets. “You want some coffee?”

For the first time, he looks up at you, and the expression in his honey-brown eyes is scraped bare, and then he looks away and the connection is lost. “Sure. Thanks. Black, one sugar.”

You busy yourself, just a few feet away - your kitchen is not big by any stretch of the imagination.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He’s absorbed, only his waist and ass sticking out from the drum of the washer.

You potter off to do some work.

An half hour later, Zach knocks on the door of your tiny office - the only other “room” of your studio aside from the bathroom.

“All fixed.”

“Thank you so much, Zach.”

He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, leaving a smear of grease. “No problem.”

“You’ve got a-” You reach up, every nerve on end, wanting to touch him.

A knock sounds at your door.

Dammit.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

You swing the door open and Damon is there with two coffees.

“I was on my way back from the office,” he says. “I thought you might like to - oh, the super’s still there. Not fixed yet, pal?”

Damon says it innocuously but you see Zach’s shoulders tense.

“Nope, all good.” He rubs the palms of his hands together in a “that’s done” gesture. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“... Place next door is this amazing Italian,” Damon is saying, oblivious. “It’s pretty pricey but I’d love to take you there.”

Zach pushes between you and out of the door, but you see the crestfallen set of his shoulders as he goes.

The door swings shut behind him and you turn back to Damon, resigned to see this conversation out, and to make it clear that he’s kind, but you aren’t interested.

*******

That evening, you take the stairs down to the communal gym in your building. Well. Gym is stretching it. There’s one ancient rowing machine, one treadmill, a barbell that has seen much better days, and a CRT TV that only shows Judge Judy. But, you don’t have to pay for it, so it beats a gym contract elsewhere in the city.

When you push through the door, Zach is on the treadmill, earphones in. He’s wearing a sleeveless vest and your gaze is drawn to his intricate tattoo - an eagle perched on a world, an anchor hugging the globe. Marines.

Wow, you think - wow.

Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and his thick, dark gold hair curls around his nape.

Now or never.

You walk over to the treadmill and drop your gym bag to announce your presence.

Zach turns, does a double take, and then presses a button on the treadmill to slow it down. He pulls his earphones out.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Zach.”

Curiosity flits across his features. “Something you need?”

You swallow. He looks so good, his pale gold skin slick with clean sweat, his breath coming in soft pants, his chest rising and falling, lean muscles delineated by the clinging vest.

“No. I mean, yes.”

“And you can’t get the guy at 16 to help?” he snarks.

You step back.

“Sorry,” Zach says, immediately. “I just…”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you assure Zach.

Above his head, on the TV, Judge Judy silently reprimands a woman with six face piercings.

“He could be. Guy like him. Good job. He’d take you to fancy Italian places.”

You curl your hand around the arm of the treadmill. “Maybe I don’t want to go to fancy Italian places.”

Zach huffs out a breath, but you have his interest.

“Maybe I’d just like to hang out with you.”

Suspicion narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Maybe I like you? Did you consider that? Maybe, for some bizarre reason, I think you’re nice and attractive?” you wave your arms, frustrated.

Zach folds his arms across his chest, pursing his lips. “I used to be a Marine, but I had to resign my commission because I got hit hard with PTSD. I lived on the street for two years.”

You hold his gaze as he speaks.

“Why are you telling me this?”

But then you know. He’s telling you so you’ll turn tail and go back to Damon, with his suits and fancy haircut and ability to take you out for $100 dinners.

He expects you to turn him down.

Because that’s what happens. What has happened and what he thinks will happen now.

Zach firms his lips and shakes his head slightly.

“Just go,” he says, so softly, mistaking your silence for pity, rather than resolve.

“No.” Instead, you lean up on your toes and touch your lips to his.

He starts, and then holds perfectly still. You break the kiss, and look up into his face, and he’s gazing at you like you hung the moon and all the stars.

“I like you, Zach,” you whisper. “And I don’t care if our first date is a picnic in the park.”

He blinks, turning away from you for a second, and then he ducks under the arm of the treadmill, and he’s so close that you breath catches.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, and then he cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it, lips and teeth and tongue, and it’s everything.

You spear your fingers into his hair and breathe him in, press yourself against the hard wall of his chest, sigh his name against his lips.

“I gotta shower,” he says, with clear reluctance, his voice half an octave lower, unsteady from a kiss that has rocked both your worlds. “Then, let’s see about that picnic.”

**********

Zach Pit & permanent taglist: @mrschiltoncat @astroboots @songsformonkeys @biblioworm @aeryntheofficial @thirstworldproblemss @wheresarizona @pedropascalito @knittingqueen13 @alwaysbethewest @agirllovespancakes @f0rever15elf @heatherbel @frannyzooey @lannister-slings-and-arrows @sarahjkl82-blog @thedazeinmylife @holographic-carmen @idreamofboobear @fromthedeskoftheraven @disgruntledspacedad @chicken-nugget-puta @miulola @nelba @alienprincesspoop @tardisfangurl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mylonelylittleappreciation @filthybookworm @absurdthirst @thestrawberry-thief @lilangeldevil006 @marydjarin @jedi-mando @havenforafrazzledmind @myoxisbroken @10-96dispatcher @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes @mrsparknuts @roxypeanut

#zach wellison x reader #zach wellison x gn reader #sfw fic #brothers and sisters fic

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hawksugarbaby · 4 years ago

Text

Todoroki x male reader- Caramel and Honey

Fluff + Au where todoroki rebelled and never became a hero

Todoroki hummed to himself laying out the ingredients in front of him with his mixing bowl in the centre of the counter top, the mix of ingredients in organised lines from first to last except he was missing one ingredient.

It was soon to be your birthday, and todoroki being the gentleman as always was desperate to make you a cake as his local supplier. You deserved it for the kind smile you wore dropping of his orders at the back of the shop and hovering around for a few minutes to talk before disappearing into the wind again driving away in your van with (y/ln) Produce, stamped on the side of the van in big, black cursive.

He took over the shop from his mothers side of the family before she fell ill and had to go to hospital. not wanting anything to do with his disgusting father he chose to stay and manage the store of light pinks and pure whites. He heard your tires pulling up outside on the gravelly path and he opened the door for you to drop off your produce inside on the counters by the door.

"Hey Roki! How's it hanging, making anything special today?" you asked hauling a crate of freshly picked fruit for the season in and dropping it onto the steel top, wiggling under the weight and scooting forward a millimeter. "What do you consider special?" he asked bluntly helping you carry the boxes into the kitchen and put the items in their respective places.

Finally you brought in the cardboard box layered in bubble wrap filled with decorative jars of golden honey pockets of air suspended in the viscous liquid and Todoroki nodded happily in receiving everything he asked for. Sometimes you'd forget the blueberries, or the tea leaves or the bananas grown specially by your quirk. You grabbed a glass of honey flicking the lid open and dipped your finger into the glossy amber tasting it yourself.

"Something special? I would love a rustic honey cake. Just the way mum used to make it with our honey. Not the dumb store bought stuff, the stuff we make ourselves. With the bee's we lovingly care for, for a reason!" you shout but it was muffled by you sucking the honey off of your finger.

Todoroki wiped his chin and cleared his throat "you've got some... there's uh... like a little" you looked up at him and touched your chin the sticky threads of honey clinging to your hand. "Shit" you tutted and wiped it away with the heel of your hand getting that just as sticky as the rest of you. "Well this is embarrassing" you sighed and todoroki exhaled quickly, which was close enough to a laugh to make you smile. "Here" he ran a tea towel under the warm tap and wiped it over your chin and pressed it into your hand for you to clean your hands yourself.

He felt his own face light up red and grabbed a cup of blueberries in preparation for the blueberry muffins he would bake today and you blinked a few time's rebooting your brain after the short interaction making you flustered.

You wiped your hands down and neatly folded the towel over the side of the sink and shook your head clearing the busy, buzzing thoughts from your head and drew your eye's away from him focusing on the calendar hanging next to the wall. Delivery, nothing, delivery, nothing, delivery + (y/n) Birthday. You grinned and pointed to the red circle around the familiar number on the calendar and twisted your neck to watch him stir ingredients together into a pale yellow batter.

"You remember my birthday?" you quizzed and he nodded furiously beating the whisked eggs into the mixture and poured in the cup of indigo berries fresh from the bush. "Hey are you busy right now?" Todoroki asked moving on from the topic of your birthday and lifted his eyes from your strong arms he'd seen carry so many boxes of fruit, to your joy filled (e/c) orbs sparkling happily at the prospect of him. HIM. remembering your birthday.

"I can be not busy?" you raise your palms to the popcorn roof and flick out your phone calling a coworker. "Hey Bro, could you perchance come get the van from the Todoroki Bakery and deliver the rest of the products?" you ask and pushed the phone to your ear with your shoulder and mouthed 'frozen fruit' to todoroki and you quirked an eyebrow. He nodded to the bottom drawer.

"No I dropped a crate on my foot carrying the peaches into the shop and It hurts to walk on it I dunno how driving would go" you chuckle nervously and wink to todoroki who just looked back down at his muffins filling the white, paper cases not quite understanding. "No, I know it's so unlike me! But it's okay, Todoroki said he'd give me a lift home but can you just do the rest of the rounds?"

Your brother agreed and you said your bye's on the phone. "I now have the entire day off" you said proudly and leaned your elbows on the counter admiring todoroki's fluffy hair straying further from the style it was originally in while he pushed the baking tray into the oven. "Wait but I should check your foot if you hurt it" he said crouching down and pressing his cold hands against your ankle making you flinch "no I didn't really hurt my foot I just needed to get out of work" you chuckle.

"Oh okay. Will your dad believe that, aren't you supposed to be the big strong son?" Todoroki craned his neck up to look at you still resting with one knee on the floor and the other pulled up like he was going to propose. You lost yourself in your thoughts again imagining that instead of his hand on your foot he was holding out a small grey box with a gleaming band tucked into the cushion.

"Hey what the fuck is this?" your brother laughed at the scene in the kitchen and you whipped your head up to see him leaning against the door frame uncaringly. "Uhh todoroki was checking if my foot was swollen or anything. No evidence of broken bones yet! So you should just get going with the van here are my keys!!" you said hopping over like a professional actor and shoved the keys into his hand. "Mhm i'm sure that's what it was. OUTSIDE!" he shouted at you pulling you round the corner clipping your arm on the wooden pallets leaning against the wall out back scraping up inside your elbow.

"Hey what the hell, that hurt!" you shouted lightly tapping the bleeding scratched that didn't seem to want to stop bleeding. "Look I know you like that todoroki kid but you can't just skip work to spend the day with him!" your brother turned around and looked at your face, mouth agape and eye's furrowed into annoyance and he shrugged "what i'm just being hon-" "ARE YOU BLIND OR STUPID!?" you shouted back thrusting your profusely bleeding forearm in his face.

"Oh shit what! are you feeling okay?" he panicked suddenly drawing Todoroki's attention and he poked his head out the back door. Being the observant boy he was, his eyes went wide and he jogged over to where you were standing and wiped the blood away with the already honey covered tea towel but the crimson immediately started pouring out again. "He needs an ambulance" the dual haired baker tightly wrapped the tea towel around your arm which was quickly soaked in red.

You moaned in pain and annoyance feeling your head spin. "What could he have cut his arm on?" your brother asked and you held your hand out in front of his face snapping your fingers closed against your thumb shutting him up. "There's a huge fucking rusty nail... on the pallet you dragged me past you dickhead" you huffed. The ground span and swayed around you and the brightness in your vision was turned down so you could barely see the outlines of the boys surrounding you.

And then you were on the floor.

And then you were in the hospital. Staring at the white plaster ceiling at midnight with no one by your side. "Huh" you hummed and checked your phone hissing at the brightness lashing the dark hospital room.

todoroki was in the shop with a bowl and cake pan next to him. The jar of honey you scooped from open and his phone laying open waiting for your answer to his text.

You replied to the questions he asked and Todoroki's phone buzzed on the steel countertop and he perked up immediately reaching for the electronic, slowly running out of battery.

Roki 💖🍰

Hey are you okay?

Fri 12:18

Do you like pistachios?

Oh also raisins, do you like raisins?

Probably not, no one likes raisins

I like raisins...

Anyway. Text me when you see this

Fri 18:35

Roki 💖🍰

I hope you wake up.

I wasn't supposed to get a delivery from you today

But I wish I was cause I like seeing you

You make my heart feel... weird.

Good weird

Sat 8:44

Still don't know if you like raisins and pistachios

Sat 12:27

Roki 💖🍰

It's your birthday tomorrow you know.

Sorry I didn't text yesterday but you were sleeping anyway

How can you catch tetanus so quickly

It's supposed to take 4 days dumbass.

You got it in like 1. You fainted because of the blood btw

Mon 13:21

Please just wake up for your birthday.

I have something special for you

But I need to know if you like pistachios and raisins

Mon 14:56

Roki 💖🍰

Happy Birthday (y/n)

Tue 00:00

You chuckled to yourself at the sweet messages todoroki sent you over the course of the days and glanced at the clock. "I wonder if he's still awake" you croaked and wiped your eyes from sleep then yawned filling your waterline with unnecessary tears.

Bumblebee 🍯

Hey Roki. I'm up

I like/don't like pistachios

And I like/don't like raisins

Sorry for worrying you. Promise I won't get anymore tetanus

I'm going back to sleep

Come visit tomorrow

today*

Sent

Tue 4:13

"You better not be awake dumbass" you mumbled and turned over on your pillow burying your face into the uncomfortable pancake for your head.

Seen

Tue 4:15

The baker smiled and finally started working on his surprise for you chopping his toppings and thinly slicing/ throwing away his toasted pistachios and crunching on a few raisins while working.

At 2pm he walked in and went to visit you with his surprise balancing carefully in your hand. He carefully tiptoed to your bedside and pushed your side slightly. You snorted and rolled over, opening your eye's to an amused todoroki settling himself into the chair next to your bed. "Something smells great" you muttered pushing your face back into the pillow and smiling. "Thank you for visiting" you muffled and todoroki chuckled nodding.

"Happy birthday" he smiled pulling the foil off of the top of your surprise. You peaked your eyes open and sat up smiling brightly. "I didn't know how your mum made it but I made my own recipe" he scratched the back of his head and moved to sit next to you on the mattress. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek lightly before you could take off the handheld slice you were slowly lifting to your mouth.

"My heart feels weird around you" he sighed and thumped his forehead against your shoulder and you snickered, taking a soft bite of the sticky, nostalgic cake in your grasp. "I know. Thank you for the little updates by the way, very sweet of you" you emphasised the sweet as a pun on the honey cake but of course, it flew over todoroki's head. "But yeah. Thank you for the cake it's delicious" you complimented and leaned your head on his. "Can I go back to sleep now?" you joked and he smiled and pressed you down by your hard chest and lay on top of you. "Just don't sleep for 4 days again" he mumbled nestling into your t'shirt.

You stared down at the parting in his hair with huge, round eye's and put your hands on his back, grasping them together in a hug-ish type thing. "Okay"

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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Quarter-Century

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mild heavy petting, but this is pretty tame, oh & lots of fluff, likely enough to kill someone, so watch out for that, k?

What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do.

Words: 3754

Notes: if i call this a drabble are y’all gonna get mad at me?

Quarter-Century quar·ter-cen·tu·ry /ˈkwôrdər/ - /ˈsen(t)SH(ə)rē/ noun a period of 25 years

Twenty-five.

It’s always spoken about like it’s some kind of milestone. Eh, it’s just another year, Kiyoomi thinks, tugging his sweaty shirt off of his back and walking toward the MSBY team dressing room, there’s nothing special about it.

He’d woken up at 5:25, taken his first shower, kissed your sleeping form absentmindedly on the cheek before he left the bedroom, and jogged the three miles to the training facility.

He’d worked on his digs, on his jump float, and looked over the drills. The team had two practice games and had huddled up for the review at the end, the same as always. As Kiyoomi made his way out of the locker room Atsumu and Bokuto had both clapped him on the back, joking about the fleeting joys of ‘youth,’ and congratulating him on his performance on the court before they all went their separate ways, each gliding along their own trajectory.

No, there’s nothing special about birthdays.

You’re not back from work when he gets home, so Kiyoomi pads around the empty apartment, flitting from room to room, disjointedly flipping on lights and switching them back off seconds later. It’s like he can’t make up his mind. Should he take a nap? He could sleep off these uncharacteristic and frustrating jitters that keep coursing through him. No, he reconsiders naps just make him groggy and irritable. What else?

He’s showered twice today, there’s no need for another, and it looks like you’d cleaned up the living room and kitchen before you’d left for the day, so there’s nothing for him to clean either. Ugh, what’s with this restlessness?

There are old matches that he can watch, already primed and loaded onto his laptop, but it’s charging in the bedroom, likely tucked under some of your leaflets and various heapings of paperwork. It’d be a pain to move everything.

Eh, he could start a puzzle, maybe flip through some channels, see what’s on TV, and there’s that book that you’d told him he should check out, he’s weeks behind on starting that, but it’s in the bedroom too, and–

Damn it. It feels like he’s stuck in some kind of loop.

He flops down on the couch, tipping his dark head back, obsidian curls fanning around his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do. He smiles at that thought, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep exhale. It’ll be alright, he reasons, you’ll get back and he’ll shake himself out of this funk, and then maybe he can–

The sudden scrape of the lock turning makes him jump, and he pops his head up just as you step through the door, a smattering of canvas bags tucked under your coiled hands. You spot him as you tap the door closed, a broad grin lighting up your face. “Hey there!” you call out, stepping toward the kitchen to deposit your purchases. “Did you just get home? Practice go okay?”

“It went well,” Kiyoomi replies, hunching forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That reminds me, the next match is this weekend, you still planning on going?”

“Yeah!” you confirm, tucking a few things into the fridge before you pace over to his seated figure. “It’s right before the playoffs start, so it’ll likely be one of the last ones I can get a good seat to. Once you guys get in those end of season bouts it gets...Hey, you sure you’re alright? You look a little, I don’t know, downcast?” You kneel in front of him, your hands reaching, stroking gently over his hair and down his jaw.

“I’m fine. Feel a little...off...is all. Happens.”

“Off?” you question, bright eyes finally catching his onyx. “Well, we can’t have that. Not today!”

“Hmph, it’s just a Saturday,” Kiyoomi huffs, catching your wrists and lowering your hands from his face.

“Yes,” you continue, watching as he distractedly toys with your hands, trailing his thumbs over your fingers and flipping your palms this way and that within his hold. “It’s also a Saturday where I’ve played the role of good– no great, girlfriend and got us some tickets! Surprise!”

“Tickets?” he echoes, his head cocking to the side as he lifts his gaze back to yours. “To what? If it’s some kinda concert, not to be an ass, but I don’t really want to go to a–”

“Really?” you deadpan, arching an eyebrow at his morose expression. “You think, after two years of dating, that I’d take you to a concert? You? Kiyoomi Sakusa, the man who is pretty much allergic to crowds, who completely dipped out of a shoe store once because there were five people in the ‘athletic wear’ section, who abhors the mere thought of tight spaces and groups of twenty or more, thought that I, his loving partner, decided to put some some color into his living nightmares, and on his birthday no less, by bringing him to a concert?”

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue and exhales a tight laugh. “When you put it that way, no. But on the off chance that you did, and you’re trying to bluff your way out of the situation by over elaborating your reasons for not bringing me, well…I’m gonna have to decline the gift.”

You narrow your eyes at his impassive face and purse your lips. “And to think, I was gonna come over here and give you a kiss and everything.”

“You’ll still give me one,” Kiyoomi smarts, a coquettish smirk lifting his lips when you openly scoff at him. “So, out with it, what are the tickets to?”

“Oh? Now you wanna know? Suddenly you’re curious. Well you can hold on to that buddy, cuz’ I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Why should I?”

“It’s my birthday,” he intones simply, broad palms already sliding up your arms, pulling you closer. You smell nice, Kiyoomi thinks, lips barely missing your own as you twist playfully away from him.

“Pfft, what happened to ‘it’s just a Saturday?’” you tease, following his insistent tugs, one knee pressing down into the cushions of the couch as you lower yourself over his lap.

“Changed my mind,” Kiyoomi states, finally catching you and caressing his lips sinfully against yours. “I’m allowed to do that,” he continues, sucking a rasp from you as he drags his sharp teeth across the plush swell of your lower lip. “Mmm, you might have gotten a little distracted, so let me repeat my question: what are the tickets to?”

He is genuinely interested; he wants to know what you’ve planned for the two of you, but his hands have already started that downward journey, long digits stroking over the curves that flow down your side, cupping and pulling just the way you like. Your knees lift when he buries his fingertips into the flesh of your upper thighs and you sigh, breath warm against his flushed cheeks.

Actually, this is fine. After all, he’s good at this. He’s had plenty of time to learn you, to practice, and he loves that he knows just what to do to make you quake between his heated palms. But when he jerks you closer, your lips slip from his and you’re careful to brace yourself away, momentarily safe from his distracting caresses.

“Baseball,” you pant, hands resting over the hard plane of his pectorals.

“Huh?” he queries, heavy brows furrowing, wholly distracted by the rise and fall of your uneven breaths and the gentle twitch of your spread legs against his hips.

“A baseball game. I got us tickets to a baseball game.”

“It’s smaller than what I was picturing,” Kiyoomi says, adjusting the placement of his mask before looking down at you. “And what are you gonna do with that bag? Can you even take that in here?”

You laugh at his question, hoisting the thick strap of your insulated pack higher on your shoulder. “It’s the Yomiuri Giants, they’re part of the minor league so it’s a smaller stadium and don’t worry, they let you bring coolers and snacks in.”

“Eh? Snacks? Don’t they have concessions? Seems counter-productive if they let you bring your own food. How are they supposed to make money? Atsumu said that half of our vendors make a good deal of their revenue from their booths during the playoffs and the regular season. So I don’t see how that’s practical. What do you have in there, anyway? It looks heavy. Oh. Did you want me to carry it?”

“I’m not sure which one of those I should answer first,” you grin, dodging his extended hand and stepping forward. “Come on, I think we can head in now.”

The seats are located in the shade of the upper deck, right behind the third base, giving you both a perfect bird's-eye view of the action that will take place down on the field below. True to your word, the ticket inspectors had let you and your pack pass through without a word of protest, and as he flipped down his plastic seat, you carefully tucked the thick canvas between the two of you.

“What’s in it?” he asked again, peering over your shoulder as you unzipped the long teeth and reached into the dark depths, hands searching for something.

“You’ll see,” you promise, leaning back once you found your prize, a small bottle of hand sanitizer. You pop the lid up and nod for his palms, carefully pressing some of the clear antiseptic onto his hands. “Game should start soon,” you inform, repeating the cleaning process yourself before closing the top and tossing the bottle back into the bag. “And I wanna make sure you’re set before I head down to the concession stands.”

“So it’s food,” he determines, slipping his mask off of his face, tucking it under his chin, an appreciative smile winding its way up his lips.

“Of course it is! You think I’d leave you to languish for 9 innings while I sit beside you, gorging myself on the delicious food they sell at the concessions, which you refuse to eat? Alas, not even I am that cruel. Nah, I brought something that I hope you’ll like.”

“I’ll like it,” Kiyoomi replies, resting his muscled shoulder against yours, watching as you arrange a few clear sets of Tupperware in your hands, lifting them evenly out of the bag.

“Careful,” you jab, tossing him a mischievous grin. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It’s from you; I’ll like it.”

Your hands still after his declaration and you twist your head back to him, eyes wide, searching his placid expression. “Okay,” you laugh, setting the Tupperware aside, fully turning to him and wrapping an arm around his neck, your other hand cupping his cheek, pulling him down to your seeking lips. “That was too much. There some sort of class you stoic types take? How to make others swoon in five lessons, or less?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, prying your hands from him. “It’s true. No need to make a big deal about it. You put a lot of effort into today, and I...I just think that...I mean...thanks,” he finishes lamely, dark eyes balefully avoiding yours. You chuckle again and reward him with another peck to his cheek.

“So cute.”

“Stop it,” he grumbles, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “Weren’t you gonna show me something? Better hurry. After all, there’s still time for me to mess it up.”

“What does that mean?” you puzzle, pulling away.

“I dunno. I always say the wrong shit. You know that.”

“Well,” you ponder, tapping a finger against your chin. “We’re at a baseball game, so, in the spirit of the sport, why don’t I give you three strikes?”

“Just three? I mean, wow, that’s so generous of you.”

You flash him a quick glare, tutting your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Oooh, swing and a miss. Strike one!”

He’s just about to give you some retort when you press two of the containers into his hands. The heat of the plastic feels nice against his calloused palms, and he can see the fresh steam that surrounds the food that’s waiting inside. “Onigiri?” he questions, popping the lid, mouth watering at the sight of all of that pristine rice. Damn, when did you have time to make these?

“Homemade onigiri with pickled plums,” you inform him, a gleeful smile lighting up your face, pleased that he’s already reaching for one, a look of genuine happiness falling over his usually impassive expression.

“You remembered,” he murmurs, picking up the carefully shaped ball and lifting it to his lips. He bites into the fluffy rice, fastidiously letting the flavors fall over his tongue and across his pallet. It’s perfect, he thinks as he chews, just the right amount of pickled savoriness and clean, delicate grains. Damn, when did you do all of this?

You let him finish the first onigiri before you pass him a can of beer. It’s chilled, likely sitting toward the bottom of the bag, and he flicks a stray chip of ice off of the rim. A sealed can of beer, a carefully packed meal. Is there anything you haven’t thought of?

He’s just about to turn, to tell you that...well, he’s not sure what exactly. Maybe it is something about how lucky he is. How he’s somehow stumbled into something so sublime, so wonderful, as you, and how he should tell you that more, when you stand.

“I’m going to hop down to the food stands. Inning should open up any minute. I’m glad this is an off season game, we’ve pretty much got this whole deck to ourselves! Be right back, ‘kay?”

He nods, eyes lingering on your hands, your smile, your eyes, just everything that he can see that’s you, but he doesn’t speak. He can’t. What’s he gonna say? Don’t go? Stay here. He’ll go down.

He’ll do whatever you want; anything for you, anything.

You tilt your head at his stony, almost stricken expression, but you don’t comment on it, content with tucking one of his stray curls behind his ear before you spring up the steps, stepping away from his overwhelmed and utterly entranced form.

Damn.

He’s scrolling through his phone when the 1st inning ends, thumb whisking over the lists of required paperwork, the $50 dollar notarial fee, the Kon-in Todoke, mentally counting up the required signatures, the necessary witnesses. This is crazy, he thinks, skimming over the U.S. Embassy & Consulate regulations on the ‘Affidavit of Competency to Marry’ in Japan, he hasn’t even talked with you about this, but he’s honestly never felt more sure of anything in his life.

Right as he flips to a secondary tab, one that holds a few jewelry stores and ideas about ‘how to pop the question,’ he catches sight of you. You slide down the row of empty seats, your hands filled with various snacks and a tall glass of foaming beer.

“Sorry! Wasn’t expecting to take that long, I completely missed the 1st inning! Good thing no one scored. Hopefully things will liven up with the 2nd and 3rd innings.” You settle in beside him, setting your beer against the cold concrete before jostling your popcorn and hot dog to your opposite hand, eyes peering over the brightly lit field.

Kiyoomi bites back his grin and switches his phone off, obscuring the glittering pixels of diamonds and his future plans from view and tucks his device into his jacket pocket. You turn to look at him, your eyes narrowing and brow arching at his poorly controlled attempts to hide his giddiness.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replies, slinging a long arm around your shoulders, tugging you close and planting a quick kiss against your temple.

“Liar,” you accuse, leaning back, eyes following the sharp angles of his handsome face.

“What made you pick baseball? You feeling homesick or something?”

“Hmph, no! I just...hmm, how to put this. I figured it’d be nice to take you to a game that’s not volleyball. One that we can just watch. There’s no need to worry about analyzing anyone’s performance, or your own here…you can just relax.”

Kiyoomi cocks his head at you, a few errant curls falling over his brow. “Do I do that when we go to a volleyball game?”

You nearly choke on your beer. “Mmm...koff...do you do that? Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, obsidian eyes watching you closely. Wait, is he a pain to go to a game with?

“Kiyoomi?”

“Hmm.”

“I wasn’t about to take you to a volleyball game for your birthday. That’d be like you taking me back to the office and asking me to celebrate with you in the staff break room. I mean, I know you love the sport, but it’s your job. It’s what you do all day. Besides, the last time we went to a match I don’t think you said more than five words to me and you were constantly writing down the plays on your phone. I–Oh! That’s not a bad thing, not at all! It makes sense,” you amend, catching sight of his abruptly ashen expression.

“It’s just...you’re good...no good doesn’t cut it...you’re amazing at what you do. You’ve got that hunger that all the sports documentaries I’ve ever watched talk about and you’re constantly looking to improve. It’s impressive, really! But...I just thought this might be a change of pace. Something that we could both go to, could watch, with no additional stakes. Who cares who wins? I mean, I want the home team to, obviously, but we can leave here when it’s over and just take memories, not more worries or challenges. And definitely not any notes. Sorry, that prolly’ sounds so rude, but I really want you to relax today. You more than deserve it.”

“It’s perfect,” Kiyoomi confirms, finally leaning back against the strong plastic of his seat, pulling you closer, bringing his knee toward your thigh, pressing until he can feel the heat of you past the material of his jeans. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” you laugh. “It’s the least I could do. If you’re happy, then I’m happy! Oh! Speaking of, you gotta try this beer! It’s so good!”

He looks skeptically down at the plastic glass that’s still clutched between your fingers. “No. I’m not drinking out of that cup.”

“Kiyoomi,” you begin, fixing him with a hard stare. “You know we live together, right? If I pick anything up from this, then, and I hate to tell you this, but you’ll get it too, eventually.”

With a scoffed exhale and a curl of his lip he leans away from you, nose wrinkling distastefully at your threat.

“Come on,” you taunt, shaking the cup playfully in your hand, “You won’t regret it!”

“No.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun, you know that?”

“Never heard that before,” he laughs, coiling himself toward you, his arm around your back, squeezing you closer, holding on as tight as he can.

It’s dark when the two of you get back home, but you won’t let him flip on the overhead lights, not yet. “Just wait, gimme a sec. There’s one more thing I wanna do...why don’t you go sit on the couch. I’ll turn on the lamp and be right back, promise.”

Obediently, he perches on the edge of the cushions and waits.

He can hear you as you move around the kitchen, and he feels like he can still feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. Throughout the game, on the cab ride home, as he stood behind you in the darkened hallway, waiting for you to unlock the door, he’d kept his hands on you. It was like you were some kind of magnet and he couldn’t help but be tugged forward by your irresistible pull.

“Hey! Close your eyes!” you call, feet soft against the wood as you pad back to him. He shakes his head at your request, a faint smile pulling at his lips, but he obliges you. How can he not? “No peeking,” you warn, and he it’s like he can almost feel you again as you come to stand in front of him once more. “Alright…I think that’s good. Now...open them!”

The space in front of him is bathed in a soft glow, with whisking yellows and gentle oranges dancing, flickering across your arms. The light from the candle illuminates your face, catching against your eyes and making them shine, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s breathing anymore.

“I know it’s not much,” you justify, cupping your fingers around the delicate flame and lifting the cupcake toward him. “But I learned my lesson last year. Got you that huge cake and the leftovers languished in the fridge for almost a week. And you know what they say, less is more, right?”

Without thinking, his hands race forward, gripping your waist and pulling you closer. “Woah,” you exhale, a laugh bubbling from your lips. “Careful! I don’t wanna catch you on fire. Some birthday that would be. Come on, time’s a’wasting birthday boy, blow it out and make a wish!”

He’d lied earlier.

When he’d thought that there was nothing special about birthdays. There is something special about this birthday and, for the first time, he knows just what he’s going to wish for.

It’s easy to blow out the light. It’s a little harder to protect the cupcake from his downward tug, his hands insistent, firm, but somehow you safely tuck it behind you and twist back to him, fingers lacing into his onyx curls.

“What did you wish for?” you ask, settling yourself across his lap.

“Can’t tell you yet,” Kiyoomi answers honestly, lips already seeking yours.

“Huh? You’re not supposed to tell me at all!”

“Too bad,” he intones, silencing any further retorts with the heady persuasion of his caresses and wandering touch. “I’m gonna tell you soon. Now let me enjoy you.”

notes: hbd! shoutout to @albinoburrito for her excellent edits and suggestions :*

#hbd sakusa 🧁#sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #hq!!#hq #hq imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x you #kiyoomi x y/n #drabble #sort of???#whatever #it's a drabble

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