#are you ready for some capital Y Yearning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thekillingjoke-haha · 3 years ago

Text

Back To Black

Summary: Young love is so innocent and juvile now seemingly worlds apart that once childish flame seems to be more

@craftygamerscrafts

Black Noir was never always a faceless part of the seven he had a childhood which contrast to popular belief was actually nice he had a house hold that raised him to properly manage his emotions so his powers stayed within his control,but the part of him that truly made him the way he is...Y/n L/n.

His best friend and crush since the days in the playground sandbox. James was at the time unaware why he felt such joy being in her presence though once they parted ways after high school he understood those feelings weren't so friendly as first appearance. Love was confusing to him he never had much affection growing up unless it was from her so he always assumed as they got older those lingering stares,the hugs that always squeezed so tight,and those soft lips pressed against his forehead or cheek we kind gestures of friendship. They were polar opposites he was what people described as the bad boy while she was a social butterfly. If only he didn't stay with his safe bet and realized before she left to college so far away without a single goodbye.

James sat two rows behind Y/n she was smiling brightly clapping respectfully each time someone walked across. The week before they celebrated him being accepted to be a junior seven member till he reached age his dream was coming true. "For our honor student valedictorian Y/n L/n!" James was not shy to admit,but he did make the loudest noise smiling broadly when her eyes locked onto him. "We have a special honor our to give to you Ms.L/n a letter directly from Harvard one of your chosen colleges. You've been accepted for a full ride." They were both in shock as the uproar of people yelling and cheering. Harvard was so far away from Vought headquarters. That's when both of their hearts seemed to creak his turning cold at the fact she'd be gone.

"You never told me you wanted to go to Harvard." James was changed out of his blue robe playing with the chain on his pants. "I never thought they'd accept me especially right after high school." She layed her head on his shoulder as they sat in the bed of her truck he would have been relaxed if this was any other night,but the stiffness in his muscles was the equivalent of a predator tense and ready to strike. "Where you going to ever tell me you applied or did you just plan to pack up and leave?" His words were like a backhand causing her to sit up looking at him appalled. "You would have been the first to tell if I got that letter." James scoffed his emotions were getting the better of him. "Yeah right so much for being my so called best friend." The hurt that filled her eyes was making him regret everything,but there was no time for that. "What so I'm not you best friend because I want to be something?! Because that's my only option! If you didn't notice I'm not a super I can't pretend that us running off to the superhero capital filled with the most crime is the safest bet for me." Y/n had tears pooling and James wanted to say he'd always protect her if she just came along with him. "If your so safe away from superheros,away from me, then do us both a favor end this here and leave."

Y/n sniffled wiping her eyes as she got out the bed of the truck she refused to speak anymore what said was said. James got out to and went walking down the street to his home. She got in the driver's seat and drove off into the night. That weekend James felt like shit and bought (favorite flowers) and some of her favorite sweets and came to her home. At the door her father stood tall and raised a brow confused. "Why are you here?" He didn't say it like he was upset which was surprising. "To see Y/n." It was F/n turn to be surprised. "She left on Friday. We packed everything and she told us you were busy,but she'd say bye when she drove by your place." The young adults heart shaddered his last words to her was telling to end their argument and leave. If we wasn't a coward and apologized sooner she might of stayed long enough for them to fix their friendship maybe so he could confess his harbored feelings. The time never came she went her way and ut was time for him to go his both of them broken hearted and yearning.

James or better known as Black Noir gazed at the party goers. He's always hated these parties everyone ignored his existence especially since he didn't speak up. Trying to grab a glass of champagne the tray was moved to quickly past him. Behind the mask he sighed about to walk to the bar towards were someone could at least acknowledge he wanted something to drink. A gental hand placed itself on his shoulder he turned around not yet looking at the owner of said and,but rather the glass of sparkling gold liquid he accepted it in his hand softly brushing the slim fingers with his gloved hands. "Looked like you needed a drink,Jamie." That nickname was so forgin to him no one called him James in years,but only one person called him Jamie. His cover face turned to look at her his breath froze on his throat choking him. No matter how much time past he still recognizes her.

Y/n looked at him a soft smile on her painted lips. Stunning was the first word that came to mind she looked older,but that seemed to only add to her beauty a f/c dress hugged her curves that use to be hidden under his sweaters and t-shirts. James looked down to see if she wore heels given that she was the same height as him seeing the five inch heel she didn't do much growing since their departure. Her hair was styled in a confortable yet elegant way. "Can't a old friend get a hello?" Her voice was angelic the most gracful noise that ever could be heard. James took her hand within his own guiding her through the crowd to get to the balcony. After escaping the room full of people he sighed in relief. "Y-y/n when? Why? How?" He didn't know which question to ask first. "I've been living in the city for a year. I got my dream job every year or so I go to different devious helping people. Volt thought it'd be perfect having me here show off that even though they cause more problems then solve having public opinion is still needed." She always knew what he wanted to say even if he didn't have to utter a word. His large hands cupped her cheeks his thumb rubbing over her cheekbone. "I'm sorry." Those two words held such depthed all the apologizes he never got to say to the one person he never stopped loving. "I know...I forgived you along time ago Jamie. I just wished I had the will to say goodbye with words."

James ungloved his hand to feel her wiping away the tears that slipped past her eyes. Leaning forward his forehead touching hers as he gently blew out the breath he was holding. Y/n puffed out a watery laugh as she kissed his masked face if they weren't in public he would have ripped of his mask to feel those lips that he missed so much. Being apart was like dying a hundred time for both of them,but she came back to him. She went back to black.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

A/n: This was a idea I had long ago and someone requesting some black noir was just the perfect time.

To the anonymous that wanted Natasha x reader is coming next just gotta find more inspiration.

#the boys #black noir #black noir x reader #james(black noir) x reader #childhood love #friends to lovers #friends to strangers #back to black #x fem!reader #angst with a happy ending #fluff #drift apart #argument

128 notes · View notes

pinkmirth · 4 years ago

Text

—𝐌𝗼𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝗼𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 [𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞]

《𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝗼𝗺𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 + 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝》

Boxes splayed across the bare, sheen hardwood of your newly owned apartment, some contents of them being haphazardly tossed out onto the floor, courtesy of Katsuki. Speaking of, the eager ash blonde had been taking this whole unpacking thing with a ravaging approach, a little more aggression than enthusiasm being displayed. This disregarding husband of yours had already broken two vases since the moving van hauled in your belongings..

You caught wind of his incoherent murmurs throughout the day, which were practically countless by now. You’d been racking your brain since, attempting to discover what had gotten your poor Katsuki so upset. Despite the marriage that bonded you and him, Katsuki’s profession usually got in the way of many personal things. For a while, it’d been a danger just for the pair of you to live together, so you haven’t been. Until now. It had been three days since you and him moved from the comfort of your hometown, Musutafu, to the renowned capital, Tokyo, and you wished you could say it had been smooth sailing. Unfortunately, a certain Bakugou wasn’t having the best time, always sputtering a profanity or a groan left and right. His case of the grumps was probably a trip of his complex emotions, either caused by a sense of neediness, deprivation of some sort, or bottled rage. You were betting, practically hoping on the first two instead. Knowing your husband, it meant well that he’d get his hands on miscellaneous household items to crush, smash and break, as some way of channeling his anger episodes. Three days down the line, and you already needed to replace a handful.. Though, it was currently dinner time, and you were sure that was a good thing. Katsuki’s little funk would wash away come 6pm. Cooking had a way of melting away the male’s heaps of stress, especially when you offered to join in. Throughout that hour of making food and serving you his prideful dishes, he always carried a subtle smile. Dinner wasn’t something to worry about. “Fuckin’ hell!” Scratch that. Telling by the pestering clatter of the cabinets he was yanking open, to the dastardly echo of his stomps, it seemed that you couldn’t rely on the succor of food for any longer. “I oughta’ set this lousy kitchen on fucking fire!” You let out a hefty sigh, picking yourself up from the spacious beanbag, since you were yet to assemble any couches, before strolling over to the kitchen, awaiting to see the reason behind your husband’s exaggerated shrieking. “Katsu-Chan, what's the issue..?” Your husband immediately bombarded you with a growled rant, “I can’t find my shitty apron!” You eyed Katsuki through furrowed brows. Is all this attitude really about one measly apron? Nah, I doubt it, your inner voice chimed. “And there ain’t any more pepper seasoning, so I haven’t got a clue what I’ll cook now..” he spewed through gritted teeth, recklessly tossing away the poor frying pan that he’d been holding onto all the while, impressive dents imprinted onto the handle, curved into the shape of his fingers. In that case, you had one more household item to replace. Noted.. “I can’t find that damned thing,” he spoke with an exasperated huff, his hands flying up to the cupboards, motioning them open and closed with the slightest violent tendency. “Hate to break it to you, sweet cheeks, but we ain’t eating dinner tonight,” you scoffed over Katsuki’s recurring dramatics, “These past few days have been shitty anyway..” He’d said it throughout a lowly mutter, but it was enough to cause a nervous stream to rush through you. Did he not like it here? Perhaps the city was too busy for Dynamight, maybe he wasn’t immune to getting homesickness as he liked to brag about, or it couldve been that he just wasn’t ready to get used to such a foreign occurrence in your relationship— living together. But, of course, considering your nature to bat things off with a joke of some sort, you contorted your worries into a comical stick to jab at your husband with.

“Darling, if you’re on your man-period, you should’ve just said so..” you’d said it with fabricated pity, all the while holding back your chuckles as his brows began to furrow, upper lip curving vexingly.

“You think you’re so damn funny, dontcha’, woman..?”

“Yeah, just a little bit.”

Another rasped groan left the lips of the ever-impatient Bakugou Katsuki, “Oi. Are ya’ just gonna keep giggling on about my little anger episode forever?”

Hm. For once, he actually acknowledged it for what it is, you thought briefly, before making your way around the glossy, marble-design kitchen island, your hands finding solace on his defined, muscular triceps.

The thick straps of his black, square neck tank top gradually began to slide past his shoulders, shadowing over his collarbone before you inched it back up.

“Do you.. like it here, Katsuki?” By the moment he answered your answer with an aggressive snort, you realized you had nothing to worry about.

“Why the hell wouldn't I? We didn’t pay for this house just to hate the place,” he scoffed, his large palms skimming over the small of your back before thick fingers of his wrapped around your waist.

“That’s a relief, but you’ve been acting a little grumpy— Like something’s bothering you. Could you just tell me how you’re feeling?” You finally admitted your questioning thoughts with an expectant look, watching Katsuki return your curiosity with a subtle smirk. “You wanna know what’s bothering me..?”

“Y’know what, never mind. Don’t wanna hear it, Katsu-Chan.”

Your abrupt response had him knitting his brows and emitting confused huffs. “So you’re just gonna change your mind on me like that?!” You jabbed at his chest with your pointer finger to punctuate your reply, “because you made it sound creepy, that’s why!”

Katsuki then tightened his grip around your waist, earning a breathy gasp out of you. Before you could question the blonde, he already had you hauled up into the kitchen island, standing between your dangling legs with the tip of his nose grazing yours. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh at the comforting warmth of his sizey hands, your arms instinctively flinging around the back of his neck.

“Alright, I’ll tell you the truth, hon,” confessed Katsuki, “The move has been great, but horrible. It all went good, I guess. No missing items, moving trucks arriving in record time, everything we wanted. But there’s one more thing that we wanted that you seemed to forget about, you lil’ idiot..”

Despite the use of an insult, his cheeks and ears began the bloom a subtle but pretty pink, his sharp red eyes averting from your own blinking ones.

“Care to inform me on whatever I forgot..?” You skimmed through my your memory frantically in those few seconds that he’d paused, trying to dig up a pleasing answer before he told you himself.

“Privacy, [Y/N].. We’d have so much, too much once we moved to our own place. And we loved the sound of that. Y‘know why, right..?”

Your heart suddenly leapt within your chest at his indication, his left brow rising suggestively as he briefly cocked his head. You definitely knew why.

“So we could have times like this. Without any damned interruptions. I can suck your face off without one of my shitty friends popping up unexpectedly, ain’t that swell?” His voice held the slightest bit of laughter in it, his tone comical and yearning.

“So.. if I said that I wanna feel you close to me..” you murmured, your breath fanning over his proximate lips, “Like, really really close, it wouldn’t be a problem, yes?” A teasing, lingering peck was what you placed across his cheek, earning a genuine grin from Katsuki as a response.

“Who the hell’s gonna stop you? In fact, I’ve got my own idea,” his lowly voice came out booming nonetheless, but of course, the benefit of privacy made sure that his volume wasn’t a problem.

“I wanna watch you. While you watch me.” He didn’t have to be lewdly exact with his words, the lust-blown gaze in your husband’s vermillion eyes was enough to tell what he wanted. It was simple enough as he’d said; Mutual masturbation, just a few minutes before dinner time would commence.

Albeit the serene atmosphere, you couldn’t hold back your snicker over your realization. Bakugou Katsuki, your impatient lover. The poor guy had been in such a distasteful mood, only because of his unnerving libido..

“You wanna watch me take off my panties, huh?” Your teasing statement came out as a suggestive giggle, your hand placed sturdily at the nape of his neck while the unoccupied one got to work on making his fantasies a reality, tugging at the hem of your leggings hastily.

“You’ve gotta watch me too, y’know,” Katsuki reminded you with a gravelly chuckle, shimmying and pulling his bottoms off as though there were no time to spare.

His half naked form had attracted you in an instant, eyes drawing to his thick cock, semi-hard and already being encased into his moving palm.

“Don't just stare. It works both ways, sweet cheeks. I wanna see some fingers moving’ already,” Puffs of breath were taken between his words, ruby red eyes already lidded with an agape mouth that poured out the most arousing groans.

“Nah, I think I’ll just enjoy the show for now,” you decided matter-of-factly, pressing a sloppy kiss along his defined jawline, causing him to emit another grunt, lowly slapping sounds being heard from his vulgar ministrations.

“You think you’re cute, huh..” hissed Bakugou, trudging his clothes back on with a grunt, to your dismay. “Forget it. Instead of putting on a show for a brat like you, I’m gonna go straight to dinner.”

You accepted the fate that your actions resulted in, ready to slide off the island, just before his stern hands stopped you. He gave you this glance, one that made you eye him in suspicion as he kept his hands on each of your thighs, spreading them apart with a lax grin.

“Katsu— Ah!” By now, the blonde had already dropped to his knees, now face level with your clothed heat. “W-what about dinner..?!”

“Whaddya’ mean?” His tone came out rasped and attractive, a growing smirk reaching his lips as his fingers prodded at the band of your bottoms, “This is my dinner, babe..”

#bnha thirst #mha thirst #bakugou imagines #bnha Imagines #Katsuki Bakugou imagines #Bakugou x reader #Bakugou x female reader #bnha insert #mha insert #Bakugou smut #bnha smut #harmoni writes

296 notes · View notes

purpleslove · 3 years ago

Text

The Last Time - Kim Taehyung

Seoul, 2200, xxx apartment, 11:50

"Alpha-911, a creation of Dr. Cha Eunwoo, has destroyed the capital building. The building was said to have a meeting of the country's ministers and the top business typhoons of South Korea. As of now, we have no information of the amount of people that have been claimed as de/d or injured. We'll keep you up with the updates." The T.V screen flashed, causing me to squint my eyes, due to the pitch darkness around. A Taehyung with a straight face was now making my heart beat faster and faster, as if it would jump out of my chest any minute. "The South Korean government has decided to shut down all the robots at midnight 12:00 until further notice. The government claims it to be a harmful act that has endangered the life of the citizens of the country. I repeat, the government has decided to shut down all the robots at sharp 12:00 midnight." "S-shut down." I sluttered as the news was too much for me to handle. My biggest fear was now standing in front of me, losing my best friend. Taehyung was a masterpiece of the AI, he was my creation. I still remember creating him for my science project in 5th grade, all from scratch. Who knew that would become the real push for me. Since then, I have been making changes in him, a cardboard robot with a simple circuit, is now something that is hard to differentiate from a human. As time passed, we became the best of friends, I kept on typing codes, making him better day by day. He was someone who was there from day 1 and might exist even when my breath stops. "Tae-Taehyung, tell me I'm dreaming." "It's the reality Y/n, I'm a piece of machinery at the end of the day." "No, please don't leave me Taehyung." I begged with tears escaping my eyes. "I want to stay too." "Taehyung, you wanna stay? I will figure out some code, just stay with me." "Y/n, I don't want to harm you, you have to let me go." He said as minor sparks of electricity began releasing from him. The sparks of his end, our end. "Taehyung, don't leave me, I'm ready to face all the consequences, just stay." I said as I begged him to stay. "But I can't stand someone hurting you Y/n, and if I was the one who would do this, I won't be able to forgive myself, never ever." "Tae-Taehyung." Tears were flowing from my eyes, my heart beating as fast as it could. Someone who used to shout cheerfully the whole day, would now lie unconscious every day. I knew I would yearn to hear his voice everyday. The sparks of electricity increased, "1-1 minute more." I said as the clock caught my glimpse. Ignoring the sparks, I hugged him as tight as I could. "I love you Tae." "I l-love you too Y/n." In each others arms, his codes functioned for the last time. For the last time, the motor whirled. For the last time, for the last time. I cried holding his unconscious body, yearning to see his beautiful brown orbs again, hear his voice again. "Tae-Taehyung." I whispered as I rested my head on the place his heart would be located, only if he was a human. It was still making my heart beat with the same warmth, the same comfort. I could hear his voice in the silence. As if he was asking me to hold his hand and not let him go, as if he was asking me to turn back time. They say you shouldn't be materialistic. But what to do with his heart? Who loved him more than anything, even after knowing that this would happen one day. Nothing felt the same without him. Anime would be no fun without him. Laundry, cooking, studying, everything would remind me of him now.And the time he closed his eyes, was the last time someone ever saw Y/n in her lab. The scientist had now become a loner, still hoping that the government would change it's decision one day.

12 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 3 years ago

Text

The Partner / Chapter Fourteen, "The Ten"

Word Count: 5.9k words / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics

I wasn't sure what had brought me here. It had felt like yesterday since I'd shut this door last, even if weeks had passed since. I'd never been able to shut it on that day and I knew that I wouldn't be able to, not fully.

"Babe! Are you ready to go? We're going to be late for the meeting," a voice calls from down below. Gulping hard, my heart stays stuck in my throat at the sight before me. It hadn't been the only one this morning that was hard to swallow.

"Coming!" The upstairs guest bedroom door closes behind me. I can't help but look at it over my shoulder, still unsure of why I had come up here. "We're not going to be late, Harry! When was it that you started to become so anal about being early?"

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, he doesn't attempt to hide the way his eyes roll at my remark. They finally settle on me, registering my eyebrow raise I challenge him with.

"Since you take fricken forever to get ready in the mornings, and the boss needs to be early," he tuts, nodding his head towards the front door. I hadn't noticed before how he holds it open, but now, the spring sunshine is unmistakable. "Come on already. I put our stuff in the car while you were dilly dallying upstairs. What were you doing up there anyways? It took me a few times to get your attention."

We'd long ago passed the time of saying 'thank you's for holding doors open, but habit aside, I still say it. Pulling the seatbelt across my chest, I ruminate on his question as he messes with the radio beside me. I'd become a master at being able to tell when his eyes were on me, and right now was no exception, because when I glance over at him, he's doing just that. The words hesitated on my tongue because at times I still found it hard to talk to him about her. We shared her and the grief around her. There was nobody else in this world who could know how I felt about her besides him, but the struggle persisted.

Avoiding his eyes had been my go-to when I didn't want to answer him. I did it now but it didn't serve me well, because of what I find instead. It seemed that nearly every time my eyes came upon it, it was impossible to not trace the curves of ink. It had lived on the inside of my wrist for over two weeks now and I still hadn't gotten used to it. When I thought that way, I realize I was never one to get used to things. My mother's abuse. Harry's coldness towards me in the beginning, only to be changed into sporadic softness. Then we became friends and something more, and it was hard to wrap my head around. He got hurt and I almost lost him, and it was something I still couldn't believe. It was a recurring theme in my life, especially as of late.

The permanence on my skin is interrupted by the soft edges and lines of his hand. A relief is kissed onto my skin when his fingers lace with mine, his thumb paying attention to the capital letter P in his handwriting on my skin. I don't know what does it but suddenly, I'm looking at the melancholy lifting his lips.

"I don't know but I wanted to look at her things in the nur- guest bedroom. The sonograms and clothes . . to remember that she was real and ours when . . when today I feel like I need to pretend that she wasn't," the words tumble from my lips as my throat feels tight with remembering. "I miss her."

"I miss her too," Harry says with a softness saved for times like these, which seemed to be quite often lately. It speaks louder when his lips press a kiss to the top of my hand. "But we don't have to act as if she never happened, Becks."

"I want to though. Not to act like- I'm just not ready to talk about her with people at work yet. It's almost been two months and I feel like I should be ready by now."

Repeating in and out inside of my head didn't help to steady the breaths trying to swim into my lungs. What did succeed was letting myself live in the unending sage color of his eyes, wondering what the flecks of gold would feel like if I swam in them.

"That's okay too, honey. People know not to ask and I said not to. It's more so something that you bring up yourself if you want to," he murmurs, thumbing at the escapist tear that got through my guard. "Are you sure you don't want to stay home another day? I can work from home whenever I want, you know."

"I'm sure," he had barely put a period to his words and I was insisting. His nod was fast but I could read the hesitancy in it. I tried to push it out of my mind as the car began to move, my thumb occupied by the same traces of ink on the inside of his right wrist, a P in my handwriting.

It wasn't how I thought I'd be living my life today, carrying the memory of my daughter in my heart and on the inside of my wrist, instead of in my arms in a few months.

I had thought at once that it was a sight for sore eyes, but now I couldn't be more sure that it wasn't. Still, I wasn't certain how I felt about it now. Seeing it had brought forth a nostalgia I yearned for, wanting to go back to a time where we were so naive and unknowing of what the future held for us. It also dug up a pain that could be unfathomable, because I knew how different things were the last time I stood outside his office door, looking in. Our happiness had been unmatched and upon realizing that, I felt my throat grow dry.

He looked more handsome than ever with the short beard he'd come to keep, one that swims into view upon turning around. I'd been caught.

"Hi, bug," Harry says, a smile making the dimples dive into his cheeks. It was small but it brought a glow to his face that I'd missed. "Are you heading out?"

Nodding was all that I could do as I stepped foot in his office. Even if it wasn't the first time today it still stung. Everything I missed was what I thought of when I stood in here. It was the framed sonogram missing beside his desktop, the space behind the guest chairs where I'd showed him the pregnancy test, and on the couch where we spelled out potential names with Scrabble tiles. That was only the beginning of what stabbed at me like knives, even if things had gotten better. It had only been two weeks since we'd started to talk and I had come to feel so much better, almost like myself again. I wasn't sure if I'd admit it but he was right. I'd come back to work too soon and it had been too much. I couldn't decide when I would tell him that I had cried in the bathroom twice today because of it all. He'd wonder when that had happened since I had been at his side all day helping him start on his new case, but I'd thought about her all throughout. I hadn't known that coming back here would stir up so many thoughts about her. How could I?

"Becks?"

"Y-Yeah, soon," I belatedly answer, grateful for his bookshelf in front of me. I know that he knows the truth, but it could seem as if I was lost in reading his titles, instead of consumed by my thoughts. No, Harry was smarter than that. He knew that I had perused his bookshelf more times than fingers I had on one hand, more than one normal person would. "You're sure it's okay that I take the car?"

"Of course. I'll just catch a ride with Myles. We still have a few things to go over anyways. We're not sure if we're sold on that one guy for the new hire or not, so we have to figure out what to do."

I couldn't find it in me to make a comment. Today had taken so much more from me than I had anticipated. I knew that there would be awkward interactions and maybe the curious looks. I didn't know that the team meeting right off the bat would let everybody stare at me to their heart's content, and let me catch them in the act.

"How was today?" his voice comes, interrupting my thoughts. I had come to welcome it, knowing how it broke up my mental web of danger. He had to have known too. "Rate it."

A title catches my eye, replacing the Pain-O-Meter we'd come to adopt since it'd happened. Plucking the book off the shelf, I flip it open to find the familiar title page and a message written in black ink. I'd have a good shot at reciting it without needing it before me even as the words came to blur before my eyes.

"Pass," I mumbled, daring the tear at my nose to fall onto the paper. Brushing it away before it can, I let the words in front of me swim through my mind yet another time.

March 2024

Harry,

I couldn't count how many times I've heard you speak of this case and all that it's taught you, even inspiring you to become a lawyer, you once said. I guess maybe I should have kept it for myself seeing as how you know next to everything about it, but maybe you won't know some of this 'never before seen' stuff. I call dibs on being the first one to borrow it from you, seeing as how it's a new release. I hope that one day we can bring justice and right a wrong like seen in this landmark case. Book aside, I couldn't ever find the words to tell you how grateful I am for you and even though it hasn't been a month yet, how much I love you, Harry. If there's a God, I'll be thanking them forever for bringing me back to you and to your firm to work beside you, and to fall in love with you all over again. I can't wait to hear you talk so passionately about this case and all of the others you look up to when we have our nightly goodnight call. I'll try not to fall asleep the next time.

Love,

Your Becks xo

"Becks?" There had been a time when I'd hated that name and how he'd mistreated it. It wasn't long after that I'd missed it deeply and wished to hear it despite being scared to. "There's no passes."

"Since when? Why can't I just for one time not have to rate my pain, Harry," I almost retort, my chest heaving when I turn to face him. His face remains stoic, that is if you were anybody but the few people who could read his face right now. The shock is clear as day and brings my hands to my mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to explode on you."

"It's okay," he assures me, stepping forward. His hand on my wrist is ginger and reassuring. "What one have you got there? Ah, the good old Glensheen murder. One of my favorite cases."

There hadn't been many times anymore that I couldn't unravel the emotions hiding on his face. Except for now, he locked it up good as he thumbed at the page, nostalgia lifting his lips into his cheeks. It made the sting louder inside of me as his mouth relaxed into its former line, a wetness clinging to his eyes.

"I'd started to think about how I'd tell our kids how I became a lawyer and it always started with this case here," unlike before, a dullness lept into the curling of his lips, a smile dipped in sour memories. "I thought of it with P, telling her how Daddy became a lawyer because of Glensheen . . but I can't do that anymore. It's too hard to think about."

A hastiness filled my actions, first with my hand on his forearm. The velvet button down he'd picked for today felt like butter beneath my fingers, but it was the only easy part about this. No, the wetness spilling onto his cheeks only made it harder and so did prying the book from his hands. It wasn't any smoother looking into his eyes as mine welled with what filled his.

"I'll rate today if you will," my gentle words came, volumes different from mine that had come before.

"Eight and a half," Harry said dryly, clearing his throat afterward. I knew how he craved a glass of water to soothe the cracks in his throat. If only it could do the same to the heart.

"That's your first eight in a week and a half," I note aloud and his acknowledgement is absent. That is unless you count his eyes falling away from mine, focused on dragging his finger along the letter on my wrist as if he could do it forever.

"What's yours?" his question is quiet, but I could hear his voice in the loudest of darks. It was what had dragged me out of my lowest of lows, afterall.

"Nine . . and a half."

It was my turn to stare at my hands and avoid the gaze of the other. I could feel his as I tried to swallow past the heart shaped ball in my throat, trying to forget how quickly his head lifted.

"You haven't had a nine in weeks, bug," Harry remarks and I don't bother to nod. What would be the point? I don't want to make it any more real than it has to be. "Becks, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When you say nine . . do you mean a ten?" his question made sense but I didn't want it to, because that would mean I'd have to come up with an answer. That wasn't something I could do.

Waiting was something I had done a lot of recently and what joined it was my feeling of something being amiss. I had blamed it on losing Phoebe and how it had upset my entire life, but standing here now, both rang too true. I couldn't put a finger on why I hesitated opening the door, even though I had been here just the other night. It had been Harry and I's first double date back with Asher and Skye. We had played Cards Against Humanity and sat around the old rinky dink deep fryer whilst picking our cards.

Leaving that night, my stomach was full from the pizza rolls, cheese curds, steak bites, and more that we deep fried, but that wasn't why my gut felt off. Skye had been acting weird and I couldn't put a finger on it. Sure, things had been different since losing Phoebe, but I knew it wasn't that. Tonight, I hoped it would come to light. If only I'd known now what I would later, I would have never come at all.

There was no answer when I knocked on the door, so I let myself in like usual. Our favorite chicken bacon ranch pizza Skye had promised me wafted from the oven where it cooked. After a quick glance around the open apartment, I find that I'm alone. That's odd, I think to myself, remembering running into Asher in the parking garage on my way from leaving work today. Their cars were parked out front and Skye's purse and keys are scattered across the island. Just like the old times, I muse silently as I begin to toe off my shoes until I stop.

Loud voices carry from down the hallway and immediately I recognize them as the two blondes I'm looking for. Removing my shoes is forgotten as I inch my way into the apartment, trying to listen. Normally, I'd feel guilty eavesdropping and so I don't often do it, but that went out the window when I heard my name. It sounds like they're fighting, but what about? Does it have something to do with me? Why would it? The questions bloom behind my eyes as the sound of their arguing grows when I come closer.

Stopping outside my old bedroom door, I felt more than uncomfortable, but it only grew as I waited. It had been weird at first finding out that Asher and Skye moved into my old bedroom, but knowing that it was the biggest, it made sense. Something inside of me tells me to stop and that I shouldn't be stepping into such a private moment of theirs. If it were the other way around I wouldn't want somebody to eavesdrop on me and Harry talking, and least of all a fight. But I can't stop after I hear my name for a second time.

"Skye, you have to tell Becky. You can't wait any longer."

"Don't you think I know that, Ash? I've been trying to think of how to say it, but for the life of me I can't," my best friend sighs. A whining sound follows her words, presumably after she plopped down onto the mattress. But when it comes a second time, I realize it's drawn from her lips.

"It'll be easier the sooner you tell her, babe. You know that." An unmistakable sigh whooshes from my best friend's lips on the other side of the door. "It can't wait any longer. Maybe you should tell her tonight."

"No! She just went back to work earlier this week and Harry said that she's doing better. I don't want to ruin any of that by telling her."

"She'll understand, Skye, and I know how much you want to tell her, to share this happiness with her. It was all I could do the other night to not talk about it, because I'm excited too," Asher admits with exasperation. Another sound tells me that he's joined her to sit on the bed.

"Of course I want to tell her, but how do I tell her about . . "

I hadn't known how I had gotten here. That's stupid because, of course, I did. But sitting here now, the steering wheel of Harry's car slick with my tears, I still wish I hadn't heard what I did. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't erase it from my memory, and no amount of tears could make it better. Each breath I took sent shoots of pain through my chest as it shook with fitful sobs. The engine still ran, rumbling softly even through the steering wheel my head rested on.

I had lost track of how long I'd sat here after pulling into the driveway. I knew that he would hear the garage door if I pulled in, so I was waiting. He didn't seem to hear or see the car yet, something I was grateful for. I wasn't ready yet, but would I ever be after what I just learned? Just as much as she didn't know how to tell me, I had no idea how I could tell Harry.

The laugh track of a TV show is what I hear first upon opening the door, followed by a wisecrack from Joey on FRIENDS. My heart squeezed at the sound of Harry's subsequent giggle, and knowing how I was about to take it away. I closed the door softly as I could and still knew that he would hear it. It's instantaneous how quickly the TV is turned down and how my unrelenting crying replaces the sound.

"Becks? You're home already, love?" my favorite voice murmurs from the living room before alarm is racing in it. "What happened? Is everything alright?"

I could count the seconds before I hear his rushed footsteps coming my way, and then stopping in front of me. Harry's molasses voice rushes to say my name a few more times but he succeeds in one try to pull me into his arms. Taking my spot sitting against the front door, I melt inside of his arms.

"Baby, please. What's wrong? You're scaring the shit out of me," it was hard to make out the concern in his voice amidst the spinning of my thoughts. It was there but I knew that had things been normal inside of me, I'd be able to hear the panic and fear living in his voice. "Are you hurt?" hurrying to ask, his hands run along my body, as if checking for injuries.

His neck smells sweet with vanilla from his cologne and then woodsy all at once, a smell that used to calm me in seconds. No, not now. Inhaling, I try to focus on his voice and the feeling of his fingers in my hair, but it's more than hard. It's only after snaking my arm out from around him and my fingers into his, do I find my bearings. His chin was sandpapery against my head and although he'd wake me up with the weird feeling, I welcome it now. It's what roots me to the spot and brings me back to him.

"Becks honey, talk to me . . Don't run away from me again," sorrow leaked from his words that began to break on his lips. "Please."

"Harry," his name came out in a sob deep from inside of me. The second I'd heard those words drop from Skye's lips I had wanted him . . needed him. I had known that's the only thing that could ever make it better, but could it after I utter the words that had been spinning webs in my head? "S-Skye . . . "

"What, is Skye alright? Did something happen to her? Did-."

"Skye's pregnant, H-Harry."

What woke me wasn't the feeling of his fingernails dragging along my arm, raising goosebumps. It was a nightmare that I couldn't place once I'd opened my eyes, but that didn't matter because I'd woken up to one. The night before came flooding back to me, making me remember why my throat burned and my eyes stung. It was from the screams I shouted in the car where nobody could hear me, not even God who they were meant for. No, I doubted he heard me or saw the way I chased breaths between sobs.

"Morning, bug," Harry rasped in his voice dripping with extra honey.

Something unspoken hid in his words and in the way he covered my face with loud kisses. I didn't laugh or even break a smile. It was impossible after the newly awake ignorance washed away seconds after waking. I felt the hesitation in his movements, the way his chin now tucking my head to his chest moved when he was going to speak only to stop. He wanted to ask how I slept or what I dreamt about. It was the usual stuff but I knew that he was choosing his words carefully after all of the ones that were said last night.

I felt lost in my own, not knowing what to say. It was almost as bad as before when a chasm broke through our lives, carrying us away from each other. Almost but not quite. The thought made me cling to him with fear, never wanting to lose him ever again after all of the times that I had already.

"Shhh, I'm here. I-I know it's not okay right now, but it will be eventually," he cooed to me, fingers nimble and gentle where they dragged through my snarled hair.

"How, Harry? How am I going to be okay seeing her have what I want? I have to watch my best friend have a baby when- when I should be pregnant with her too. I-I . . ," no other words are possible as I begin to shake in his arms. Again.

"I know, buggie," is all that he says, speaking volumes more through his fingers drawing shapes into my back.

"How many times have they called?"

His hand pauses, frozen in a soft claw against my spine, "How'd you know? I thought you were asleep."

"I was but I know h-how they are . . She was so upset, Harry. I still feel so bad for how it happened."

"They each called about ten times already since last night between our two phones. I've gotten a few texts as well but I don't know how to answer them," he murmurs and I can only nod. His calming humming begins against my hair, some tune by The Paper Kites that he caught me listening to when I was his assistant, saying it was a favorite of his too. "Skye already said a hundred times that she understands that this is hard for you . . It's what all her texts and voicemail said."

"How can she say that she understands wh-when she's never lost a baby?" out it comes and I can't take it back, despite all of the times that I had thought it. His words of comfort begin but I'm too quick to shut them down. "But I should be happy for her and Asher," I whisper into his chest, the familiar warmth of his necklace against my cheek.

"You don't have to be anything you don't want to be, Becks. We don't get to choose how we feel . . However you're feeling is okay and it's understandable," Harry says, tracing circles under his t-shirt he pulled over me last night when I couldn't get dressed myself. "To be honest, I'm quite pissed at the world at the moment and somehow at them too. It doesn't make sense but feelings never do . . I had the hugest crush on you when we met and I had a girlfriend. It didn't make one bit of sense to me."

All that I can muster is a hummed acknowledgement before words find me, "You fought it and it didn't go away though. I want this to go away. I don't want to be jealous and mad but . . I don't know how I can't be. It's not fair, Harry."

Any licks of morning light is doused out by black when I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing that was the trick to keeping the tears in.

"I know, honey bug. Life is never fair, unfortunately . . but we're going to have our own family one day. It'll happen for us when we're ready again . . And if you can't do it, watching Skye become a Mum, then you don't have to. I don't want you causing yourself any more pain. You've already been through so much."

"But she's my best friend, Harry, ever since first grade."

"Then give it time, babe. Healing doesn't happen in a day . . We both know that."

"How can I heal if everyday I'm reminded of it, Harry? Sh-She's going to have a baby and I'm supposed to be there as her best friend, like we've always planned. The best friend plans the shower and is there for the birth, and her bump is going to get bigger. I-," he stops me before I carry on and eventually implode from the feeling bursting from my words.

"You can only do so much, and however much that is - big or small - is okay. Skye will understand," he insists from above, nudging his nose against my temple. "Shhh, shhh. It's going to be okay, babe. I promise."

Harry's words ghost over my face, smelling of the minty toothpaste we use. If my body wasn't shaking with waterfalls of tears, I'd try to care what time it is and why he isn't at work. Part of me wants to ignore it and that's the one I listen to, letting him rock me back and forth inside of the safety in his arms.

"Thanks for staying w-with me," I blubber against his neck, finding purchase with my hands cupping his shoulders.

"Always, my love. Thank you for doing the same. I know it seems like we keep getting hit down as soon as we get up."

"No kidding," I hiccup.

Trying to focus on the Elton John song he sings to me instead of the danger concocting inside of my head is no easy task. It was one of our favorite songs but it still couldn't stop me from thinking about how it should be Skye and me pregnant together. We'd dreamt out loud how many times since we were six that we'd be mothers together and our kids would be best friends. Now, that will never happen, I think miserably, wishing that things could be different just like I had thought for the last two months. Those thoughts spun back into how I'd have to stand by her side through it all, pretending that I wasn't insanely jealous and resentful. That sentence in itself makes me cry louder against his bare chest, because she was my best friend and how could I be so mad at her for something that was so amazing? I can't but I am.

It was the very same thing I'd said last night after the bedroom door had opened, all of our mouths agape. I'd tripped on my own feet, or their news had knocked me off them, I suppose. It had sent one of their plants onto its side and profanities from my mouth.

"Ree . . Oh my god," Skye had gasped, a hand to her mouth, of course. The face I had known for so many years, watched change over and over, had paled so that it almost matched the wall behind it. "Please. I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way. I promise I was going to tell you, I just didn't know how. I-."

"I can't do this, Skye. I'm sorry but I-I can't. I don't know how to," I had muttered hastily, my wet eyes already painting my face only moments before hers.

It was only seconds later that Asher had exclaimed my name for there to be no response. Moments before slamming the door, I heard him call after Skye whose footsteps trailed behind me.

"Ree, please! I'm sorry!" she had shouted after me, in a voice that snagged on the fresh crack in my heart.

"Skye, don't. She'll be okay, just give her time."

With a pained sob just before the door closed, I heard her choke out, "I never wanted to hurt her."

"Is there anything I can do to take your mind off it, bubs? It's not healthy to keep replaying it over in your head, and I know you are," Harry's murmur comes, trying to shut the door on the memory. One that is still too fresh and new, too much like the puddle of red I sat on in this very bed that morning. We'd made our way back into our bedroom and into our old lives, thinking things were going back to normal. Little did we know. Shaking my head does little to erase the thoughts, no matter how many times I do it.

"Your head's not an Etch A Sketch, bug. Stop, baby, please," he insists, bringing a hand to my head, trying to make me stop. If only I could erase the thoughts like the old toy we played with as kids. Skye and I would fight over who used it, even if we both were terrible at it. "Please, just tell me what I can do to make it all better."

"You can't always fix it, Harry. Thank you for t-trying, but . . "

Puffing, the crack in my heart widens at the pain held in just his sigh. "I wish more than anything I could, Becks. I'm the husband, the d-dad. I should be fixing it."

"Don't. You can't a-and that's okay," I say with a voice colored with the very opposite, because it really isn't okay.

"Even though it's not . . okay."

Nodding my head quickly into him answers that then and there, as if the tears loud from my eyes didn't say that already.

"I see now why you've never rated your pain as a ten before today . . ," he didn't need to finish his thought because my mind knitted it up for him. Because I need to save it for when it could be nothing else but a ten.

"I miss her. I never even met her and I miss her so much it hurts," my voice trembles, colored with memories that had just become bearable to recall. Now, I feel as if I need to find the key to lock them back up in their box because they're too painful to think about. "I just want her back, Harry."

"I know, sweetheart. So do I," his lips brush against my temple with his words, pressing a kiss there that stays. At least I have Harry. I can get through anything with him by my side. I find it in me to take a full breath at that realization, holding onto him tighter.

What now, I thought silently but the words spoke volumes. Underneath me the mattress squeaked when I tried to get comfortable. Tugging at my shirt, my eyes fell to my legs clad in a fresh pair of jeans. It felt bizarre to be wearing them. I hadn't gotten dressed in four days, because I could barely get out of bed. It was too much like the last time and it scared me to no end, because I didn't want to lose everything like before.

I didn't want to get dressed today or to take a shower for the first time since I'd heard about Skye, but I did. Harry gave me time and didn't push me, but when he left for work this morning, again without me, I found it in me to do it. My body had already gotten used to the baggy feeling of Harry's oversized shirt and sweatpants. Now, it wasn't sure about these jeans or the warm black and brown Argyle sweater I'd found in his closet. Dragging a brush through my snarled hair seemed like the most work I could do all day, let alone warming up leftovers after it. This time, I hadn't lost myself completely, but I still didn't feel like me. Knowing what I did changed everything once again, and I didn't know how to do it.

Staring back at me, the meticulous plans Harry and I had made seemed impossible now. The blinking cursor nagged at me to type in the shared Google document, knowing Harry would see it. The top listed the logical need to know things and then the places we'd go, followed by the costs and smaller details. It had only been a week since we'd looked at our wedding plans together, but it had seemed much longer now. Seeing the dress decorated with lace and sewn flowers in our closet pained me, making me wonder how I'd get my best friend to do my hair and makeup now. I knew that she would come, even if I hadn't answered any of her texts or phone calls since it had happened. But how could I do it?

#harry styles #harry styles fanfics #harry styles wattpad #one direction fanfiction #harry smut

7 notes · View notes

dat-town · 3 years ago

Text

rewrite the stars | so tender

It's raining heavily. A summer storm, unexpected and unstoppable, caught you by surprise the moment you stepped foot into the town. Wind tears into your already soaked hair since your umbrella has broken already and you didn't exactly prepare with anything to cover yourself.

You were supposed to go on a summer holiday after all, but just your luck, not only you missed your transfer bus, you got drenched while trying to look for any open places this late. Farther from the capital city, it seems like it's not so easy to stumble into 0-24h stores where you could get dry towels and maybe eat hot ramen for dinner. You really don't have huge expectations or anything but at this rate you might as well pass out in a bus stop waiting for the first bus in the morning to take you South or back to Seoul.

You sigh, bracing yourself as you drag your soaked suitcase behind yourself on the small hill. You tell yourself it's the last try and if you don't find anything, you are walking back to the bus terminal and pray they haven't closed yet. Or maybe give another try to the taxi service that promised to get you in thirty minutes and never did. Waiting might still be better so late than wandering around in an unfamiliar place with terrible GPS signals.

You take a left turn on the road, your sandals leaving a splashing sound behind with every step and for a moment you think you're hallucinating when you see the lights coming from a building with ‘noodle place’ written on its side. You hurry over, pressing down on the handle cautiously but your arrival is signalled with the melodic bell above your head and you see a guy from behind the counter snap his head towards you.

"Sorry, we're clo–" the boy, not older than a college student, gapes seeing your drenched state, his words freezing onto his tongue. You understand his startled reminder though and you're ready to just ask for an opportunity to refresh yourself in the toilet or wait out the rain but the boy is faster. "Oh my, come in. Are you okay?"

The guy, probably the cook based on his hands dirty with flour, seems genuinely concerned as he furrows his brows and purses his lips deep in thought as he looks over you, worried. He quickly washes his hands and walks up to you to encourage you to not stand outside in the rain.

"I'll get everything wet," you mumble, suddenly self-conscious under the sudden attention not wanting to drip water all over the place.

"Don't worry about that, it will dry up. Speaking of which, I will bring you a towel. You shouldn't catch a cold," he says and you're about to protest but he's already on his way, not even asking where you came from or what you are doing with a suitcase behind you at his threshold. You don't have the heart to say no. Not to mention, him reaching out and kindly helping you feels nice after such a horrible day you just had.

"Thank you," you mumble when the tall stranger puts down two clean towels onto the table in front of you. The lovely smile he flashes at you as a response makes you even more bashful. You pull one towel around your clothed frame and start to dry your hair with the other.

"Are you hungry?" the boy asks, bobbing his head towards the kitchen behind his back and you hold up your hands. You're already grateful that he lets you stay for a while.

"You don't have to cook for me. You said you were closed and I wouldn't want to inconvenience you," you object, not wanting to be a burden but the boy with his shy smile waves away your worries.

"I wouldn't have offered it if it was such a thing. I need someone to evaluate my kimchi soup anyway," he adds, pointing towards the bowl he has left on the counter earlier and you assume that's where the delicious smells are coming from. You would be a masochist if you said no to such an offer when you’re actually hungry.

"If you're sure, I would happily evaluate it," you nod in the end and you feel like you have made a good choice seeing the dimpled smile of the boy. While he busies himself with finishing the food, giving you time and space to dry yourself, you look around in the small but lovely restaurant. It looks like a traditional one with the noodles drying on racks on one side and old photos on the wall. You wonder what kind of employee he is if he stays so late because you deem him too young to own a place like this. But who knows, maybe he does.

By the time you fix your hair and change into dry clothes from your suitcase in the restroom of the restaurant, the boy has finished the soup and has already put it onto a table with side dishes. You thank him before taking a seat and starting on it, already loving its spicy smell. Just after the first bite, you know it’s amazing because of how strong the tastes hit and yet thanks to the noodles it’s just enough.

"Wow, it's really good! Did you make it by yourself?" you look up with wide eyes from the food after swallowing.

"Yepp, from scratch, even the noodles,” the restaurant employee smiles a shy but proud smile as he scratches the back of his head while standing behind the counter, tidying up.

"Wow. You should put it on the menu for sure," you nod at him enthusiastically before turning back to the soup, devouring it until the last drop and for the first time since you got on the bus in Seoul, you feel content in that moment as you lean back in your chair. While you eat, you exchange a few words about how you currently study in the capital city and was supposed to go on a vacation or that he used to work in Seoul at a restaurant called Mimiok.

"I'm Y/N, by the way," you tell him at one point and sitting in front of you by then, the boy’s smile is almost blinding in the late evening lighting.

"Glad to meet you, Y/N, I'm Dohyeok."

As you learn, the restaurant and the guesthouse behind it was used to be Dohyeok’s grandfather and he was the one who taught him how to cook as well. So when the boy learns that you have nowhere to go to stay the night, he offers you an empty room in the guesthouse. You must have saved an empire in your previous life for the heavens to send someone like him over to you after the saddening events of the day.

"So this is it. Nothing much but you find a small bathroom there. Blankets are in the wardrobe and if you need anything else I'm on the first floor," Dohyeok leads you to the neat little room and at the thought of a restful night, you cannot help but blurt out:

"Thank you. You're like my guardian angel."

It comes out so naturally, so honest but the boy still looks away bashfully and you find it just as endearing as his dimples. You say goodnight with a smile and taking a deep breath, you decide this day wasn’t that bad after all.

After that, you fall asleep almost immediately and wake up to the bright sun rays lighting up the whole room. Opening the windows, you take a good look at the scenery in front of you: the sandy coastline, the sea stretching until the horizon, the small, colourful houses and you realize that it’s actually beautiful. In the dark and in the rain you couldn’t really tell but this small dot on the map that was supposed to be only a transfer point in your journey seems just as wonderful as your destination.

While you’re watching the seagulls fight, yearning for some morning caffeine, a soft knock on the door pulls you out of your thoughts and putting away your embarrassment, you open the wooden door in your PJs.

“Good morning,” Dohyeok flashes you a smile very much awake and in ready-to-go clothes. “If you’re not in a hurry, would you like to come to town with me?”

At first, his question takes you aback but not because it’s invasive or makes you uncomfortable but because of his consideration. You only briefly mentioned the day before that you didn’t have a chance to look around in the beach town because you were too busy finding your way. You wouldn’t have thought he remembered and actually cared.

“Yeah, sure! Give me a minute and I’ll get ready!” you promised, suddenly awakened and after the boy reassured you that he would wait, you closed the door to dress up.

You bike into the town, get breakfast at a waffle place (play a round of games to decide who pays) and you learn more about Dohyeok while he shows you around. You get to know that he has a Youtube channel and an agency even contacted him, that his heart has gotten broken not long ago and in exchange you tell him how this trip of yours is actually a way to find yourself after having gone through rough times. Maybe you needed those to grow as a person just as you needed to get caught in the rain to stumble over a sweet guy with the most endearing dimple smile you have ever seen. (You’d argue that he is even sweeter than the brownies he packs for your trip back to Seoul with the promise of visiting soon.)

Rewrite the stars masterlist

#stories #series: rewrite the stars #nevertheless

3 notes · View notes

avocaguk · 4 years ago

Text

—Where does your love lie?

PAIRING HISTORIA REISS X GN READER

GENRE fluff <3, hint of angst (just a lil sprinkle i promise), me trying to cope from szn4 if you squint

WARNING very slight s4 mentions!

requested by: anon!

↦ You show Historia your love through the (attempted) task of braiding your daughter's hair.

Early mornings, much like this one, have always conflicted Historia Reiss' full head of molten-blonde hair with whispering thoughts. It starts with a bittersweet feeling that freezes her fingertips, and just like an itch she can’t get rid of, it melts into a river of uneasiness that spreads with a deadly warmth; the kind that fills your ribs with pressure, every intake of air crushing her chest with the same pulsing aches the heart is desperately trying to conceal.

The roseate sun kisses the horizon, waiting patiently for the world to wake up as it's gentle rays cover everything in gold, including Historia's doll-like porcelain complexion. She finds the intense warmth quite pleasant. Every once in a while, the dawn that accompanies the changing skies gifts the sunrise with a cool breeze, tickling the tip of her nose when strands of her hair flow by.

However, the beauty of the faun and flora awakening from slumber isn't enough to keep her thundering thoughts at bay.

Historia props both of her legs up towards her chest. She lazily rests her chin atop her knees and heaves a heavy sigh.

"Come home," she mumbles, unenthusiastically blowing the daffodil in front of her. "Please, let them come home."

Her eyes glaze over the array of colours buzzing alive in the scene before her: Rolling green hills covered in beautiful flowers that seem to never end, sturdy mountains in the distance casting a slight frost into the summer air and the line of green trees reaching out into the horizon to meet the dazzling water. For a place full of pain and betrayal, the land they live upon seemed to be a sight holding nothing but freedom.

With a gentle hand placed over her heart, Historia thinks about her friends�� her family, that travel days away from the other side of the ocean. She thinks about their training days, each of the cadets holding young hopeful eyes yearning to learn the wonders of the world.

Of the world outside the walls, that is.

She thinks about how the flower-ridden field she lays in used to be the dream Eren and Armin would constantly babble over, a forgiving love filling their hearts before the pain of growing up extinguished the light in their eyes.

Historia figures that Armin, whether it be the grown man now or the lost boy back then, would be delighted to see a sight like this. To bask in fields of green with the sun caressing sweet kisses on your skin, much like the comfort a mother would bring to a child. He never got the chance, however. Instead, they spent a handful of years conditioning their hearts into steel, and while they fought day after day, Historia spent each waking morning bearing the burden of wearing the crown.

It's been a long four years. The scouts have made remarkable advancements for Paradis' technology, and now the ones she suffered with throughout her adolescence fight another battle in a faraway land, Marley. She wonders if they'll come home with smaller numbers than they left with, or if they'll even come home at all.

The idea brings a bitter taste in her mouth.

Historia pushes the thought away.

She gently stands up to dust off her light brown skirt, pressing her lips together into a struggling grin, deciding that endlessly worrying would not change anything. Instead, she sighs deeply and puts a soft smile on her face.

The birds chirp charmingly, and that's when Historia knows it's time for breakfast.

Merchants and nobles alike endlessly fawn over the luxury of living inside the castle, the marvellous pillars of marble casting an envy on the mundane as the building is tucked away within the walls of the capital.

The Queen herself finds it quite beautiful, but there’s a certain sense of familial simplicity that the stone cottage just outside Wall Maria enchants upon Historia.

She’s always preferred places like this-- a home like this, rather than the massive hallways that fill the castle. They squirm with servants and guards in every corner, but they feel as lonely as the winter that cools the iron framing.

The worn-out pebbles that weave a path towards your shared cottage is a sight that Historia knows all the well. A gentle chuckle bubbles in her chest while a small grin pulls the corners of her mouth, the basket filled with flowers bobbing left to right on her arm once she walks a bit faster. She feels the freedom of wearing ordinary clothes, grass tickling her ankles instead of the royal shoes that also happen to be a royal pain in the ass, and the sweetness of wind running through her hair rather than the constricted feeling of having it slicked back.

Here, Historia feels free of any weight on her shoulders.

Here, she feels the same as she did when she finally introduced herself as Historia Reiss to the scouts she learned to call family.

She didn’t need to be the Queen in the meadows outside the walls. She only needed to be another person living here, existing here, breathing here. Just another person bearing the title of a mother, a friend and a lover.

Historia reaches to turn the doorknob, however she finds that it’s already opened as it creaks slowly. The smell of freshly baked bread basks in the air, and the crackle of the firewood tickles her ears. Her mug of coffee remains untouched on the wooden table, and all the chairs haven’t seemed to be moved. The floorboards croak lowly as she shuts the door behind her, a gentle hum accompanying the thud that sounds once Historia sets the flower basket down.

“I’m home!” She calls out, opening the curtains to let the sunlight stream in. Historia skillfully takes the bread out of the furnace and places it next to the eggs. “Breakfast is ready, my loves.”

She expects to hear the usual footsteps tapping across the floor, small giggles of excitement breaking the silence of early mornings once you and your daughter prepare to wreak havoc on the day. However, it doesn’t come today.

You should have been awake by now, Historia thinks. Ymir, Historia’s daughter, has never been much of an early bird either, but the both of you have always been awake to greet the bubbly blonde returning from her morning trips. Now that it comes to mind, Historia comes to notice that she hasn’t seen the pairing around these days. She figures you’ve been off to your daily shenanigans, but even then you’d make a grand appearance just to bug her for the fun of it.

“The eggs are going to get cold!” Historia sings teasingly, attempting to lure you two out from wherever you and Ymir were scheming from. A pout is Historia’s response to the silence she gets as an answer. Sighing curiously, she heads off to the hallway.

Historia sneakily peeks her head into the two main rooms, expecting a certain four-year-old to pop up and scare her, but to no avail, they’re just as empty as they sounded to be. Historia nearly decides to check the flower fields just outside the cottage, though her steps are hastily redirected once she sees the familiar candle light shining through the crack of the last door down the hallway.

She grins and quickens her cautious steps. You always forget to blow the candle out in the morning, so the room Historia skips towards is her best bet at finding the person--and toddler-- that warm her heart.

The young woman is ready to burst through the door, a playful shout waiting at the tip of her tongue, though she abruptly stops in her tracks at the sound of hushed whispers. With light feet, Historia places her hand on the door as she stares in from the slight opening.

“Can you please go any faster? I think my hair is going to fall out!” Ymir whines as she sits with her legs criss-crossed on the wooden floor. “I promise it’ll look nice, I just know it!”

Historia slightly pushes the door wider to get a better peak, and she finds you sitting at the edge of the bed with Ymir snuggled in the space between your lap.

“Stay still, Ymir,” You sigh hopelessly, “you know your mother does it better.”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, you know. I’m sure mama would like it, cause she likes you so that means she has to like it, right?” Ymir groans sassily, dramatically swaying her body as your hands tag along, clumsily gripping the three strands of hair slipping between your fingers.

“Mama always tells me to ask for help when I need to, so why don’t ya ask her? I think your braids are turning my hair into knots.” Ymir pouts.

A slight frown appears on your face after your daughter’s snarky comment, but you can’t deny the light laugh that follows afterwards. “I just thought it’d be nice to do your hair, sweetheart.” Your fingers take turns intertwining the strands of hair into a pattern, “Besides, I think I’m getting better.”

Ymir grumbles lowly and throws her small hands in the air, “You’ve been saying that for three days now!”

Historia bites her lip to prevent a laugh slipping out, warmth shining in her eyes as she thinks about the two of you sneaking off to practice doing a simple braid.

The progress you had with Ymir’s requested hair-do quickly disappears (along with your hopes) once her hair slips out of your fingers, the poor excuse of a braid you’ve made effortlessly spiralling back to where you started. “Alright, Ymir, you win,” you shake your head and giggle, “I think it’s time to ask your mother for some help.”

Ymir smirks triumphantly, rising up to kiss you on the cheek. “I still think it’s nice of you to try. Maybe I can practice on you one day!”

Historia thinks that’s her cue to join in. She enters the room with an innocent giggle. “Now, what have you two been up to?” She crosses her arms across her chest as you quickly shoot up from the bed.

“Y-Ymir was just telling me a story, Historia,” You stutter, a hand snaking up to rub your nape. A light blush flushes the apples of your cheeks, “--and good morning, love.”

“No I wasn’t, you liar!” Ymir interjects, wiggling her eyebrows while pointing to her ruffled scalp, “Mama, don’t you see this braid! It’s nice, isn’t it?”

You and Historia blankly stare at the lump of twisted hair sitting atop Ymir’s head, her shining eyes waiting to get a reaction out of the shorter blonde.

Historia looks back at you, pride filling her chest despite the embarrassment that splatters across your cringing face. She smiles brightly at Ymir. “It’s lovely, dear. How about I finish the other side?”

Ymir nods excitedly and plops herself down in the same spot. Historia stands over the both of you, her arms sneaking over your shoulders as her strands of her golden hair brush against you. A familiar tune fills the air, Historia humming sweetly as her hands get to work. You watch her fingers skillfully pull your daughter’s hair into a beautiful braid, smiling softly at the manner in which your morning started.

You never fail to notice the flowery, fresh scent that wafts in the air because of Historia, or the warmth her small frame emits. As Historia finishes up the braid, you think of all the ways Historia looks after family and friends alike.

Where does your love lie? You wonder as you tilt your head back to look at her ocean blue eyes.

Ymir and Historia’s giggles fade into the background once you find your answer.

In her fingertips, you figure, her love lies in her fingertips.

Historia’s love lies in her fingertips, from the way her warmth and care flows out from her hands to twist Ymir’s hair into a stunning pattern, to the way it feels when her fingers brush your cheek. You figure her love pulses from the palm of her hands, a silent affection engraved in the flowers she picks or the food she cooks.

You think of how the scouts felt, knowing it was Historia’s hand who reached out to help whenever trouble awaited. The amount of wounds that have been tended to, or the simple act of holding another in her arms to show all the love that couldn’t be said. You realize the way in which her love doesn’t stop there, knowing that it flows from her fingertips all the way to the core of her being.

Historia loves entirely, freely, without shame. You’ve come to learn that the first place it comes to show is in her hands.

“Are you alright, love?” She asks, petting your head softly once you realize you spaced out.

“Better than I could ever be.” You smile.

The sight of the sunlight shining upon her is something you’ll engrave into your memory. Historia giggles as she pulls both of you in for a warm hug.

She decides that she has no problem waiting for the scouts to return as long as you two are here.

_____________

ahhh so sorry this took longer than expected! anyway, thank u for checking this piece out and i hope it brough sum sunshine especially after the latest episodes recently <3

#aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #writing #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #historia reiss #historia #historia aot #christa lenz #some angst #fluff #historia x reader #x reader #gn reader #soft #ily all #historia fanfic

13 notes · View notes

lu-undy · 4 years ago

Note

Request: Lucien always wanted to tell his feelings to the bushman but is too shy to, so he always spoke it to him in french, knowing the other man couldn't understand. He gets a surprise when Mundy responds to him back in french. Turns out he's been learning french just to understand the Spy, and has returned his feelings for a long time now.

Here it is! I hope you’ll enjoy it :D

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door creaked as the tall man peeked in.

"Hey, Spook."

"Come in, mon beau."

[My handsome one.]

Sniper entered completely and shut the door after him. Spy knew he didn't understand when he spoke French. Sniper just assumed it all meant 'my friend' or something similar, no doubt.

"Take a seat, coffee is almost ready." Spy said as he exited his kitchen with a tray in his hand.

They both sat on the sofa and Spy put the tray down. Two mugs were on it: a blue one, and a white one with '#1 Sniper' written on it in bold red, capital letters.

"Oh, you got my mug?" Sniper asked.

"From the common kitchen, I hope you don't mind?"

"Nah, it's alright."

"Thanks. Give me a second, I shall get the coffee."

"Sure."

A few moments later, they were both enjoying a warm mug of coffee.

"Hm, that's a fruity one you got there, Spook."

"Oui, indeed. I like this blend of beans and I wanted you to try it. Last week's one was a bit too strong so I thought it might be better to try a lighter, more colourful one."

"Yeah, tastes really good."

"Oh, by the way, do you have time to stay a bit longer today?" Spy asked.

"Ah, uh, yeah, yeah. I have all the afternoon to myself today." Sniper answered before they both took a sip.

It was true that very frequently now, Sniper would stay only for a short moment with Spy. He would then excuse himself and Spy would hear the sound of the van driving off. Where Sniper was going was beyond Spy. Maybe he had someone in his life? Someone he preferred over Spy…?

"And talking about colourful, your mug's quite bright." Sniper's voice broke Spy's train of voice.

"Lagoon blue," Spy added, "le bleu de tes yeux."

[The shade of blue of your eyes.]

They exchanged a smile.

"Sounds nice when you speak French." Sniper said.

"Does it?"

"Yeah, quite soothing to the ear." Sniper looked down at his mug to not feel Spy's gaze weigh too much on him.

Spy smiled. Sniper was of course oblivious to all the sweet nothings that Spy was telling him, and that was the point. Spy's heart fluttered at the mere sight of Sniper's hat. He loved the man, oui, he loved him romantically, passionately. He was in love with the hat, the glasses, the sideburns and the hoarse voice. But he didn't know how or if he should tell him. So he resorted to this absurd way, to tell him in French such that it got out of his chest but Sniper wouldn't understand.

"Shall I then treat you to a poem, mon ange? It would be in French, of course." Spy offered.

[My angel]

"Oh…" Sniper's eyebrows jumped. "You know some?"

"But of course. There is one that became so popular that it got translated into English and transformed into a song. You call it 'Autumn leaves' I think."

"Oh yeah, it's quite well known." Sniper recalled. "Yeah, go ahead, I'm listening."

Spy cleared his throat and shook his head to put himself in the right state of mind. He calmed his breath and soon started reciting.

"Oh, je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes

[Oh, I would love for you to remember]

Des jours heureux où nous étions amis

[Those happy days when we were friends.]

En ce temps-là la vie était plus belle

[Back then, life was prettier]

Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui"

[And the sun more scorching than today]

Sniper listened carefully. He liked the rhythm and music of it.

"C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble

[It's a song that resembles us]

Toi tu m'aimais, et je t'aimais

[You, who loved me, and me, who loved you]

Nous vivions tous les deux ensemble

[We used to live together, the two of us]

Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais

[You, who loved me, and me, who loved you]"

Sniper leaned back and saw Spy close his eyes. His voice was enchanting him. He felt as if he was floating on a cloud, in the sky, Spy's voice carrying him in weightlessness, his ears tickling him on the inside…

"Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment

[But life separates those who love each other]

Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit

[Very softly, without making a noise]

Et la mer efface sur le sable

[And the sea washes away on the sand]

Les pas des amants désunis"

[The footsteps of broken lovers]

Spy paused and opened his eyes slowly. Sniper saw his eyelids open, his eyelashes brushee the air softly and his irises finally showed, shining as mysteriously as the sun in the early hours in the morning. His pupils moved and connected with Sniper's.

"What do you think of the music of it?" Spy asked.

"It's… It's beautiful… And the way you recited it... You looked like you felt the lyrics. Look!" Sniper rolled up his sleeve. "I still have the goosebumps!"

Spy smiled, with half of his mouth and tilted his head on the side.

"I indeed felt the meaning of it, mon trésor."

[My treasure]

He relaxed and Sniper could feel it in his guts. The power of Spy's voice, only he could use his voice and beguile Sniper like that…

"Should I translate it for you? You might be wondering what I have been talking about, as I imagine it all sounded like gibberish to you." He chuckled.

"No." Sniper answered and Spy's chuckle stopped sharp.

He raised a curious eyebrow.

"You prefer to keep it mysterious?" Spy asked.

"No, I got it. I mean, well, I understood the rough idea at least." Sniper answered.

"What?" Spy's surprise was painted all over his face.

"It's about two people who used to love each other and got separated by life." Sniper scratched his head. "And then something about the sea wiping out their footsteps in the sand."

Spy's jaw had dropped. If Sniper had understood the poem, surely that meant that he had understood all the sweet things that he had been telling him…?

"I uh, yeah, all those times I had to go away early from you… I was takin' night classes in uh, in French… I've been working my arse off to try and understand you. I've got tons of books and cassette tapes in the van now, heh…"

"You understand French?" Spy asked, horrified and as red as a brick.

"Now, yeah, a bit better."

"Merde…" Spy put a hand on his mouth and lowered his head.

[Shit…]

"Well, that's not a word they teach us in the classes, but I know what it means." Sniper tried to lighten up the atmosphere.

"I…" Spy didn't know what to say. Should he apologise? Should he explain himself? Non, doing that meant admitting his feelings to Sniper. He couldn't do that, he wasn't ready, no one was. Spy loosened the knot of his tie slightly and pulled on his collar to get more air. He was sweating bullets. It was a lot, too much, and he slammed a hand on his eyes to hide himself.

"Spook? You alright?"

"You… You've been understanding me for how long now?"

"A few weeks only. The words you usually use with me aren't those we started the lessons with so it took me some time to understand. Mon ange is my angel, mon trésor is my treasure, mon beau is my handsome one and I think the bit you said about your mug was uh, well, you compared it to the colour of my eyes…" Sniper chuckled out of nervousness and put a hand behind his neck.

"I… I'm sorry Sniper. I… It was ridiculous, I just - Argh, nevermind what I wanted, now I need to apologise and please, if you want to leave, I won't hold you back unnecessarily and I am putting an end to all this nonsense" Spy still hid his ashamed eyes behind his gloved hand.

"Spook…"

The Frenchman felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Moi aussi, uh, uhm… Moi aussi je te trouve beau."

[Me too, uh, uhm… I also find you handsome.]

Sniper managed to collect his vocabulary and grammar.

"I hope I didn't make too many mistakes, eh. I'm much better at understandin' than speaking. But uh, yeah, what I meant was-"

"You also find me handsome?" Spy removed his hand from his eyes and looked at Sniper with wide, surprised eyes.

Sniper nodded as his cheeks turned a bit more pink.

"You're, yeah, you look good even with the mask on. Tu as… uhm… de très beaux yeux… uh… très… impressive?"

[You have… very beautiful eyes… very…]

"Impressionnant. The word for 'impressive' is 'impressionnant'. Do you really think what you just said?" Spy asked.

Sniper scooted closer to Spy on the sofa and his hand brushed Spy's back.

"Y-yeah." He looked away and nodded.

"Sniper, I…"

Sniper's head pivoted and his eyes met Spy's hypnotic ice blue ones. The rest of the sentence was hard to push out.

"I…" Spy's mouth was too dry and he couldn't even gulp down.

"Me too." Sniper said, his breath gone ever since Spy's eyes stared at him that way.

Their heads moved closer, their eyes moving from each other's to their noses and their lips. They could hear the other's heartbeat through their parted lips.

But their eyes closed. They couldn't see what would happen next.

Sniper's hand slid down Spy's back and Spy's gloved hands found themselves on the cheeks with the sideburns.

"Je t'aime."

[I love you.]

It was a whisper, with an English accent.

"I love you."

And the answer came with a French twist.

Their lips shyly met. They were shaking. But as soon as they did meet, both Sniper and Spy relaxed, and melted into each other's arms. Their hands brushed the fabrics and the skin that they had yearned to hold, their lips went limp on the lips that they had yearned to kiss, for so long…!

#tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #sniperspy

29 notes · View notes

spacesnail3000 · 5 years ago

Text

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 15: Big Fucking Trouble—With a Capital T

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: Steve has some real Anger Management Issues (capitalized for emphasis). Perhaps he should try some coping techniques, like deep breathing, or restorative yoga, or a hefty glass of straight whiskey.

Word Count: 4,660

Warnings: Language, violence, anger issues

A/N: So I know it's been quite a few weeks, and I'm sorry for taking so long to get the next chapter out! i've been swamped with assignments, and then Thanksgiving happened, and it's just been a hectic time so you'll have to forgive me. Big thanks to my beta, @jessieray98 --she's AMAZING!!

Masterlist / AO3

“Do you think this is normal?” Bucky muttered to Steve the next night. It was dinnertime and Y/N was sitting at the table, staring blankly at the pizza in front of her.

She had been like this all day. Silent, brooding, sad. She had stayed in bed until noon; although Steve had wanted to wake her up earlier, Bucky convinced him to let her sleep in. They only woke her up when it was time for lunch, which she barely touched. Now at dinner, she still wasn’t eating, although they had ordered from her favorite pizza place.

Steve, who was at the counter with Bucky dishing up their own pizza, frowned, replying in a quiet voice that she couldn’t hear, “She’s gotta eat some time.”

“She’s grieving. If she doesn’t want to talk, we shouldn’t make her.”

“We can at least make her eat,” Steve grumbled, irate at the entire situation. They went to go sit next to her at the table.

“Ready to eat?” Bucky asked, trying to keep his tone cheerful. After Bucky and Steve had already finished their first slices, she still hadn’t taken a single bite of hers.

Steve was fed up, and of course, he had never been the best at controlling his temper. The tension had been building all day, and Bucky should have expected things to blow up soon enough. “Eat your damn food, Y/N,” Steve barked at her.

“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was hoarse from not speaking all day and from all the crying she had done when they weren’t looking.

“Can’t you just eat one slice?” Bucky coaxed, his voice soft. “Please?”

She clenched her jaw, a rush of anger towards Bucky surging through her. Stuffing it down into the depths of her chest, she tightened her hands into fists, trying her hardest to contain the rage within, body tense with the effort. “No,” she answered him shortly, afraid if she opened her mouth for any longer, she would let everything out, every vile thing she wanted to say to them.

Steve had just about had it. “Y/N,” he snapped, “You’re gonna eat a slice of that fucking pizza. Right. Now.”

“Or what?” The petulant girl before him maintained eye contact with him. Steve’s eyes flashed, the vein in his temple pulsing. She couldn’t help but challenge him. Maybe to show him that she wouldn’t bend to his will, maybe to see just what he would do about it.

He and Bucky were both on their feet at once. Steve started towards Y/N, hands ready to grab her by the hair, but Bucky stood in his path, stopping him from touching her.

“Steve,” Bucky grunted, using all his strength to hold Steve back, “Steve, think about this. Now is not the time!”

“The little brat needs to learn her place,” Steve snarled. Meanwhile, Y/N watched on, shocked. It was the first time Bucky had ever intervened in Steve teaching her a lesson. Even before that summer, back when Steve’s punishments didn’t involve sexual misconduct, Bucky had always allowed Steve to rebuke her and scold her to his heart’s content. But this wasn’t a matter of her disobeying little rules or being a brat. She wasn’t going to let them control her anymore.

“Go to bed,” Bucky ordered her in a low growl. She obeyed, not for the sake of following his orders, but because she couldn’t stand to be around Steve anymore. Scurrying to Bucky’s bedroom, she shut the door and locked it just as she heard the front door open and slam closed. The noise made her jump, and she rushed to get into Bucky’s bed, curling up in his comforter. It smelled like him, his cologne, sandalwood and tobacco.

Despite her anger towards him now, her disgust at the man who helped kill her father, the scent brought back so many memories, and she let herself sink into them.

Snowy days curled up together watching movies, naps taken after school when she didn’t have swim practice, warm hugs and tender touches that didn’t mean anything more than friendship at the time. She and Bucky had always had fun together—he always seemed to encourage her rowdiness, her competitive side. Racing him downhill when they went on skiing trips, or competing who could do the most laps at the pool, or who could build the biggest sandcastle at the beach.

But Bucky was more than just that. Bucky was always her solace, not just a protector or guardian, but a source of comfort, peace. Memories of Bucky comforting her when her father yelled at her, distracting her while her father held tense mob meetings downstairs, keeping her safe when strange men came to their house, their predatory gazes pinned on her whenever she would enter the room. Not just safety, but security, especially when Steve wasn’t available to be that role for her.

Steve, on the other hand, had always been that rule maker, the one to lay down the law, to keep her safe at the expense of her happiness. At one point, he had been a friend, too, sweet and kind and coddling, albeit overprotective to a fault. But he certainly hadn’t always been angry and mean. She was 14 years old when his mother died, and that’s when Steve grew cold—not just with her, but with everyone.

Her memories of Steve before that were different. He always made sure she was fed, and warm, and safe, and happy. He used to pick her up every day after school and buy her food—hot dogs, or pizza, or ice cream, indulge her in whatever she chose. The only time he wasn’t kind to her was when she was a brat, and even then, he would reprimand her and then make it up to her afterwards with gentle words and hugs and treats to make up for it.

After his mother died, Tony took Steve under his wing, focused on him more than the other young men in the mob, groomed him to be cold and calculating and emotionless, just as a mob leader should be. The only emotion Steve was allowed to show was anger, all of his sadness bottled up inside him, waiting to be released as rage and violence.

Occasionally, she still saw glimpses of his old self. Those moments of softness became few and far between, and Y/N cherished them whenever they came. The locket he gave her for her birthday, the time he taught her how to paint, the morning cuddles they had shared just the other day—those rare moments of affection and kindness that she missed dearly, that she yearned for.

As sudden as the thought came, she berated herself for it. Steve had helped kill her father. She wasn’t supposed to want him, just like she wasn’t supposed to want Bucky. Her heart broke for the thousandth time as she recounted how sweet they could be. How could she ever reconcile that with their despicable actions?

Unable to help herself, she cried silently into Bucky’s pillow, until she fell into a light sleep.

Steve came back home a few hours later, knuckles bloody and bruised. In the meantime, Bucky had stress-eaten the entire pizza, half a tub of chocolate ice cream, and he was just considering whether to make a Cubano or a Reuben sandwich when the lock turned and Steve walked in.

Shiny with sweat, dirt all over his clothes, knuckles bruised and bloody, Bucky could tell that Steve had been beating something up. Or someone, based on his split lip and the cut above his eyebrow.

“Steve—”

Before Bucky could get a word in, Steve sent him a sharp glare, stormed into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut. By the time he heard the sound of the shower running, he had all of the ingredients out for both sandwiches and was hastily slathering mustard onto bread.

He craved the sandwiches of the deli down the street, but he felt wary about leaving Steve alone with their girl.

The entire situation made Bucky unbelievably anxious, especially since Steve had been such a menace the past few days. Sure, the man had a temper—anger issues, definitely—but it wasn’t usual for him to be so cross with Y/N, even when she was acting petulant and obnoxious. Now, though, the mob was in danger. The tension was so high, Steve’s stress was peaked, and it bled into his mood, making him much more volatile than usual.

Another component was that they had begun this relationship with her. Now that Steve felt a broader sense of ownership and responsibility over her, it was different; her anger and defiance and deliberate disobedience felt more personal somehow.

Her behavior annoyed Bucky, especially the night she had gone to Manhattan with Wanda, putting herself in danger so carelessly. However, for the most part, he was just concerned about her, and frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to help. He knew what it was like to lose parents, and he knew she would be going through the stages of grief. His mood had bounced all over the place in the immediate time after his parents died—until he had discovered unhealthy coping mechanisms, like sex and drugs and suppressing his emotions.

That had been years ago, and it had taken him a long time to get back to some sense of normalcy. He knew that she would be changed forever by this turn of events.

It broke his heart to see her like this. He hadn’t been with her for long—it had only been a week or so since their illicit relationship had begun, but Bucky already felt so strongly for her. He had only ever been in love with Steve—had never fallen out of love with him, to be honest—and he couldn’t help but think it felt much the same with Y/N.

Now wasn’t the time for that issue, though. He would only scare her away during her time of crisis and make everything worse.

By the time Bucky had made both sandwiches and mulled over the entire situation, the water in the bathroom turned off, and Bucky held his breath, waiting for Steve. He exited the bathroom along with a cloud of steam, a towel slung around his waist.

He looked miserable. The anger had worn off by then, leaving a sense of helplessness for the situation.

Steve sat on the couch, not bothering to put on clothes. “She’s never going to trust me.”

“Steve—”

“We did all of this wrong. Now I don’t know how to get a hold of her.” He couldn’t control her, and that’s what scared Steve the most. It scared him to the point of rage, to the point of violence.

Manipulating her had always been so easy. What had changed? Was it him? Had he lost his touch? Was he so terrifying now with the storm of uncontrolled anger and tension within, that he had lost her completely?

Or was it her? Was she old enough now to see him for who he really is?

And if that was the truth—well, no wonder she wanted nothing to do with him. Steve didn’t deserve anything as good as her.

Bucky sat beside him, sensing Steve’s self-doubt, his anger, his sadness. Steve always worked so hard to suppress the emotions, but Bucky could read him better than anyone. He couldn’t hide anything from Bucky.

“Here,” Bucky said, handing Steve the Cubano. “Eat up.”

And they ate the sandwiches, side by side, while the girl who owned their hearts slept in the next room.

The next morning proved to be even harder than the previous night.

“Darling. Honey. Sweetheart.” Bucky was given the task of waking Y/N up for the funeral. Steve stood in the doorway, observing, determined not to get involved. “You gotta wake up. You need to get ready.”

She grunted and shoved his hand away from stroking her hair. “No.”

“The funeral is in an hour. We need to get ready to go.”

“I’m not going.”

Bucky released a breath through his nose. “Honey, I know you’re mad at him. I know he did terrible things. But this is the last time you’re going to be able to get any closure with him. You need to go to the funeral.”

“I’m. Not. Going.”

“You’re gonna be mad for a long time, that’s not gonna change, but in the long run, this will help with—”

“Bucky, I’m not fucking going!” she yelled, smacking his hand away from her. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Rage boiled through Steve, a dangerous drug, a familiar old friend. He couldn’t stop it. “Y/N,” he seethed through clenched teeth, “Get up, you are going to the goddamn funeral.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Everyone is expecting you to be there!” he shouted, losing his temper once again.

Well, Y/N had a temper of her own, and after stewing in her rage all night, she was ready to yell at Steve for any reason. “Fuck you! You can’t make me go, Steve!” she sneered his name with so much disrespect, and Bucky only blinked once before Steve was on her, hand in her hair, dragging her out of bed. Her shrieks echoed throughout the apartment as Steve pulled her into the bathroom, and she scrambled behind him every step of the way, nails clawing at his wrist, trying in vain to keep up with his long strides.

He tossed her in the tub and twisted the shower knob with enough force to yank it off, and once cold water started to spray down on her, her yells only increased in volume, curse words and rude names sprinkled in liberally, language that they had rarely heard her use before.

“You fucking asshole, stop it! Let me go! I’m not going to the—"

Steve ignored the verbal onslaught, crouching down and trying to pull her clothes off. “Help me out, Buck,” Steve grunted when her flailing limbs became too much to handle. Bucky held her down, thwarting each attempted punch and kick, while Steve managed to get all of her clothes off. By the time she was nude, her face was flushed and angry tears began to well up in her eyes.

“Fuck both of you! You’re both bastards! I can’t believe I ever liked you—”

Steve silenced her by aiming the detachable showerhead directly at her face, making her cough and splutter as she got a lungful of water. It provided enough of a distraction for Bucky to start shampooing her hair while Steve scrubbed a bar of soap over her skin. All the while, her tears fell, but her tirade did not lighten between her sobs.

“This will be good for you in the long run,” Bucky said evenly as he washed her hair.

“No it won’t!” she growled, thrashing in their grip until Steve held her down with soapy hands, a bruising grip on her wrists.

“Calm the fuck down,” he grunted, “You’re going to the fucking funeral, you little brat, so help me—"

“You’re horrible!” she wailed, chest heaving as she gulped in more air. “You’re horrible, and despicable, and degenerate—and—and—and your mother would’ve been so disappointed in you Steve—”

Wasting no time, Steve silenced her with his fist against her face, something in between a punch and a slap that left her collapsed at the bottom of the tub, ears ringing, vision blacking out for a moment while she regained her wits.

Bucky pulled her back up, not to comfort her, but to continue bathing her. Rinsing his hands, he swiped his fingers against her aching cheek where Steve had left milky suds against angry red flesh, then continued scrubbing conditioner into her hair. “Tip your head back,” he instructed her, an impassive expression plastered on his face, guiding her head back with utilitarian movements. Not too gentle but not rough, either.

Towering above her, Steve met her gaze. She had never seen him look at her like that before—not just anger, but wrath and disgust written across his features. “Don’t you ever talk about my mother again.” His tone was low, threatening, and his eyes shone with hatred or tears or something else she couldn’t tell.

He stormed out of the bathroom then, and she resumed crying, silently this time.

Bucky didn’t have much sympathy for her, not when she delivered such a low blow. He continued his soothing actions of rinsing out her conditioner, then grabbed the bar of soap to continue washing her body. “You shouldn’t have mentioned his mother.”

I know, she thought. “I don’t care,” she replied with a sullen sniffle, taking the soap bar from him.

“Can you do this yourself?” he asked.

“Yes,” she gritted. “You can leave.”

“Don’t take too long.”

As she scrubbed her skin with the soap, shivering from the frigid temperature of the water, she thought about what might happen at the funeral.

The Catholic traditions her family subscribed to mandate a wake, which was to take place that morning. Then the hour-long Mass to follow, and then the funeral afterwards. There would be so many people from the mob there—they would probably be the only ones in attendance, in fact.

Her father’s parents were no longer alive, and he had no siblings or other family. Her mother wouldn’t be there, of course—and her mother had no family left that cared about Obadiah.

Aside from the mob, who else did Obadiah have?

She didn’t want to see any of the mob, especially not for these funeral proceedings that would take hours. Her father had somehow betrayed them, and then they arranged for his death. Where did that leave her?

It was sure to be long, and tortuous, and painful, and…

Well, she had no intention of going either way.

She turned up the hot water and sat back, letting the stream warm her up and relax her muscles.

Twenty minutes passed and she still hadn’t come out or even turned off the shower, and Bucky was starting to get anxious again. Steve, on the other hand, was seething as Bucky tied his tie for him, a half-Windsor knot tied to perfection.

“Some nerve she has,” he hissed, every muscle in his body tensed up in the effort not to punch something—again. He had put a hole through the kitchen drywall after exiting the bathroom. “What’re we gonna do with her, Buck?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed as he tightened the knot up to Steve’s throat. “But now is not the time. We just need to get through this funeral—that’s it.”

“Well if she doesn’t come out soon, we’re going to be late.”

“I’m sure she’d be pleased with that,” Bucky muttered, leaving Steve’s bedroom and approaching the bathroom door. “Honey, time’s up,” he called, knocking gently on the wood. When he tried to open it, it was locked. There was no answer from her.

“Tony’s on his way,” Steve said, coming out of his bedroom, tapping on his phone. “She ready?”

“She locked herself in.”

Steve’s phone might have cracked from the force he gripped it at that news, face flushing again with anger. With how many mood swings he was having in that morning alone, Bucky wondered if he should be worried for Steve’s blood pressure. Steve stormed up to the bathroom door and practically pressed himself flat against it. “Y/N!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door, the wood rattling against the doorframe. “Open up this door, now! You’re in big fucking trouble!”

Still no response.

Big fucking Trouble—with a capital T.

A stifling panic began to creep over Bucky, a fleeting concern that maybe she had done something—something thoughtless, although she had never had a propensity for self-harm, these were dire times and God knows what was going through her mind—

Steve was yelling again—had never really stopped. “Answer me or I’m gonna break this fucking door down and—”

“Leave me alone!” came her despaired cry. “Go to the funeral without me, I’m not going!”

Relief flooded through Bucky’s mind, thankful at least that the worst-case scenario hadn’t happened.

“You little bitch, you are not going to ruin this today!” Just as Steve reared back to burst through the door, Bucky placed a calming hand on his back. “Steve, let’s just wait for Tony. Maybe he can talk some sense into her.”

“He can try…” Steve grumbled, turning around and storming into the kitchen. “I need a drink…”

“Yeah you do,” Bucky said under his breath. Steve didn’t hear. Bucky felt like he needed a drink, too.

It was only 8:30 a.m.

About ten minutes passed before the buzzer rang, and Bucky let Tony up promptly.

Tony let himself into the house. “How’s she doing?” he asked in a hushed voice. Then he registered the sound of water from the bathroom. “Wait—is she in the shower? She’s not ready yet?” Steve handed Tony a glass of scotch and poured himself another glass. Tony glanced between the glass, Steve’s expression (which could only be described as royally pissed off), and the bathroom door. “What the fuck is going on?”

“She’s being uncooperative,” Bucky said.

Steve snorted. “Uncooperative is putting it lightly. She’s a downright nightmare.”

“She’s being a little combative, using some vulgar language—”

“A little?” Steve rolled his eyes. “Listen, she’s refusing to go to the damn funeral, and she locked herself in the bathroom.”

“Oh boy.” Tony sighed, drained his scotch, and rubbed a hand down his face. Then he moved towards the bathroom door, muttering to himself. “It’s only eight in the morning and I already have to deal with this shit. Should’ve known Obadiah Stane’s funeral couldn’t go smoothly. He always manages to fuck something up, even in the afterlife.”

Then he knocked gently on the door. “Hey kid, it’s Tony.”

“Go away!” The girl inside shouted, and something thumped against the door, like she had thrown something against it. Bucky thought it sounded like a shampoo bottle.

“Jesus,” Tony muttered, glaring at the other men in the room. “You really worked her up, didn’t you?”

Steve pointed his finger accusingly at the door. “She’s a fucking brat. You try to control her and see if it turns out any better.”

Tony rolled his eyes, then knocked again, harder. “Listen, you’re gonna turn the water off and put on some clothes and then we’re going to have a nice long chat about your behavior. If you don’t come out in the next two minutes, I’m busting this door down and I know you don’t want me to see you naked. So hustle.”

Much to the surprise of all the men in the room, the running water ceased, and a few minutes later, she came out, hair wrapped in a towel and body wrapped in Bucky’s flannel robe. It was way too big for her, the hem dropping to the floor, the sleeves encompassing her hands. Bucky would’ve thought she looked cute if she didn’t look like a tea kettle ready to boil over.

“I’m not going to that man’s funeral, and you can’t make me.”

Tony sighed. “Can we skip all the ‘he’s not my father’ bullshit and get straight to the point? There are people from the mob expecting you there to represent your family. This funeral means more than just you, so you’re going to stop being an insolent brat and get ready to go. We’re already going to be late for the wake.”

She laughed, mean and cruel and so unlike the girl they knew. “I’m fresh out of fucks to give about what the mob expects from me. I expected both my parents to be here for me as I’m growing up, but that’s not possible anymore, so.”

“You think you’re the only person in the mob with a tragic backstory? Abusive, absent parents? Parents dying? Read the room, kid.”

She glanced at all three men, anger flowing out of their eyes.

Tony continued. “You have a responsibility to the mob. We’re your family and we always will be—you can’t escape it, so put on your big girl panties and your funeral dress so we can get to the church on time!”

She sneered. “You’re not my family. And I have no responsibility to you.” Then she retreated into Bucky’s bedroom. Tony followed quickly and caught the door as she tried to slam it shut.

“Get out!”

Tony was getting desperate. “What will it take to get you to go to this funeral? I’ll literally give you anything you want.”

Her eyes lit up with something, and Tony knew he was speaking her language. Spoiled and pampered her entire life (with mob money, Tony restrained himself from pointing out), bargaining was the only way to get her to cooperate, especially with such a large-scale tantrum as this.

“I want to go to NYU.”

Well, Steve and Bucky didn’t like that.

“That’s completely out of the question!”

“How the hell are we supposed to protect you if you’re off in Manhattan?”

Her retort was sharp and bitter, “Oh and you’ve been doing such a good job of protecting me now? I’m gonna have a bruise on my face from your fist, Steve, or did you conveniently forget about that once Tony arrived?”

Tony groaned, rubbing his temples, then ushered her into the bedroom. “Can’t fucking think with you children shouting at each other!” He forcefully pushed her on the bed and she bounced a little as he began to pace around the room. “So they’ve been hitting you? That’s why you want to go to NYU?”

She swallowed down her nerves and glared at him. “I have a scholarship, Tony—I’m not just going to throw it away!”

Tony shook his head. “Your father was never going to let you go. He was going to marry you off to someone in another gang.”

She smiled, bitter. “I’m not surprised. But now he’s out of the picture. I’m 18, Tony, I can do whatever I want.” When Tony didn’t answer, she frowned. “Unless you were planning on doing that exact same thing?”

He shook his head. “Not to just anyone. You already seem to get along with Steve and Bucky. What about one of them?”

She shook her head, vehemence leaving her tone and desperation taking its place. “No, Tony, please don’t make me marry them! I couldn’t live with that!”

“That’s a little dramatic. You know, a few slaps and punches are less than what a lot of mob wives get. Your own mother included.”

“It’s not just that!” She exclaimed before she could think better if it and shut her mouth.

Tony waited for her to elaborate. “What else could it possibly be?”

She shook her head, then laughed. “I know they helped kill him. My father. I can’t marry the men who did that.”

Tony sighed and sat next to her on the bed. “You know, they technically didn’t kill him. They were just the lookout—“

“Oh, don’t try to rationalize it, Tony! They participated in the murder of my father—“

“Oh, so he’s your father now? What happened to all that crap about your biological father?”

Fed up, she jumped up from the bed and faced him, yelling out, “I refuse to live with murderers, Tony! That’s where I draw the line!”

Then it was quiet, and they both knew that Steve and Bucky likely heard her outburst.

Tony finally broke the silence. “NYU? Really?”

“Yes. I want to go to NYU and live in Manhattan. And if you don’t accept these terms,” she thought for a moment, “I’m going to make such a big scene at the funeral that you’re going to wish I had just stayed home.”

Well. He didn’t really have a choice, now did he?

156 notes · View notes

mousehole5000 · 4 years ago

Text

gonna post some of my favorite shots from ep 1 bc ive watched it like 20 times now :)

starting off with a BANG!!! gets more painful every time!!! the gaping chasm ready to swallow our heroes up...a new day is dawning and nothing will be the same

oh wei wuxian we’re really in it now... the door is open and theres nowhere to go but out

lure flags... they lured more than spirits in on this occasion they also lured in some fools

since being resurrected this man has complained about the food/alcohol twice, caused a scene twice, and Yearned with a capital Y twice. tomorrow he will buy robes in his preferred aesthetic. he’s got his priorities straight ill give him that

i love these shots from outside the room theyre some of my favorites i love seeing all the talismans and idk i just think the perspective is neat!!

love the shots when someone gets possessed plus this actress really got to do some fun stunts i have to say and in the scene before this you can actually see her hand twitching while sizhui checks everyone which i didnt notice until this last time!!

i lose my mind every time this scene comes on hanguang jun fanclub unite....in this moment we are all the juniors

#mouse mumbles #the untamed lb #thats all :)

2 notes · View notes

psychosistr · 6 years ago

Text

Second Chances & Bloody Nights- Jonawagon Vampire!AU Chapter 6

Summary: Speedwagon and Jonathan reflect on their time together since their separation in different ways: Speedwagon wondering about Jonathan’s change in behavior and Jonathan trying to work up the nerve to confess his feelings to the oblivious blonde.

Speedwagon yawned and rubbed at his eyes, still a bit groggy from the way his sleeping schedule had been shifted the past few days. He moved to stretch, but found any further movement restricted by the muscular mass that was wrapped comfortably around him. Glancing back over his shoulder to the sleeping giant that was holding him, Speedwagon could not help the fond smile that crossed his face at the sight.

‘For such a large fellow,’ Speedwagon thought as he gazed upon Jonathan’s sleeping face. ‘ ‘e’s awful cute when ‘e’s asleep.’

It was honestly impossible for him not to find Jonathan’s sleeping face adorable. He looked so peaceful, not a care in the world to mar that handsome face with worry lines. Then there was the way his mouth hung open ever so slightly, the tips of his fangs just barely visible under his upper lip. Then there was the part that almost made Speedwagon laugh every time: Jonathan SNORED. Yes, he actually snored when he slept- probably some left over habit from when he was human. It wasn’t obnoxiously loud or anything, but the fact that he still snored despite no longer needing to breathe amused Speedwagon to no end.

Before their separation, as they were referring to the whole incident regarding Speedwagon’s alleged death and Jonathan’s berserker rage, their schedules made it so they were never both asleep at the same time. Besides, Speedwagon had given up the bedroom to Jonathan and often fell asleep on the couch, himself, so they were never that close when they slept before.

Now, though, Jonathan insisted on sleeping with Speedwagon cradled in his cold arms every morning until the sun set in the evening. Speedwagon was a bit embarrassed by it, truthfully, given his feelings towards the larger man, but could not find it in himself to deny Jonathan anything he desired. Besides, Jonathan seemed to need this right now, if the worried and anxious look he got whenever Speedwagon said he was about to go out was anything to go by. Speedwagon could hardly blame the poor man, though, he understood that desperation for contact after going through such a hard loss- he himself had yearned for it when Jonathan came back to him, though he’d forced himself to be content with the passing contact he could get so as not to come off as needy or strange.

Speedwagon certainly wasn’t going to complain about the contact, anyhow. After he got past the initial chill of sleeping next to someone with no body heat that liked to wrap around him like a frozen blanket, it was actually quite nice. He’d always generated an exceptionally high amount of heat himself, after all, so the two balanced each other’s body temperatures perfectly.

On top of it all, being wrapped in Jonathan’s strong embrace every day made him feel..well..special, in all honesty. He knew it was probably just a crazy pipe-dream, but, for those few precious hours they slept together, he could pretend that the two of them were actually lovers entwined in a sweet embrace. He could imagine what it would be like to wake up every day to Jonathan’s smiling face and him planting a gentle kiss to Speedwagon’s lips as he lovingly said-

“Hmh..Morning, Speedwagon..” The groggy voice of the REAL Jonathan Joestar interrupted his daydreams like a splash of cold water.

Speedwagon turned his head to look back at Jonathan with an apologetic smile. “Ah, mornin’, Jojo. Didn’ wake y’ did I?”

Jonathan returned the smile with a sleepy, barely awake one of his own. “Not at all. What time is it, anyway?”

“Let’s see..it’s..” Speedwagon reached out for his pocket watch that was resting on the floor nearby and popped it open to check the time. “Ah, ‘bout 6:00.” He looked back at Jonathan. “Still a bit early for y’, mate. Sure you don’ wanna sleep in a bit more?”

Jonathan shook his head and sat up, bringing Speedwagon up with him gently using his arms which were still wrapped around the blonde’s waist. “No, it’s quite alright. Would you like some breakfast?”

Speedwagon allowed himself to be pulled up into a sitting position and smiled at the other man. “Breakfast sounds like a capital idea, Jojo.” He pat Jonathan’s arms to signal he wanted to be let go. “I’mma go freshen up an’ meet y’ in the kitchen, alright?”

Jonathan seemed hesitant to let him go, as he always seemed to nowadays, but did as was silently asked of him. “Very well, then.”

Speedwagon gave him a quick smile and got up from the bed. Heading out towards the bathroom, Speedwagon stopped along the way to grab one of his suits (one of the ones Jonathan hadn’t pulled off the hangar during the incident) from the hall closet and stepped into the small room to get himself ready for the day- er, well, the night, actually.

As he began his daily grooming rituals- checking for any facial hair to shave, a quick wash, brushing out his hair, etc.- Speedwagon thought about Jonathan’s recent string of odd behavior, recalling a few specific events for reference.

For starters, ever since he came back, Jonathan had been exceptionally clingy…

Speedwagon was used to their sleeping arrangement by now, even if it still flustered him to no end..but..this was new..

“Jonathan..?” He looked over his shoulder at the larger man- said man currently leaning over Speedwagon with his arms crossed around Speedwagon’s chest and his chin propped up on Speedwagon’s shoulder. He was acting like he was reading the newspaper that Speedwagon himself had been reading and was merely doing so over the blonde’s shoulder, but Speedwagon could see through his act- his eyes weren’t actually following any of the words, he was just staring blankly at the page. “Did ya need somethin’, Jojo?”

“Hmh?” Jonathan made a sound of acknowledgement, but did not bother to remove himself from Speedwagon’s vicinity. “Oh, not particularly- I was just curious if there was anything good in the paper today.”

“Ah, I see.” Jonathan was a terrible liar, but Speedwagon didn’t have it in him to call the man out on it. “Did ya wanna read it, then? I’m ‘bout finished.”

“No need. But thank you.” Jonathan just shook his head, the movement inadvertently causing Jonathan’s nose and lips to brush against Speedwagon’s neck. Or..was that perhaps on purpose? No, no, it couldn’t be…

“A-Alright then.” Speedwagon stuttered a bit, praying that Jonathan didn’t notice his rapidly beating heart.

Then there were the times that Jonathan would just stare at him for no apparent reason…

Speedwagon could feel those eyes trained on him. Even from across the room and with his back turned to him, he could feel Jonathan’s eyes staring at him. Part of him wondered if Jonathan was unintentionally doing a weaker version of that eye-beam attack that Dio had used, because he could swear he physically felt the gaze of those eyes creeping over his skin wherever Jonathan looked at him.

‘Maybe it’s ‘cause of my clothes?’ Speedwagon wondered as he ran a brush through his damp locks of long blonde hair. ‘I know they ain’t as nice as the suits, but I hafta wear somethin’ for now.’

He had just finished bathing himself and, no longer having a robe to change into as his only one had been lost with the rest of his luggage during the crash, had changed into a spare pair of pants and a white button-up shirt. After getting changed, he’d walked back out to get a drink while doing his hair and, in doing so, had apparently done something to warrant Jonathan’s intense stare.

(Unfortunately, what Speedwagon failed to notice at the time was that his clothes, due to his own still damp body, were currently clinging to him like a second skin. In addition to that unintentional display, his shirt was getting wetter as he brushed his hair due to the water that was being flicked out of it- making the white garment almost see-through. All of this was treating poor Jonathan to a fantastic, mouth-watering view of Speedwagon’s body that the poor vampire couldn’t help but feast upon with his eyes.)

What unnerved Speedwagon the most was the fact that Jonathan hadn’t even made his presence known- he’d simply stopped in the doorway and begun staring at him without uttering a single word.

(To be fair, Jonathan had been on his way into the kitchen to see what cookware was still salvageable enough to prepare lunch with, but had been caught off guard by the spectacle that was a slightly wet Speedwagon in skin-tight and translucent clothing.)

Deciding to break the awkward silence, Speedwagon turned to say hi to the other occupant of the small room. However, as soon as he started to turn, Jonathan was already gone and Speedwagon heard the replaced door to the bathroom shutting down the hall.

“Huh..guess ‘e wanted a turn in the bath..” Speedwagon mused aloud, jumping to what he thought was the logical conclusion for why Jonathan decided to rush into the bathroom.

Finally, it seemed like Jonathan had something that he wanted to say to Speedwagon, but was unable to…

“Speedwagon..” Jonathan said softly, almost hesitantly as he looked at Speedwagon with something in his eyes that Speedwagon couldn’t quite read. “I..that is..” He bit at his lip, one of his fangs worrying the skin there. For a moment Speedwagon was worried he’d bite through it again (as he had quite a few times already), but he seemed to catch onto his nervous habit this time and stopped himself before the flesh was pierced.

Speedwagon looked up at Jonathan from his seat on the mattress, the taller man standing in the doorway of their shared bedroom. “Wha’ is it, Jojo?” He had just finished changing into his pajamas for the morning and was seated on the bed, preparing to go to sleep. All he was waiting for was Jonathan- he knew the other would be curled around him in no time, he was just waiting so they could get into their now-usual sleeping positions. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

Jonathan looked down, as if he was trying to think of what he wanted to say, but was apparently defeated by his own inarticulateness. With a resigned frown, he closed the replaced door and approached the mattress. “It…It’s nothing…my apologies…” He got into bed behind Speedwagon and slowly wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist, holding Speedwagon almost protectively against his chest and curling around him as per usual. “Pleasant dreams, Speedwagon.”

Speedwagon pulled the blanket up around both of them and relaxed back into Jonathan’s embrace. “You as well, Jojo.” He closed his eyes and slowly allowed his breathing to even out and his heart rate to slow, giving himself the semblance of sleep. It was a trick he’d used often during his street thug days to trick opponents into thinking he was unconscious. Looks like it still had a practical use here…

He didn’t have to pretend for long before he felt one of Jonathan’s large hands leave his waist in favor of delicately running his fingers through the long golden strands of Speedwagon’s hair with a quiet sigh. “Why can I not simply say what I wish?” His voice was quiet, barely audible over Speedwagon’s own breathing, but he was listening closely so as not to miss a word. “Nothing will change if I remain silent. I know this and yet..” He sighed again. “And yet I fear what will become of us if I speak my thoughts out loud.” He buried his face into the back of Speedwagon’s head and muttered to himself, his arm sliding back to its previous location around the man’s waist. “How could you ever care for such a coward…?” He gave one more sigh before going quiet, apparently deciding to chase his own slumber.

That last incident actually happened this morning when they fell asleep, Jonathan’s words still fresh in his mind.

What did Jonathan mean by all of that? What did he have to say that frightened him in such a way? What was he afraid would happen between the two of them?

Speedwagon ran through a list of possible scenarios in his head of what it could be.

Had he decided to move out on his own because he was worried about hurting Speedwagon if he lost control again? Speedwagon certainly hoped that wasn’t the case. He really liked living with Jonathan…

Was he growing tired of living as a vampire or thought himself a danger to others again? If that was the case, Speedwagon would have to remind him of their first conversation on the topic to dispel any incorrect assumptions Jonathan drew about himself…

Maybe he’d decided he was ready to face Erina and George?

That thought...actually gave him reason to pause and consider how he felt on the matter…

On the one hand, he himself had been encouraging Jonathan to go speak with Erina for years now, so he’d be getting what he verbally asked for. It was what Jonathan deserved, after all- a good life with a loving, doting wife and a sweet and adorable son.

On the other hand, though, he would still miss living together with Jonathan. Sure, he was planning to move to America soon, anyway, in order to be closer to Erina and George and to have easier access to his new fortune..but…it just wouldn’t be quite the same. He would still miss having Jonathan waiting at home for him every evening and falling asleep with him nearby in the morning.

Finishing his last few tasks with a sigh, Speedwagon looked at himself in the mirror, forcing a smile onto his face that didn’t quite meet his eyes yet. “C’mon, Robert- stiff upper lip. It’s Jonathan’s life, ‘e deserves to live it ‘owever ‘e sees fit. Just..do whatcha’ve always done: Be there for ‘im.” He gave his reflection a firm nod to cement the words in his mind before putting on his metaphorical mask- the bright smile and upbeat attitude that hid how badly he secretly wanted Jonathan’s affections for himself- and walked out to the kitchen to face whatever would come of the days ahead.

Jonathan bit at his lip for what had to be the hundredth time within the past two days. He was getting better at not piercing the tender flesh with his fangs anymore, but he just couldn’t shake the habit when he got worked up like this.

‘Come on, Jonathan, stop being a coward and just SAY IT.’ He mentally berated himself as he prepared what little he could for breakfast (namely, some tea, left over bread, and some apples). ‘You’ve already made up your mind to do it, so all that’s left is to simply put those thoughts into action!’

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. It seemed that lately he’d only been able to run away and make a fool of himself.

He’d tried several times to initiate physical contact to segue into the subject, but he’d get so lost in the sensation that he’d lose his train of thought, as he had once when Speedwagon was reading and he’d wrapped his arms around him from behind only to be distracted by the softness of those blond locks and his comforting scent…

Then, when he’d tried to just come out and say it, as he had that morning before bed, he would lose his nerve when he had to meet Speedwagon’s earnest, curious gaze…

Worst of all was when he would try to speak but get distracted by the mere act of looking at the other’s handsome figure; an incident in the kitchen involving Speedwagon in damp, semi-translucent clothing came to mind, Jonathan’s face feeling hotter both from the memory of those taut muscles on display as well as the embarrassment and shame he’d felt at having to run into the bathroom to relieve himself of his sudden “discomfort” (god, he hadn’t been struck that badly since he was a teenager!)…

Sighing in mild annoyance at himself, Jonathan finished the modest breakfast and set the plate and mug aside. “I suppose I’ll have to put myself in a situation where I cannot run away.”

“What was that, Jojo?” He heard Speedwagon ask as he stepped into the kitchen. Damn, Jonathan must have been too lost in thought to hear him approaching.

He turned to Speedwagon with a smile, secretly hoping that it didn’t look as forced as it felt. “Oh, nothing. I was merely thinking aloud.”

“Ah, alrigh’ then.” Speedwagon took the mug that Jonathan offered him and sipped it. “Thanks.” He hid it well, but Jonathan noticed the subtle tension in Speedwagon’s neck as he swallowed. The lukewarm tea must taste dreadful.

“Sorry.” Jonathan apologized, looking just as guilty as he felt when his eyes glanced at the hole in the wall the stove had been tossed through during his fit of blind rage. “I wish I had a way to warm it up for you.” He groaned at the sight of the mangled stove in the other room and brought a hand to his face to hold his head. “I still can’t believe I did that…”

Speedwagon offered him his usual smile, the one that made Jonathan’s heart swell with warmth and affection. “Nah, it’s fine, mate. Trust me, I’ve ‘ad A LOT worse t’ drink in my time.” He shuddered slightly and stuck his tongue out briefly. “ ‘member one time when I was ‘bout ten- I got so thirsty that I stood out in a rain storm with me tongue out to catch a few drops. Was all fine an’ dandy ‘til a carriage drove by and I got a big ol’ mouthful o’ street swill. Never did that again.” He finished his story with a chuckle, sipping the tea again. “Compared t’ that, this tastes like ‘eaven.”

Jonathan couldn’t help but chuckle a little himself at the story. “Well, it’s good to know the few things that I am able to craft will still be far from the bottom of your tase-list.”

The two shared a laugh at that, the air between them light and pleasant again, despite the sad reminder to Jonathan about the hardships that Speedwagon endured on the streets of England growing up. Speedwagon didn’t bring up those days often, but somehow, when he did, he never seemed bitter about what he went through. He always treated those experiences as pleasant memories or learning experiences or a comparison for how things could always be worse than they currently were.

Jonathan supposed those things were part of what shaped Speedwagon into the brave and intelligent man he was now, but it still hurt him to know how much the other had missed out on as a child.

Looking back on his own life, it made Jonathan realize how much he’d taken for granted coming from a rich family: Presents for Christmas and his birthday, many of which he’d only played with once and then forgotten about accidentally. Plenty of delicious food, some of which he was sad to say ended up being thrown away when he couldn’t finish his plates. A warm home and a roof over his head, something he ignored in favor of playing in the rain simply because he viewed it as a luxury rather than a dangerous weather condition that some people were forced to endure. Nice clothes of high quality and comfort, a good portion of which he hardly ever wore in lieu of sticking with a few favorites.

Jonathan had certainly tried not to be an ungrateful brat as many kids of his age and social status were, but it seemed that he still ended up not realizing how good his life back then truly was until he’d lost everything and been forced to take a good, hard look at how difficult it actually was to earn, save, and portion out money in such a way, rather than having a vast amount simply handed to you because of your familial legacy.

There were certainly some times when he still wished he had access to his family’s fortune. But, it was never for himself that he wanted that money back: it was always for Speedwagon’s sake.

Whenever the cupboards started to become bare, he wished he had a few quid so he could simply fill them with all of the other man’s favorite treats and see him smile. Whenever he stitched a busted hem or tear in one of Speedwagon’s suits, he’d think about how nice it would be to take the man clothes shopping and spoil him with a new wardrobe just to see the way his face would light up from the new outfits he’d be able to wear. Whenever he was given a thoughtful present, such as an archaeology book or a new cloak to allow him to venture out at night without being recognized, he’d instantly regret not being able to give Speedwagon a present in return, his mind racing with ideas for what he wished to give such a wonderful man. Whenever he heard Speedwagon stretch and loudly pop several of his joints after sleeping on the couch (or even on the bed, as of late), he’d get the urge to go out and buy some brand new, much more comfortable furniture that could give Speedwagon a comfortable night’s (or day’s) sleep and allow Jonathan to see that content smile on his face as he slept…

Indeed, there were many ways he wished he could spoil the other man as thanks for everything he’d done for Jonathan over the years. Still, even with the few regrets he had about not being able to give Speedwagon everything he desired, he did not miss it all that much. Truly, the feeling of completion he received simply from being by Speedwagon’s side every day, that was worth more to him than any fortune. Besides, it seems that fate was finally dealing Speedwagon a much better hand in life now, perhaps in reward for all the brave man had done to assist Jonathan in saving the world from Dio and the curse of the stone mask.

“Oi, Jonathan?” Speedwagon’s voice drew him back to the here-and-now.

Jonathan blinked, realizing with growing embarrassment that he had unintentionally been gazing at Speedwagon as the man ate his breakfast. “Y-Yes, Speedwagon?” He silently cursed himself for that stutter.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ for a while now.” He finished one of the apple slices Jonathan had prepared for him before continuing his train of thought. “I think..I’m gonna move t’ America.”

Jonathan blinked in surprise at the news. “Really? Any particular reason why, if I may ask?”

Speedwagon shrugged. “Jus’ somethin’ I’d been toyin’ with for a long time. It gets pretty expensive travelin’ back and forth every time I go t’ visit Erina an’ George. Not t’ mention ‘ow long it takes and the, um..risk..associated with it…”

Jonathan frowned a little at the phrasing of that last part, knowing that Speedwagon was not-so-subtly referring to “the incident” when he said that. “I can..certainly see the logic in that decision, yes.”

“Besides,” Speedwagon continued, trying to shift away from that uncomfortable topic. “the timing just feels right now, y’know? I’ve got the money from discoverin’ that oil waitin’ for me back in America, an’ it’s not like I’ve got much t’ leave behind ‘ere in terms o’ possessions an’ what not, so it’d be easy t’ pack up an’ move.”

Jonathan nodded in agreement, the logic was certainly sound. “Very true. At that point, the only things you’d be leaving behind would be people.”

Speedwagon chuckled a bit and waved the thought away. “Ha! Hardly. I’m sure if Tatty an’ Kempo ‘ear I’m leavin’ they’ll be on the next boat out after me.” He took a bite out of one of the stale slices of bread, speaking around his mouthful. “And you’d already be comin’ with me, so-” He seemed to realize at the last minute what he was saying and quickly swallowed the bread, looking up at Jonathan with wide eyes and holding his hands up in a worried gesture. “Th-That is, if y’ WANTED t’ come with me! You’re more than welcome t’ stay ‘ere if y’ want, I know it’d be a big change to pack up an’ move like that, but-!”

“Speedwagon.” Jonathan interrupted the panicked man’s rambling with a gentle smile and a hand cupping his jaw, his thumb brushing tenderly along the scar on that handsome face. “I will go wherever you go. I said it before- I will not leave you again.”

He gazed into those wide brown eyes, getting lost in their depths for a while and simply enjoying the fact that he COULD still look into them. Nearly losing him once was terrifying, he would not leave Speedwagon’s side again for as long as they both lived. If that decision meant leaving the country he’d called home for so long, then so be it. Wherever Speedwagon was- that would be his home.

He felt Speedwagon’s pulse jump beneath his fingers suddenly, along with a surge of hot blood moving beneath his skin to gather in his cheeks and along his ears. “J-Jojo? What..um, what are you..?”

“Hm?” Jonathan blinked, suddenly realizing that he’d come much closer to those eyes he’d been gazing into than he’d intended.

Before he had been standing within arm’s reach of Speedwagon, but was still at a comfortable distance, giving the man plenty of space to lean against the kitchen counter (the table was unsalvageable) as he ate his breakfast. Now, though, he was practically looming over the shorter man, their faces mere inches apart and Jonathan’s other hand had somehow slid around Speedwagon’s waist without his knowledge. They were so close right now..if Jonathan just leaned in a bit more, he could easily kiss those warm lips..easily hold Speedwagon close and kiss him for all he was worth..he could-

“Jonathan?” Speedwagon’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts once more and Jonathan saw the concerned look mixed with the flush across the other’s cheeks.

Jonathan quickly let go of him and forced himself to pull away- if he stayed any longer, he feared what he might do. “My-My apologies, Speedwagon. I was..unaware of my actions..”

Speedwagon glanced away, nervously running a hand through his hair. “It’s, uh, quite alright, Jonathan. Jus’ didn’ really know wha’ t’ expect from that. Usually y’ only grab me like that when you’re ‘bout t’ feed.” He glanced back up at Jonathan curiously. “Are you, y’know..?”

Jonathan shook his head, feeling more embarrassed now. “No, no, I’m fine, thank you.” He was certainly hungry for something, but it wasn’t blood, he knew that much. “I’m afraid I was distracted by my own thoughts.”

“You’ve been doin’ that a lot lately.” Speedwagon commented with that same concerned look from earlier. “Somethin’ on your mind, Jonathan? Y’ know y’ don’ ‘ave t’ tell me if y’ don’ wanna. I’m jus..worried, ‘s all.”

Jonathan felt more than a little guilty for that. He hated making Speedwagon worry about him, but it seemed to be all he did sometimes. “I know you are, and I’m terribly sorry for it.” He took a deep breath to steel his nerves. “Actually, there is something that has been on my mind for quite some time now..but..I was unsure of how to broach the subject..”

Speedwagon looked up at him with an expression that clearly said “go on” as he nodded. “Wha’ is it, Jonathan?”

Jonathan looked back down into those lovely eyes again and felt his earlier courage beginning to slip away. Damn it all! He could still feel the urge to run from the conversation. Knowing that he even had the option to withdraw from this topic and talk about something else was making him rethink his words. What he needed was a place and a situation he could not run from. A different setting where- oh! That’s it!

“Actually…” Jonathan swallowed down a lump in his throat. “I want to discuss it with you later tonight. In the park. Around..” He thought quickly about how long it would take him to get everything ready with it currently being about 7:00 in the evening. “Let’s say midnight. If it’s not too much trouble, I hope?”

Speedwagon shook his head, still looking confused but agreeing to Jonathan’s terms. “Course not, Jojo. But, why the park?”

“I’m afraid you shall have to wait and see.” Jonathan answered vaguely with a smile. “Now, I have a few things to prepare.” He turned to leave the kitchen, grabbing one of his cloaks from the hall closet. “I shall see you there!” He called as he also retrieved a change of clothes for himself and left through the front door after pulling on his cloak and covering his face.

Jonathan walked briskly through the slowly emptying streets, making a mental list of everything he would need for tonight to go smoothly. There was much to do in a short amount of time, but he felt he HAD to do it. He would likely need to employ the help of Tattoo and Kempo Master to acquire a few things, but they were usually more than willing to provide assistance.

‘I can do this.’ Jonathan thought resolutely as he headed towards his first destination. ‘No, I WILL do this!’

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

-From the Beginning-

#jonawagon #jonathan joestar #Robert E O Speedwagon #vampire!au #canon divergence #vampire!jonathan #jojo no kimyou na bouken

7 notes · View notes

imsvg · 6 years ago

Text

maiden in the forest

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Pairing: MomoJirou (Momo Yaoyorozu/Kyouka Jirou) Words: 1646 Summary: In which Momo remembers the time she heard Kyouka sing in the middle of the forest. (Fantasy AU) Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!

Momo felt as if she were under a spell the first time she heard Kyouka sing.

To describe the experience as enchanting would not do it justice. There are times, when the workload for the sovereign becomes too much, and Momo leans back and closes her eyes, her mind remembering every single detail of that day.

It started like any other day. Momo woke up the moment sunlight began to streak through her window. She stretched, ate her breakfast, donned her armor, reported to Eraserhead—her commander—and continued on to make her rounds around the perimeter of the capital.

Her station at the time was north of Yuuei, ensuring the area about twenty miles or so were safe, especially the paths where caravans of traders and travelers often take. The path, surrounded by forests, was a popular place for bandits and thieves to hijack passersby, but Momo made sure none of them got their way. Ever since her first encounter with a pesky band of scoundrels, Momo's rounds became uneventful and—dare she say it—boring.

Nevertheless, Momo is one of meticulous and neat work, and that day was no different. She walked up and down the paths with attention. Occasionally, a traveler would pass by her and she would greet them with a smile and a nod, but resumed looking at the empty stretch of dirt and trees in front of her.

The soft clink of her armor filled the air, standing out from the gentle rustling of the leaves above. She breathed heavily, taking in the sweet scent of flowers and the earthy smell of soil. The pale shadows of branches danced on the ground with every breeze, and Momo couldn't help but notice how beautiful the natural scenery of the forest was.

Suddenly, Momo's hand flew to her sword, her hand tightening around the hilt. She listened carefully, ignoring the trees and the faint song of the birds. A moment passed, with seemingly nothing, until Momo heard the faintest voice coming from inside of the forest.

She slipped into the shrubbery, taking note not to make more noise than she had to. She walked carefully, stepping over stray twigs and dead leaves, before pressing her back against a tree. She listened again, the voice significantly louder this time. Momo concentrated on the words, but quickly realized they sounded oddly…lyrical? She leaned over to peek over her shoulder, slowly drawing her sword in the process.

Behind her was a circular clearing in the forest. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, but she managed to make out a female figure sitting on a stump in the middle. The figure was singing, softly plucking her lute that rested on their leg. Momo noticed small forest animals gathering around, obviously attracted by the player's song. The noon sun was directly overhead, the forest canopy shaping its rays into a beam that shone exactly on the singer.

Accompanied by the soft greenery of the forest and the comforting sunlight, Momo felt as if a nymph was entrancing her.

A faint clatter ruined the moment. The animals immediately scattered, and the singer's song was interrupted by a sour note. She looked up, making immediate contact with Momo.

Momo looked down with horror when she realized she had let go of her sword while drawing it.

Cursing under her breath, Momo quickly picked up her sword and sheathed it, revealing herself from her hiding spot. The singer jumped to her feet and looked as if she was ready to bolt, her face flushed red.

"Wait!" Momo called out, reaching out her hand. "I mean no harm! I'm Lieuten—K-Kyouka?"

Kyouka stopped what she was doing, her face getting impossibly darker. "Y-Yaomomo? Wh-what're you doing here?"

"I—I was doing my rounds when I heard something in the forest." Kyouka looked as if she was going to pass out at any moment. "What're you doing here?"

"I—uh"—Kyouka has to pause to clear her throat—"I…" she trailed off, averting her gaze.

"You…?"

"I came to…"

"Kyouka, I'm afraid I don't understa—"

"I came to sing!" Kyouka finally finished. Her face was as red as Ejirou's hair at this point, and Momo wondered how she was still standing.

"…In the middle of nowhere?" Momo asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Well—I—it's not…."

"I mean, granted, you do have an audience of some sorts," Momo began, gesturing in the general area where the animals ran, "but…why don't you ever sing in front of the others? I, for one, never even knew you had such an ability."

"My parents were traveling bards, back when they actually, you know, traveled. So…I learned how to play from them." Kyouka shifted her weight back and forth on her feet, absentmindedly plucking the strings on her lute. "But it's not something I…share with people."

"I don't see why not." Momo gave a soft smile. "I think it's a wonderful talent that I think ought to be shared with people."

Kyouka shifted her gaze here and there, looking everywhere but in Momo's direction. "But it's not exactly the…bravest thing, right? I mean take what you do, for example." Kyouka looked at Momo and gestured at her gear. "You walk around the capital and ensure everyone's safe. Being able to fight unexpected thieves—I think you hold an incredible amount of bravery, you know?" She smiled, one that looked awfully like yearning. "I…wish I could have that."

Momo did not reply right away. Her gaze settled on the whip hanging lazily on Kyouka's side. A part of her thought it was funny Kyouka had chosen that as her weapon of choice—it seemed so unlike her, now that Momo thought about it, especially considering Midnight was the mentor as well.

"I like to think what you do is very brave," Momo finally said after a while. She shifted her gaze up and saw that Kyouka was staring at her with wide, bewildered eyes.

"Y-you do?" she asked.

Momo nodded. "I think it takes an incredible amount of bravery to be able to perform in front of an audience, whether they be human or not. A certain kind of bravery no knight can ever muster, and only the talented of bards can. So I think, because of that, your parents and, in turn, you, are very brave people."

Kyouka's blush instantly came back, this time coloring her entire face up until the tips of her ears. "Y-you're too kind, Yaomomo…."

"I only speak the truth," she said with a small smile.

For the first time in their unexpected encounter, Kyouka broke out into a smile, one that showed teeth and caused the edges of her eyes to smile along with her.

And then, she laughed.

It was light and cheerful, a stark contrast from her usual husky voice. Momo felt her heart stop in her chest at the first note, and her breath caught in her throat as she involuntarily held it. She swore she could hear Kyouka's laugh dance in the air before the wind blew it away, the ghost of its melody still ringing in her ears.

If hearing clouds on a pleasant day was possible, Momo believes they would have sounded exactly like Kyouka's laugh from that day.

"—o? —rozu? Yaoyorozu?"

Momo opens her eyes, and blinks to get adjusted to the sudden light shining in her face. It takes several more blinks and a moment for her to realize she wasn't staring directly at sunlight; it was the glare from Tenya Iida's plate armor.

Tenya adjusts his glasses with a sheepish smile on his face. "Did I disturb you from your nap?"

Momo shakes her head. "I was thinking, not napping." She adjusts herself in her seat, sitting up properly. "Is there something I need to do?"

The young paladin sets his arm in an awkward position, his expression turning suddenly stoic. "I believe it is time for you to do your rounds! Eraserhead asks that you report to him before heading off!"

"Of course," Momo says with a smile, standing from her seat. "Thank you, Captain."

Tenya gives a firm nod before squaring his posture and giving a salute. Momo does the same, and at the same time, the both of them break attention and leave her small office together. They part ways with simple goodbyes when the corridor splits, and Momo is left alone with the faint clink of her armor echoing in the stoned hallway.

As she turns the corner, Momo catches a familiar song drifting through the hall. She continues down her path, the voice getting louder and louder, until she reaches a door that's slightly ajar. She peeks in and sees Kyouka inside with her eyes closed, singing and playing her lute beside Present Mic.

Ever since their encounter in the forest, Kyouka decided to train under Present Mic in order to learn the bardic magics. According to conversations she overheard, Kyouka showcases prodigious ability Present Mic has never seen before in his entire career.

Just thinking about it makes Momo's chest swell with pride.

Kyouka finishes her song, her voice tapering so that the last few plucks of her lute rang in the air. She opens her eyes and looks up slowly, noticing Momo standing in the doorway.

Momo breaks out into a smile and gives a small wave, mouthing "Beautiful!" as she does so.

The bard returns her smile, her face aglow with pride and accomplishment. Momo can't tell if it's because of the golden sunlight beaming through the window or if it's an effect of the song she just sang, but she swears she can see a faint green glow surrounding Kyouka, a color that reminds Momo of that day she saw a figure singing in that forest clearing.

an: ey yo whassup mtv welcome to my momojirou fantasy au fic.

i hope you guys enjoyed it - i struggled for the longest time to write smth momojirou, but the sudden desire to write a fantasy au for bnha characters gave me that shove to write this. im still a little rusty from not being able to write in such a long time, so i hope you'll forgive any mistakes.

if any of you are interested in me writing an actual multi-chapter story of a bnha fantasy au, or even just more oneshots, that'd be great. i'd love to hear some input because honestly, i'd love to write it.

thanks for reading. love you.

#bnha #i write #momojirou

10 notes · View notes

shownuslaugh · 7 years ago

Text

Wonho A to Z

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

He gets really quiet after sex. Mostly because he’s so tired. Also because he just wants to lay there beside you for a while and cuddle. This inevitably ends with the two of you falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

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

Wonho has a thing for thighs. His thighs, your thighs, it doesn’t matter. He thinks they’re the most attractive body part on anyone.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He won’t cum anywhere other than inside you. He knows for a lot of dudes seeing their cum all over their partner is a turn on, but Wonho isn’t like other dudes. He likes the thought of filling you up even though he’s usually wearing a condom.

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

Before the two of you started dating he would get off practically every night to the thought of what it would be like to fuck you until you were screaming for him. It was the quickest he ever came while jerking off.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Okay, let’s be real. Wonho is a sexy motherfucker that could flirt his way out of a prison sentence BUT I think he’s the least experienced of the boys. Not to the point of being completely inexperienced of course, but he’s had very few sexually partners.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

*Alicia Keys voice* THIS BOY IS A BOTTOM. In all seriousness though he loves being under you, watching you ride his dick. This position gives him access to your whole body and lets him touch you wherever he wants. Usually though his hands end up either gripping your throat or ass.

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

I wouldn’t call it goofy exactly, but sex with Wonho is very playful. He doesn’t take anything too seriously in the moment and has a ‘whatever happens will happen’ attitude about everything. That being said, when he feels himself close to orgasm he becomes very one track mind and the playfulness disappears.

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

What’s that saying? The body is a temple? Yeah, Wonho believes that with all his heart so not only is his body well taken care of he’s extremely well groomed.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s teasing and playful and desperate to make you cum on his dick. Or his face. He isn’t very picky. There’s usually some level of romance seeing as how he can’t keep his mouth shut for more than two seconds and is constantly telling you how beautiful you are or how much he loves you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Wonho relies a lot on visuals when it comes to sex and masturbation is no different. He can’t get off unless he’s looking at a picture or video of you. If he isn’t in a relationship he makes do with porn.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Choking (giving and receiving), restraints (giving), role play.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

The dorm. Sure, it’s more public than he likes what with the other boys around but he likes seeing you in his bed, on his sheets, in his room.

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

Is everything and appropriate answer? No? Well, his biggest turn on is when he catches you checking him out from the corner of your eye. He’s one of the ones that work REALLY hard on his body and the fact you enjoy his hard work gets him… hard.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Super public sex. Backstage in a dressing room with a lock on the door is one thing, but Wonho absolutely loathes the thought of anyone seeing you the way he gets to. It’s a turn off and puts him in a nasty mood.

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

Receiving. He doesn’t care if you’re good at it or not. He just really loves receiving. The sight of you on your knees in front of him is his favorite erotic image. When it comes time to give he’s a little sloppy, but not in a way that won’t get you off. He’ll have you cumming in a matter of minutes and pull away with your juices dripping down his face and a large grin.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of the time it all depends on what you want. He lets you set the pace and meets each snap of your hips with a thrust of his own. There’s no set pattern with him so it tends to differ.

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

If an “I <3 Quickies’ shirt exists you need to buy it for him. He doesn’t love them to the point that’s all he ever wants, but e enjoys the thought that the two of you need each other so badly you’ll take what you can get. He really likes them when he gets offstage after a concert.

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

Wonho’s always game to experiment and try new things. Risks on the other hand… not so much. He doesn’t want to try anything that could potentially harm you emotionally or physically. Sex is something fun and lighthearted to him. He wants to keep it that way.

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

Are you a marathon runner? Because you’d just about have to be to keep up with him. He can drag what’s supposed to be a five minute quickie into a fifty minute body worship session. He has no concept of the word stop so it’s a good idea to have a few bottles of water on standby.

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

Yes he owns toys, yes he uses them on both of you. For you he prefers using gags and blindfolds, anything to take away any of your senses. For himself a vibrator. He tried using one on you once but seeing something other than him bring you pleasure made him just a tad bit jealous.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Everyone knows Wonho is a major tease. He’s hot and he knows it and he uses it; however, what most people don’t realize is he loves BEING TEASED even more than being the tease. He loves knowing whoever he’s with can give as well as they can get.

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

Wonho is Loud with a capital L. Most of the time it’s completely out of his control. He just gets so into it he forgets maybe other people might not want to hear him. He’s a whiner to start out with, begging for you relentlessly, before turning into a groaner, red in the face and pleased to be inside you.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Wonho loves when you take control. He isn’t a total sub so he won’t let you have total control, but you telling him where to touch you or kiss you or bite you drives him up the wall with lust

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Wonho is the largest of the boys (7.5 inches) which is probably why he’s so confident. Boy’s packing and knows how to deliver.

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

This boy is a straight up Ho™ and always ready to get some. Unlike Shownu and a couple others though Wonho is not ashamed to let anyone know. He’ll flirt and charm his way into your heart and pants without a second thought.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You might as well count Wonho out the second he cums. Even though he has an above average stamina that doesn’t necessarily apply to afterwards. You should probably move quickly or he’ll fall asleep on top of you… again.

#monsta x smut #wonho smut #monsta x wonho smut #monsta x scenario #wonho scenario #monsta x reaction #wonho reaction

599 notes · View notes

thran-duils · 8 years ago

Text

Beauty, Reputation, and Wealth (Part 1)

Title: Silly Girl Pairing: Reader/AU!Castiel, Reader/OOC Summary: AU Castiel is part of the mob but also endowed with magic (based off of Grisha by Leigh Bardugo. So y’all, he still has his “grace”!). The reader is employed in a brothel and of course, his favorite. But, she starts to develop feelings for another… Words: 1,944 Warnings: Some smut, violence, language Author’s Note: If you want to be tagged, let me know! I’m using my regular Castiel tags but I can add to it! :)

Part 2 || Masterpost || Fanfic masterpost

Castiel’s eyes widened, the glee, as ever mocking as it was, leaving his eyes quickly. William’s face fell seeing the change in Castiel’s expression.

“Mr. Novak, please,” William sputtered. “I am only a messenger.”

The moment after he got his plea out, he felt a tightening on his throat. He gasped, grasping at his throat, trying to get himself air. Castiel was watching him emotionless as William realized the air was being squeezed out of his esophagus.

“A messenger is an extension of the message giver. Are they not, dear William?” Castiel drawled, his magic ever tightening on William’s wind pipe.

William choked, struggling to answer him.

More so in idle play rather than sympathy, Castiel released William’s throat, letting him gasp for air. Collapsing to the ground, William heaved, trying to get the air back in his lungs.

“If Lilith had any respect for me, she would have shown up here now to tell me herself about her… sudden and mysterious disinterest in completing this deal with me.”

He cocked an eyebrow, watching William come to a slow, his breathing beginning to turn back to something more normal.

When William had caught his breath enough to speak, he lifted his eyes, meeting Castiel’s gaze. He swallowed sharply once more before saying, still short breathed, “My master has nothing but respect for you, Mr. Novak.”

“She’s not showing it.” Castiel’s tone was tight. “This deal would benefit her as much as it would benefit me.”

“She needs time to reconsider.”

“On what grounds?”

William looked hesitant to answer and Castiel raised his hand in a threatening manner. Quickly, William sat up, raising his hands, trying to block himself from Castiel as if his mere hands would hold back Castiel’s power.

“On the grounds that she had another offer and she needs to weigh it!”

A darkness flashed across Castiel’s face and his men behind him stiffened, knowing that Castiel hated, above all else to be cheated out of a deal. Especially considering how powerful he was. He was offering the service of his men to Lilith to assist her in obtaining great riches. With him at Lilith’s side, Lilith had a slim chance at failing, if at all. It was risky for him to do in the first place considering the vermin that Lilith had usually decided to surround herself with. But, Castiel stood to get a good deal of payment out of this. And he was never one to turn down money.

And now that he had extended his hand when she asked for his help and it was being rejected… it was a great insult.

Castiel swooped down, grabbing William’s chin roughly, yanking his face to him. Castiel breathed deeply, staring into William’s eyes, who looked terrified at being in this close proximity with Castiel; someone who could turn his insides to mush and stop his heart, especially when provoked like this.

The tension was strong in the air as Castiel ran options through his head, his hand ever grasping William’s face harder to the point William was afraid it would snap. He whimpered and that was the only thing that broke Castiel’s train of thought.

After a second’s consideration, Castiel let his face go with such ferocity, William almost tumbled onto his back. He reached his and behind himself at the last seconds to catch himself. Castiel’s finger was in William’s face immediately and William stilled, staring back at Castiel.

“You tell her I am not one to be toyed with. Do not jerk me around because she is not going to like what kind of hell I can unleash upon her. I know she believes herself powerful – and if I will be frank, she is. But she only knows the extent of what me and my men can do. I would highly recommend that she reconsiders backing out of this deal with me.” William said nothing, his eyes searching Castiel’s face. Castiel forced a small, mocking smirk. He leaned in and taunted, “Did you hear me, dear William?”

William nodded feverishly before sputtering, “Y-y-yes, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel’s expression hardened again and he ordered, “Then go and tell her.”

<> <> <>

“What if I do not want to?” you asked.

“You belong to him. You know this.”

You rolled your eyes. Your mistress was speaking to you in the shadows of the brothel. Your body was draped in deep, marine silk, hugging your curves, your breasts presented to entice customers. But, considering the day, you should only be trying to entice one customer. Castiel Novak. He demanded your presence.

He had warned you to not take anyone else to your bed when you knew he was home from business. When he was away, he did not care. He knew you needed money for extra things. But when he was home, he wanted you available. He had been scheduled to arrive back that day and although you were excited to see him, you still felt the same pang of want you always felt thinking about him not being completely yours.

And of course your mistress, Calista, scolded you for your behavior.

“He is one of the most powerful men in the city, Y/N! His wife knows he has someone here. And yet she does nothing. Because of his wealth. She can stomach the insult because of the comfort he gives her. Do not be foolish!”

“What of the comfort he gives me?”

Calista chastised you immediately. She leaned in close, hissing, “Silly girl! He pays for your rent and your food! That is more than enough.”

Your pride wouldn’t let that be the final say in this. Squaring your shoulders up, you told her firmly, “If he loved me, he would take me as his own.”

“Your head is full of nonsense!” Calista snapped t you. “Your reputation is tarnished!” The words stung and you hid the insult well, masking your features from showing the hurt you felt at her words. “He would be a fool to drop his wife of status, name, AND money – although her money is nothing in comparison to his – for you. You don’t have anything to offer him except comfort when his desire arises. He yearns for your beauty. Beauty fades. Reputation and wealth does not.”

“He should not be allowed to treat me like this.”

Something in your tone must have caught Calista’s attention and her expression softened. You must have let your hurt come through your tone.

Calista’s hand met your face and she said quietly, “Many things in life have not been fair to you. This may not seem fair in comparison to what you see many wealthy women receiving. But in comparison to other women who are here with you and you know there are women below you, you have it quite well.” You were going to protest but her hand tightened on your face, “I know you feel for him. And I know he feels for you.” You closed your mouth, your lips a tight line. “Be grateful for what you have been given. Use your youth and your beauty. Save up the riches he throws on you. And if you are lucky, he will keep you for a long time. Even past a time where someone would say that you are past your ‘worth’ or prime. Men’s affections for women can be deep. You know as well as I do their possessiveness and desire can draw them to go great lengths.” She paused studying your face. She demanded, “Do you hear me, Y/N?”

“Yes, Mistress Calista.”

She leaned in close and told you firmly, “Then do as I say and despite your disdain of not having his full attention, use it!” She paused before adding, “And if I recall, you don’t give your full attention to him either.”

You stared at her, shocked she would bring that up. She stated, “You don’t get anything past me, Y/N. I know about him. You better make sure Castiel doesn’t find out how deep your attachment goes to him.” Her eyes moved to over your shoulder, away from your shocked face. She met your gaze again before saying, “He’s ready.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked off.

<> <> <>

Castiel’s coal rimmed eyes scanned the room before landing on you standing off by one of the doorways. His face relaxed, his lips curling into a small smile. He raised his finger, gesturing you towards him.

The silk dress inked across your body as you made your way across the room towards him. You made sure to expose your calves and up to your thighs at points, capitalizing on the high cut of the slit in your gown. His eyes were drawn to your curves as always. The way he drank you in was intoxicating. You could see the desire in his eyes and the warmth radiating off his body as you neared.

You sat next to him close, one of your legs draped over his legs, another hand looped around his neck. Your free hand played with the buttons on his vest.

Castiel nuzzled his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply. His words danced across your skin as he breathed, “You’ve stayed pure, my angel?”

“As pure as I can in this shit hole.”

Castiel laughed quietly, his fingers trailing over your silk dress on your stomach, moving down towards your sex. His hand snaked between your thighs. You had trained yourself by this point to not flinch away but to move towards your buyer, enticing them. And he was your best paying. And the one you had feelings for. You did not have to pretend with him unlike the others.

“I waited for you,” you flirted. Libation was clouding his eyes, you could tell. The time you had spent making sure you looked your best and the conversation with Calista had given him enough time to down drinks to calm his nerves no doubt. And also remove himself from any inhabitations. Running your finger down his chest, you pouted, “You were gone for weeks.”

He simpered, “It was a week and a half.”

You laid your lips on his and he eagerly met you, bringing you in close, his hand wrapped up in your hair. You moaned against his mouth as his fingers moved down, brushing your sex underneath your dress.

“It felt like forever,” you told him, giving him puppy dog eyes.

Castiel smiled at this, pleased with your open display of want for him. “I am sorry, angel,” he told you. “I won’t be gone for that long again.”

“Lies,” you told him teasingly.

Chuckling, he pulled you back tight to him, his lips meeting yours once again. His fingers again moved deeper, pushing past your folds, teasing your sex. You ground yourself against him, his mouth traveling along your jawline hungrily.

You would not have noticed Oliver if you had not opened your eyes momentarily. You hesitated a second as your eyes met. Oliver looked upset immediately seeing you in the arms of someone else. You tried to send him an apologetic look as Castiel kept up his ravenous kisses on you.

One of his digits entering you caused you to gasp slightly and you broke eye contact with Oliver. You pushed your face back towards Castiel’s and your lips met again, giving him your full attention again. He removed his fingers, both of his hands moving to grasp your ass and pull you fully into his lap. He would want to move upstairs soon.

You would have to speak to Oliver later. When Castiel wasn’t there and his jealousy and wrath wouldn’t touch Oliver.

~~~

Castiel Tags: @peppercorn-bingbong, @splendidcas, @klaineaholic, @letsthedogpackandthecats, @alexastacio, @winchesterforever12 @seirensou

#au castiel #castiel x reader #castiel smut #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #my shit

110 notes · View notes